chidealist

Chicagoan, Idealist, Social Worker

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This sense of helplessness in the face of such entrenched segregation is what makes so alluring the notion, embraced by liberals and conservatives, that we can address school inequality not with integration but by giving poor, segregated schools more resources and demanding of them more accountability. True integration, true equality, requires a surrendering of advantage, and when it comes to our own children, that can feel almost unnatural.

Nikole Hannah-Jones from “Choosing a School for My Daughter in a Segregated City” 

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Mission High: A Review

When I was in graduate school, I had the privilege of taking an educational policy course with the brilliant sociologist/historian Dr. Charles Payne. While all of Dr. Payne’s incisive observations about public education left me mesmerized (I took to calling him my brain crush) there is one question he posed to our class that has been reverberating in my head ever since:  

What is your ideology, and what does it prevent you from seeing?

What he meant was this--almost everyone in the education world is divided between two camps: progressives and business-minded reformers. Progressives favor strategies like community schools, increasing school funding, and teacher professional development. Generally, they are pro-union. Business-minded reformers seek to apply business principles such as privatization, competition, and accountability to the world of education. Usually members of this camp are pro-charter schools and anti-union.

According to Dr. Payne, one of the biggest problems in public education is that educators and policy makers frequently base their decisions on ideology rather than on evidence. Rather than sticking to the data to find out what works--we have a tendency to cling to anecdotal examples that further entrench our ideological position.

All of this is to say...I really liked this book--but I worry that I liked it mostly because its ideology lined up so well with my own. Full disclosure--I tend to lean toward the progressive camp myself, and this book was pretty much a manifesto of progressive educational principles. 

The author, Kristen Rizga spent a four years observing and interviewing teachers and students at Mission High School in San Francisco. The chapters alternate between the stories of students, teachers, and concise summaries of educational policy history. MIssion is a progressive success story. It is not a charter school, there is no merit pay, the teachers are tenured and unionized. It is a normal public school serving a diverse population of low-income students where an extraordinary group of teachers and administrators have managed to raise attendance, graduation, and college-going rates far above national averages for similar student populations. Many of the students described by Rizga faced considerable challenges including community violence, homelessness, uncertain immigration status, and family turbulence--and yet with the support of Mission High’s dedicated staff they each manage to be successful in their own way. 

How did they do it? According to Rizga, it mostly comes down to excellent teachers, and to creating a professional learning community where those teachers can continuously work at improving their craft. 

This book is a refreshing and positive look at American teachers, who have been frequently demonized and scapegoated for deeper problems in our country’s educational system. The teachers we meet in “Mission High”  forged trusting, supportive, and culturally competent relationships with students--while forcing kids to think deeply, and to work their butts off in classroom. Furthermore, they created a professional learning community where teachers learned together and mentored one another. 

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“After two years at Mission, I was forced to let go of another major assumption about education: that emphasis on individual students’ test scores is the best way to monitor and promote individual learning. I have come to believe that this faulty logic harms learning. Some of the most important things that matter in a quality education--critical thinking, intrinsic motivation, resilience, self-management, resourcefulness, and relationships skills--exist in realms that can’t easily be measured by statistical measures and computer algorithms, but they can be detected by human judgement. America’s business-inspired obsession with prioritizing “metrics” in a complex world that deals with the development of individual minds has become the primary cause of mediocrity in American schools.”-- Kristina Rizga, “Mission High” 

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How Kids Learn Resilience

In recent years, the idea that educators should be teaching kids qualities like grit and self-control has caught on. Successful strategies, though, are hard to come by.

Great piece on the interconnection between trauma and student achievement. Evaluates whether non-cognitive skills can actually be “taught”, and presents evidence as to why traditional approaches to managing student mis-behaviors (i.e. zero tolerance policies, school suspensions) have been so ineffective. 

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When teachers and administrators are confronted with students who find it hard to concentrate, manage their emotions, or deal calmly with provocation, the first instinct often is not to look at them as children who, because of a lifetime of stress, haven’t yet developed a healthy set of self-regulation mechanisms. Instead, the adults see them as kids with behavioral problems who need, more than anything, to be disciplined.

