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PREFACE

by Joan T Mj,nne My country. My country.

Tis of thee I sing. Country still unborn Sweet land yet to be

I n our country, cited in the above spiritual (Harding 1981), we often find inspiration from different sources. Some find it in poetry, music, science, in cultural beliefs or religions; some are inspired by parents, friends, chil­

dren, or mentors; still others by listening to the earth. I've been inspired by each at different times, especially by my mother and my daughter. Yet I've also found that the source which seems to rock my soul is the rhyme, rhythm, spirituals, poetry, epistemology, philosophy, complexity, indeed, the spell­ binding story of the African-American struggle to be free in a "sweet land yet to be."

Born white in the south and, thus, drenched in the dirty history of southern Jim Crow laws and slavery, I seem to have drunk this struggle into my blood. I've spent a life time studying that Black liberation chronicle; trying to under­ stand it; making friends with it; but mostly standing in awe of it. Immersed in its tale, though, I have often asked the same question the character, Stamp Paid, asked in Toni Morrison's novel, Beloved. After consistently witnessing the savagery of whites during slavery, he asks: ''What are these people?" (1987 p. 172). So, part of my story is also investigatingjust what "these people" are, my white people and me, because I do not want to be "trapped in a history I do not understand" (Baldwin 1963, p. 8). Like James Baldwin, I believe that until I unravel it, I cannot "be released from it." T herefore, I'm always listening for a variety of voices that sing about justice, hegemony, and grace in this "country, my country."

xi

xii PREFACE

My friend and co-editor of this book, Carlos Gonzalez, in our syllabus for a course that we team-taught for Miami Dade College professors, wrote the

following:

This is an invitation to sit and explore the tension of working, teaching, and profiting from a system that inherently creates distinction and privilege, one that thrives on disparity. If Asa G. Hilliard III' is correct, reformation of this system is not really possible. Critical transformation is our best hope.

So, what are we to do as those in the middle? How do we possibly teach and work with the understanding that, at the core of our efforts, there is a seed waiting to sprout, that will eventually put down roots and possibly bring down the bricks and mortar of injustice, privilege, and oppres­ sion? This prospect is downright frightening! What would we do next?

Carlos' words helped shape my vision for this book. It, too, is an invitation, a call for being "out-rageous" in declaring ourselves against the hegemonic machine that pulverizes our imaginations, like a cow's flesh in a meat grinder. Hoping to escape that grinder, however, Carlos and I, through this text, pro­ pose a challenge—that we gather as often as we can and tell our stories, as encouragement to think more deeply and act more diligently in resistance to the "injustices, the privilege, and the oppression" in schools and the acad­ emy, injustices that chop up our spirits, and for many others, their bodies. We picture these pieces, represented in the book by multiple writers' stories, as a catalyst for creative encounters confronting the repression that our stu­ dents face every day in school buildings, where children of the poor are

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treated as fodder for prisons and wars; where children of the elite are bam­ boozled by philosophies of self-aggrandizement and greed; and where the earth has become invisible in concrete camouflage.

Yet rather than a heavily theoretical discussion, we share stories about what philosopher, Martha Nussbaum calls "the frontiers of justice" (2006). For us, that frontier includes all species on the earth as well as all humans. And such conversations in this country, we believe, should begin with a recognition of a crime, one which Civil Rights icon, Bob Moses, brings to light in his essay in this book. To frame his essay, Moses cites James Baldwin who declared, "The crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen is that they have destroyed and are destroying hundreds of thousands of lives and do not know it and do not want to know it." Baldwin further insists that "It is not

1 Asa G. Hilliard Ill's passage to which Carlos refers is: "Revolution, not reform, is

required to release the power of teaching . . . Vrrtually, all teachers possess tremendous power which can be released, given the proper exposure. We c an't get to

that point by tinkering with a broken system. We must change our intellectual structures, definitions and assumptions; then we can release teacher power."

PREFACE xiii

permissible that the authors of devastation should also be innocent. It is the innocence which constitutes the crime" (1963, p. 6).

So, following Moses' lead, we and our students continue to help each other deconstruct that crime of innocence. We assume that our civic duty requires exploring the nation's feigned innocence in the hundreds of years of death and destruction of many cultures in 'this country, our country.' In the class­ room as well as in the national dialogue, we argue that learners and citizens alike should heed Bryan Stevenson's suggestion, in his Equal Justice Initiative report on lynching, that "Suffering must be engaged, heard, recognized, and remembered before a society can recover from mass violence" (Lynching 2015 p. 23). The severity and the currency of the repercussions of the crimes referenced by Baldwin and Stevenson as well as the violence against other cultures seem to demand that we address this suffering in Who speaks for jus­ tice?. Within that context, we like to think of this book as an instigator of what David Lawrence,Jr.2 calls "creative outrage" (2012).

As we wrote and edited, we strove to carefully parse our words, wanting them to stay as true to our committnent to justice as Diane Nash's actions demon­ strated on March 7m. during the 50m. anniversary of "Bloody Sunday." Returning there, to Selma Alabama, to push forward the country's dream of democracy, one soaked in blood that day 50 years ago, Nash3 spoke to the media, sat in priority seats to listen to President Obama speak, and, then, stood alongside the President and his family to walk across the infamous Edmund Pettus Bridge. Yet, when Former President George W Bush walked

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into the line to cross that bridge with them, Diane Nash walked out of that privileged line.

Explaining later to Amy Goodman on Democracy Now (2015), Nash said: "They placed me in the front line. And then George Bush . . . got in the march. And I left. … I wasn't marching anywhere with George Bush. T he Selma movement stands for nonviolence, peace, democracy, fairness, voting rights." To her, Nash clarified, Bush represented the exact opposite, even tor­ rure. She didn't want to be a part of any photographs, she explained to Goodman, which might travel around the globe depicting Bush as one of the leaders of nonviolence. For Nash, his picture would suggest the nonviolent movement had "sold out;" and, more importantly, she insisted, it would be an insult to all of the people who had been murdered in Selma.

2 President of the Children's Movement of F1orida and former publisher of the Miami Herald. 3 :1ash a leader in the Student Nonviolent Coordination Committee (SNCC); co-led the Freedom Riders; helped plan the Selma march; and is nationally known as a

constant "Freedom Struggle" activist.

xiv PREFACE

Well, regardless of what position someone might take on former President Bush's right to be on that bridge, Nash's spontaneous action of walking away from that stately spot shook our conscience, crystalizing what vigilance to one's truth might look like. Forced us to ask the question, "How often have we remained in the lines of privilege, and, thus, compromised our vision for jus­ tice, for listening to those who have been silenced?" Nash's daring action that day seemed to model a different way of being in the world. Her releasing attachment to the traps and seduction of privilege that oppress us as citizens, as teachers, as students was not only a gutsy move. It, indeed, also required, as Lisa Delpit once said about Vmcent Harding,

4 "principles of steel."

Nash and Bob Moses, another one of our heroes, have dedicated their lives to pushing for full rights of citizenship for all Americans. A citizen-poet­ writer who also pushes America toward realizing its dream of freedom for all is Nikki Giovanni. In 1994, she suggested that the ideals of democracy in America still create a powerful imaginative force that she continues to hold onto in spite of the horrors of the nation's history and the terrors of its current global initiatives. But, she declares later in her book, Racism 101, that the African-American "spirituals teach us that the problem of the twentieth century is not the problem of the color line. The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of civilizing white people" (p. 56-5 7).

We seem to have failed to solve that problem. For, in the twenty-first century, Western-Eurocentric people on the planet perpetually ratchet up the bellows and machinations of wars upon wars. In the twenty-first century, public edu-

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cation is becoming more a mouthpiece for corporate interests than interests of a democracy or of the earth and all its species. In the twenty-first century,

unarmed black boys, men, and women have been shot down like vermin in a nation that professes •�ustice for all." Yet as the rapper, Common, sings in Gltny, ''.Justice for all ain't specific enough."

So, we wanted the stories in this text to be "specific enough." We wanted to tell of the tragedy and glory of cultures, of humans, of trees, of earth. We wanted to raise all of those stifled intonations. The youth, the ancestors, the elders, the rock, the land, the river, the sea, the cosmic energy. We believe those vibrations and stories will stir us in our perpetual work toward resis­ tance and inspired action. For, as Giovanni insists about story-tellers, "There must always be griots … else how will we know who we are?" (p. 19).

And when thinking of us as griots, we were reminded of Archbishop

Desmond Tutu when he condensed the history of Africa into this one short quip: He said, "When the white missionaries came to Africa, they had the

• Historian; writer; social activist; speech writer for MLK, Jr.; Professor of Religion and Social Transformation

PREFACE xv

Bible, and we had the land. They said, 'Let us pray.' Ne closed our eyes. When we opened them, we had the Bible, and they had the land" (f utu 2015). Therefore, the lens we look through, as we describe our individual u·uths, can become as vital as the truth itsel[ Recognizing the imperative of seeing our separate histories through multiple lenses can create an intellec­ tual smorgasbord that might entice all citizens Lo see and reckon with the complexities of living in an inscrutable world, one full of contradictions and ambiguity.

Any ambiguities that unfold in this text, we hope, might also encourage stu­ dents to recognize not only tl1e inevitable convolutions of life's sLOries, but also tl1e power and the place of those sLOries in tl1e scope of researcl1. For, Carlos and I tl1ink of research as just a story. Some tell it in statistics; some in ethnographies; some in case studies. But all research is formed within a specific context of socio-political realities. As Dcepak Chopra suggests, "We have all walked through different gardens and knelt at different graves" (p. 16). Because of those separate realities of lived experiences, the fact that research studies and discoveries often conflict with one another holds no sur­ prise for us, especially since humans from all walks of life design those stud­ ies. Yet it is important to reckon with at least two realities when searching for research validity. These realities are as significant as assessing the validity of

tl1e measurements used. The first is that hist0rically the typical researcher came from the colonial elite. The second is that most often now researchers come from the academic elite. So, we hope that students will wrestle with the biases that naturally emanate from the context of researchers' lives. Taking

Lhe time to examine our lived experiences can clarify how those events com­ plicate our perspectives in di,·erse disciplines, whether literature, science, an, music, or education. Further more, unpacking the ever-present colonial sub­ texts of our own lives might liberate our minds from the daily grind of the oppressive institutional demands that often trap us into accommodating injustice.

Recently, raising Lhe issue of tl1e historical V.'estern economic accommoda­

tion of injustice, scl10lar and activist, Noam Chomsky, insisted I.hat "Racism is a serious problem … white supremacy in tl1e U nited States was even more extreme and savage tl1an in Soutl1 Africa …. Our economy, wealtl1, privilege relies . .. on a cenwry of horrifying slave labor camps." Drawing from tl1e work of Edward Baptist (2014), Chomsky equated I.hose camps Lo tl1e horrors of tl1e ones created in :1 azi Germany. Baptist, in his book, insists tl1at American slavery, tl1e buying and selling of bodies as investrnem and capital, created an economic engine in tl1e 18th and I 9th century in Lhe south, in Lhe nonh, and in Europe I.hat drove the explosion of U.S. fmancial and commer­ cial prosperity and superiority, which is still sustained in this nation. But, for us, Baptist's and Chomsky's condemnation of our history seems Lo beckon

xvi PREFACE

another line from the song, Glory, the challenge of John Legend and Common when Lhey proclaim, "Now we right the wrongs of history" (Glory, 2014).

So how do we do Lhat? How do we right the wrongs, not only of our human hisLOI) but the history of our abuse of the ecosystem? How do we nurture ourselves and others as we take on sucli daunting work? How do we, in any corporate or bureaucratic jungle, create what Bob ?vioses calls, the "crawl spaces," (200 I) where we can build healLhy relationships? How do we resist

injusLices and continue to laugh big and loud? How do we stop oppression while learning to sing new songs? How do we dismantle public policies Li1at sustain the plctl1ora of societal utjustices, while lcarnu1g to dance wildly? How do we stop planetary destruction, while eawig apple pie? How do we walk iii and out of privilege, while sLrumming a guitar? How do we redeem America's soul, while frolicking witl1 every �!other's cliild? And how, oh how, do we block out the cacophony of hegemony and begin to live Fannie Lou Hamer's chorus, "Freedom is a constam struggle; make a joyful noise"?

Conscious of the joy amidst the angst in the struggle, Carlos and I offer this te..xt as an enticement to explore each other's sto1;es about our battles to be free, as researchers, teachers, learners, citizens. Vhen editing, he and I tried to write ourselves out of Lhe lines of privilege that we occupy, while seeking

to extricate ourselves from the scholastic shackles Lhat we wear. As a counter to our professorial privilege, we listened not just to persons wiLh national rep­ uLaLions in circles of jusLice, but also to studenLS, friends, and younger col­ leagues. Ve invited Lheir m·iting imo our circles im·esLigating their lessons,

. . .

challenges, joys, quesLions. Ve believe Lhose narraLives can lead us LO con­ front togeLher Lhe hegemonic noise of systems LhaL exploit humans and Lhis small planet earLh. As Ram Dass suggests, "�'e're all jusL walking each oLher home" (1971 ).

So, as we 're walking each oLher home, let's consider once again Lhe words of Lhat master of story-telling, James Baldwin, who said, " … while the tale of how we suffer and how we are delighted and how we triumph is never new, it

must be heard. There isn't any other tale Lo tell, it's the only light we've got in all Lhis darkness" ( 1995 p. 87). Carlos and I believe that it is in our shared sto­ ries, Lrue or not, Lhat we can discover what sustains us "from the inside when all else falls away" (Orial1 1999). BuL, beyond Lhat, perhaps, our joint stories will help us and our studems determine" .. . if we can get up, after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised 10 Lhe bone, and do what needs 10 be done LO feed [and Leach) Lhe children" (Oriah) in our communiLies, in our schools, and in Lhis "counLry sLill unborn."

PREFACE xvii

References

Baldwin, J. (1963). My dungeon shook: Letter to my nephew on the one hundredth anniversary of the Emancipation. The fire next time. New York: Vmtage Books (p. 6).

Baldwin,James. (1995). Son'!)''s Blues. New York: Penguin Books Ltd.

Baptist, E. (2014). The half has never been /Qld: Slavery and 1k making of American capilalism. New York, NY: Basic Books.

Chopra, D. ( 1991 ). Unconditional life: Discovering 1k power /Q fo!fill your dreams. New York, NY: Bantam Books.

Dass, Ram (1971). Be here now. New York, NY: The Crown Publishing Co.

Giovanni, N. (1994). Racism 101. New York: William Morrow and Company.

Harding, V. (1981). There is a river: The Black struggl.efor freedom in America. Orlando, FL: Harcourt Brace and Co.

Hilliard, A.G. III (1997). "The Structure of valid staff development." Journal of staff tkvelopmem. Spring, Vol.18, No.2.

John Legend & Common, video on YouTube.com. https·//wwwyoutube com/watch ?v=HUZOKvYcx o

Lawrence, D.Jr. (2012). The Principles of Power and Leadership: How to l!'et thinl!'s done in Miami and America. The Chapman Leadership Lecture.

Florida International University, S eptember 12.

Lynching in America.: Confronting the legacy of racial terror (2015). EJI R.eporL Birmingham, AL: Equal Justice Initiative. hUJrllwwwi.jj.ocg/files/ ETI%20Lynching%20in %20America %20SUMMARYpdf

Morrison, Toni ( 1987). Beloved. New York: Alfred Knopf

Moses, R. P. & Cobb, C. (200 I) Radical Equations: Cwil RighJs.from Mississippi /o the Algebra Project. Boston: Beacon Press.

ash, D. (2015). Interview. Democr<lfl Now http://www.democracynow. ocg/2015/3/9/cjyil rights pioneer djane nash i

Noam Chomsky on Black Lives Matter: Why Won't U.S. Own Up to History of S lavery & Racism? Mar. 3, 2015. DemOCT<lfl Now. http://www. democracynow.ocg/2015/3/3/noam chomsky on black lives matter

Nussbaum, Martha (2006) Frontiers of Justice: Disabili!J, nalumalip, speciM membership. Cambridge MA: First Haivard University Press.

xviii PREFACE

Ori ah Mountain Dreamer ( 1999) http· //www. oriahmountaindreamer com/ person.html

Roberts, Wally. (2004). E-mail sharing his experience living one summer in Fannie Lou Hamer's home.

Tutu, Desmond. Seeds in corifli,ct in a haven ef peace: From religwus Studies to lnteTTeugious Studies in Aftica. Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) e-mail list-serve, April 7, 2015.

Defiiclltum jjj

Preface xi

TABlE OF CONTENTS

PART 1: A human being is part of the whole ……………. _ ………….. 1

A human being is a part of a whole, called by us a universe, a part limited in time and space. iHe experiences himseJJ; his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest … a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and lO affe ction for a few persons nearest co us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion lO embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

-AlbertEinstnn.

