What is really behind the outrage against Obama?

There are a few times when, against my will, a single tear will escape my eye and slowly roll along my face, revealing a thin, visible trace of the passionate emotion that resonates within me. After I voted for Barack Obama as president of the United States of America in 2008, I sat in my car for a brief moment thinking of my father and how he might feel about Obama’s campaign. Had my father lived to see November 2008, I am certain that his friendly face would have been alight with joyous pride.

For my father, the mere fact that Obama surpassed the primaries and earned the Democratic nomination would have validated years of a harsh life punctuated by racism and prejudice. Obama’s success meant that my father and countless others did not endure social repression in vain. America would finally be able to identify the precise moment that its actions were aligned with its values. Langston Hughes’s cry to let America be America again would not be bastardized for political pursuit but answered with viable reassurance that America may just be America to him – a black man – and to his oppressed brethren of all hues and social castes.

As I sat in my car that breezy November morning, a thickness evaded my throat and a single tear trickled from my eye. I had witnessed and participated in history. Something was different about America that day.

Fast forward almost ten months.

The glorious welcome that greeted President Obama has turned into cautious suspicion. Some citizens feel that he is proposing grandiose legislation and trying to conquer too much in such a brief period of time. Others claim that the president wants to limit our freedoms. Discord on Capitol Hill is overshadowed by protests across the nation, especially in response to President Obama’s healthcare reform. The public outrage frightens me. Literally.

Video footage, newspaper coverage, and blog responses conjure grainy images of America during the Civil War, the civil rights movement, and segregation. In one news broadcast of a town hall meeting in a rural Louisiana parish about healthcare reform, an aging white man struggles to balance himself as he bellows into the microphone, “Tell the president that it will be a cold day in hell before he turns my country into a socialist country!” The audience erupts with applause. Instantly that image was juxtaposed in my mind with a WDSU news reel clip of a white woman voicing her objection to school desegregation in New Orleans. The black and white technology of the day barely conceals her redden face as she explains that white children should stay in their schools and “the blacks” should stay in theirs.

Both images, however, are tamed when compared to pictures of citizens who brandish their weapons while attending healthcare protests. They contend that President Obama’s ideals and political agenda threaten to eradicate our constitutional rights. So, accordingly, they appear at protests with guns, a symbolic reminder of our right to bear arms.

In the modern age of text lingo, I simply reply, “WTF?” What is happening in America? Is President Obama’s mission to provide affordable healthcare to every citizen a socialist ideal or an American value? How does managing healthcare in OUR country equate the removal of constitutional rights? Why, in any situation, would one bring a gun to protest any public official? Should not the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Abraham Lincoln as well as the attempted assassination of Ronald Regan make one weary about using weapons to augment their opinions? Hell, after a reporter assailed President Bush with his shoes, I would rethink wearing anything other than socks. It makes me question the real root of the outrage against President Obama. Is it politically incorrect or keenly observant of me to think that some of the outrage is fueled by racism?

The current outrage focuses on a speech that President Obama plans to give to students of all ages Tuesday, September 8, 2009. According to the media, the speech will encourage students to consider the importance of education. The media have also reported staunch objection to the speech from political organizations and individual citizens.

I read a Yahoo! article dated September 3, 2009, in which the Republican chairman of Florida, Jim Greer, is quoted as saying that the president’s speech forces his ideals and political agenda upon public school students. The district spokeswoman, Katie Gordon, adds that the Republican Party’s main concern is the content of the suggested lesson plans. The article discloses some questions from the lesson plan, which include the following:


• What is the President trying to tell me?
• What is the President asking me to do?
• What resonated with you from President Obama’s speech?
• What is President Obama inspiring you to do?

The article also goes on to quote parents and students. One parent, who is stealthily identified as “justamom,” commented on the Orlando Sentinel’s online coverage of the speech by writing, “I sent my children to school to be educated NOT indoctrinated.”

Again, WTF?

Okay, let us ignore the misuse of the verb “send” and the need for a comma after the word “educated.” The problems with the mother’s response transcend grammar. First, what is the institution of school if not a tool of socialization? We learn how to coexist in school. As an educator, my duties are not limited to teaching academic discourse. Every school, even a public school, is charged with helping students learn how to behave in society. Such social indoctrination is supported with rules and consequences for students who fail to comply. The goal, however, is not to punish students but to illustrate that they must respect themselves and respects others.

