The Year Cecil Rhodes Kicked My *** (Part Two)

NOTE: If you haven’t read Part One of this mess, you should probably start there.

Cecil Rhodes sitting comfortably on his porchThere were essentially four major players in Africa in the latter half of the nineteenth century, at least in terms of our broad, offensively simplistic overview.

The first was the Africans themselves. Now, contrary to popular western belief, Africa was (and is) an entire continent, not a country. It contained (and contains) numerous cultures and distinct nations, each with their own values and priorities. Nevertheless, we’re going to risk treating the entire native population as a single entity in terms of the era’s global dynamics. This is not intended to reduce or disparage those thus generalized; it’s a necessary simplification for purposes of a particular narrative. Like the Amerindian population of North America upon the arrival of European colonists or the governments of South America during the Age of Imperialism, we’re temporarily telling the story through the eyes of those who saw little reason to distinguish between those in their way. King Lobengula was the rule of the Matabele people (also called the Ndebele) during the Rhodes years. While he didn’t represent all Africans, he’s an appropriate personification of the southernmost quarter of the continent at this time.

The second group in our little story was the Boers, sometimes referred to as the Afrikaners. These stubborn homesteaders had begun settling the Cape of Good Hope in the mid-seventeenth century, arriving primarily from the Netherlands (the “Dutch”) but including a number of French Huguenots (Protestants who fled France to avoid persecution), some disaffected Germans, and a smattering of other Europeans. The Boers were primarily farmers, and many either brought slaves with them to assist in this endeavor or enslaved the locals as opportunities allowed. When the British showed up in 1795 and claimed that part of Africa for themselves, the Boer migrated northeast (the “Great Trek”), eventually founding two distinct Boer Republics – Transvaal and the Orange Free State. (If you look at a modern map of Africa, these covered roughly the northeastern half of what is now South Africa.) The Boer farmed, fought with indigenous locals, and resented the British for a century or so until defeated in the Second Boer War (1899-1902), after which British domination in the area was essentially uncontested until the mid-twentieth century and the establishment of South Africa as an independent republic. Paul Kruger was president of the Transvaal Republic for nearly two decades and often serves as the face of the Boers in historical narrative.

The third player in our drama was, of course, the British Empire, which reached its zenith around 1913 (just before World War I). While far from the only imperialistic nation of its age, it was arguably the most effective. By the early twentieth century, Great Britain controlled something like a quarter of the globe, leading someone to note that “the sun never sets on the British empire” – it was literally always daytime somewhere under its control. Imperialism was about more than global one-upmanship (although that was certainly a biggie.) It was about natural resources and cultural domination and national security and elbow room and somewhere to send undesirables and markets and the white man’s burden. During the infamous “carving up” of Africa (1884-1885) by various European powers, the U.S., and a handful of others who met in Berlin, Great Britain claimed not only the Cape of Good Hope it had already effectively taken over from the Boers, but the Transvaal and Orange Free State regions and a few other choice bits in the area as well.

The fourth and final figure is, of course Cecil Rhodes.

1880 – 1885

Cecil Rhodes began his political career by winning a seat as a parliamentary representative in the Cape Colony’s legislature, the House of Assembly. While local concerns and circumstances drove the specifics, Rhodes was from the beginning interested in northern expansion. Trying to distinguish between his personal ambitions, his belief in British cultural supremacy, and his desire to exploit the natural resources of the African continent is pointless, since to Rhodes these were inextricable elements of the same worldview.

A territory then known as Basutoland, nestled just south of the Orange Free State and today the enclave of Lesotho, was pushing back against British rule. The inhabitants were primarily native Africans who had only a few generations before began incorporating horses and guns into their self-defense strategies. The British had already asserted legislative control over the region against its will and had more recently initiated a policy of complete disarmament of the local population in the name of “preserving the peace.” Needless to say, this didn’t go well.

Rhodes managed to advocate on behalf of the native African population of Basutoland while still promoting long-term British interests. He established good relationships with a number of Boer leaders to the north and encouraged Great Britain to establish a protectorate over Bechuanaland, a territory overlapping parts of the northernmost section of modern South Africa and most of Botswana.

