Alaska Highway

I owe this to my ENG 100 students who, a couple weeks ago, all wrote personal essays and shared them in class. The prompt I gave them was this: Imagine yourself at an interview for your dream job. You are asked, "Tell us about a personal or professional obstacle that you have had to overcome in the past." 

Every semester, the day my ENG 100 students read these narratives aloud to me and each other is an awesome day. This year, my Thursday evening section called me out on the fact that I was the only one not sharing such a story. I told them I'd write one and put it on my blog, so here goes.

One of the hardest personal and professional things I've had to overcome was my decision to drop out of a Master of Arts in Teaching (MAT) program when I was 22 years old. The program was run by the University of Alaska Southeast (UAS), and my particular cohort was located in the incredibly small and isolated village of Sitka (population 9,000). I had expected to be in Juneau, which is a little bit bigger of a town (31,000) and the state's capital, but somehow I got shifted to this branch campus. Sitka, like most towns in southeast Alaska, is not on the "road system," and so you can only leave town by ferry or airplane. When you're in Sitka, you're in Sitka--there's no driving anywhere else for the day or the weekend. 

How did I end up there? After graduating from Bard College in 2002, I decided I wanted to do something practical yet adventurous. I knew I wanted to be a teacher, so I thought, "Why not get credentialed to teach, but do it someplace crazy?" I had heard that Alaska was stunningly beautiful, and I thought it would make a great backdrop for my one-year Master's program--teach and study during the week, explore the wilderness on the weekends.

The disappointments were many. First of all, there was the climate. It rained at least 75% of the days I was there. When the sun came out, Sitka was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. But I think I saw about 10 sunny days in 3 months (five of which were the first five days of August--that week I remember fondly). 

Secondly, there was the program itself. Most of my classes were taught by local school teachers, not professors, and they were, on average, dreadfully under-stimulating. In addition to the classes, we were expected to teach 4 out of 5 days per week in the local schools to satisfy our "student teaching" requirement. Although I had been looking forward to this hands-on aspect of the program, I quickly learned that this was more about exploiting us as unpaid labor than about gaining useful experience. The "mentor teacher" I was placed with was a bitter, insecure, burned-out woman, who only wanted to talk about how much she yearned for retirement. When I was teaching, she would interrupt me. When she was teaching (if you can call it that), I was making copies of "busy-work" assignment sheets for her.

It wasn't all bad, however. Many of the other graduate students in the program were awesome people, and we quickly bonded (as people often do when thrown together in absurd situations). One woman, Larissa, was engaged to a salmon fisherman, Clay, who generously took us out in his boat. We camped on a neighboring island and hiked a dormant volcano one memorable weekend. Another friend, Sabrina, who was from a nearby town--even smaller than Sitka--and a native Alaskan (member of the Tlingit people), shared some of my own literary interests, and we've even kept in touch to this day. 

There was also the salmon. I had never been really into seafood, but I realized that the fish in Alaska is profoundly superior to anything you will eat back on the east coast. There is nothing quite like eating grilled wild salmon from a fish that was swimming in the ocean earlier in the day.

These positives were not, however, enough. Every day that I marched into Sitka High School, I felt a little more depressed. Class sizes were enormous. Resources were limited. There were some great students, but many--if not most--felt like compulsory education was a waste of their time, because they had no expectation of going to college. My classroom was not my classroom, and my "mentor" was unsupportive. It was a bad situation all around, and I longed for a way out.

One day, when I was out in Sitka Sound on a borrowed kayak with my friend Bob, the clouds parted and the sun poured its rays down upon us. I felt the cells in my body come alive, and I realized I hadn't felt such an exhilarating sensation in weeks. Sitka had been depriving me not only of light, but of life. As hard as it was for me to admit a mistake, to admit that I had wasted time and money, I knew I had to quit, otherwise I would just be wasting more time and money.

That night, I began packing my things. I checked the ferry schedule and looked at a road atlas of Canada. I was plotting my way home.