Where is justamom when her children and other students across the country recite the “Pledge of Allegiance” every morning? Does she view the traditional proclamation as indoctrination? Guess what? It is. Does anyone recall the tragic, propaganda-filled events that led to the establishment of most of our patriotic songs, proclamations, and other symbolic activities? Research my favorite get-your-act-together-or-else Alejandro O’Reilly from Louisiana history. His actions to regain control in Louisiana earned him the nickname Bloody O’Reilly. Need I comment further? O’Reilly’s actions, my friend, mock of indoctrination.

Second, what constitutes an education? It is impossible to teach science without discussing evolution. It is difficult to cover lessons in social studies and avoid topics such as racism, prejudice, and socioeconomic disparity. In my very own reading and English classes, I have to tackle the meaning of identity; the use of loaded terms like the N-word; and the existence of homosexuality. Even the most generic and watered-down curricula require social contextualization. Children will ask questions. The challenge for parents and administrators is how teachers respond to queries.

In my classroom, we do not avoid uncomfortable discussions. With respectful caution, I accept full responsibility for my lessons and personal comments. My primary goal is to teach students to think critically and draw their own conclusions. From my experience in the classroom, students need an open forum to express themselves without being criticized for their views. To me, it is the teacher’s job to guide students to evaluate those views. Left unchecked, our society will produce students who grow into bitter, blame-seeking adults with no regard for human dignity. To overhaul such outcomes, teachers must be held to high standards and our discussions must be monitored. Now, I know that statement raises innumerable objections and almost contradicts my own stance. Yet, I stand by it. Teachers are human. We make mistakes, and we have the capacity to abuse the platform that our position allows. Nevertheless, the truth of our shortcomings should not prevent important discussions.


Last year, for instance, I had to contain my personal disgust and embarrassment while explaining to an 11-year-old black student why she and her peers should not use the N-word. Ironically, the interesting part of the dialogue was not about the N-word; it was about the B-word. See, the N-word appeared in a novel that the class was reading. I had planned to give my usual lecture on the appreciation of literature and dissuade students from using a word that carries strong connotations and social stigma. I was not prepared when the inquisitive girl raised her hand and said, “But that’s what we are.” The student was noting that black people are, in fact, n-----s. I died a thousand deaths.

In a follow-up discussion between just the student and me, the young girl stated that we – females – were b-----es. For those trying to fill in the dashes, she called women what the dictionary defines as female dogs. Yes, by our very existence, this child contended that women were the B-word. I died a thousand more deaths.

Without judging the student, I calmly explained to her why neither word described either of us. I also noted that we cannot control what others think of us, but we can control to what we answer. We can control how we teach others to treat us. (If the last line sounds vaguely familiar, I got it from one of Maya Angelou’s appearances on Oprah.)

By the end of the school year, the young student had much growth ahead of her, but she had achieved academic and social growth. She believed in herself and her scholastic abilities a little more. I am neither in her home nor in her social circles. I cannot make her understand the gravity of her words and beliefs, but I can encourage her to rethink them. And, when she is ready, I am confident that the young student will view herself, blacks, and black women differently than she did before entering my classroom.

So, back to justamom: what constitutes an education and how is it ever free of indoctrination? More than fifty years ago, formal education suggested that blacks were less than human and women were of a lower caste than men, with white women being the most subservient. To justamom and to others who question the president’s speech to America’s students, I ask for clarification on the so-called indoctrination.

The Yahoo! article that I reference begins with an excerpt from an interview that President Obama gave to a student reporter in August. “I’m going to be making a big speech to young people all across the country,” says the president, “about the importance of education; about the importance of staying in school; how we want to improve our education system and why it’s so important for the country.” Hmm. President Obama wants students to think about the importance of education and improving the educational system in America? Yes, this puts the opposition in perspective. Yeah right. It makes me question the root of the opposition’s perspective.

