Spin-Off Poetry, Cont.

Here are some of the results from our spin-off poetry unit:

Poem One
The story is money, the danger is greed,
A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class, 
thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore.
His mother comes home at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk
And many nights he was in the dark.
He played many roles, but it all came from the heart.
Slave to the streets he's laboring after sundown.
How do you pursue happiness?


The story is money, the danger is greed
His body bloody, falling to the dirt
A little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever
Red blood, yellow tape
He's killed in broad daylight


Poem Two
Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes


Slave to the streets, he's laboring after sundown
A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class
Thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore
And many nights he was in the dark


He played many roles, but it all came from the heart
His focus jittering around
In the dark there is no light. So how can he see?
His mother comes home at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk
Toxic to his learning and even though our
Minds are still under construction
Knowledge lost in his ear- he can't understand it


What leads to the pursuit of happiness?
Everybody's masked up so nobody knows what's real!
The story is money, the danger is greed
They say crack kill, all it takes is a seal and
Now a little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever
His body bloody, falling to the dirt
Red blood, yellow tape
He's killed in broad daylight
Only for God's sake he kept his soul awake


Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes


Poem Three
This is the story
Sitting here, thinking about what just happened
the hours pass, the high wears off, and it's time to go back
I hate the memories and the thoughts
In the dark behind the alley, shooting continued across the dark


Just to fit in, so he could run with the pack
The boy got his cap popped
Who stayed out all night for reasons of whiskey or whatever
When whiskey wild thoughts and whatever wild actions
You can have an overdose and it could be the end of your road
People killed on the street, dying for help while people pretend it's a dream
The soul lays here still alive


Poem Four
This is the story
the soul lays here still alive
She wasn't ever alone, but she always felt cold
The thoughts circled in here head again and again:
His smile, his touch, his scent- lovely
But the man of her dreams became the monster of her nightmares


In the dark, she lay in a glistening white net
Sitting there, thinking about what just happened
Breaking down in shame instead of learning to maintain
Memories lost in her ears, troubles thoughts of fear kept her soul awake
She hates the memories and the thoughts


This is the story


Poem Five
My focus jittering around
becoming toxic to my learning
Trying to pay attention, even
though my mind is still
under construction.
I'm sitting in the back of
the class, thinking deep thoughts
of how I am the son of 
a whore.


Only for God's sake, He kept
my soul awake.
What leads to the pursuit of happiness? 
In the dark there is no light, so how can we see?


Everybody's masked up so nobody knows
what's real
they say crack kills, all it takes is a seal
bloody bodies falling to the dirt,
red blood, yellow tape.
A little boy is dead for reasons of
whiskey... whatever. He's killed in broad daylight. He was a slave to the streets
laboring after sundown.
His mother used to come home at the 
crack of dawn, sloppy drunk.
And many nights he was in the dark. 


Knowledge is lost in my ear- I can't understand it.
The story is money, the danger is greed.


Poem Six
What leads to the pursuit of happiness?
Money, power, respect


The story is money, but the danger is greed.
Even though our minds are still under construction,.
Knowledge is lost in our ears- 
We can't understand it.


Only for God's sake, we keep our souls awake


In the dark there is no light
How can we see?


Everybody's masked up so no one knows what's real
And many nights we were in the dark
We played many roles,
That all came from the heart.


To live and to learn,
This is the pursuit of happiness.


Pretty good, yeah? I've been impressed.

Bold Conversations

I attended an event this afternoon called "Post Race? Trayvon and Racial Violence in the 21st Century" at the Global Activism Expo. The three panelists included Gary Younge (journalist for The Nation and The Guardian), Kevin Coval (co-founder of the Louder Than A Bomb teen poetry festival), and David Stovall (professor of everything there is that is cool at UIC, and a volunteer teacher at the Lawndale/Little Village School of Social Justice High School).

