Facing History
Winter, 2007

Isbel Ingham

NH 225                                                        

503.725.9195
Office hours by appointment only

 

Link: www.facinghistory.org

 

Text: Facing history and ourselves: Holocaust and human behavior. Margot Stern Strom.
Book provided in class the first day: $24.00
Also required: the entire syllabus, including all of the links.

 

Course description: "Facing History and Ourselves is devoted to teaching about the dangers of indifference and the values of civility by helping [students] confront the complexity of history in ways that promote critical and creative thinking (text)." Therefore, this course will take a brief look at some historical events: the Holocaust, the Civil Rights Movement, the murders of Matthew Sheppard and James Byrd, Jr., and use them to discuss our role in the world, particularly in the United States.

 

Requirements: Students are asked to attend all day of every class, and to do all the readings (this includes the syllabus). There are three reflection papers due, as noted in the schedule below. There is also a final paper:  5-8 pages for undergraduate students, 8-10 pages for graduate students.  This paper will be discussed at length in class--and is also discussed in this syllabus. The final paper is due no later than March 13th.

 

Reflection papers (RP's): Each RP must be at least two pages long to get full points. They must be academically written, which is to say they must be cited and meet the criteria set by "writing requirements (below)."

Your first RP should talk about you, and how you view the topics we discuss in the first night of class: democracy, civic participation, individualism, community, and facing history.

The next two RP's must be three pages long, minimum, and should discuss the readings, the videos, syllabus, and/or class discussions. These paper must be academically written, and include at least three references from the readings.

In general, the RP's provide me with information about how you're doing in the class, what you're thinking, what's going well or not so well, and whether or not you're doing the reading.

 

Writing requirements: The reflection papers and final paper are considered academic papers. Please use MLA or APA style citing for all papers. Please be sure to click on both of these links for more information about the writing requirements.

 

Evaluation:  Grades will be based on your participation in class (100 points), three RP's (10 points each), and the final paper (70 points).  You can also write short papers on topics related to the class for extra credit points.

 

Timeliness:  None of us, myself included, like it when people we are waiting for don't show up, or are late.  If you miss more than two hours of class, your grade will go down a notch.  If you miss more than four hours of class, your grade will go down another notch. If you miss more than six hours of class you will not pass.

Similarly, if you are late two times it will count as one absence, four times counts as two absences, etc.

No amount of extra credit work will make up for missed class time. To this end, please make sure you sign the class list as you enter the room in the morning, and after breaks.

Grades:

A = 200-180 B = 179-160 C = 159-140 D = 139-120

COURSE SCHEDULE 

Friday, February 2nd:  Facing History

Overview of the class.

What does it mean, to "face history"?

Discuss concepts:  democracy, civic participation, individualism, community, etc.

Break 7:00 - 7:45 - Please read pp. 1-13 in the text.

Movie:  Universal Declaration of Human Rights (? minutes)

Discussion

In-class Exercise

Class ends at 9:00.

 

Reviving South African History

Academics debate how to represent and teach the nation's past

By SASHA POLAKOW-SURANSKY

 

The old South African history books once told tales of valiant Dutch settlers who trekked to the interior, pushed back the savages who lived there, discovered great mineral wealth, and set the stage for industrialization. Since 1994, those tales of European conquest are slowly beginning to disappear from the nation's classrooms, giving way to epic accounts of black anti-apartheid heroes.

 

A war is now being waged for the hearts and minds of South African school children, and in that debate, history professors are playing a crucial role, with many arguing for the adoption of a more complex truth. Following South Africa's transition to majority rule in 1994, the new government, led by the African National Congress, vowed to overhaul the apartheid-era education system, a pillar of the old white-supremacist order. Yet despite eight years of studies, policy proposals, expert panels, and most recently a national educational blueprint, "Curriculum 2005," a comprehensive restructuring of the nation's schools has yet to take place. One of the consequences of delayed reform, despite the appearance of new textbooks, is the continued use of apartheid-era history textbooks in many schools.

 

Many cash-strapped schools still use the old textbooks, as do Afrikaans-language schools. Most schools, however, are simply waiting for the government to make decisions on the curriculum, including how large a role history will have. As a result, little demand exists for the new texts that have been written, and publishers are reluctant to print them.

 

Although some new texts with a black-African slant on history have found their way into schools that can afford them, impoverished township classrooms are still using books that try to justify apartheid as an idealistic program "for the protection of the interests of each racial group and the fostering of goodwill and cooperation between them by the complete segregation of each group from all the others."

 

The transition has not been as tumultuous at the university level. Some liberal white academics opposed to the regime in power produced non-propagandistic scholarship even during the heyday of apartheid. Even so, for some Afrikaner historians, the abandonment of their views of the past was an abrupt and jolting change. "I don't think these guys were expecting apartheid to be dissolved," says Albert Grundlingh, a professor of history at the University of Stellenbosch, "so they were a bit late off the mark in trying to come to terms with it academically."

 

Disappearing History

Post-apartheid school curriculum diluted the subject significantly by subsuming it into a broader category of social sciences and geography. Many high schools dropped history altogether, as a result of dwindling enrollments and the widespread perception among students that choosing elective courses in history would get them nowhere at a time of high unemployment. To many academics, the weakening of the place of history in the curriculum was the ultimate irony, at a time when the country's Truth and Reconciliation Commission was examining the most painful aspects of apartheid. "You had a paradoxical situation, where a society that was going through a very public ritual about confronting the past was simultaneously abolishing history instruction in its classrooms," says James T. Campbell, a professor of African-American studies at Brown University.

 

Rob Sieborger, a professor of education at the University of Cape Town and a leading advocate of revitalizing history in the schools, says the years of the apartheid government's using history as propaganda led many students to disdain the subject. By the time the majority-rule government took power, he says, not many people thought of history as a way to rebuild national pride and correct the distortions of the past. The sentiment was, he says, that it was "better not to have history at all than to have that kind of history again."