Math, struggles, and slash pine …………………………………. 3 by Gartos Gonzalez

Generations Connect: Variation on …………………………….. 7 "Om Namah Shlvaya" by Gartos Gonzalez

Constitutional Eras for "We the People" …………………… 1 s by Robert P. Moses

Blockages become gifts …………………………………………. 33 by Gartos Gonzalez

Nature as home . . . antidote to war …………………………. 35 by Matthew Rubenstein

S he told me that she did not think she was going to pass her math class, that the teacher was confusing, that she worked full time, went to school full rime, and she did not have the energy or time to go to tutor­

ing. She saw herself talcing the class once again, she said. It was five minutes before I was taking students on a tour of the Environmental Center. I was drawn into my student's struggle and for a moment wondered what I had to offer her; if anyth� In my work I see so many who juggle too much, who struggle and often don't sec a way through their challenges because they arc so many.

We walked toward the start of our tour, and I felt the heaviness of this conver­ sation. To me it wasn't just one more student merely giving up on a class, but hers was the voice of so many others. Math was not the real issue. It was life itself, life that seemed unfair; harsh, and impossible. Clearly I was hearing her story filtered through my own heaviness, my own sense of struggle, loss, and pain, the past nine years or so of seeing my mother lost to dementia, the break­ down of family bonds, the loss of loved ones, and at times, che loss of hope.

The week before hearing my student's story, l had read over 140 essays. Some of them detailed suicide attempts, painful separations, failed dreams, loss on a scale that surprised me and reminded me how we are more alike than we are different. And as I walked to the entrance of the Center, the air plant growing on the tree caught my attention. It did not do so in a subtle way. It spoke to me and asked me to tell a particular story. This beautiful being, although voiceless, was asking t0 speak t0 my student and to me.

The clarity of the communication surprised me. It was now evident to me that I needed to have overheard my student mention her math class. It was also evident that what I was going to do for the next seven hours of reaching was to repeat the message, not so much because of my math challenged

3

4 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

student but because I, too, needed to hear a good word. I needed a reminder. We needed a story, this story, as Barry Lopez reminds w, "more than food to stay alive" (1990, p. 8).

The Environmental Center is a nine-acre preserve. One enters it through a colorful mosaic gate and is immediately presented with a radically different space. TI1e CenLei' is on tl1e edge of campus, tl1e edge of time, and a text tl1at often is misread or not read at aU. It is a reminder of what parts of South Florida used to be, of how the landscape looked before development. It offers a glimpse of a bygone era where slash pines covered the area and the human footprint was less obvious. It is also a clear reminder of the feeble efforts to preserve the often tenuous relationships between humans and other life forms. It is a place where one can experience great peace and also be in touch with a sense of deep loss. It is filled with life and reminders that death is also part of life and the cycle of beginning and endings is infinite.

So what did the cpiphyte say to me? This was no joke. Adaptation = Learning. The rest follows.

As I stood before my students, I told them how at some point, millions of years ago, I was guessing, the ancestors of this plant learned that living on the soil was not to its advantage, and somehow learned to live on the tree canopy, gathering food and water from the falling leaves o: the host tree and in the process providing a home for small animals such as frogs and lizards.

This particular air plant was about to bloom, and we could see the emerging structure of the flower, an elegant manifestation of perfecdy adapted design. We looked at the plant, I caressed its leaves. Students looked at me as if I were on some lcind of drug. I assured them I was not. I told them the mes­ sage from my plant friend: To adapt is to learn and to lake on life's chal­ lenges and use them to create what is necessary for survival and the possibility to thrive. We took a moment. I answered some questions. We were quiet. Some were looking at their phones. I hesitated to take st.cps away from the air plant, but I knew then that I would be able to hear its message the rest of the day. And we walked to the little sliver of slash pine forest.

It was only a hundred feet or so away. At the head of the trail, a beautiful specimen of a tree stands tall. It's probably 60 or more years old. As I came upon it, I told them that this tree was a Ph.D. in South Florida; that it had

learned this area so well that it had specialized in living here and nowhere else. This particular species of slash pine, Pinus elliouii var densa, is endemic to South Florida (Pine Rocklands-Miami-Dade County). Students looked at me funny. I stared back. I kissed the tree. I thanked it. By now, everyone had been pushed over the edge of weirdness, and they just looked at me and smiled.

MATH, STRUGGLES, AND SLASH PINES 5

I continued with my message and repeated the mantra the epiphyte gave me: Adaptation is learning. It is the means that all of life has to continue to exist. Change is a constant. Adaptation is a dance with change. It is the engage­ ment of the core challenge associated with change. It is the ''yes" in all crea­ tures to life, possibility, and existence.

I told them the little I know about slash pines, that there are other relatives of this tree, but that this species is only found here. I pointed out how this particular pine learned to use the wet and dry seasons, the poor soil condi­ tions, frequent fires to manifest a beauty that is a gift to witness and appreci­ ate. I celebrated the tree in front of me. Everyone did so as well. A little attention, at least, from the more hard to reach. We took a moment to breathe deeply and notice the scent the tree gives off. I was filled with won­ der. Some were too. Others looked at their phones. They were receiving mes­ sages at the time, but not from the epiphyte, the slash pine, or me.

So many unique elements of this tree's knowledge and manifestation of life exude in this place, the fringes of this campus where concrete replaced its kin. Its bark is fire resistant, a useful trait given lighting strikes that in the past burned the under story: These fires took place in the wet season and were not destructive. They were energy deposits into the area that these trees knew how to use. The slash pine drops its seeds after a fire into the ash-enriched limestone and the seeds take root.

The specialization worked well for thousands of years. It stopped working once large numbers of people moved into the area. The Dade County slash pine did not specialize in humans, however. It did not take us into account

and our aversion to fire. Nat sur prisingly, the slash pine has lost out to our home building and fire suppression. In a matter of less than 100 years or so, about one to two percent of the endemic slash pine forest is left (Pine Rock­ lands-Miami-Dade County). This tree adapted to the area but has not been able to adapt to our presence.

The lesson in this is difficult. It presents us with many questions. Primarily, 'What's our responsibility and role in preserving those life forms that don't have the capacity to adapt to the rapid change we are creating?" and "How do we address those who are not able to learn at the pace of change all around us?" These were big questions, but not the thrust of what I was hop­ ing I was conveying to my students. The message of the air plant, though a

species that supposedly lacks judgment, seemed more direct: To adapt means to learn. To stop learning or not learn fast enough means death.

So about one to two percent of the original Dade County slash pine forest is left. Our campus has a couple of patches where once the entire area was domi­ nated by these trees. We walked away from this small patch and felt ambivalent.

6 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

The beauty of the trees is obvious; their fate also seems sealed. But. There is always a "but'' that carries the possibility of surprise. On the way out of the slash pines, I spotted one solitary atala butterfly heading for its morning break­ fast. This small dark blue butterfly with a red belly and metallic blue dots on its wings echoed the epiphytes message and gave it a slightly different intonation.

We paused before leaving the forest and observed the atala dancing amongst the flowers. I mentioned how this exquisite creature was believed to have been extinct as of 1965 and that in 1979 a small population had been discovered in Key Biscayne (Pine Rocklands). The atala had almost disappeared because it, too, specialized and had adapted exclusively to the South Florida environment. Like the slash pines, it found itself challenged to live because we interfered with its environment and eliminated the coontie plant, a once prevalent plant of the hammocks and rock pinelands. The coontie, an ancient cycad, is the sole host plant for the atala. This specialization meant that when the coontie was virtu­ ally eliminated from the area, the atalas disappeared as well (Pine Rocklands).

I told students to pay attention to this story. That it offered a detail that was not fully developed in the earlier me=ge of the air plant What was interesting about this story was that the atala did not die olf. Against significant odds, it crune back. It was not supposed to swvive. But an effort to encourage gardeners to plant the coontie allowed the butterlly to return. 1bis was not an all-out plan by a monied government agency or environmental group. Butterflies are not big money makers! And so I reminded them and me that not all is loss. Not all is a scaled fate. Sometimes we get surprised by the beauty of small miracle stories that don't allow us to give up. More significantly, the atala reminded us that there's always a possibility for the creature with the greatest ability to adapt, us, to do so and allow others who may not have the same capacity to swvive and thrive.

Our journey through the Environmental Center came to an end as we approached the chickec next to the lake. We sat there and felt the cool breeze. The pitched roof thatched with native palm fronds, the cypress columns, and the setting offered a perfect conclusion. We were sitting under a structure built by members of the Miccosukee Tribe of Indians. The structure was one last reminder of adaptation, where lessons from math, life's struggles, and slash pine can collide.

References

Lopez, B. (1990) Crow and �a.rel. Canada: North Point Press. p. 60.

Pine Rocklands. Miami-Dade County Government (n.d.). Retrieved April 21, 2015 from http://www.miamidade.gov/ environment/pine-rocklands.asp

!began to write this piece above as I was listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the trees in the valley below. I'm sitting on a grassy knoll, under

the overhang of what serves as the front porch of the Straw Bale Lodge donated to Narrow Ridge, a retreat in Tennessee, by Mac Smith, a former professor in Miami who taught for 30 years at the college where I've worked for 22 years now. He also launched a series of programs that have blossomed into a several communities that focus on Earth literacy.

I'm not sure why I need to write the paragraph above, but it seems important to name him, name the place where I'm working, and in doing so remind myself that the work I do is somehow tied to others who have come before me. T his "before me" part has been important in the past. Connecting to the ancestors has been a lifeline that in some of the more challenging times of teaching has allowed me to find my way when the path was unclear or

encumbered by my own confusion. What I'm noticing more and more is that those who follow are becoming more relevant. What is dawning on me is that I am now becoming more of an elder or lifeline to those who come after me.

I'm also realizing that I'm coming to the end of the summer of my teaching life. I sense the beginning of the fall season and note a number of things.

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8 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

One that stands out vividly is the notion that the kind of education that I'm interested in is not one that easily translates into objectives and goals. I real­

ize that I'm interested in the ancient notion of education, which the word itself suggests, is to draw out, to invite into awareness. This is what I consider to be my role as a teacher in relationship to my students. It's also the type of role, that when I'm at my best, students invite me to play and they play as well. Together we draw out for one another what is already there but may be overlooked. And the drawing out is not exclusive of learning a skill. It involves and requires so much more than merely writing an essay, resume, or figuring out a complicated calculus.

T hese reflections and my writing came after spending an afternoon touring Narrow Ridge, an Earth Literacy Center and community in East Tennessee in the foothills of the Smokies, where my school sends students every spring. I came up this time as a chaperone. As I live among 13 young people for this short time, I'm challenged to hold the tension of living from one's ideals while often finding that the choices made don't come close to reflecting those. Like the young people I have accompanied, I live with the disorder of my own mind and life, wanting to live consistently within my ideals and com­ ing up short time and again. T his understanding does not jive well with my notion of being an cider.

The disconnect and discomfort in my own mind regarding elderhood is part of the generational gap and chasm that has existed for far too long. The young and old don't relate to one another enough by living and working close together: The segregation that started with industrialization and chil­ dren being put in schools that were away from their grandparents and par­ ents most of the day, and that were modeled after the factories the parents worked in, planted the seeds of a wisdom deficit that we keep bumping into and find no real way to address. We have become an uninitiated culture unaware of how to be. This is true of young people and of those who are not quite old but getting there.

These particular 13 students remind me in their youthful exuberance of wanting to be, and of being aware of life itself, of exploring the possibilities of living in a way that affirms rather than denies life. They are able to do this so freely and quickly as they step away from the constraints of the classroom and find themselves in a quiet space meant to invite awareness rather than distraction. When joining them at meals, it is clear as I hear them share that they also search for ways to live with the brokenness and disjointedness of life. Our lives are lived in the up-rootedness of urban spaces, where neigh­ borliness is often absent, where green spaces are islands engulfed not only by roads and buildings, but surrounded and steeped in the "always on" culture of social media and smartphones. What's different, it seems, for them is that their desire for wholeness has not yet spiraled down through the challenges

GENERATIONS CONNECT: VARIATION ON 'OM NAMAH SHIVAYA' 9

of living long enough to experience many of the obstacles inherent in exis­ tence itsel[ They haven't yet experienced the tendency that happens as we

grow older to give up or grow disillusioned and disheartened by the alienated culrure.

Narrow Ridge is named after a line in Martin Buber's book Between Man and Man (2002). It's a pertinent thought that can serve as a signpost for all of us: ''I do not rest on the broad upland of a system that includes a series of sure statements about the absolutes, but on a narrow, rocky ridge between the gulfs where there is no sureness of expressible knowledge but [only] the cer· tainty of meeting what remains, undisclosed" (Buber, 2002, p. 218).

The narrow ridge of which Buber and this place remind us is that tenuous spot where we meet all of life not as objects but as subjects. It's a tenuous

spot because we do not stay on the ridge easily. We walk it with great care and humility, honoring and becoming aware of the ultimate mystery of exis­ tence and life itself Too much effort or too much trying, and we fall off the ridge. Too little effort and too little awareness and the same thing happens. I'm not even sure that we can use the word tenuous. The narrow ridge is a point that seems out of reach for most. For me, I don't know if I'm on it for more than mere moments, and then off again.

On this particular day, without the use of a textbook or PowerPoint, my stu­ dents and I got a small glimpse of living in that balance and awareness, of living as Daniel Berrigan says in his introduction to Dorothy Day's autobiog­ raphy The Llmg Loneliness, of living" … as though the truth were true" (Day, 1981, p. xxiii). This happened as we walked up and down hills and saw and

heard the story of Narrow Ridge. We spent a couple of hours not only walk­ ing, but seeing first hand a physical manifestation of a vision where humans attempt to live in conscious awareness of their own place in the Universe. Through its relationship to the land, built structures, and governance, the Narrow Ridge community shows visitors how a small community tries to walk the ridge together, to navigate between a culture of mass consumption and one of great care.

As we walked, we visited with a number of the human residents of Narrow Ridge. Each offered us a part of their story. Each left us with a bit of the stir­ ring that happens within when we meet another person who has tried her best to live life in service, in love, in truth.

In the process with these 13, I was reconnected with the question of what happens when young and old gather to intentionally learn from one another. And all along the ridge, I'm thinking again and again about the lifeline of ancestors and my own role as an emerging lifeline to others. As often hap­ pens from these gatherings when we invite the ancestors, ourselves, and the young together on a journey, we learned the unexpected.

10 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

Near the end of our week at Narrow Ridge, we took a day trip to Eagan,just south of the Kentucky border. Eagan is a border town, on the margins so to speak, and as such has been a mining town since the early part of the twenti­ eth century. As we approached the town, it was clear to see that we were entering another America, one that was rich in beauty, culture, and so-called resources, but one that had been used as the source of cheap energy for more than I 00 years. All around us we could see the effects of coal extraction, sides of mountains cut in perfect angles, exposing veins of coal that were the remains of our prehistoric ancestors. Our bodies also knew we were in a dif­ ferent America. Many of us had difficulty breathing the air. It was as if the air had become heavy. In reality, the air was heavy with the coal dust of the mountain that was being removed right in front of our eyes.

The point of this trip was to visit the site of a mountain top removal. This is a euphemistic term for something much more gruesome. We were there to witness the decapitation of a mountain, a slow execution fueled by my own, our own, desire and need to cheaply power our modern way of life. I say cheaply because none of us have paid the full cost of the coal that has been extracted from the mountains there. But the mountain and the whole com­ munion of beings who call it home have and are paying the full price.

Eagan felt like a developing country where large landholders control most of the land and do with it what they will, even when this means that area resi­ dents suffer dearly with the poisons that are the detritus of extracting energy-either in the form of food (always in the form of some kind of monoculture) or of fossil fuel to keep the economy running.

It was raining on this day and what we could see was the torrents of brown runoff coming down from the side of the mountain. Every barren or almost barren hillside was a flowing river of milk-chocolate-colored water, all flow­ ing to the bottom where mountain streams brim with a cocktail of chemicals and dirt that kills most if not all of the fish and wildlife who call these streams home. The effects on humans of this runoff is equally disastrous as flash floods because the erosion is now commonplace. No trees on the mountain means no roots to hold the soil in place. We are an uprooted culture in so many different ways.

We tried getting to the top of where the coal company had removed the mountain, but we could not. The rain was too much and the road was

becoming impassable. Instead, our guide, Gary Garret, a resident of Eagan, an elder in training, and a volunteer at the Clearfolk Community Center, showed us a cemetery on the side of the road. It was the part of the mountain top that had not been carved out for coal. The cemetery stripped of the mountain all around was left as an island of the dead, a monument to short­ sightedness on all levels. That it had not been carved out like everything else

For the youth in the group, the anxiety and questions of what to do with the

gift of life in light of the enormity of the challenges before us, how to live in a world that feels out of sorts in its speed, focus, and ultimate goals were offered as the base of much of the conversations during the week. The elders and elders in training, who clearly did not have any specific answers to these heartfelt questions, but, who, because of the grace of sometimes living with some awareness, could point out sign posts that have kept them close to the narrow ridge. The opportunity to be in communion with these young people served as a balm for the achiness of spirit that too often plagues those who have awakened from the dominant culture's hypnotic spell to merely consume and forget. For me, and I suspect for the others above 40 in the group, coming together to enter into dialogue with young people offered the blessing of renewal, a reminder to remain vulnerable, open, and strong all at once.