The first part of the discussion was led by the panelists. To open, a member of the Chicago Young Authors read a poem about the Trayvon Martin case, and then Gary Younge started speaking. These were some of his statements and ideas that I took note of:
"You must choose the color of poverty in the place you are, whether it is French Algeria or the Roma in Eastern Europe or the Black kids in America."
"It is important not to make this a crude morality case. This is not about a bad Latino and a good Black kid. Even if Trayvon was a bad kid, that isn't punishable by execution. And Zimmerman didn't need to be a bad guy for this to be a bad thing."
Mr. Younge discussed the conversation we need to have about race and class in this country, and the intra-race tension that is occurring. He mentioned the Skip Gates case, where people were commenting that they "couldn't believe they were treating him like a black person" or the scandal with Don Imus and his reference to "nappy headed hoes," the comment being that "they can't treat kids from a university like that!" There seems to be a sense that these sorts of things shouldn't happen to SOME people... in reality, should it ever happen to anyone?
There are more black men in prison now than there were black men enslaved in 1850. So was it irrational to assume that Trayvon was a criminal? Not really... so what this means is that we need to have a real conversation about the systemic nature of these problems.

Kevin Coval spoke about the following:
"The Black Body" as a criminalized image, rather than individual people- we have been conditioned to think this way, especially those who don't know many "black or brown" people.
Racial violence is really based on a grand and historical inequity, that continues today because of the poverty/education link.

Dave Stovall spoke about the following:
Everyday in his classroom with black or brown students, he thinks "You or I may not be here tomorrow."
From February 26th to April 2, 26 unarmed Blacks were shot and killed by law enforcement, and we have had no collective time as a nation to heal
Education is literally a life or death process in this country
This issue is bigger than America- around the world (ie the Arab Spring) people are claiming their humanity.

After the speaking was completed, there were questions from the audience. Here are some quotes and ideas:

The medical definition of hope is "having a sense of control over one's own destiny." We as educators are responsible for figuring out how to materially support "hope," and knowing what we can do to have the backs of those kids.
Chicago has a history of engineering conflict, particularly in the case of school closings. These conflicts are not caused by the pathology of young people.
President Obama's response to the Martin case was somewhat disappointing. "What if you had a Pakastani son? We've lost humanity when you can't think that everyone could be your son.

Finally, a quote from James Baldwin: "The law is meant to be my servant, not my master, still less my torturer, and certainly not my murderer."

I'll leave these to sit awhile and write more later. 

Arts Integration

As this is a high school with the special tagline "...of Arts Integration," they put some emphasis on art here. Crazy, I realize. Crazier when you know my art skills. I can write, and sing, and I used to play a lot of music... but visual art I can not do to save my life. So when I was told that every teacher would need to do an "arts integration" project for each class, I got a little bit frightened.

Think, think, think.

This school is located two blocks from The Art Institute. "Hello, Art Institute? I'm Stephanie Sablich, a teacher at... I teach a journalism class here, and I was wondering if you had any community outreach programs? Something where my students could perhaps work with an artist from the Institute to do a photojournalism project or something? Oh you do? Great."

So yesterday we went to The Art Institute. I'm not sure EXACTLY how this is going to work, but I do know that of the 19 students on the trip, only one had been to the museum before. I do know that my kids got to walk around the museum in small groups with people who KNOW art. I do know that it was the coolest field trip I've ever chaperoned. I do know that we'll be going back two more times, and I do know that every single student was engaged and interested and excited to be there.

So, you know, score. Score for teaching in a city with these resources. Score for the artists who are just desperate for people to be interested and looking for education. And score for being willing to make a complete fool of myself for the benefit of my kids. I'm starting to realize that it really is part of what teaching is all about.

The Two Extremes

On Wednesday afternoons, I'm typically free to do just about anything I'd like. I have been trying to look for part-time positions elsewhere in the city (it would be great to hold a baby for a few hours a week), but have been unsuccessful thus far. Thankfully, this leaves me free to wander around Hyde Park as if I have absolutely no purpose in life, and my wanderings often take me to the UChicago campus.

