let's get political...political

Today is the first day of B-track break. For my small school learning community (henceforth SSLC or CALA, Culture and Languages Academy), that means two days' worth of professional development. Today's meeting was mostly about creating and implementing a unified discipline policy, but at times it veered in other directions. Let me be clear that I am off the clock right now, and that the opinions I express are solely my own (for questions of education award), and then please allow me to call your attention to political matters. This fall, Californians will have the pleasure of voting on Prop 74, an insidious little piece of legislation backed by "Governor Schwarzenegger's California Recovery Team" that will increase teachers' probationary period from two to five years, and then completely undermine the idea of permanent status by allowing school boards to terminate, with a "modified process," any teacher who has received two "unsatisfactory" evaluation marks.

In theory, this is great for our students because it means only the best teachers are in the classroom, no matter what their status. Practice, however, rarely aligns with the theoretical, this being no exception. Teachers at my school are scared, based on their past experiences with administration, that the passage of Prop 74 will mean not that the bad teachers will go - there are too many of them, for one thing - but that it will instead be a tool for school boards and administrators to get rid of the vocal teachers, the ones who voice displeasure at idiotic "reforms" that do nothing for the students, who demand pay for time worked, and who commit any other crime against the well-oiled machine that is the educational bureaucracy.

The thing to remember is that "permanent status," as it stands, does not mean you have a job forever. The dismissal process, however, involves lots of documentation and, if requested by the teacher, a hearing, as well at 90 days in which to improve. Prop 74 wants to get rid of all of that unneccessary "procedure" and "due process." My overwhelming impression is and has always been that when bad teachers are not fired, it is because a bad teacher is still slightly better than no teacher at all, and with a teacher shortage as severe as California's, I think we would do best to spend our efforts aggressively recruiting and retaining excellent teachers. People don't want to teach in California because it's not worth their while. They work too damn hard for too little money, with the guillotine ever hanging over their heads. And while Prop 74 claims to "[reward] the best teachers [while] weeding out 'problem teachers'" (and yes, that phrase is raising my eyebrows), the only "reward" it offers is "being allowed to keep your job."

The fear around these parts is that the whole thing is part of a sinister Republican plan to completely and intentionally undermine the public education system, priming schools for lucrative privatization. It sounds a little crazy until you notice that for more information, you're directed to joinArnold.com - and until you hear that this kind of thing is happening all over the place, even down the street, with one of LA's most troubled high schools in talks to be taken over by Green Dot, a successful but controversial charter-school organization. I haven't been around long enough to start weighing in on conspiracy theories, and I need to see charter schools for myself before I commit to a stance one way or the other. But what does worry me is an issue captured succinctly in the "Fiscal Effects" section of the prop report:

Given the longer probationary period, districts could dismiss more teachers during their first five years. This could result in salary savings by replacing higher salaried teachers toward the end of their probationary period with lower salaried teachers just beginning their probationary period.

My mom works in schools; she always has. In my young life I've seen more pink slips, reduced hours, ingenious ways to avoid paying health insurance, and multiple-positions-combined-into-one than I can even now make sense of. One of my friends here works in Jewish day schools; she has her MA in religious studies and has heard that this may make finding work difficult because she is entitled to higher pay. I have never - never - heard of an increase in any budget that was easy to access, came with few strings attached, or lasted longer than a yer or two before being decreased to below the original amount. My life experiences up to and including this very moment have made me immediately suspicious of any way to cut costs in schools. School costs a lot, but it does not cost nearly enough for what we are asking of it. It's only the future of the nation we're talking about here, only the life prospects of entire generations. For my kids in particular, a good K-12 education isn't the difference between a state school and an ivy league; it's the difference between learning the language of their nation of residence, or remaining effectively illiterate and doomed to repeat the cycle of poverty. They should have the best teachers we have, no matter what that costs. I'm sure the people behind Prop 74 think that's what they're giving us, but the best teachers we have think differently.