My biggest fear was that this experience would ruin teaching for me. Luckily, that didn't happen. I decided I didn't want to teach in an under-funded public high school. I decided I didn't want a Master's degree in teaching. But I knew I still wanted to teach. I just needed to find the right place.

After applying for, but failing to get, a job teaching in private boarding schools, I decided that it made the most sense for me to pursue teaching at the college level. After all, I was happy when I was in college. I loved the culture of intellectual and artistic freedom at my college, and I knew I could carry that spirit to whatever college would hire me. The only down side was that I would need to spend about 6 years earning my PhD. Looking back, it seems odd to say, but I think my 3 months in Sitka felt almost as long--maybe even longer--than my 6 years at the public university in upstate New York where I earned my doctorate. Most importantly, that 6-year investment was worth it, because here I am. It's certainly better, after all, to spend 6 years climbing a ladder that takes you where you want to be, than to spend 1 year climbing a ladder that takes you to a place that makes you want to call in sick every day.

Jose Antonio Vargas and Camilo Mejia

For the third consecutive semester (Summer 2011, Fall 2011, Spring 2012), I'll be discussing Jose Antonio Vargas's article, "My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant," originally published last June in the New York Times Magazine. I find the essay to be a moving, thoughtful, and provocative "coming-out" story, as artful as it is courageous. Typically, my students tend to be impressed both with Vargas's writing and with Vargas himself, as he disrupts common stereotypes about who undocumented immigrants are and convincingly relates the psychological effects of living a life that is, by necessity, always partly a lie. He argues in the piece for the passage of the DREAM Act, which would make it easier for undocumented immigrants who were brought to the United States as children--and educated here--to earn their citizenship without temporary deportation. More profoundly, though, the essay re-conceptualizes citizenship as something that ought to be "earnable" -- as something that one does, rather than something one is.

In ENG 112, starting next week, my students and I will be discussing Camilo Mejia's memoir, Road from ar Ramadi, which documents the author's experiences in the early days of the Iraq War, through his decision to resist his redeployment and join the antiwar movement. This book, I am fairly certain, will provoke some complex reactions. While many of my younger students may have little memory of why exactly the U.S. got involved in Iraq, or how things got so messed up there, some of my other students may have actually served in the conflict themselves. Whatever one's opinion on Mejia and his resistance (I think he, like Vargas, is a man of great moral courage), his book raises several important questions: Should soldiers have the right to walk away from a war they believe is unjustifiable? Is it possible to be antiwar and still support the troops? Does patriotism necessarily mean supporting America's wars?

I don't expect to convert my students to my own left-leaning, pacifist politics, but I do hope these readings provoke a good deal of critical debate.

Obama Saves the World (for now...)

Yesterday, under the direction of President Obama, the U.S. State Department "denied a permit for the 1,600 mile Keystone XL pipeline." This decision was politically problematic for Obama, because his own supporters are divided over it. Many union members (typically Democrats) favor the pipeline because of the promise of new construction jobs, whereas many environmentalists (also typically Democrats) are opposed to the pipeline because of a number of serious environmental concerns, including the impact on regional water supplies and global warming. Beyond his own Democratic base, Obama, by rejecting the pipeline, opens himself to more criticism about failing to do all he can to spur job growth. To do so in an election year, with the unemployment rate still above 8%, was certainly not his first choice.

The political difficulty of this decision makes it all the more impressive, to me, that Obama made the right decision. I have been fairly critical of many of Obama's moves in his first term (abandoning the public option for health care reform, escalating the war in Afghanistan, extending the Bush-era tax cuts for the wealthy), but I am relieved that he was able to do what was right for the planet (and thus for all who live on it) in this instance. Not that I think he did so merely because it was the right thing to do. (Pardon my sentence fragment.) I'm sure the decision was still a calculated political one, influenced by the voices of prominent environmental activists. While I am no environmental scientist myself, I still took the time to read up on the matter, sign a petition, and send an email to the White House to have my little say. Because so many people did the same thing, we were heard.

