Have Faith

I belong to a secret Facebook group that discusses Oklahoma politics.  I guess it's not so secret anymore... ah well. They are a good group of people, dedicated to progressiveness, reason and social justice.  I like them very much.  We support each other and give advice on dealing, with clarity, understanding and compassion, with conservative viewpoints all around us in this highly conservative state.

We have taken time lately to discuss the shooting at an Aurora, Colorado movie theater.  The shooter, whom I will not name, wore tactical gear and carried numerous weapons, including an assault-style rifle.  He had legally purchased all of these weapons, including 6,000 rounds of ammunition and had booby-trapped his home with 30 home made grenades. He killed twelve people, put another 15 in the hospital and brought the injured count to 58.  That's a lot of pain.

In times of tragedy, I think there are choices of where to look for our cues and guidance.  I can easily fall into a trap of blame- blaming American society for not investing in a healthcare system that might have helped this young man- helped so many others lately who have committed mass murder.  Blaming the perpetrator, who might have been in such pain and distress that this is the inevitable conclusion (We just don't know).  Blaming gun laws that restrict open carry- I have heard it bandied about that if everyone in the theater had had a gun, the shooter might have not had the chance to do so much damage.  Of course, I think that's a terrible idea since in an actual gunfight, it's hard to tell friend from foe.

I have stopped hearing "how did this happen?" and "what can we do to prevent this?" and have started hearing calls for blood and revenge. I think Americans (I know my international readers get confused, so when I say "Americans", I mean North Americans from the United States) are getting tired of all the gun violence but are losing our compassion.  This is not the America that I want to live in.

This is not to say that we are ready to pass stricter gun laws.  I can see no reason for the average citizen to own an assault rifle.  They are made to kill people quickly, with great accuracy and from a distance.  This does not increase home security, not is it good for hunting.  The third argument for non-governmental control of weapons is to keep the people safe from their government.  I believed this was possible for a long time but now I'm pretty sure that since the government has drones, tanks and nuclear weapons, not to mention an Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines (Hello...best military in the world!) we should use the legal means available as recourse and owning a few military-style weapons won't do any good.  If citizens are allowed and AR-15, then shouldn't we also have access to nuclear weapons?  No? Who drew that line then? I say back up to weapons that have other uses, like handguns for home defense and rifles for hunting.  Just a thought.

The other issue I have had on my mind is the victims of this person who called himself the Joker, dyed his hair orange and decided to go shoot up a midnight showing of "The Dark Knight Rises".  I have heard that they were allowed to be killed or shot or wounded because the U.S. is moving towards the legalization of same-sex marriage (also known on this blog page as equal rights for everyone).  Newspapers have printed reports of religious groups attempting to capitalize on this tragedy by reiterating the belief that everyone not "saved" who died in the shooting will be visiting a huge lake of fire in the center of the Earth for a very long time with everyone who does not follow the guidelines of their religion with no SPF 1,000,000,000.  Strong reactions, considering that all these people had in common was going to the same movie at the same time.

I know, I know, that sounds sarcastic and rude.  I don't mean to put down anyone's religion.  I'm tired of hypocrites.  It's easy to look at something like Scientology and it's alien beings and scoff.  It's easy to look at Mormons and their married undergarments and scoff.  It's easy to think of Christianity and its virgin birth and zombie savior and scoff.

I try to not scoff at organized religion.  For all of the damage it does, it also provides a safe refuge in the heart for questions that we don't know the answers to.  It provides a guideline for how to treat each other.  I'm not sure where we go when we die.  I'm not sure we go anywhere.   I also don't have any proof that any of the ideas of heaven, hell, enlightenment or just becoming unconscious forever are wrong.  There are people of all faiths in my Facebook group.  We all have a shade of religious belief, including atheism, which is most common, and agnosticism, Unitarian, Catholicism, Buddhism, and others of questioning natures.  I recently commented on a discussion that I feel a little protective of my friends and family who have faith and who stick to the tenants of a religion.  Those people I know would never use that religion to blackmail, hurt or coerce another person in their lives, but act and speak (usually!) from love and selflessness.

I look to my early recollections of my understanding of religion for my own answers on faith and religion.  And they scared me with talks of sulphur, dismemberment, rape, rending of flesh and something called gnashing of teeth.  It's no wonder that children inculcated to religion cling to it and perpetuate such stories through to the next generation.  It's no wonder that I thought that if "The Devil" just had a friend and some forgiveness, that everything would be ok.  That was my experience until I was about 7 years old.  If I left it at that, I might always have felt such an aversion as to be bitter and angry towards any person of faith that comes my way.