Walking the narrow ridge in this regard has something to do with that blessed space that is described by many spiritual traditions as sensing the divine presence not in some far off place but in the midst of the current time with its mixture of beauty along with the oppression, hurt, and ugliness of a

12 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

human constructed system bent on domination of the many for the benefit of the few. Walking the narrow ridge is a movement from disconnection to communion and awareness.

-7hen together we face the youthful not knowing, the pain of the current moment, and the elder's understanding of the inherent incompleteness of all of our efforts, we can sense, if there is honesty and grace in the container of sharing, that we offer one another what is needed. We bring ourselves with all of our limitations into a space of healthy interrogation of life's ambiguity.

Any uncertainty about the future becomes an entry point to the mystery that all we need is right before us, that we are the ones we have been look­ ing for all along. In this meeting place, or narrow ridge, the now of this moment allows all of us, young and old, to be fully ourselves and stop the continuous effort to cover over our inherent qualities as Homo sapi,ens, a species among many, a species with a deep desire to reflect upon its own place in the family of life.

As I look back at my own teaching life, I realize that my development and growth as a teacher often takes off as I enter or create the kinds of diverse communities where the old and young come together in a spirit of listening and sacred sharing. These communities have never been committees. They have always involved effort in either joining or creating them. Sometimes they emerge suddenly and with great force. Their intensity brightens up the path for all who participate. They exist in the margins, in moments-lasting

long enough to serve as reminders to all who are there to witness to wake up to possibility, empathy, and action.

Over the years, this practice of not just stepping outside of the classroom but outside of the philosophical underpinnings of a schooling system based on transaction and objectification, has served to bring me back to myself as a learner, a seeker, and one who wants to live with integrity. Interestingly, I have been able to experience this not only outside of the physical structure of schools such as a place like Narrow Ridge, but also even within the walls of my own institution, that I sometimes in frustration and playfulness call Rockland, the psychiatric hospital in Ginsberg's "Howl" ( 1956).

I point this out, because the magic of this time in Narrow Ridge had more to do with this community container than the actual place. The container can be created anywhere, even in the midst of systemic craziness. I believe that the narrow ridge Buber describes is any space where such gatherings of the young and the elder as well as peers can emerge with integrity; we need these to help us find our way and balance. I know I need these to find my heart and soul when both become opaque or clouded over.

GENERATIONS CONNECT: VARIATION ON "OM NAMAH SHIVAYA" 13

I started this essay with a short poem inspired by an ancient chant to Shiva, the Hindu deity associated with creation and destruction. I did so honoring the pattern within me of creation and destruction. The poem is a reminder that all is not lost. When we find ourselves in the rubble and off the ridge, we have work to do. In this precious and precarious time, the need to connect old and young and form diverse communities of wisdom is not optional because these communities are the medium and the narrow ridges by which and in which all that is vulnerable and truthful can take root, emerge, reach for the sky, and create anew.

References

Buber, M. (2002). &tween Man and Man. London: Routledge Classics. p. 218.

Day, D. (1981). Tiu /Jmg l.lJnelinw (Reprint Edition, ed.). New York, NY: Harper and Row. p. Xxiii.

Smith, H. A. Early Reminiscences. Number Ten. Scraps from a Diary. Chief Seattle: A Gentleman by Instinct – His Native Eloquence. Etc., Etc. Seattl.e Sunday Star, October 29, 1987, p. 3. Retrieved April 21, 2015 from http:// courses.washington.edu/ spcmu/ speeches/ chiefseattle.htm

Chapter 2

– � . .

mind and managed to layer, i n all due time, into mine.

In all due time, two and one-half years later, in the early darkness of a win­ ter evening in February 1963,Jimmy Travis slips behind the wheel and Ran­ dolph Blackwell crowds me into the front seat of a SNCC Chevy as we leave the Greenwood Voter Registration Office. We were to drive from Green­ wood to Greenville on U.S. 82 straight across the Mississippi Delta. Jimmy zigzagged out of town to escape an unmarked car that had been circling the office, but as we headed west on 82, the car spots us, trails us, and sweeps past near the turn off for Valley State, firing a hailstorm of bullets. Jimmy cries out, slumps over; I reach over, grab the wheel, fumble for the brakes; we glide off the icy highway, snuggle into the ditch-a bullet-tattooed

1 A keynote address written and delivered by Bob Moses at Emory University, Atlanta, GAJanuary 20, 2015. 2 A series of bus trips through the American South to protest segregation in interstate bus terminals, begun in 1961 by African-American and white civil rights activists. 3 Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee of the Southern Freedom Movement.

15

16 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

Chevy, windows blown away, a hole in Jimmy's neck. 1963, the year that began with a grease gun terrorist highway attack, ended with the assassina­ tion of a President. First-class black insurgents were not the only ones paying dues.

This is a talk about an abstract American idea, the American concept of a Constitutional Person-a talk to help make that invisible abstraction visible. America's Constitutional people need outfits, clothes, so they can be seen in the stories we Americans carry in our heads about who we are, where we are, and where we are headed: This, therefore, is a talk about the American Lived Constitution.

The concept of Constitutional People is everywhere in America's ongoing story. Over 156 years ago, on June 16, 1858, in front of 1,000 delegates to the Republican State Convention in Springfield Illinois, a candidate to be Senator of lliinois opened his talk with these words: ''Mr. President and Gen­ tlemen of the Convention: If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and how to do it" (Lincoln 1858)

we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and how to do it" (Lincoln 1858)

But flash forward for a moment to the words of another citizen and president. In 1988, when Kingman Brewster died,

4 it fell to Sam Chauncey' to say how Kingman should be remembered and to plan a memorable space in the Grove street cemetery where all presidents of Yale rest. Sam designed a low black marble wall to enclose Kingman's grave. On it he etched two sentences that encapsulate the interface between constitutional and common law; two sentences to illuminate how, on planet Earth, the ocean of lore humans inherit ought to instruct and inform the constitutional law humans create: "The presumption of innocence is not just a legal concept. In com­ mon sense terms it rests on that generosity of spirit which assumes the best, not the worst, of the stranger"6 (Carter, 1999, p. 292).

Now lurch backward in time. In 1749, A West African boy, nine years old and captured, sailed the middle passage to Virginia and survived. In August of that year, a Scottish born merchant slave trader peered into the pluck of that nine year old and bought him. Up and coming Charles Stewart bought Somerset of West Africa to be his personal slave (Blumrosen 2005).

Twenty years pass, it's 1769. Stewart is 44; and Somerset, 29, accompanies him to London to help care for Stewart's sister's family when her husband

4 Diplomat, Harvard law professor, and President of Yale University, 1963-1977. 5 Admirustrator for Brewster, and son of Henry Chauncey, founder of Educational Testing Seivice. 6Tombstone inscription are words from Brewster's writings.

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR "WE THE PEOPLE" 17

dies. London is awash with Africans from the British Empire. Slaves and run• aways, beggars and workers, sea-goers and artisans, and Somerset, running

errands ever ywhere for his master, meeting blacks on the streets, in the stores, along the docks, makes a plan. He arranges a baptism, acquires English Godparents and flows, on October 1, 1771, into London's stream of Insur­ gent Runaway Slaves (Blumrosen, p. 10).

Charles Stewart, feeling "betrayed and publicly insulted," posted notices to get Somerset back. And on November 2, slave catchers deliver Somerset to a ship bound for Jamaica. Seven days later, Somerset's Godmother, Elisabeth Cade pays to petition the Court of Kings Bench for a writ of Habeas Corpus to release him (p. I 0).

Lord Mansfield, the Chief Justice, issues a writ requiring Captain Knowles

to explain the reason for detaining Somerset on the Anne & Mary vessel. Six days later, Somerset appears before the King's Bench with Captain Knowles, who declares: "Charles Stewart, a colonial from America, delivered his slave, Somerset, to be sold inJamaica" (p. 7). But Lord Mansfield releases Somer­ set pending a hearing, suggesting he be set free. West Indian planters, however, want a decision upholding slavery in Britain to keep prices stable in the commodities markets.

Lord Mansfield cautions them that if they think the question of great com­ mercial concern is the only method of settling the point in the future, they should prepare an application to Parliament. But Parliament, content to let the matter rest at the Kings Bench refused the merchants a hearing.

Onjune 22, 1772, while the clerk called the case of ''.James Somerset, a Negro on Habeas Corpus," Lord Mansfield, bewigged, the chief justice of the oldest and highest court in England, mounted the bench to deliver his judgment:

The state of slavery is of such a nature, that it is incapable of being intro­ duced on any reasons, moral or political …. It's so odious, that nothing can be suffered to support it but constitutional law. Whatever inconveniences, therefore, may follow from the decision, I cannot say this case is allowed o r approved b y the law o f England; a n d therefore t h e black must be discharged (p. 24).

So why did Slave Owner Stewart feel "betrayed and publicly humiliated?" Almost 200 years pass, and the matter at the heart of that matter resurfaces in a provocative letter that novelistjames Baldwin wrote in 1962 in a letter to his brother's son,James:

The crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen … that they have destroyed and are destroying hundreds of thousands of lives and do not know it and do not want to know it. One can be …. tough and philo­ sophical concerning destruction and death … But it is not permissible that

18 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

the authors of devastation should also be innocent. It is the innocence which constitutes the crime {Baldwin pp. 5-6).

It was then in 1772 as in 1963, a question of innocence. After all, saturated with the lore humans inherit, Stewart's generosity of spirit saw the "best'' not the "worst'' in a nine year old "personable" African stranger. But Stewart who could not clothe his personal property with English Common Law and imagine Somerset into a Constitutional Person, instead imagined himself, a slave owner, an innocent, a victim, "betrayed and publicly humiliated" by an abstraction.

F lash forward in history again. In 1960, after Jimmy caught that bullet in his neck, Snick7 regrouped to converge on Greenwood, and black sharecroppers lined up at the Court House to demand their right to vote. When Snick field secretaries were arrested, Burke Marshall, the Assistant Attorney General for Civil Rights under Robert Kennedy, removed our cases to the Federal District Court in Greenville and sentJohn Doar to be our lawyer. From the witness stand I looked out at a courtroom packed with black sharecroppers from Greenwood, hushed along its walls, packed onto its benches, and attended to the question put by Federal District Judge Clayton: "Why are you taking illiterates down to register to vote?" (Moses, 20 I 0)

Wrong question Judge: These delta blacks arc dressed up in their new outfits: constitutional clothes. Can you see them and incorporate them in the story you carry in your head about who they are, where they are, and where they are headed?

This conundrum of constitutional outfits, the ongoing dilemma about who gets to wear what constitutional clothes, surfaced at the 1 787 Constitu­ tional Convention, and resurfaces time and again: In Lincoln's House Divided speech; in Judge Clayton's question; in Ferguson; in the nation's theory of "undocumented "people"; in the national education conundrum of constitutional, but naked school children, sent to school, with no consti­ tutional clothes.

In all due time, we have circled back, in our story, to Abraham Lincoln, that 1858 Republican Senate candidate, who went on to invoke a House Divided: '' house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this govern­ ment cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved-I do not expect the house to fall-but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other" (Lincoln, 1858).

7 Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC)

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR •wE THE PEOPLE" 19

Don't be fooled, the conundrum of Lincoln's House Divided speech was not the Nation, the Union, nor the "it'' in ''It will become all one thing or the

other." Not even close: SNCC was on the witness stand a century later precisely because the country had figured a way around that "it." No, Lincoln's conun­ drum was that other two letter word, "We." At the 1787 Constitutional Con­ vention, James Madison rose to clarify the background that paved a path into Lincoln's conundrum. It seems now to be pretty well understood that the real difference of interests lay, not between the northern and southern states. The institution of slavery and its consequences formed the line of demarcation.

Move forward in time to April 1952. President Harry Truman, in the middle of the Korean war, declared that an impending steel strike ''would immedi­ ately jeopardize and impair our national defense" and ordered the secretary of commerce "to take possession of all or such of the plants, facilities, and

other property of the steel companies" (Truman 1952) as he may deem nec­ essary in the interest of national defense (Corwin 1953; Loftus 1952).

The Steel Seizure case, which followed Truman's declaration, culminated in a Supreme Court injunction prohibiting the secretary from obeying the pres­ ident's order. Six justices explained their reasons, separately, for deciding the order was unconstitutional. But the opinion of Justice Robert H.Jackson has most clearly withstood subsequent legal scrutiny:

The actual art of governing under our Constitution does not and cannot conform to judicial definitions of the power of any of its branches based on isolated clauses or even single Articles torn from context. While the

Constitution diffuses power the better to secure liberty, it also contemplates that practice will integrate the dispersed powers into a workable government (Clayton 2002 p. 69).

In advance of any practice, the founding fathers at the Constitutional Con­ vention of 1787, who contemplated the actual art of governing when the institution of slavery and its consequences formed the line of discrimination, faced a conundrum. While the 1787 Constitution contemplated a class of Constitutional People in its "We The People" Pre Amble, and diffused power, the better to secure their liberty, it also contemplated a class of Constitutional Property, outfits for Somerset's constitutional clothing desi gned as Article rv, Section 2, Paragraph 3: ''No person held to service or labor in one state, under the laws thereo� escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor is due" (Constitution). Thus, ''We the People" does not include slaves.

The Somerset clause contemplated a Constitution that diffused power-the better to secure slavery-because as James Madison understood only too

20 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

well, slavery was the indispensable practice required to integrate the dis­ persed powers into a workable government. Without slavery as its economic engine, the nation and the government were not "workable."

America, the land of democracy and freedom, is also a crime scene, the crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen …. We have the wolf of terrorism by the ear, and we can neither hold on to it, nor can we let it go; but it is not permissible that the authors of destruction should also be innocent. Weapons of mass destruction! It is the innocence which constitutes the crime.

For three quarters of a century, the Government of Constitutional People and Constitutional Property tried workability all the while, a Young People's Project, Africans, central actors in the Constitutional Drama, acting out, coming of age insurgencies, invisible, mutating viruses, popping up here and there, infecting the Constitutional Scene. Until, inevitably, in the persona of Dred Scott, the central character in the 1857 decision by Roger B. Taney, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, their project metastasizes into a cata­ lyst of mass destruction that divides Lincoln's House, sets into motion the War of the Constitutional People over Constitutional Property, and drops the curtain on America's first Constitutional era. The Era lurched to an end, but its conundrum refused to expire: Who were we, if "we" was still the problem?

Constitutional Era 2

The moon was quite young when the bell tolled, the young black men rushed into the chapel to get their guns and Margaret Caldwell, left home, her face

hid, stepped over a body lying in the street near a store, before going back home where her husband's brother's wife and three children cowered with

her against the sound of the white mob roaming the streets. There Margaret stayed until her minister came to bring the news that both husbands were dead, and he carried two bodies upstairs. Margaret's husband's body had to be tied together and the minister laid both bodies out to prepare for burial. I.ate that night the train from Vicksburg to Jackson stopped in Clinton and Modocs, traveling confederates imagining themselves into a tribe of wild Indi­ ans marched into the Caldwell house, threw open the windows, sang, danced, cursed, and challenged the two dead men to get up and meet them. It was a Thursday evening during the Christmas season in Clinton Mississippi; it was 187 5. The second Constitutional Era was getting underway.

Margaret's husband, Charles Caldwell had commanded the Negro militia company that marched in formation from Jackson to Edwards on October 9, 1875, carrying armaments for the militia company there. But Ohio's state

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR "WE THE PEOPLE" 21

elections were scheduled for October I 3, and Ohio Republicans sent a dele­ gation to Ulysses Grant, informing the President that if he sent troops to Mississippi, Ohio, "which had voted by a wide margin against ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment, 8 the state would fall to the Democrats. Grant sent no troops, but later told Lynch, the black senator from Mississippi, that "I made a grave mistake."

Republicans blinked: In 1875, President Grant yielding to the request of the Republican delegation, put into motion a practice that integrated America's dispersed powers into a workable government, the better to secure Jim Crow, slavery by another name (Blackmon 2008).

Democrats winked: In 1875, Redeemed, Democrats overthrew the Mississippi Government by terror, violence, and murder, and contemplated a written Constitution that diffused power the better to secure white supremacy, a practice which integrated dispersed powers into a workable government, the better for white people to secure freedom.

On a Thursday evening during the Christmas season of 1875, when the moon was quite young and the bells tolled, Margaret Caldwell, her face hid, stepped over the body of her husband Charles (Lemann 2006)

For the Presidential race of 1876, Rutherford Hayes, saved by Grant and reelected governor of Ohio, ran against Samuel Tilden, Democratic gover­ nor of New York. Terror and murder rampaged against black men across Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina and Florida, and when the election ended in a stalemate at the electoral college, a deal was cut: The Compro-

mise of 1877: The nation got a workable government: Hayes and the Repub­ licans got the Presidency, federal troops were withdrawn from the South, and white southerners established a political confederacy. The Nation finally knew who we were and whither we were tending and, therefore, better judged what to do and how to do it.