So why do I think this was the right call, despite the fact that the pipeline would create jobs for an economy that desperately needs them? First of all, I think the pipeline's potential for job creation has been wildly inflated. The Republican Speaker of the House, John Boehner, claimed that "hundreds of thousands of jobs" would be created. That number is preposterous. Even the oil industry itself, clearly biased, only estimated 20,000 new jobs. A more realistic number, generated by the state department and independent sources, estimates 6,000 jobs. These jobs--which would be regional and temporary in nature--would not turn the economy around, nor would they put a significant dent in the national unemployment rate. Granted, 6,000 new jobs, even temporary jobs, could potentially mean a great deal to 6,000 families that are currently struggling to make ends meet. But at what cost would these jobs be created?

Environmentalists have pointed out that the current plan for the pipeline would threaten a major aquifer in Nebraska, potentially contaminating the water supply for a large midwestern region. But even if the plan was re-routed, it wouldn't solve the most profound environmental threat posed by the pipeline, which is its accelerated contribution to global warming and climate change. While many Americans still live in denial or ignorance regarding climate change, the increase and intensity of extreme weather events are becoming more visible (think of the crazy floods, droughts, and hurricanes in the past few years), and an overwhelming majority of climate scientists continue to speak to the dangers of inaction. At a time when we need to invest whatever public and private money we can toward shifting to renewable sources of energy, we cannot take a huge step backwards by opening our refineries to the extraordinarily dirty oil from the Canadian tar sands. The oil from this region, because of its impurities, requires a more intensive process of refining compared to ordinary crude oil, and thus from production to consumption, it will generate that much more carbon dioxide. James Hansen, the head of NASA's Goddard Institute for Space Studies (where my partner's father used to work), when asked what effect the pipeline would have on climate change, replied, "Essentially, it's game over for the planet."

(Click here to read Bill McKibben's essay in Rolling Stone on the pipeline, from last Fall. My ENG 100 students will be reading a different McKibben essay later this semester.)

So, for now, the planet is saved. Yay, Obama. But certainly TransCanada is going to come up with a new proposal to pitch to the U.S. (or some other nation) to get their dirty oil refined and into the global market. If we don't keep the pressure on our politicians to do the right thing, who knows what will happen.

We Are...Disturbed

Last week, many of my students blogged about the recent events at Penn State. In class, we debated several questions, including: 1) Should all state residents who witness child sexual abuse be "mandatory reporters"  (i.e. legally obligated to report such crimes to the police)? 2) Was the dismissal of Joe Paterno an appropriate action for the university to take? Some interesting viewpoints were put forward in our discussions on both sides of both questions.

As for my own perspective, I found all the news coming out of State College profoundly disturbing on multiple levels:

1. First and foremost, the crimes themselves are indescribably disturbing. To think that a man founded an organization to help disadvantaged kids, and used this organization as the means and cover for abusing such kids for over a decade, is to become conscious of a special kind of evil. Sandusky clearly belongs in the lowest ring of Hell, along with Judas, getting his brains chewed out by Satan, frozen in a lake of the dark angel's tears.
2. The concerted effort among many administrators to cover up these crimes also appears soul-defilingly wrong. It seems that the athletic director, coach Paterno, and other officials knew something was wrong at least as early as the late 1990s, had that confirmed in 2002, and still failed to take sufficient action to protect the children (past, present, and future) victimized by this monster. Yes, Paterno's dismissal was justified. No, he should not receive $500,000 per year for his retirement. Use that money for need- and merit-based scholarships. (And by merit, I mean academic merit -- not athletic merit.)
3. The failure to intervene by those--most notably Mike McQueary--who witnessed these crimes actually taking place, also challenges one's comprehension of human decency. Now, on some level, I can understand that witnessing such an act must be shocking, and that such shock can potentially paralyze the witness. Who really knows how he/she would respond to such a sight? One of my students said he would have killed Sandusky, personally, vigilante-style. Another student (female, <120 pounds), said she would have picked up a chair and clobbered him with it. I have no idea what I would have done, but I hope to God I would have done more than run away and not call the cops.
4. The response to the firing of Paterno by Penn State students (i.e. rioting) also disturbed me. Now, I am all for protesting. The Occupy Wall Street folks, for example, have my sympathy and support. And I also would have been understanding had Penn State students rioted in response to the inexcusable conspiracy to cover-up crimes against children by their university's administration. But I cannot understand rioting against Paterno's dismissal. "JoePa" (ugh!) is not the victim here.
5. Similarly distasteful have been media reports that emphasize the "suffering" of students and alumni who are "struggling" with the damage to their school's image. Penn State's all-important "brand" will recover with greater expediency than the psyches of those victimized by these traumatic acts of violence. 
6. Finally, I am disturbed by the cult(ure) at Penn State that made these events possible. Why do people love Penn State and "JoePa" (double ugh!!) so passionately and uncritically? I think it must be a result of the cultish obsession with college football at this campus (and beyond). When your allegiance to a man, an institution, a football team, or a symbol becomes so devout that you are more concerned about preserving the integrity of that man, institution, team or symbol than defending basic human rights, you have cult-ivated quite a perverse and corrupt form of pride. A couple of my students picked up on this in their blogs, and one linked to a great clip from the Daily Show, in which Jon Stewart makes a similar point (as only Jon Stewart can).