The infamous Berlin Conference of 1884 which formally unleashed the “Scramble for Africa” was a few years away, but other European powers were already competing for influence in the uncharted interior regions of Africa. The government of the Cape Colony (still largely overseen by the British) lacked real influence that far north and Rhodes often grew frustrated at his inability to convey Africa’s potential importance to the imperial government back home. He thus used whatever tools he had at his disposal to continue nudging British influence forward. It made little difference to Rhodes whether those in his way were accommodated or assimilated as long as British influence could expand, telegraph lines could be laid, and reliable railroads could be built. By all accounts, he genuinely believed this was what was best not only for his countrymen, but for the world and its inhabitants in general.

Just past Basutoland were Mashonaland and Matabeleland, both part of what would later be named Rhodesia (one of two African countries eventually named after Rhodes) and today make up roughly the northwestern half of Zimbabwe. In addition to forming a critical link in his envisioned unification of Africa under the guidance of enlightened British rule, both territories contained potential mineral wealth – a handy way to pay for all this expansion and improvement. Unlike with Basutoland, the primary obstacles Rhodes faced came from the Boers rather than the original inhabitants. Rhodes managed to get himself appointed to a committee established to sort out boundary disputes with the Boers and once again used political maneuvering as his primary method of conquest. It seems unlikely, however, that any of those involved could have completely ignored the might of the British empire hovering nearby.

It was during this period that Rhodes first met Paul Kruger, president of the Transvaal. Like Rhodes, Kruger had visions of an “improved” Africa. Unlike Rhodes, he had the backing of a people who, while not exactly native, had been on the continent for centuries at that point. The Boer were well-established and largely accepted as part of the landscape, often referring to themselves simply as Afrikaners – literally, “Africans.” Kruger attempted to extend the protection of the Boer to several small republics within the disputed territories, forcing the British-backed government of the Cape Colony to commit troops to ensuring this didn’t happen.

The two men finally met in February 1885, at a conference intended to resolve the ongoing conflicts between the Boer and the British. Rhodes and Kruger were too similar to reach any sort of personal peace, but their respective governments managed to carve out a few compromises. Rhodes, who’d intended for the Cape Colony to eventually annex the Bechuanaland, resigned in protest when it became clear this wasn’t in the cards.

1886 – 1890

The diamond mines of Kimberley were still going strong in 1886 when gold was discovered in the area as well. Rhodes by this point had a complete monopoly over the mineral wealth being produced. His average annual income was estimated to be around £500,000, roughly $60 million per year in modern American dollars. Not surprisingly, this made Rhodes one of the richest men on earth, giving him extensive leverage and substantial resources for his ongoing push to absorb as much of Africa as possible into the British Empire.

Kimberley wasn’t the only area in which gold was being unearthed. The Witwatersrand Gold Rush in the Transvaal Republic occurred around the same time, leading to the establishment of Johannesburg and continuing the massive transformations of southern Africa which began in Kimberley. The “mineral revolution” which proved so profitable to Rhodes and company was further fueled by events in Witwatersrand and eventually led to both the industrialization of what became South Africa and the system of apartheid which dominated the region for most of the twentieth century.

Rhodes sat out the rush into Transvaal, instead biding his time in hopes of even greater profits further north. In addition to the ongoing inconvenience of Paul Kruger and the Boer supporting him, Rhodes was now confronted with King Lobengula of Matabele. Lobengula was savvy enough to realize he couldn’t take on the concentrated might of the British Empire and relied instead on diplomatic maneuvering and stubborn diplomacy.

The king had previously rejected the efforts of Kruger to secure mining concessions in Matabeleland, believing that once he let in even a few white men, it was unlikely he’d ever be able to get rid of them. Now, faced with two competing outsiders, Lobengula chose what seemed like the lesser of the two evils and signed a treaty with Kruger’s Transvaal Republic in 1887.