And the clarity of the "what and how" of those judgements sharply resonate when listening to Billy Holiday sing "Strange Fruit." Her ironic juxtaposition of words such as "southern breezes, gallant South, and sweet­ ness of magnolias" alongside the words that spoke to the lynching horror.; resulting in "bulging eyes, twisted mouths, and burning flesh" (Margolick 2000 p. 25) dramatically captured the contradictions of the perverted betrayals of Black people, sanctioned by corrupted government policies, both southern and national.

8 The 15th Amendment: "the right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude."

22 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

On Wednesday May 14, 1919, an article appeared on the front page of the Vicksburg Evening Post. It read in bold letters, "NEGRO ATTEMPTS RAPE

OF YOUNG WORKING GIRL." The name of the 22 year old alleged, attempted rapist was Lloyd Clay, a young black man who worked as a day laborer. The young working girl, it later turned out, had a secret older white man as her lover, who ran from the room she rented when discovered by the landlord. He fled to his black chauffeur whom he hired to take his lover on midnight drives. Confronted later, the chauffeur, and two other black men hauled into the Jackson jail, told the entire story to the authorities. All three men were released and told to leave the state (Clay 1919).

The crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen.

Sheriff Frank Scott, W M. Hudson and Deputy Charley Gantt used blood­

hounds to track down the would-be rapist. The dogs initially led them to a white man, but a second attempt brought them to the A and V Railroad Sta­ tion where they arrested Lloyd Clay.

That they have destroyed and are destroying hundreds of tJwusands of lives

After the white townsfolk heard that an arrest had been made, white men and boys began to gather at the Warren County jailhouse. Immediately after Clay was arrested, Mattie Hudson's father took her into town to pick out her assailant from a lineup of several black men. As Hudson stood before the lineup, she stated assuredly that none of the men there had attacked her and none had entered her room ( 1919).

And do not know it and da not want to know it.

Around 8:00 p.m. a mob used blow torches and a 16 foot piece of railroad iron to break down the jailhouse doors and bend open the iron jail cell bars. About 40 men made their way past Sheriff Scott and twelve of hi.s deputies as they took Clay from his cell. The mob tied Clay up, placed him in a truck, drove him a short distance from where Mattie Hudson boarded, and demanded that Hudson identify Clay as her assailant On the third day she did (1919).

It ir not permirsib/,e that the autlwrs ef destruction should a/,so be innocent.

Clay's burnt to crisp remains were placed in a plain wooden box. Early the next morning the coroner contacted Hattie Clay, Lloyd's mother who con­ sented to have his remains interred in a cemetery for paupers, misfits and "bad" Negroes. Neither family nor friends escorted Clay's body to his final resting place. The city paid the total cost of his funeral, 15 dollars ( 1919).

Between 1882 and I 930 Mississippi lynched over 700 young black men: Rounding the numbers, for a half a century, 50 years or 600 months, on average, every six months, seven black men were Mississippi lynched, or, for

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR •wE THE PEOPLE" 23

50 years, on average, every year 14 black men were Mississippi lynched (-lal­ drep 2005). OnJune 13, 2005, the U.S. Senate issued a formal apology for innocence, that it never criminalized lynching, but Trent Lott and Thad Cochran, Mississippi's Republican and Democrat Senators retained their innocence and did not sign (Lemann 2006).

It is tlu innccence which constitutes tlu crime.

On March 30, 1908, Green Cottenham was arrested by the sheriff of Shelby County, Alabama, and charged with "vagrancy." After three days behind bars, 22 year-old Cottenham was found guilty . . . and immediately sen­ tenced to a 30-day term of hard labor. Unable to pay the array of fees … Cottenham's sentence was extended to nearly a year of hard labor. The next day, under a standing arrangement between the county . . . and U. S. Steel … Cottenham was sold and the sheriff turned him over to Tennessee Coal, Iron and Railroad Company, a subsidiary, for the duration of his sen­ tence. The Company gave the county S 12 a month to pay off Cottenham's fine and fees, sent him to the Pratt Mines on the edge of Birmingham. Green Cottenham toiled under the lash with 1000 other black men in "Slope# 12." Slaves in all but name, almost sixty of the men died of disease, accidents or homicide before the year was over: Green Cottenham was dead from disease after five months (Blackmon 2008 p. 1-2).

In our first Constitutional era, 1787 to 1865, young black men suffered nei­ ther prison cell nor the lynch mob. They were Constitutjonal Property. Dur­ ing our second Constitutional era, 1875 to 1954, young black men were routinely rounded up for vagrancy and imprisoned briefly for debt, before being conscripted to work in a system of involuntary servitude. They were Constitutional People turned back into Constitutional Property.

We can thank Douglas Blackmon, who grew up in Greenville Mississippi and is the former Atlanta Bureau Chief of the Wall Street Journal, for the book, Slavery by Another Name-. Tu re-enslavement of Black Americans .from the Civil War to World War II. His story of tens of thousands of black youth criminal­ ized for walking the railroad tracks, charged with vagrancy, jailed for non-employment, conscripted to die in the coal mines should shake the conscience of the nation. In his book, Blackmon threw a searchlight on Circular 3591 issued by Attorney General Francis Biddle on Dec. 12, 1941, a wrective that ruptured the illusion that slavery had ended in America. And it warned the legal community that any person or entity who violated the 13th Amendment "would be prosecuted as a criminal":

It is the purpose of these instructions to direct the attention of the United State Attorneys to the possibilities of successful prosecutions stemming from alleged peonage complaints which have heretofore been considered inadequate to invoke federal jurisdiction. It is requested that the spelling

24 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

out of peonage be deferred in favor of building the cases around the issue of involuntary servitude and slavery disregarding entirely the element of debt (Blackmon, pp 377-78).

All the Civil Rights Movements of the 20th Century took place against the background of WWI and WWII and the insurgencies of colonial peoples across the planet for political voice. African Americans, an internal colonial

people during this era, mounted their own insurgencies for political voice. No wonder Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor galvanized President Franklin Roosevelt to seek an end to the conscription of black men into involuntary servitude and slavery; as soldiers he needed them ready to answer Japan's sure to come question: "Why are you, black soldiers, over here fighting us?"

In Clarksdale, as World War II got under way, black day-laborers could "go

at six in the morning to the corner of Fourth and Issaquena streets … trucks from the plantations would appear at the corner. The drivers would get out and announce their pay scales. The Hopson place always paid at the high end of the going rate" (Lemann 1991 p. 71 ). In the fall of 1944 an estimated 3,000 people gathered at the Hopson plantation outside of Clarksdale to watch eight bright red machines pick forty-two acres of cotton. Richard

Hopson ran the plantation office and the previous spring he had penned a letter urging all the plantation owners in the Delta to "change as rapidly as possible from sharecropping to complete mechanized farming … to alleviate the Negro problem" (p. 71 ).

Three years later, David Cohn, a literary lawyer put the following dilemma to the Nation: "Five million people will be removed from the land within the next few years. They must go somewhere. But where? They must do some­ thing. But what? They must be housed. But where is the housing?" (Lemann 1991 p. 51). In December 1946, the Chicago housing authority moved a few black families into a new housing project called Airport Homes, which was in a white neighborhood on the Southwest side. The housing authority pro­

ceeded with some care: it obtained the blessing of the mayor; it carefully screened the black families; it moved them in during working hours, when the men in the neighborhood were away. Still more than 1,000 whites gath­ ered to 'greet' the black families. The mayor had to send in four hundred policemen to maintain order; the rioting went on and, finally, after two weeks the black families moved out, back across the housing color line (p. 51 ).

Ten years later, after the 1954 Supreme Court decision, 'Willis wagons" maintained the school color line:

It is obvious in retrospect that the established black neighborhoods were far too small to hold all the black people coming into Chicago Ueaving Mississippi's plantations] but [the Mayor's] efforts were directed at finding ways to maintain

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR •wE THE PEOPLE" 25

the color line. His school superintendent [Ben Willis] was immediately faced with the problem of severe overcrowding in the black schools. Instead of integrating the adjacent and usually half-empty white schools, Wtllis put the black schools on double shifts, eight to noon and noon to four, and installed what blacks called "Wtllis Wagons"-trailers converted into temporary classrooms-in their playgrounds, thereby creating an urban equivalent of the inferior rural black school systems of the South (Lemann 1991, p. 91 ).

I agree with you that there is a natural aristocracy among men. The grounds of this are virtue and talents …. May we not even say that that form of government is the best which provides the most effectually for a pure selection of these natural aristoi into the offices of government? (Lemann I 999 p. 4 3)

So Thomas Jefferson wrote to John Adams in 1813. Adams sent his reply later that year: November 15, 1813:

Your distinction between natural and artificial aristocracy does not appear to me well founded … both artificial aristocracy, and monarchy, and civil, military, political and hierarchical despotism, have all grown out of the nat· ural aristocracy of virtues and talents. Vie, to be sure, are far remote from this. Many hundred years must roll away before we shall be corrupted.Our pure, virtuous, public-spirited federative republic will last forever, govern the globe and introduce the perfection of man. . . . Your distinction between the aristoi and the pseudo aristoi will not help the matter. I would trust one as soon as the other with unlimited power (Lemann 1999 p. 46).

flash forward: At the October 29, 1947 meeting of the College Board, the admissions deans who made up the usual attendance at College Board Meet­ ings, were astonished to sec James Bryant Conant, President of Harvard, in all his magnificence, as well as the presidents of Princeton, Cornell and Brown (p. 64). Conant had assembled all these "grandees" to persuade the deans that the old dispensation of the College Board was at an end; it was to merge with ACE, the American Council of Education and prepare for the creation of ETS, the Educational Testing Seivice. George Zook, head of the ACE, also headed President T ruman's Commission on Higher Education. Zook submitted his report to the President less than two months later on

December 11, 194 7, a clarion call to expand American Higher Education:

• The num ber of students enrolled in institutions of higher education by 1960 should be 4.6 million-triple what it had been in 1940.

• A third of every age cohort should graduate from college. • Government should substantially finance this expansion by paying for students'

tuitions: the first two years of college should be entirely free.

All discrimination in higher education, especially against Negroes, should be vigorously stamped out (Lemann 1999).

26 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

The deans had met two weeks earlier and voted the merger down; they just didn't understand, the deal had already been settled. The question was who

would run ETS: Conant via the College Board or Zook, via ACE. Exactly one week after the Zook report was submitted, ETS was chartered with Henry Chauncey a Harvard dean, as president, and Conant as chairman of the Board. The aristocracy was still in charge.

In the aftermath of WWII, in 1948, the nation established universal draft registration to be administered by the Selective Service System, and debated the wisdom of draft-deferment tests for college students. Then on June 25, 1950, North Korea invaded South Korea and Henry Chauncey saw the potential of a Bull Market for his company, ETS, and its products-tests. On March 19, 1951, the Selective Service System signed a contract with ETS to test up to one million college students. Chauncy insisted the test not be called an IQ test: the ability revealed by this test is more properly called "scholastic aptitude," he asserted, the ability to do well in school or college. He devised a scoring system that would bring to mind school grades rather than mental testing: The median score would be 50 and the deferment cut-off, 70. Secu­ rity at the testing sites matched the life and death matter of the tests. All test­ takers were finger printed and the FBI helped to guard the sites. There was the slight issue of one low scoring demographic: Southerners: Only 42 per­ cent made the cutoff score of 70 as against 73 percent of New Englanders. What to do? Establish affirmative action based on regional cut-off scores? Better to keep quiet and, therefore innocent, about the nation's educational line of discrimination and its life and death quota tied to cut-off scores

(Lemann 1999 p. 72-76).

Zook's vision lost the government did not turn universities into extended versions of public school-free to all, the same for all. But so did Conant's vision lose. Conant had wanted to replace a system of higher education based on upper class aristocrats with a system based on Jefferson's "natural aristocrats." But for that to work, "It was essential that people accept this new elite as deserving, selfless, valuable, and dedicated to the public good." To Conant "the spectacle of well-to-do college men being deferred from required military service, to the great resentment of everyone else, under a transparently trumped-up justification, was deeply disturbing." But the test­ ing went smoothly; two-thirds of the takers made the cut-off; the Pentagon found it useful; and soon enough so did universities. The nation set up ETS and the "project of picking just the right aristocrats" (Lemann p. 346).

In the late fifties, Conant took a close look at the nation's public high schools, and in 1961, the same year I retur ned to Mississippi to work for SNCC on

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR "WE THE PEOPLE" 27

Amzie's voter registration program, Conant published a book, Slums and Suburbs, in which he made the following admission:

As I read the history of the U. S., this republic was born with a congenital defect-Negro slavery. Or, if one prefers another metaphor, w,: started life under a curse from which we are not yet free. After the victory of the North … the people of the U. S. through their duly elected representatives in Congress acquiesced for generations in the establishment of a tight caste system as a substitute for Kegro slavery. As we now recognize so plainly, but so belatedly, a caste system finds its clearest manifestation in an educational system (Conant 1961 p. 8-11 ).

Conant recognized too little too late.

When the first Constitutional Era had lurched to a close, Stephen Douglas, not Abraham Lincoln, trumpeted "of, by and for the people" in the debate over popular sovereignty versus slavery. So, here is "We The People, one man-one vote," Douglas:

To throw the force of the Federal Government into the issue, either in favor of the free or the slave states would violate the fundamental principles of the Constitution and run the risk of civil war. T he only hope of holding the country together … is to agree to disagree, to respect the right of each state and each territory to decide these questions for themselves (Lincoln­ Douglas Debates 1858).

And here is "No one has a Right to do Wrong," Lincoln:

Any man can advocate political neutrality who does not see anything wrong in slavery, but no man can logically say it who does see a wrong in it … Douglas contends that whatever community wants slaves has a right to have

them. So they have it if it is not a wrong. But if it is a wrong, he cannot say people have a right to do wrong" (Debates, 1858).

In 1964, SNCC had no idea how its work, with MFDP to confront the National Democratic Party and the Nation at the Democratic Convention that year in Atlantic City, was 'dead on' history's mark. In a twentieth-cen­ rury version of the nineteenth cenrury Lincoln-Douglas debate, Fannie Lou

Hamer rose before the Credentials Committee to emphatically interrogate her nation: ''I question America! Is this America?" (Brooks 2011 p. 43).

And there, in Atlantic City were PresidentJohnson, Martin Luther KingJr, Walter Reuther and Bayard Rustin, talking like Stephen Douglass, trumpet­ ing popular sovereignty: To throw the force of the National Democratic Party into the issue, either in favor of the MFDP or the Mississippi Regulars, as those four saw it, would violate fundamental principles of the Party and

28 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

run the risk of destroying it. Thinking like Douglas, they assumed that the only hope of holding the party together … was "to agree to disagree, to respect 'the right of the people of each state to decide these questions for themselves."

Yet here are the MFDP and SNCC talking like Lincoln: Any person can advocate political neutrality who does not see anything wrong inJim Crow Politics, slavery by another name. But no person can logically say it, who does see a wrong in it … They contend that whatever state wants Jim Crow Politics has a right to work it out in their state. So they have it, if it is not a wrong. But if it is a wrong they cannot say a state has a right to do wrong.

The 1941 Attorney General Circular 3591, 'A'WII veterans like Amzie, who came back to a purpose, the 1954 Supreme Court decision, the Montgomery

bus boycott, the sit-in movement, the full blown Civil Rights Movement, all signaled an end to America's second Constirutional Era. Certainly the Mis­ sissippi Theater of that movement rang the curtain on Mississippi's eighty­ nine year reign, 187 5 to 1964 as a one party white Democratic state. Moreover, as quiet as it's kept, that effort rang the curtain on the national political party arrangements put into play in the years 1875 to 1877 when Republicans blinked and Democrats winked.

Agriculrure dominated the economic arrangements of the first Constiru­ tional Era, 1787 to 1865, Industrial machine technology dominated the sec­ ond, 1875 to 1954, and Information computer technologies dominate the third, 1965 and into the twenty-first cenrury.

In the first era, Mississippi whites home schooled their offspring or sent them to private schools and on to Princeton and/or the University of Virginia; black slaves learned to read, if at all, on their own dime and at great risk.

In the second era, Conant opened up Harvard and elite Universities to pub­ lic school students, but nothing interrupted sharecropper education. Share­ cropper students, the progeny of slaves, got the education appropriate to their caste and its pre-assigned work.

In all due time, in 1970, ten years after Conant published Slums and Suburbs, as the nation transitioned into its third Constitutional Era, the Supreme Court required Mississippi to begin the integration of its public school system. That same year the nation began a forty year documentation of education that included data about four year college graduation. Bad news for Conant and Jefferson. Their vision of a meritocratic national education system producing America's natural aristocrats, had gone South, unless, that is, we agree that the Universe distributes intelligence disproportionately to the wealthy: In 1970, 40 percent of students from the upper quartile of the nation's economic

The Pre Amble opens up a constirutional space: "We The People" did not mean "vle the President, We the Congress, or We the Supreme Court." It couldn't since none existed at the writing of that document. Neither is it "We the Citizens," for, there was no nation in 1787 for which allegiance could be pledged. If the Pre Amble had begun, "We The Citizens of the several States," we would have a very different America. But it didn't. "Vve The Peo­ ple" invites everyone living in America, who takes it as their home, into the

Constirutional Conversation.

