The Chicago Model of Militarizing Schools
Monday 29 June 2009
by: Brian Roa, t r u t h o u t | Perspective
For the past four years, I have observed the military occupation of the high school where I teach science. Currently, Chicago's Senn High School houses Rickover Naval Academy (RNA). I use the term "occupation" because part of our building was taken away despite student, parent, teacher and community opposition to RNA's opening.
Senn students are made to feel like second-class citizens inside their own school, due to inequalities. The facilities and resources are better on the RNA side. RNA students are allowed to walk on the Senn side, while Senn students cannot walk on the RNA side. RNA "disenrolls" students and we accept those students who get kicked out if they live within our attendance boundaries. This practice is against Chicago policy, but goes unchecked. All of these things maintain a two-tiered system within the same school building.
This phenomenon is not restricted to Senn. Chicago has more military academies and more students in JROTC than any other city in the US. As the tentacles of school militarization reach beyond Chicago, the process used in this city seems to serve as a model of expansion. There was a Marine Academy planned for Georgia's Dekalb County, which includes 10 percent of Atlanta. Fortunately, due to protest, the school has been postponed until 2010. Despite it being postponed, it is still useful to analyze the rhetoric used to rationalize the Marine Academy. Many of the lies and excuses used to justify school militarization in Chicago and Georgia may well be used in other cities as militarism grows.
Not for Recruiting?
A favorite lie used to defend the expansion of military academies is that they are not used to recruit for the military.
"This is not a training ground to send kids into the military," Dekalb Schools' Superintendent Crawford Lewis told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution in March. Those same words could have come straight from Col. Rick Mills, director of military academies and JROTC in Chicago, who explained away recruitment in a similar fashion.
"This is not a recruiting tool, but a way to help students succeed at whatever career they might choose," Mills told the Chicago Tribune.
Yet military academies receive money from the Department of Defense (DoD). The DoD would be derelict in its responsibilities were that money not spent as an investment in future soldiers. Accepting the claim that there is no recruiting in military academies makes about as much sense as allowing gangs to fund and operate within schools, on the assumption that they won't recruit on school grounds.
Moreover, since military academies are staffed with ex-service members (many don't even require valid teaching certificates), students are likely to receive career advice that favors a military path.
There are more blatant examples of recruiting at RNA. The cadets - the label applied to students at military academies - have taken a school-sponsored field trip to the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. Furthermore, last year the school hosted Adm. Michael Mullen, the current chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Mullen told the cadets that the Navy was a "great career choice." RNA has hosted ten admirals in their short four-year history.
In addition to these direct tactics, the academies use more insidious approaches. A military culture permeates these schools. Students dress in uniform, receive demerits, and are introduced to the military hierarchy and way of life. For example, I have witnessed students marching with fake rifles. This cultivation of a militarized mind is the best explanation for why 40 percent of all Naval Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps program graduates wind up entering military service. This statistic is especially telling, considering that less than one percent of the population has served in the military at any given moment since 1975.
The Choice Argument
Military academies are promoted as an option within the public school system for parents. We heard it from Arne Duncan (ex-CEO of CPS and current secretary of education) and we hear it from Dale Davis, public information officer for the Dekalb County School System, who calls the military school "an addition" for parents to consider. Compare that with what Colonel Mills said in December 2007 in the Online News Hour: "The purpose of the military academy programs is to offer our cadets and parents an educational choice among many choices in Chicago Public Schools and to provide an educational experience that has a college prep curriculum, combined with a military curriculum."
We must dissect what kind of "choice" parents are given. If one's only choices are a school in desperate need of repair or a shiny new military academy, parents will often "choose" the "better" school.
The unbalanced funding presents an incredibly difficult decision for many parents, as Marivel Igartua, mother of a cadet inside the Naval Academy, told me. She didn't want to have to send her daughter to RNA, but she felt squeezed into the choice because her area school was in such bad shape. The unequal allocation of resources, which favors military academies, can serve as a form of economic coercion upon parents.
If public schools were given the resources they need to improve, then we could offer parents a more real choice.
Military pushers also argue that the academies are a popular option among parents. According to Mills, quoted in In These Times in 2005, "These kinds of programs would not be in schools if there weren't kids who wanted it, parents who supported it and administrators who facilitated it."
Arne Duncan claimed there were waiting lists filled with children hoping to attend a military academy. However, CPS has never released the so-called waiting lists, and concrete numbers tell a different story. RNA's goal for student enrollment for this year was 500-600 students. RNA finished the year with 376 students. Where's the demand?