Rhodes had up to this point been unable to persuade the British government to support expanded colonization of South Africa. Now, however, he had a new card to play. The Boer were expanding their influence into Matabeleland and Mashonaland (much like their cousins in the United States, the British often misunderstood the dynamics of political leadership among the native populations and assumed whatever “chief” they dealt with spoke for everyone with a comparable skin tone anywhere in the region) and now that the “Scramble for Africa” was fully underway, a half-dozen other European powers were quickly sizing up their opportunities on the continent as well. If Great Britain wasn’t willing to amp up its imperialism based solely on South Africa’s potential merits, perhaps they’d do so in order to prevent others from doing the same.

In the meantime, Rhodes secured the support of John Moffet, a missionary and the son of Robert and Mary Moffet, whose missionary work in Africa had secured them the trust and friendship of King Lobengula. (One of John’s sisters was Mary Livingstone, wife of Dr. David Livingstone, the missionary and explorer famously “lost” for six years until his encounter with reporter Henry Stanley who famously greeted him with “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?”) Lobengula trusted Moffet and signed over what he understood to be rights only for the white men to do some digging. Instead, as is so often the case when white men and treaties are involved, the small print opened the door for Rhodes and the British to pretty much come in and do as they pleased anywhere in the kingdom.

When Moffet realized how he’d been used, he turned against Rhodes, but at that point it no longer mattered. In 1888, Rhodes and his partner Charles Rudd had officially incorporated De Beers Mining Company as De Beers Consolidated Mines, Ltd. Rhodes and Rudd effectively controlled all diamond mining and production across the continent and in the spirit of the Robber Barons across the ocean in the United States began absorbing all elements of the industry – suppliers, distribution, marketing, and the like. A year later, the British government granted Rhodes a charter for the new British South Africa Company (BSAC) and allowed him to “develop” the area as he saw fit.

It’s telling that Rhodes managed to secure almost total authority over the region, including police powers, infrastructure, banking, and of course mining, despite substantial opposition within Parliament. He was one of those characters who simply seemed to always find a way. In this case, his strategy was one familiar to any good imperialist. What he couldn’t secure in the name of expansion or economic gain, he claimed in the cause of “protecting” the local populations from others interested in the same things. The motherland could find little reason to oppose the expansion of British influence, culture, and wealth, all funded by private interests at no cost to taxpayers. Any excesses were on the heads of the BSAC, while the benefits applied to all.

As Rhodes debated the best way to secure Matabeleland and Mashonaland, his worst instincts were on full display. He considered it unlikely the Ndebele (the inhabitants of those lands) would allow him or the British Empire to simply take over without a fight, but it was simply unacceptable to allow a few thousand “savages” to thwart the rightful expansion of white settlers and their superior way of life. He began making plans with several mercenaries on his payroll to raise a white militia which would support longtime local enemies of Lobengula in a presumably spontaneous, home-grown revolution against Lobengula. In classic western fashion, Rhodes’ forces would simply be supporting noble rebels against oppression, historic injustices, or whatever other justifications they might conjure – it didn’t really matter.

If they ended up ridding themselves of an inconvenient local obstacle in the process and taking control of his former kingdom in the name of security and protection of the little people remaining, well… so be it. Such was the white man’s burden.

Perhaps Logenbula could read the writing on the wall, or perhaps he made a strategic decision that cooperating with the British was once again his least horrible option. In any case, the entire scheme became unnecessary when Logenbula opened his doors willingly to Rhodes and BSAC development.

If Rhodes’ only concerns were financial, this should have been sufficient. Instead, he was determined to push the issue until the region was fully and truly transformed according to his own lofty visions. In 1890, Rhodes sent a “Pioneer Column” of 200 miners and nearly 500 armed militia (to “protect” them) into Mashonaland. If Lobengula’s forces resisted, Rhodes would finally have the war he’d been working for and an excuse to wipe out the Ndebele for good. If not, he knew it was safe to simply keep sending in whoever he wished, previous treaties or agreements be damned.

The Pioneer Column met no resistance and soon raised the British flag over their new settlement in Salisbury, officially claiming it for the British. When mining in the area proved less profitable than they’d hoped, Rhodes encouraged them to establish their own farms. If their intentions weren’t clear before, they certainly were now. The British weren’t merely enemies of the native Africans; they disdained them. Why fight someone when you can simply waltz in and take over without a fight?

