A Thought on My Journey to Becoming a Historian

There's no real point, just sort of an observation here as I reflect on some things that got me interested in history when I was younger.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I visited the Alamo. I fell, hook, line, and sinker, for the romanticized, heroic version of the story that was presented to me. I mean, I cried y'all!! And I was totally enthralled with the history of the place, could imagine the siege, and (what I believed to be) the mixed feelings of hopelessness and determination.

Then, my junior year, I went off to the Louisiana School, and got a somewhat more nuanced picture of the Alamo. "Sucker!" I called myself for accepting "one side" blindly. I promised to be more sophisticated and skeptical in the future.

Our history trip that year was a "civil rights" tour of the South. We traveled to Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia to see some historic sites. My best friend and I had whipped ourselves into a frenzy thinking about going through Mississippi. I know someone from Louisiana probably shouldn't be casting stones, but even here, we are taught the idea that Mississippi is a world apart, unlike anywhere else when it comes to race relations and the determination to preserve white supremacy. Would we have to stay overnight in Mississippi? we wanted to know. Because, if so, our parents were so going to nix that trip.

We didn't spend the night in Mississippi. And we went to Montgomery and Atlanta, and I loved it. It was the sort of experience that affirmed for me that we, black people, had a history, stories and lives and triumphs, an existence.

An aside: You know the kind of history many of us get? We didn't exist until 1619. Then we were enslaved and there was a beneficent Emancipator and a white people's war that saved us! For about a century, we didn't do much and then there was the Civil Rights Movement which two or three Important. Black. People. led. And then we sort of faded from history again--except for the idea of the monolithic black community that is a hotbed of social ills and the cause of many of "teh problems." If you ever wonder why a people internalize racism, try living with that model.

So, a year later, armed with my new skepticism and the developing connection that I felt with black people across time and space (nurtured by the fact that I began to read "black history" books like crazy after that 11th grade trip), I went on my senior class history trip to Vicksburg. And there, I got the story of the 1863 siege that "tragically" ended on the Fourth of July. Our tour guide played on our sympathies by talking about how the (white) people of Vicksburg took to living in caves and eating rats and such and how the Fourth of July wouldn't be celebrated there until World War II because of the memory of defeat.

And I remember mumbling to my black classmates, who were falling under her spell much as I had done in San Antonio, "So? Do you know what slaves had to eat? And not celebrating the Fourth was just stupid."

I was proud. I was smug. I was rescuing them from the pitfalls of one-sidedness. I genuinely felt no sympathy.

Years later, I realized that that was simply the opposite extreme from my Alamo-reaction. And I don't believe it was quite right, either. To this day, I don't really have any sympathy, but I feel like I should.

I think those trips--learning about the grassroots movements of the civil rights era, about the plight of civilians in Vicksburg--sparked within me an interest in the history of "regular" people and definitely an interest in social history.

More importantly, they taught me that history wasn't about static facts and dates. Some of my students love to say, "History doesn't change." Yes, it does, I say, because interpretations, foci, points of view, do.

Now, if I could just convince disinterested 18 and 19 year olds of that...

Not So Well

I have a headache, and can't find my Excedrin migraine--the only OTC that works for me.*

The salad I ate for dinner is in the middle of my chest. Neither the prescription (Prevacid) nor the OTC (Tums) is working.

I suppose I shall just retire for this night. And yes I know I won't sleep well, even with my head elevated, as long as that damned lettuce et. al, won't move.
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*Okay, other stuff will work, but I have to take, like, four or five and my "godmother," the nurse, is convinced that I'm going to destroy my liver.

Maintaining Segregation

When I made the commitment to start blogging again, my goal wasn't to come here and report everyday on how racism is alive and thriving in my area. But some stuff, I just gotta tell.

I live in an area of the South that was largely biracial--(non-Hispanic) black and white--and racially stratified for most of the 20th century. But, in the early 21st century, things, at least on the surface, are changing. The geographic boundaries that separated the "black" and "white" sections of town are increasingly disregarded. Poultry processing plants and timber industries have attracted a number of Latino residents to the area. And we have our first black mayor.

There is the problem of white flight--there are fewer than ten white students at the local school, though the town is still about one-third white. Still, it's changed significantly since I was growing up here.

Yesterday, my younger cousin was at our house visiting my son and nephew. At some point, he was ready to go so that he could play basketball at the gym of First Baptist Church. I was a bit surprised as First Baptist is a "white" church. The only church with a predominantly white congregation in my town that routinely reaches out to the whole community* is Pisgah Baptist. My son and nephew asked to go and my dad said no. When they walked out the door, he told me the reason he said no was, "I don't see how they can justify letting the black kids have just one night."

"What?" I asked. He repeated it. I asked for more details and he explained. The gym is open five nights a week. White children can go two nights, Latino children can go two nights, and black children get Thursday night.

"What?" I mean, that's all I could say. "Is that what people do or did the church people say that?" I asked my dad. Again, he repeated the breakdown. "No, Daddy. Did they say that?"

And my dad, who's a deacon at my church, finally confirmed that, yes, they said that. They extended the invitation to our church officers that way. And our pastor politely declined.

I'm still saying "what?" What makes the people at First Baptist think this is okay? Because I really believe they think they're being generous. What makes them think our kids can't play together? And why, as I've told this story over and over to (black) people in the last 24 hours, has the response still been, "Why do our kids get only one night?"

Apparently, we've become so accustomed to the division that it's like second nature.
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*Which is not to imply that the black churches here do conduct community-wide outreach programs. The churches, at least, have changed little.

Guess What April Is????

So, I'm flipping through the local parish newspaper--fourteen pages of church news, hunting news, and legal notices--when I come upon a proclamation by the parish police jury. An excerpt:

WHEREAS, all citizens of _________ Parish and Louisiana should study the War between the States, as we study all wars, so that we may understand the events which led to the war and... continue to learn from the past and live together peaceably and avoid future conflicts...

THEREFORE, we, the Police Jury of _________ Parish, do hereby proclaim April 2008 as:

CONFEDERATE HISTORY MONTH

Now, it would seem to me that if we were going to understand the "events which led to the war," looking at more than one side would be helpful. Maybe a Civil War History Month? (I can't believe they said the War between the States!!!)

The proclamation..., well, proclaims "that we can all learn from the lessons of history and thereby be in better positions to preserve these ideals for posterity."

What ideals??? I swear, the first thing that popped in my mind is that this was a statement, a la Trent Lott on Strom Thurmond.

Now, I haven't made up my mind exactly what I'm going to do celebrate Confederate History Month, seeing as how I'm a historian and all, but I have some ideas.

Despite my perturbed-ness, my dad suggests it might be a good idea. What people can learn from Confederate History Month, he says, "Is the stuff we won't stand for anymore."

Please help find Agena and Aliyah Battle and Sedrick Harrington

Via Donna, an update to this post:

Eddie Harrington sent a letter to his father telling him that he intends to kill the children. It is urgent that these kids are found NOW. The most likely way that will happen is someone driving, someone working at a gas station, or restaurant, or hotel/motel will recognize the description of the car and look in and see Harrington and the children and call 911. That is why it is so imperative that this information be spread far and wide to give the most people possible the chance to recognize what is going on and get help for these children immediately. I am asking anyone who reads this to post about these missing kids on their blogs including the description of the car. Please DO IT! These are just little babies and they need our help to be found and returned unharmed to their mother.

