Speak Out

censorship-1.gifAttending college was one of the most exciting times of my life. My professors challenged the status quo of my beliefs and taught me how to think critically. They were never satisfied with having me simply regurgitate what I had learned. They insisted that I show evidence of having considered the pros and cons of every argument or theory. They showed me the importance of viewing the world from multiple points of view. I remember attending events featuring some of the most controversial speakers of the era. It mattered not whether I agreed with them, but rather that I allow myself to widen my own horizons. Some of those that I heard were brilliant and I wrote others off, but always there was the sheer enjoyment of becoming familiar with new and intriguing philosophies.

When I became a teacher I was enthralled with the idea of showing my students how to become critical thinkers. Even in mathematics classes we compared and contrasted differing methods for solving problems and began to discuss the merits of each. I once prefaced such an exercise by having my students read accounts of a Revolutionary War battle written by four quite different individuals. One was the eyewitness account of a patriot, another was from a letter written by a British soldier. Still another was penned by Winston Churchill for his famous history and the last was from the point of view of a bystander who had little interest in choosing sides. The students immediately realized that how we see the world is influenced by all of the complexities of our lifetime. They began to question who had been in the right and wondered if we ever get a totally unbiased reporting of events. It was quite rewarding to watch the scales fall from their eyes and to experience their enthusiasm in being able to engage in a debate.

I am and always will be a staunch proponent of free speech. Unlike many people that I know, I actually enjoy hearing from individuals whose opinions are diametrically opposed to mine. When in their company I listen with as open a mind as I might possibly muster, realizing that my own thinking is rooted in the totality of my lifetime. My goal is not to catch them in mistakes but to truly learn from them. It is rather amazing how much I derive from even the most ridiculous sounding ideas. I have always felt that we tend to spend too much time composing our responses and not nearly enough attempting to understand why people believe as they do.

Obviously there are many instances in which I am not even minutely swayed by someone’s beliefs, particularly when I sense that they are evil or violent. I have read Mein Kampf not because I am a follower of Nazi propaganda, but because I think it is important to know what lies in the minds of such people. Perhaps the biggest mistake that too many make is running away from the rants of those who would impinge on our freedoms. In truth we should make ourselves aware of even their most rancid and unbearable thinking. I agree with the Godfather that it is important to keep our enemies close.

I abhor censorship of any kind. Free speech is perhaps our most important right as citizens. When I write my blog each weekday I am fully aware that I will annoy or even anger some who read my words, but I will fight to the death for my right to state what I believe. I will do the same for anyone else, even those with whom I totally disagree. The hallmark of totalitarianism is the tendency to eliminate the written or spoken words of those voicing alternative points of view. A free nation insures free expression of ideas in all phases of society. If someone urinates on a cross and calls it art I may choose to disagree and even feel offended, but I will never insist that the offering be destroyed.

I am somewhat befuddled by the current trend to shut down free speech at universities that were once bastions of open expression. I don’t personally like Ann Coulter but I have no problem with having her speak on the campus of any college including my alma mater. I don’t have to attend the event and I certainly don’t have to agree with anything that she says. What I should insist on is that she have her opportunity to speak her mind without interference. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but her words will never hurt me. In fact, I suspect that her audience would be rather small if not for all of the unearned publicity that she gets each time a group of students threaten violence if she shows up to give a speech.

The history of the world is filled with instances of book burnings and executions of people whose thoughts and words seemed controversial. The Spanish Inquisition was a dark time of squelching ideas. Members of ISIL destroy anyone and anything that is offensive to them. Surely the examples of Nazi and Communist oppression should teach us that it is in an open society that we progress as humans, not one in which we refuse to allow alternative points of view. Unfortunately I fear that we are presently on a razor thin line between wanting to be inoffensive and becoming unthinking censors. It is my love of liberty that tells me that we must be very careful in protecting our rights as free men and women. All of us should be loudly complaining any time that there are attempts to silence any among us, regardless of whether we agree with that individual’s beliefs or not.