Zook's vision to uplift and universalize into college the reach of Public School Education is the more appropriate vision for this Constirutional Era, the age of knowledge work. The Conant-Jefferson vision of a narural elite based on meritocracy lost out to the Market-based education: Get as much education as money can buy. Even so, "We the People" lies there, biding its time, waiting for its insurgents. Let's lift it up and try to feel its force. Please, say it after me:

"We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constirution for the United States of America."

The presumption of innocence is not just a legal concept. In common sense terms it depends on that generosity of spirit, which seeks the best, not the worst, in the stranger.

30 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

References

A new majority research bulletin: Low income students now a majority in the nation's public schools (2015). Southern Education Foundati.on. http:/ /www. southerneducation.org/Our-Strateg ies/Research-and-Publicatio ns/ New-Majority-D iverse-Majority-Report-Series/ A-New-Majority-2015- Update-Low-Income-Students-Now

Baldwin, J. (I 963). My dungeon shook: Letter to my nephew on the one hundredth anniversary of the Emancipation. Th .foe next ti.me. New York: Vintage Books.

Blackmon, D. A. (2008). S/,avery o/ another name: Th re-ensl.avement of Black Americans.from the Civil Uiir to World War II. New York: Anchor Books, Random House,Inc.

Blumrosen, A. W and Blumrosen, R. G. (2005). Sl.ave nation: How slavery uniJed the colonies and sparked the American &volution. Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks. Chapter l .

Brooks, M. P. and Hauck, D. (2011 ) . The speeches of Fannie Lo u Hamer: To tell it like it is.Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi.

Carter, S. (1999). Civil�: Manners, Morals and the Etiquette of Democracy (New York: Harper Press).

Clay, a Negro charged with attempted rape, hanged and burned. ( 1919) Vicksburg Evening Post, May 17; Vicksburg Dai[y Herald, May 18.

Clayton, C. W. The Supply and Demand Sides of Judicial Policy-Making (Or, Why Be so Positive about the Judicialization of Politics?) Law and Conumporary Problems Vol. 65, No. 3, The Law of Politics (Summer 2002), pp. 69-85. Published by: Duke University School of Law. Stable URL: http:/ hV¼WJstor.org/stable/ 1192403 Page Count: 17

Conant,J. B. (1961). Slums and Suburbs. New York: Signet Books. (p. 8-11)

Constitution. Transcript. http://www.archives.gov/ exhibits/ charters/ constitution_transcript.html

Corwin, E. S. (1953). The Steel Seizure Case: A Judicial Brick without Straw. Columhia Law Reuiew (Columbia Law Review Association, Inc.) 53 (!): 53-66.

Lincoln, A. "House Divided Speech." June, 16, 1858. Abraham Lincoln H istorical Society. http://www.abraham-lincoln-history.org/house-divided/ and http:/ /www.pbs.org/wgbh/ aia/part4/ 4h2934t.html

CONSTITUTIONAL ERAS FOR •wE THE PEOPLE" 31

Lemann, N. (2006). Redemption: The last battle of /Ju Civil War. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

Lemann, N. (1991). Tiu Promised Land: The Great Blm:k Migration and how it changed America. New York: Vmtage Books.

Lemann, N. (1999). The Big Test: The Secret History of tlu American Meritocrag. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

Lofrus,J. Court is Uncertain of Truman's Power to Take over Steel. New York Times. April 25, 1952.

Margolick, D. (2000) Strange Fruit· Billie Holuiay, Cqfl Society, and an Ear[y Cry for Ciuil Rights. Philadelphia: Running Press pp. 25-27.

Mortenson, Thomas. (2014). Unequal Family Income and Unequal Higher Education Opportunity, 1970 to 2013. Postsecondary Eduauional Opportuni/y. no. 267, Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education, Washington DC, September. http:/ /www.postsecondary.org

Moses, R. P. (2010). Constitutional property v. constitutional people. Quality Education as a Constitutional Right: Creating a grassroots movement to transform public schools. Theresa Perry, Bob Moses, Joan VVynne, Lisa Delpit, Ernie Cortez (Eds). Boston: Beacon Press.

The Lincoln Douglas Debates of 1858. Lincoln Home: National Historic Site. http://www.nps.gov/liho/learn/historyculture/debates.htm.

Chapter 3

Time and time again, we arc told by prophets and sages that the ocean of bliss for us is not somewhere else, rather within our hearts. The obstacles and impediments arc all the delusions and illusions that we create and hold, that take us away from seeking within. These blockages, however, are not curses to fight against, but gifts which call out to us to awaken and surrender to the grace of the present moment, a grace possible to find even when feeling lost i n the noise of hegemony.

Reference

Berry, W. (2011 ). Standing by words: Essqys. San Francisco: Counterpoint Press (p. 97).

Nature as home •••

antidote to war

by Matthew Rubenstein

B eing rooted to me isn't as easy as naming a person or talking about the house where I was raised. For me, roots are both physical and blood related. From the giant oak trees penetrating the limestone founda­

tion to the mangroves that soak their roots in the crystal clear waters of Flor­ ida Bay, my roots lie within the South Florida wilderness and the people with whom I share it. From the hiking and camping, to sight fishing and lobster­ ing, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't drift back "home." Over my 30 years, breathtaking scenery, adrenaline-filled moments, and hard lessons learned from long tired nights have washed inside me. Along the way, I've shared those soulful saturations with the people whose passions are the same as mine, creating life-long friendships and memories.

From as long as I can remember, I have always been different. I wasn't like

most kids. I didn't want to play video games; and as I got older, I didn't want to fill my nights with drinking and the club scene. I was always drawn to

– –

adventure and the o utdoors, exploring the Everglades and the expanses of untouched wilderness. It's where I first learned a significant lesson in life, Respect! Like all of life, Nature deserves respect. It is delicate and needs to be taken care of-from the animals that call it home to the plants to the weather. If I take care of it, it seems to find ways to take care of me. In a time when technology has taken over, and all emotion is received in an emoji, left to decipher in an email or text, Nature is real. It teaches me to pay atten­ tion to all the little details, how to read it, and how to approach its multitude of species. In the everglades if I misjudge something or disrespect it, I will end up paying for it, for nature makes me accountable for my actions. Today, people often don't reprimand or give honest feedback for transgressions. But Nature does, if we stop to listen.

T he family I have built around this outdoor haven of mine always seems to last. Many of us have some friends that come and go, but I enjoy the few

35

36 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

special ones, who are the staples in my life, who seem to have developed from my experiences in the "great outdoors." From father figures, to brothers and

sisters, to my love life, I have found everything I need in the outdoors.

My father left my family when I was nine years old, and my mother gave it her all. She worked hard and provided my sister and me with everything we needed . I never really had a father, but my best friend's father was kind enough to provide me some opportunities and life lessons in the outdoors, experiences that led me to become bonded with animals, trees, plants, water, rocks, other people who share the same values. The bonds of Nature and of those human relationships inextricably bound me to a joy and sometimes to a solitude that keeps me alive.

The roots of the outdoors has such a deep hold on me; I have often turned to

it for healing. At the age of 19, I joined the Army and got the opportunity to travel and see the world. Yet I was also deployed to Afghanistan, to an area where I conducted mission after mission to ensure, the Army claims, that our freedoms are kept, and that my family never has to worry about terror step­ ping foot on our soil. With this responsibility came great sacrifice, and the first place I went each time I came home was straight back where I really am free, the natural world.

While deployed in Afghanistan, I lost my best friend. Every time we had shared some "down time" together, we had shared stories of hunting and fishing. It was our way to escape and dream of the days when we would be back home and wake up to the fall breezes and the crisp air-all the signs

– – – that hunting season would be upon us once again. We shared stories and

pictures and planned future trips. Neither one of us knew that our last evening together would be his last evening. I longed then for those Everglades, for them to soothe my soul.

Every year there will be a day in a hunt when I just sit back and reflect on the days my friend, my comrade in arms, and I shared together. Each memory brings me a desire to be living my life to his expectations. And I reach back to family and the outdoors. They are the constant in my healing process-a healing demanded by war, its memories, its losses, and its aftermath. And anytime I need to step back and slow things down, and see the world from a different perspective, I go straight back to my roots.

Those roots ground me in what matters most in life. It's often easy to get caught up in day to day struggles, and forget to slow down and live. Working, seeking a degree, taking care of relationships–! can sometimes lose my foot­ ing, shake my roots. Growing up in nature helps me see that as fast as we come into this world, we can just as easily be removed from it. I also learned that lesson serving in Afghanistan. We can spend most of our time trying to

NATURE AS HOME … ANTIDOTE TO WAR 37

hide from life, yet in reality life, both vicious and gentle, will find us. Neither does Nature hide reality. If observed closely, listened tu attent.ivdy, it can offer wisdom, solace, terror, and joy. Hopefully, when it is my time to go, I can retreat back to my roots and watch the sun set for the last time. But if I can't, like most of us, I hope I will have lived my life to the fullest and will take my last breath with no regrets.

PART2

Develop the genius within the young

A teacher seeks to develop the genius within the young so that each can arrive at his or her destination-the

sharing of one's gifts within the community.

-TM H•aling Wisdom of Afr/u,

Despite the rhetoric,

teachers and students are succeeding

by Eric Cooper1

I n his important new book, Dog Whistle Rl/iJics: How Codtd RaeiaJ APfitals HtJJJt Reuwmltd Racism and l#tcktd /ht Middle Class, author Ian Haney Lopez defines "dog whistle politics" as veiled references meant to "care­

fully manipulate hostility toward nonwhites" rather than deal honestly with the racial issues of our time.

American public education is full of these high-pitched battles. Privatizing schools because too many (poor minority) children "fail" to be educated by public systems is one. Another "failure" is that urban (read: "minority") parents are not interest ed in their children's e ducation. Frankly, having spent sign ificant time working with urban schools and parents, I have never met a parent (whether in Harlem, Chicago, Boston, Seattle, Newark, D.C., San Francisco, or Los Angeles) who is not passionately concerned about the success of a child. Instead, I've met single-parent mothers who hold two or three jobs, worlcing six or sometimes seven days a week just to stay slightly above the poverty level. They are some of my heroes, but in spite of their relentless perseverance, they remain untapped resources in a move• ment for change.

Teachers are demonized as ''failures" in the classroom. Fortunately for all of us, more and more are banding together as agents for justice by believing in the inherent capacity of all students, and seeking strategies and instructional pathways to improve student performance through professional development and collaborative lcarnin&

42 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

To add to this narrative, I share an experience from Newark through the words of Dr. Alexis Leitgeb2, a superintendent in a small Midwest school

community and a consulting mentor at the National Urban Alliance (NUA) for Effective Education:

In one of the K-8 schools, I wa.s in charge of teacher proflssumal devewpment. On one particular dqy, a teacher asked me to come to her classroom because she was struggling with classroom management. In her classroom was an African-American middle-school student named Amos. I observed immediate{y that the students Wert not focused on the teacher's presentation and a lot of teaching ti.me was lost. The teacher is very hard working, capable and passionate, bui, at the time, did not have the help needed to be effective with this partic­ ular class of students. As a consequence, with every visit to that school, I taught the class to demonstrate for the teacher how to engage students through lessons I modeled.

The students started out unengaged in the learning process and chaos was the order of the day, even with the best efforts of the school staff Througlwut the year, more and more teachers began to engage in the proflssional development we offered, and were always surprised when their students were focused on the suqject matter I demonstrated and mod£ledfor their teachers.

Amos, in the back of the classroom, consistent{y struggled with writing and speaking.

A student mentor program was implemented, and it wa.s here that I became cwse to Amos. He was a natural for NUA's student-voice initiative, where students become teachers awng with their teachers. Amos sww{y rose to the top as the leader of the student project. He became so enthusiastic over time that he asked if he could create a website so teachers could

read what wa.s taUPht duriTUJ mv sessions. brainstorm id£as for strUP11liTIP students. and find

– . .

a ca/,endar whoe they could sign up to have a student menlbr demonstrate pedagogi,cal strat- egies in their classroom. J,1,e received approval.from the school and administratwn and Amos took off on his own. J1t7ien he did not flel enough teachers had signed up, Amos took the cal.endar around to teachers, asking when his group could come in and teach.

Some of the students began to develop ideas on how to use strategies far reading, vocabul.ary and math.

Toward the end of my final year in the Newark initiative, Amos expl.ained that he and se1>­ eral students were going to attend another school. He indicated that the students who were part of the student-voice Jm!ject would be speaking to their new principal to bring lessons learned to their new schools.

Right before summer break, when I was leaving and Amos was mouing to his new school, I asked to meet his mother. She came qfler school, and I gave Amos a laptop computer, printer and digital camera so this amazing young student could work at home on schoolwork,

2 Permission granted by Alexis Leitgeb on e-mail to Eric Cooper on 6/ 11 / I 5 for use of

quotation.

DESPITE THE RHETORIC, TEACHERS AND STUDENTS ARE SUCCEEDING 43

creative artwork and design, and uideos. I did not want his lack of financial means le pre­ vent himfiom having the equipment I lcmw would help him meet his.fall potential.

Amos went on le the Poelry Out Loud 2015 competition. He made it all the way le the stai,e finals at Princewn and IIJok second pflue. Amos discovered his stnngths—leadmhip

and speaking-while engaged in the studmt-voice project of the J{UA.

There are tens of thousands of stories just like this one, starring teachers who move from being '1ust a teacher" to justice in teaching, due to their per­ sonal commitment to student potential, and, at times, thanks to the profes­ sional development and teamwork in which they take part. They don't give up on their students, nor do they give up on each other as they move toward school transformation. In spite of the politics of education, they find a com­ mon pathway that leads to improved achievement and social justice.

Let's allow these stories to be told, so that the success Amos has can be taken to scale, and the doomsday cacophony-those dog-whistle politics-about education in America is muted.

Courts to play on

by Omo Moses

W:en I volunteered to go to Mississippi, I was signing up to get myself together. I followed my younger brother, Taha, cousin, Khari, and father, Bob Moses, to the Sam M. Brinkley Middle

School in May 1995, after an unremarkable college basketball career ground to a halt when the George Washington Colonials lost to the Ohio University Bobcats in the Big Apple NIT Classic. I had spent the last decade pursuing the National Basketball Association (NBA) and the accumulation of material things important to most 20 year olds; failing, for the first time, to become the person I imagined. The disappointment arrived at sunrise each morning as I sat, out of habit, on my mother's porch in Cambridge, MA, a ball under my armpit, returning to the street to dribble between passing cars, past phan­ tom opponents. W hat had been a throne became a coffin. I wouldn't be paraded in the streets like Patrick Ewing after he won his first Olympic gold

medal. I wouldn't declare, as Rumeal Robinson had, that I wanted to become as big as the moon to a field house full of high school students. A

sign on a pole on a corner wouldn't bear my name as it did his after winning the national championship at the University of Michigan.

Fragments of glory could be gathered from the cracked asphalt of Corporal

Burns Park, on the courts at the bank of the Charles River opposite Har­ vard's Business School, where generation after generation of black and brown-colored boys came to mold themselves into basketball players. I could have competed for status among them (pounding dreams of teenagers; bitter men still looking for a reputation) and the legends (without legs) clinging to the fence, until the debris from bones pestling concrete consigned me to the mob, loitering (seated and standing; their backs to the water) on the curb

running the sideline, until it was their turn to claw at the next young player who earned the right to be king of the court.

4S

46 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

The burial of my self-portrait-a benevolent, albeit, envied hero, strapped with enough cash, cars, jewels, and eye candy to scatter throughout the neighborhood-was protracted. The possibility continued to arrive at night, soldering desire and fear-that I had one mo.re year of college eligibility, another moment to live before a million eyes. My redemption began with the pain burrowed in ankles already fractured and sprained irreparably In a rare unmasked moment, I shared with my dad that I would no longer be a basket­ ball player. He offered, America is jilted with courls !hat you can pl� ball on.

Without purpose or clear direction, I asked if I could spend the next year working in his classroom. He was surprised. He had spent the better part of the last 10 recruiting his children to work with the Algebra Project (which he characterized as the family's business). I was the last one he expected to sign up. But, I needed the desolate Mississippi Delta roads which stitched rectan­ gular and .square patches of cotton fields, the blues from sharecropper to sharecropper; the obscurity of a classroom punctuated with the infectious curiosity of 7th graders searching for images to attach to themselves; the anonymity of Southern hospitality-to reimagine who I could be. Unlike most of the boys who traveled to Corporal Burns to become Dr.J, my family was stable, my parents made the public schools work, wrapping us in love and the type of experiences that continually expanded what we thought was possible. I left high school with the belief coded in my DNA, that if I put the time in, I would be successful at whatever I put my mind to. Failure, no mat­ ter how painful, was just another beginning.