The Year Cecil Rhodes Kicked My *** (Part One)

Introduction: If you’ve ever written, painted, composed, recorded, or produced pretty much anything in any medium, you know that sometimes you feel the magic happening and sometimes… well, sometimes you keep sawing the lady in half no matter how much she screams and begs you to stop.

Metaphorically, that is.

I’ve been trying to write a brief bio of Cecil Rhodes off and on for most of 2022. Some of the delays have come as a result of normal, boring stuff – trying to keep up with school, wrapping up some unrelated writing projects, letting myself enjoy stupid fun stuff far more often than I have in recent decades, etc. Some of it comes from my own ignorance. I’ve had to digest way more than I expected about related African and European history just to make sense of the parts directly related to Rhodes. And some of it, if I’m being honest, has been my inability to narrow down his story to a narrative detailed enough to be useful but edited enough to serve its primary purpose – boiling down complex historical ideas to digestible lengths people might actually read and enjoy.

So, I’ve resorted to doing what I sometimes do in these situations. I’m writing it all and posting it here as I go, knowing that it’s too bulky, too unfocused, and too unpolished. Only when I’m finished with all eleventeen installments will I go back and begin chopping away at the results in hopes of making them manageable and perhaps even (Lord willing) engaging. Pretty or not, it’s the only way I can push through some topics and eventually hone them into the pithy brilliance that is “Have To” History. (Right now, at this stage, it’s more like “Hurling” History.)

Turn away if you must. Offer constructive commentary if you dare. Either way, I simply must get through this. Thank you in advance for your understanding and support.

And now, here’s the long, unedited version of stuff you might not even want to know about Cecil Rhodes, but probably should – Part One.

Introduction

political cartoon of Cecil Rhodes straddling AfricaCecil Rhodes was… complicated. It in no way excuses the wrongs for which he was responsible for us to recognize and appreciate the laudable elements of his story. If anything, it reminds us that in the right circumstances, most of us are quite capable of being both swell and abhorrent – sometimes within a very short time frame. While history is certainly replete with similar examples, Rhodes represents as well as anyone the futility of attempting to categorize our forebears into “good guys” and “bad guys.”

As Marvel comics and the Bible figured out long ago, our heroes often have some unpleasant features. Thomas Jefferson was a slave owner and carried on a sexual relationship for years with his slave Sally Hemings. Martin Luther King, Jr., plagiarized his way through grad school and was having extra-marital affairs right up until his assassination. Franklin D. Roosevelt approved the internment of Japanese Americans and turned away Jews at the border during the Holocaust while carrying on his own sexual liaisons. And Sherlock Holmes was a cocaine addict, although he managed to keep his pants on – just in case we needed irrefutable proof he was fictional.

On the other hand, the nastiest villains may retain smatterings of graciousness, talent, or good intentions. Genghis Khan slaughtered tens of thousands of people and built an empire on terror, but he also instituted religious freedom, eliminated torture, and set up a pretty effective mail delivery system. Joseph Stalin modernized Russian agriculture and improved health care and education for the small percentage of citizens who survived his reign. Even Tucker Carlson has, um… I mean…

Stalin and Khan had some good points, is what I’m saying.

Whether in history or pop culture, flawed heroes tend to be far more inspirational and complicated villains far more illuminating. Few of us can aspire to be the next Jesus or Superman. Perhaps, however, we can strive to emphasize the better angels of our nature à la William B. Travis or Severus Snape.

Then again, by most modern standards, Cecil Rhodes was more Magneto than Batman – a complex villain rather than a flawed hero. He is at the very least a problematic figure, no matter how much grace we choose to employ. Whatever his stated intentions or proclaimed ideologies, Cecil was in many ways a very naughty man who used and abused those he deemed lesser than himself – which was most people. The fact that this was not so unusual in his era makes it no less odious.

Still, there’s that “complex and thus interesting” part to consider. Thankfully, we don’t necessarily need to weigh his eternal soul or fully unpack his complex motivations to deal with the symbol he became in western culture and world history. In many ways, that’s more important than the “real” person underneath.