 

The first post-apartheid curriculum, like the first post-apartheid government, was the result of a negotiated settlement, influenced by other factors as well. For one thing, just as right-wing pressure groups negotiated amnesty for the Afrikaner agents of apartheid, so too would they fight to save face in the nation's history classrooms. For another, the laptop-toting reformers who led the charge for a technocratic, market-oriented focus in the schools were quite willing to ditch history in their eagerness to please the employment market.

 

In 2000, the report of the History and Archaeology Panel advised the new education minister, Kader Asmal, who took over in 1999. Mr. Asmal, who in his youth had been an enthusiastic teacher of history, spent 27 years in exile, during which he was a law professor at Trinity College Dublin and founded the Irish anti-apartheid movement. He returned in 1990, taught human rights at the University of the Western Cape, joined the new government, and was a leading proponent of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. "Promoting a strong study of the past is a particular educational imperative in a country like South Africa, which is itself consciously remaking its current history," the panel's report declared. "In conditions of flux, historical study of a probing kind is a vital aid against amnesia and a warning against any triumphalism of the present."

study in the national school curriculum.

 

A Complex Past

In August 2001, the education minister told a crowd of academic officials and former anti-apartheid activists "we should guard against any attempts to airbrush ... any of the realities of our past. We cannot wish away our history like the French, who refused to teach about the Commune of Paris for 30 years, or like the Japanese, who until recently obliterated from memory the brutalization of Nanking and the abuse of 'comfort women.'" He denounced the technocratic vision of the mid-1990s as well.  "We have allowed ourselves to be led down a cultural cul-de-sac by narrow, popular perceptions of what constitutes relevant, useful, or vocational education," said Mr. Asmal. He believes history should be the centerpiece of a democratic nation's curriculum.

 

Debate over what new textbooks should contain still lingers. While the new textbooks don't harangue readers as much as the apartheid-era propaganda did, biases of omission are evident. Where the Great Trek, Afrikaner political history, and the plight of poor white people once filled chapter after chapter in the old texts, some contemporary texts have omitted them altogether. Once-absent tales of black-resistance movements now are given considerable space.

 

Many Afrikaner historians fear that a new, black-nationalist caricature of history may well replace the apartheid-era version. "You have books appearing that interpret the history of South Africa only according to the perspective of the liberation struggle, ... which I think is a very one-sided approach," argues Pieter Kapp, who recently retired as a professor of history at the country's elite historically Afrikaans-speaking institution.  While he appreciates Mr. Asmal's efforts, he fears that they may involve the imposition of a single, ANC-favored narrative and the elimination of European history: Not just the history of Europeans in Africa, but any history of Western civilization at all. "If we're going to use the history syllabus to teach political correctness and only African history, we're going to defeat our own objectives of developing a literate and skilled society," he says.

 

Conversely, Charles van Onselen, professor of history and a critic of Afrikaner nationalism, has argued that "the teaching of history at school has long been infected with the 'Great Trek virus,'" referring to apartheid-era textbooks' obsessive focus on the Afrikaners' "Great Trek" to bring white settlement to the country's interior. "So powerful was GTV, and so conscientiously was it spread through the schools by our erstwhile Christian Nationalist masters, that it destroyed generations of would-be historians." Even so, he considers the textbook debate "a playground for ideologues and politicians" and suggests that the result will simply "serve new nationalist masters."

 

Authors of new history textbooks contend that the new narrative is necessary.

Yonah Seleti, a professor of history, chairman of the government's Ministerial Committee on History and a contributor to one of the new texts, is one of the few black faces in a field still dominated by white scholars. He believes care must be taken: "We should not go in to a celebratory triumphant writing of the past."

 

Albie Sachs, a justice of the Constitutional Court, the nation's highest court, has witnessed much of contemporary South African history firsthand. When he was working as a civil-rights lawyer, he was detained twice without charges, and he went into exile in Mozambique, where he was a professor of law at Eduardo Mondlane University. During that time, he lost an eye and arm to a car bomb planted by South African government agents. Now Justice Sachs argues that an intermediary period is necessary in the telling of South African history, in which an African-centered narrative replaces the European emphasis of the past.

"There had been so much denigration and humiliation involved in the way history had been told," he says, "that there was a need to refute a lot of the mythology and to establish pride and dignity."

 

As early as 1999, Colin Bundy, then vice chancellor of the University of the Witwatersrand, addressed a national arts festival on the topic of "the future of our past." Noting that "the textbooks of yesteryear produced a standardized falsification of the past," he argued for a curriculum emphasizing the complexity of the past rather than a simplistic Afrocentric narrative, a "bland, sanitized" tale of reconciliation, or a focus on nation-building that avoids critical inquiry.

Mr. Bundy, who is now director of the University of London's School of African and Oriental Studies, praises the education minister's effort to strengthen the teaching of history for "giving it the prominence it has."

 

Some of the debate over the teaching of history is about style. Some educators fear that reverting to traditional history rather than the interdisciplinary mix being used now will leave out important elements. Haroon Mahomed, of the Johannesburg-based Gauteng Institute of Curriculum Development, and other critics say the history revivalists are reverting to a pedagogy that focuses on the old-fashioned pursuit of objective historical truth through texts instead of looking into oral traditions, culture, and other forms of knowledge.

 

SOUTH AFRICAN HISTORY: 2 VIEWS

Both South Africa's academic historians and its black and white citizens have conflicting perspectives on key events in the country's history. Here, presented as extremes, are some of those perspectives.

Apartheid View      Post-Apartheid View

FIRST CONTACT, 1652

Representatives of Jan van Riebeeck's Dutch East India Company land at Cape Town and set up a "refreshment station" for passing ships from India, with no intention of establishing a permanent colony.      Colonialism arrives in South Africa and European conquest begins. The colonists dispossess the local Khoi population and exploit Malay slaves brought from other Dutch colonies, establishing the foundation for racial inequality.