Within a week of my arrival in Mississippi, my dad began declaring, "The young people need to get their act together." There was a sense of urgency in his voice that we didn't share. He talked about jail, saying that if young people didn't do well in math, they were going to end up in jail. The cover of the February 21, 1993 edition of the New York Times Magazine had a picture of him with children from the Mississippi Delta beneath the title, "We Shall Overcome This Time with Algebra: Bob Moses and Mississippi Children Focus on a Plastic Learning Screen-A Path out of Modern Bondage." It's difficult to make the connection between success in algebra and serfdom (Sil­ ver 2008; NYT, 1993). 1 When I was playing at George Washington, my dad came to town to give a speech to a bunch of mathematicians. A decade before Google and Facebook, he told them that whether they liked it or not they were the leaders of the planet. It was difficult for them to imagine the

1 There is a very high correlation between success in Algebra in high school, gradua­ tion from four-year colleges, and work. Students who complete Algebra II in high school more than double their chances of earning a four-year college degree. In Los Angeles, like in most urban districts, 65 percent of the students who didn't pass Alge­ bra by their freshman year dropped out.

COURTS TO PLAY ON 47

role history and the evolution of technology had conceived for them, harder still to enlist them in a struggle for freedom and democracy.

Taha, Khari, and I worked to create a Math Lab out of an unused science classroom: arranging tables laminated with primary colors, building a net­ work with a dozen Macintosh computers, clearing the walls of chipped paint before covering them with affirming words (math is what you make i◊ and images. Taha found a pair of college students (male and female artists) who showed up like Panthers (bobbing afro, black leather jacket, tight jaws) and began sketching with him on the bare primer, first a colored boy standing with a number in his hand before strips of wood patterned into a path extending into a universe of stars and planets and brown, yellow and red children exploring it. A jungle of animals covered a wall. A sketch of my dad was quickly erased as he huffed and puffed at our (affectionate) attempt to memorialize him. Khari—cocky scowl, dreadlocks pointing toward each corner of the room-was immortalized next to the light switch by the door.

Always conscious of how and where he stood in relationship to the people he led and organized, my dad encouraged us to join, from the classroom and school building, the struggle where he and students our age participated on the streets of America during the Civil Rights Movement, confronting the nation on paper and in practice, as they removedJim Crow from public accommoda­ tions and the democratic political apparatus.Jim Crow was the specter drifting through the pages my parents left open in the living room: a crowd of white­ colored faces bearing witness to black-colored bodies burning at their feet, Ross

Barnett, then Governor of Mississippi, standing in the doorway of a school to prevent black-<:olored boys and girls from entering, canine teeth extending a white arm's length into black thighs, a pig-<:olored sheriff struggling to rip the American flag from a five-year-old brown-colored boy as he clutched with two hands his right to be among the "I've" that gave birth to the nation. 2

"It was easier when it was obvious," lamented a veteran of the civil rights movement-to confront the persistent pernicious shove of black-colored people outside the ''We" and into a per manent under-caste. l'vho would deny the contiguous line from slavery, convict leasing, chain gangs,Jim Crow laws, Rockefeller drug laws, stop and frisk and three strikes policies? l'vhat is the cumulative impact of this from black generation to generation? How does it show up in the body, mind, and spirit of every black child and the environment that he or she inherits? l'vhat is the work that each subsequent generation must recognize and embrace to lift itself up?

2 � hold tmse truJhs IJJ be IL!feuidmt, tha1 all men are creatbi equm and � 1k Ptopk ef 1k Um!Ld StaJes begin the preambles to The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution;

those sacred documents that prophesize America's promise and possibility.

48 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

For Taha, Khari, and me-camouflaged in gold herringbone, diamond ear­ rings, nugget pinky ring, shorts sagging toward Timberland boots-the work was discovering the obvious parading in and out of the Math Lab and through the halls and classrooms of Brinkley Middle School. There was n o epiphany, just a gradual realization o f the connections between the conflict and contradictions that rose from the pages left open in my parent's living room, what Brinkley was preparing most of the 99 percent black student body to do, and what we had experienced in the self-proclaimed People's Republic of Cambridge-where, confounding the city's vanguard liberalism the Advanced Placement and honors classes at the high school remained seg­ regated. (Khari and I were the only two brown-colored boys in our honors classes for four years.) What became clearer to me was that the Nation's native conundrum transcended generation, region, class, and politics.

The question, What to do about the slaves and their descendants, was alive and well in contemporary form: What to do about black boys, whether sons of sharecrop­ pers or 2nd generation doctors, in both 6,000 and 20,000 dollar per pupil public school systems, above and below the Mason-Dixon line.3 I've been

wrestling with this question for as long as I've been aware of being black. My take on it is that there is either an implicit assumption or explicit accusation that we are complicit in our failure. As a kid, the basketball court and the corner were two places we could go without that burden-w e were supposed to be good at hanging on rims and hanging out. In the Math Lab, we con­ fronted with other people's children what was buried in our psyches as kids­ "Be good at this? Pay attention to that." I learned quickly about the significance of attention-you can't teach someone without it. Because we looked like East Coast rappers, we had a small window of opportunity to earn the trust and respect of the students by demonstrating that we appreci­ ated who they were and where they were coming from.

They arrived with a teacher or deputized classmate, in single file or defiantly breaking rank. They sat in groups of five or six on wooden stools pulled from slots underneath the table tops, some erect in anticipation, others wilting. The lessons were structured like a Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) meeting, organized to unleash the energy of the stu­ dents by creating space for them to have a stake in what we were learning (Moses & Cobb, 2001; S CC). My dad usually facilitated while we worked at the tables, helping them reflect on an experience or build consensus about mathematical ideas like equivalence or equality. Eventually I began to facili-

– – –

tate activities. I would begin with a hand in the air and a request for the stu- dent's attention, relying on the leaders at each table to help their classmates

3 My mom says that in the 60's we struggled in color, but not in kind-referring to the class divide that persists in black and all colored communities.

COURTS TO PLAY ON 49

turn their eyes toward me. T he students I relied on weren't necessarily the ones their teachers anointed; they were generally the ones we shot ball with during gym, hung out with during lunch, or in their neighborhood after school. Regardless of the content, the goal was the same–to have a collab­ orative conversation based on shared experiences. This required that each

student exercise leadership as an individual, as a member of a small group and classroom community. More important than paying attention to me was that they pay attention to each other and what was going on around them.

I would watch the students in the marching band parade home after school: plastic Tuba wrapped around a waist, trumpets to lips, snare and base drums, clarinet and sax, boys and girls shedding rigid notes, uniform steps in the parking lot between the school and a row of shotgun shacks as they marched up Ridgeway Street, past St Peters Missionary Baptist Church, an aban­

doned bar, the parking lot of the adjacent Laundromat and candy store, stopping at each other's stoop until the last instrument arrived in its front yard. Noisy at first, by the time they approached Shady Grove Church on the corner of Ridgeway and California, they were making music. Good days in the Math Lab looked and felt like that.

As my dad pushed us to do more, we began to organize ourselves, partially in response to him, partially in response to a desire to do something that extended beyond the school building and into the crux of our lives. I began to count the students in each class I was able to reach and imagine how many we could reach if we turned our energy and attention toward each other. Dave Dennis, a Free­ dom Rider out of New Orleans and the Director of the Southern Initiative of the Algebra Project, encouraged us to meet at his office in the Standard Life Building: built in 1929 to attract more business into what was then an industrial city, it had been the largest reinforced concrete building in the world and remained the tallest inJackson; standing like a decayed minaret beside the King Edwards Hotel (empty since 1967), casting its shadow among the abandoned downtown streets. Dave would bring food, we'd bring students from Brinkley, and talk about how we could take what we were learning in the Math Lab on the road and turn it into a business. The power embedded in the relationships and learning experiences we shared with the students emboldened us to imagine that w�like Curtis, Hollis, Chuck, Charlie,June,Judy, Margaret: the students whose names and faces, bodies, were deserted in the chapters my parents left open-could do something to push America to become America (Banks, 2008).

4

4 It was only after the Civil War that the United States became America the nation­

state. There was a shift there in terminology, too, moving from being the United

States of America to ''rnerica," from being a fairly loose consortium of separate but

united states, pulled apart at times, pulling together at others, into something that

was a single word: America.

50 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

That's my teacher! Mummy, that's my teacher! I've heard the story a number of times. Stizz the rapper, two years from high school graduation, animated in a polo shirt and skinny jeans, brings it to life as he describes walking through his neighborhood and the pride he felt when an elementary student he taught introduced him to their mom. T here's another story the students I work with often share about the rush they feel when they are able to help another student understand a concept or solve a problem. In 1996, Taba, Khari, 8th-grade Algebra Project students from Brinkley, and I , founded The Young People's Project (YPP). YPP is a Math Lab on wheels. Our first enter­ prise was conducting graphing calculator workshops for teachers and then students in Jackson and the Mississippi Delta to prepare them for the state­ wide Algebra 1 exam. Over the last 16 years, we have successfully unleashed the energy of thousands of high school students in urban and rural commu­ nities across America to work to ensure that mathematics isn't a barrier to high school graduation, college entry, or career. YPP trains and employs

teams of high school students, coached and mentored by college students, to conduct math-based workshops for 3rd-8th graders in community and school-based after school programs. We call this math literacy work; enlisting

the very students expected to fail (and whose failure is exploited economi­ cally) to be resources to their communities (YPP website).5 Through this experience, they are developing competencies critical to their future success, like teamwork and cooperation, self-confidence, achievement, relationship building, and conceptual and analytical thinking.

W hen we dribbled from sun up to sun down at Corporal Burns Park, we weren't thinking about our character or the skills we were developing that would enable us to be successful in life. We were all in, NBA or bust. In Mis­ sissippi, I began reflecting on the thousands of hours we spent for mally and informally training to become basketball players, and how that experience helped shape who I am, how I do things, and what I'm able to do off the court. The pressure to perform, encountered in real time-a man guarding me, the clock winding down before a million eyes-wasn't limited to those moments. My ability and inability to overcome fear in a gymnasium or arena became reference points for how I approach success. As a teenager, I didn't attach these experiences to a future self, other than the image of Michaeljor­ dan spanning the width of my wall fmger-tip to fmger-tip, or the one of him tilted on a 45 degree angle, ball palmed, tongue out, suspended between the rim and floor. It wasn't until I was much older that I began to intentionally translate and apply what I learned on the basketball court to other areas of mv life and other irnal!'es of mvself. It's a lot. but necessarv. to tell teenal!'ers.

5 YPP currently operates programs in IO cities, employing 400 high school and

college students who work with 1,600 elementary students annually.

COURTS TO PLAY ON 51

particularly black- and brown-colored youth to "Pay attention to what you're learning while dribbling a basketball or marching home from school."

When my brother and I were eight and ten, my dad moved us from the cam­ pus of Harvard University, where he was finishing a Ph.D., to the street across from the Newtown Court housing projects; conscientiously placing us among the children whose failure is predictable and profitable for American business (Whitehead, 2012).6 It wasn't clear then where the choices our 10-, 11-, and 12-year-old selves made were coming from and where they would lead. Now, at the median of our lives, the various outcomes include: dead; 15 years in jail for murder; school committee member; jail for assault and bat­ tery; general contractor; jail for selling drugs; jail for drug use; meter maid; homeless; IT technician; nonprofit executive director; and financial man­ ager. In the shadows of institutions like Harvard and MIT, most of us couldn't see beyond what was in front of us, couldn't imagine making other

choices, and had no clue as to how they became available.

For the last 15 years, we have worked to build a healthy organization with the young people who have inherited the corners and courts; a rapper's persona. The "We" now includes my sister Maisha, with whom I share leadership as YPP National Co-directors, and the young people who have grown with the organization (all beginning as elementary, high school, or college students), who now comprise the overwhelming majority of our central and local lead­ ership and participate on the national board of directors (Khari is an advisor to the board). As we strive to grow as human beings and as an organization, we have spent a lot of time thinking about success at an individual level (stu­ dents and stafl), organizational, and community level.

Many of the questions we've been confronted with relate to the work of the Leadership & Sustainability Institute (LSI), which will provide member orga­ nizations with access to resources that build their capacity to make tangible progress on issues such as expanding work opportunities, strengthening fam­ ily structures, and increasing educational equity. In the last three years, we have had the opportunity to work with Root Cause-the nonprofit research and consulting firm based in Cambridge, MA that worked in partnership

6 Between 1900 and 19 75, the nation's incarceration rate remained at about 110 prison inmates for every I 00,000 people. In 1973 the first drug laws with mandatory sentencing guidelines were enacted and incarceration rates climbed immediately, doubling in the 1980s and 1990s. As of 20 IO the rate was 731 per I 00,000; among Black and Hispanic adult men 4,347 and 1,755 inmates per 100,000. Private prisons have grown from a billion dollar industry in 1984 to over 30 billion in 20 IO; its forecasts for expansion influenced by 3rd grade reading and math test scores and the passing of three strikes laws.

52 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

with the Campaign for Black Male Achievement at the Open Society Foundations to develop the plan for the LSI-to develop a business plan, and David Hunter to develop an organizational logic model and blueprint (Growth Plans, 2012). This work has clarified how we think about student, staff, and organizational success. As we build central capacity and local lead­ ership, we seek to accelerate our ability to ensure quality programming, achieve targeted outcomes, and meet existing demand. When we began in the Math Lab a decade and a half ago, the Algebra Project provided the space, wisdom, connections, encouragement, and love for us to grow. The work that the LSI is preparing to do is invaluable in that regard. There is a need for black founded and led organizational equivalents to a City Year, Youth Build, Year Up, or Citizen Schools in both scale and ambition that are working to improve the quality of life for black-colored children in America (Black Male, 2012).

In recent discussions with students, success was described as: happiness, always growing, having a vision and working hard to get there, overcoming obstades, helping others on the way to success, and the ability to rise afler failure. I asked a childhood friend to

join our conversation about institutional obstacles. He sat on the edge of the circle as I hesitated, unsure how to introduce him. He has been Fat Daddy or Fats for as long as I've known him and I felt awkward referring to him by his legal name. A year out of a 15-year prison sentence, he hasn't had a job his entire life. As we began talking about barriers to success, the students strug­ gled to define "institution." Some of the ideas they came up with were institu­ tions have rules and expectations, they are bigger than you and impact how your life plays out whether negative or positive, sometimes they can be control/,ed and sometimes not. Fat Daddy wanted to know why I had invited him to join our conversation. In his mind, these students weren't the young people confronted with the choices he had faced growing up.

He and I sat on the steps of the brick apartments his grandfather had pur­ chased (and where his parents now live) across the street from the Washing­ ton Elms projects, a few blocks from where I grew up. They ain't … but they are, was my response. In my mind we've all inherited an equivalent margin for error. "When your dad was trying to get us to go to do math at the King School on Saturdays I wasn't trying to hear it. I had already made up my mind to go this way." He pointed away from me. "What about the ones who don't wanna join YPP and already made up their minds to go this way?"

A couple weeks ago I had lunch with him, Alex (another childhood friend who made similar choices and also ended up incarcerated) and Barbara Best who lives in Cambridge and works for the national office of the Children's Defense Fund on their Cradle to Prison Pipeline initiative. I thought they should meet. At some point the conversation became me, Alex, and Fats

COURTS TO PLAY ON 53

talking about the choices we'd made, where they'd led us, and kids facing similar challenges. We seemed to agree on the need to build relationships with them, particularly the young people who are influential in our neigh­ borhood and in their peer groups, and see if we can get them to experience and think about some other things.

A kid approached on his bike while Fat Daddy and I sat on the steps. He wore a Harvard jersey and shorts. They began talking shit about their game against each other the day before. The kid is wiry, approaching six feet and seemed comfortable confronting adults.

''You play for the high school?" He pointed to the bracelet on his ankle.

"How'd you get that?" He shrugged his shoulders. He'd spent the better part of the last year in jail or on house arrest. Fats tells him to bring five and we'll bring five and play on Sunday. Fat's Uncle Donny pulls up while the kid is riding away. Donny used to take us around the state when we were IO and 11 to play in tournaments. I asked Fats, "How'd you get a bracelet at 15?"

"I don't know." He was in Billerica. How do you get sent to Billerica, a men's correctional facility, at 15?

Donny said he'd been watching the kid since he was waist high. "He can play; there hasn't been one in 20 years-he was the next you."

I show up early that Sunday to stretch and get some shots in. We are playing at The Terrace, on a court across from the apartments where the Puerto Ricans and Dominicans used to live. The park has been renovated. The neighborhood has gentrified. You get a ticket for smoking weed: the white black brown-colored arms and legs hang in clouds, listlessly from the benches. The court is empty except for a handful of boys whose shots barely touch the rim. There is no evidence of Pat and his heroic deeds. The street sign a block away with Rumeal's name has been torn down (Saslow, 2012). Fats shows up late. He brings Alex and a couple others. The kid comes with his five-three played for the high school. The ball goes up as the afternoon service at the Pentecostal Tabernacle Church on the corner concludes-Dip arrives unannounced in a two-piece suit. He watches from the fence. He had been drafted in the 1980s, led the Big East in scoring and graduated from Providence College. He played in Turkey and got hooked on drugs. When I was a kid he was the king of the court. When I was seventeen he told me I could play in the league. I believed him. Every summer I brought a jersey

back for him from college; even then he would school me. 50, his knees are shot. Happy to see him I reach through the fence for his hand.