Again, do some citizens fear the president’s words because of his race? Or is it his former liberal, grassroots initiatives in Chicago as an emerging politician? It cannot be his politics, especially considering the aforementioned quotation. That scares me. Do we have to worry that illogical objection will give way to violence? And, the most baffling aspect of the current outrage against President Obama is that some of his predecessors made similar addresses to America’s youth.

All right. Let us use common sense here. Is Obama the first politician to write a speech geared towards students and encouraging them to stay in school? I do not think so. Should adults watch President Obama’s speech Tuesday and discuss it with their children? Of course, but not because Obama is giving the speech. Parents should watch the speech for the same reason that they should attend parent-teacher conferences, join the PTA, and volunteer in their children’s schools. Parents are the primary educators of their children. No amount of formal schooling, certification, or years of experience exempt teachers from parental critiques. Therefore, parents have an undeniable right to be interested in the speech and its message. And, of course, parents may disagree with the president’s speech, but should they not allow him to make the speech before condemning it and labeling it as indoctrination?

But, I am just a teacher. What do I know, right? Well, I do know that I will download the lesson plans; watch the broadcast with my students; allow them to share their uncensored opinions about the speech; and act as a facilitator of critical thinking. And, for the record, I shall do so without using my personal opinion as a source of indoctrination.


Links
(You can copy and paste the links into your web browser.)

Duncan's Letter:
http://www.ed.gov/admins/lead/academic/bts.html

White House Page:
http://www.whitehouse.gov/mediaresources/

Langston Hughes's "Let America Be America Again":
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15609

Yahoo! Article:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ynews/20090903/pl_ynews/ynews_pl888

Orlando Sentinel Article:
http://blogs.orlandosentinel.com/news_education_edblog/2009/09/president-obama-to-speak-to-students-on-sept-8.html

Thank You

My school has been in session for nearly a month now, and I am optimistic about the academic year. This year I would like to establish a student council, organize an out-of-state field trip, and promote more writing initiatives throughout the school. I must admit, however, that I was apprehensive about returning to work. A few days before the start of classes, my anxiety manifested itself through dreams. After a particularly disturbing dream, I awoke and wrote the poem listed below.


Thank You
by Michelle Hudson

I rise up and out of myself --
A pathetic mass contorted upon the floor.
Ascending higher to escape the suffocating grasp of failure.
Appealing to the angels:
"Help me."
May be the slightest taste of heaven will banish the bitterness
From my tongue and replenish my thirst for life.

I see my face.
Pained and stained with tears.
My body convulses violently,
Trying to shelter the hurt and the fear.
Ashamed,
I turn away, hating to see myself like this.

Even hovering above myself, I feel the knot in my throat.
"Help me," I cry.
It is not the angels that I implore.
I long for God himself.
Afraid that if the knot unravels, I could not
Bear the truth of failure.
Unable to contain it, the knot loosens, falls apart.
I descend heavily.
Drowning in sorrow and regret.

"Help me. Please."

I am left alone with myself.
Alone
To realize that more than ever I need God's unchanging hand.

A quiet assurance envelops me.
Now a low ebb, the pain persists.
Carefully, I collect the shards of my self-esteem --
Delicate, fragile pieces.

Finally one again with myself,
I rise.
Look upon the burning sunrise.
God is here. Within me.
Bringing the hope of a new day.
The promise of redemption.

No longer flung upon the floor.
Rather erect with confidence.
Confident that God heals all.
"Thank you," I whisper.

"Thank you."


I use this poem to remind myself that God will always help me to overcome obstacles, even when I am my own obstacle.

Once More

The arrival of May promises the end of spring's showers and the blossoming of flowers. In southeast Louisiana, May also reminds us that it is time to prepare for hurricane season. We are still recovering from Hurricane Katrina's devastation in 2005, but the recovery is not limited to physical property. There are emotional scars that, for some, will take a lifetime to heal. In that vain, I wrote a poem titled "Once More." It focuses on the need to evacuate for every approaching meterological threat. Although I have posted the written poem below, the title is linked to a podcast of me reading the poem. Click the title to go to my podcast page.


Once More
By Michelle Hudson

Mom's framed smile beckons me from the mantle.
Preserved in time, the poignant image
Of me kneeling alongside my dad.
Smiling brightly, his eyes are lost in the photograph.
He simply beams.
His baby graduated from college.
Then there are the photo albums, awards,
Priceless gifts.