With regards to what I am presently witnessing I am reminded of the now famous words of Pastor Martin Niemoller:

First they came for the socialists and I did not speak out because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak for me.

Speak out loudly and clearly. Let no one take away the free speech of any among us.

The 100 Days

Washington-DC-hero-H

Whew! By tomorrow we will have made it through Donald Trump’s first hundred days and in all honesty very little has happened one way or another, which is what I predicted all along and probably is for the best. Washington is far more complex than the analysis that President Trump made of it during his campaign. He’s gone through the big buzzsaw known as separation of powers and I suspect that he is somewhat surprised by his own inability to remake the government in only a matter of weeks. Just getting his cabinet approved was quite an ordeal and it seems that one of his original picks who was forced to leave rather quickly is in a heap of trouble. I truly wonder if Trump has had one of those “be careful what you wish for” realizations or if he would just as soon be back in Trump Tower enjoying the good life as a private citizen. He hasn’t exactly been welcomed to town with open arms by either Democrats or the media. It must feel very lonely at the top, but in the spirit of giving the man a chance I have a few suggestions which I am rather certain he will ignore, but here goes anyway.

It’s way past time to continue speaking of the election. Everybody has moved on and you need to as well, Mr. President. It’s obvious that Elizabeth Warren is already gearing up for a run in 2020. For that matter so are Cory Booker and Julian Castro. The Democrats smell blood and they will not back down. It’s time for you to concentrate solely on achieving some of your objectives but be ready for a big fight because not even your own Republicans are all in for you. Perhaps it’s time for you to learn the art of the deal in Washington. A bit of compromise might go a long way and I can tell that you are already rethinking a number of your big plans like that silly wall that so many appear to like. It’s actually a good sign that you may be beginning to realize that it was a mistake to be so wed to such a foolish idea. Maybe there is hope after all.

The whole Obamacare deal is a fiasco, and I must admit that I somewhat agree with you that it was inevitable even if you and the Republicans had done absolutely nothing. Now for the sake of the country it’s time for you, the members of your party and even the Democrats to figure this thing out lest our entire healthcare system collapse. A little give and take here and there is in order along with a very honest analysis of what it is going to take to keep the majority of folks happy without raising the costs to untenable levels. If you make a misstep on this I predict that it will be your undoing and don’t think that you can just foist all of the blame onto Speaker Ryan or the Democrats. You need to man up and take responsibility, something that I suspect is very hard for you.

I actually like your pick for the Supreme Court. While I don’t agree with all of Justice Gorsuch’s political beliefs I think that he is a fine and honest man in the vein of Justice Roberts. I believe that he will rule for the good of the country and in support of the Constitution without deference to certain political points of view. He doesn’t worry me. Now consider finding more decent men like him to help you run the government. (That’s a broad hint to rid yourself of Steve Bannon who in the end will lead to your demise. Just thank him for his help in your campaign and send him on his way. He serves no purpose anymore.)

I think that you could have done way better for Secretary of Education than Betsy Devos. She knows little or nothing about the vast system of public education in this country. When you get a chance you should replace her with someone who has a better grasp of the situation. She is a distraction and will do more harm than good. Surely there is someone with better qualifications.

I have mostly avoided political discussions on Facebook or Twitter for quite some time now. It is a very freeing experience. I suggest that you try it. Refrain from those weekend urges to say something that you will later regret. It really is time to be more presidential. When you act with restraint you actually become believable. It appears that those who voted for you still love you and those of us who did not have yet to be convinced that you know what you are doing. Show us a bit of maturity. Quit resorting to the habits of a thirteen year old. When you feel the urge to tweet an unfortunate message call Tweeters Anonymous or a trusted family member or friend to talk you out of embarrassing yourself and the country.