The Son’ll Come Out, Tomorrow…

Cecil Rhodes was born in 1853 in Hertfordshire, just north of London. He was by all accounts a rather “sickly” child – a generic term covering anything from asthma to allergies to lactose intolerance (but stopping short of something major enough to secure accurate diagnosis, like scarlet fever). His father was a clergyman in the Church of England, making the family what we’d today think of as “middle class.” His older brothers attended what were known as “public schools,” the nineteenth century British equivalent of upscale private schooling. Cecil, however, was sent to the local “grammar school,” an early version of what Americans today would think of as a decent, local public high school – humble, but still set above any “charity schools” in the area.

When he was sixteen years old, Cecil fell victim to “consumption” – most likely tuberculosis or something similar. This was a fairly severe condition in the nineteenth century and not everyone recovered. As we’ve recently been reminded, serious ailments which prove difficult to control tend to spark socio-political reactions on top of the personal suffering they cause. When people feel frightened or uncertain, they tend to embrace explanations which offer them some sort of control or detachment from danger and suffering, reality be damned. Folks in nineteenth century England were no exception.

Like so many nasty things, tuberculosis was (and is) caused by bacteria attacking various organs inside the human body, most particularly the lungs. All that coughing and gagging and spitting up blood helped spread the ailment to fellow humans, making it highly contagious – particularly in crowded households, cities, or anywhere else people live and work together. Biologically, the disease itself was an equal opportunity infector. Rich folks were just as susceptible as the poor, other factors being equal.

But of course, other factors weren’t equal – and therein crept that socio-political dynamic history teaches us to expect. One of the primary benefits of wealth was having a little elbow room, thus reducing the chances of infection to begin with. Your surroundings tended to be cleaner and you were more likely to spend time outdoors, further restricting the spread of yucky things. Illness, on the other hand, correlated with poverty in the sense that poor folks were more likely to live in crowded, unsanitary conditions. Poverty, in turn, often correlated with the sorts of lifestyles upper classes derided as immoral and in constant violation of proper social norms.

It’s not always easy to distinguish between difficult circumstances and poor personal choices, then or now.

It was thus natural – if unfortunate – that many people perceived a strong correlation between poverty (and the careless, often “immoral” life choices which accompanied it) and tuberculosis. In other words, the disease took on an ethical component. As is so often the case throughout history, sufferers were thought to be at least partially responsible for their own conditions. Since those living “better” lives, with better educations, better morals, and better resources, were less likely to contract tuberculosis, then maybe those who did fall ill (or die) were kinda asking for it. Add in a little “just world fallacy” and you have a pretty stubborn, if mistaken, paradigm.

In any case, “consumption” meant Rhodes was unable to attend the same sorts of schools as his brothers. When he was 16, he was sent to South Africa in hopes the climate would be better for his health. It was much warmer there, and Cecil could spend more time outside. He began working on a small cotton plantation with one of his older brothers and his health did, in fact, began to improve. It also just so happened that something else was going on in Africa at this time – something shinier and more appealing than picking or refining cotton.

Africa had diamonds. Lots of them. Now it simply needed someone with a little vision to make the most of the sparkly beasts.

All That Glitters Is Sold

Only a few years before Rhodes arrived in South Africa, diamonds had been discovered on the De Beers farm in nearby Kimberley. This sparked a diamond rush much like the gold and silver rushes of early American history. It didn’t take long before Cecil was splitting his time and energy between cotton and diamond mining. Each time he uncovered some sparkle, he used the profits to purchase the rights to more and more land and expand his mining operations. He partnered with a fellow Brit named Charles Rudd and they began building quite a fortune for themselves.

In 1873, Rhodes left Rudd in charge and began using his newfound wealth to pay for the sort of elite education he felt he’d been denied. For nearly a decade, he split his time between his studies in England and the diamond mines of Africa. The “Kimberly Hole,” as their primary operation became known, was one of the largest holes of any sort ever dug, and the wealth just kept pouring out of its depths. In 1880, Rhodes and Rudd formed De Beers Mining Company. Over the next decade they absorbed each of their major competitors, one at a time. De Beers soon became (and remains) one of the biggest names in diamonds worldwide – arguably THE biggest.