Anyway, the thing is ahead in opinion polls right now, and it sounds pretty good on paper, the way the whole "Defense of Marriage" thing did a few years back, until you stopped and realized that marriage didn't really need defending. All I'm asking is that you not go with public opinion on this one - look into it, read the counterarguments, think it over, and above all, talk to an educator or someone else on the ground inside schools. Then, take that information and pass it on.

This is my favorite part of the ballot:

Unfortunately, Opponents of Prop 74 Don't Want Reform:
They will stop at nothing to defeat Prop 74 and have spent millions for television ads to confuse voters on the reforms we need to get California on track.

Advertise? How dare they!

the week in review

Oh, that first week of school. As a student, I remember having all kinds of feelings about it, positive and negative, but I can honestly say that I never even considered how it must have been for my teachers. I understand completely how my mom feels: I came home today, face-planted on the bed, and slept for three and a half hours. Then I woke up and spent about an hour lying there, feeling melancholy and wrung-out. Eventually I decided that starving to death wouldn't help a whole lot, and made some pasta. That about brings us up to speed.

Today the room situation grew even more dire. It turns out that no one, in the past two days, had actually tried to fix our locks - they had just been picking the door next to mine with a paper clip. Mine still had half a key broken off in it and would only open from the inside. Today, though, the door wouldn't open, no matter what they tried, by which I mean "no matter how much they jiggled the paper clip." So, instead of cleaning up my room and returning books to the already-testy textbook lady, we stood outside for an hour waiting for a custodian to "come right back" with an empty room to take us to, until we received an invitation indoors from Mr. Labat, a veteran teacher, well-liked by both students and colleagues, who has sort of taken me under his wing. His class was watching King Arthur with the Spanish subtitles on, as film English is often difficult for ESL students, and British and fakey-Saxon accents make understanding well-nigh impossible. Fortunately, there is not much talking in King Arthur. Mostly just battle cries and stabbing.

Eventually, the master custodian (the most useful person I have met yet) came and persuaded the door to open, by hammering Mr. Wulf's key into the lock with a big chunk of cement. We were lucky it didn't break, as I still do not have one. The A-track teacher who has my room as of Monday says that he hoards every key he has ever been given, because it's the only way to ever get into your room: the front office actually does have enough keys for everyone, they're just too lazy to organize them. One of the assistant principals (we have nine) is in charge of the keys, but today alone she was described to me by three separate people, all of them unprompted, as "completely incompetent," "useless," and having "no idea what's going on." She has big key rack thing in her office, but there are only about a hundred keys on it. My key is a 1B, for which there is no label on the rack. The A-track teacher told me that there is a room (I have seen it and can vouch for the believeability of this statement) where all keys go that do not have a little sticky-label on the key rack. Then, when you ask for them, they tell you what they told me: we don't have any, but we're calling the key man later in the week...

Moments and situations of note from the week:

• While waiting for my door to be opened, getting to know the kids. Some of them have just come from traditional middle schools into B-track, meaning that they had one week of summer, then came to high school. Considering that they have been in school for the last thirteen months without a break, I am all the more impressed with their dedication.
  
  
• Meeting Mr. Harris, who gave me advice on the best places to buy summer fruit in LA, who has an avocado tree that gives bags and bags of the things the size of softballs, and who cannot stand avocados. It is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Also: another new teacher who has my "trouble students" in her class and with whom I can collaborate on a behavior plan; my head of department, who studied English at Berkeley and has answers to the questions I did not even know to ask; the long-term sub who was raised on a ranch in Arizona by cowboys.
  
  
• Learning the ingenuity of my students, who taught me how to turn on the air conditioner, the knob of which is broken. It involves the holes in the top of your house keys and some clever angling.
  
  
• Unexpectedly discovering that the lunchroom, usually home to all things deep-fried and covered in dressing, was selling big slabs of watermelon for 50 cents.
  
  
• Being expected, despite being completely untrained in the program, to teach 20 hours' worth of ESL classes.
  