I owe my recent exploitation of everything UChicago has to offer to a friend of mine. I'd attended a few lectures in the past, but it was his introduction to campus that made me feel comfortable enough to pretend I belong there. My attendance at the DocFilms screenings and many of the Human Rights and Center for International Studies programs have opened up a whole world of academia to me. I've learned that joining a listserve is a beautiful and beneficial thing, and having access to a campus filled with resources such as this can fill up the part of me that yearns for intellectualism.

All of this glowing praise is going to end in a bit of an anti-climatic matter as I discuss the complete waste of my time that last night was, towards the end of this post. Be prepared for it. First, the good stuff.

I believe as a part of the Human Rights Program updates that I receive, I found out about a conference from the something something center on Humanities something or other. Though I'm appreciative of the generous people who donated enough to have a something something named after them, I tend not to pay attention. Regardless, the conference included a screening of a documentary called "Brother Outsider: The Life of Bayard  Rustin." This man was an incredible activist throughout his lifetime, working most prominently from 1940 through 1970, as part of the civil rights movement in the United States. An openly gay man in an era where homophobia was not just commonplace but totally acceptable, he was an adviser to Martin Luther King Jr. and the organizer of the March on Washington in 1963. The documentary won an enormous amount of awards and accolades from societies and groups in the film, Black, and GLBT communities. If you CAN check it out... you should. I know that it is available on Netflix.

What struck me most about this documentary was the character of the man himself: I'd never heard of him. I know that I've not formally studied the Black Civil Rights movement in any real detail, and I believe the last time it was addressed in a classroom setting was during Black History Month at some point during elementary school. However, I have read a lot and consider myself to be fairly well educated about the era. I've read most of the MLK writings, studied black history as much as a white girl growing up in a white farm town can do, and couldn't get enough of learning about the different fronts of the movement. Is it my own ignorance or this man's relatively small stage that excludes him from my knowledge? It is clear that he was oftentimes pushed from the spotlight because of his sexuality, though he was in fact the most major contributor to MLK's non-violent strategy. Regardless of the reason for my ignorance... I'm glad at least a portion of it has ended.

After attending a screening of this fantastic documentary, I proceeded to go to the DocFilms screening of "Brazil." Released in 1985 by Terry Gilliam, I was looking forward to the film for its humor, dystopian elements, and interesting plot structure. None of these were disappointments, but the film itself was. I know from reviews that this is my own problem- a film doesn't garner a 98% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and get lauded as one of the "best films of the '80's" if it isn't quality. I understand that my own bias goes into my negative evaluation of the film, accompanied by the fact that it is SO LONG. Regardless, it was just too freakin' weird for my taste. Call me uneducated or ridiculous or lacking in understanding... but it was just too bizarre.

Poetry

You know that thing I said about writing poetry?

Yeah, scratch that. Ick.

"Challenges in Combatting Torture"

I've said it before and I'll claim it again: I absolutely love living in Hyde Park. I know that it probably gets old for me to talk about all of the (free) fantastic educational benefits associated with living in this neighborhood... but it's my blog, so shut up. I'll reap the rewards of someone else's education at the University of Chicago any day.

Last night I attended a lecture at the International House called "Challenges in Combatting Torture." It was a talk given by Juan E. Mendez, who is the current UN Special Rapporteur on Torture. The following is simply a recording of thoughts and feelings and facts from the evening:

By accident, I paid money (donated) for a publication from an organization known as "The Revolutionary Communist Party of the United States," thereby precluding me from ever running for public office. Those four quarters I dug out of my wallet have a bigger impact than I realized. The weird thing is, she didn't LOOK like a communist :)

I walked through a group of people who represent an organization seeking to shut down Tamms Correctional Center. The group is called Tamms Year Ten, and if you are interested please click here for more information. They were holding signs saying "Thank you Juan E. Mendez," "Tamms shocks the conscience," and "I AM a mother." There were various other human rights and torture victim advocacy organizations in the audience as well.