Military Academies in the Context of Dismantling Public Education
Viewing militarization in the broader scope of "school improvement" can provide a helpful lens. In Chicago, military academies often represented one offshoot of a general plan to break down public education and replace it with charter schools and contract schools, siphoning public money to business people and "nonprofits." However, these "chosen" schools don't perform any better than public schools. A recent Chicago study compared ACT scores between charter schools and neighborhood schools, and no statistically significant difference was found. There was a difference in the number of English language learners and special-needs students accepted. Charters received fewer of both students. We see the same dichotomy with Senn and RNA.
What may be more problematic is that sometimes the charterization movement masks hidden agendas Sometimes the hidden agenda is union busting. Sometimes it's gentrification. Sometimes it is militarization. We have seen all of these hidden agendas in Chicago. We all agree that public schools are in desperate need of renovation and repair. But simply demonizing public schools as failing without giving them the resources to succeed - and replacing them with experimental schools - is unjust.
The push to destroy public schools and replace them with military academies and charter schools was further facilitated under the mayoral control of schools in Chicago. Mayoral control means that a city's once publicly elected school board is replaced by mayoral appointees partial to the agenda set forth by the mayor. In Chicago, it also meant replacing the school superintendent, who was legally mandated to have public education experience, with a CEO, who is only mandated by his scruples. Duncan served as the CEO for several years. He helped administer and finish off the largest militarization of a school system in the US, under the banner of "school improvement."
If we look at the history of Chicago's "school improvement" plan, we can see the hidden agenda pushed by the charter movement. According to Pauline Lipman, writing in Substance News in 2005, it is a plan whose blueprint was ripped from the Commercial Club of Chicago, a conglomerate of Fortune 500 companies in Chicago. Schools are closed and reopened while students are shuffled around to other schools, which are often performing worse than their original school. Little regard is paid to the education of the majority of students, almost all of them poor, black and Latino/a. Simply put, Chicago's plan is not a school improvement plan. It is the dismantling of a public good for the benefit of a chosen few. School militarization was accelerated as this plan was being implemented in Chicago.
The pushing of similar plans can be expected throughout the US now that Duncan is secretary of education. With the stimulus bill's $100 billion in emergency aid for public schools and colleges, Duncan is in an incredible position of power. He could use it to promote renovation and increase resources to existing public schools. Or he could spend it on costly privatization and militarization, squandering our tax money and endangering our children's futures.
--------
Brian Roa is a science teacher at Chicago's Senn High School and a member of CORE (Caucus of Rank and File Educators), a caucus in the CTU which works for equitable education for all students and against the charterization schemes in Chicago.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
National Service
This is the one to watch for folks...
As unemployment figures skyrocket in the coming months, watch for the development of "National Service" programs...
During the "Great Depression" FDR created "works projects" to employ millions of Americans.
These projects:
The Civilian Conservation Corps - CCC
The Works Project Administration - WPA
The Tennessee Valley Authority - TVA
These government sponsored programs enabled millions to escape the devastating unemployment and poverty of the times and accomplished great infrastructure development in our country. These "camps" were largely commanded by ex-military officers and structured and operated by military standards and procedures.
While these programs succeeded in employing so many and accomplishing so much, their accomplishments were achieved at the expense of deepening the deficit. The American economy only truly recovered from it's deficit and vast unemployment when the nation geared up it's manufacturing and recruiting for the military and engaged fully in World War II. The stock market that crashed in 1929 (for the same reasons it's crashing now) only returned to it's highs of the 1920's after the war.
While campaigning for the office, our now "President" Obama made on several occasions, references to "National Service".
It may seem an odd coincidence. The government's "non-response" to the housing crisis, and completely mis-directed bailout policies for banks and other financial institutions, have not eased the stress on our economy nor the accelerating free-fall in job losses.
Could it be that the intent of our benevolent corprastocracy is to allow/generate enough hardship, fear and despair that Americans will "volunteer" by the millions for the as yet undefined "National Service"? If creating such a dynamic is not our corporate driven government's intent, then at best, they're failing magnificently at their purported commitment to righting the economy and saving/creating millions of jobs.
In a world where those who control the levers of power, create what serves them best, my argument is that we're being led toward a National Service Program.