GREAT TREK, 1830s

Heroic Dutch settlers fed up with British rule in the Cape Colony embark on a journey, known as the Great Trek, north to the rugged interior, where they defeat black armies and make the remainder of South Africa safe for white settlement.   Nationalist-minded Afrikaners, fed up with British restrictions on slave ownership, trekked north, conquering the interior of the country, extending colonialism, and taking land from the Zulu, Xhosa, and other tribes.

FORCED REMOVALS, 1950s-1960s

The Group Areas Act is passed, dividing the country by race. Apartheid is an absolute necessity, because all nationalisms are mutually exclusive, and it is in the interest of both races to live separately from one another. Hence black people must be relocated to "some of the best parts of the country."         Tens of thousands of black people are violently removed from their homes, entire neighborhoods are bulldozed, and dispossessed residents are forced to move to some of the least fertile and most remote regions of the country, where employment opportunities are scarce, if not nonexistent. Meanwhile, the white minority secures control of the best land and its mineral wealth.

SEPARATE DEVELOPMENT, 1960s-1970s

South Africa's white people recognized the inalienable rights of black people to self-determination. With the creation of independent black states within the borders of South Africa, black people no longer had any political rights in white areas, just as white people did not have political rights in black areas. White people had to control the areas that had "always been theirs," to avoid domination by the majority.        While black homelands had political control over some territory, they had little access to the real wealth of the country. Even access to urban employment for people living in the homelands was restricted by "influx-control" policies. The farce of separate development is made apparent by the general international refusal to recognize the "independent black states."

ARMED STRUGGLE, 1960s-1980s

Armed terrorists staged military incursions from neighboring African states, with the support of the Soviet Union. Meanwhile, domestic-underground terrorists, supported by the African National Congress and the Communist Party, attacked military and police installations. Through all of this, South Africa stood as a bulwark against the spread of Communism and anarchy, the last outpost of the civilized Western world on the Dark Continent.            Rampant oppression, systematic disenfranchisement, and state violence against the black majority necessitated an armed struggle. Support for this noble cause was accepted from all sources offering it. Sabotage against military and police installations -- with efforts made to avoid harming civilians -- was carried out in order to force the state into a negotiated settlement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Also read: A Work in Progress, by Margot Stern Strom

 

 

Saturday, February 3rd:  The Holocaust

Reading for today:  Syllabus 
Text:  Whatever you can manage to find time for that relates to The Holocaust

First RP due

Brief overview of the Holocaust: Please be prepared to contribute to this discussion!

Break midmorning for 15 minutes

Continued discussion of the Holocaust.

 

Lunch:  11:30 -1:00 - Please take this time to read pages 393-433 in the text, or to finish "A work in progress," from last night's readings.

 

Discussion -In particular, why did the U.S. respond the way it did/didn't?

Video: America and the Holocaust: Deceit and indifference

Break:  3:30 -3:45

Small Groups

 

Eulogy to the Holocaust [to a Holocaust survivor)

by Ruth Mandel

 

My dear Great Aunt Erna,

 

    Anyone who knows you would believe it easily, even expect it. They have had to strap you, hospital-grey-white canvas with worn fuzz on the skin side, around your wrists and across your legs. To keep you there, prevent you from kicking your feet over the edge, wresting yourself out of bed, wrenching those IV's out of your arm, the oxygen tube out of your throat and walking right out of the hospital, probably unaware that your lungs cannot breathe, your legs cannot carry you. Your mind, having a mind of its own, would just walk on out.

Memory is a kind of oxygen.

 

     The survivor in you ready to take care of yourself, by your own means. But if you flail and kick yourself free as you are trying, we would lose you, on foot, to an unwalkable, vague and dreaded landscape. They have bound you, to protect you from your desire to flee. One strap wraps itself just under the tattoo Auschwitz gave you, wise and horrible Auschwitz, keeping itself alive, in a small way, on your arm.

 

Memory is a kind of ruin.

 

     The tube in your throat makes it impossible for you to speak; your eyes do the work, bore through us and plead. Occasionally, you write a word on a blank white page, pencil shaking in restrained fingers, barely pressing against the page, almost illegible marks which we try gravely to make out. And your strapped hands, they too, gesture and implore. All your signals scream, "OUT."

 

Memory is a kind of terror.

 

     Your first baby, Bina Rachel, born in Tarnopol Ghetto in 1940. And died there, exactly one year later, on Yom Kippur. "A natural death." Language tortures us. Natural? Relative to the other deaths, meaning she died in your helpless, hungry arms. And was not shot, not smothered, not thrown to life or death, from a racing gas- bound train. A dead bundle, swaddled by your ribbon-thin hands.

 

Memory is a kind of burial.

 

     Your first baby, Bina Rachel, born in Tarnopol Ghetto in 1940. And died there, exactly one year later, on Yom Kippur. "A natural death." Language tortures us. Natural? Relative to the other deaths, meaning she died in your helpless, hungry arms. And was not shot, not smothered, not thrown to life or death, from a racing gas- bound train. A dead bundle, swaddled by your ribbon-thin hands.

Memory is a kind of proof.

 

     Convincing them of a false address in a non-Jewish part of town was dangerous. When they investigated and countered that you had given a street address higher than the numbers actually went, you insisted they had heard incorrectly, persuading them you had said 8 and not 18. Persuading them that your neighbours denied knowing you because you had committed some disgracing, unmentionable deed. You spun stories deftly, never sure if they would save your life.

 

Memory is a kind of unraveling.

 

     Unknown to you, your sister-in-law was already murdered. You tried to escape from jail and were sent to Auschwitz, where your indispensable, expert sewing saved your life. And to Birkenau, where you continued to sew, perhaps the uniforms of the guards, vestments for the officers, dresses for their wives - you never said. Three years of saving your life every moment. You, a Jew, hiding in a death camp, as a Pole who was caught with a Jew. Emerging to a gassed out, depleted world, to learn of your husband's death, which even now you cannot bear to speak of.