Mr. Mendez is from Argentina, and fits the part with a distinctly European look to his South American business flavor. He seems to carry an understanding of his immensely difficult (most would say impossible) task around with him; even before the speech when he stood with his wife, he appeared burdened. The protesters and advocates in the audience have certainly suffered in some ways, but the worst thing many of the rest of the crowd has experienced (lots of undergraduate students) is the stress created by last term's finals... Mr. Mendez was a striking contrast to this. He was weighted with the look of wisdom that experience provides, and when he started to speak I was struck by the heavy quality of his voice, the education he has in his field, and the depth of personal knowledge and doubt he was willing to share with the audience.

He began by talking about his former work with various torture victim advocacy groups, and then his assignment as "Special Rapporteur to Kofi Annan for the prevention of Genocide." At first thought, this seems like a much more difficult position, filled with the horror of hundreds of thousands and even millions of intentional deaths. Mr. Mendez was quick to say that his current role was the most difficult he had ever faced, for one simply reason: public opinion. "We have to spend time convincing people that torture is evil." He commented that there seems to be a new acceptance of torture (especially in the post-9/11 world community) and that over half the countries in the world practice torture of some kind, though it is banned by international law.

In international law, both acts that constitute torture and those that qualify as "cruel, inhuman, and degrading" are banned. Unfortunately, this international law has little mandate... and typically in a nation, only acts that constitute torture can be prosecuted. In the United States, the so-called "Torture Memos" of the Bush era (Click here for info) declare that "cruel, inhuman, and degrading" treatment is NOT a crime that can be prosecuted. This was somewhat disingenuous, both for cynical reasons of flouting international law, and because the acts described in the memo ARE legally classified as "torture." Additionally, it is apparently not legal (the Supreme Court recently struck down an argument) to charge a corporation or nation with allegations of torture- charges must be filed against the individuals involved. Part of what the Torture Memos did was cover up WHO was actually torturing prisoners, thereby avoiding any prosecution in a legal loophole. It is interesting to me that corporations seem to have unlimited first amendment rights and yet have little culpability for their actions, but no matter. Who ever said the law should make sense?

Mr. Mendez talked about the so-called "exclusionary rule," which is commonly known throughout the United States (thank you, "Law and Order"), and is actually fairly strongly worded in this country. This is the rule that evidence, declarations, or confessions are not legally admissible in court if they were obtained by torture or coercion. This governs police actions throughout the country, but has little impact on federal trials, especially those resulting from the global "War on Terror." In international law, there is a MASSIVE loophole that an elephant could soar through: the language states "Evidence cannot be submitted... KNOWN to be obtained by torture." This places the burden of proof on the victim and the defense, and it is very easy to cover up such actions. Simply by waiting a few days before going to trial, a victim cannot prove that he or she was coerced or tortured into providing a declaration, evidence, or a confession.

The UN Council on Human Rights operates many offices, and while Mr. Mendez's council does have jurisdiction over the 193 countries who participate in the international community (United Nations), their findings and recommendations are non-binding. Additionally, many countries have recognized but not granted authority to the Council on Human Rights... including the United States.

Mr. Mendez ended his portion of the evening by discussing the three ways in which his office addresses torture around the world. Firstly, they deal with individual cases of torture, often resulting from a personal complaint to the office that is then dealt with on a country by country basis. These actions are confidential and, as always, non-binding. Secondly, his office submits semi-annual reports to the General Assembly and the Human Rights Council, typically focusing on a certain theme. The previous two have focused on Commissions of Inquiry regarding torture (which oftentimes circumvent actual justice) and Solitary Confinement. Lastly, the office conducts fact-finding missions to countries around the world. Mr. Mendez stressed that their recommendations are non-binding, but that they do carry some weight when reported on to the General Assembly of the UN.

The evening ended with a question and answer session. A few undergraduates got up and asked questions, feeling what I'm sure was a sense of pride about crafting such deep and thoughtful questions such as "Can you talk more about what you see as challenging?" My tears began to flow when a man from Chile got up to comment on the lecture. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his 60's, who spoke with a heavy accent and fairly broken English. The moment he identified himself as a torture victim of the 1973 Chilean coup d'état, my heart broke in a little way. As I heard his voice struggle and crack into the microphone, challenging Mr. Mendez on his pessimism, tears rolled down my cheeks for the fierce spirit of this revolutionary man. He stood there with the optimism that seems unlikely, given what he had suffered. Mr. Mendez answered the man's charges, alight with flickering hope, by repeating himself: "People never needed convincing before that torture is evil." Extending our definition of what constitutes "warfare" continues to prove problematic, as does the public opinion and culture that surrounds the issue.