But then, not everyone had the family I have.  My great uncle, Dallas Keck, was a Christian minister.  He was a kind and loving man, with a good heart.  He would pick me up and smile and make me feel safe.  He always laughed and was inured with a light that seemed to shine right through him.  He married my great aunt Dorothy (An English teacher, if you wondered), and they remained happy through the end of his life.  Dallas had a pilots license and a small plane, and he and Dorothy flew from Portland to Montana and all over Washington.  Fun people; kind people.  Those things go together.  After his death, Dorothy married Dallas' identical twin brother, Houston.  Yeah, great names... Anyhoo....Houston was also a widower and they have gotten along quite well ever since.

If you have read my blog, you know about my great Uncle Vernon.  As a young teenager, he would pick me up to go to church and sent me to church camps a couple of times, driving me six hours each way to the camp.  It was fun- we had bible class and crafts and roasted marshmallows and sang lots and lots of songs (off key).  It's where I had my first kiss.  On the way back once, Uncle Vernon and I stopped in Lewiston, Idaho, for chinese food.  He carefully showed me how to use chopsticks, and we laughed our way through the meal.  Uncle Vernon was great with young adults.  Before he got too old and frail to do so, he would have pizza parties at his house for the teenagers and taught Sunday School.

Sometimes I would be his only student in the bible school class.  Small church, you know.  I asked him once about heaven and hell.  About who goes where and why.  I asked him if Jews would go to hell just for being Jewish.  Even as a young person, I could see that this was something my Uncle thought carefully about.  Religion, spirituality, faith- none of them were rote dogma to him.  His eyes turned inwards for a moment and his jaw worked silently.  He had obviously considered the questions and the implications of his answers and would choose his words carefully.  "No," he said finally.  "No. Jews do not have to go to hell.  I don't think Jesus would do that to anyone."  The message for me is that my Uncle Vernon believed.  And I believed in him.  One of the nicest compliments in my life was being asked to speak at his funeral, to find words, however inadequate, to honor someone who did so much so selflessly in his lifetime.  In my life, my sister Patti has assumed that role.  This week she took 10 vivacious pre-teenagers to church camp, having put on fundraisers through her church to pay the way for all ten.  As a member of her church and now as a Deacon, she believes it is her responsibility to help people.  And she does, and she doesn't mention it to anyone.  We look to each other for support and friendship and as confidants.  I keep hoping someday to change my mind about religion.

When I think of the victims and people affected by the shooter in Aurora, I think of compassion for them, for his family and even for him.  I wonder how this tragedy happened; I wonder what we can do as a society to prevent this from happening again.  It's difficult to be a human being and I guess part of me wonders what went so wrong with this one, for him to act out so violently towards others.  I want strict laws dealing with automatic weapons (which has not won me any friends on my personal Facebook page) and greater, easier access to mental health care for all people (which, surprisingly, has won me some points with friends).  None of these things deter me from my own course of action: writing to congressmen, protesting where appropriate, speaking my truth but being willing to change my own mind. Trying not to shut people down but to engage those with whom I disagree.  Trying to have a little faith.

Have Faith (But Keep Your Eyes on the Road)

Peace, Pulp Fiction and Big Trouble in Little China

I go a long way in search of peace.  I create peace whenever possible.  I am sometimes rewarded big time with peaceful moments, small and quiet, that stop my heart and the blood rushing quickly from my heart.  This weekend, I drove two hours to Tulsa to meet my good friends the Hargraves.  We've been friends for almost ten years now and sometimes go on vacation together.  I earned my black belt in Kempo from their martial arts school and taught Kempo and yoga in the same place for some time as well. These are good friends and I love to spend holidays and birthdays with them.  They have a lovely old three-story Victorian home in Eureka Springs.  Beautiful weekend home on a street close to the historic Crescent hotel.  I jog or walk up there every time I get a chance to vacation with my friends.  And in this house I have my own bedroom and a balcony that overlooks the Ozark mountains.  In the mornings, Patricia and I have coffee out there and talk about life and the universe and everything.  So I drove to Tulsa to meet them, jumped in the truck with Patricia, Carter and their two corgi's and a long-haired orange Tabby cat named "Krispy" and we drove another three hours to Eureka Springs.