Should This Affect My Decision?

From my campus visit last week... I don't remember Texas being like this in March.

elle and snow...

You might be surprised. Does snow insulate or something? Cuz I swear it didn't feel all that cold after it snowed--not nearly as cold as it had been before.

I Want to Blog

Really, I do. So I've decided that the best thing for me to do--rather than wail and gnash my teeth about writer's block--is to get back into the habit. Come here everyday (or so) and write something, even if it seems inconsequential.

Today, I actually have some news, though. I have two job offers. And though I know I am fortunate to be in this position, my stomach is in knots at the thought of making the "wrong" choice. I've thought about it, listed pros and cons, consulted ex-committee members, and even prayed.

And I just don't know. Similar offers, I'd be back out of Louisiana (and I am ready to go).

But.........

Sigh.

In even better news, spring break is next week. And I NEED it!

News Bulletin: Agena and Aliyah Battle, Sedrick Harrington

Via Sylvia/M:

23-month-old twins Agena and Aliyah Battle, and 3-year-old Sedrick Harrington have been reported missing from Columbus, Georgia since March 5, 2008 . Their suspected kidnapper is their father, 28-year-old Eddie Harrington:

According to the mother, Eddie Harrington, her fiancée and the father of her children, may have taken the children because he thought that it would make her happy. At the time he left, Eddie was probably depressed and was not taking his medication. There is a picture of Eddie on the NCMEC with braids but it’s not the most accurate. Eddie is bald and wears glasses. Eddie is also described as a 28 year old black male, standing at 5 feet 9 inches and weighting 195 pounds.
Sedrick Harrington, one of the missing children, is three years old and has a birthmark on his right arm. Her mother told me that he has a speech problem but is a very bright and imaginative little boy. She said that when he was bored, he would grab a book, look at the pictures and make his own story out of it. Agena and Aliyah Battle, the 1 year old twins who always fight with each other but cannot go to bed without each other, do not have any known birthmarks but they do respond to their names.

When Eddie left, he was driving a dark green 2002 Chevrolet Impala with a cracked windshield and an Indiana license plate with the number 93-L4740.

Authorities are still trying to track down their whereabouts. The group of four hasn’t been discovered for five days. The mother has issued another plea today for people to keep looking out for Harrington and the three children.

“Agena and Aliyah has on a pink shirt with white sleeves and pink plaid pants. One of the girls has on all white K-Swiss sneakers and the other has on pink, white, purple, Nike sneakers.
“Eddie has on a black T-shirt with black pants and brown and white sneakers; he also is wearing his glasses.
“I’m not sure what Sedrick has on, but I do know he has on his Spider-Man play sneakers. Sedrick also has a greenish color to his right arm from birth.
“Please air this stating that they are still missing. I have not eaten or slept well since they’ve been gone. I need them home. I am crying for your help. I have tried to do my daily routine but I cannot function well with out them.”

The police are requesting help and tips.

Authorities issued an AMBER Alert. They believe [Eddie Harrington] could be headed right for Kentuckiana.

“We’ve done a follow up investigation and determined he has contacts in Tennessee, Florida and of course, he is from Indianapolis, Indiana,” says Lt. Mark Starling with the Columbus, Georgia Police Department.

Harrington has Indiana license plates, number 93-L4740 on his 2002 dark green Chevy Impala. It also has a cracked windshield.

“If the vehicle passes, you grab the cell phone. Call 911. Let us know. Alert us to it. That way we can respond with units on the interstate or on county roads. Wherever the vehicle was seen and try and get it stopped,” says ISP Trooper Phil D’Angelo of the Sellersburg post.
If you see a dark green 2002 Chevrolet Impala with a cracked windshield and an Indiana license plate with the number 93-L4740, please call the Columbus, GA Police Department at 706-653-3400. Any tips on this case are appreciated.

P.S. See the video dedicated to the missing children.

Whoa!

Conferences and campus visits and conflicts... oh my!!

Today was a pretty good day though. I felt like posting, but I have little to report. :-)

I've been hesitant to admit that I'm having the interviews--campus visits--anticipation cycle, cuz if I don't get a job, I'll probably be embarrassed.

But oh, well, this is part of the academic life, right? And y'all will still think I'm cool, huh?

Plus, I'm not exactly miserable where I am and this could become more than a visiting position because of faculty retirements.

So, yeah, that's what's up. I've done a black history month presentation. I have two conferences coming up. And I'm going to the OAH--rural Louisiana girl in New York for the first time? I'm excited and TERRIFIED!! Will I get lost? Should I carry my purse?

So this semester is CRAZY--add in a little personal turmoil and you get elle in the perpetual state of "running behind."

I'm feeling a lot more confident in the Western Civ class. Way too many decisions about the Post 45 class (it's my field!! I wanna show clips from every relevant film!! Deciding the book/article list was hell--I wanted to include like, a hundred things!!). And the pre-1877 class is okay--but the thing is, I promise myself each semester that I'm going to be all comfortable with that class because I've taught it forever... and then I add or subtract something, shift focus, etc.

My kid had a cool science project on the water cycle. My sister's baby shower is March 8. My IRL and internet friends are the most supportive, understanding women in the world.

And I am tired.

But, for today, I'm okay.

Support the New Jersey Four

Via BFP:

Amy Winter has designed a beautiful new website dedicated to the New Jersey 4. At www.justice4nj4.com, you’ll find ways we can help the four imprisoned young women. There’s also a discussion board, so you can share your opinions, ideas, experiences, announcements, and any actions you plan to take on behalf of the NJ4. We’ll be adding more to the site soon, including:

* additional ways to help the 4 and their families
* upcoming events in support of the 4
* more information about the case, including the media coverage
* updates about the young women and their legal appeal
* personal messages from members of the 4 and family members

I'ma Get On It, Really

This so-called black historian of black history must defer to her colleagues in their timely celebrations of Black History Month:

Shark-Fu posted about Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer, whom I absolutely love, love, love. She was just so strong and real and vibrant.

Anxious Black Woman wrote about Mrs. Hamer, as well, as part of her Black Herstory focus. She's also written about Ida B. Wells, Harriet Tubman, and Mary E. Pleasant.

And Sylvia is going to explore the theme "we are more alike, my friends, than we are unlike."

Because I'm reading about SNCC right now, I'm determined to write about Diane Nash and Ruby Doris Smith Robinson this month.

A Brighter Moment

My mom found this at the dollar store. After laughing uncontrollably, I have decided this is my new slogan:

My mom laughed with me and told me she figured it would make me smile. Have I mentioned lately that I adore her?

Aggravation

So once her mom put her out, my parents and I started to help care for Alexandria, though she lived primarily with her girlfriend.

After three weeks, a talk with the pastor, and dealing with her issues about "what people are saying," Alexandria's mom decided she should come home. But she didn't just tell her she should come home. She threatened to get the police involved again--if Alex wouldn't come home voluntarily she'd ship her to a girl's home.

Initially, Alex chose the home. But after tears, pleas, and arguments from her girlfriend, my best friend, another friend, and me, she went home.