I am a tiny bit afraid of your trigger finger with regard to world affairs. I suppose that someone needed to show the Syrian president that his inhumane tactics will not be tolerated. I reluctantly applaud you for sending him a loud and clear message. I’m not so sure that you need to be as aggressive with the crazy kid in charge of North Korea as you have been. We already had one hopeless war over there and we don’t need another. Besides, I’m not so sure that anyone can reason with little Kim.

I know it’s been rough for you and your family of late. I’ve actually found myself feeling a bit sorry for all of you. I doubt that I would be able to take the daily drubbing that you receive and there are times when I actually think that the press is being way too hard. I think that they would be well advised to acknowledge some of the good things that you have tried to do. They can’t hate you every single moment and then expect you to listen to their concerns. Maybe it’s time for a truce and who better to lead it than you? Wouldn’t it be interesting if you ended up being the man who managed to bring all of the disparate groups in the country back to speaking and listening to one another? If you’d like to achieve that you will have to begin to set an example. So far you haven’t been so good at that but I am the supreme optimist. Hope springs eternal in my heart.

So there it is. You have managed to make it without being impeached or run out of town. I suspect that there are still countless individuals playing detective in the hopes of nailing you to the wall. In the meantime, show all of us that you really care about the people more than you do about yourself. I know that is very difficult for an old dog like you to learn knew tricks but, hey, we all have to change from time to time.

Anyway, I believe that it is in the best interest of all of us for you to really learn how to master your job, so good luck to you in the next hundred days. Feel free to use some of my ideas and please do your best not to get us blown off of the face of the earth. Concentrate on improving rather than tearing down and follow the mantras of the charter school where I once taught, “Work hard. Be nice. Leave everything better than you found it.” 

The Strong

AlejandroAt one of my grandsons’ recent track meets there was a fun race that featured beefy football players running against one another. Of course there was also a big twist to the competition. Each of the guys, who looked like defensive linemen, had to carry a tire as they circled the track. They had everyone laughing and having a good time, and I was reminded of a story that my grandfather loved to tell.

Grandpa grew up in small town Virginia. In fact he was so far out in the country that he wasn’t even sure if the place where he lived even had a name. The townspeople had to create their own entertainment. There were no theaters or musical venues or such, just whatever talent they were able to throw together from the locals.

On one occasion the citizens decided to have a race between the biggest guys in the county. The idea was that they would have to run through a course carrying heavy barrels of flour. They had to ford rivers, climb over fences and go through fields strewn with rocks while lugging the heavy containers. The path extended for several miles and was so treacherous that only a truly strong man would be able to survive the grueling adventure.

Grandpa said that everybody’s money was on one particular man who was built like  Paul Bunyan. His arms and legs rippled with muscle and he was well over six feet tall. My grandfather was in total awe of this contender, and so he wagered a small amount of his earnings on the outcome.

From the beginning of the race this incredible hulk of a man sprinted far ahead of the competition. Nothing seemed to stop him and in one phenomenal show of prowess he even climbed over a fence without stopping to set down the heavy barrel. Grandpa laughed as he pointed out that there was actually no contest, and his bet was as safe as if he had placed his money in the bank.

We humans have always had a fascination with individuals who hone their bodies into powerful machines. Here in the Houston area we are all enamored with J.J. Watt, an affable defensive player for the Houston Texans who at times seems to most surely be related to Superman. He has performed some spectacular feats on the football field and in the locker room, including jumping from a standing position to the top of a chest that was at least three or four feet off of the ground. When I think of J.J. I understand the admiration that my grandfather had for his hometown strong man.There is something almost mystical about such people. They metaphorically represent the strength of mind and body that we all wish to have.

Of course we are not all made of the necessary stuff to enable us to accomplish such remarkable physical feats. Even in the race with the tires that made us all laugh at my grandsons’ track meet there was one young participant who was significantly smaller than the rest and in spite of tremendous grit he was not able to keep up with the bigger boys. Still, there was something quite appealing about his willingness to try even as he fell farther and farther behind. In the end he received as much cheering and applause as the winner. We all somehow knew that his positive attitude was as laudable as size and speed.