It was worth it. I had one of those peaceful moments on Saturday morning.  I woke up and the sun was out.  It was early and I knew I could go back to sleep.  I inhaled and stretched with only one thought on my mind: I am in Eureka Springs.  The day is mine.  This will be as lovely as all of our other trips.  We are going to walk and shop and talk and visit and laugh and eat Indian food.  Life is so good. Ah, heck.  That may be more than one thought, but that series of thoughts led up to the really great thought and, well, you get the idea.  Life is good.

It was good. It was better than good; it was wonderful.  We ate at Mr. Bill's three times.  If you ever get the chance, go visit his restaurant.  The New Delhi Cafe is an award winning local and regional favorite.  Mr. Bill has his spices shipped directly from his Aunt in India to his door. For breakfast I recommend "Pat's Special".  For lunch, the buffet, of course.  There is nothing like it from sag to his amazing tiki marsala and the mango lassie drink special.  Pretty much to die for.  Dinner is samosas and strawberry/mango margaritas.  And a taxi home.

I can hardly think of anything that would disrupt such happiness.  Good friends, good food, a festive atmosphere in a beautiful mountain artist colony...all was perfect.  Except for that one niggling thought that haunted me.

Plagiarism.

Yes, I caught another plagiarist last week.  It keeps me up at night.  It's like this: I spend my professional life teaching.  I put in my soul, my compassion, my intellect, my integrity into what I do.  I do it because I love it and I strive to be a model of the way I'd like people to behave.  Not always on time per se, but ready and willing and honest.  Above all, at least not lying.  You know?  And then once in awhile, a student sort of metaphorically moseys up to me and urinates in my ear.  Because that's what he or she thinks of my life and everything I'm trying to do.  Because whatever bull-fuckin-shit they are doing is so much more important than figuring out how to form compound and complex sentences into a coherent argument that just happens to be correctly cited.  Because, you know, hanging out until 2 a.m. and drinking/fucking/giggling/snorting/smoking is going to get them much farther in life and will also contribute to the well-being of themselves and their community.

Now, there seem to be a few kinds of plagiarists.  The easy ones to spot are the cut-and-pasters who just don't know better. Their handiwork is obvious  You give them a simple spelling test and say "hey, what the hell is wrong with you?!" and they learn the difference between plagiarism and citations.  Maybe in high school nobody taught them what plagiarism is.  I teach what plagiarism is and how to avoid it but maybe they missed that day (eyeroll).
Then there is the desperate plagiarist.  They have overloaded themselves with classes this semester.  They work two jobs and have kids or parents to care for.  They are trying to eat an elephant in two bites.  Also easy to spot and easy to correct.
Finally is the "I'm smarter than you" plagiarist.  There are two sub-categories of this typer of cheater; those who get caught and those who don't.  Of those who do not get caught, I must say "Kudos", for you are obviously smarter than I am and your lazy ass will be supported throughout your career by your mom or some unlucky secretary who does all of your work.  Shame on you, you asshat. Then there is the cheater who thinks they are smarter than I am, but alas, they have miscalculated.  It may not be the first time you have plagiarized, but this is the first time that I have caught you.

And you must pay.

I have a rich fantasy life and in it, I am sometimes Jules Winnfield from Pulp Fiction, played by Samuel L. Jackson.  I also have his amazing afro with sideburns and chops and a suit and a giant pistol that I point at plagiarists and say "Do I look like a bitch to you?!"
Student: "Wha...what?"
Me: (throwing a red-marked term paper at them) "I said, do I look like a bitch to you?!"
Student: "Nnnoo."
Me: "Then you are you trying to fuck me like a bitch?!"
Student: "What?!"
Me: (cocking gun) "Say what again!"
Student: (pees pants) "What?!"

There is no trick to catching people when they cheat.  There is no real secret here. People have strategies.  Some use the turnitin website and I find that to be somewhat effective if unnecessary.  Others don't care so much and don't check at all.  They are overwhelmed with the sheer number of students.  Indeed, the most students I have ever had is 125, which I enjoyed last semester.  And I knew their names too.  How I do it is by asking students on the first few days to write an autobiography- something short and personal that only they would be able to write. From that I know them and their writing voice.  I know the kinds of words they would know and not know and later, when formal writing comes out, if they go too far from that, I start checking for plagiarism.  How do I check? Well, that part is a secret.  Did you ever watch the move "Big Trouble In Little China"? It has Kurt Russell in it as a truck driver named Jack who starts in a card game (double or nothing, Jack) and gets wrapped up in the magic of Chinatown San Francisco.  When asked to explain how he managed a particularly incredible feat, he answered "You know, it's all in the reflexes".  I'm gonna go with that.