 

Memory is a kind of wail.

 

     You are our lived memory, our certain memory. Our living memory. You have remembered for us, generously, openly, without demands upon us. A model, teaching us to remember faithfully, yet still enjoy life's other colours. What questions I could bare to ask, bear to inflict, you answered with affection, with details, impressions, dailiness, events.

 

Memory is a kind of love.

 

     Remembering was substantive and specific. We sat with my tape recorder running. You introduced me to your sister-in-law Henya, my father's mother - as you knew her - your girlish awe and envy, her urbaneness, intelligence, sophistication. Elegance, your word exactly, saying "Oh how I looked up to her, me a young girl from the country, she was married and living in the city, I could just sit and watch, everything beautiful, the way she walked, dressed, how she talked to me."

 

Memory is a kind of family.

 

     And you introduced me to your nephew, my father as a child. Your head tilted fondly and your glinting eyes gazing off to the side, animated, as though about to join a giddy family, table in the corner of the room. Your attention fixed there, you chuckled and described him, circling the crowded table to nibble food off people's plates-or am I confusing that with how you remember me.

Memory is a kind of fusion.

 

     You helped me draw the family tree from which I grew, create remembrances where I had none. You helped people the sets, props, and wardrobe on a distant, sparse, smashed stage. Told me who entered, exited, crossed, returned or never was seen again. The kinds of details that make my eyes flood and my sinuses rush in anguish. Make me realize fiercely what we have lost. What is missing. Why we are lonely.

 

Memory is a kind of script.

 

     And even then, not getting a photo of you, of your arm. And even then, not covering it all. And even then I tired, not making as much effort as I should have, not staying longer. Knowing that I was leaving, and you were staying in your apartment to contend with the cast whom my questions had invited into your home-some still struggling to live, some in the throws of horrendous deaths, some waiting, some watching-all of them our blood, all of them flowing.

 

Memory is a kind of danger.

 

     Our daughter Sharon, born after the war to an altered you, and a new husband, said you recently pointed to my wedding invitation, still posted in the kitchen of your home and said, "I was in Sweden." My husband's background has always been a source of cherished memory for you-the place of your liberation, your first smorgasbord, the hotel sheltering d.p.s, over- looking the sea, safe haven at the end of the war. The end of the war-Sweden made those words possible for you. Working again as a seamstress, this time for kind women for pay. A time of recuperate before returning to assess absolute loss. Wicked and unmovable loss.

 

Memory is a kind of stone.

 

     And now your body is emaciated again. Disoriented and distressed, you have forgotten how to eat and do not want to remember. Or cannot. Your hand knocks Sharon's benevolent spoon away. A stroke brought you to the hospital, where you forgot how to breathe and do not want to remember. Or cannot. The ventilator tricks your body into remaining alive. Some days your eyes open, others they do not. Some days you can write again. Others you cannot. You take my offered hand, squeeze my palm and weave your fingers in and out of mine.

 

Memory is a kind of loom.

 

     On Fridays, Sharon lights the hospital-approved electric candles for you. For you and for God. God, whom you have talked to each and every Shabbat, at sunset, eyes closed gently. You lit the candles, sheltered them with your hands and whispered once the blessing though your fingers. Your arms circled slowly to shepherd their light, spread it among us and across time. Head bowed and eyes covered by your fingers, once more the blessing, this time your throat still and just your lips reciting. You, the women before you, beside you, after you, with you.

 

Memory is a kind of prayer.

 

a kind of oxygen  

a kind of ruin 

a kind of terror

 

Memory is a kind of burial a kind proof a kind of unraveling a kind of wail   Memory is a kind of love a kind of family a kind of fusion a kind of script   Memory is a kind of danger a kind of stone a kind of loom. And prayer.

 

At 76 your memory

is briskly walking away form you,

leaving you,

and leaving us,

behind.

 

Who will do the remembering now?

 

Who is remembering now.

 

Erna: March 15, 1918 - March 10, 1995

Lovingly, Ruth

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ruth Mandel is the daughter of a Holocaust survivor. She is currently working on a poetry and photography manuscript, titled: Photographs We Will Never See, about the Holocaust's continuing reach. She has been published in Contemporary Verse 2, The Antigonish Review, The Fiddlehead, and is forthcoming in Prairie Fire.

Butterflies: a memorial to children who died in Holocaust
By TIM BULLARD

MYRTLE BEACH - Last Thursday, 1.2 million paper butterflies covered a field on Oak Street at the Chabad Jewish Center, blocks from where an apartment months earlier had been desecrated with anti-Semitic graffiti.

 

The butterflies were unleashed on April 23 to mark Holocaust Memorial Day and to commemorate the 1.2 million-plus children slaughtered in the death camps of Hitler's Nazi regime. The project was the dream of the wife of a survivor of Terezin Concentration Camp, which was in a small town 35 miles northwest of Prague.  There were enough Terezin prisoner-musicians for a full symphony orchestra, hence the operetta "Brundibar" or "Bumblebee."

 

Of the Czech Jews taken to Terezin, 97,297 died, including 15,000 children under 15, and only 132, including Hugo Schiller of Myrtle Beach, survived to tell the story.  The butterfly dream was created by his wife of 43 years, Ellie.  The inspiration originated from a poem, "The Butterfly," written by Pavel Friedmann, a child interned at Terezin Concentration Camp and later murdered. His drawings and poems were collected to remember the children when the camps were liberated.  Schiller began to get others to help her, collecting one paper butterfly for each child's life.  "We did it," she said April 23.

 

The Chabad of Myrtle Beach and Temple Emanuel helped along with assistance from more than 3,000 groups through the Internet and other countries around the world, including Austria, Israel, Canada, Brazil and Australia.  The recent ceremony at the Chabad Center featured dignitaries, citizens and pastors gathered in the rain, which was interrupted by sunshine. The school there has 125 students.