How Kids Learn Resilience by Paul Tough 

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2016/06/how-kids-really-succeed/480744/

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In “Lemonade”, Beyonce Makes the Personal Political

Last night, Beyonce’s ‘Lemonade’ debuted on HBO. I watched it almost by accident, after seeing a headline about its release on the New York Times. “Let’s just check it out”, I said to my husband, thinking we would preview a few songs before going to bed. I didn’t think we would watch the entire “visual art album” which clocked in at 57 minutes long.

I was wrong.

Never have I been so transfixed by a piece of pop culture. I didn’t want to blink.

I should have known better than to underestimate a Beyonce/ HBO collaboration. Her last HBO documentary (Life is but a Dream) unexpectedly left me wiping tears from my face because it was just so damn poignant. Who knew that the queen of pop stardom was so fucking relatable?

Just three years later, “Lemonade” introduces us to a very different Beyonce. In the first HBO film she was a pop queen who balanced a thrilling career with the joys of motherhood and power coupledom. We thought she had it all when she cradled her baby and said that her relationship with “Jay” was “what everyone woman dreamed of”.

In “Lemonade” that dream has burst. The Beyonce we meet is sobered, wizened, and vulnerable. She hurts, and her hurt creates space for a deeper and more authentic connection with her fans. This new vulnerability represents quite a shift for an artist who is famously protective of her image and tight-lipped about her private life. However, if there is one thing Beyonce knows how to do well, it’s how to surprise us. At every step in her career she has revealed herself to be more than I thought, and last night’s release of Lemonade was no exception. She may have sent shockwaves through America with her release of “Formation”—but it turns out that was only the tip of the iceberg. “Lemonade” cements Beyonce’s transition from light-hearted pop tunes (think: bootylicious) to protest music. At a time when most pop divas are clawing for our attention with superficial controversies (i.e. naked Miley on a wrecking ball)—Beyonce is skillfully pushing the boundaries of pop music, and she has something real to say.

The central narrative of “Lemonade” is the story of a woman betrayed by her husband—passing through stages of fury, denial, apathy, and ultimately reconciliation. I know, I know…did Jay-Z cheat on Beyonce? Knowing how private the Carters are—we’ll probably never know for sure. But the lyrics are pretty searing (“I regret the day I put this ring on my finger”), and the home video footage embedded in the album sure makes it feel like Beyonce is drawing on some personal experience.

There is plenty of fodder for celebrity gossip here—but in “Lemonade”, the facts of who did what to whom are beside the point. Like any good feminist, Beyonce understands that the personal is political, and while her story of marital discord is the foreground of the narrative, that story is situated in her experience as a Black Woman in America. Furthermore, through splicing her love-sick ballads with images of ordinary women, poetry, and the words of Malcolm X (“there is no person in America more disrespected than the Black woman”), Beyonce shows that her life cannot be cleaved easily from the lives of other Black women. They are like roots to the same tree—connected by a shared past and present.

The album frequently references the omnipresence of America’s racist history, blurring images of the antebellum South, with reminders of present racial oppression.  Rotting plantations, the eerie tendrils of Spanish moss, and trembling palm fronds form the backdrop for most of these songs. References to police brutality (the mothers of Michael Brown and Trayvon Martin hold portraits of their sons while gazing into the camera) cut through the dream-like Southern mirage. Memories of the racist past linger but they are also replayed and re-perpetrated in the racist present. The pain inflicted by the racist nation mingles together with the pain inflicted by a cheating spouse. The personal, political, and the historical--they are all interconnected in this story of this one Black Woman, which is simultaneously connected to the stories of all Black women.

However, this is not just a story about the experience of pain, but also a story about survival, and redemption. Like any good rock’n’roll album, it is also a rebuke of the establishment order. In this case, that’s a rebuke of a society that has overlooked the beauty, strength, and sexiness of Black Women. “Lemonade” deliberately embraces Black women of every age, shape, and skin tone. The camera sifts through a collage of Black female faces young and old, a lithe model flaunts the vitiligo spots on her arms and face, the camera pauses for a moment on the portrait of Nina Simone--who was often criticized for her dark-skinned appearance. In another scene, Serena Williams makes a surprise cameo---dancing with unabashed sexiness in a ball gown that slides off her shoulders. Ms. Williams has been famously passed over for advertisements for what amounts to her incompatibility with narrow white-centric notions of beauty. As she danced alongside Beyoncé with radiant confidence it felt like the perfect middle finger to all those advertisers and more over to a white America that has enforced racist notions of beauty for far too long.