For the record, I considered describing the gimp scene with a scimitar and a ball gag because sometimes I'm also Bruce Willis' character Butch.  Sigh. It never really happens that way in real life.  I have to somehow do this professionally.  So I make people uncomfortable by telling stories. True stories.

Did I tell you about the time that one of my students at that large research university in Oklahoma plagiarized a paper?  I read it and it was out of character for his voice. It was also wooden and contained elements of analysis I did not ask for in his assignment.  This is another reason I like writing unique assignments.  So I confronted him and showed him the website from which he had stolen the information.
The student became indignant.  He insisted that he actually stole it from his friend's blog on that very subject.  I said that no, the original source was the one I showed him and that his friend had also stolen the material and passed it off as her own.  He said he felt betrayed.  I said "How do you think I feel?".  No effect, of course.  His punishment was that he couldn't get an A in the class, which he fought for the remaining 12 weeks of the semester despite the smirk on his face and his determination to show me that he had learned his lesson and that I should forgive his indiscretion.  I am only forgiving to a point and allowing that student to remain in the class was a pretty big deal already.

It doesn't always go that way.  My last offender came to my office hours and spent an hour figuring out his mistake using the reference book.  After that, he came to have me check his work prior to turning it in and he did so well, I had him teach more citation stuff to the class.  I am proud of him and his efforts.

So yes, during my rest and relaxation, I took time to brood, to contemplate, to plot the demise of my latest plagiarizer. I suspect that this person has been doing it for awhile.  That's all I will say about that except that I'm thinking of punishment using a chainsaw and an Al Pacino voice: Say hello to my little friend.    

Good thing I have had a few moments of peace.  And some amazing food.  My friend Victor Rojas-Jordi, who is from Tenerife, the Canary Islands (a Spanish territory), used to eat at my house all of the time.  When his parents came to take him home, the came to share a meal with me.  They did not speak English and my Spanish was much better then.  We had tinto, tapas and paella and sobremesa, a tradition they shared that I like to keep.  Once the food has been eaten and the coffee poured, everyone sits around the table and talks for awhile.  Dishes will get done and there is time for that later.  The important thing is that we are all together and we share a few moments of conversation.

I remembered that this weekend.  The important thing was in that moment of talking, laughing, catching up and making happy plans, of enjoying what life had to offer, the dishes I would do and the plagiarists I would torture had no place.  I am so glad I remembered. I came out of my comfy little shell a bit too.

But have no fear, friends.  Tomorrow, Jules and his sideburns of doom will make his appearance.  And if my victim tries to wriggle away? As they say, It's all in the reflexes. Triple or nothing, Jack.

You

I'm doing this 30 day challenge on Facebook.  Silly, really, but every day you put up different photos and comment on them.  Day one is a photo of yourself.  Another day was a picture of something you love, then something you hate and so on.  I'm enjoying it, and am exploring the interaction of image and word to make a point.  You get the idea.  I don't like to skip ahead. I don't want too much time to overthink these things, so I wake up in the morning and resolve to have the picture plus some text by bedtime.

I had a hard time with today's prompt: A picture of someone who inspires you.
I thought about it all day.  Who inspires me? Who inspires me the most? Who 'deserves' to have a picture and some sort of mention of how awesome they are? I don't know.  I wasn't really feeling inspired and really, on Valentine's day, I just want to go to bed and wait for tomorrow.  But I had to pick someone and some image. I wrestled with it and decided that there are just too many people who love and care for me and who inspire me and give me some sort of reason to get up in the morning. So here it is:

Day 16 - A picture of someone who inspires you.

This is a picture of you.
Who are you?
You are my friend.  You are my student and also my teacher.  You asked me for help the other day and feeling like I could make a difference made all the difference for me.  You were once the most important person in my life.  When everything went wrong, you looked me in the eye and said it would be alright, that I could do this.  You believe in me.  You turned in your essay late because the lights were turned off. You inspire me and make me want to make the world a better place for future generations.  You make me want to be a better person.  You make me embarrassed of my faults.  You make me smile when darkness creeps past my brow.  You once said that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere and I believe you. You send me postcards.  When you ignore me, it hurts.  You have been in recovery for a long time and it suits you.  You brought your children over to make peace signs.  You were deployed to Afghanistan and came home in one piece.  You are my favorite cousin. You are my sister.  You are my niece who has to walk a rough road alone.  I wish to God I could help.  You offered me a place to stay.  You honked at me in the parking lot.  You taught me how to ride a scooter. You make me want to have children.  You never judge me for not being able to sing.  You are my world.

