Still Not Throwing Away My Shot, Gaps and All

As I write this, the film version of Hamilton is a few hours away from its premiere on Disney+. I have my Hamilton T shirt ready for viewing the show with my family, and I may watch it a second time tomorrow when at least two different Twitter viewing parties are set to happen. (As I post this, my family and I are a few minutes away from that first viewing.) I’ve been very fortunate to be able to see the show three times, including once with a group of Rush students as part of the Hamilton Education Program organized by the Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History. I have the original cast recording. I have the Mixtape. I have the “Weird Al” Yankovic Hamilton Polka. I am a serious hardcore Hamilton fanboy, is what I am trying to establish here.

I’m also an educator who teaches kids about history and government, and I have always felt an obligation to help my students reach an accurate and honest understanding of our nation’s history and the enduring scourges of racism and violent oppression that are as bound up with our founding as ideals of liberty and self-government. In this moment of 2020, I feel that obligation more strongly than ever.

So I have to ask myself, at a moment where many Americans are finally taking extra steps to confront hard truths about our past: “Is there a place in this moment for a fictionalized celebration of the United States’ founding?” Can I still put on that T shirt and sing along to “My Shot?” Can I feel good about the fact that I brought 50 high school students to see this show? That I’ve shown clips of it, displayed its logo in my classroom, and referred to it in my discussions?

My answer is still Yes, but thinking through the question has helped me see what other lenses I need to bring to bear in my classroom.

Before I explain, let me take a moment to review some of the criticisms that historians and other people have made of the show.

I have some quibbles with some of these criticisms. For example, based on the reading I have done, I think Alexander Hamilton was opposed to slavery – however, he did profit from his marriage into the Schuyler family, whose wealth was at least in part connected to slavery. I think that George Washington answering the line “Black and white soldiers wonder alike if this really means freedom” with “Not. Yet.” is an example of Lin-Manuel Miranda making the specter of slavery haunt our celebration of the founding, and I think that subtle approach is one that helps the audience get to the point of being able to hold positive and negative opinions of the framers at once. Maybe I shouldn’t hail that as major accomplishment in the second decade of the 21st Century, but I think that’s where we are.

But in a show where control of the narrative is a central theme, there is no denying that some people have been left out of the narrative. How can I be OK with that?

My answer is that no one story can tell everything that needs to be told. Every story, every explanation, is a series of choices about what to include and what to exclude, what to emphasize and what to downplay. And every story exists in a context and a relationship to other stories and other perspectives. If Hamilton were the only story told about the nation’s founding, or the only story told about Washington and Jefferson and Hamilton, then its fictionalizations and omissions would be crippling.

But Hamilton exists in a country that has centered and mythologized the framers for centuries. The juxtaposition of these familiar historical figures with contemporary musical styles, performed by a cast of varying ethnic and racial backgrounds, gives an audience enough of a sense of the familiar to feel comfortable and enough of a sense of the unexpected to encourage a re-evaluation of perspectives.

I first learned about Hamilton because I follow the journalist Chris Hayes on Twitter. Hayes is an old classmate and friend of Miranda’s who kept praising the show, and based on his tweets I could not figure out if it was a show about a rapper or a show about Alexander Hamilton. It took me a bit for the light bulb to go on that it was both. The act of the juxtaposition is an act of commentary itself. On one level, yes, Hamilton is a white-European-centric Great Man approach to history. But it also makes an audience that might be comfortable with that style of history think about who else has been part of that story all along.

But what about the mythmaking? The celebration of the pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps mentality (“I wrote my way out”) that Miranda sees in Hamilton, in himself, in his family’s story? Again, if that were the only story we tell about America, it’d be super dangerous. But while it is essential that we have stories that acknowledge the pain that European settlement caused, it is just as essential to recognize that many people of color, including Miranda, view the United States, or at least aspects of it, positively. And this country, for all its faults, is the collection of people who have made their lives here. We can regret and condemn the destructive actions that led to some of those people’s existences while also acknowledging and indeed celebrating that those people exist, and this country is theirs too, and that many are happy about the lives they have built in it (even though there is still lots of work to be done). Hamilton provides a window to do that, and at this moment of the 21st Century, I think that is one story – among many – that deserves to be told.

Argh

OK, so here’s another difference between a journal I write by hand and a blog I maintain online.