My mouth, suddenly dry, opens.
I have to breathe.
Breathe. Not cry.
I want to take everything.
But the ghost of Katrina haunts my existence.

There is no guarantee that anything will survive
Reckless winds and torrent waters.
Material possessions.
I remind myself.
I can't take enough to feel secure.
So I take a deep breath instead.
Exhale.

God is in this place. In every place.
I evacuate but with hope.
Hopeful that God never abandons,
Always provides.
Always
Has a plan for each of us.

The urge to cry
Suppressed.
A last look from the doorway.
I leave my home.
Evacuate again.

Lessons remembered, I smile.
It is not easy.
It is necessary.
Relying upon God and ever positive,
I flee to safety.
Once more.
Hoping to return home.

Dreams

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a teacher. I recall lining up my dolls and stuffed animals in neat rows on my bed and pretending that I was their teacher, Ms. Michelle.

“Okay, teddy,” I would say in my teacher voice, “what is two plus two?”

“Oh, I know that!” I would respond in the teddy bear’s voice. “Two plus two equals four.”

“Good job, teddy! Good job!”

I thoroughly enjoyed teaching my toys, so I guess it is not surprising that I have achieved my dream of becoming a teacher. I love my career. Despite students’ changing dispositions, the unpredictability of parents, and low teacher pay – especially in private schools – I sincerely love being a teacher. It is the only occupation that I have had that allows me to be a blessing to someone and receive a blessing in return. For instance, seeing students go beyond their perceived limitations to learn new information and gain self-confidence encourages me to attain my own goals. It inspires me to be a better person. Oddly enough, though, I almost abandoned my dream of becoming a teacher. Even more odd is that it was a well-intentioned educator who dissuaded me.

I stood in my high school counselor’s office brimming with excitement about the prospects of attending college and studying to become a teacher. Words leapt from my mouth as I described my future. I could hear my teacher’s voice. I could feel the high heels on my feet. I could look at my 18-year-old arm and see it draped in the dark fabric of a professional suit. Right there in my high school counselor’s office, I could visualize myself as a teacher. It was not a dream. It was reality. That is, until the counselor’s voice rattled me.

“Michelle, you can’t be a teacher. Your reading is poor and your grammar will not do.”

Her words not only jolted me but silenced me. I could not speak. I do not remember breathing, only watching the floor tiles. When the counselor dismissed me, my dream of becoming a teacher lay shattered on her office floor. It was reminiscent of an account in Malcolm X’s biography when his elementary teacher advised him to become a carpenter because the career, according to the teacher, was better suited for blacks. To persuade young Malcolm, the teacher added that Jesus had been a carpenter. Like Malcolm X, something died inside of me. I resigned my dream of becoming a teacher. The counselor was right. I did struggle with reading and one of my cousins always corrected my grammar when I spoke. I would attend college, but I would never become a teacher. At least, that was how I felt as a high school senior.

As a college student, the counselor’s words constantly replayed in my mind. I had decided to pursue my second dream of becoming a journalist. Actually, I wanted to be a news anchor for one of the local television stations, but my large body and gap-toothed smile did not seem like popular images on television, so I wanted to be a news reporter for a newspaper. For the first three years of college, I wrote countless articles for the campus paper and the school magazine. I also started a publication for the Black Student Union and interviewed city officials as a writer and layout designer for the League of Women Voters newsletter. I even won a cash prize for an essay that I wrote for one of my classes. Writing was not easy but I enjoyed it and I was successful. Yet, a void remained in my life. I still wanted to be a teacher. In a move that did not please my father, I decided to forego college graduation and study to be a teacher.

Now, I have been teaching for almost ten years. The words of one person derailed my dream, but my soul held onto the dream. While teaching can be a stressful occupation, I am satisfied with my decision to become a teacher. I awake every day knowing that a miracle can happen in the classroom. A student may learn something new or extend an act of kindness to a peer. More importantly, a student may see my faith in God, love for my job, and confidence in myself and decide to believe in his or her dreams despite others' discouragement. Who knows? The student may even turn some of those dreams into reality.