In some civilized countries, "National Service" is a requirement that's generally positive and accepted. Unfortunately, it was also utilized as a primary recruiting tool for organizations like the Nazi Party during the depression that followed WW I.
Will it be a volunteer program? Will it be the form of "unavoidable volunteerism" spawned by the choice between eating and starving - between being homeless and having a cot in a barracks? Or will it become a mandatory obligation that all of us will, by law, be required to fulfill? Will this form of "National Service" create a standing (or kneeling) labor reserve for direct and indirect support of the US military?
During the Great Depression, tens of thousands of those employed in the military style New Deal Works Projects Camps, segued directly from the camps into the military.
Does this sort of malevolent manipulation seem unlikely? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
So, National Service? Watch the trends and directions that government policies encourage. I urge you, for your sake, and the sake of your children and grandchildren, to remember your history - connect the dots - keep your eye on this one.
As unemployment figures skyrocket in the coming months, watch for the development of "National Service" programs...
During the "Great Depression" FDR created "works projects" to employ millions of Americans.
These projects:
The Civilian Conservation Corps - CCC
The Works Project Administration - WPA
The Tennessee Valley Authority - TVA
These government sponsored programs enabled millions to escape the devastating unemployment and poverty of the times and accomplished great infrastructure development in our country. These "camps" were largely commanded by ex-military officers and structured and operated by military standards and procedures.
While these programs succeeded in employing so many and accomplishing so much, their accomplishments were achieved at the expense of deepening the deficit. The American economy only truly recovered from it's deficit and vast unemployment when the nation geared up it's manufacturing and recruiting for the military and engaged fully in World War II. The stock market that crashed in 1929 (for the same reasons it's crashing now) only returned to it's highs of the 1920's after the war.
While campaigning for the office, our now "President" Obama made on several occasions, references to "National Service".
It may seem an odd coincidence. The government's "non-response" to the housing crisis, and completely mis-directed bailout policies for banks and other financial institutions, have not eased the stress on our economy nor the accelerating free-fall in job losses.
Could it be that the intent of our benevolent corprastocracy is to allow/generate enough hardship, fear and despair that Americans will "volunteer" by the millions for the as yet undefined "National Service"? If creating such a dynamic is not our corporate driven government's intent, then at best, they're failing magnificently at their purported commitment to righting the economy and saving/creating millions of jobs.
In a world where those who control the levers of power, create what serves them best, my argument is that we're being led toward a National Service Program.
In some civilized countries, "National Service" is a requirement that's generally positive and accepted. Unfortunately, it was also utilized as a primary recruiting tool for organizations like the Nazi Party during the depression that followed WW I.
Will it be a volunteer program? Will it be the form of "unavoidable volunteerism" spawned by the choice between eating and starving - between being homeless and having a cot in a barracks? Or will it become a mandatory obligation that all of us will, by law, be required to fulfill? Will this form of "National Service" create a standing (or kneeling) labor reserve for direct and indirect support of the US military?
During the Great Depression, tens of thousands of those employed in the military style New Deal Works Projects Camps, segued directly from the camps into the military.
Does this sort of malevolent manipulation seem unlikely? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
So, National Service? Watch the trends and directions that government policies encourage. I urge you, for your sake, and the sake of your children and grandchildren, to remember your history - connect the dots - keep your eye on this one.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Humility
How elusive is humility?
One thing I have learned in a long life, that all our science,
measured against reality, is primitive and childlike.
- Albert Einstein
One thing I have learned in a long life, that all our science,
measured against reality, is primitive and childlike.
- Albert Einstein
Saturday, January 31, 2009
A Voice in the Wilderness
I don't have much to say that means very much.
Here's a recent blog post by a guy who does.
James Howard Kunstler:
http://jameshowardkunstler.typepad.com/clusterfuck_nation/
State of Cringe
January 26, 2009
Just as Mr. Obama has danced into the oval office, we've arrived at a moment when a lot of people have a hard time imagining the future. This includes especially the mainstream media, which has reached a state of zombification parallel to that of the banks. But even in the mighty blogosphere, with its thousands of voices unconstrained by craven advertisers or pandering managing editors, the view forward dims as a dark and ominous fog rolls over the landscape of possibilities.