Honestly, I just don't know what I would do without you.

The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Today marks the annual celebration of the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I could tell you of all his glorious achievements and tout his efforts towards peace. I could recite chapter and verse his impact on what we refer to "The Free World", which isn't so free after all and in which all minorities and women struggle every day.  This world is still a profoundly more free and more equitable place than it was a short 50 years ago because of Dr. King's efforts and the efforts of Coretta Scott King and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.  Change requires sacrifice and the involvement of the moderate majority.  Somehow, Dr. King's words moved a nation and we have yet to find a leader (though I still hold out hope for President Obama or Secretary of State Clinton) to propel us forward as he did.

I'd rather give you a personal story, for narratives are truly powerful.

In our Comp 2 class the other day, we spoke of this nation's history and our places within it.  Many of my white students express satisfaction with the state of racism in this country.  They report not feeling as though being white is touted as being superior to another race.  But I disagree. Many members of the dominant culture simply have no exposure to those of who are not, and lack of experience or discussion does not equal acceptance or lack or racism. Not having personally prejudiced feelings is a positive, don't get me wrong, but it is up to everyone to mix together, to reach for one another and learn and highlight our differing cultures.

One of my students commented that he thought if we lived back in the 1940s, '50s or 60's that we would have conformed to societal standards the way we unconsciously do now.  He thought this especially true if we had lived during the time of slavery.  But people made a difference back then too and it had to be someone who felt self-empowered and believed in things greater than themselves.  I think in the 1950's, I would have probably been shunned by "normal" society and that in early American history, had I lived then, I might have been burned at the stake as a witch or consort of the devil.  Heck, there are those today who think this should still happen.

Reading and discussing Dr. King's work, his life (hey man, we're all imperfect), his influences and the ideals for which he ultimately lost his life but not legacy, have had a profound impact on my growth as a self-actualized human being.  While we do not share a religious faith, he has shown me over the years a higher ideal and a belief in something greater than myself; the uplifting of all humankind.  Our fates are tied together; your success and my success are inexorably dependent on one another.  Dr. King taught me to love people who wish me ill.  Not like them, but love them.  And while I do sometimes wish my enemies would stub their toes as they make their way to the bathroom in the dark, I don't want them dead.

We can all learn to live together in the world, if we only we would.

I'm willing to and I do give up privilege so that others can have a chance at equality.  Don't think that this is all about sacrifice for me- I have the great satisfaction of knowing that in some way I am contributing to the greater good and I can be as sanctimonious as all blue hell. Really though, it feels good to have a positive purpose in the world.

Peace.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbUtL_0vAJk

"The hope of a secure and livable world lies with disciplined nonconformists who are dedicated to justice, peace and brotherhood." ~Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

What Westboro Baptist Church Can Teach Us About Peace

This semester in my Composition classes, the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) was often the topic of conversation. In a unit on rhetorical analysis, I used their website to teach analytical tools. From the upside down flag to the music, page layout, words and blatant appeal to emotions, the WBC people seem like a cartoon because they are so overdone.If you don't know what the WBC is, they are a small group of people- mainly the family of the leader, Fred Phelps, who came to national attention for their protest of the funeral of a young man killed in a hate crime in Laramie, Wyoming. Matthew, a gay college student, was lured into a truck with two men whose sole intent was to rob him. They drove him outside of town, beat him, took his wallet and shoes and tied him to a fencepost. Eighteen hours later, he was found by a bicyclist who thought he was a scarecrow until he saw the chest moving from Matthew's labored breathing. Matthew later died in the hospital and both perpetrators are still in prison. The WBC put a counter on their website- back when the world wide web was gaining popularity and not all bumper stickers had a website address on the bottom- with the "number of days that Matthew Shepard has been burning in hell" for being gay. The WBC bases their gospel and teaching on sex, mainly that it's the worst thing in the world to be gay and most of the bad things that happen are because of either being gay or supporting those who are gay. The church also discusses the opposite of love, which they claim is hate and decided to protest Matthew Shepard's funeral. This caused a national outpouring of opposition. Then Westboro decided to picket all sorts of events, from Fred Phelps is an attorney and he does do a good job of defending his group and winning challenges under the auspices of Freedom of Speech. These days the group focuses on homosexuality and soldiers killed in combat.