 

The project has gotten national attention in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, TIME For Kids, USA Today and many community newspapers and dailies which published feature stories and photos of their own children making paper butterflies to send to the Myrtle Beach project.  Chabad leaders and pupils were inundated with buckets and cases of butterflies, each from five to seven inches, which volunteers were still unloading and unleashing at the time of the ceremony.

 

Speakers included the Schillers, Rabbi Yossi Narparstek of Chabad, Msgr. Thomas R. Duffy of St. Micahel's Church in Garden City, Myrtle Beach Mayor Mark McBride, former Mayor Bob Grissom, Rep. Mark Kelley, Rabbi Israel Silber of Temple Emanuel-el, the Rev. Wayne Brown of First Baptist Church of Myrtle Beach, Noah Goldberg and Rabbi Doren Aizenman, also of Chabad.  Musical entertainment was by the Chabad Choir with "Butterfly Song" and "De'Jour." Brown led an impromptu song from "Godspell."

 

In the rain, Msgr. Duffy talked about life and death, viewing the expansive field of butterflies before the ceremony. "He (God) encourages us to choose life," Msgr. Duffy said. "I want to thank the children and the administration for making it possible for so many children across the world to give us that love."  "The tragedy, the sadness and the loss cannot happen again," said Aizenman.  Kelley, fighting back tears, said it was not a day for politicians, but a day to remember, "God's people killing God's people is wrong."  "This is a very special day in this city," said McBride. "We can never forget atrocities."

 

Silber, a chaplain for the Horry County Police, talked of an incident in Sept. 23, 1942, when a Jewish ghetto was surrounded by German soldiers.    "Today is a day of unity," said Brown, who has visited a concentration camp. "I couldn't believe it. Love is greater than hate. We learn from the past. We hope for the future. The tears of heaven were falling earlier, and now the sun is here."

 

Butterflies on the wall contained comments such as these, about a victim: "She was killed by Hitler's Nazis in 1942 in Treblinka. She was 14 years old when she died."

 

There were six million Jews murdered during the Holocaust, with newer reports estimating that total closer to seven million.

For more information, call the Chabad Jewish Center at (843) 448-0035 or Schiller at (843) 449-7051, or visit http://www.holocaustcenter.com/ on the Internet.

 
Sunday, February 4th:  The Civil Rights Movement

Reading for today:  Syllabus 

Text:  13-15, 68-77, 505-513, 524-531 (26 pages in all).

Second RP due

 

Racism and the United States -be prepared to discuss this!

Break mid-morning

Discussion

 

Lunch 11:30 -1:00 - Please read pp. 523-567 in the text

 

Discussion

Break 3:30 -3:45

Small Groups

 

Class will end today at 4:30.

Third RP due no later than February 17th (you may email this paper to me if you wish)

Veterans of Hope:

Bernice Johnson Reagon 

The founder of the well-known acappella group, "Sweet Honey in the Rock," tells of finding her voice, in this Veterans of Hope interview.

 

At Albany State College we began to protest things. They had arrested students for trying to buy bus tickets from the "white" window at the Trailways bus station, and we had marched from the campus in sympathy with them.

By this time the SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee) people were there, and we had decided we were going to do this march. There were no people at the meeting point, maybe six or seven of us. It was decided that was too few, so we went to classrooms and told people to come to the march.

 

Then we left the campus and headed out. Maybe there were 10 people, so I just kept my face ahead. I knew if I turned around, I would just run back to the campus.  When we got to the bridge, we had to turn to walk across the Flint River Bridge. Annette, who was walking with me, said, "Bernice, look back." I looked back and as far as I could see, all the way back to the campus, there were people. I tell you I never knew where they came from. I never heard them coming. Those students left their classes and joined that line. It was like, "good-goodness-it-can-happen!" The power of finding that you can step out and sometimes you'll have company before you get there!

 

We circled the jail twice and went back to Union Baptist Church, and Charlie Jones said, "Bernice, sing a song." I started "Over My Head" and the spiritual goes, "Over my head/I see trouble in the air." So I flipped "trouble" into "freedom." It was the first time I had ever done that, especially with a sacred song, a spiritual that came from slavery. I realized that there was something about the march that had moved me to a position where I could use the songs I had been taught.

... The singing in jail went on endlessly. Hours and hours. There were times we talked, but we sang more than we did anything else. And so the way in which we created community was through singing. That was when we felt the union. When we talked, then we could feel the diversity and the complexity of the union. And then sometimes when we would talk, the talk would go on for awhile and just because of the intensity of the diversity, we'd have to start singing again.

... The changing of my voice came after jail. In the first mass meeting, they asked me to sing, I sang the same song, Over My Head/I hear Freedom in the Air, but my voice was totally different. It was bigger than I'd ever heard it before. It had this ringing in it. It filled all the space of the church. I thought that was because I had been to jail; it was because I had stepped outside the safety zone.

 

Vincent Harding and Rosemarie Freeney Harding, themselves veterans of the southern Freedom Movement, are co-founders and co-chairs of the Veterans of Hope Project. Contact the Project at 2201South University Blvd., Denver, Colorado, 80210, tel: 303/765-3194.

 

   

Please go to the Civil Rights Memorial website. Make sure the volume of your speakers is turned up, so you can listen to the initial voice clip. Also, please explore the site some, and come to class prepared to talk about what you learned/found.

 

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David Morse's essays and stories have appeared most recently in Dissent and Friends' Journal. He can be contacted at his Web site: www.david-morse.com. For more information, or to find out how to oppose further military action against Iraq, see: www.peaceresponse.org/iraq.shtml

 

Summer 2003

"Filming While Dark"

by Roberto Rodriguez

The knock on the door. It was not unexpected. How many times had I previously heard that knock on the door? How many times had I seen red and blue lights flashing behind me and had ended up behind bars because I was "Driving While Brown"? How many times had immigration agents questioned my legality and my humanity?