For at least a year several story-lines have been slugging it out inconclusively for supremacy of the Web-waves. The main event has been the Deflationists versus the Inflationists. The first group basically says that so much "money" is being welshed out of existence that it dwarfs the new "money" being shoveled into existence in the form of bail-outs, tarps, and office re-decoration stipends. The Deflationists see the tattered remnants of the consumer credit economy auguring ever deeper into a hole until it is buried so far down that all the back-hoes ever sold will not be able to dig it out. The competing Inflationists say that the massive truckloads of shoveled-in "money" will soon overtake vanishing "wealth" and, in the process, make the US dollar worthless.
Some of us see both outcomes in sequence: the deflationary "work out" of bad debt currently underway -- of loans that will will never be paid back, of acronymic paper securities revealed as frauds, of "non-performing" contracts entering the swamps of foreclosure, of banks pretending to still exist, of hallucinated "wealth" rushing into the cosmic worm-hole of oblivion -- can only go for so long before everyone who can go broke will go broke. Then, just as we find ourselves a nation of empty pockets, the tsunami of shoveled-in "money" designed to "reboot the consumer" (created not from productive activity but just printed recklessly), will start churning through the "economy," chasing products and commodities that became scarce during the deflationary phase -- and the result is hyper-inflation, the eraser of debt, destroyer of fortunes, and suicide pill of feckless governments.
I guess the basic difference is that the hardcore Deflationists seem to think that their process can go on forever. The society just gets poorer and poorer until we're back at something like a scene out of Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The Inflationists see a fork in the road leading to more overt destruction, especially political turmoil as a lot of negative emotion joins the work-out orgy and overwhelms government.
But in this moment, the week after a new president's inauguration, the deadly fog has rolled in and absolutely everyone dreads what lurks on the other side of it, without being able to discern the path through it. For example, the "bail-out fatigue" being reported suggests that congress may just call a halt to money-shoveling. Where would that leave Mr. Obama's urgent call for "stimulus?" Not to mention further TARP injections for redecorating bank offices.
I've been skeptical of the "stimulus" as sketched out so far, aimed at refurbishing the infrastructure of Happy Motoring. To me, this is the epitome of a campaign to sustain the unsustainable -- since car-dependency is absolutely the last thing we need to shore up and promote. I haven't heard any talk so far about promoting walkable communities, or any meaningful plan to get serious about fixing passenger rail and integral public transit. Has Mr. Obama's circle lost sight of the fact that we import more than two-thirds of the oil we use, even during the current price hiatus? Or have they forgotten how vulnerable this leaves us to the slightest geopolitical spasm in such stable oil-exporting nations as Nigeria, Mexico, Venezuela, Libya, Algeria, Columbia, Iran, and the Middle East states? And we're going to rescue ourselves by driving cars?
I know it is difficult for Americans at every level to imagine a different way-of-life, but we'd better start tuning up our imaginations, because endless motoring is not our destiny anymore. The message has not moved from the grassroots up, and so at this perilous stage the message had better come from the top down. Mr. Obama needs to go on TV and tell the American public that were done cruisin' for burgers. He could do that by drastically reviving his stimulus proposal as it currently stands.
Putting aside whether this "stimulus" represents reckless money-printing in an insolvent society, let's just take it at face-value and ask where the "money" might be better directed:
-- We have to rehabilitate thousands of downtowns all over the nation to accommodate the new re-scaled edition of local and regional trade that will follow the death of national chain-store retail of the WalMart ilk. Reactivated town centers and Main Streets are indispensable features of walkable communities. The Congress for the New Urbanism (CNU.org) ought to be consulted on the procedures for accomplishing this and for rehabilitating the traditional neighborhoods connected to our Main Streets.
-- We have to reform food production (a.k.a. "farming"). Petro-dependent agri-biz will go the same way as the chain stores. Its equations will fail, especially in a credit-strapped society. That piece of the picture is so dire right now, as we prepare for the planting season, that many crops may not be put in for lack of front-money. This portends, at least, much higher food prices at the end of the year, if not outright scarcities and shortages. And the new government wants to gold-plate highway off-ramps instead? Earth to Rahm Emanuel: screw your head back on.
-- As mentioned above, we have to get passenger rail going again because the airlines are going to die the next time there is an uptick in oil prices, or a spot shortage of oil. Let's not be too grandiose and attempt to build expensive high-speed or mag-lev networks -- certainly not right now -- because they require entirely new track systems. Let's fix those regular tracks already out there, rusting in the rain, or temporarily replaced by bike trails.