I worry, of course, but I really try to put myself in her mom's place.

She really believes Alex is going to hell because she's a lesbian.

She really believes Alex is the most rebellious teen ever and that her (the mom's) reactions and disapproval and repeatedly putting her out have nothing to do with that.

She really believes I should have, hell, could have influenced Alex in some way. Basically, she is mad that Alex and her girlfriend have been around me together. She expected more from me, she says. Something is not quite right about me, she has decided. In short, she has displaced a lot of her negative feelings about a whole lot of things onto me.

I'm trying to figure out how to deal with it. On the one hand, I have friends telling me to let it ride--she expected that I shared her beliefs. She's a bit insecure because it seems that Alex has bonded better with another mother figure. She really just didn't know me and is surprised.

And in a sense, I am trying to wash my hands of it. But, in another way, I can't. She's beginning to attack my character--because I am not against Alex's relationship with her girlfriend, because I love Alex despite the fact that she does need to humble herself and learn to listen sometimes, I have become, in her view, a "bad" person.

And I have asked her, "When you put her out, did you expect me to turn my back?"

She said no, but that seems to be exactly what she expected.

Sometimes, I really regret moving back here.

Did You Know...

...Under Ulrich Zwingli, New Hampshire became the first Protestant state outside Germany?

...Transubstantiation is when you burglarize the church?

...Martin Luther had more than 95 Theses; it's just that only 95 would fit on the door?

...said truncated theses primarily critiqued the Church's selling of 1) Bibles or 2) alcohol?

Brought to you by "elle's Tales from Western Civ."

A Late...

Get more at LayoutsMania.com

To all my Sorors of the illustrious Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.

95 years strong today!

Political Commentary

In the fine tradition of passing the buck, let me ask y'all what my BFF sort of asked me this morning: any thoughts about the unfolding presidential brouhaha?

My quick ideas:

I was surprised Obama won in Iowa.

I was pissed about the big deal made of Clinton's show of emotion.

I was surprised Clinton won in New Hampshire.

Ummm, where the hell did Mike Huckabee come from?

Who the hell are the candidates for the two big parties going to be?

And showcasing my political ignorance: What is the big deal about caucuses and primaries? I know what they are. I understand to a certain extent why they're important for judging the proverbial lay of the land, but it seems like a lot of time and effort are expended on these things. Is it worth it?

Thoughts? Observations? School me!

What the Weather Should Be

D.C. was cold. If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know that temperataures below 55 are just uncalled for in my opinion. Had it not been for the fact that I stayed with a dear friend (who had my ass traipsing through Georgetown in heels in the cold--I must love him), I would've spent all my downtime shivering beneath the covers.

Tomorrow, the projected high here is 72. In January. I am so glad to be home.

On My Way...

to the AHA.

See y'all soon!

Just an Observation...

So a few days ago, the LA Lakers wore retro (short, close-fitting) shorts in a game versus the Celtics. Kobe was not so thrilled:

I don't know what it feels like to wear a thong, but I imagine it feels something like what we had on in the first half. I felt violated. I felt naked. It's one thing to see films with guys wearing those things. ... I'd rather stay warm, man.

Which leads me to wonder if he's at all empathic towards his co-workers who regularly have to sacrifice "warmth" for "uniform gimmicks" like short shorts, in order to entertain the fans?

Just sayin'.

Late Night Snack

So late last night/early this morning, I experienced my usual craving for a snack. I decided to make a sandwich. My mom had turkey, but I didn't feel like warming it up.

**An aside, my grandmother used to tell us if we ate cold lunch meat, we'd get worms. So we had to warm everything in a skillet (hot dogs had to be washed and boiled) before ingesting it. Later on, I would eat cold ham, justifying my choice by saying, "Duh, elle, it's a cold cut." Then I realized, I don't like cold meat (the people who eat cold fried chicken on picnics really intrigue me). Just last week, my grandmother's claim was given some credence (sort of) by my sister's OB/Gyn who told my sis to avoid cold cuts because of bacterial issues.**

Back to the story already in progress. I pulled out two slices of bread. I was absolutely delighted by how soft they were (that's something else I don't like-hard bread!!! Not even bread that's supposed to be hard). I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and spread a thin layer on one slice of bread. Then, I opened the refrigerator, already anticipating the sweet contrast of that cold grape jelly and...

we were out. Which is when it dawned on me that my last night time snack, a delightful eggs-bacon-and-toast sandwich, had required the use of the last of the grape jelly.

I should note that my son is the only person in this family who eats peanut butter solo. It's too thick and plain for that! But what could I do? Cause, according to my grandmother, even worse than eating cold cold cuts, is wasting food. So I tried to find a jelly-substitute.

I thought briefly of syrup--my cousin used to fix us syrup and peanut butter sandwiches when we were little. Then I remembered all his baby teeth rotted out so I nixed that idea. My search revealed a can of whipped cream, some chocolate syrup and a pack of apple jelly left over from one of my father's sausage biscuit breakfasts. No, no, and no. My gaze alighted briefly on some jars of honey and I pondered that, but it just didn't sound appealing.

So plain peanut butter it would be. I had some misgivings, a sense of something's-not-quite-right, but I was hungry. Dejected, I placed the un-jellied slice of bread back in the bag, decided to make a little fold-over, and ate it.

The reasons for my misgivings were soon clear. Somewhere on it's leisurely journey down the esophageal path, that damned sandwich got stuck. Right in the middle of my chest. And no amount of drinking or moving would dislodge it. So, not only was I unsatisfied, I was in pain.

I took some acid reflux medicine and eventually the knot moved.

But I am even more convinced that peanut butter is not meant to stand alone.

I Almost Said...

Living in a world in which we have to deal with other people and their -isms/assumptions/stereotypes, the art of telling people off is a valuable skill to possess. In my late teens (three or four years ago), my proficiency was limited to "Bitch, I know you didn't-" and name-calling.

But over time, I have honed and refined my ability, learned to use the sweetest words to make the sharpest point. Sometimes, I am so clever and adroit, that it takes people a minute to realize they've even been told off. There's nothing like watching that uncertain, flickering smile disappear from the face of someone who has insulted you as awareness dawns.

Time has wrought another change as well--I'm not as easily offended as I once was. I've learned to bite my tongue, give people the benefit of the doubt, and comfort myself with the knowledge that I know the truth that undermines ignorant assumptions.

Still, there are the occasions when I feel the need to set people "right." And there's no worse feeling than lost opportunities. I've been thinking of times I should've told someone off and was simply too shocked or too slow to do so. Prime examples:

1. When the white girl with whom I'd been having a pleasant conversation in a store reacted with shock at my assertion that I'd taught classes at Louisiana Tech. "Are you sure?" she asked me, "It must have been Grambling [the local HBCU]. I'm sure it wasn't Tech."

2. When the best friend of a person I'd been sharing a reciprocal flirtation with told me he didn't think I was his best friend's type because of my Pretty, Hot, And Tempting physique. Not that his friend had said anything like that but he'd never seen his friend with someone "like me."

3. Every single time I pass this certain male professor in the hallway and he looks me up and down then smirks. I can just see his desire to pet me on the head.

So, whom should YOU have told off?