Speaking of middle fingers--there is actually a scene where Beyoncé and a bus load of women chant “middle fingers” up while pumping their middle fingers in the air. Which is to say, despite the hurt the characters in “Lemonade” endure, they never seem to stop believing in their self-worth. Perhaps that's the secret to how, true to its namesake, the album transforms pain into something sweeter. Not saccharine sweet, but the sweetness of choosing to live and to love in spite of the pain that surrounds.

I could keep going here. Lemonade is so  rich in imagery, symbols, and political a references I could probably spend days analyzing it all. But I won't. I'll give you time to watch for yourself, and to marvel at the latest turn in Beyonces career.

By the way, is it just me, or as the politics in America get uglier, does the art just keep getting better? The same year that has given us the horror and embarrassment of the Republican debates has also gifted us the infectious charm of Hamilton, a Star Wars Movie starring Black and female protagonists, and a flawless new music/movie thing from Beyonce. It’s like we’re rapidly moving forward and backward at the same time. I’m not sure what future holds, but for now, I’ll be purchasing “Lemonade” on itunes.

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"Inside every culture is a logic that explains it."

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This work is a part of the "Unbound: Contemporary Art after Frida Kahlo" exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art (Chicago). On the caption to the photo is said the work encourages the viewer to consider the ways in which gender is a performance. I thought that was so interesting. It had never occurred to me that we are choosing to perform gender, but it seems very true.

Overall, the exhibit was small but provocative. I never realized how ahead of her time Frida was when in came to thinking about gender representations. She was a feminist before feminism existed.                  

Photo source: http://www2.mcachicago.org/exhibition/unbound-contemporary-art-after-frida-kahlo/

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I stumbled upon this documentary on iTunes. It was beautiful, tragic, and heartbreaking. I can't recommend it enough. 

While watching, I was reminded how exploitation is almost always justified by classifying the oppressed as a dehumanized "other". I thought about this a lot while watching "12 Years a Slave", where we see slaveowners and traders justify their economic interests with the bogus claim that African Americans were somehow subhuman. (The irony of this film is that it is the slaveowners themselves who become monsters in their attempts to dehumanize others). 

"Who is Dayani Cristal" documents the ways in which the United States government dehumanizes undocumented immigrants (we label them "Illegal" so that the deaths of thousands attempting to cross the Arizona desert are viewed as a crime rather than a humanitarian concern). Again, the dehumanization of a group of "others" serves our economic interests. We benefit from a cheap labor supply, while denying undocumented workers basic rights. It may not be slavery, but there are some eerie similarities. 

"Who is Dayani Cristal" asserts the truth that there is no "other". On both sides of every border, there are only human beings. The film introduces us to the story of just one migrant  who died trying to cross the Arizona desert. Through the story of this man, we are reminded that each unidentified body in the desert is a human being, someone whose death creates "a wound that will never heal" (to quote Dayani's wife) in the lives of his family. 

Both the creation and the act of watching a film of this type are important. In doing so, we insist on recognizing the undeniable humanity of the oppressed, and are forced to acknowledge the brutality and unjustifiable-ness of our economic system. 

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Last Chance High

I'm in love with this documentary series. You can watch all episodes on the vice website or Youtube, each are about 10 minutes long. Basically, the series follows the lives of a group of students attending a "last chance" middle school on Chicago's west side. 

This series reminds me of something I heard Gary Slutkin (found of Cure Violence) say in the film The Interrupters--  "There are no bad people, just bad behaviors" (this is an approximate quote). 

Is also reminds me of a truth I came to know well working with children in Englewood-- usually the kids who act out the most are the ones dealing with the most pain in their lives. 