This time, it's the Homeland Homies who show up at our door asking for me. I come to the door and state, "That's me.! I'm wearing a sweatshirt with the word America and an American flag emblazoned on it. It was a gift from someone who perhaps thought I might look good in it.

They flash their badges: "FBI. Did you rent a car in San Diego in May of 2002?"

Startled, I search my memory as the cadence of the 1950s-era type of question seems eerily familiar: Are you or have you ever been a communist?

They continue: "You were seen filming near a military installation in San Diego this past May." I freeze in disbelief. I hear in my head: Are you or have you ever been a terrorist?

"The informant who reported this tip was concerned because you're dark," the agents say.

My eyes widen. It's true. I am dark. I see mass roundups and detention camps.

My mind swirls as I see Big Brother--eyes and ears everywhere on the lookout for brown people walking, running, driving, eating, reading, talking, copying, e-mailing, flying and filming suspiciously. Yet this is no futuristic movie. They're here in front of me, questioning me.

Meanwhile, my memory returns: "My wife and I travel a lot," I tell them. "We've been filming a documentary all over the country, and I do recall being in San Diego that month. I interviewed a friend who related that as a child, she used to freely cross the border along the beach to eat tacos. Nowadays, it has a fence all the way into the ocean."

The fence was installed to prevent Mexicans from crossing freely.

The agents ask me the nature of the documentary. "About the origins and migrations of Mexican and Central American people," I respond.

What do you do for a living? they ask.

"My wife and I write a syndicated column." We're opposed to mindless war because we uphold all life as sacred and we write about the need to protect our rights and freedoms, I want to tell them, but they don't ask. Satisfied, they say there's nothing untoward about my filming. They simply are following up because of the military installation and that small matter of my skin color.

After more questions, they leave and I realize that the informant couldn't have seen me at that interview because I was in my friend's car, not my rental car. Details. Perhaps the informant saw me when I filmed the yellow signs that warn motorists of migrants crossing Interstate 5. There must be a deeper meaning here, but it hasn't come to me yet.

At no time were the agents unprofessional (though they didn't give me any information on how to contact them). They were as courteous as the agents who routinely randomly search us at airports, and as courteous as the ones who recently flagged me down as a terrorist at the Dallas airport, only to clear me shortly thereafter (as always, same name, wrong person). It's not their conduct that bothers me. It's that it's happening at all. I wonder if I now have a file and whether my e-mail account and phones have been compromised. I will reread the USA Patriot Act.

More troubling is that all brown people are now potential suspects. Bring out your duct tape. In this color-coded world we now live in, my code is red-brown. Yet the government claims we need even more laws to secure the homeland. Sure, if bringing about Big Brother is illegal, just pass a new law (Patriot Act II) to make it legal and don't ever question the wisdom of war. We're not far from the day when we all have to look over our shoulders or hesitate every time we hear a knock on the door or speak our minds.

Like a bad "B" movie, the administration made veiled threats that there might be repercussions against Mexicans (all brown people) in the United States if the government of Mexico did not support its war against Iraq. Vigilantes must be whooping it up and reloading in the desert. Theres another knock on the door. Are we scared? No. We reject living in a state or nation of fear.

The author and his wife, Patricia Gonzalez, write "The Column of the Americas," and make films.

Roberto is also author of Justice: A Question of Race

©2001-2003 Positive Futures Network P.O. Box 10818, Bainbridge Island, WA 98110-0818, USA - phone 206/842-0216 - 800/937-4451 - fax 206/842-5208

 

 

Telling the Children's Story

           

One evening in 1996, Craig Kielburger was scheduled to deliver a speech before the Ontario Federation of Labour (OFL) convention in Toronto. Armed with stories and facts about the plight of child workers around the world, Kielburger planned to talk about his mission to bring an end to child labor. As he took the stage, squinting slightly from the glare of the spotlights, amusement rippled through the crowd of 2,000 when they saw that his head barely cleared the podium  - until someone brought him a stepstool. But the laughter soon turned to curiosity and, when he began to speak, to admiration.

 

"According to the International Labour Organization, there are more than 250 million working children. That's equal to the entire population of the United States," he said, shoving aside his notes as he gestured emphatically, his clear, green eyes appearing to take in each member of the audience. "No one has a good excuse for ignoring this problem."

 

The audience periodically interrupted his talk with applause, and no one seemed to notice that he'd gone well over his scheduled time. When he finished, the audience rose to their feet, wildly clapping their hands. As the applause finally began to wane, a member of the OFL briefly grabbed the microphone to announce that the organization would be granting a surprise donation of $5,000 to Kielburger's organization, Free the Children, for the purpose of building a rehabilitation center for child laborers in India. That gesture was soon matched by many of the other organizations present. At the end of the evening - an evening in which Free the Children had merely intended to raise awareness that child labor did indeed exist - Kielburger had raised $150,000 for the cause.

 

He was 12 years old.

 

An issue of the heart

 

Iqbal Masih was sold to a Pakistani carpet factory when he was four years old as collateral on a loan his parents had taken out to pay for their eldest son's wedding. For six years, Iqbal worked 12 hour days, six days a week, tying the tiny knots that make up the expensive Pakistani carpets coveted by tourists.

 

The owner of the factory added fines to his parents' loan when he made mistakes and for the bowl of rice he was given each day - making it impossible for the loan to ever be repaid. Iqbal lived under the constant threat of being beaten with sticks or metal tools. When he was 10, he escaped with the help of a human rights organization that later sent him to school. He traveled to many countries, speaking out against child labor. But in 1995, 12 year-old Iqbal was murdered. His mother remains convinced that the carpet factory owner had a hand in his killing.

 

Iqbal's story was covered in major newspapers around the world, although often relegated to the back pages. It was soon forgotten by both the mainstream media and its readers.