What's to be done? Hell if I know.

Spin-Off Poetry

To get started with our poetry unit, the class read a poem called "Federico's Ghost" by Martín Espada. This poem fits in with our first theme of "Toxic," during which we are discussing the elements of toxicity in our lives and for other people around the world.

*Note: one thing that I find is really important in this demographic of students is to remind them that there are others sharing in the world's suffering. Often times, it is easy to forget that others struggle and face hardship and pain as well, especially when you're in the midst of a battle every day. When my students fight to get to school, go home to a guerrilla war zone, and battle every other challenge that "normal" teenagers face, it can be daunting to pull their attention from the struggles they face. However, if it is possible... it's also liberating, in a way. The best way to fight against injustice is to actually stand up and fight... and the best way to feel empowered is to be educated to do something. I like to think that for some of my students, learning about the people in the world who maybe aren't black but still face exploitation and racism and economic hardship and war is liberating, in a way. To know you're not alone, whether as an individual or as a demographic or a race... this is freeing... I hope.*

Anyway- the concept of this assignment was to read the poem, and then choose a few lines from the poem to compose an individual piece. Finally, we took a few lines from each individual piece to compose a class poem. This takes more... organization... than I originally anticipated (I frequently forget that even though these students are not first graders, they might need more structure and guidance than I plan to provide), so the process is not yet complete. Here is the original poem, and the original spin-off poems from each class.

Federico's Ghost

The pilot understood.

He circled the plane and sprayed again,

watching a fine gauze of poison

drift over the brown bodies

that cowered and scurried on the ground,

and aiming for Federico,

leaving the skin beneath his shirt

wet and blistered,

but still pumping his finger at the sky.

After Federico died,

rumors at the labor camp

told of tomatoes picked and smashed at night,

growers muttering of vandal children

or communists in camp,

first threatening to call Immigration,

then promising every Sunday off

if only the smashing of tomatoes would stop.

The story is

that whole families of fruitpickers

still crept between the furrows

of the field at dusk,

when for reasons of whiskey or whatever

the cropduster plane sprayed anyway,

floating a pesticide drizzle

over the pickers

who thrashed like dark birds

in a glistening white net,

except for Federico,

a skinny boy who stood apart

in his own green row,

and, knowing the pilot

would not understand in Spanish

that he was the son of a whore,

instead jerked his arm

and thrust an obscene finger.

Still tomatoes were picked and squashed

in the dark,

and the old women in camp

said it was Federico,

laboring after sundown

to cool the burns on his arms,

flinging tomatoes

at the cropduster

that hummed like a mosquito

lost in his ear,

and kept his soul awake.

From this poem, my students wrote their own, and then contributed the following lines to our class poem. These are not yet arranged into any kind of order or structure... just lines that they chose to contribute. The lines from the original poem are in bold face type.

Third Period

He wasn't ever along, but he always felt cold

Working in 100 degree weather makes you glisten in sweat

In the dark behind the alley, shooting continued across the dark

I hate the memories and the thoughts

The hours pass, the high wears off, and it's time to go back

This is the story

You can have an overdose and it could be the end of your road

Who stayed out all night for reasons of whiskey or whatever

The soul lays here still alive

They tried to ignore the misty fog over their bodies to make ends meet, but they suddenly turned cold and the skies darkened

Just to fit in, so he could run with the pack

The boy got his cap popped, the DE hit him once, made him fold like a laptop

Memories lost in her ears, troubled thoughts of all fear kept her soul awake

The thoughts circled in my head again and again

His smile, his touch, his scent, lovely

Corn removal is a brand, 'til then no wedding band

When whiskey wild thoughts and whatever wild actions

But the man of her dreams became the monster of her nightmares

And kept his soul awake

People killed on the street, dying for help while people pretend it's a dream

He never spoke until one day he got choked

Sitting here, thinking about what just happened. That's it.