Unproductive

So usually when I'm slacking on one thing, I'm on the ball on some other. But lately, I am thoroughly unproductive.

I'm not cooking.
I'm not prepping for the spring semester.
I'm not reading.
And most upsetting to me, I'm not writing.

I can't even have a good cry to get over this spell. I cry like two minutes at wide-spaced intervals and that's it. Last night, tears actually got caught in the corners of my eyes and would not fall.

Perhaps, I thought, I am tired of the house. So last night, in a really inconsiderate way, I called up a guy to whom I'd given a raincheck and was like, if you can meet me in one hour, we can do something.

But, as sweet as he was (is!), when I got home, I felt the same. I decided to write something, at least catalogue how I was feeling. I grabbed looseleaf and a blue pen (that's my serious writing gear) and...

nothing.

All I could think of was a story from my long ago days teaching elementary. In the middle of class, one of my students was trying to describe how she felt about some event and she told her classmate, "Girl, my bones were even sad."

And I said something to the effect of, "Hush, little grown girl, your bones can't be sad."

She insisted that, yes, they could.

Eventually, I understood her. And right now, my bones are even sad. I'm frozen (dreading going to the AHA next weekend!) in space. I'm also apparently not fooling anyone because my BFF came up here this morning. I cried for two minutes again.

For three hours, she worked her usual magic to reassure and support me and to kick my ass in gear. And while I don't think I feel better, I must.

Because I wrote this, right?

The Totally Unbiased, Cutest Baby in the World Post.

My new niece. Why, yes, we know!

Free Concert!

My nine-year-old son ripped his whole dance style from Chris Brown and Columbus Short's character in Stomp the Yard. He's not quite as rythmic or flexible, but that's another story.

Apparently, the Chris Brown madness begins even earlier. Check out my four-year-old godson:

How I Know I'm Back in the Rural South

Actual sign from the high school basketball game I attended tonight:

The Problem with the Blogging...

...is that it's hard for me right now. The words, despite temporary blocks, used to come easily. I've been looking through my archives, and I realize I used to come here and tell the silliest stories--sometimes with a point, sometimes with absolutely none.

And then I realized, I don't feel free to do that anymore. I have these self-imposed standards, this habit of comparing myself to others and judging myself way insufficient. I always want to say something profound and meaningful and... right. Like, I play posts out in my head a million times to try to figure out the ways they might be perceived. For example, the post with pictures of my son below--it took me a while to put that up because I have so many feelings about the military in general and about who the military uses and how it uses them and the effects on our communities. But on the other hand, my child loves Coti and he was glad to share that day with her.

So, I'm trying to reclaim my blog, trying to make it personal, political, silly, serious, reflective of the whole me.

Even More Cuteness...

Trying to placate a sleepy Nick.

The pacifier just isn't sufficient! This just might work... Going... Gone.

More pictures!

Coti took The Kid to drill for family day.

This one includes Coti's best friend, Nicarlo.

because the words won't come...

How about pictures? Here is my great-niece, born yesterday-- 6 days late and 8 lbs even. More pictures after my visit today.

CoRA, Edition Six

Please get in your submissions for the Carnival of Radical Action.

...for the sixth edition of the Carnival of Radical Action, Vox and I want you to explore making radical history. How do we create and participate in radical history? And how do we chronicle it?

Some food for thought:
• How do radical activists incorporate history into their activism?
• What are the processes involved in forming radical, history-shaping movements in our day and age (i.e. how do we initiate, shape, translate into action our responses to injustice and violence against and within our communities)?
• How do we learn from the past and incorporate radical themes in our work?

Deadline for submissions is Thursday, November 29.

Happy Birthday

... to me!

What I'm Thankful For...

At midnight, my best friend of 28 years called to tell me she was sending me a funny e-mail. "I'm bored," she said, tucked into the house she and her husband are buying while her children slept peacefully. "Mm-hmm," I agreed as I drove to my cousin Trinity's house to take her son some children's motrin. "Just read the e-mail and call me," she said.

Trinity was in the bed, her son and niece tucked in with her. We talked for a moment, then I left.

Upon returning home, I found that I had two friends waiting for me in the yard. New friends, which is amazing, because I don't have many friends and I don't make them easily. So, I climbed into the backseat, sat with them, and did absolutely nothing except run my mouth.

Around two a.m., I finally came in the house. I could smell the evidence of my mom's cooking--the ham was in the oven and the sweet potato pies that I'd poured into the crusts were cooling.

I looked in on my 16-year-old nephew, who was spending the night, climbed over my niece, who was on the floor, and fell into bed.

This morning, a text message from an Alaskan friend whom I haven't heard from in a while woke me. I went back to sleep in a good mood. An hour-and-a-half later, I called from my room into the living room (no, we don't have a big house; I'm just lazy) to tell my niece to put on a pot of water to boil for my one contribution--macaroni and cheese. She said, "Hold on, we're coming." What for, I wondered, but she's 18 and I no longer expect to understand her.

She came into my room with my seven-year-old nephew. They brought me breakfast in bed! They sang me a good morning song! They scrambled my eggs in butter the way I like! For today, at least, I wouldn't trade these kids for the world. My son missed out; like his mom, he was asleep.

My sister spent the night last night as well. I checked in on her. She's had a long week and she was tired. But she was cheerful and enjoying her breakfast. Then, I looked in on my dad. He was still bundled up in bed--strange for a typically early riser--but his breathing was regular and I could see his head poking out from the top of his covers.

From the kitchen came the scent of my mom's dressing and the sound of her soft voice as she talked to the children. She scolded my son about sleeping in a necklace. "Why, MawMaw?" he asked. "I'm scared you'll strangle yourself!" she said. The kids sat at the table eating as my mom did last minute stuff in the kitchen.

"Anyone heard from (my 17-year-old niece)?" She's due anyday now (tomorrow, preferably :-).

"Not yet," her sister answered. "Mama said she better hold that baby--no one's missing dinner today."

I sat down in my favorite chair, at the computer which is my lifeline :-), in our bright, busy kitchen, in our little warm house, with my big, loud family, and I felt good.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Happy Birthday

...to my BFF*, Kimberly.

Love and alcohol, girl.

*I'm hoping saying things like "BFF" will take the sting out of turning 33!!!

The Carnival of Radical Action, Sixth Edition

Inspired by the wonderful M...

“Until lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the hunter.”

That is, according to my limited research, an African proverb that I first encountered at nubian’s site. But as a historian who minored in world history (with a focus on west central Africa) and specialized in the U.S. since 1945, I knew it to be true. Despite all that I learned in my African history courses, the Africans and their descendants whom I studied in my U.S. courses had no history, no background, no lives. They just appeared one day in Jamestown to serve English settlers. That was what the hunters’ history emphasized.

That is just one of the many reasons that for the sixth edition of the Carnival of Radical Action, Vox and I want you to explore making radical history. How do we create and participate in radical history? And how do we chronicle it? (This is a question that dominates my mind as I continually reflect on my long-term goals as a historian.)

Some food for thought:

• How do radical activists incorporate history into their activism?

• What are the processes involved in forming radical, history-shaping movements in our day and age (i.e. how do we initiate, shape, translate into action our responses to injustice and violence against and within our communities)?