Those are three biggies for moment and enough to keep this society busy for a couple of years. But more to the point of this blog, observers of all stripes are having trouble imagining any way out of our multiple predicaments. All the possible actions tried so far have have seemed absurd. Why even try to prop up inflated house values when the single most crucial need in this sector is for house prices to return to parity with incomes so the shrinking pool of ordinary people still employed can begin to think about buying one? Well, the obvious explanation is that politicians can't bear the pain of watching mass foreclosures and the ruination of families. This is pretty understandable, and it is tragic indeed. Frankly, I don't know of any political narcotic that can mitigate the pain that results from having made poor choices in life -- even if those choices were promoted and reinforced by the mighty ideology of "American Dreaming." Anyway, the foreclosures are well underway now, and perhaps the salient question is how long will the public's fury remain constrained while they hear about Wall Street executives buying $80,000 area rugs? Surely there is a tipping point of collective distress that is not too far from where we're at now.
In the realm of TARPS and other continued bail-outs aimed at the banks, the car-makers, and a host of other corporate special pleaders, I wonder if we have already reached the saturation point. But opinion on the Web is starkly divided and a prime manifestation is the debate over whether it was a terrible blunder or the right thing to let Lehman Brothers sink into bankruptcy. Both sides make valid arguments, but virtually all the other super-banks right now have lurched to death's door and we have no clear guidance on what we should do about them. Each one is touted as "too big to fail," as well as being interlocked with the others on credit default swaps that would bring them all crashing down if one counter party truly failed. It seems to me that this is what lies at the heart of the present situation. Nobody I've encountered in the sphere of opinion-and-comment thinks that these banks will survive, and this outcome beats a short path to the conclusion that the entire banking system is fatally ill -- leading directly to a super-major crisis of political economy in which the whole reeking, leaking system just crashes. I think this is what lies behind Mr. Obama's appeals for very urgent action.
But then we're back to square one: nobody, including Mr. O himself, has really proposed a set of actions that have not already been tried in the way of money-shoveling. So this will be a week in which, perhaps, some wise and intrepid figures -- perhaps even the president -- will articulate something we haven't heard before, perhaps even something like bearing our hardships bravely. It'll be a very interesting week, I'm sure.
Here's a recent blog post by a guy who does.
James Howard Kunstler:
http://jameshowardkunstler.typepad.com/clusterfuck_nation/
State of Cringe
January 26, 2009
Just as Mr. Obama has danced into the oval office, we've arrived at a moment when a lot of people have a hard time imagining the future. This includes especially the mainstream media, which has reached a state of zombification parallel to that of the banks. But even in the mighty blogosphere, with its thousands of voices unconstrained by craven advertisers or pandering managing editors, the view forward dims as a dark and ominous fog rolls over the landscape of possibilities.
For at least a year several story-lines have been slugging it out inconclusively for supremacy of the Web-waves. The main event has been the Deflationists versus the Inflationists. The first group basically says that so much "money" is being welshed out of existence that it dwarfs the new "money" being shoveled into existence in the form of bail-outs, tarps, and office re-decoration stipends. The Deflationists see the tattered remnants of the consumer credit economy auguring ever deeper into a hole until it is buried so far down that all the back-hoes ever sold will not be able to dig it out. The competing Inflationists say that the massive truckloads of shoveled-in "money" will soon overtake vanishing "wealth" and, in the process, make the US dollar worthless.
Some of us see both outcomes in sequence: the deflationary "work out" of bad debt currently underway -- of loans that will will never be paid back, of acronymic paper securities revealed as frauds, of "non-performing" contracts entering the swamps of foreclosure, of banks pretending to still exist, of hallucinated "wealth" rushing into the cosmic worm-hole of oblivion -- can only go for so long before everyone who can go broke will go broke. Then, just as we find ourselves a nation of empty pockets, the tsunami of shoveled-in "money" designed to "reboot the consumer" (created not from productive activity but just printed recklessly), will start churning through the "economy," chasing products and commodities that became scarce during the deflationary phase -- and the result is hyper-inflation, the eraser of debt, destroyer of fortunes, and suicide pill of feckless governments.
I guess the basic difference is that the hardcore Deflationists seem to think that their process can go on forever. The society just gets poorer and poorer until we're back at something like a scene out of Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The Inflationists see a fork in the road leading to more overt destruction, especially political turmoil as a lot of negative emotion joins the work-out orgy and overwhelms government.
