Showing posts with label black lives matter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black lives matter. Show all posts

Friday, March 19, 2021

SOL21 Slice 19: how dare you

 



I am participating in the
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2021.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!


"If my preschooler was in your class right now, I would take them out of this school immediately. Why aren't you teaching a "Pro Life, Right to Life" curriculum, too? You can't tell me that Black Lives Matter isn't political. AND WRONG. You have no right to teach young children about this. It is absolutely inappropriate." This colleague met me at the door of my classroom, as I was leaving for the day. I had just presented to the staff about our school becoming involved with the Black Lives Matter Week of Action in Schools, a program that was newly started in the D.C. area in 2018, and one that I had learned about through my social justice writing circle. They stood about a foot away from me, visibly upset and frustrated, pointing at me indignantly; I just stood there and listened? blanched? stammered? I didn't respond, I couldn't respond, there was no space for a response. I couldn't find the words. Both of us, our eyes watered. This was painful.

Do you ever replay conversations in your head? Especially, the ones that are tense, never got completely resolved, got away? 

We were a diverse and progressive school, believing strongly in anti-bias, determined to meet the needs of each individual student. Throughout the school, we taught students to share their voice, advocate for themselves and others, and make positive change in the world. I had naively assumed the Black Lives Matter in Schools initiative would be welcomed by all. 

I still feel tremors in my gut when I think about the reaction I received from my colleagues that first year.  Oh my, seriously, my colleagues came at me from all directions. There was so much fear, hurt, hesitation. There was a sense that this was one more thing on already very full plates. I was told by some that I was trivializing the Black Lives Matter movement, watering it down, teaching 'kumbaya, let's get along together.' Others assured me I was adding to the polarization of the world, increasing divisiveness in the school. I regret the ask I made of my Black colleagues in particular - I had no real understanding of the difficult position I was putting them in, having to discuss these issues with White students and families. 

I hadn't thought through how politicized the movement had become. (I still argue with this though, I mean - who made it political and why? When I read through the 13 guiding principles, I see nothing with which to disagree. ) 

Thankfully, I had the support of my principal and my head of school, throughout this turmoil. The school did participate in the Week of Action, and has done so every year hence. I am proud of this, and it is hard, hard, hard. We did so despite not having all the right answers, despite not being able to always find the right words. 

Truth be told, I never singled out politics, or police incidents, or the killing of Black citizens, with my three year olds. I emphasized Black authors in the classroom, shared about Black leaders in science, engineering, music, art, and, yes, celebrated Black lives. To me, the week of celebration seemed like a no-brainer, something that I could easily weave into my curriculum. I simply wanted to lay the foundation for respecting Black lives. 

More importantly, I wanted to share these resources with the whole school, a school that was preschool-8th grade; I was (and am) convinced it was important to have these HARD conversations with our elementary and middle school students. It was essential for our Black students to see themselves reflected in our curriculum, to share their voice and have their voices heard, to feel agency. Along the way, our white students would learn what it means to be an ally, to learn more about Black history, and, yes, to begin to grapple with the concept of white supremacy. Our older students might begin to understand about the systemic roots of racism, to consider other perspectives, and to dare to be voices of positive change.

I believe: these are ESSENTIAL conversations for the health of our democracy. 

Sadly, this week, more hate, more violence, more pain. 
A hate-filled murderous rampage, this time against Asian women. 
One angry white man murders eight people.  
Look at how widespread this hate and this pain. 

This idea of hating someone simply because of their skin, their gender, their culture, what they were born into - it is inexplicably wrong.

Yes, today I have been reflecting on fear. 

fear.
blinds us.
stops us.
locks us up.

I want to say to my colleague quoted at the outset of this post: I think anti-bias is pro-life.

I am thinking about how hard anti-bias teaching is, and how necessary. How much work we have to do. We must, each and every one of us, grab onto a piece of the issue and hold on, do it, just go, go, go, spread love not hate, open eyes, provide perspective, do right by all of us.

What part of anti-bias teaching feels right to you? How might you do just a little bit more? Where do you think you should begin? What might give you courage? 

Do it, do it, do it. 



"No matter how big a nation is, it is no stronger than its weakest people, 
and as long as you keep a person down, 
some part of you has to be down there to hold him down, 
so it means you cannot soar as you might otherwise."
- Marian Anderson




Saturday, August 12, 2017

Beyond hope

So many people feeling so hurt, so disrespected, so denigrated.
Black men.
Muslims.
Hispanics.
Immigrants.
LGBTQ.
Women.
Daughters.

I believe
I am inextricably in the midst.
Your pain is my pain.
Your hurt is my hurt.
We are all connected.

Our divide is so painful.

In that hellish June,
with young Black men killed,
with police officers killed,
he spoke angrily to me
about Blacks,
spewing diatribe gleaned from his only news channel,
and I quietly, respectfully, purposefully responded

"There is pain on all sides...so much hurt and suspicion."

And he charged back, bitterly,

"You are beyond hope, Maureen."

There was no sarcasm in his voice.
No laughter.
No joking.

This is a frustrated, hateful, angry old man,
disappointed in my open-mindedness,
dismayed by my civility,
disgusted by my politics,
done with me.
His daughter.

Yes, the diatribe is more satisfying.
To be of his one clear opinion is more satisfying.
To be alone is more satisfying.

The words echo
"You are beyond hope, Maureen."

I squeaked back, quietly, reminding

"I am of you."

and was met by silence.






Monday, July 17, 2017

Sanctity of life


I am still stunned by the results of our presidential election. I simply do not understand how so many evangelicals voted for him. How does his perspective align with Christianity? Why is "right to life" only about anti-abortion? I think life-giving policies help people move out of poverty, create a brighter future for our children, confront racism, seek tolerance rather than abuse and hate, protect the environment, and support strong schools, safe neighborhoods, vibrant jobs, living wages, and good medical care. This poem comes from my mental struggle with this.


Sweet Sanctity of Life


Sweet sanctity,
Sweet sanctity,
Sweet sanctity of life.
Jesus implores us,
we will love you from the seed,
protect the unborn child,
choose life,
you have the right to life,
oh, you, precious being.

Sweet sanctity,
Sweet sanctity,
Sweet sanctity of life,
Jesus implores us.
The child is born and,
somehow,
life is no longer cherished.
Only freeloaders need universal health care,
skip the frivolous phone and buy medicine, you fool,
your poverty is due to your own poor choices;
let's stop immigrants with walls and bans,
bombs are hiding underneath that veil,
refugees are not our responsibility;
what is this Black Lives Matter crap?,
they get what they deserve,
guns in classrooms and churches will save souls;
LGBTQ, assaulting my precious child in the restroom,
I'm not selling cake to the likes of you;
nasty women in leadership,
let's grab 'em by the pussy;
buy another case of bottled water,
who cares where the plastic is disposed,
I won't be around for that.
What's this? You don't believe in Jesus?
Your life is a living hell.
You are less than me.
You are not my problem.

Sweet sanctity,
Sweet sanctity,
Sweet sanctity of life.
Jesus implores us,
we will love you from the seed
oh, you, precious child.
Look at these
voting for sanctity of life
with this man of hate,
loving you as a seed
but not in life
as you live and breathe.