  
• A long conversation with a student my sub had told me to "watch out for," in which he told me he moved here from Guatemala three years ago, right about the time he started learning the alphabet. He's proud of his rising grades, especially his improving work habits and participation marks, and he says his teachers tell him, "You're a good boy, but you don't come to school!" He explained that he works several days a week so he can help send money back to Guatemala, where his little sisters still live. I told him if he works hard for me, we will find a way to make sure he gets an A or a B in my class. I fully anticipate this being the case.
  
  
• A short conversation with a friend of one of my students, who looked at my stomach and asked, "Are you going to have a baby?" No," I laughed. "It's just a tummy." "Oh," she said, not unkindly. "Because it looks like it."
  
  
• Another brief conversation with a student, one I already have a deep affection for. He works hard, loves to draw, and always takes time to think before he answers or asks a question. He is very small, and though he has many friends, they are not kind about it. Today he spotted my paper towels and spray cleaner, and asked if he could clean the desks. While doing so, he called me over, telling me he wanted me to see something. "See this?" he asked, pointing to an artistic tag in the style he himself favors. "That's him." He pointed to his t-shirt, a picture of a boy not much older than him, with birth and death dates and a Tupac quote, "Only God can judge me." The boy died in April; already the shirt shows wear. "He was my friend," said my student. I asked what happened, and he explained matter-of-factly, "In Los Angeles, the blacks and the Mexicans are fighting. The black people killed him. In a drive-by. They shot him in the mouth." He continued cleaning for a moment, then paused again and pointed to another name carved into the surface of the desk. "That's my uncle," he said. I asked what happened to him. My student smiled. "He's in college."

Wednesday chaos

For those wondering where I've been: I started work on Monday. So, I've been there, or curled up inside my High Point teacher's manuals, or, excitingly, at the gym. I started going on Sunday night, and it couldn't have come at a better time. I had intended to go, cycle a bit, and use that time to think about my classes the next day, forgetting entirely the whole point of going to the gym for me: I absolutely cannot think about anything of significance while I am working out. I think my system is so out of shape that all possible energy must be devoted to making the muscles work at all, leaving nothing for the higher brain functions. In case it is not obvious, working out again has been amazing.

I realized today that I haven't worked out in almost exactly four months - not since the week I found out I was accepted to TFA. Coincidence? I think not. The preparation, the practice, the evaluation - it takes over your life. I must say, too, that I feel like years have gone by since that day in April when Amelie and I found out we were accepted, when we talked for hours on the phone - about what? what did we know, then, really? - and I tore so eagerly into the FedEx envelope, reading and re-reading my acceptance letter in case it was some kind of terrible mistake. But, yes, it has been four months, three since I took my CSET, two since I showed up at regional induction. In all honesty it feels at least a year since I left my summer placement school, though it's been only three weeks. These life-chapters have been brief but intense lately. I'm hoping for things to mellow out a bit, though I know that's folly.

This latest chapter, this Permanent Job thing - it's interesting. I'm thrust into the middle of the school year and this massive bureaucracy in the middle of a major restructuring as we shift to the small-school format, and no one really seems to know what any other department is doing (and neither do I,) or what my sub has been doing (my impression: nothing,) or what I should do all week (consensus: nothing, which I am violently resisting,) or who I should get the key to my classroom from (I found her today, day three, but there was no key to be had.) I'm meeting about a million people a day, all of whom want something from me - Did you fill out that sub form for the intersession? Can we meet about your retirement fund? When can I get a draft of your long-term plans? Are you aware of the meeting tomorrow after school? - and none of whose names I remember. Meanwhile, I have three classes and they are all trying to figure me out - What can they get away with? What's my class going to be like? Am I really going to stay? That, incidentally, was a drawn-out conversation that broke my heart for what it told me about their prior experiences. The short version:

Me: I'm Ms. L. I'll be your permanent teacher. So, I will be here for the rest of the year.
Classes: Until the break?
Me: Yes, until the break. And then I will be a substitute for another track. And then when you come back in October, I will be teaching this class again.
Classes: This class?
Me: Yes. I am your teacher now.
Classes: And you're staying all year?
Me: Yes. All this year, and the year after that, and the year after that.
Classes: So you are staying?