This makes the group easy to discuss from a rhetorical standpoint so I use them. You can imagine the reactions, ranging from outrage to a desire to shut the group down and discussions of burning at the stake and large caliber artillery. Then come the thoughts on

the differences between morality and democracy and decency. Once students get past their emotions, which can take some time, we attempt to discern the true purpose of the group and how powerful they really are.

The WBC has been active in Oklahoma this year, staging numerous protests against homosexuality and those who accept what I know to be a naturally occurring phenomenon. They decided in November to picket in McAlester, Oklahoma, at a funeral for a young man killed in combat. The unit on rhetorical analysis was over, but my students brought the protest to my attention. They asked for extra credit for attending the counter-protest, which is a common practice anytime the WBC people show up anywhere. Sure, I'll be happy to give you chump change as an excus

e to go see some real life up close and personal. Go right ahead and jump outside of your comfort zone. Four students went to the protest and reported back on the six prot

esters from WBC - including two children- and the thousand or so counter-protesters. The police had to surround the protesters to protect them from the citizenry. Lots of news and media hype. Someone slashed two of the tires on the church van, and nobody in town would fix the flats so the WBC had to have their van towed to a nearby Walmart. The students were giddy. We had discussions in class about the ethical dilemma of free speech and slashing tires (or worse).

I offered that if I had been there and had the opportunity, I would have endeavored to stop anyone from causing harm to the WBC people. No way, said the students. They got what they deserved.

But there are reasons and deserve has nothing to do with it. Chief among these reasons is that I remember the life and teachings of Dr. King. When effecting social change, we have got to follow the four steps of direct action and always act peacefully, taking full responsibility for our actions. It's cowardly to sneak up like a guilty thief and slash someone's tires. It takes no responsibility and works agains

t peace. How? Because in doing so, we justify the hateful actions of that group. They now have something to point to in order to further their own argument. He who angers you, controls you. And in taking a non-peaceful action, you negate your own efforts to restore sanity and serenity in the world.

Unless sanity and serenity and peace are not your primary intentions. In that case, go nuts.

The WBC decided to hold a couple of protests in Norman last weekend. The first was at Harvest Christian Church to protest women speaking in church and women pastors. The second was at Trinity Baptist and the third at Journey Church, to spew the regular hateful rhetoric. I put out a call on Facebook for friends to join me in counter protest. Three ladies showed up, one with her two little girls. We took our signs and attended the counter protests.

The first one was fine. There were only five or so WBC people and about fifty of us, including some bikers, some high school kids and assorted feminists. Women were the most prevalent, and we concentrated on slogans of peace and love and acceptance for all, and in enjoying the fellowship. At

the second protest, there were a lot more people, from bikers and Army wives and children to Zombies holding signs proclaiming "I was promised brains". The mood was almost prurient, with many people getting too close to the protesters and emotions running very high. I brought two dozen donuts and passed them out as though we were all at a picnic. I used the opportunity to diffuse emotions and met a friend I only knew through FB. Mr. David Slemmons, outlaw poet and peaceman extraordinaire. Another friend, a former student, attends Trinity and was glad to see me. I was glad to see her too. The thing is that the WBC people feed off of negative emotions. That's why they carry offensive signs, wear upside down flags that they walk on and sing ridiculous songs about death and destruction. They are easy to hate and they want that hate. I'm certain that they don't even believe their own rhetoric. Today on their website they had slogans proclaiming their gratitude for breast cancer. Huh?

This group is not that powerful. They are only fifty people strong, if that. They are easy to resist because they are so ridiculous. It's just like anything in life: an exercise in not taking it personally.

One of my students called me from Bowlegs, Oklahoma. Yes, it's a real place. The semester is over, but the WBC was coming to his town to protest the funerals of three of his friends killed in a car accident. In a car accident. Why does this require a funeral? Same reason they wanted to protest the death of a little girl who died in a house fire: retribution for slashing tires. There are always consequences of our actions. My student commented that he thought there would be a rumble, since "everyone in Bowlegs is armed." Perhaps with this one, the WBC has bitten off more than they can chew. They may have the legal right to protest, but eventually their luck will run out and someone is going to get more than a slashed tire and a punch to the face. They have already had their church attacked (from which they drew much media attention) and he worried that there would be even more problems.