My grandfather’s stories all had a common theme, namely that we humans are continually faced with challenges and the best among us fight with all of their might to succeed. He himself overcame one difficulty after another, and somehow lived to tell about his adventures with a hint of laughter and the wisdom of someone who had traveled along life’s highway for one hundred eight years.

We love our athletes because we understand how much hard work and pain it takes for them to do the things that they do. They push themselves beyond the limits that so many of us simply accept. This is also true of those who take their minds to heights of thinking and learning that literally result in unheard of discoveries. There are people among us who are not satisfied with being ordinary and their dedication to their craft separates them from the ordinary.

A couple of weeks ago one of the former students of KIPP Houston High School performed in his senior recital at Wabash College. To say that Alejandro Reyna is talented would be an understatement as evidenced by what he has achieved since the beginning of his education there. As a freshman he regularly wrote a blog detailing the adjustments that he had to make in a place far away from home with a culture unlike his own. His openness and sincerity made his writing an instant hit, but it was only the beginning of the incredible things that he would ultimately do. By the time that he had reached his senior year he had composed original music for oboe, piano and strings in addition to being a proficient singer. The works that he wrote were stunning and plant him firmly in the ranks of incredibly talented individuals. In his own way he is as splendid as the strong men who have been the stuff of fascinating legends. We will most surely continue to hear from this exceptional man. 

Each of us is endowed with particular talents, but we don’t always push ourselves to be our very best. Athletes work hard and often ignore pain. Those who are brilliant move beyond the ordinary in their quest for knowledge and answers to questions. There is much perspiration involved in achieving greatness and that is why we humans are so in awe of those who push the envelope of life. They become our heroes and live in the stories that we tell of them. Alejandro Reyna has already earned a place among them and he has only begun.   

The Little House

2012114-collations-cottageLBLLast week we had some of the most beautiful weather that I have experienced in a great while. The air was cool and crisp, and the sky was a brilliant blue with the sun shining so brightly that it brought a smile to my face. I happened to be tutoring at a high school back in the old neighborhood where I grew up and I suddenly felt a sense of deja vu. The conditions reminded me of the days when I was young and my whole life lay before me. Suddenly I had an urge to drive to my former home just to see how it was doing on such a glorious day. Somehow I imagined that it might have been transformed from its rundown state by the sheer wonder of spring just as the formerly barren trees that were now filled with green had been with the bloom of spring in the air. My thoughts of returning to the center of my youth faded as quickly as the silly idea that my mama might be waiting for me there. Instead I headed for my present home in the opposite direction.

Perhaps my mother had been looking out for my welfare after all. I later learned that a Houston Police SWAT team had been engaged in a four hour standoff at Belmark and Crosswell just down the street from where I once lived. It seems that one of the residents had taken to shooting his gun anytime that he wished and on this particular day one of the bullets had found its way inside the home of a neighbor who decided it was time to report the inconsiderate resident to the police. The rest as they say is history.

After hearing of the latest difficulty in the area I was reminded of the need to be vigilant when I drive over there for my sessions with students. The loveliness of the trees and the sounds of the birds had lulled me into believing that all was well in a part of town now known more for its toughness than the pastoral feel that it once had. I should have been warned by the burglar bars on the windows and doors of the nearby houses, but somehow in my daydreamy state I had forgotten that things had changed so much.

I thought of a book that had been one of my very favorites when I was no more than five or six years old. It was about a delightful little house that stood in the middle of a country field and belonged to a big happy family. Initially life for the house was grand but as time  passed its paint began to fade and peel. As it aged so did the area around it. More and more buildings popped up here and there until one day the little house was surrounded by skyscrapers and tenements. It was only a shell of itself, an abandoned heap of broken glass and rotting wood that had once been so loved. Because the book was a story for children it naturally had a happy ending as someone purchased the tiny place, renovated it, and moved it to a hill filled with wildflowers and lovely shade trees. The little house was smiling once again.