Splitting Laughter

This summer has been a disaster when it comes to exercise. My cousins and I have not walked regularly due to fatigue, unbearable heat, and daily thunderstorms. So, when one of my cousins popped in a video tape of recorded exercise shows from Fit Tv, I was eager to participate.


That is until I saw that she wanted to do a walking video. A walking video in one's living room? Not my cup of tea. So, I did what I normally do in such situations. I expressed my disdain and my mouth wrote a check that my butt would have to cover. "Let's do the dancing tape with the scarves," I suggested. She obliged.

Alternating upward heels with pressing arm gestures, we began an exercise routine led by an Indian woman. I loved the exercise because its moves mimicked hip hop and belly dance. I was enjoying myself! Then, it happened.

The instructor led us in a squat. We got in a squatting position with ... wait. What was that sound? It could not be. Oh, yes, it was. I split my jogging pants!

Just when the pants were starting to fit loosely, I lost them to a rip that will surely be the subject of family conversations. I did not complain, though. The jogging set had been with me at least three or four years. I guess the rip gave me an opportunity to move on and find another jogging suit. Next time I will check the seams. Better yet, I will just do the damn walking video!

Thank you, Mr. Pausch!

I saw Randy Pausch's story on The Oprah Show. A slender, joyful man, Pausch encouraged viewers to make the best of their lives. The interview was pure a la Oprah. I was encouraged. But, today is different because Pausch has died.

His podcast lecture was created for his children, but it also prepared all of us for this day. The day that the image in the video serves as one of a few remnants of live images of Pausch. So, tonight, I watched the lecture, loaded it onto my Facebook page, and emailed it to my friends and family. As I listened to the brilliant Pausch discuss lessons he had learned, I reflected upon my own life and its lessons. I even learned new lessons during from Pausch's lecture. Chief among these new lessons is a list of action statements to govern one's life.

As listed in the video:

1. Tell the truth.
2. Be earnest.
3. Apologize when you screw up.
4. Focus on others, not yourself.

While each appears simplistic and I sincerely believe that many of us already live by them, the first one is the hardest for me. Who tells the truth all the time? The lies I tell are usually intented to spare one's feelings, so I do not know if I can achieve it entirely. I am very adamant, though, about the third one. I always remind myself to never be too angry or too full of myself to apologize to others.

Nevertheless, Pausch's lecture is invaluable. I admire him for teaching us to be fearless leaders of our own lives. More importantly, he teaches us how to confront mortality.

I will keep his wife and children in my prayers as well as the countless students and professionals whom Pausch has inspired.

Thank you, Mr. Pausch.



If you have trouble viewing the video here, you may access it directly from YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo . Be patient. The video is an hour and 16 minutes in length and may be severely delayed due to the volume of viewers. Lastly, you may order a copy of the video at https://www.randypauschdvd.com. The DVD is only seven dollars, which covers production, shipping, and handling.

The Philosophy of Attraction

“Brother, women don’t walk behind us and we don’t walk over them. The black family only survives when black men and women find common ground.”

The silent room listens as he speaks. Many of the men nod their heads in agreement while waiting to voice their own philosophies. His intellect and physique mesmerize the women. One woman in particular follows his every word, for she is the sole female participant in the male-dominated discourse. Suddenly, her eyes are drawn to his lips. While arguing that men should protect women, his tongue unconsciously sweeps his lips, heightening the sexuality in the air. She daydreams about being his woman and having his slender body drape hers in a protective embrace. The more he talks, the more she desires him. Then, she comes to her senses. She doesn’t have a chance with him.

His brown eyes stretch beyond the rim of his glasses when she speaks, but she believes it is interest in dialogue, not her. She is certain that he doesn’t see femininity in her expansive frame, never getting close enough to smell the sweet jasmine of her perfume.

“Okay, orators!” interrupts the host. “Let’s move into the dining room.”

As she places her hands atop a chair at the table, warm hands stun her. One hand touches the center of her back and the other envelops her right hand.

“I’ll get that for you,” says the handsome philosopher. “Wow, you are as beautiful as you are smart. May I sit with you?”

Speechless, she smiles and nods her head. He sits in a chair next to her with the intent of being by her side for years to come. He delights in finding his black woman, and she realizes that her daydream is indeed reality.