As for my kids: they are all amazing. My seniors are just rolling with the punches - I walked in and said "Hi, I'm your new teacher and we're doing a unit on tone and style using Neruda's Elementary Odes" and they are like "We like Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market better than Ode to Wine because it is more serious and sorrowful." No BS, no "testing period," nothing. My ESL classes, mostly because they are younger (mostly freshmen and sophomores) and more numerous (hard not to be, as only about 10 show up to senior English on a given day), are more of a mixed bag. Most of them are fiercely devoted to learning English, and even though it is incredibly obvious that I am as yet untrained in the program and I have not quite figured out how to convey difficult concepts at their understanding level, they are willing to do bookwork and silent reading about very boring concepts for two hours at a stretch. When they get the teenage giggles, to which both classes are prone, all it takes to get them back on task is a gentle reminder that we are here to learn English, and that we cannot do this if we are not doing the work. Notice, however, that I say most. The others are most definitely testing me.

Today was the roughest day I've had this week, much moreso than my first; it was the first day when I started to feel mental and physical exhaustion setting in while I was still in the classroom. Usually being around the kids energizes me, no matter how little food or sleep I've had access to, but today was particularly trying. I showed up early to get my key, and there was no key to be had. No problem, I thought, the sub next door always lets me in. On my way to the room, I stopped by my mailbox and discovered that it was ID Photo day for classes with 9th and 10th graders - no prior warning whatsoever. As I approached the room, congratulating myself on not having planned anything major for today (yes...a brilliant strategic move...) I noticed that my neighbor, Mr. Wulf, was trying to open my door - Great, I thought, he sees me coming. How thoughtful of him. But alas, the lock on his door was jammed with some bits of toothpick, and he was trying to get in through my room, which is connected to his by an interior door. My lock, as it turned out, was jammed worse than his. After some unsuccessful toothpick-manuevering, he went to the office to get a custodian, while I watched both classes and attempted to prevent them from disturbing the classes below us with their noise, projectiles, and/or saliva, all of which had been a problem under the reign of my sub. When he returned, we took our classes to take photos, which went fine but took half an hour, at the end of which time our locks were as jammed as ever. By the time campus security had arrived, assessed the situation, and sent for the custodian, and the custodian had made a diagnostic trip, wandered off to get the WD-40, returned, and unjammed the locks, we had lost over an hour of instructional time and my kids were riled up beyond all calming. Fifth and sixth period, the locks were clear, but the photo ID trip alone took a full hour, and my kids were all over the place, pushing and punching each other, calling names, attempting to prevent one of my best (and smallest) students from breathing by crowding around him and pressing him bodly against the wall, and producing a guitar, which they variously wrestled over, strummed atonally, and abandoned entirely in favor of the guitar strap, which they used to beat each other over the head. Again, attempts to get back on track when we returned to class were mostly futile, despite the ratio of calm and focused to riled-up students being about 7-1. It only takes a few.

Tomorrow, we are spending the entire first hour reviewing respect. I told 5-6 today, "We will talk about respect every day until I see it every day." One of my most thoughtful students looked up at me balefully and said, "We will never stop talking about it."

so i DO have a job!

I'm the type of person who likes to know what they're in for, and prefers knowing they're in for a fresh new hell to having things up in the air. So today, I went to my school, hoping for the best but knowing that anything would be an improvement over my what's-gonna-happen neuroses. And of course, things are nowehere near as bad as they could be - they are, in fact, overwhelmingly positive, and even exciting.