In 1886, gold was discovered on De Beers property as well. You know, because it was about time they caught a lucky break. Rhodes was one of the richest men in the world before he turned 35.

It’s worth noting that diamond mining was dirty, dangerous business. Workers were regularly injured or killed on site and severe illness was pretty much a given for any who lived long enough. Poor working conditions, crowded quarters, and the dangers of mining itself made pneumonia and tuberculosis common ailments, with scurvy and syphilis not far behind.

These were considered perfectly acceptable dangers, as long as you weren’t the one facing them. That’s what lesser men – especially those native to the area – were for.

Money Is Politics Is Power Is… Messy

By all accounts, money for money’s sake was never Rhodes’ primary goal. He was convinced beyond doubt that the British were a superior race with a superior culture, and that he owed it to the world to expand Great Britain’s influence over as much of the globe as possible. In his mind, this would not just be good for England – he’d be doing the rest of the world a massive favor as well.

He was thus quick to enter the fray of local politics in southern Africa. For nearly two decades he was rarely idle, throwing himself with equal enthusiasm into business pursuits, territorial conflicts, and political struggles. The details can get a bit tedious for anyone not committed to a detailed history of southern Africa in the late nineteenth century, so we’re going to simplify things a bit in hopes of better understanding and remembering the bigger picture. Rhodes’ primary legacy, after all, is a largely symbolic one; the images and emotions he left behind are arguably far more important than geographical or statistical accuracy.

NEXT: The Long, Unedited Version of Stuff You Might Not Even Want to Know about Cecil Rhodes, but Probably Should – Part Two

Messy

I don’t like for things to be messy.

That said, almost everything in my life is messy. In fact, if I’m being honest, it seems like the more control I have over something, the messier it is.

This website is messy. I’m proud of it in many ways, but there’s no denying it’s a bit of a mess.

It’s not a design problem or anything – it’s me. I don’t post consistently in terms of either timing or content. Sometimes there are several new additions a week, while other times it can take months. I write about teaching for a bit, then get distracted with court cases that interest me, or politics, or historical figures, or books I like, or music I find motivational. I create new sections to share lesson plans or classroom strategies, then leave them ambitiously incomplete. At one point I even started a separate site – a Blue Cereal dot NET – in hopes of better organizing my ramblings.

It didn’t take.

My social media history is a mess. I was on Facebook years ago, then quit because I kept letting myself get drawn into the ugliness. After a time, I came back determined to keep things strictly “on brand,” as it were. Then 2016 happened and I was overwhelmed by the number of friends and acquaintances from “real life” who turned out to be science-denying, fear-and-hate mongering, white supremacists. Once again, I began despising who I was when I was on Facebook as well as resenting far too many others in my virtual circle. I was angry and discouraged all the time (but for some reason kept coming back).

It later turned out that was, in fact, a primary goal of the platform itself. Still, that’s no excuse. So I bailed.

My Twitter account is hit and miss. I value many of the people I follow there and enjoy my interactions. I nevertheless vanish for weeks at a time, then pop back up randomly and wonder why everyone doesn’t fawn appropriately in response. Now that the whole Elon Musk dumpster fire is fully ablaze, I may bail on Twitter altogether. {Update: I did.} I’ve recently joined Mastodon and I love it and the folks I’ve already met there – wildly and wonderfully. And yet… there are still those people I really like and who I only connect with on the bird app.

So… it’s messy.

My reading habits are messy. I have three or four different books partially read and I cycle between them as mood or opportunity dictates. I buy stuff I know I want to read but then never seem to be in the mood for. Other times, I find myself returning repeatedly to series I’ve already read over and over. I think I like the comfort of the familiarity, but I also want all these new things there’s no room for. So… it’s messy.

I don’t even want to discuss my “lists” on a dozen different streaming services. There’s the stuff I’m actually watching, then there are the endless shows I’ve bookmarked because I think I want to watch them (but clearly I’m never going to). Never before in the history of humanity has so much been so available so easily – and so much of it of such high artistic and academic quality! If I ever catch up with the 13 hours of pro wrestling grabbed by my DVR each week, I’ll get right on that.