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Penn State Riots
www.thedailyshow.com
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Powerless

A week before our Halloween nor'easter, I was on the roof pruning away potentially harmful limbs that were near a power line (not to mention the roof itself). Of course, I had no idea, at the time, that a big snowstorm was on the way--I was only up there because Yuriko's dad had suggested that we do a little pruning before winter arrived. Good thing I didn't put it off too long--who knew winter would orchestrate an October overture?

When the storm came, I knew that despite my efforts of the previous week, we were going to lose power. I kept thinking about the only other big October storm I could remember, which I think was in 1988. At the time, I was quite a young lad, living in upstate New York--near Albany--excited by Tommy Lasorda's Dodgers and their march through the postseason. (I remember my neighbor was a huge Orel Hershiser fan.) When the storm hit, all the trees still had their leaves, and as a result, there were branches down everywhere. We lost power for an entire week, and had to move in with my grandmother, who lived across the Massachusetts border.

I had a feeling the same sort of thing was bound to happen with this storm. There are a lot of big, old trees on our block, and most of them still had a lot of their leaves. There was no way they would hold all that snow. As the branches started snapping Saturday afternoon, we felt like we were under siege, and I figured it was just a matter of time. Around 3pm, while I was washing the dishes, the lights went out. No electricity also meant, of course, no heat--but it also meant no stove, no water (well pump), and no toilet flushing (sewer pump). Yikes. 

Our neighbors went out in their SUV to pick up some Chinese food for dinner, and they brought us some won-ton soup, fried rice, and sesame chicken. We ate by candlelight, played chess, and went to bed early. The house was pretty cold when we woke up Sunday morning (a little over 50). We then went out for breakfast at a diner, and spent the afternoon at a friend's apartment, who was nice enough to let us warm up and shower. We ended up going back to the same friend's apartment Monday night, as our power was still not restored, and we really didn't want to deal with another 30 degree night in an unheated house. 

When we returned home Tuesday morning, the power was finally back, and it was quite a relief. 

So this was our third "extreme weather event" in the past couple months. Are the gods upset? Are they trying to tell us to stop burning fossil fuels? Take away my fossil fuels for a few days, and I feel pretty damned powerless. I guess until there are some affordable alternatives out there, we're going to be stuck in a pretty vicious circle.

When English Professors Try to Teach Economics

Last week I screened Charles Ferguson's 2010 film Inside Job for all four sections of Comp I that I am teaching this semester. When I originally got the idea to do this, over the summer, I had no idea how nicely it would coincide with the rise of the Occupy Wall Street movement. If anyone is unsure of why people are protesting corporate greed in lower Manhattan, this film will shed some serious light on the matter, as I believe it did for many of my students.