But in this moment, the week after a new president's inauguration, the deadly fog has rolled in and absolutely everyone dreads what lurks on the other side of it, without being able to discern the path through it. For example, the "bail-out fatigue" being reported suggests that congress may just call a halt to money-shoveling. Where would that leave Mr. Obama's urgent call for "stimulus?" Not to mention further TARP injections for redecorating bank offices.
I've been skeptical of the "stimulus" as sketched out so far, aimed at refurbishing the infrastructure of Happy Motoring. To me, this is the epitome of a campaign to sustain the unsustainable -- since car-dependency is absolutely the last thing we need to shore up and promote. I haven't heard any talk so far about promoting walkable communities, or any meaningful plan to get serious about fixing passenger rail and integral public transit. Has Mr. Obama's circle lost sight of the fact that we import more than two-thirds of the oil we use, even during the current price hiatus? Or have they forgotten how vulnerable this leaves us to the slightest geopolitical spasm in such stable oil-exporting nations as Nigeria, Mexico, Venezuela, Libya, Algeria, Columbia, Iran, and the Middle East states? And we're going to rescue ourselves by driving cars?
I know it is difficult for Americans at every level to imagine a different way-of-life, but we'd better start tuning up our imaginations, because endless motoring is not our destiny anymore. The message has not moved from the grassroots up, and so at this perilous stage the message had better come from the top down. Mr. Obama needs to go on TV and tell the American public that were done cruisin' for burgers. He could do that by drastically reviving his stimulus proposal as it currently stands.
Putting aside whether this "stimulus" represents reckless money-printing in an insolvent society, let's just take it at face-value and ask where the "money" might be better directed:
-- We have to rehabilitate thousands of downtowns all over the nation to accommodate the new re-scaled edition of local and regional trade that will follow the death of national chain-store retail of the WalMart ilk. Reactivated town centers and Main Streets are indispensable features of walkable communities. The Congress for the New Urbanism (CNU.org) ought to be consulted on the procedures for accomplishing this and for rehabilitating the traditional neighborhoods connected to our Main Streets.
-- We have to reform food production (a.k.a. "farming"). Petro-dependent agri-biz will go the same way as the chain stores. Its equations will fail, especially in a credit-strapped society. That piece of the picture is so dire right now, as we prepare for the planting season, that many crops may not be put in for lack of front-money. This portends, at least, much higher food prices at the end of the year, if not outright scarcities and shortages. And the new government wants to gold-plate highway off-ramps instead? Earth to Rahm Emanuel: screw your head back on.
-- As mentioned above, we have to get passenger rail going again because the airlines are going to die the next time there is an uptick in oil prices, or a spot shortage of oil. Let's not be too grandiose and attempt to build expensive high-speed or mag-lev networks -- certainly not right now -- because they require entirely new track systems. Let's fix those regular tracks already out there, rusting in the rain, or temporarily replaced by bike trails.
Those are three biggies for moment and enough to keep this society busy for a couple of years. But more to the point of this blog, observers of all stripes are having trouble imagining any way out of our multiple predicaments. All the possible actions tried so far have have seemed absurd. Why even try to prop up inflated house values when the single most crucial need in this sector is for house prices to return to parity with incomes so the shrinking pool of ordinary people still employed can begin to think about buying one? Well, the obvious explanation is that politicians can't bear the pain of watching mass foreclosures and the ruination of families. This is pretty understandable, and it is tragic indeed. Frankly, I don't know of any political narcotic that can mitigate the pain that results from having made poor choices in life -- even if those choices were promoted and reinforced by the mighty ideology of "American Dreaming." Anyway, the foreclosures are well underway now, and perhaps the salient question is how long will the public's fury remain constrained while they hear about Wall Street executives buying $80,000 area rugs? Surely there is a tipping point of collective distress that is not too far from where we're at now.
In the realm of TARPS and other continued bail-outs aimed at the banks, the car-makers, and a host of other corporate special pleaders, I wonder if we have already reached the saturation point. But opinion on the Web is starkly divided and a prime manifestation is the debate over whether it was a terrible blunder or the right thing to let Lehman Brothers sink into bankruptcy. Both sides make valid arguments, but virtually all the other super-banks right now have lurched to death's door and we have no clear guidance on what we should do about them. Each one is touted as "too big to fail," as well as being interlocked with the others on credit default swaps that would bring them all crashing down if one counter party truly failed. It seems to me that this is what lies at the heart of the present situation. Nobody I've encountered in the sphere of opinion-and-comment thinks that these banks will survive, and this outcome beats a short path to the conclusion that the entire banking system is fatally ill -- leading directly to a super-major crisis of political economy in which the whole reeking, leaking system just crashes. I think this is what lies behind Mr. Obama's appeals for very urgent action.