• How do we learn from the past and incorporate radical themes in our work?

Vox and I are co-hosting the carnival here. You may submit posts here, use the Blog Carnival submission page, or contact Vox or me. The deadline for submissions is November 29, 2007 and the CoRA will be posted in early December.

And the Mystery Pregnancy Belongs to...

My sister, of course. We were hesitant to say anything because she's had three miscarriages, so she wanted to wait until she was into her second trimester.

Anyway, she's due to deliver April 16.

And my niece is due December 1st, though I'm secretly willing her to have the baby on November 23, my birthday (a.k.a November's Real National Holiday/Day of Thanksgiving).

I Know You Know Already

But I still have to say it.

I am writing-blocked.

Now, I know that happens every couple of months or so, so why do I feel the need to announce it?

Because shortly after I admit it, usually the words come.

So I'm superstitious.

I Love My Mom

She says the darnedest things.

Tonight at the store, she was replenishing the kids' school supplies. One of my nieces needed some pencils. I told her to get the pack of 24 wood pencils for $1. She turned up her nose and said, "I don't write with those pencils, Auntie." She prefers mechanical.

"Mmph," my mom said. "You must not plan to write at all, expecting MawMaw to spend three dollars on four or five pencils."

I heard that trademark "mmph" a little while ago as I sat scrambling to re-edit my application letter. "What is it, Mama?" I asked.

"Girl, I'm just looking at your daddy's dentures."

"What about them?"

"A thousand dollars worth of teeth and he won't even wear 'em. Mmph. I think they were more than a thousand dollars. It's a shame."

"That he won't wear them?"

"No, that he don't realize they'll make him look better."

Then she told me how she was about to go to bed and pray a special prayer of forgiveness. Some woman at her job (in a poultry processing plant) has been bugging her. I asked why she had to pray for forgiveness.

"Because today," she said, "I thought about putting that girl on the tray with them drumsticks."

Waiting...

It occurs to me that I am cataloguing, watching, and waiting for shit to explode in my little corner of the world.

Something is going on here in my home region, something created by the nature of race, gender, and class relations here. Everyone is whispering, but no one is talking.

To date:

Precious "Petey" Story, an 18-year old white woman, was murdered in August. The suspected murderers are young black men, one of whom Petey had previously dated.

Shortly thereafter, when the family of a local white girl decided that she was missing, they went to the home of her black ex-boyfriend and demanded entry. She was not there (was later found on her family's property), but that did not stop her parents from withdrawing her from the local, primarily black high school. They were careful to state that they were not racist, but did not believe in interracial dating.

Over the next couple of days, at least seven other white students withdrew (fewer than 30 were enrolled). When my offended best friend asked one of the white boys about it, he said that his sister confessed to being "afraid" to attend school with so many black boys now. "If one of them tries to date her and she refuses, she's scared of what he might do to her."

Really. He said that.

In a neighboring town, four black boys and one white girl checked out of school one day. They "went to one of the boys’ house, located close to the school, where sex occurred between one of the boys and the girl." They returned to after-school activities and during that time, the girl said she had been raped.

The 14-year-old girl was taken to a local hospital, treated for possible rape, and released to her parents.

A 16-year-old male [was charged] with forcible rape... and placed... in an undisclosed juvenile detention center. He was later released.

...The school district conducted a thorough investigation of the incident and determined that sex occurred, but there was no evidence of a rape. No staff members were notified that a rape had occurred during the school day.

The girl's parents have removed her from the parish school district.

When Ouachita Christian (you know what "Christian" typically means in the name of a southern school right? k, thx) played the majority black Madison High School in football in September, some parents reported hearing gunshots. Some time later, OCS played the (majority black) high school where my best friend is cheerleading advisor. She sent her girls over to introduce themselves, but the OCS cheerleaders were not allowed to come to their side. The gist of the OCS cheerleading advisor's explanation? While it was safe for the black cheerleaders to face their crowd, they couldn't trust the black crowd not to shoot at their cheerleaders.

When I visited the local high school recently, the staff was abuzz with the news that a white male student had brought a noose to school at another nearby high school. School officials have not let a word of that out, so I cannot verify that beyond what I heard that day.

Then, keep in mind, I live about 100 miles from Jena and about 45 miles from the University of Louisiana at Monroe, home of these students who mocked the circumstances surrounding the Jena Six cases by blackfacing themselves with mud.

Oh, and the local solution for addressing the violence and problems here? Take the black kids to Angola and "scare them straight":

Gary Clark, a childhood friend and successful businessman, and I were having conversations recently and the topic of jail came up. ...we talked about the number of black men incarcerated and the things that scared us straight.
“You remember when we were at Westside High* and prisoners were brought to the school and talked about prison life, ’’ said the retired Mobil Oil accountant and successful business owner. “...The things they said about prison life scared the (heck) out of me. I knew then, I was not going to do anything that would send me to jail.”
Tommy L. Carr... and members of the community have taken at risk juveniles -- mostly boys -- on prison visits. “And I have seen how these visits changed the lives of young people,” said Carr. A planned Oct. 23 trip to Angola – the Louisiana State Penitentiary - sponsored by District Attorney Bob Levy, will introduce both area boys and girls to prison life.
Angola... has a prison population of more than 5,000 of which 77 percent are black males.
Most prisoners are sentenced to natural life or exceedingly long sentences. It is estimated that 85 percent of the current population will die behind prison walls.
Carr wants to stop this madness. Both Levy and Carr should be commended for their intervention efforts to keep juveniles out of jail.
Even if it means scaring them straight.

That passage is so simultaneously loaded and clueless that I just can't break it all down right now.

Why am I troubled? I mean, for a long time white parents have been vocal about their desire to separate their kids from ours because our kids are violent, threatening, and dangerous, because a violent act committed by one black kid is reflective of the inherently criminal nature of all black kids. In a sense, this is nothing new. Part of me thinks maybe I've just been away for a while and am supersensitive to all the tensions simmering here.

But the other part of me thinks things can't continue to go on this way. This is a lot, in a small area, in a short time frame. I think people here have to begin to talk. Because I am hesitant and, yes, afraid, I decided to begin here.
_________________________________
*Westside High was the "black" school in the latter days of segregated schools in Union Parish.

You Ain't Never Seen...

A Batman and Robin this fierce and righteous! Behold the godbabies:

Oops!

Happy late birthday Trinity!!

You know I've always thought that Halloween birthday explained so much...

Be RED

From Document the Silence:

In a Litany of Survival, Audre Lorde writes, “When we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak remembering we were never meant to survive.” These words shape our collective organizing to break the silence surrounding women of color’s stories of violence.

I want to help break that silence (my own story, posted sometime ago, is here). But I want to write about what happens when people do break the silence--not to stop the violence, but to perpetuate it.

I've written here about how the discourse surrounding well-known cases of violence against black women is so heartbreakingly, overwhelmingly negative in the attempt to lessen the impact (and even deny the fact) of that violence. And about how the language used about the so-called "immigrant problem" shapes opinion and policies that deny immigrant women their status as women, mothers, family and community members, human beings.

There is so much more to be said. But today I wanted to focus on the negative language, the language that hurts our spirits and sustains the violence, that I hear daily, intimately.