In the dark, I lay in a glistening white net

Just watching a fine gauze of poison penetrate the spirit within

Breaking down in shame instead of learning to maintain

Fourth Period

A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class, thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore

His mother comes come at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk

Knowledge is lost in his ear- he can't understand it

In the dark there is no light, so how can we see?

They say crack kills, all it takes is a seal

Even though our minds are still under construction

Toxic to my learning

My focus jittering around

Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes

A little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever

And many nights he was in the dark; he played many roles, but they all came from the heart

Only for God's sake, he kept his soul awake

The story is money, the danger is greed

What leads to the pursuit of happiness?

Everybody's masked up so nobody knows what's real

Slave to the streets he's laboring after sundown

His body bloody, falling to the dirt

Red blood, yellow tape

They're killed in broad daylight

When these are complete, I'll be sure to share them through this forum. Until then, I think I'm going to compose my own spin-off poem. I don't have the groove like some of my students do, but I do have the... desire? And we all know I'm the coolest person I know, so how could this go wrong? (I say this on a daily basis... "yeah, Ms. S... you cool all right. You could TOTALLY make it on the street.")

Creative Writing

I am at school for four classes a day, typically. Two of my hours are taken up with more Senior Portfolio stuff... prepping students, reading portfolios, revising and editing until my brain is frazzed and my hair is frizzed. The other two hours this quarter are where I live and breathe... creative writing.

I love composition. I think that I could teach a basic composition course for the rest of my life and be happy. Or literature... literary analysis and composition could certainly keep me entertained forever. I love the structure of writing and the hard and fast rules of grammar. I love playing with sentences to denote what I'm saying and connote what I want it to feel like. I love tweaking words and finding syllables and creating pieces that move and flow and breathe to make a point and completely develop an argument simultaneously. I love the LOOK of writing, that fresh sheet of paper filled with words that are mine, that are new, that I'm sharing. I love the thought that the words I use, the language common to millions of people throughout the world today and throughout history, these words... perhaps they have never been arranged in such a way as today, as in my mind, as on my paper. It's exhilarating.

As the astute among you may have found in my previous paragraph, I also love writing creatively. I've not written fiction in a very long time, and poetry is something that fell to the wayside after high school. Without short stories or novels or poems, what then do I infuse creativity into? Yep, you got it... all of those academic papers that are supposed to be dry and factual, those essays that are supposed to be argumentative and purposeful, and those analyses that should contain evidence and objective research findings. I can write like that... I just don't like it very much. I miss the flair, the color, the feeling that my typical writing has. I write like a speechwriter, oftentimes reading my own words aloud. I temper my rhythm and strive for a beat in the words, utilizing techniques like alliteration and the rule of three and repetition. I think about how the words blend together into each sentence, and the sentences into paragraphs, and the paragraphs into a piece that fills your mind like a three course meal fills your body. Can't all of this be considered creative writing as well?

Unfortunately, most of my students don't really appreciate my particular brand of nerd. And they certainly don't deserve a "fine arts" high school credit for writing some particularly moving compositions or essays about books we've read. Speechwriting, I CAN get away with... maybe. For now, we'll start with something most of these students understand better than I do... poetry.

It's amazing to watch my kids compose a poem. Some of them just HAVE it, flowing like you wouldn't believe, a combination of natural talent and years spent listening to rap tracks- both studio produced and freestyle. That fairly new and horrendously annoying (if only for being so catchy) Maroon 5 song "Moves Like Jagger" describes my students perfectly, only that they have the "Words like L. Hughes" and the "Flow like Tupac." It's incredible to watch and beautiful to witness... I'm so glad I stumbled upon this deep well of experience they have.