But then we're back to square one: nobody, including Mr. O himself, has really proposed a set of actions that have not already been tried in the way of money-shoveling. So this will be a week in which, perhaps, some wise and intrepid figures -- perhaps even the president -- will articulate something we haven't heard before, perhaps even something like bearing our hardships bravely. It'll be a very interesting week, I'm sure.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Today, I Just Broke Down
Sometimes it just happens...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Today, I just broke down.
I listened to Amy Goodman's show "Democracy Now". She simply showed video and pictures and played excerpts from Martin Luther King Jr. speeches. I was so impressed that I e-mailed all my friends advising them to share in the joy.
I listened to the speeches again. I've always been inspired by his articulate clarity and courage. He was a master at calling it the way it is - kind, compassionate, uncompromising and pinpoint accurate - in the classic rhythm and the roll and thunder of a Southern Baptist preacher.
I was reminded of Bob Dylan's "They Killed Him" - remembering Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr. and Jesus. I listened to that beautiful song a couple of times.
Then without warning, I just split open - started bawling, sobbing, trembling, crying out.
I'm usually pretty good at keeping it in. Sometimes when I'm alone, it just breaks through. A terrible sadness, greater than I knew, breached the levee of my self-control and flooded across the plain of my being - rolling over me, blinding me with emotional pain, paralyzing me, tumbling me, knocking me off my feet and submerging me beneath the boiling flood waters of grief unleashed.
Then my son walked into the house. There was no hiding it. His father was breaking. I apologized, I wiped my face, I took a deep breath, I tried to pull it together, but I just kept crying. I couldn't hold it back. I apologized, took another deep breath - Then I kept crying - and then I cried some more.
Bitter words erupted from me, again and again:
We kill them - What's WRONG with us? - WE KILL THEM! - WHAT IS WRONG WITH US?
I cried and sobbed and the pain in me growled and moaned up and out of my animal guts, up and out burning through my raw throat and snotty running nose... Raw, searing grief... the smell and taste of tears and grief... and it just went on and on... until it stopped.
Even now, 12 hours later, I'm still reconstructing a fragile, vulnerable self-composure. I'm functional but intermittently the tears start to come. I'm able to hold them back now. But I'm altered - shocked by the revelation of sadness so profound, churning just beneath my surface.
It was a release. I do feel lighter. At least now I'm conscious that it's there and conscious of how deeply it's been soaking into my soul.
I don't know the remedy for such a grief. Considering the source, there may no remedy. I don't know.
Today, I just broke down.
Grief volcano blew
red hot sadness poured its flow
now it sleeps again.
I'm usually pretty good at holding it back.
But sometimes when I'm alone.........
Monday, January 19, 2009
Today, I just broke down.
I listened to Amy Goodman's show "Democracy Now". She simply showed video and pictures and played excerpts from Martin Luther King Jr. speeches. I was so impressed that I e-mailed all my friends advising them to share in the joy.
I listened to the speeches again. I've always been inspired by his articulate clarity and courage. He was a master at calling it the way it is - kind, compassionate, uncompromising and pinpoint accurate - in the classic rhythm and the roll and thunder of a Southern Baptist preacher.
I was reminded of Bob Dylan's "They Killed Him" - remembering Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr. and Jesus. I listened to that beautiful song a couple of times.
Then without warning, I just split open - started bawling, sobbing, trembling, crying out.
I'm usually pretty good at keeping it in. Sometimes when I'm alone, it just breaks through. A terrible sadness, greater than I knew, breached the levee of my self-control and flooded across the plain of my being - rolling over me, blinding me with emotional pain, paralyzing me, tumbling me, knocking me off my feet and submerging me beneath the boiling flood waters of grief unleashed.
Then my son walked into the house. There was no hiding it. His father was breaking. I apologized, I wiped my face, I took a deep breath, I tried to pull it together, but I just kept crying. I couldn't hold it back. I apologized, took another deep breath - Then I kept crying - and then I cried some more.
Bitter words erupted from me, again and again:
We kill them - What's WRONG with us? - WE KILL THEM! - WHAT IS WRONG WITH US?