Almost every episode made me tear up. It's incredibly heartbreaking, and its important to watch because it gives you an inside look at the brutal cycles of violence, trauma, and pain that so many Chicago kids are hurt by. 

Here's the link:'

https://news.vice.com/video/last-chance-high-episode-6

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Just discovered that David Simon (creator of my favorite television series The Wire) has a blog. Loved the most recent piece he posted about the passing of a young man from inner city Baltimore who Simon came to know as a writer for the Baltimore Sun. 

This was my favorite segment. I feel that is also captures the way that I feel about many of the students who have passed through my life: 

"Well then, amid all of the easy labels and stereotypes that will now certainly apply, let me offer only the following:  I once had the privilege to know a boy named DeAndre McCullough, who at the age of fifteen had led a life of considerable deprivation, but who nonetheless was the fine and fascinating measure of a human soul. Everything after, even the very book that we wrote about his world, today seems like useless and unimportant commentary.

Be free, Dre."

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You won’t allow me to go to school. I won’t become a doctor. Remember this: One day you will be sick.

-- Poem written by an 11 year old Afghan girl 

This poem was recorded in a NYT magazine article about female underground poetry groups in Afghanistan. An amazing article about the ways in which women are using a traditional two line poetry form to express their resistance to male oppression, their feelings about love (considered blasphemous), and their doubts about religion. 

One of the best articles I've read all year. Here's the link

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thoughts on homogeneity...

I love Chicago, but I hate how segregated the city is. With the exception of Hyde Park, (and maybe a few other neighborhoods I don't know about), the city is almost entirely segregated by race. Some of my favorite Chicago events are free festivals such as Taste of Chicago, The Blues Festival and Zoo Lights-- simply because they are rare opportunities for people across the city to come together. 

I attended a very homogeneous high school (almost entirely white, conservative, Catholic, and upper middle class) and also taught at two very homogenous schools (entirely African American and low income). Although these two communities appeared completely different-- in both cases I observed that homogeneity seems to foster intolerance of even the most trivial differences. It seemed to me that in all three schools, students felt considerable pressure to dress the same, speak the same, and have the same interests as their peers. 

While teaching, I noticed that students who did not "blend in" with the vast majority of the student body where often socially punished for their differences. For example, a student of mine who was interested in film and listened to rock music told me that other students made fun of her for acting "white". 

Naturally, some of this pressure to "fit in" is a part of adolescence. However, last year I had a conversation with a CPS parent who shared an interesting perspective with me. As a child, this parent had attended a very diverse school on the North Side of Chicago. Late in her high school career, she moved to an almost exclusively white North Shore suburb. She told me that she found the student body at the North Shore High School to be much more narrow minded, and less accepting of students who did not fit the norm. "I think because everyone looked the same, there was even more pressure to be the same--anyone who was a little bit different ended up being excluded", she commented.  

Almost all universities today have diversity policies. When it comes to college campuses, we recognize that diversity is a desirable outcome, and an important ingredient of a healthy learning community. If this is the case-- why is it that we don't make an effort to make our public schools, neighborhoods, and suburbs more diverse places? 

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Re-thinking New Year's Resolutions

Like many people-- year after year  I always make a New Year’s resolution. While I seldom stick to these goals, year after year I have always declared in my journals in capital letters. In years past, my resolutions have included eating healthier, meditating daily, and learning to cook. I imagine such resolutions sound fairly typical. Like many Americans who vow every year to hit the gym, quit smoking, or land a better job–my goals have always focused on self-improvement.

American culture is obsessed with the notion of self-improvement (hit TV shows like “The Biggest Loser” , cult classics such as “Rudy”,  and the endless publication of self-help books are all a testament to this fact). It’s not surprising that our New Year’s resolutions often reflect our preoccupations with becoming wealthier, happier, slimmer or more accomplished. Perhaps this is the natural consequence of living in a culture so firmly rooted in individualism.

Certainly there is nothing wrong with self-improvement. But we ought to balance our desires to improve ourselves with an equal commitment to improving the world around us.

Just imagine–what if a million Americans this year resolved to reduce their carbon footprint rather than losing ten pounds or saving up for a new car?