Sadly the real world if far less like that story. I often envision a time when my old neighborhood will be rediscovered by people willing to return it to its one time glory. So many of the folks who now live there appear to be trying hard to make it a good place for their families, but as long as there are those who seem not to care about the rights and the safety of their neighbors it remains a dangerous place to be. I suspect that when the sun sets and the streets get dark there is much fear inside the walls of the houses surrounded by high fences that sometimes sport concertina wire as an added way to keep out marauders. Given that most of us at one time slept in the same structures with our windows wide open at night, it is difficult to imagine having to live with the worries that must surely plague the good people who want to provide a nice family atmosphere for their children.

The signs are all there that caring people inhabit the neighborhood. There are still lovely roses growing in many of the yards and fresh coats of colorful paint brighten the exteriors. Sadly here and there are the marks of neglect, eyesores that clash with the efforts of the vast majority of residents and everywhere there are the barriers erected in an attempt to keep intruders at bay.

Schools like the one where I tutor are doing their best to bring a light of hope to the people who live nearby, but their hard work is too often offset by stories like the SWAT standoff just down the street. On the same day as that horrendous event there was also a news item about a teacher at the local middle school who had impregnated a thirteen year old girl. Little wonder that so many of the people who live where I once found so much innocent adventure and security feel as though they are forgotten.

I’d like to believe that the work being done inside places like the school where I help young people is the key to changing the fate of those who live in less than ideal circumstances. Education will surely make a difference. The men and women who toil each day at Cristo Rey are providing hope one student, one family at a time. Many of the youngsters that they teach will be the first to graduate from high school and then continue on to college. The knowledge that the students acquire will most surely bring them the power to take control of their destinies.

The criminal element is everywhere, all over the world. Seeing evil is an inevitable part of life, but being continually victimized by it is not. I still harbor dreams that we humans have the capability of reviving even dilapidated neighborhoods into vital and inviting centers for living well. The spirit of hope is still evident in my old stomping grounds. Most of the people there really care and want to eliminate the hopelessness that sometimes overtakes them when they see the gangs and the drug deals just outside their doors.

After the SWAT team had subdued the trouble maker who lived on the street where I once did a newscaster interviewed an old man who voiced my own thoughts. He proclaimed that his was a nice neighborhood with good people who just wanted to feel safe. He hoped that the man who had been stealing their security would go away for a very long time so that they might live in peace. Even though I no longer live on Belmark Street like that man, I felt a kinship with him and I too would like to think that things will get a bit better for the folks who might have been my neighbors had I stayed. Today is a beautiful day and tomorrow should be quite fine as well. I pray that the sunshine will bring a ray of hope to Belmark Street and all of the places where darkness sometimes descends and that there will be better days just like there were for the little house in the story that I read so long ago.

Never Forgotten

memories.jpegA teacher never forgets her students. Like the old woman in the shoe she sometimes has so many children that she doesn’t know what to do. She worries about them as if they were her own, sometimes lying awake at night developing strategies for reaching each of them. Even after they have gone she remembers them and hopes and prays that everything ultimately turned out well. Nothing makes her happier than hearing good news about one of them, especially if if that one had been troubled in the past.

A teacher carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her concern is so prevailing that she must find ways to ameliorate it or become so stressed out that she is unable to function. She joins in the sarcastic gallows humor of the teachers’ lounge. It helps to joke about the challenges that she is facing. Only those who do the same kind of work understand that a good chuckle now and again helps to maintain a positive outlook. Laughing is an imperative exercise for a teacher lest she become so engrossed in the seriousness of what she does that she loses focus. A teacher has to keep things in perspective, but it is often oh so hard.