Stop judging me. My tastes are eclectic – which is a fancy word for “messy.”

My house feels messy. Realistically, it’s not. We don’t have kids at home and we have plenty of room. “Messy” in this case is quite relative. But no matter how often we clear off the dining room table, I always seem to awake the next day to find a half-dozen random items scattered across it – most of which belong to me. No matter how thoroughly we clean and organize the office, I quickly end up with books on the floor and papers piled on my desk. This might be forgivable if I were an eccentric old college professor with several advanced degrees or a best-selling author focused on cranking out my next movie adaptation, but I’m just a guy who teaches high school, blogs a bit, and has a few self-published books which you should totally buy for all those special someones on your gift list because they make you seem so thoughtful while suggesting you find them both erudite and worthy of a little extra time and attention in your gift selections – all for about $15 a pop even after shipping.

Seriously, I’ll wait while you click the link. This post isn’t going anywhere.

My classroom is messy. I’d love to say it’s a productive, creative messy indicative of all the learning going on, but it’s really more a matter of students who don’t put stuff back and my efforts to keep everything I need within reach, whether it fits there or not. My desk is too big, which means stuff ends up piled up even worse than at home and nothing ever quite looks caught up. My lessons usually end up messy as well, no matter how well I think I’m planning them or how pure my intentions. I make careless mistakes, or schedules change, and so many students are absent every day anyway that we can never get a “flow” going. There’s rarely a day that feels like we’re building on what we’ve already done or which leads smoothly into the plan for tomorrow.

I was assigned a “pre-observation questionnaire” recently (in preparation for, as the title suggests, a formal observation). It was four pages long. In addition to listing state standards and providing a detailed explanation of how what I was doing that day supported each one, the questionnaire wanted to know how I’d been leading up to this specific skill-set and this particular knowledge, what qualitative and quantitative data I’d used to determine we were ready to move on to this point, how I’d be differentiating during and after the lesson, what sorts of formative and summative assessments I was utilizing, and of course, how the data I was supposedly collecting would drive future instruction.

Somehow, “I hope most of them finish the vocab crossword puzzle” didn’t seem likely to secure me that “highly qualified” ranking I was hoping for.

I’m getting too old and disgruntled to put on much of a show or sling golden manure the way I sometimes used to. I tried to respond to at least half of the questions with sincerity but without pretending anything I was doing was THAT sophisticated. My students are wonderful, valuable people, but doing right by them has less to do with differentiation and more to do with noticing that Ivan’s oddly quiet today or helping Monique realize the importance of reading the directions at the top of the page without being patronizing about it.

With all due respect to Marzano and Danielson, what we’re doing here isn’t that complicated. The areas in which I most need to improve have little to do with curriculum maps or backward design. I’d be more than willing to talk about growth mindset, social-emotional learning, or metacognition, but somehow the vocabulary behind all the useful stuff has become stigmatized through misappropriation or outright abuse, and in any case those things never show up on the evaluative rubrics. Also, I really would be happy if more of them would at least attempt the #@*& crossword puzzle.

You can see why no one’s going to be playing me in the inspirational movie version of my class anytime soon.

Objectively, my classes aren’t actually that disjointed, and many of the very real challenges aren’t in my direct control. The environment in which I operate isn’t particularly predictable and most of my kids have far more immediate concerns than understanding the Progressive Era. Still, I should probably be doing a better job of being all big-picture pedagogical. It probably doesn’t have to look and feel quite this messy.

Maybe none of it does.

I can do a better job putting stuff back where it goes, or at least not always choosing the dining room table. I can commit more time to just sitting and reading without distraction, knowing I usually enjoy it once I begin. And at some point, I really will seriously revamp the website – possibly from scratch.

As far as the teaching goes, though, I’m still working on that. It’s not a shortage of pedagogy or a lack of support – I’m surrounded by some amazing educators, all things considered. It’s not that my kids don’t deserve the best education possible – if I believed otherwise, I shouldn’t be here.