First things first: the school itself. It's big, three stories of red brick in a horseshoe shape, with a huge tree-filled courtyard enclosed at the back end by a low brick bulding (possibly a gym) and dozens of gray "bungalows," behind which are the tennis courts, swimming pool, and athletic fields. We are the Pathfinders, and our colors are burgundy and something else. By employee estimates, the school is home to 54-5600 students this year, with 36-3800 on track at any time. We are roughly the second or third largest around, and we are not sad to see the torch passed to other schools. More students mean more problems, and my school is remarkably free from problems, considering. Walking though the courtyard at lunch, I witnessed one fight waiting to happen, two girls screaming at each other with a crowd jostling for the best viewing positions on the surrounding benches, but nothing major. The kids seem mellower than those at my summer site. I don't see the sharks, those students who slink around scanning the horizon for trouble just waiting to happen. They also seem less hormonal, or at least the culture is less open to overt public displays of libido.

I'll be housed in what I can only describe as a semi-bungalow; it's not a building proper, but it's not entirely portable either. It's most like a two-story barrack, built to last a short time but eventually considered permanent. I'm told the carpet smells funny if you turn the air conditioner off, so wear a sweater. PlugIns also work, though they are often stolen, likely by other teachers. The mixed blessing here is that every time we come back from a vacation we're in a new room, so I must only bear the carpet-smell for a week, after which time it will be passed on to some other unlucky nomad. As far as my students are concerned, I 've heard varying reports: according to my sub, they're great, just a few clowns, but ask Ms. Lewis, who teaches ESL directly below me, and they "sound like a herd of elephants" who will definitely need reigning in. I can tell you, though, that there are very, very few of them. My school is on a six-period day, but ESL is blocked, so Im only teaching three groups of kids. It breaks down like this:

Periods 1 & 2 - ESL 2
Period 3 - English 12
Period 4 - teacher prep
Periods 5 & 6 - ESL 3

The classes are small, too, with 22 students in the first, 14 in the second, and 34 in the last. I am more or less dancing around as I type this - I HAVE 70 STUDENTS! IN TOTAL! ALL DAY!

Compare this to someone who has 5 classes with a standard 35 students apiece. You'd be dancing, too.

So I was pretty right-on about what classes I'll be teaching: ESL 2A, ESL 3A, and English 12. My ESL classes, being two different levels, use two different texts, the A and C levels of High Point. Level B is actually 2 texts, and I'm not really sure how ESL 2B encompasses both, but that doesn't seem to be my problem. English 12 is Modern Lit. It has no curriculum. None. I can teach whatever I want, as long as it fits any definition of both "literature" and "modern." This is pretty exciting for me, but it presents a unique challenge, as I want to go into the textbook room to see what relevant novels they have class sets of, and the textbook woman's policy is Do. Not. Let. Anyone. In. Period. In order to successfully retrieve books, I need to know specifically what text I need from her, how many, and for how long, and even then I need to be on her good side. In the long run, people tell me, this is achieved by sufficiently demonstrating that you really care about your kids and that you are not going anywhere. As I do care and I'm here for the semi-long haul (at least 3 years, though I'm kind of assuming closer to 5) , that will work itself out eventually, but right now I'm trying to work out some kind of short-term fix. I think she likes me well enough to give me a list of all the novels they have, if she has one handy. If she does not, she will like me less for asking.

I met many valuable contacts - that is, great people - today, including my small school co-chair, the bilingual coordinator, a couple of really likeable and experienced ESL teachers who share my prep period (score!), and last but not least, my substitute. He has been there since the second week of the semester, and, mindful of my eventual appearance and not wanting to "step on [my] toes," he has helpfully not had my seniors write anything, taught a single standard, or "gone into anything too deep," thereby reducing the time I have to make significant progress by two full months. Thanks, long-term substitute!

So, I go in Monday and have one week with my kids, effectively the "first week of school" wherein I set up my expectations, diagnose the seniors' writing and make a mad dash to actually teach some standards based on one or several short stories I will have photocopied for them, and clumsily grope my way through High Point with my ESL classes. Then my kids go on two months' break, during which time it looks like I will be long-term substituting for an English class on another track, taking short breaks to move into a new apartment and do a weeklong, mandatory, and much-needed High Point training. Or, I may be utilized as a day-to-day sub. I'm hoping not. You know. Because of how much I love things being up in the air.