This is my Claudia and her girlfriend.

*****picture redacted*****

Now, while I love Claudia in her own right, one of the things for which I have so much respect for her is the fact that she is openly out and unapologetic in small town Louisiana. There are, of course, the hateful whispers and slurs. But what I hear most are the faux-sympathetic-tone comments, the "if-onlies"--she is smart, beautiful, determined, funny, if only she... lived her life according to someone else's expectations. And then there are the concerned members of our church, who aren't biased or hateful or judgmental or just damned nosey--they are just worried about her eternal soul. Nevermind if they make her life hell.

Her experiences are one of the reasons I wholeheartedly disbelieve the old "sticks and stones" line. Because these words do hurt; they are spoken to crush her spirit, to shame her, to make her be someone that she is not.

This is Felicia. Everyday in October that I passed the civic center in a nearby town, I had to see a memorial, a red silhouette, on the lawn for Felicia and too many other women and children killed by relatives.

Felicia was murdered a few years ago by her estranged husband as she was attempting to move on with her life. She was vibrant, lovely, and unapologetic about the way she lived her life--a source of much talk in a small town.

Felicia was married three times. My best friend, her goddaughter, teased her about the fact that she wore white each time. She told us, she was going to wear white each time--until she got it right.

She believed her third marriage was the right fit. It turned out not to be so. Felicia and her husband were separated and she had begun dating someone else.

Her husband shot her in the parking lot of a local Wal-Mart, went home and killed himself.

For a short while, there were sympathetic outpourings, respectful silences. And then, the breaking of the silence, again negative, began. For some people, Felicia had caused her own death.

Because she, as wife (and thus property), had been with another man.

Because she was not afraid to move on from situations that made her unhappy.

Because everyone knew, **wink, wink** her reputation.

And even some people who condemned him based it on the observation that, "he knew what he was getting."

And I hated those words, imbued as they were with the attempt to justify, rationalize, excuse what happened to her.

In fact knowing, feeling, experiencing the ugliness of words, as so many women have, is one reason I support documenting the silence. Because I want the silence broken. And I want it broken by words we have learned to use to support, build up, nurture, preserve, love each other.

Because I am worn out by the alternative.

Readers of the World...

...Delurk! I heard through the grapevine that today is De-Lurk day. Though I know I haven't kept up my end of the bargain so well in the past few weeks, if anyone is still out there, say hi!!!

P.S. Isn't lurk the most horrible sounding word ever?

Homecoming

My niece was one of the senior attendants on her homecoming court. After a week or so of running about frantically, her aunt was tres, tres glad the Saturday afterwards.

Anyway, here she is:

Posing outside the gym before the coronation.

With her escort.

During the homecoming parade the next day.

Game Night

Really, This Is Not Wholly a Post to Gain Your Sympathy

But **sigh** I moved back to Louisiana just when Bobby Jindal is about to become governor. And he's like, so sold on the whole American dream idea that he believes

"In America and here in Louisiana, the only barrier to success is your willingness to work hard and play by the rules."

Mm-hmm. That sparks a number of questions for our new governor: Who defines success? Are you really relying on the old "if you don't make it you're not working hard enough" trope? Who makes the rules? Are they the same for everyone? Is this statement really your take on all the problems Louisiana faces?

And then there are the other endearing facts about Jindal. He is apparently anti-hate-crime legislation, anti-gay rights, so willing to court fundamentalists that he ignores his biology degree, unwilling to vote to override the S-CHIP veto, and on and on.

Of course, I've only been back home a few months. But after reading:

Why Bobby Jindal Is Bad: The comprehensive post.

37 Reasons to Vote Against Bobby Jindal

Posts from the Anybody but Jindal blog

I'm sure this governorship is going to leave me with a bad taste. Oh, and just so you know more about my part of the state:

Jindal paid particular attention to north Louisiana, a conservative region that was widely viewed as critical to Blanco's victory four years ago. In a candidate forum in Shreveport earlier this month, Jindal said that he had visited the region 77 times since declaring his candidacy.

He visited my town this past summer. I snapped this pic from the car window, all the time thinking, "A Fresh Start for whom?!!":

Somebody come rescue this square peg!

The one good thing--in trying to read more about Jindal, I have come across some good Louisiana links.

H/T Your Right Hand Thief and Bobby Jindal Is Bad!

Stopping Violence Against Women of Color

From Document the Silence:

Recent events in the United States have moved us to action. Violence against women is sadly, not a new phenomenon in our country or in the world, however, in the last year women of color have experienced brutal forms of violence, torture, rape and injustice which have gone unnoticed, received little to no media coverage, or a limited community response. We are responding to:

The brutal and inhumane rape, torture, and kidnapping of Megan Williams in Logan, West Virginia who was held by six assailants for a month.

Rape survivors in the Dunbar Housing Projects in West Palm Beach, Florida one of whom was forced to perform sexual acts on her own child.

A 13 year old native American girl was beaten by two white women and has since been harassed by several men yelling “white power” outside of her home.

Seven black lesbian girls attempted to stop an attacker and were latter charged with aggravated assault and are facing up to 11 year prison sentences

In a Litany of Survival, Audre Lorde writes, “When we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak remembering we were never meant to survive.” These words shape our collective organizing to break the silence surrounding women of color’s stories of violence. We are asking for community groups, grass-root organizations, college campus students and groups, communities of faith, online communities, and individuals to join us in speaking out against violence against women of color. If we speak, we cannot be invisible.

Join us and stand up to violence against women!

• Be bold, be brave, be red. Wear red on October 31, 2007. Take a picture or video of yourself and friends wearing red. Send it to: beboldbered@gmail.com. We’ll post it!
• Take Your Red to the Streets! Know of a location where violence occurred against a woman of color? Have a public location where you feel women of color are often ignored? Make violence against women of color visible by decorating the space in red. Be sure to send us pictures and or video of your display!
• Rally! Gather your friends, family, and community to rally. Check out the Document the Silence website for the litany we’re asking participants to read together on October 31st. Be sure to send us pictures and/or video of the event! You could even gather where you created a display!

More details here.

Reason Number 63589 This Blog Must Stay (Relatively) Pseudonymous

So that I can say things like this:

1. Right now, I am sleepy and my bra is so tight, it feels as if the strap is trying to fuse with my skin.

2. I am so looking forward to American Gangster. Denzel, Common, Idris Elba, and Chiwetel Ejiofor on one screen?

I'ma have to take a towel--but not for tears :-p

Because I like to Believe You're Invested in My Life

High School Homecoming

+

Mid Semester Exams

+

Community Wide Fall Carnival

+

University Homecoming

+

Attempting to keep the peace between your recently-moved-in 18-year-old niece and your nine-year-old son (who apparently live to aggravate the hell out of each other and, thus, out of you)

=

One busy elle.

I'll be back soon...

with pictures, even. ;-p

Mychal Bell Back in Jail

From the AP:

Mychal Bell, 17, was unexpectedly sent back to prison on Thursday after going to juvenile court in central Louisiana's LaSalle Parish for what he expected to be a routine hearing, Carol Powell Lexing, one of his attorneys said.

