Free Cyprus!

Ms. Crabapple has recently gone traveling and returned with some observations and musings she cannot help but share.

How many Americans know about the illegal occupation of Cyprus by Turkey since 1974 and the atrocities committed? What about the role of the international community in general and the US specifically?

The crime of wearing a hat

Finally, it seems that I have a relationship with 9th graders. Just in time, too, because this is their last chance. Will they stay with it or drop out and do who knows what? I've patiently persevered through the passive resistance of foul language and bad behavior to a point where they are writing essays and demanding my attention for learning.

"Hey Teacher, I need you over here NOW! How do you spell....? What do I write next?

"What you helpin' him for when I need you here, Miss? What dis word mean?

"Read me this! It don't make no sense to me!"

" So, 'cordin to this here, it say dat John Brown was a white man an' he set off a slave rebellion? How you tell me dat?"

"Dis Howard Zinn? He black or white? He from Yale? Dat better dan Harvard? W.E. B. DuBois from there."


I need another pencil - one wit an eraser! Can't you make them shut up next door? I need quiet to write dis!"

Were these the same kids who would not even acknowledge my presence a few months ago? The kids who knew only rappers and sports stars?

Only one thing is wrong. Often they are wearing their HATS! This is against the most basic and essential of school rules.
The reasoning is this:
1. Hats denote gang membership.
2.The rules of society in the "business world" require that men remove their hats.
These two things sound reasonable. Right?

But, keep in mind that many of these children look better with their hats and for several of them, the hat is the more attractive part. Add in bad hair days, very bad haircuts, and the issue of dandruff, and you have a quagmire of emotional issues.

Of course, I wish to uphold school rules. Also I am old fashioned and I prefer proper manners. A gentleman removes his hat inside a building. So I remind my students of both of these things as they enter my classroom with their hats. At this point, some comply. I remind them again and make a note to report the rule breakers as I go on to the lesson of the day.

Yesterday I got the news. Three ninth graders have been suspended for five days. At that time there will be a hearing and they may be placed elsewhere.Or nowhere, as they are old enough for expulsion. I may not see them again. Why, I asked? The answer was that their non-compliance with authority was excessive and unacceptable. They refused to remove their hats when asked repeatedly by school auxiliary staff.

Thoughts buzzed through my head:

Nobody removed these kids for noncompliance when they were throwing textbooks at each other in my classroom in September, or when they broke the computer, or when they picked the lock on the school's supply cabinet, or when they pulled the fire alarm, but they were not wearing hats at that time.

Seventh graders are far more non-compliant, yet they are not removed because the law is on their side and they would have to be placed, at a much higher price to the school district.

Last summer I was in a restaurant with the assistant superintendent and her husband after an outing. The husband was wearing a baseball cap rather than his usual toupee. He did not remove his hat. Nobody said a word.

What is really going on here?

Those Seventh Graders!

The seventh grade class was supposed to be doing some quiet written work, but they were talking. The teacher was about to redirect their attention to their work. However, the words she heard kept her from intervening out of curiosity for what would come next. So what if she was remiss in her duties for a few seconds? Here is what she heard:

Rashid to Tyrone: Really? You lost your virginity?

(In this school virginity is something to be gotten rid of, but usually in 9th grade)

Tyrone to Rashid: Yah! TWICE!

Jermane's E-mail

" Who's Robert Caldwell?" Jermane looked up from the computer he was using, minutes after I had helped him save the first draft of his essay. He had turned over a new leaf and was approaching assignments with a whole new level of dedication.

"He's the superintendent, Jermane. Why do you want to know." I asked as I finished saving the next student's work. It had been a good day at the alternative school.

"I just sent him an e-mail that says 'Eat my b----.' , Oops." Jermane seemed surprised at himself.

"Jermane, what account did you use to send that?" I quickly checked the computer to see that my account was not left open. It wasn't. The password was secure. I explained that this was a very serious issue and must be dealt with if it had indeed happened. (Months earlier another student had hacked into my e-mail and sent the entire staff an e-mail that said f. u. Alarmed and embarrassed, I had managed to convince them that it stood for follow up. My principal advised me to keep a closer eye on the kids at the computer.)

Jermane immediately went into denial mode. That is exactly how I would expect him to act if he was worried about punishment. Not knowing if the message had actually been sent or not, I reported it to the principal immediately, then advised Jermane to beg for mercy as soon as his deed would be exposed. He laughed, nervously, I thought. (But what is nervous for a junior gang member like Jermane?)

At the end of the day, the principal sent me a copy of her exchange with the superintendent. She had indeed contacted Mr. Caldwell. Had he received any unusual or inappropriate e-mail? We had reason to believe that an improper message may have originated from our school. No, he had said, all was normal. What was the message? The principal had replied with the exact wording. Hmm, he had counter replied. Nothing like that had come to him..

You just have to laugh.

Observations of Race and Education

First, a few observations from my own educational history:
1. The only Black teacher I ever had was a high school band director. He was from a city far away and he put an 'r' at the end of my name. He was a good teacher, I thought, and he chose musical pieces to teach us that we had never heard before.
2. Even at the large public university I attended, most of the African American professors were in the African American Studies Program.
3. It was the professors from the U.K. who assigned reading by George Jackson, Malcolm X, and Alice Walker.
Second, some recollections from my teaching history:
4. Most of the Black students I taught in honors classes were from African countries or Jamaica.
5. I've taught several excellent students who happened to be African American in the college bound track.
6. Currently, my attention as a teacher is being drawn to the "achievement deficit".
7. My own daughter attends a high school where approximately half of the students are African American, but at the awards assembly, I noticed only five Black students among the 100 students with the highest academic averages in the class. Hmm...
8. My current students have a very negative attitude toward establishment institutions and values.