"downtime"

A logistical update, for those who were wondering:

I left Institute on the 5th, had a few free days, and then had two days of Orientation last week. (See posts per decreased numbers, crypto-racism.) This week, I've got lots of school and schooling-realted business. Tomorrow, I'm going to my high school with another girl (remember the one, back in June, who had never seen fog?) to see, not to put too fine a point on it, what the hell is going on. I in particular have a lot of questions, based on my track.

A quick refresher: My school is massive. I've heard rumors that it has the largest enrollment in the state, and also in the country. Despite my best investigative efforts I can neither confirm nor disconfirm these rumors, but I can tell you that it is BIG. We have 5,000 kids, broken up into three tracks so that only about 3,000 are on-track and on campus at any given time. A-track is almost like the traditional calendar, just a few weeks shorter, with winter break from the end of December through February, and summer break in July and August. C-track is a little skewed, with summer in May/June and winter break in November/December. I am on B-track, the least coveted of the three, with "winter" break in September and October and "summer" break in March and April. In the future this will be wonderful, as travel is always best in fall and spring, but at the moment it means that I will be walking into a classroom for my "first day of school," while the kids will have been there, with a substitute (or twelve,) since May. My official start date is the 22nd, meaning that I'll be there for three days before the kids go back on break until roughly Halloween. As you might imagine, I have some questions about how this is going to work.

As near as we, the new hires, can tell, everyone at this school is wonderful and helpful in person, but unless you're there face-to-face, you had better have some combination of persistence, unlimited local calling, and God on your side. So tomorrow, Riley and I are going in, armed with a list of questions, and we do not intend to leave until they are all answered, or 12:30, whichever comes first. Those questions include but are not limited to:

• What am I teaching?
• Where is my classroom?
• How many students will be in my classes?
• Have I had a long-term sub or a series of short-term ones?
• What have the kids been taught since May?
• Can I have a copy of my scripted program?
• What am I supposed to be doing for those 3 days?
• Will I be substitute teaching for other tracks while I'm off-track?
• What does subbing involve?
  
• How much do I get paid for it?
• What small learning community am I in?
• Who is my boss?
• How many periods are in a day?
• What time do I need to be here?
• Do I get a set of keys?

You know. That kind of thing.

At 12:30, we have to drive back up to mid-town to go to lunch with the lone Program alum at our school site. There are ten new Program hires this year, and he's determined that we will build a community, as he didn't have that opportunity. For the most part, I really like everyone so far, though one of the girls seems really cliquey and will only talk to one other girl, who I assume is a friend from Institute. I figure that will change, and if it doesn't, I still get along pretty well with the other eight-girls-and-one-guy.

Wednesday, I get myself out to Westwood to a) figure out when my program starts, and b) pick up my C-19 letter from UCLA. This is the piece of paper that tells The District that I am enrolled in a University credentialing program and that I have completed all other requirements to receive an emergency credential. I did some quick math, tallying up all my testing fees, processing fees, fingerprinting costs, and one of my many transcripts, and this little piece of paper has cost me in the ballpark of $550. While that's nothing compared to the 18 grand I'll be paying for my credentials and MA, at the moment it's a shocking amount of money.

Thursday, I go back to The District, take my little piece of paper up to the 15th floor, and get hired. I get to go to the salary office and everything.

And unless I find out otherwise, Monday is my first day of work.

half a conversation

We were just wrapping up regional orientation today, were even into the closing announcements and take-home messages, when our facilitator made an announcement that a "Radical White Anti-Racist" group had flyers for meetings up at the front of the room. "For the white corps members," the facilitator helpfully clarified.

My first reaction was to turn to Mike and crack up. He offered me five bucks to ask the facilitator if minorities were welcome at the anti-racism group. (For the record, I tried. My hand was raised, but not recognized. I was not, however, as vocal or persistent as I could have been.) Rather than listen to the rest of the announcements, we advanced theories about these meetings. Would minorities be asked to begin their own separate anti-racism group - separate but equal, of course? Would we be allowed to show up, but have to come in the side door?