Instead, state District Judge J.P. Mauffrey Jr. decided Bell had violated probation and sentenced him to 18 months in jail on two counts of simple battery and two counts of criminal destruction of property, Lexing said.

Now why would you expect anything routine from the
Louisiana court system? Or maybe this is routine.

In discussing this with me, my father said, "Well, baby, they had to do something to show they could keep him in jail if they wanted." And he sounded so certain, like this is something he's just so used to.

H/T My dad and Trinity (who called me at 8:30 this morning pissed off!)

Crazy Mama

So I had one of those days in which I left home around 7 AM and just returned around 8:30 PM. I hadn't seen my child all day and I was a bit anxious to set eyes upon him.

Now, his bedtime is 8:30 in hopes that he's asleep by 9. Every other night, I have to stay on him about his bedtime (and staying in bed--he'll pop up with suddenly **urgent** questions).

I figured he was awake, so I knocked on the door, too tired to go back to the car for my keys. He opened it, said hi, then went back to bed.

My niece looked at me with an eyebrow raised. "He must be tired," she said. "Well, 8:30 is his bedtime," I told her, as if it was a normal occurrence that my child apparently had been in bed before bedtime.

Then, I sat down and started thinking.

This was a bit strange.

So, I go check on him. He's sleeping in my mom's room. Stranger still.

"Hey," I said, "What's up?"

"Nothing." He sounds pretty cheerful, so I press on.

"You could sleep in my room if you like," I offered.

A polite, silent decline.

"Well, okay." And I walked off.

And thought some more.

And went back.

"Did you have a good day?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm. My nanna (his godmother) says she's proud of my behavior."

"Well, I am, too." I looked at him for a moment. "Are you sick?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then you must be really tired."

"Uh-uh. I'm not tired. Do you need something?"

"Noooo..."

"Okay." As in, Goodnight, Mama and leave me the hell alone.

So I left him the hell alone and I haven't gone back.

Yet.

But why is it, when you get what you think you want, it seems really crazy?

What I'm Reading...

Kortney Ryan Ziegler (nubian) on women of color as bloggers

Our words challenge the inherently racist idea that we are incapable of engaging in intellectual discourse. As we tread on the ideological terrain that tries to position us as inferior bloggers (and intellectuals), we strengthen our resistance by merely naming oppressions that other bloggers don’t. We provoke a conscious need to remedy the ills of racism in the hopes of transforming society. We resist the standards of what should and should not be said in the virtual world, standards which to some degree reflect the oppressive conditions of our larger society.

BfP on institutional violence against girls

15 year old girl arrested, punched in the face and pepper sprayed for breaking curfew
13 year old girl arrested for writing “Okay” on Desk
10 year old girl arrested for taking scissors to school

Girl arrested for spilling cake:

And so many more incidents. Too many more incidents.

Professor Black Woman on how recent incidents of violence against PoC are not "isolated incidents" but part of a pattern. She also notes how PoC and their allies who document and protest the pattern are likened to "antebellum white Southerns who took isolated incidents out of context in order to stir up a violent fervor targeted at a named enemy."

What is telling about this accusation is not only how easy it is to do a basic search and discover the number of incidents we are talking about but also the ways that once again standing up for the basic civil and human rights of people of color is being seen as inciting hatred and violence.

Ann on the invisibility of black women in the U.S. She's illuminating the truth in the phrase "All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men," the subtitle of Hull, Scott, and Smith's But Some of Us Are Brave.

[B]lack women have never been accorded humanity, personhood, nor womanhood, in America.

We have always been everyone’s toilet to be used for the most grossest and abominable manifestations of female hatred.

This is a topic that I, as a blogger and a historian, have been so hesitant to write about in the way that Ann does--contrasting attention given to the struggles of black men for justice, equality, citizenship, personhood, to the abysmal lack of attention given to black women's struggles. The divide is at times very real to me, but from other angles, it can seem to be a false separation.

Donna Darko has questions for white bloggers:

If four white lesbians aged 19-24 were sentenced to 3 1/2-11 years in prison for defending themselves from a man who held them down, choked them, ripped hair from their scalps, spat on them, and threatened to sexually assault them, all because they were lesbians, wouldn't it be a top story on the progressive blogs for its ludicrousness?

And that's just her first question!

Teaching Woes #2

From Historianess:

Yesterday I gave a quiz in my survey class. I like quizzes; they're a good way to measure how well students are picking up basic facts and patterns, and they're a good way to see both if the students are reading, and how they are doing the reading.

One of the easier questions was "Name two Puritan colonies." Based on my notes, they had three options there: Massachusetts Bay, New Haven (I would accept Connecticut as an answer), and Providence Island. I figured some students would answer with Plymouth or Rhode Island, which would give me an opportunity to remind them that the Pilgrims were Separatists, and that Puritans considered theologically-liberal Rhode Island to be a den of iniquity.

Instead, about two-thirds of the class answered with "Jamestown" or "Virginia."

ARGH! I'm sure that somewhere in a lecture I did talk extensively about how Massachusetts was a Puritan colony and Virginia was *not* a Puritan colony.

From elle's best friend, a high school teacher:

Girl, I'll be up there, thinking I'm teaching my heart out. And they seem to be listening, they ask questions, we talk... then they take the test. And girl!!!

No, she didn't need to add anything else.

From elle herself, after recent exam results in one of my classes:

My God, are they in the same room I'm in?

Seriously, like most professors, I work really hard to give fair exams and quizzes. The vast majority of the time it goes well.

But sometimes, I get results that send my blood pressure through the roof. I don't worry inordinately about really, really low failing grades--those are typically earned by students who don't come to class and/or who admit that they didn't prepare.

Nope, it's the 50s and 60s that really bother me. It's as if there was some effort, but something just didn't quite click. A lot of questions run through my head: What didn't they understand? How could I have presented the material in a different manner that may have stuck with them? How could I have helped them make connections? Was it a "good" exam?

Of course, there are the questions that bother you deeply, the ones that are hard to face--about your ability, skills, and effectiveness as a teacher in general. For example, I can honestly say that I believe I am a "good" teacher, but there are areas in which I want and need to improve.

And that is one thing that has been difficult for me--sitting down and developing goals and plans for how to improve and continue to grow.

A Weekend Note

More teaching woes to come. But for now...

..

“Despite the best efforts of Republican spinmeisters to depict American conservatism as a nonracial phenomenon, the partisan impact of racial attitudes in the South is stronger today than in the past.”

Republican politicians… have tacitly acknowledged this reality. Since the days of Gerald Ford, just about every Republican presidential campaign has included some symbolic gesture of approval for good old-fashioned racism.

And the cynicism of the “Southern strategy” introduced by Richard Nixon, which delivered decades of political victories to Republicans, is now starting to look like a trap for the G.O.P.

[Republican] contenders have snubbed not just blacks— but Hispanics…. If this sounds like a good way to ensure defeat in future elections, that’s because it is: Hispanics are a rapidly growing force in the electorate.

And both Hispanics and Asians, another growing force in the electorate, are getting the message. Last year they voted overwhelmingly Democratic, by 69 percent and 62 percent respectively.

In other words, it looks as if the Republican Party is about to start paying a price for its history of exploiting racial antagonism. If that happens, it will be deeply ironic. But it will also be poetic justice.