So, here are my questions:

1. What are we teaching? Is it of more value to one race than to another?
2. How are we teaching? Are there significant differences in cultural leaning styles?
3. Is the difference we are noticing really because of social class differences rather than racial differences?
And about my students:
4. Do my African American students mistrust every white person they encounter (including me) because it has been mostly white people who evicted them from the last apartment, arrested their uncle, or told them to leave the shopping mall or is it just a teenage thing?
5. How do I gain their trust and respect of my students?
6. I have a great track record in teaching. Why should I have to be of a different race?

It's Not Just A Black/White Thing

"How come there are no Black teachers in this school?" Michael asked the question as soon as he came in the door for homeroom. I judged it to be a legitimate question as Michael seemed to be a sincere boy. He had always been polite to me, which I appreciated beyond words. He wasn't trying to stir up controversy for the sake of conflict, but simply asking a very good question, one which I had often contemplated. Nevertheless, I had learned to keep my guard up. My answer was more than direct. It included both facts and conjecture. And it handed the solution over to a very young citizen.
"Michael, would you like to have Black teachers in this school?" So sweetly he gave a noncommittal answer in order to spare my feelings (a rare and precious thing recently). "Michael, think about studying hard and going on beyond high school. Go to college and continue on for your Master's in education or in some subject that you love. Then become a teacher in a school like this. You will be doing a great thing. It is important work." I went on to explain that there had been an extensive search for teachers of color to staff this school, a school in which three quarters of the students were African American and other minorities. The only certified teachers who had applied, who were interested at all, were middle aged, middle class white women like myself. I told Michael that I had read various explanations for this shortage of Black teachers. The one that seemed most feasible to me was that historically, people of color have been denied education, directly or indirectly. When such a treasured academic degree is achieved, often the educated Black scholar prefers to pursue a career more lucrative than teaching. Michael listened politely, then went on to breakfast with his classmates.
I thought about what E.D. Hirsch would say, and how Alfie Kohn would respond. I thought about the world being flat and Dan Pink's ideas about new ways of thinking and learning and doing business. I thought about my lessons drawing on Howard Zinn's ideas more than on textbooks to be marketed in our biggest states. Later that day, I went back to Michael's question and added some of my own.
I will list them here next time.

Fooled Again

The bus ride home was going to be rowdy, even with supervision. The kids had been on the bus for too many hours that day, and they had barely gotten through Project Success. It was a whole new concept for them – listening, cooperating, trusting. Now we were headed back to school to catch the next bus back to a place all too close to the place we had just departed . For some bureaucratic reason I didn’t quite understand, they could not be transported directly home, a ten minute ride, but needed to go back to school, 20 minutes away, and then to another school, 25 minutes back in the opposite direction, before they could catch their final ride home.

At first everyone was seated and the bus got under way. We left the adventure course and headed out onto the highway. Soon the children began to move about and become agitated. As supervising teacher, I turned my attention to the activities of the children standing in the aisle half way to the back of the bus. After determining that they were not about to self correct and sit down on their own, I moved toward them. “ Lashawn, Sheminqua, what are you doing?” No answer. “Lashawn” , louder this time, “it’s time to sit down. The bus driver has a rule. For safety.”
“Hol’ on, hol’ on, we dancin’ . Jus’ this once’, Miss. Hol’on. It almos’ over.“
White wires streamed from their ears and into devices in their pockets. Their bodies gyrated and jumped.

“Lashawn, we’re moving now. The driver will have to stop and he can’t take us anywhere when you are standing.“
It took only two minutes or so of this banter with my noncompliant – no, defiant students to get Lashawn, Sheminqua, Latoya, Naycreem, and a few others to sit quietly on the bus with no further argument. No disciplinary referrals would be needed and we were building rapport. I was pleasantly surprised and silently congratulated myself on effective leadership. After all, I was a veteran teacher, progressive, yet empathetic. The rest of the bus ride went fairly well. Things could only get better from here.

We arrived at school just on time and I was happy to report to the principal that the day had ended well. No sooner did I get those words out of my mouth than she said to me” We have a problem.” This was an extreme statement for her. In my short time working here, I had admired how she finds and promotes the good in kids who have eliminated all of their other options. The problem was promptly revealed. (Note the word choice, Dear Reader) a motorist had called the bus company who had then called the school. My standing students had had more of a mission than dancing to their favorite song. The motorist had reported that students were flashing.

“Mooning”, I clarified, hopefully, as if it mattered.

“Flashing”, said the principal.

At once it all came together like the conclusion of a cheap murder mystery. Moving ahead almost immediately, I knew I would be called on to compile a list of junior exhibitionists.


Resignedly, I informed the principal quite truthfully that the driver who reported the incident better be ready to identify the perpetrators (male or female, at least) since all I could do was identify my dancers, the ones who were not near the window and were indeed fully clothed.

The lesson will repeat until it is finally learned: Things are never as simple as they seem.