It wasn't until the drive home that I realized my initial laughter had been of the "or you'll cry" variety. I made a comment about the flyer, something like "That kind of bothered me," and both of my colleagues in the car were quick to defend it. It's great, they said. White people may be just coming to terms with these things, just having their eyes opened. They want to take the first steps by talking about these issues in a setting where they're comfortable - with other like-minded people. I was floored. Racism by its very nature demands an integrated conversation, I said. No one group understands the entirety of the issue. This could be a first step, but the flyer gives no hint of a second. It's divisive. They were not hearing me at all.

We hashed it out a bit, listened to each others' sides, and went home. I hopped in the shower, my think-space, and mulled over their comments, looking for what I could learn and add to my own knowledge base. I really wanted to hear them. And yet, if indeed I understand their points, I still believe they are dead wrong. And now that I've had more time to formulate my thoughts, I will attempt to explain, from where I stand, what's wrong with an anti-racism group for white people.

Problem area #1: "They're just more comfortable sharing out their uncomfortable biases..." Fine. But the fact that white people have that choice at all - to get comfortable with themselves, and then, if they choose, to see the minority perspective - betrays immeasurable privilege. The reality of minority life, very often, is that you have to see the other side. You can't get away from it. That's what being a minority means - being surrounded by a perspective larger and more pervasive than yours. And maybe this is my issue, but as a "minority" (and God how I hate that term,) I am not entirely sympathetic to people who want to ease into the frigid waters of our racist society inch by inch, one toe at a time, while the rest of us wait there for them, up to our necks, treading water. We were thrown out there before we could swim, and we've just had to learn. No one waited for us to "get comfortable" with the idea of racism before it was something we had to face. Comfort is a luxury just as much as ignorance was, and to "ease in" denies the urgency of the problem. For every person who wants to take their time and talk amongst themselves, irreprable damage is being done to the people on the other side. It's insulting to me personally when I hear "Just sit tight, we'll be ready to talk to you about it eventually."
Besides which, a little discomfort is a good thing. If you're comfortable, you're not really pushing yourself and you're not learning. The day you are comfortable with racism is the day you've accepted it, and then who are you helping?

Problem area #2: "...among other people in their same situation."
A white person turns to a black person and admits, bravely and honestly, "I fight it every day, but deep down, I think my black students are less intelligent than my other students." Is that as deep if it's one white person turning and speaking the exact same words to another white person? It's still honest, but it's nowhere near as brave, and I would venture to say that it's still racist, to admit things to yourself and others like you but out of fear or discomfort to avoid having that conversation with the very people you are making assumptions about.

Problem area #3: Racism within the conversation.
This point I find particularly boggling: one of the girls in the car told me, point blank, that I was having problems with this group meeting just because it's white people. That if it was black people getting together to talk about black power, that would be fine, but since it's white people, I see it as white supremacy. First of all, it's offensive to me to hear that I think this is about white supremacy, just because I'm nonwhite. Those are words that I neither spoke nor implied, and I have no doubt that the group in question intends to honestly talk about racism, and that's noble. Here's the problem, though: they're talking about racism. I thought this would be obvious, but while "black power" is an inherently black issue, racism is an inherently inter-ethnic issue, not an inherently white one. Which brings me on to my last, and overwhelmingly most important, point:

Problem area #4: Dialogue cannot be one-sided.
Racism can only happen when two groups come together; I believe that for a true conversation about racism, more than one party must also be present. I want to stress that the following questions and answers are grossly oversimplified, and that the terminology does not divide cleanly down racial or any other lines, but these questions are at the very heart of the issue and therefore need to be asked.
So here it is.

Q: What does the oppressor know about racism?

A: Half the story.

Q: And the oppressed?

A: The other half.