In this spirit, I propose the “Compassionate New Year’s Resolution”. The idea is simple. Pick a resolution that focuses on the making the world a better place rather than making yourself a better person. For a change, community trumps individualism.

Here are just a few ideas for Compassionate Resolutions…

1) Reduce your carbon footprint any way you choose. You can give up eating meat, use public transportation or bicycle to work, or make a commitment to use less energy or water.

2) Consider making a small monthly donation to a favorite organization or charity.

3) Make a commitment to volunteer on a weekly or monthly basis.

4) Commit to spending more time with family or friends.

5) Make a commitment to abide by an ethical practice. For example, you might decide to stop talking about others behind their backs.

6) Engage in advocacy or social justice work.

These are just a few ideas. Personally, I’m making the commitment to stop eating red meat (gases emitted by cattle are one of the largest sources of greenhouse gases) and to begin using re-usable shopping bags.

 Like all New Year’s resolutions, your goals can be modest, but they should be specific and attainable. Don’t underestimate the power of your personal choices to make a difference. 

* I wrote this post last year, and thought I would reblog it before this New Year's Eve. This year my "mindful" resolution is to stop buying bottled water. Please feel encouraged to share your own resolutions in the comments section!

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John Adams, My Latest TV Obsession

This HBO miniseries starring Paul Giamatti and based on the biography by David McCullough is my latest television obsession. (Sadly, The Wire had to end eventually). 

I've never been much of a history buff-- in fact, I usually tell people that the only period of American history that interests me is the 60s. So, I'm a little surprised that I like this show as much as I do. I think what appeals to me is the way the characters (particularly John and Abigail Adams) are shown in so much detail and complexity.

Paul Giamatti has this amazing ability to depict a 1,000 different nuances of human emotion in his facial expressions. Sometimes he manages to capture the inner-struggle of Adam's virtues and shortcomings in a single, penetrating look. For example, during George Washington's inauguration as President-- Giamatti manages to show us Adam's experience of both jealousy and inspiration with a subtle change of expression.  

As a feminist, one of the most enjoyable aspects of the show for me is watching Laura Linney play Abigail Adams. Abigail Adams is definitely one of my "she-roes", a strong and brilliant woman who influenced John Adam's work and who was unafraid to voice her opinions candidly to men as powerful as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. One of my favorite scenes so far is when Abigail revises an opinion John wrote for a court case, while he restlessly paces the room, hoping for her approval. (To his dismay, she sends him back to re-write it).  

Perhaps what I like most about this series is the fact that it is neither an idealistic portrait of John Adams, nor of the American Revolution. The early episodes call into question the "ends justify the means" approach of many Revolutionaries. For example, we watch as Adams' cousin Samuel Adams instigates a New England mob which violently kills an innocent British soldier-- in the supposed name of Revolution.We also see Adam's virtues (namely his fidelity and devotion both to Abigail and to the cause of independence) counterbalanced by his vanity, stubbornness, and insatiable ambition. It is refreshing to see a portrayal of early America where complexity is not sacrificed in order to glorify our history. 

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Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I'm either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or for a few moments in my life, I'm hurtling across space in between trapeze bars... It's called transition. I come to believe it is the only place that real change occurs. I mean real change, not the pseudo-change that lasts only until the next time my old buttons get punched. I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a "no-thing", a no-place between places. Sure the old trapeze-bar was real and that new one coming towards me, I hope that's real too. But the void in between? That's just a scary, confusing, disorienting, "nowhere" that must be gotten through as fast and as unconsciously as possible. What a waste! I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing, and the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void, where the real change, the real growth occurs for us. Whether or not my hunch is true, it remains that the transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honored, even savored. Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out-of-control that can (but not necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth filled, passionate, and expansive moments in our lives. And so, transformation of fear may have nothing to do with making fear go away, but rather with giving ourselves permission to "hang out" in the transition between trapeze bars. Transforming our need to grab that new bar, any bar, is allowing ourselves to dwell in the only place where change really happens. It can be terrifying. It can be enlightening, in the true sense of the word. Hurtling through the void, we just may learn how to fly

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