The kid can play. He can shoot, can handle, has a mid-range game, can stop and pop and get to the rim. He has the talent, skills, and heart to command

54 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

this generation of black- and brown-colored bodies lured to the chain link, below the nets, attached to the three-point line on Columbia St. We didn't let

them win. We played five games, two full-court and refused to let them win. I played well enough for them to ask who I was.

T h e kid lives across the street from the park. I went to see him a couple days later; he was watching his son who is almost a year old. I told him I was expecting my first any day now; he seemed happy to hear that. We talked about Tommy Amaker's basketball camp at Harvard (I could try to get him in), about Lew Zuchman, a Freedom Rider, member of YPP's board and Executive Director of SCAN, an organization based in New York City that has the best Amateur Athletic Union (AAU) Boys Basketball teams in the country and gets its players into New England prep schools and Ivy League colleges (NY Post, 2012). I told him a little about where I was coming from

he seemed to know about YPP. I asked him about his plans: "What are you

gonna do in September when you get the bracelet off?"

References

Banks, R. (2008). Dreaming Up America. New York, NY: Seven Stories Press.

Black Male Achievement Fellowship. (2012). &Jwing Green. Retrieved from http:/ /www.echoinggreen.org/bma-fellowship

Braziller, Z. (2012). Tight-knit Team SCAN enjoys summer of national success. New York Post. August 8. Retrieved from http://nypost.com/2012/08/08/ tight-knit-team-scan-enjoys-summer-of-national-success/

Growth Plans. (2012). The Young Peopl.e's Project. Retrieved from http:/ /www. typp.org/ growthplans

Moses, R. &Cobb, C. (2001). Radical equations: Civil rights from Mississippi to the Algebra Project. Boston: Beacon Press.

Saslow, E. (2012). Bringing down the house. ESPN The Magazine. Retrieved from http://espn.go.com/mens-college-ba ske tball/ story/ _I id/ 7649638/ ncb-rumeal-robinson-journey-michigan-star-incarceration-espn-magazine

Silver, D., Saunders, M., & Zarate, E. (2008). What Factors Predict High School Graduation in the Los Angeles Unified School District? California Dropout Research Project. Report #14June. UC Santa Barbara: Gevirt:z Graduate School of Education.

Student Non Violent Coordinating Committee (www.sncclegacyproject.org).

COURTS TO PLAY ON 55

We shall overcome this time with algebra: Bob Moses and Mississippi children focus on a plastic learning screen – A path out of modern bondage.

(February 21, 1993). New Y1JTk Times Magazine.

Whitehead,]. W (2012).Jailing Americans for Profit: The Rise of the Prison Industrial Complex. Hujjingt,on Fbst B/JJg. Retrieved from http://www. huffingtonpost.com/john-w-whitehead/prison-privatization_b_ l 414467 .html

Can I Write This?

by Laurel Nakanishi

"Ms. Nakanishi, can I write: 'You are like a bird?" "Okay," I say, "why is your mom like a bird?" "No, no, no. You are like my alarm clock … " "Mmm hmm." "Because my mom is always waking me up in the morning." ''Yes," I say, "that sounds like a great simile." Jamy A smiles and begins to write .

•

r the last month, I have been teaching poetry to 3rd graders at Orchard Villa Elementary School in Liberty City. These classes are part of the 0, Miami Poetry Festival. 0, Miami's goal is for everyone in Miami-Dade

County to encounter a poem in the month of April. Mrs. Finch's 3rd-grade class has been encountering me.

It is good to be a resident poet in an elementary school. The kids are always excited to see me. I am not constrained by the demands of state testing. I don't have to get caught up in the bureaucracy of the public school system, but I do get to work with public school kids. And thanks to the presence of the classroom teacher, I don't need to spend so much time doing classroom management. And best of all, I get to share my passion for poetry with chil­ dren. It is, pretty much, the best job ever.

*

From a WLRN radio broadcast:

"This is my first time knowing about poetry, and it is fun. And I get to write my own poetry stories and we could talk about our family," said Kin­ dra Oriental, a 3rd grader.

57

58 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

Oriental is one of the students in the 3rd-grade class learning from poet Laurel Nakanishi.

"Sometimes they'll be like 'ls it ok to write this?' And I'll say 'Yes! Write that,"' said Nakanishi. "Because they aren't sure if they have permis­

sion to get that creative or to write about their personal experience in that way."

Nakanishi received her Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in poetry from the University of Montana and is currently studying at Florida International University.

Isaiah Bell is another one of Nakanishi's students.

''When Miss Nakanishi came here I'm like, 'Yes! We need poetry!' Because sometimes in life you have to write yourself a poetry or someone else that needs help cheering up," Bell said.

*

Isaiah sits at the back of the class smiling knowingly. He is one of the stu­ dents who has taken quickly to poetry writing.

Angel raises her hand. "Can I write: 'In the evening my mom clips my toe­ nails while screaming into the phone'?"

Yes, yes.

*

I have taught poetry to children in Hawaii, Montana, Nicaragua, and now Miami. Each of these geographical locations and the children who live there, pose dilferent dynamics and opportunities for creativity.

Out of all these places, I am least familiar with Miami. When I moved here nine months ago, I was warned to stay out of Liberty City. "You'll get your car stolen!" a friend half-joked. When I watched the local news, Liberty City is often the background for shoots or hit-and-run car acci­ dents. I walked into Orchard Villa Elementary School with these stories in mind. Sitting in the front office waiting area on my 1st day of class, a little girl stared, bemused, at me. She was too young to have learned to look away like her mother did. The adults in the office were extra friendly to me-the only White face in a school where almost everyone else is Black.

Good, I thought, and I tried to be grateful for the discomfort. I am half:Japanese, but few know it from looking at me. My last name is a

CAN I WRITE THIS? 59

further mystery: "Nakaskisi?" Not exactly. We practiced pronouncing it on that 1st day of class. "Nakanishi. Nakanishi."

•

Jokira is worried. "Ms. Nakanisi, I don't know how to start."

"Okay, start with what's around you. What do you see?"

"My hand," saysJokira.

"Okay, I want you to describe your hand."

A few minutes later,Jokira is raising that hand.

"Is this okay, Ms. Nakanisi?"

I read:

Poetry

My hand,

brown,

it can write words.

*

At first, they were hesitant. Even after an explanation, examples from profes­ sionals and kids, a group brainstorm and a suggested format, the students were still uncertain.

"Can I write this?" They would ask. "Is this okay?" "Can I write about cat poop?" "Can I write about a square, squishy monster?" "Yes," I would say. "That is brilliant!" "Yes, yes, yes, write it."

I think that one of the reasons that my students enjoyed poetry class is because I am so positive. I love them. I love what they write. I love how they see the world. What is most important to me is that they express themselves. I want them to take risks.

They still hold their papers up to me and ask, "Is this okay?"

I am not sure why this class in particular was so hesitant to express them­ selves. Thinking back to teaching in Montana, I remembered that those kids

60 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

rarely asked, "Can I write this?" Was that because they were more comfort­ able with poetry? The Missoula Writing Collaborative has been sending pro­

fessional writers to public schools for the past 15 years-perhaps they are more used to poetry writing.

Or is it privilege? Do these, mostly White, kids feel entitled to self-expres­ sion? Are they more confident because society tells them-these White, mostly middle-class kids-that their ideas matter? I do not know.

My students in Nicaragua began by copying the examples. I would read a poem about birthday cake, and then receive 21 imitations of that same birth­ day cake. It took about a month to really emphasize that they could have their own ideas. As the students became more and more comfortable, I began receiving poems about solar explosions, giant brains, and wind blow­

ing through the windows. One of my students wrote: "When my mother sweats, it is like the rain in summer."

My students in Hawaii were the most similar to these Liberty City 3rd grad­ ers. They were uncertain how to start. They would ask permission before each poem. "Is this okay?" I wonder if this need for reassurance is somehow tied to the way that we test children. In a test there is only ever one correct answer. Students must learn how to block out all of the other ideas and con­ nections in their mind so that they may give the right response. What is the main idea of this text? What is the definition of simile? What is the setting of the story? They must recall and present just that one correct answer.

So how baflling it must be when this White lady with a strange last name walks into your classroom and tells you to write whatever you want. Any answer is correct. Any idea that you have is brilliant. I am affrrmative of these students to a fault. I praise them because I want them to gain confi­ dence in their own voice and experience. This sort of confidence is essential to writing. If you do not believe that what you have to say matters, you can never write something that will resonate with readers.

I give my students permission to be weird or silly. I want them to write about the everyday details of their lives. Once they gain this confidence, then we can start working on shaping words into art. Dut if they are always looking for a "right answer" in their writing, it will never be a poem.

*

lreanna asks, "Can I write that the stars are tickling?"

*

We are writing about place. I explain that I want them to describe their neighborhood, their house, their room-anywhere they feel at home. I give them examples from my students in Hawaii: "Is your street busy with herds of rusty cars? Is your home quiet as the library?"

CAN I WRITE THIS? 61

Vincent raises his hand. "My neighborhood is loud. They are always shoot­ ing guns."

"Okay, write that in your poem," I say. "What do the guns sound like?"

''Pah! Pah!" he says. "Last night there were these boys shooting in front of my house. They were shooting on the street and then some of them ran behind our house. We don't have a gate, that's why. They ran behind and went over the fence."

Suddenly all the words in my head are gone. What can I say to that?

"They're always shooting by my house too. I'm scared of guns," says Katron.

I tell Vincent that his story would make a great poem-''Write it down."

He writes:

IAmFrom

My city is very loud with the sound of pistols. I smell the stink of the garbage. At school, I see Ms. Finch and my paper. At home, I love to eat crab. It is so good, I'd eat it 24/7.

It is easy to pigeonhole these kids, to see them only as survivors of their vio­ lent neighborhood. But, as Vincent reminds us, there are many other things going on . Yes, there are guns and stinky garbage, but there is also the struc-

ture and stability of Mrs. Finch's classroom. There are also delicious crab feasts. There are loving families and wildly fun times riding bikes and playing.

Jamy A writes:

Five Things I Love The hug of my little sister­ she is very special and beautiful.

•

The strawberry and vanilla ice cream

w ith a cherry on top that my mom and I share. The pink diamond sheets on my bed that sparkle so cute. The candle burning on the dresser flickering and casting shadows. The basketball bouncing up and down baug, baug, back.

62 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

I am new to Miami. I moved here nine months ago and I am still trying to figure out this city. Like every other place I have lived and visited, I am find­ ing that it is full of complexity. These young poets are my teachers and I am learning that, unlike a test question, there is no one answer.

Miami is many different things: It is the sound of a basketball and chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven and gunfire. It is these shining, expectant faces asking "Is this okay? Read this." Maybe, in addition to permission, my students also just want co share their poem. "Ms. Nakanishi, read mine!" They want to share their thoughts and perspective and world with me. How lucky I am to be help in such confidence .

•

Mrs. Finch's 3rd-grade classroom is packed with people-parents, grandpar­ ents, sisters, brothers, aunts, and teachers. One by one my students stand up and read their poems:

"I remember when I first started walking. I was small and everything looked big … "

"In the middle of the night I hear my sister in the kitchen getting a night snack … "

"Ms. Nakanishi's glasses are popping just like Sienna's hair … "

"I remember when I was in a body cast. My auntie called me Mr. Broke-Down … "

"I hear people laughing

at people who are poor because of their shoes … "

"Gazing up at the sky at night Stars are tickling … "

"My brother snoring with little tears dropping down like rain … "

"Your hugs fill me up with love like a balloon and spits out all the hate."

A roaring applause!

Breaking silence

by Carlos Gonzalez

D ear Students, I want to break the silence between us and ralk to you directly. This will be a rambling piece, but one that I offer as a means to help you navigate through what is probably going to be a

couple of years of more institutional education. I do this after 21 years or so of teaching in one place, of loving what I do, and hating with every fiber of my body what happens to many, if not most students, as they weave in and through the many obstacles called college.

Silence and Storytelling

My dad asked me to go with him to the store to pick something up. I sat in

the car silently, thinking of the other things I wanted to do. I sat silently because at 18, I had no idea who my dad was or what I would ask him. I felt like a stranger to him. We had not spent much time together. Having fled Cuba with no money and little formal education, he was on a continuous survival mode, and work was priority number one.

That absence early in my childhood and my own quiet personality allowed me to make good friends with silence. Yet it's more complicated than that. It always is. As I look back at that ride now, I would do just about anything to have changed the dynamic of the situation and broken the quiet in that car. There was genuine love between my dad and me, but somehow we could not break through to one another, not at that time.

A couple of months later, toward the end of my freshman semester in college, my dad was killed in a terrible work accident. I can still recall the phone call at about 10:15 am on a clear Monday in early December 1984. I can hear my mom wailing as she came to terms with losing the man she

63

64 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

loved. I can feel my heart turning numb, knowing that I would never get 10

see him walk through our front door covered in the bagasse from the sugar

mill. Losing him left a gaping hole in my heart that somewhat healed (but the gaps left by our losses never quite fill in) many years later when I became a father myself. It was then as a grown man that I started 10 understand my dad and 10 realize how difficult it is 10 sometimes let those closest 10 me into the sounds and rhythms of my heart and mind. We receive from our fathers and mothers what they received from their fathers and mothers. The gener­

ational passing down of all that is good in us and the burdens we carry,

leave us vulnerable 10 the very opportunities that call us 10 be our true selves. By the time my three kids reached their teens, I became aware of how hard it is 10 be a father and also 10 be a son. I saw many of the same

struggles I faced manifested in my own children as t11ey wrestled with their own voices, with their own souls, and with the challenge of relating 10 me. (I was 1101 my father, but was psychically one with him.) So I entered into a fel­

lowship of love with my children that included tl1e girts and flaws that make us so fully ourselves.

Over the years I came to know t11a1 the people closest 10 us often present the strongest challenges 10 our own constructed worlds. Unfortunately, we often place on these struggling relationships the burden of our own happiness and

well-being. We often think the false syllogism: !f I on/y had a belier relationship with . … then. ff the struggles are as intense as mine were and are, they often distract us from 1.he very joy and pleasure of the moment in front of us and move us away from the work of consciously walking down our own creative

. . –

paths. We too often spend our time looking back and licking wounds than on taking a step forward in fulfilling what is our own song. (Have I mentioned already that life is short?)

If we look carefully at these and the many sources of our own wounds, we may find that these strong d1allenges can become our best teachers, leading us LO find life's purpose and mission. Yet, when I look back at my own life and, in particular, my academic journey, I also know that nowhere in my

schooling did I ever find an invitation to really explore these experiences, to look at these values and events with the same curiosity and rigor of a text that held in1portant keys LO my own well-being.

Schooling for Silence and Conformity

In schools, hean and mind rarely came together for me. Even when studying poetry and literature, the notion of the personal entering tJ1e realm of me academic never quite intersected. For me, being in school meant turning

BREAKING SILENCE 65

away from a pan of myself that did not belong. May be tl,is was dictated by my own outsider status as a recent immigrant. ,Vhen I started college, I had

only been living IO years in tl1is country, and my parenL5 were not fluent in English. My parents, altl10ugh intelligent and gifted in so many areas, had little formal education. �faybe this and my own introverted personality were factors in my feeling so alienated. But tl1e realities seem more complex and intertwined. Kevertheless, I hold tl1e adults around me, tl1ose who attempted to teach me; tJ,e schools I auended; tl,e whole educational enterprise respon­

sible for a large part of my inability to break through. After 20 years of teaching, I now realize tJiat I was never invited to share, to look into my own life st0ry as a source of knowledge, wisdom, and guidance for what I was supposed to do "itl1 my academic efforts. I know now that tJiis was a loss, a lost connection, but not an anomaly.

For the most part, school was a place where I studied important subjects, the ideas of inlponant people (mostly dead white men), and never quite broke tJirough to realize that within me, I had an important treasure trove of infor­ mation that might be essential for my own survival and well-being; tJiat read­ ing my life was essential. That I did not have at the time were mentors tJiat could show me how this was done; people "�tJ, the courage to model tl,e act of looking deep within, not so much for the sake of introspection for intro­

spection's sake, but for the purpose of freedom and liberation. It wasn't until I left college and began teaching that I realized how tJie significance of allowing tl,e personal into the academy. I remember reading tl,e work of bell hooks and being electrified at the notion that one's inner life needed to be

accessed, honored, and shared with others in order to tap into the full experi­ ence of transformative learning experiences.

Cracks in the System

Hooks' words were transformativc for me. For the first time in my life, I read someone's work that actually expressed what was muddled within my own mind, that " … any radical pedagogy must insist that everyone's presence is acknowledged" (1994, p. 8). But how can everyone's presence be acknowl­ edged if her story or his story is not 1.he ground and source of that space? How can we acknowledge presence, when everywhere the academy iisclf is all about efficiency and producti,�ty? Ever,'One is a number, an object: stu­ dentS, teachers, administrators.

The challenges of turning away from the process of transforming humans imo objectS are monumental. No instituti on where I've been has engaged in this process. On the contra•") from the start of my educational experience,

66 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

I was encouraged to cut out the personal and embrace the objective voice of the academy. The process for most starts in kindergarten, and by the time we

finish college, most people have thoroughly been indoctrinated to believe that one's personal life belongs deep within, and that if one is to be profes­ sional, the personal has to be cut out and left out.