This week I've been leading discussions of the film, and although it's been fun, it's also been a challenge. I am no expert in Economics. I took a very poorly taught Economics class in high school (around the time of the dot-com bubble), and never took any Econ classes in college. My undergraduate college was very, very left of center, so I was surrounded by a lot of anti-capitalist thinking, but I had a very nebulous understanding of what capitalism was, how it functioned, and why--and in what circumstances--it could be dangerous.

Although my understanding of these matters matured a bit throughout graduate school, I still never had any formal training in basic Economic theory. When teaching a film like Inside Job, therefore, I have to continually remind my students that I can only help them understand what the film is saying -- I cannot offer any expert opinion on the validity of the film's claims. That bit of critical thinking they must, like me, do on their own as non-experts. One of the themes of my course that is emerging, which I hadn't really reflected on previously, is the importance of learning how to assess, as a non-expert, the validity of complex arguments made by so-called experts and non-experts alike.

On a somewhat related note, I have been surprised at how many of my students feel a stronger visceral annoyance about those who "cheat the system" -- by which they mean those who take public assistance instead of looking for a job, or take public assistance and use it for drugs -- than they do about the super-rich who pay little in taxes. Interestingly, I heard a segment on NPR's Talk of the Nation last week that addressed this issue. Some states have recently passed laws requiring drug testing for applicants of welfare and other forms of public assistance, and questions have been raised about whether or not this is constitutional and whether or not it will save money. As it turns out, initial studies suggest that the cost of doing the drug testing is greater than the money saved by eliminating the estimated 2-8% of welfare recipients who abuse drugs. The report also made an interesting point that went against conventional stereotypes -- the percentage of people on welfare who abuse drugs is NOT any higher than the percentage of people in the general population who abuse drugs. If this is true, can it be constitutional to mandate drug testing for them simply based on the fact that they are applying for public assistance? If the issue is more about making sure tax-payer dollars never go into the hands of drug dealers, then does that mean that all public employees should also be drug tested? I'll be interested to see if any of my students change their thinking on this issue in light of these findings.

On Top of a Mountain

Yuriko and I have developed this habit of over-booking our weekends. On the one hand, it's great, because we almost always have something fun planned, but on the other hand, sometimes we get so exhausted and just want to lie low, catch up on some sleep, and hang out with the dog and cats in Reading (which we just learned is the poorest city in the United States). But we rarely get to do that.

The weekend before last, we went up to the Poconos and visited the quaint little town of Jim Thorpe. This was our second time there, and, small as it is, we like it. There are two very good restaurants, some cool shops, nice little mountains, and it's just fun to walk around. This time we were there to see this "modern bluegrass" band, Joy Kills Sorrow, whom we discovered last winter in Delaware. They had opened for Eilen Jewell, a singer I like, at the Arden Concert Guild. This time they were playing their own gig--two sets at the Mauch Chunk Opera House. (The town of Jim Thorpe used to be called Mauch Chunk, before the celebrity/athlete who is now the town's namesake was buried there.)

Joy Kills Sorrow is comprised of some really talented folks. Bridget Kearney, the bass player who writes or co-writes most of the songs (and sings harmony) is my favorite. The lead singer, Emma Beaton, from British Columbia, has some fabulous pipes, a fun, quirky personality, and a growing number of tattoos. The rest of the musicians are also virtuosos -- Jake Jolliff on Mandolin, Matt Avcava on guitar, and Wes Corbett on banjo.

Earlier in the day, we went on a little hike up Mount Pisgah, and I realized when we got to the peak that I hadn't done this in awhile, and I had almost forgotten how much I like just chilling on the top of a mountain--even if it's just a glorified hill, like the mountains we have here in the East. There is just such a sense of peace and calm up there, not to mention a beautiful view of the valley below and the surrounding hills and ridges. Here's a picture of Yuriko celebrating the fact that we made it, hiding all fears of falling off that rocky overlook.

We're planning on going to Bear Mountain this weekend, in upstate New York, with some of my old friends from college. Hoping for brilliantly sunny weather and peak foliage. After descending from the mountaintop, we're planning on spending the night in Brooklyn. We may check out the action at (Wall) street-level -- far less placid, but perhaps equally invigorating?