I don’t have to worry about the paper getting an update that makes me unable to actually edit my text.

There’s something about the latest version of WordPress that is making it impossible for me to format text or add links. I’m sure I can figure it out. I’m just not going to try to do it tonight. We’ll try again tomorrow.

In My Day, Blogs Were Called Journals

OK, it’s day three of renewed blogging and I’m going super eating-my-own-tail here, but there was a post I saw on Twitter last week about keeping journals during this period of isolation so that there’s a record of what it was like to actually live through it, rather than a sepia-tinged version in memory down the line. I thought that sounded like a good idea, and I had a journal that I bought but never used years ago sitting in my desk, so Sunday night I started writing about a page a day.

This makes me realize that my life is pretty boring, especially when I have to stay around the house all day.

It also makes me realize that my handwriting skills have atrophied somewhat and my hands cramp up way too easily. I used to be able to make it through at least a third of a blue book doing exams in college; now I’m ready to tap out by the end of that page.

So when I find some decent meditating and yoga resources this week and start using them, I better see if they have Hand Flexibility for Writers exercises anywhere. At least then, when the computers become sentient and wipe out mu digital footprint, there’ll be something in a basement for some future traveler to find. (If they can get past the other stuff in my basement.)

What Am I Doing?

So this is the official Day One of the New Normal of schools being closed. I’m still feeling my way around and trying to develop a routine.

I’ve decided that as long as I have any say over the matter, I am not worrying about doing anything with the expectation that it will be graded. I just have no way of knowing with confidence what every one of my students has the time and opportunity to access. I don’t know how well email and other electronic communication is going to help me give feedback and guidance. I feel queasy about grades under the best circumstances, and these sure aren’t the best circumstances.

That said, for people who are at home and would like some kind of academic activity, I’ve resolved that I’m going to make one post a day on Google Classroom. I’m going to spend a lot of this time trying to figure out what’s going on in the world and also improving my understanding of my subject material. So why not share that process with the students? I’ll share at least one article that I’ve read each day and the questions it raises in my mind. I might even “workshop” some assignments and share them to let students kick the tires.

I’ve been making video lectures for my AP Government class for years. I’m still not quite done. So I think I’ll take this time to write scripts for the last batch I need to do (until they redesign the course again). I used to record the lectures as a sort of stream of consciousness with my notes, but I got tired of watching myself pause to collect my thoughts along with my other verbal filler tics. At least I’ve learned how to turn my iPad into a TelePrompter. (The Pages app has a scrolling display feature.)

If this stretches on for as long as I think it will, I might have to get more ambitious. But for now, let’s all give ourselves time to settle into something that resembles a routine.

Now or Never

Well, if a global pandemic that shuts down schools and requires me to stay at home as much as possible doesn’t motivate me to start writing more, it’s time to say that my days of writing anything beyond snappy social media posts are over. So we’ll see where this goes.

I’ve had a lot of ideas in my head for things I would write if I had the time and the energy. The energy is the thing, really, even more than the time. That, and the guilty feeling that there was something I needed to be doing more than writing something for a blog I started almost twenty years ago.

I had not done the math on that until I just typed it. Good heavens, I started this website almost half a lifetime ago.

Anyway, while honesty demands that I admit that I am going to play more than a few games of Civilization V during this hiatus, I am also going to try to use this time to reset some of my routines. I’ve talked about doing this before. Let’s see where it goes.

A Man, The Ram, and a Plan

I’m a little nervous posting this, considering that you could say I’ve been working on it for the last 25 years. Of course, even with that much lead time, I’m still up against the last minute. So I have consistency going for me, at least.

Set the Wayback Machine for 1993. I’m eagerly looking forward to the start of my freshman year at Fordham. One day I receive a stuffed manila envelope with a copy of the mammoth 75th anniversary issue of The Ram, one of Fordham’s campus newspapers and the one I’ve already set my sights on joining. Page after page is filled with recollections from former editors; fond remembrances of the stories they covered, the hours they worked, the setbacks they overcame, and the relationships they formed. I read the thing cover to cover, more than once. It looks like such a grand undertaking. I can’t wait to be a part of it.

Continue reading “A Man, The Ram, and a Plan”

Hermione Granger’s Song

So in the time I was not writing on this blog my entire family became well and truly obsessed with Hamilton: An American Musical, which I will be happy to discuss in more detail at another time. As a Philadelphian, I think I am required by law to enjoy “Ben Franklin’s Song” by The Decemberists, from the Hamildrops series of music related to the musical.