Grad School Dreams

A few days ago I put together a document I've called "Grad School Dreams." In the spring of 2013 I'll graduate with a Masters of Education (M.Ed) in Urban Education. Many people would just be content with that, I realize. Most would think they were done, had accomplished enough, and move right on to family and life and stuff. I just don't know that I'll be content when I'm not in a formal learning community. I nearly withered away in the past two years, and think daily about how I cannot wait to be back in the classroom as a student. I recently sent the following paragraph to a friend via an email:

I'd love to get a MA in just liberal arts or something broadly applicable like that. I love sociology and psychology and anthropology but don't necessarily want a career in that, you know? Maybe a MFA in English and Writing? I need to start actually putting together that book idea I have. Anyway- I want one of those degrees that people don't know you have, and then when they find out, they are like "wow, she's pretty educated, huh?" Not for them though, silly. For me. So after this M.Ed and my MA or MFA, I'd love to just shoot for the moon and get a PhD or EdD. The University of Illinois at Chicago has a PhD in "Policy Studies in Urban Education" and an EdD in "Urban Education Leadership." Sounds good, right? Gah, but what about the MA in "Curriculum Studies" or the M.Ed in "Reading Specialty" at DePaul? Or the JD/MA in "Comparative Law and Education," or the PhD in "Cultural and Educational Policy Studies" at Loyola? Or or or. Now that I've written you an entire paragraph filled with letters... I'll knock it off.

Just so everyone knows, I fully understand that much of this may not happen. As I detailed in my last post, life gets in the way. I might decide that after the next year, I'm finished. I could be completely done with my higher education, and I realize that this would not be a bad thing. A BA and an M.Ed is nothing to be ashamed of, certainly.

But for now... I dream.

In The Way

Nearly four years ago, I sat down with the three ladies I was living with and we wrote out life predictions for ten years in the future. It included career goals and location, and being the virginal and innocent darlings we were, it included romance. (I do believe that of the four, just one of us is on track to fulfill that particular prediction anytime soon...)

That same semester I created my ten step career plan. It was heavily influenced by my current obsession with educational policy and the fact that I had just watched all seven seasons of The West Wing in an impossibly short amount of time. Colored by idealism and blinded by my own ambition, I designed my life on a sheet of paper. That works, right? I'm a planner.

Part of me cannot believe that moment came nearly four years ago, and part of me cannot believe that I was so naive even then. To have the arrogance to think that I could plan out even the next year, let alone lifetime, was preposterous. Things got in the way. Student teaching for a full year in Chicago got in the way. Falling in love with Hyde Park got in the way. Discovering the discouragement that exists in political policy got in the way. Moving to Romania got in the way. Breaking my ankle got in the way. Funding cuts got in the way. Men and friendships and family got in the way. And I'm incredibly grateful.

The lighted path behind me is scarred with my failings and stumbles along the way, and there are hazy paths diverging from the one I'm on. Staying in Anderson to student teach. Living elsewhere in the city. Avoiding Romania altogether. Choosing to ride a bike on that fateful morning in the city. Getting that position in Connecticut. Staying with the agency through the budget cuts. Not getting into that grad program.

I'm not sure what's ahead, but I've been struck lately by the amazing opportunities that remain forgotten dreams. Will I keep this in mind as I plan for the future? Probably not.

Dreamin'

I've been attending a lot of events on the UChicago campus recently. My email explodes daily with the list serve announcements that I'm signed up for, and I am certainly reaping the benefits of others' (overpriced?) education. I'm going full-scale nerd at it.

Last night I attended the first in a three-part lecture series by a visiting scholar (Elizabeth Borgwardt), titled "Transformation of the Modern International Human Rights Regime." The lecture was less depressing than I had anticipated, and focused primarily on the Atlantic Charter. This document was the result of a weekend conference held off the coast of Newfoundland between Great Britain and the United States. It was July of 1941, and this date is striking for one reason. The Atlantic Charter was a declaration of wartime and peacetime aims and goals... and the United States had not yet entered the war. Churchill left his battle weary nation to attend the conference, and what resulted was what is perhaps the first declaration of human rights that transcends the status of sovereign nations to include ALL INDIVIDUALS EVERYWHERE. FDR had already proclaimed some of this in his State of the Union Speech in January (a speech known as the Four Freedoms Speech), in which he articulated four freedoms that he believed were entitled to all people in the world: the freedom of speech and expression, the freedom of worship, the freedom from want, and the freedom from fear. Interesting from a president who would keep his country out of the war for another 11 months, but eh.