I find myself thinking back to the students who gave me the most trouble. I’d like to believe that their bad behavior was only a phase and that they are now leading good and happy lives, but I sometimes lose faith. I hear that this one is in prison for armed robbery or that one murdered his girlfriend’s father. I saw the good in them and tried so desperately to bring it to the forefront of their personalities, but once they left my care they were beaten down by toxic environments and the poor choices that they continually made. I sense that it is impossible for me to completely understand how desperate their lives were even though I too had a difficult childhood.

I had the support of a loving family, wonderful neighbors, teachers who cared enough to guide me and a church community that watched over me. So many of my students had no one. They went home to abusive parents who were often drug ridden or alcoholic. Being part of a group meant joining a gang, and there were plenty of those from which to choose. I knew that so many of my kids were affiliated with very dangerous groups that offered them the protection and feeling of belonging that I received from good and caring people.

I often think back to a morning when I was on duty at the back of the school. My task was to keep the students as calm as possible as they gathered before the doors opened at the beginning of the day. As the time for the bell to ring drew nearer the crowd of kids grew by leaps and bounds, requiring me to be especially vigilant. This was one of the most likely moments for a fight to suddenly break out. It was up to me and my fellow teachers to quell excitement before it even happened.

On this particular day there had been no incidents. It was uncharacteristically quiet and when the entry bell rang the students filed dutifully inside. I stayed behind to shoo any stragglers or late comers to their classes. It was a rather lovely morning and I was happy to get a bit more fresh air before being trapped in a room with no windows for the next many hours. I was in the midst of a rather pleasant daydream when I saw two groups of students marching toward each other from opposite sides. My heart began beating in overdrive as I realized that this was not a good thing. I was all too aware of which gang was which and who some of the members were, and it was apparent that a battle was about to ensue.

The students seemed to not even notice that I was standing smack in the middle of their advance, or perhaps they simply chose to ignore me. They continued forward as I attempted to formulate a plan for stopping what was most surely going to happen. Suddenly one of the leaders drew a red bandana from his pocket and tossed it defiantly to the ground without saying a word. I knew that I had to act quickly and so without hesitation I dashed over, picked up the crimson cloth, and smiled at the student who had initiated the challenge saying, “I think you may have dropped something. Here you go. Now run along to class.”

There was a deathly silence from every member of each group and the young man who had formally begun the proceedings looked sternly at me as though I had broken the most sacred of protocols. He was actually one of my favorite students and he seemed to be struggling to decide how to treat my lapse of good manners. I attempted to save face for him by continuing to play the fool. I acted as though I had no idea what kind of battle I had just averted, and still grinning naively I asked them to please hurry into the building noting that I was quite tired and didn’t want to have to fill out tardy slips for such a large group. I then gave my still confused student a stern and knowing look that he interpreted quite correctly. Without ever saying a word he accepted the bandana and stowed it away in his pocket. Glancing briefly at his rivals he motioned with his head to his posse and then turned and led them in the opposite direction sauntering slowing into the building.

The other group stood in stunned silence with expressions that revealed their own confusion, frustration and anger. I simply motioned for them to hurry inside and with a shake of his head their leader complied as well. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had stopped what would surely have been a bloody melee and big trouble for all of the boys whose tempers and pride had become riled up for some reason that I didn’t care to know.

I dutifully reported the incident to the principal so that he might watch for trouble, but there was none on that day or even well into the future. I don’t know if the rival gangs eventually met up off campus, or if they just lost their motivation to battle, but I never had any trouble with any of them again. The boy with the bandana eventually asked me how I knew that he wouldn’t fight once I had intervened. I just reminded him that it was “because I love you and I know that you love me.” He flashed an amused and satisfied smile.

I know that one of the students from that incident is now a Houston police officer and two of them are in prison. As for the rest, I have no idea how things went for them, but I think of them and pray that they eventually found a way to live their lives without violence. I have so many stories and memories that both haunt me and brighten my heart. I will always be a teacher. I will always love my kids.