I cried and sobbed and the pain in me growled and moaned up and out of my animal guts, up and out burning through my raw throat and snotty running nose... Raw, searing grief... the smell and taste of tears and grief... and it just went on and on... until it stopped.
Even now, 12 hours later, I'm still reconstructing a fragile, vulnerable self-composure. I'm functional but intermittently the tears start to come. I'm able to hold them back now. But I'm altered - shocked by the revelation of sadness so profound, churning just beneath my surface.
It was a release. I do feel lighter. At least now I'm conscious that it's there and conscious of how deeply it's been soaking into my soul.
I don't know the remedy for such a grief. Considering the source, there may no remedy. I don't know.
Today, I just broke down.
Grief volcano blew
red hot sadness poured its flow
now it sleeps again.
I'm usually pretty good at holding it back.
But sometimes when I'm alone.........
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A Sandpiper For You...
Everyone may have read this already, but just in case...
by Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
'Hello,' she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
'I'm building,' she said.
'I see that. What is it?' I asked, not really caring.
'Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand.'
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
A sandpiper glided by.
'That's a joy,' the child said.
'It's a what?'
'It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.'
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed
completely out of balance.
'What's your name?' She wouldn't give up.
'Robert,' I answered. 'I'm Robert Peterson.'
'Mine's Wendy... I'm six.'
'Hi, Wendy.'
She giggled. 'You're funny,' she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
Her musical giggle followed me.
'Come again, Mr. P,' she called. 'We'll have another happy day.'
The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out
of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
'Hello, Mr. P,' she said. 'Do you want to play?'
'What did you have in mind?' I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
'I don't know. You say.'
'How about charades?' I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. 'I don't know what that is.'
'Then let's just walk.'
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
'Where do you live?' I asked.
'Over there.' She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter.
'Where do you go to school?'
'I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation.'
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was
on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.
'Look, if you don't mind,' I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 'I'd
rather be alone today.' She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
'Why?' she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, 'Because my mother died!' and thought,
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?
'Oh,' she said quietly, 'then this is a bad day.'
'Yes,' I said, 'and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!'
'Did it hurt?' she inquired.
'Did what hurt?' I was exasperated with her, with myself.
'When she died?'
'Of course it hurt!' I snapped, misunderstanding,
wrapped up in myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door
'Hello,' I said, 'I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was.'
'Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance,
please, accept my apologies.'
'Not at all -- she's a delightful child.' I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.
'Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia.
Maybe she didn't tell you.'
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
'She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly...' Her voice faltered, 'She left
something for you, if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?'
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with 'MR. P' printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach,
a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love
opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. 'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,
I'm so sorry,' I uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year
of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand
-- who taught me the gift of love.
by Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
'Hello,' she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
'I'm building,' she said.
'I see that. What is it?' I asked, not really caring.
'Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand.'
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
A sandpiper glided by.
'That's a joy,' the child said.
'It's a what?'
'It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.'
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed
completely out of balance.
'What's your name?' She wouldn't give up.
'Robert,' I answered. 'I'm Robert Peterson.'
'Mine's Wendy... I'm six.'
'Hi, Wendy.'
She giggled. 'You're funny,' she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
Her musical giggle followed me.
'Come again, Mr. P,' she called. 'We'll have another happy day.'
The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out
of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
'Hello, Mr. P,' she said. 'Do you want to play?'
'What did you have in mind?' I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
'I don't know. You say.'
'How about charades?' I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. 'I don't know what that is.'
'Then let's just walk.'
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
'Where do you live?' I asked.
'Over there.' She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter.
'Where do you go to school?'
'I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation.'
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was
on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.
'Look, if you don't mind,' I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, 'I'd
rather be alone today.' She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
'Why?' she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, 'Because my mother died!' and thought,
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?
'Oh,' she said quietly, 'then this is a bad day.'
'Yes,' I said, 'and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!'
'Did it hurt?' she inquired.
'Did what hurt?' I was exasperated with her, with myself.
'When she died?'
'Of course it hurt!' I snapped, misunderstanding,
wrapped up in myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door
'Hello,' I said, 'I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was.'
'Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance,
please, accept my apologies.'
'Not at all -- she's a delightful child.' I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.
'Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia.
Maybe she didn't tell you.'
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
'She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly...' Her voice faltered, 'She left
something for you, if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?'
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with 'MR. P' printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach,
a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love
opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. 'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,
I'm so sorry,' I uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year
of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.
A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand
-- who taught me the gift of love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)