If we look carefully at the process of excluding the personal, for a society like ours to demand efficiency and maximizing profits would make total sense. With those goals, our educational journey must be built on a foundation of de-personalization. We can't possibly honor the quirkiness of the individual; more significantly, we can't possibly let young people believe that their lives, their stories are the source of wisdom and guidance because if we do, how could we control them? Acknowledging their individuality, their power to resist, their self-assertions, their digging for their lived truths clogs the wheels

of efficiency.

The funding for schools is not set up for individual meanderings. W hen we look closely, we see a factory model where everyone who comes through the doors of an institution of higher learning is expected to come out shaped and marked, "ready to consume," and "ready to support production," a model that has served some people really well, while leaving millions without the abiJjty to support even basic needs. 1 I can still recall President Bush's injunction two weeks after the 911 Attacks: "Go down to Disney World!" (CNN, 2004).

And although computer technology has exploded in the past 20 years, the tools created hav,e moved us no closer to a personalized approach to learn­

ing. Schools buy the latest hardware and implement the most recent soft­ ware, but the educational model is fundamentally unchanged. We continue to have for the most part what the Brazilian educator, Paulo Freire, (1996) called a banking model, one where students are seen as passive repositories where knowledge is deposited by those in control. Instead of creating a new paradigm where we can relate to one another in human-sized rela­ tionships, we create larger, so-called more productive classrooms and tout them as the next best thing that will save ourselves from irrelevance. We initiate online courses that enroll hundreds at a time. We design online degrees where one never has to meet another person. We have developed online K-12 state certifications, where a child for 12 years never has to see an instructor nor another student. We have prostituted education to support corporate greed.

1 45.8 million people in U.S. live in poverty. 19.9 percent of children go to bed hungry every night.

BREAKING SILENCE 67

Yet, all is not lost and all is not terrible. The fact that I can look back and see the deficiencies of my student experience, and understand as a teacher how caught we are in a system, that by its nature de-spirits rather than inspires, means that there are gaps within that monolithic system. Crevices can open where we connect with others and raise our voices, read and write our sto­ries, and learn from our experiences. Part of the challenge that we face is finding that wiggle room within our places of learning or employment, and do the kind of work that is invisible to most, unrewarded, and, sometimes, misconstrued-and may I say, dangerous.

Bad Advice

The greatest danger, however, is not from anything or anyone outside of our­selves. It is from within. There's no guarantee where the process of self­exploration will take us and how much it will move us away from the beaten oaths exoected of us bv those who e:enuinelv love us and those who don't.

– – – .

Both groups have very little sense of what is really going on within because they are operating in a world where those personal stories, desires, urgings, and callings are ignored or silenced. Lines from Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" (Oliver, 1986) capture this dilemma:

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice-

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles (p. 38).

The bad advice is not always intended to be so. It sometimes comes from the best hearts and intentions. Everything that I have said here about schools and classrooms, though, is not meant as a condemnation of those who are in educa-

tion. We are all caught one way or another in a very powerful web that wants us to stay asleep. It is a web that refuses credence to the voice within that is whisper­ ing sweet pleasure, love, and liberation. That web refuses any promise to trans­ form our path ahead. But as Mary Oliver says in her poem, one day we finally know what we have to do. Walk away. Step outside. The house is trembling.

68 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

References

Bush, G. W (2004). Go down to Disney World in F lorida, take your families … Retrieved May 11, 2013 from CNN.com

Freire, P. ( 1996). Pedagogy ef the Oppressed, 2nd ed. CA: Pen guin Group.

hooks, bell. ( I 994). Teaching to Transgress: Educati.on as the Practice ef Freedom. New York: Routled ge. p. 8.

Oliver, M. ( 1986). Dream Wirk. Boston, MA: Atlantic Monthly Press. p. 38.

U.S. Census Bureau (2014). Poverty. Retrieved March 15, 2015 from http://

www.census.gov/hhes/www /poverty/ about/ overview/

The autonomy of the

teacher/developer or teacher/researcher

by Mario Eraso

A;ter teaching mathematics education courses for three years at a uni­ versity in Texas, I was hired by a private middle school in south Flor­ da to teach mathematics and robotics. During the 18 months I

worked as a teacher, I saw myself as a teacher/developer, and at times desir­ ing to mold my position into a teacher/researcher. T hese two terms I am referring to, a teacher who does more than just teach, were introduced to me by Bob Moses, founder and president of the Algebra Project, Inc., a national

nonprofit organization that uses mathematics as an organizing tool to ensure

69

70 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

of practicing as a teacher/ developer or researcher if there is little time for added roles in the profession? T h is is where the respect for the teacher as a professional and transformative education come into play.

Teaching is a complex and difficult job because it presupposes rich interac­tions between humans: student to student, student to teacher, and student to community. Research has shown that students have very distinct learning styles and thus teaching needs, and that the strategies to fulfill these needs vary depending on the subject. Making learning happen requires more than subject knowledge, skills, and competence. An effective teacher must be adaptable, ethical, accountable, and have the ability to assess and communi­cate well-all of which are characteristics of a true professional. All these teacher characteristics, that when put to use effect learning, I summarize with one word: autonomy. If a teacher has autonomy, the teacher can make decisions on selecting the appropriate methodology for a particular curricu­lum topic. Likewise, an autonomous teacher who is free from external con­trol or influence can assess best her current students' needs to determine the duration of a learning unit, or whether a re-teach session is needed. However, in the literature on teacher professionalism, teacher autonomy has been associated with a teacher's free will to decide how to teach, what to teach, and how to assess without concern to standards and often acting ran­domly. Autonomy has been coupled also with uniformity, a consequence of salary schedules and the credentialing process that does not let the effective teachers be differentiated from the ineffective teachers. Finally, autonomy has been associated with a teacher's lack of support. A teacher working in isolation and without assistance is said to have the autonomy of modifying the curriculum at random, for example. If we define autonomy in this man­ner, the term acquires a negative connotation. Rather than perceiving the autonomous teacher as someone who works separately from others, we should understand this quality of the teacher as self-directing and not sub­jected to the "mis-direction" by others. Now, transformative education environments such as those created by the Algebra Project, allow the space for teachers to grow and develop profession­ally. It is in these environments where school-based, university-affiliated pro­grams flourish and allow children's learning to accelerate. In these programs, teachers are part of a collaborative effort in which they interact with other teachers in the nation, with mathematics educators and mathematicians, counselors, and the communitv at large. Since the collaboration is intense

However, in the literature on teacher professionalism, teacher autonomy has been associated with a teacher's free will to decide how to teach, what to teach, and how to assess without concern to standards and often acting ran­domly. Autonomy has been coupled also with uniformity, a consequence of salary schedules and the credentialing process that does not let the effective teachers be differentiated from the ineffe ctive teachers. Finally, autonomy has been associated with a teacher's lack of support. A teacher working in isolation and without assistance is said to have the autonomy of modifying the curriculum at random, for example. If we define autonomy in this man­ner, the term acquires a negative connotation. Rather than perceiving the autonomous teacher as someone who works separately from others, we should understand this quality of the teacher as self-directing and not sub­jected to the "mis-direction" by others.

Now, transformative education environments such as those created by the Algebra Project, allow the space for teachers to grow and develop profession­ ally. It is in these environments where school-based, university-affi liated pro­ grams flourish and allow children's learning to accelerate. In these programs, teachers are part of a collaborative effort in which they interact with other teachers in the nation, with mathematics educators and mathematicians, counselors, and the communitv at large. Since the collaboration is intense

THE AUTONOMY OF THE TEACHER/DEVELOPER OR TEACHER/RESEARCHER 71

can find the time to be teacher/developers or researchers, which in turn effects meaningful, deep, and long-lasting learning.

According to my definition of autonomy above, I was able to teach math and robotics autonomously at the middle school. For example, I decided to use the Geometer's Sketchpad (GSP) software as frequently as possible to teach a high school geometry course for middle school students. With this software, the static presentation of geometry given in the textbook, was supported with dynamic activities. In order to use GSP effectively, I created my own discovery activities and dynamic application projects, and rubrics, thus showing the characteristics of the teacher/developer. As a strategy for deep conceptual learning, I used classroom discussions in which students were taught explicitly how to listen to their peers and how to respond with comments or questions Lo oLher studenLs' remarks. To insert these modules into the existing cwTicu­ lum required autonomy and independence, but mostly self-determination and assurance to invest time on the prerequisite development of students' attitudes and behaviors necessary to do mathematics through communicating. I used my own criteria also to assess how to do this in the best manner. For

example, I would know that a student had understood a concept if he or she could synthesize in a couple of sentences a class discussion in which at least four students participated. More importantly, I was fortunate to have the support of the principal and the friendship of the social sturues teacher, a veteran with over 40 years of teaching experience, who found the time to discuss and suggest room for improvement in the different implementations I was introducing in my classes.

As in the Algebra Project's curriculum, I used drawings, icons, and symbols to support students' learning in a pre-algebra course. Specifically, I used these tools for learning integer adrution and subtraction. These tools allowed me to introduce methodologies that left behind the "take away" pararugm of elementary subtraction and embraced the "compare" pararugm that leads to huge learning milestones needed in college, such as distinguishing between distance and displacement. Also, when teaching percentages, ratios, and dec­ imals comparatively, I introduced language development strategies that I was borrowing from the Algebra Project curricular model. The idea of straitjack­ eting language and moving from "people talk" to "feature talk" was a partic­ ular strategy I used to assist students in learning how to communicate using scientific language (Moses and Cobb, 2001 ).

But it was teaching the robotics course at the middle school that most clearly exemplified my autonomy as a teacher and my role as a teacher/ developer. Although for the robotics course, which was offered for one semester, there was a curriculum to follow and a methodology to be used, I let the students suggest what activities to perform, and, thereby, allowed

72 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

myself to modny the curriculum. I would vet the suggestions and approve them once the students acknowledged that they had to insert certain learn­

ing objectives that I had in mind and that would align well with the original curriculum. Additionally, I used the project-based learning methodology in the robotics class because I wanted to make emphasis on students' creativity to design and program the robots. The original curriculum had several activities in which a kit of equipment and its instructions were used to build robots. In my class, every robot was different and in some way represented qualities that the students valued. For instance, one robot was slender and slow because the student wanted it to conserve energy; and another one was stocky and heavy because the student wanted it to portray power. The stu­ dents designed a construction tower with three articulations, a scorpion with two claws, an elevator, a backhoe, and multiple car-like robots. It was the Heisenberg robot, inspired in the T.V. series Breaking Bad, that became an icon over the four semesters I taught the course. This robot was even

used by the school administration during open house and parent nights to showcase the robotics course.

The students who built the Heisenberg robot started the idea when they were in level 3 during their first semester. Four of the students who wanted to repeat the course the second semester asked me if they could build a robot that would have all the sensors, switches, and attributes of all the robots they had seen their classmates design during the first semester. With the idea approved, the Heisenberg flourished as a robot with a linetracker sensor at the bottom, a distance sensor on its front, a bumper switch on its back, two articulated arms with shoulders and claws and mounted on tank tracks. The Heisenberg looked like a sphinx, the body of a sturdy tank-like robot and a human head. The students brought from home sunglasses and a black Fedora hat, and designed a goatee to decorate the head. But my friend and colleague, the social studies teacher veteran, would not be satisfied until someone could make the Heisenberg speak! The students responded to the challenge and used a phone application that would emit sound from a cell phone in the body of the robot that in turn was activated by another cell phone from where the students would speak. The Heisenberg was used also by the students in my colleague's social studies course on civics, government, and citizenship to begin a session in which the students interacted with younger elementary students promoting positive community behaviors. Even a rumor was started in the school that one day the Heisenberg would lead a daily morning session conducted at the school chapel.

During the fourth semester, a student brought from home pistons his parents had bought after the student had attended a robotics competition during a weekend fieldtrip our school organized. The student and his team members wanted to dismantle the arms of the Heisenberg and use pistons rather than

THE AUTONOMY OF THE TEACHER/DEVELOPER OR TEACHER/RESEARCHER 73

articulated arms. These students learned how to program code to activate solenoid valves to control the pistons, learned about pressure units in the air chamber, and how to cut and connect pneumatic tubing. What they ended programming was the ability of the Heisenberg to jab at an opponent by inserting the pistons along the arms of the robot. My role was solely to push these students further by asking them to use what they had learned the previ­ ous semester, not necessarily to teach them anything new. I suggested that they should program jabs in a pattern that would reflect a hidden message like you do when using Morse code. So, for example, a sequence of three short, three long, and three short jabs would encode the message S.O.S. The students usually enjoyed my challenges and, as I had hoped for, were getting out of control, in the positive sense of the term. Most students who excelled exhibited positive behaviors by helping the newer students in the class. That had been the original plan of letting students retake the course. The princi­ pal and I believed that peer-to-peer role modeling was powerful and would

allow us to learn from having a leadership program within the robotics class. Some of the students worked in a particular station where they kept their

own materials in boxes that they found in the classroom closet. They had customized the boxes with inner compartments to store dilferent pieces of equipment. I let them do that because it was a form of showing pride and style during the planning stages of their projects. I even put a label on the

wall over the table that served as their station: Heisenberg Research Station.

Finally, my role as a teacher/ developer allowed me to define and design my own levels of assessing student progress. Level I had the objective of pro­

gramming a robot to perform a particular elementary task for a specific duration. For example, in level 1, a student could write a program to start a motor moving forward for 5 seconds, stop for 2 seconds, and move back­ ward for 5 seconds also, but at a lower speed. Level 2 was set for students to program a robot to perform a task if a condition was met. At this level, stu­ dents learned about truth tables and were able to use switches that, depend­ ing on whether they were on or off, the robot would perform one of two

outcomes. Level 3 exposed students to the more complex problem of hav­ ing a robot perform multiple tasks depending on setting threshold levels for

several sensors.

Finally, level 4 was for the students who had decided to take the course again the following semester. In this level, robots were remotely guided with a joy­ stick and the coding syntax and commands necessary to program the joystick

were dilferent to those of levels I through 3. Because of the project-based

learning environment, students were encouraged to create their own activi­ ties and projects for which they had to solve problems to make the robot do exactly what was intended in the coded. The task performed by the robot, the code programmed by the student, and the words used by the student in

74 WHO SPEAKS FOR JUSTICE

both an oral proposal and oral evaluation needed to exactly match each other. The students went further and asked me if I could institute a fifth level of performance. Once approved, level 5 became building, wiring and pro­ gramming a robot using pistons.

During the last semester, students showed me how much their interest had grown. They brought from home air pumps, pistons, arduinos, raspberry pis, miniature quadcopters, fancy keyboards with screens, and cameras. They also were approved to order internally at the school an adaptor, use an old monitor, and change the settings of a keyboard to build a computer using the raspberry pi kit a student had brought from home. The ultimate evidence of how exciting the class was for students and the community was when a par­ ent donated to the school $1000 to buy a 3D printer. The 3D printer revamped students' interest in using Autodesk Inventor 3D software to design small objects that were later printed by the students. Their interest in the course was such that most students, about IO of 15 in the class, had achieved the teaching assistant status after having completed the first three levels and having designed two objects in the inventor software. A student

one day asked me, "Some TAs say I am not a TA. Could you print us certifi­ cates of completion?" Another student asked, "What will happen when everybody becomes a TA? Would you be interested in developing activities

towards us becoming master TAs?" T he original idea I had with the princi­ pal was to exhibit behaviors of leadership and mentorship, but what was also happening was that the students were becoming avid learners.

To summarize, I want to say that in my robotics class, which obviously was not mine but theirs, I exercised teacher autonomy as I have defined it in this paper. I strongly believe not even one-third of the outcomes I have described would have happened if I had not had the autonomy, principal's approval, and my friend and colleague's feedback. Teachers today, I believe, need to have more collaboration opportunities between parents and the classroom, between students, between teacher and student, should provide assessment continuity from year to year, and use multiple levels of assessment that pro­

vide students with different times for completion. So, in addition to the teacher/developer or researcher, I suggest teachers become teacher/writers as well. And I am sure many teachers already do that today and have biogs where they share their teaching successes. If a teacher can teach with auton­ omy and create learning excitement, why is it that society wants teachers to turn into test-driven automatons? o wonder policymakers with the percep-

tions that teachers should be controlled are driving talent from the profes­ sion. And some schools have clearly gone overboard in adopting "drill and kill" strategies, devaluing the teacher profession. In response to the demands of the No Child Left Behind Act, some districts have instituted "teacher proof" curricula that are scripted and, obviously, leave no room for the

THE AUTONOMY OF THE TEACHER/DEVELOPER OR TEACHER/RESEARCHER 75

teacher/ developer, researcher or writer. The system's oppressively rigid

structures and its obsession with control of students and teachers shuts down the creativity of instructors, of students, of the entire schooling experience. Let us as teachers and learners "raise our voices in the noise of this hege­ mony." Let us speak for intellectual, imaginative justice inside and outside our classrooms.

Reference

Moses, R. P. & Cobb, C.(2001). Radical Equations: Ciuil Rights.from Mississippi to the Algebra Project. Boston: Beacon Press.