-Paul Krugman, "Politics in Black and White," New York Times 24 September 2007.

H/T BfP and Shannon

Teaching Woes #1

Don't worry, I'm not second guessing my career choice... for now.

But Lord, the students! And other professors have the same experiences (which I'll cover in a post or three).

Professing Mama talks about laying the smackdown

Anyway, I was discussing the problems with their papers, which I FINALLY returned today, and they were tuning me out. I can handle a little multi-tasking in the classroom, but today was ridiculous. They were IMing each other, whispering, and doing God knows what else. Not cool.

So, as I began the Powerpoint, I laid the smackdown: "If you can't pay attention, then get up and leave RIGHT NOW."

Stunned faces look at me.

I had similar experiences over the last week in one of my classes. First, one student (in her defense I think her voice just sounds confrontational)* came in having a bad day. She was frowning and rubbing her head before class. After class started, she rolled her eyes as I lectured and snapped her cell phone closed--loudly--after sending a text message (something I usually kick students out for; I can't stand that). Rather than confront her right then, I decided to talk to her after class. This was her first time acting like that, and I had some sympathy for her headache or whatever.

And then, she turned her frustration on me. Near the end of class, while I was talking, she says--again, loudly--"Is that all we're going to do?"

To say I was shocked was an understatement. Oh, I've been challenged a couple of times before by know-it-all students. And there had been a constant buzz in my classrooms earlier in the semester about the fact that I seemed "so young." One of my students asked me if I was really the "teacher's helper." But, I'd nipped that in the bud.

So, when, Ms. I-Have-An-Attitude came at me like that, I initially said, "What?"

And she repeated her question defiantly. To be honest, my first response was a snap back: "No, that's not all we're going to do," I told her, "Apparently, we're going to send text messages and act bored as well."

At which point, she sat back and looked embarrassed. And of course, I felt guilty and launched into a spiel about how the syllabus outlines what we'll do in this class, what is expected academically and in terms of classroom conduct, and that the reason we examine source documents is not to bore or overburden them, etc.

But that's still on my mind. Despite the fact that she's come to my office twice since then to talk about her exam and to clarify something from the lecture (she'd never been before). I don't want her feeling like I dislike her/she has to kiss up to me to pass.

Then yesterday, in that same class, three students came in (not all together) rather late. That's not a problem I've had with this class-in one of my other classes, I did tell them if it was more than five minutes after class began, by my time, don't come in. Once I actually stopped a couple of students on their way in and said "See, you next time," I haven't had that problem anymore :-). But anyway, I requested these students see me after class. I asked why they were late. Two of them were like, "I overslept" and "Honestly, I don't have a reason." And I gave a don't-do-it-again-it's-rude-and-disruptive speech and they agreed.

But Mr. Student #3 had much attitude, "You must have me mixed up," he said, "I'm never late." "Well, you are today. And I would appreciate it if you aren't again." Oh, he kept mumbling all the way out of the classroom.

The thing is, I don't know if I'm magically expecting them--mostly fresh out of high school--to have transformed in a few months. I mean, I taught high school and your classroom management has to be superb. But, I put guidelines in the syllabus and discussed behavior the first few days of class. Is it really hard not to whisper loudly in a college classroom? Or to put your phone on silent (rather than on vibrate so that you can a) respond to text messages or b) tiptoe out of the classroom if a call comes that you want to take?). Or to read the textbook or preview the slides/handouts made available to you so you don't spend an hour and 20 minutes looking lost, bored, or asking "How do you spell that?" or "Will you say that name again? Or to participate in class discussions? I'm not a "No you're WRONG!!!!" cut 'em down sort of teacher.

I've had to deal with all that at some point as a TA, an instructor, and a professor.

Why are some of our kids so discourteous? So damn uninterested?

And am I expecting too much?
_________________________________________
Ouch! Upon re-reading I realized how unfair that sounded, especially without acknowledging that, my "hearing" is probably influenced by past experience and knowledge of the experiences of other women in the academy.

Wait Until I Tell Vox...

Oh. She already knows.

Some kids in my neck of the woods, UL-Monroe, decided to do their own re-enactment mocking of the Jena Six case.

So, they go to the beach.

They roll around in the mud.

And then

three students with mud smeared across their bodies stomp on a fourth student, while two of the participants are heard to say, "Jena 6." One man can also be heard saying, "Niggers put the noose on."

One of the little darlings posted the video of the event on her facebook page:



When asked about it, she couldn't even come up with an original defense:

We were just playin n the mud and it got out of hand. I promise i'm not racist. i have just as many black friends as i do white. And i love them to death.

Now, I feel pretty confident in saying that black folk are pretty tired of self-proclaimed non-racist white people loving us to death. (Because really, y'all are killing us).

And I'm so waiting for the unoriginal defenses others will mount. You know, that "They didn't intend," and "They didn't realize it could be perceived as racist" and "It was just a joke" and on and on and on.

Damn. It must be nice to continually be given the benefit of the doubt.

H/T Jasmyne Cannick. And keep checking Vox's college racism round-up. Unfortunately, she has to add to it somewhat regularly.

What Louisiana does David Vitter Live In?

So Bush vetoed the SCHIP reauthorization. And in his usual cowardly manner, he skulked off to do so.

Bush is so distasteful, dishonest, and really, just so disgusting to me that I just don't spend much time talking about him. I need the supposed naivete of these children, I guess:


But guess who agreed with him?

David Vitter.

Of Louisiana.

You know, Louisiana, with one of the highest poverty rates in the South? (And that says something).

I've been shaking my head about that for a few days. I have to ask, in what Louisiana does David Vitter live? Surely it can't be the one in which 91,000 children still are uninsured (LaCHIP covers about 107,000 children)? Where, consistently, about one-fourth of children live in poverty? And another 23 percent live in families whose income is 100-200 percent of the Federal poverty level?

And the percentages of low birthweight babies and pregnant women getting late or no pre-natal care, the infant mortality rate, the shortage of primary health care providers? All higher than the national average.

Health care in general in Louisiana is in an abysmal state. But the LaCHIP program has made a difference for our children--since 1999, the number of uninsured children in Louisiana has dropped significantly.

And David Vitter has the nerve to ignore all that. Why, Mr. Vitter, why?

His official answers:
Because he wants to make sure "individuals who already have employer-sponsored health insurance [are exempted] from eligibility for SCHIP coverage." Mind you, according to Governor Blanco, "only 10.5 percent of children with LaChip live in families with access to employer sponsored health insurance."

Because he's worried about that evil of all evils, socialized medicine--he called the bill "Hillarycare." (Way to score a point and strike fear and loathing in the hearts of his supporters, huh?)

My official theory:
Despite the very real need for the SCHIP program, and the demonstrable effect it has had, in the state that he's supposed to represent, Mr. Vitter's still trying to stay in his party's good graces. He's had enough trouble without adding the burden of voting against the Disaster Decider.

Politics. I really wish they'd get back to being about people.

Carnivals

The 32nd edition of the Carnival Against Sexual Violence is up at abyss2hope.

The 57th edition of the History Carnival is posted at Osprey Publishing Blog.

The Carnival of Radical Action number five is at Sudy's place.

Read, read, read.