 

Seven thousand miles from Pakistan, however, another 12 year-old boy committed Iqbal's story to memory, an act that marked the birth of a youth-driven movement against child labor that would span 20 countries.

 

Craig Kielburger was searching through a Toronto newspaper for the comics when a photo of Iqbal caught his eye. He read Iqbal's story and held it up as a mirror to his own life in Canada - going to school, hanging out with friends, running with the cross country team. What he saw reflected back at him were profound differences between the two. "I was shocked. In school, I had learned about the American Civil War and the Underground Railroad, but I thought slavery was something out of the past, that it had been abolished," he says.

 

With the dawning realization that slavery was still very much in existence, Kielburger photocopied the article on Iqbal Masih and gathered statistics on child labor at the local library. With all the idealism and zeal of youth, he spoke to his class about what he had learned, and his crusade against child labor had begun. Well, maybe you couldn't have called it a crusade just then. What he actually did was invite some friends over for "pop and pizza" to discuss Iqbal's story.

 

"After that, about ten of us started doing small things to help," he says. "It wasn't anything dramatic. We passed around a couple of petitions to political leaders and heads of corporations. Then, a few of us gave speeches in schools and for religious and community groups, and it just began to snowball from there."

 

On one occasion, Free the Children members learned that Kailash Satyarthi, an Indian leader in the fight against child labor, had been imprisoned for his actions on behalf of child workers. They collected 3,000 signatures and wrote a letter to the prime minister of India asking for Satyarthi's release. The petition and the letter were sent to India in a shoebox wrapped in brown paper.

 

Satyarthi was eventually released. During a subsequent trip to Canada, he recalled the box that had been sent to India in his name: "It was one of the most powerful actions taken on my behalf," he said, "and, for me, definitely the most memorable."

 

The Kielburger home eventually became the world headquarters for Free the Children (FTC), a nonprofit organization that works to abolish child labor practices worldwide. Today, over 100,000 children in 27 countries - including Canada, the US, Mexico, India, Brazil, Ghana, and Pakistan - have been involved in FTC activities, and the organization receives thousands of letters each week from children who want to get involved. Although each office has a few adult volunteers who help with recruitment, bookkeeping, and mentoring, most of the energy and momentum behind FTC's efforts comes from its members - all of whom are under 18.

 

"Every young person has an issue that hits them in the heart," says Kielburger. "But I believe that society has taught them they don't have the power to change things, that they have to wait until they're adults to achieve results."

 

Perspectives from Southeast Asia

 

After his success with the Ontario Federation of Labour, Kielburger planned a trip to Southeast Asia to visit the children working in labor camps and on the streets and bring their perspective back to the developed world.  He dipped into his savings and pooled money from his allowance and from doing odd jobs around the neighborhood to purchase his plane ticket.He enlisted Alam Rahman, a 25 year-old friend from Bangladesh, to go along as his chaperone, and he set up meetings with human rights groups in the countries he would be visiting. Finally, on December 9, 1995, Kielburger boarded a KLM flight to Dhaka, Bangladesh.

 

Through their travels, they would meet with children from the labor camps, slums, and back alleys of Bangladesh, Thailand, India, Nepal, and Pakistan. One of those children was Muniannal, a girl whose age Kielburger estimates was around eight.  Muniannal worked in a back alley in Madras, sorting through used syringes with lightning speed to separate the needles from the plastic. Through an interpreter, Craig asked her where the needles came from. In a hushed voice so her supervisor wouldn't hear her, she replied that they had were from "hospitals and off the streets."

 

His brow furrowed with concern, Craig asked whether the facility was concerned about her contracting diseases like HIV/AIDS. Again came the soft, Hindi reply as the girl squatted on the pile of syringes, apparently unconcerned about a stray needle pricking her bare feet. "She will wash it," the interpreter translated. "She won't get any treatment."

 

Messenger for the children

 

Kielburger met with children who had grown up on a brick kiln in West Bengal, who had lung diseases from breathing in the dust from the carpets they wove in Varanasi sweat shops, who sold their bodies on streets in the Philippines under the watchful eyes of their adult pimps. But he still found a spirit of hope in them that in turn gave him the inspiration to take action on their behalf.

 

"Meeting these children is like a gift. When I was in Thailand," he says, "I saw a street girl with an orange. She automatically took it and split it with her friend - no question about the matter. And in India, another group of street children were carrying this child with no legs from place to place, because they didn't want to leave him behind.

 

"They don't want to be seen as little creatures who need help," he says. "The only gift you can give them in return for the time they spend with you is to carry their stories home with you."

 

But even before Kielburger had returned to Canadian soil, he carried their message to more people than he'd dreamed possible. He had been travelling for about seven weeks when he heard that Canada's Prime Minister, Jean Chrétien, was also in Southeast Asia with a trade delegation. "Frankly," says Kielburger, "human rights wasn't on his agenda. Just a couple of months earlier, Canada's minister of foreign affairs had announced that Canada - wouldn't be the boy scout of the world. This was the attitude we were dealing with, and we were frustrated."  He asked the prime minister to meet with him and some child laborers but was turned down.

 

In a move that was part luck, part stroke of brilliance (although he doesn't see it that way), Kielburger and Free the Children bumped up the date of the press conference they'd been organizing for the local media, inviting the barrage of Canadian reporters that were following Chrétien. He and 10 year-old Asmita Satyarthi (daughter of Kailash, the man on whose behalf FTC had sent the box of signatures to India) "pulled an all-nighter" getting ready for the conference, during which they would be joined by two former child laborers. Two dozen journalists from high-profile Canadian newspapers and journals, and all of the major Canadian TV networks rearranged their schedules to attend.

 

During the conference, one of the reporters asked Kielburger if he was meeting with the prime minister. Kielburger responded that Chrétien had said he was too busy to meet with him, Asmita, and most importantly, the exploited street children. "Forget being the prime minister," he said. "It's his moral responsibility to do this."