Meanwhile, my daughter is a major fan of J.K. Rowling’s Wizarding World and most certainly of Hermione Granger. One morning as I was still trying to wake up and she was getting ready for school, I overheard something to the effect of “something something Hermione f’ing Granger,” which my brain superimposed onto the aforementioned song.

And at that point, my mission became clear. This was the result. (Spoilers for all seven books, if you’re still waiting to read them. Go ahead and come back when you’re done.)

Hermione Granger’s Song
Inspired by Ben Franklin’s Song by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Colin Meloy

“Wingardium”
Now you can all lift some
Feathers or brooms and you won’t sound dumb
There’s no need to thank me – you are welcome.
You’re welcome for pronunciation.

I found out that the basilisk you don’t wanna see
Got myself frozen but my friends restored me
They had wands
They had swords
Found a diary
Led to my resuscitation

Well do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
I’m McGonagle’s time-turner wearing
Hermione fracking Granger

Early to bed, witches, early to rise
See Victor Krum play for a Quidditch prize
But then the Dark Mark appears
In the night time sky
Soon Voldemort’s back for a fight.

Old Umbridge sets rules but we can not comply
Ask Harry to train us all on the sly
I stay up late to study; OWL exams are nigh
Soon Voldemort’s back for a fight.

Well do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
I am muggle born but any spell will I cast
Hermione fracking Granger

Horcruxes are out there
Riddle’s soul is inside
Dumbledore tried to find one
But R A Black lied
We watched as he down from the tower fell
Dumbledore died
This time, no resuscitation

So I play my poor fugitive part with pride
Hiding out with a bag that is bigger inside
With time all our fears become amplified
But I
Know that Hogwarts will be our destination

Well do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
I’m McGonagle’s time-turner wearing Hermione fracking Granger
Do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
Do you know who the frak I am?
I’m McGonagle’s time-turner wearing,
multiple-extra-course taking,
but still Divination hating
Hermione fracking Granger

What Is This Blog You Speak Of?

Boy, have I left this barren.

It’s interesting. In my teens and 20s, I thought of myself as a writer. And when I read or listened to professional writers speak, they often talked about this idea that they became writers because they couldn’t NOT write. I thought I had that same need. It carried me through high school and college, through essays and theses and newspaper articles. It carried me through grad school, when I started the website that evolved into this blog and wrote my dissertation.

And somewhere along the way, it faded.

I still like putting words together, but for a long time putting together a decent joke or anecdote on social media has been enough to scratch that itch. About a year and a half ago I was talking to a colleague, who’s an artist along with a teacher. I urged him to keep drawing, because that’s where his heart was, the thing he really loved. And I realized that for me, writing wasn’t that thing anymore.

Teaching kids, and being part of a school community, is that thing. I’m not me if I’m not in a classroom. Or at least thinking about being in a classroom.

And for the past two years I have been doing so much of that, that the energy to put something else together has just kind of fizzled.

With the summer here I am kinda doing the New Year’s Resolution thing and trying to get into shape, mentally and physically, so I’m better at all of the things I need to do. Daily writing and reflecting is a mental muscle that I think I want to spend more time working on. Facebook probably isn’t the place to do it for a host of reasons. So let’s see if I can get back into the saddle.

A Moment Missed, At Last Recovered

When I was in high school I had the opportunity to spend a week in Washington, DC as part of a program called Presidential Classroom. We toured the city, participated in workshops, and listened to speakers talk about different aspects of the government. It was a great week, intense and draining. It also was the source of a missed opportunity that I did not realize I had missed until years later, and did not have a chance to get over until this week.

One of the sessions that I had most anticipated was our visit to the floor of the House of Representatives, where we would meet with a member of the House. I was then, as I am now, a political junkie, so I was eager to hear something about how someone got elected to Congress and worked to pass laws. Instead, as I remember it, the speaker spent much of the time talking about his work in the civil rights movement. And as I remember it, 16-year-old, tired Dave tuned out a lot of the discussion. Plenty of people had worked in the civil rights movement, I thought. It was over 20 years in the past, I thought. It wasn’t relevant now, I thought.