I advised him to attend the counter protest if he wanted but to suggest that people focus on drowning out the WBC and keeping the attention where it needs to be- on the family of his friends and their time of grief. I knew that the bikers would show up to drown them out and that others would come to join hands and somehow create some peace from the chaos. I reminded him of Dr. King and how in his letter from Birmingham Jail, he said that "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." I think this experience will stay with him for some time. I know it will stay with me.

In times of great inequity, injustice and blatant disregard for what is right, it matters what we do and how we act. Our children will follow the example we set since they will ultimately enact our principles.

Peace.

September 11, 2001/ September 11, 2010

September 11, 2001
I wake up and go to work at Oklahoma State University. I teach an organic chemistry class and it doesn't start until 9:30. Before class I always go in my office and put on loud rock music to wake up. I don't have cable at my house. We don't watch it. I'm married and we live in Stillwater. Life is rather easy. I teach, run the chemistry store room and on some days, teach aerobics at the local gym. My husband works in Tulsa and leaves the house at 6.
I get to work and someone directs me to a news website. We switch on a television. I watch the second plane hit and nausea and vertigo overcome me and everyone around us. It's a cartoon; it has to be. But no, the world has just tilted off of its axis. All flights are grounded and my friend Karla and Art cannot get out of Oklahoma to get to Poland like they'd planned. Classes at OSU are not canceled. Doesn't matter- we don't do anything in them except huddle and watch tv. I don't take attendance. We feel like gravity has shifted and the world isn't under our feet the way it once was. I gather my international friends to my home. Anyone who looks "vaguely ethnic" because this is the land of rednecks and when the Oklahoma City bombing took place, some yahoos shot up the local mosque- the one with the playground on the side of it. The world mourns with us. Outpourings of support come in from the world and from true Muslim leaders. The news outlets also report a few radicals who celebrate. The word "terrorism" enters our vocabulary in a way I would have never thought possible. I worry about overreaction. I was right to worry. We enter a war with unknown assailants and attack Iraq under vague pretenses. It is very expensive and we will pay for this for a long time. The Patriot Act is passed. The voices of minority dissent are ignored and eventually threatened. We are not silent.
Eventually, My students leave for Fall break and on the way back, one of my O-chem students is stopped by airport security because her textbook contains the symbols for trinitrotoulene- dynamite. She is held and stripped by two men and interrogated for days, and is probably beaten, but is eventually released. Her dad, a lawyer, settles for enough money to pay for anything she needs practically forever. She is not allowed to talk of the details.

September 11, 2003
My marriage is in shambles. We have moved to Norman and sold our house. Karla has committed suicide and Art and I attend her funeral in the same church where they had planned their wedding. Airport security is ridiculous and we now have to remove our shoes prior to boarding. I am searched every time I cross the threshold. Once, they find a pen recycled from an eating utensil and mistake it for a shank. I am almost held over. A scan of my bag reveals a pear and I am scolded and told not to bring such things to the airport. I tell the TSA that I am an American citizen, but she doesn't hear me. She asks about the Chinese symbol on my shoulder. I tell her it s a peace symbol. That's a lie. Hatred and racism against non-white persons is high and corruption and extremism in America becomes far more transparent. I begin celebrating Ramadan with my Muslim friends in order to understand the spiritual and peaceful aspects of Islam. They celebrate Thanksgiving with me. I still worry about them.

September 11, 2010
It's been nine years. I've made a conscious effort in my teaching practice to instill a sense of social justice and tolerance. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I sometimes perform in "The Vagina Monologues" and take the part that Karla used to play. My performances are dedicated to her and I send the playbills to her parents. They never write back. I've gotten another tattoo, of a yin yang, but it's in black and red. One of my students in class yesterday said he thought the war in Iraq was completely justified. I'm tired of fighting. I want the wars to end. All of them. My students know that Bill Clinton had and affair with Monica Lewinsky and that he probably inhaled pot, but have no idea of this Nobel Peace Prize. In Oklahoma City, it's popular opinion that a gathering of the KKK at the Ford Center is preferable to one of the local Satanic group. My friend Brent went to see Deepak Chopra at the Civic Center. I wonder if any of my students know who he is. Perhaps they would think he's a heretic. Perhaps I am jaded and am still searching for peace.
A Florida pastor named Terry Jones first vows to hold a Quran burning, then calls it off because it will most definitely incite greater recruitment into AlQaeda and also place our troops in greater danger than they already face. President Obama himself has to call and talk sense into him. Perhaps the heat and humidity has soaked through Jones' hypocritical brain. Others declare today to be "buy a Quran" day. It's the one day a year I think to sit and pray and meditate on peace and cry for our country and for all people of the world, especially for those with anger and discontent in their hearts.