213 in tha 2-1-3

A head count:

LA corps, pre-institute: 237

LA corps, post-institute: 213

I can't remember anymore - too many numbers - but I think something like 249 were invited to matriculate in the first place. Regardless, it's a big drop.

One girl I really liked - a Cal girl, no less - is gone, for reasons that seem vaguely sketchy and political. Everyone else I was hoping to see back was present today, which sounds funny considering we've been in the same place for the last five weeks, but unless we ran into each other in the computer lab or the dining hall, we really had no contact with people teaching at other school sites.

Many frosty looks were exchanged between my ex-colab teammate and myself, of the "I did not just even see you" variety. Ouch. I spent the whole day scanning the crowd for my ex-roomie, who has Jody's copy of Harry Potter, and it seemed like every time I lifted my eyes, there she was, coldly looking right through me. I never spotted the roomie. 213, however diminished from our starting numbers, is still a lot.

I was surprised to find, though, that each time I glanced up I also spied someone waving me over, mouthing hello, or calling my name. I don't know how I failed to notice this, but I've made some real friends here - good ones, strong ones, which sounds like an odd adjective but is really the best one to be under these trying circumstances. Also, very funny ones, who always have a cutting comment at the ready whenever things get just a little too Program. You can only see so many PowerPoint presentations before it's all a hideous blur.

helping where you can.

Last week was a rough week. Technically I had time to post, but things within my collaborative had finally reached critical mass and we had a big, ugly incident that needed mediation and resulted in my disappearing into myself for the last few days of institute. I skipped closing ceremonies and generally avoided being social, and after a few days it more or less blew over, by which I mean we all went home so it doesn't really matter anyway. Or it wouldn't matter, that is, if the one who I don't get along with wasn't in my master's program. Which she is. Meaning we see each other twice a week for the next three years.

There are a few things I could choose to do here, but the only practical one seems to be treating this as a learning experience. I am going to meet plenty of people in this profession who, to my mind, have no business being here. People whose motives are, at best, inscrutable. People who constantly assume the worst. People who aren't doing their kids any favors. I spent some time really upset about this, but after thinking about it a lot and talking it through with Aaron, I'm coming around to the hard reality that I can't be there for everyone. There are going to be bad teachers out there, and while it's a really hard thing to do, you have to focus on your students and on what you can do in your classroom. This summer was hard because I felt like the work I was doing - that three of us were doing - was being actively undermined by our fourth member. But in the fall, it will only be me, and while that should sound scary, it's actually a really comforting thought.

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On our next-to-last day of class, we asked students to write us a letter telling us what they liked about the class, what they didn't like, and what we should do differently in the fall. They gave us a lot of good advice about sticking to our guns, putting ourselves in their shoes, and not lecturing so much. The next day, as students filed out the door and we wished them luck in the fall, one of our most serious and thoughtful students came up to me with four sheets of paper, each folded once and bearing one of our names, and asked me to give them to the other teachers. He had gone home and handwritten these four letters, all four of them deeply personal. To my caucasian female colleague, he wrote that he had been concerned when she opened up a discussion of racism, but that she had handled the difficult topic well, and he asked her to think to herself how she really felt about it. To my mellowest colleague, he wrote that at the beginning, he had thought the teacher would be boring, but that as time passed he had grown to appreciate his style. This is, in its entirety, what he wrote to me.

Hi! I heard tha you are a new teacher
I mean you graduated some months ago.

When I heard you the first time in the class, you sounded like my teacher from elementary (Guatemala C.A.) and I don't know why.

I think you can be one of those teachers that are always helping students I mean individually. You should not take your profession just like a job, be cause being a teacher is not a job is like a "Don" (Spanish word). I was studying to be a teacher in my country (is not a lie I was in college before to come here) but I realized that it was not for me so that's why I'm here now, I cannot be a teacher.

I hope you find a good school. (Not like this one believe me student here don't appreciate good teachers). Espero haya aprendido algo de nosotros.

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Don't worry about my grammar on this letter.