 

When Kielburger called home the next day, he found that splashed across the front of all the major newspapers in Canada were headlines about how he had "upstaged" the prime minister, and how Chrétien had snubbed him. Five days later, Chrétien's office called Craig to arrange a meeting. And although Kielburger didn't walk away from that meeting feeling Canada would lead the way toward ending child labor, he did come out with something else of value - the national media loved his story.

 

The young and the dreamers

 

Upon Craig's return to Canada, he found that Free the Children had been catapulted to an organization of national prominence. He was greeted by camera flashes and microphones thrust at him by the hands of eager reporters. His face continued to pop up on the covers of newspapers and magazines across Canada and the US, and he told the stories of the exploited children he met on Good Morning, America, CNN News, and other well-known television programs.

 

But behind every interviewer's smile was the profound amazement that a young boy could speak so eloquently, could gain media attention for his organization, and could bring an issue most people preferred to sweep under the rug into the international spotlight. After all, he was thirteen. (He'd celebrated a birthday during his trip.)

 

"Young people have to work twice as hard as adults to gain credibility," he says. "The night before I came home from Southeast Asia, a radio talk-show host in Toronto announced that at my age, I should be interested in girls, sex, and video games - certainly not child labor. It's astounding how so many people share that definition of a 'normal' child. They limit the spirit and enthusiasm of children.

"In fact," he continues, "I met with drug dealers who have greater faith in children to run drugs than I see people in the US and Canada put in their own kids."

 

Today, under Craig's direction, Free the Children continues to accomplish much on behalf of child laborers. They've connected with the nonprofit organizations Craig meets on his travels to build rehabilitation and education centers for children rescued from bonded labor and to create alternative sources of income for adults in these countries. (In India, for example, 55 million adults are unemployed, while 55 million children work in labor camps and on the streets.)

 

Free the Children chapters have popped up around the world, and each runs its own campaigns for more humane labor practices. The FTC club in Paso Robles, California, for example, organized a Nike boycott and collected Nike shoes and clothes from students who didn't want to support Nike's notorious sweatshops. The Calcutta, India, chapter held a rally to protest the practice of forcing handicapped children to work as beggars and drug runners. Shortly thereafter, the Indian government promised to take action to stop this practice.

 

Aside from the extra media attention he's garnered because of his youth (he's now 16), Kielburger feels that children and teenagers have an advantage when it comes to activism.

 

"Adults find taking action on large issues like child labor a lot scarier than we do," he says, "because they're more entrenched in their thinking. They say things like: 'Oh, I can't do that. I have a job and a family'& 'But young people haven't become conditioned to think in a little box; we don't even know a box exists.

 

"People put us down as being young and dreamers, which I frankly find encouraging. It's the dreamers who thought that one day the Berlin Wall would fall or that apartheid in South Africa would end."

By Tracy Rysavy associate editor of YES!

 

Contact Free the Children International at 1750 Steeles Avenue West, Suite 218, Concord, Ontario L4K 2L7; 905/760-9382; Fax: 905/760-9157; E-mail: freechild@clo.com; Web: www.freethechildren.org

Craig Kielburger's book, Free the Children, is available from HarperCollins publishers. Author royalties from the book's sales go directly to FTC.

Winter, 2003

Yes! Magazine

"Play your own tune"

by Ricardo "Kool Aid" Chavez
(Chavez is the son of Dolores Huerta and nephew of César Chavez, founders of the United Farm Workers Union.)

Music is like a force of nature. It's as basic to the human condition as anything else in the natural world. But like nature, it can be productive or destructive. Fire can keep you warm, but it can also burn down the house.

I've been a hip-hop/rap artist since I was 15 years old, and my music has always reflected the issues around me. I was raised in the United Farm Workers Union because my parents were cofounders. I grew up pretty poor, pretty aware. Everything from sexism to environmental racism occupies my mind space. That's who I am, that's what I sing about. But record companies wanted me to compromise my lyrics. Their attitude was this: "If you want to get played, you should rap about sex, drugs, and violence. You should be more mainstream."

In the '80s, when there were more than three record labels and the industry was less corporate, hip hop artists had more control over the content of their music. Back then, you had groups like Public Enemy, Digable Planets, X-clan. What is all that other stuff the media plays? It is selfishness. It's spoon-fed. It's insulting to your intelligence to listen to 20 minutes of "I want to take off all my clothes." It's hip-hop, but it's what the corporations are pushing, and it's just one side of the spectrum.

La Paz, the group that I'm a part of, is on the other side of that spectrum. We want people to feel respected--and challenged. We didn't sign with a major record label and discovered that to be a blessing because we realized we could do it ourselves. We sing and rap about our experiences--and we don't hold anything back. At one point in my life, no doubt, I had teenage dreams of being a superstar. But now I think I'm much happier being what I am, because I'm free.

We're not on the charts, but we're having a great time. We started off performing for community events, benefits, and fundraisers all over our hometown in L.A. We sing about how women are the backbone of any society; how women are our mothers, grandmothers, and sisters. We rap about how we don't have a car with rims and a booming system, but can say, "Hey, I'm cool, I got skills, I can get on this mic and make any clown clap." Some kid might rethink selling drugs for money just to impress somebody else with material wealth. Maybe he'll know he could just be cool and be creative. You can be yourself. You don't have to play to anybody else's tune. You can march to your own drum.

Even though we talked about issues related to L.A., we started taking our message across the country, even to communities that aren't exposed to the same inner-city issues every day. People tell us all the time that they feel validated and represented, and even "awakened." If the American public were to wake up and see their interdependence and coexistence with the rest of the world, I think this corporate regime would topple. Something like the 1960s might happen--but for real, without drugs messing it all up.

©2002 Positive Futures Network P.O. Box 10818, Bainbridge Island, WA 98110-0818, USA

phone 206/842-0216 - 800/937-4451 - fax 206/842-5208