On this day, may you love those who hate you. May you not strike back but offer a hand in friendship. May you heal yourself. May you be a blessing to those around you and all who would hear you.

If we can make war and destroy the world, then we can most certainly find the energy for peace.

Schism

I've been at East Central University now for about a month. I like it, overall, and get to have all sorts of conversations with people from all over. My new colleagues on campus are drawn from Oklahoma and surrounding states and a few neighboring nations. This is the major advantage of academe: I get to meet the world in a four block radius.

We invariably turn to politics. Many people think the way I do, which is what I might term a liberal leaning, non-religious moderate. Some are far more liberal than I in their thinking and others range towards conservative. But there are few absolutists, few extremists. In fact, one of the major goals in my classroom- in all of our classrooms- is to educate people out of narrow perspectives enough so that they can hear and respect other viewpoints. Even if we don't agree, we can get along. That's the take home message. Yes, I'm an English teacher. But English is just the venue for modeling critical thought and tolerance. And there is a lot of intolerance out there. Where does it come from?

I can almost hear my students' parents' voices echoing in hatespeech. I see it in the unconscious racism and white entitlement. And I cringe whenever I have occasion to hear white elitism parroted through the bible. Jesus didn't speak English, folks. And he hung out with the "lower" classes. And he sure as fuck wasn't white. But I digress. Prejudice is learned in society and in the home. And it's spread from racism and religious intolerance to political party hatred. I think that should be a new category of "isms": racism, sexism, religious intolerance and party-ism. This schism has been growing in the last few years, but has widened with the election of a president of color. One in five Americans think he is Muslim, and that being so is bad. Our president has wonderful oratory skills and excellent relations in the international arena. His foreign policy has been carried through and every single domestic policy he has attempted has been thwarted or otherwise criticized unilaterally and propagandized and in many cases (*cough*sarahpalin*cough*) even denigrated by opponents, both political and social. I can tell you that no matter what he tries to do, it will be shot down if possible. Period. It's a power struggle, out and out. It's a political/media war.

What we have is a problem of trust. We no longer allow others to disagree with our viewpoints. If someone disagrees, then they must be a democrat/republican/socialist/communist/whatthefuckever. They must not know what they're talking about because if they paid attention they would see how badly my side is portrayed in the media and how awful their own representatives are screwing over the American public. That person must then become the enemy. They must be discounted not just on an academic level, but on a personal one. They may sympathize with those who bombed the twin towers. They must be silenced because their views are becoming dangerous. We must mistrust them and perhaps fear them and perhaps pre-emptively strike them and retreat to our own homes and block out our neighbors and listen only to our churches and our pastors. But the priests are molesting children, the Mormons won't allow black people, the Christians may want to cast out the Hispanics and the Muslims are all terrorists. "They" (whoever that is) have nothing in common with the rest of "us Americans" (whoever that is).

My friend Bohn, who is ex-military and who now works as a prison guard (nearly 2.3 million people are behind bars which is greater than 1% of the U.S. population- an all-time high), talks a lot about the men and women he works with and their attitude towards inmates. He sees the common atrocities every day. Is not the measure of the "goodness" of a society dependent on how that society treats the worst and the least among them?
"Mindie," he says, "When the only tool you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail."

The fact is that we can only pull apart and hate each other for so long. We must find new tools. We teachers must supply new tools for listening, for understanding and empathizing and for sewing our nation together again. "One nation, under God," does not specify the Christian or the Catholic or any particular mono- or polytheistic deity. It's also not "One nation, under single party control." However, "Religion is the single most important factor that drives American belief attitudes and behaviors," saysMichael Lindsay Assistant Director of the Center on Race, Religion and Urban Life at Rice University. "It is a powerful indicator of where America will end up on politics, culture, family life." And those factors all produce a student, sitting in a classroom, waiting to talk to me, to listen to me, to interact with those around them and hopefully, to share and find more tools.

Peace.