Churchill had a rather different interpretation of the charter, perhaps because of the rampant hypocrisy that Great Britain was demonstrating with its continued colonization of India... he thought the charter applied primarily to the countries in Europe engaged in the war, and the European governments in exile at the time. Regardless, this moment in history was the first multilateral statement of human rights ever issued in the world. It advocated for traditional political rights, included a broader reference to the Four Freedoms (including economic justice), mentioned INDIVIDUAL human rights, and sought recognition both domestically and internationally. It was apparently kind of a big deal...

Next up? "Challenges in Combating Torture" with Juan E. Mendez. Check out this guy's credentials, and tell me you DON'T want to be a nerd too.

Juan E. Méndez is the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman and Degrading Treatment or Punishment and the author – with Marjorie Wentworth – of "Taking a Stand: The Evolution of Human Rights" (New York: Palgrave-MacMillan, October 2011). Until May 2009 he was the President of the International Center for Transitional Justice (ICTJ). Concurrently, he was Kofi Annan’s Special Advisor on the Prevention of Genocide (2004 to 2007). Between 2000 and 2003 he was a member of the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights of the Organization of American States, and its President in 2002. He teaches human rights at American University in Washington and at Oxford University (UK). In the past he has taught also at Notre Dame Law School (USA), Georgetown and Johns Hopkins. He worked for Human Rights Watch (1982-1996) and directed the Inter-American Institute on Human Rights in San Jose, Costa Rica (1996-1999). As a labor and human rights lawyer in Argentina, Méndez was himself imprisoned and tortured during Argentina’s “Dirty War.”

Homo Shit

Last week, I had a discussion with a group of students that became a bit of an ongoing conversation. It all started when one student named D~ used the term "faggot."

"No way, never ever do you say that word around me. Ever."
"Why?"
"Because it's incredibly offensive."
"It is??"
"Yeah, it's pretty awful..."
"I just don't get it. Why would a dude want to be with another dude?"
"Well, why do you want to be with a woman?"
*Class begins to tune in to discussion*
"Miss, you really want me to answer that?"
"Well no, but you know what I'm saying, right? It's just natural for you."
"Yeah. Plus, they soft!"
*Rest of the class tunes in*
"Okay, so it's natural for you to be attracted to women. Gay people feel the same way. It's just the way they are."
"But... it's wrong!"
"Why is it wrong?"
"Well... cause... two dudes can't have a baby."
"Oh, okay. That's a legitimate point. You're right. Have you had a baby?"
*Note: big risk... he very well could have been a father...*
"No way! I know how to wrap it up."
"Okay, but... you've had sex?"
"MISS!" (Indicating something along the lines of "Bitch, you trippin' if you think I've not tapped ALL the ladies..." or something to that effect)
"OH... so you've had sex with a man then?"
*Class explodes*
"Right, so we've established that sex is for more than just creating babies."

I left the classroom hoping this strapping young man (at least 6'4 tall) would not knife me at some point*. Over the next two days, the 16 students who were involved in this discussion managed to circulate the story to kids all over the school. "Yo Miss, did you really say that to D~?" "I heard you got a mouth!" "Some people thought you was too white to work here." "You know, Miss S, you a little ghetto."

Later in the week, D~ put his arm around me in the hallway. As I peered up at him in slight fear and fake confidence, he smiled down at me. "Yo Miss, you TWEAKIN' with that homo shit."

I bent over laughing as he walked away with a huge smile on his face. I'm tweakin', y'all.

*Note: I'm not actually afraid of this student at all. All of my students are wonderful, non-violent kids. Not once have I feared for my own safety in this environment... in fact, they are pretty fantastic.