If you want to direct a few choice words at 16-year-old me, go ahead. I’ve done the same. But by that point, my junior year of high school, I don’t remember doing much serious study of the civil rights movement. My American history classes tended to run out before getting to the late twentieth century, and rarely dug deeper than a few anecdotes about Rosa Parks and Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. I had never heard of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), and I had never heard of John Lewis, one of the six civil rights leaders to speak at the March on Washington.

That started to change when I was in graduate school. I had decided that I wanted to be a social studies teacher, and so I started taking graduate history courses so that I would have the depth of knowledge I needed. I started seeing references not just to Parks and King but to Ella Baker, Fannie Lou Hamer, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), and SNCC. I was intrigued by the struggles within the movement, the constant tension of trying to figure out how hard to push, which tactics to use, which allies to accept. I decided to study the civil rights movement as a case study of democratic reform.

Although I focused on King and the SCLC, I found SNCC extremely compelling. Here was a group of student organizers committed to direct action, working with but sometimes at odds with the famous names and organizations I had learned as a kid. And one of the leaders of that organization was John Lewis. I honestly don’t remember when it clicked in my head. “Wait . . . this John Lewis . . . isn’t that the guy I saw in high school?” But shortly after it clicked I went to my bookcase and pulled out the book from the Presidential Classroom program where I took notes on each speaker. I found the page where I had notes on Rep. Lewis.

It was practically blank.

I have wanted to kick myself for my high school ignorance ever since. I have no idea what I think would have concretely changed if I had had a little more energy, a little more knowledge, a little more concentration. Lewis’ impact comes much more from the power of his example than that of his storytelling. But if I had really understood the importance and magnitude of Selma, if I had appreciated the sacrifice and commitment Lewis had shown for his ideals, if I had truly grasped how far our nation has had to travel on the road to civil rights and how much farther we still have to go, then that day in Washington could have been an opportunity to connect to that past beyond the pages of a book. It could have been an opportunity to say “Thank you.”

But because I didn’t know any better, I squandered that opportunity.

In its way, that missed opportunity has been a blessing. It’s helped remind me to listen more, to try to be aware of what I don’t know, and to think more deeply about how to do the work of building a more just society. It’s helped motivate me to make sure that my students hear a variety of voices and understand the workings of the American system so that they can leverage that system and make it better. It’s kept me humble and reminded me not to assume that I’ve got it all figured out.

It still bugged me.

And then last week my wife sent me a text that Lewis would visit Amalgam Comics and Coffeehouse in Philadelphia. He and Andrew Aydin, one of his aides, have co-written a series of graphic novels called March, drawn by Nate Powell, about his work with the civil rights movement. The third and final volume comes out next month, but they wanted to launch it during the Democratic National Convention at Amalgam, which is owned by an African-American woman named Ariell Johnson. I had bought and read the first two volumes, with the third already pre-ordered. As I fumbled with my phone trying to get to the Eventbrite site to get tickets, Pattie told me she had gotten two, one for me and one for our daughter.

I started sobbing. Now, this is something that members of my family do at significant family occasions, Harry Potter movies, and random vistas, so you need to take that into account. But this really was overwhelming, because at that moment I had a chance to reach back to 16-year-old me and say, OK, I’m gonna take care of this.

We got to the store about an hour early on Wednesday, where around a dozen people who didn’t have tickets were waiting outside. (They did eventually get in.) My daughter and I were allowed in and we started browsing around. There was quite a crowd, some of whom appeared to be regular customers and others who seemed very unfamiliar with comics. I spent too long browsing and wound up buying my copy of Volume 3 as the signing line had already formed, so by the time Lewis and Aydin arrived I was toward the back. I listened as Lewis talked about the supply of peanuts and Coke products he had in his congressional office as a representative from Atlanta, and as Aydin talked about he hoped to use comics and sequential storytelling to help educate today’s kids about the civil rights movement and social justice.

And then we reached the front of the line. We handed our books over to be signed and shook the authors’ hands. I said, “Thank you, Congressman,” and then my daughter and I had our picture taken with the authors.
Lewis at Amalgam 1
We all build stories to tell ourselves who we are; we take moments and magnify their importance because of what they say to us or about us. Out of those individual stories we build the story of our society. I feel grateful today that a week that has featured so many amazing moments for our national story gave me a chance to recast one of the moments of mine.