I don’t know about you, but at the moment there’s a grand total of “zero” people lined up desperately wanting my job. I suspect that’s true for yours as well. I’m all for getting better, and learning and growing, but in these messy times it’s easy to feel like we’re not doing enough, or that we’re not doing it right, or that someone else could be doing this better.

I’m not sure that’s true, for me or for you.

I think maybe it’s just always going to be kinda messy, trying to figure out what’s best for them and what has the best chance of helping them learn whatever seems most important that day. I don’t ever want to make excuses for carelessness or lack of focus, but maybe sometimes it’s OK to simply embrace the chaos of it all and do the best we can with it.

Even if it gets kinda messy.

Compromises

Note: I’m not entirely happy with the precise flow and balance of this post. There are segments I’d rather rephrase and I’m concerned about whether or not my central point is even clear. Worse, it was about 40 words over my preferred limit even before I added this note. Still, it’s better than it was when I hammered out the first few drafts, and it’s possible I could edit and re-edit it for days with no significant improvement. Besides, it’s late, I’m tired, and I’d really hoped to get something new posted before now. Looks like I’m going to have to compromise a bit if I want to keep moving forward.

Other Note: See what I did there?

Every local musician knows the dilemma. What you really want to play are your own songs – the ones into which you’ve poured your heart and soul and time and skill. What most audiences really want to hear (and thus what most venue owners will pay you to play) is “Jesse’s Girl.”

Again.

Many find some way to compromise between what they love and what will pay the bills. The same guy you see playing guitar and doing backing vocals on “Uptown Funk” and “Hold Me Now” at your sister’s wedding is probably cranking out his own material for eleven people at some dive downtown you’ve never even heard of two nights later.

Some remain true to their artistic vision, of course, and refuse to compromise. They’re the ones taking your order at the Hardee’s drive-thru during lunch rush. We’re torn between mocking them and pitying them. Why can’t they be a bit more realistic about things… you know, like we are?

UNLESS, of course, they end up somehow breaking through the noise and launching into genuine celebrity. In that case, we praise their commitment to their vision and their refusal to compromise. When that happens, we always knew they’d make it and wish every musician followed their example (although this would make it rather difficult to book a decent band for your sister’s next wedding).

In other words, the validity of their choices is really only determined after the fact. All that nobility without a hit single or viral video and you’re just another delusional wanna-be. Land one track on the right movie soundtrack, on the other hand, and you’re a visionary who stuck to your values.

Great painters throughout history have encountered their own version of the conundrum. Whatever their internal visions, whatever sights or ideas or techniques stir their passions, the real money comes from painting Mrs. Eunice Carbunkle in the most flattering (yet recognizable) manner possible. Barring that, another take on the Virgin Mary and her naked baby (or some other iconic bit of Bible narrative) might get you enough patronage to put food on the table.

Some, of course, stick to their own visions and ideas, and occasionally we do end up greatly valuing and appreciating their creations… long after they’re gone and everyone they love has died in poverty, illness, starvation, or some combination of the three.

Politicians who may start out with a handful of good intentions and lofty plans quickly discover layer after layer of games which much be played and compromises which must be made to have any chance of securing even local office, after which one may or may not be able to make minor headway towards those pretty goals.

Republicans are currently dancing a sick, sad dance with fascism, white supremacy, and the imminent destruction of democracy as we know it. While many of them clearly rejoice in the demonic avarice of it all, others are no doubt telling themselves that it’s just a little game-playing, a strategy to gain or retain the positions they need to do the truly important stuff – whatever that might once have been. Those who refuse to compromise may gain a burst of love from social media or other purists, but it won’t matter because they’ll soon vanish from sight and lose what little leverage they had to do whatever it was they wanted to do.

Democrats, on the other hand, keep telling themselves there’s a sweet spot somewhere between rational progressivism and nutty left-wing extremism, but every speech and every policy proposal proves this to be a tad optimistic. They’ll never be able to please critics who’ve already labeled them the Antichrists of the new age, but neither will they ever go far enough to satisfy their most vocal supporters and the fairy tale policies they demand. As with their nemeses on the right, those who refuse to straddle the divide may sleep with purer souls, but it won’t be long before they’ll be living their purest lives in the private sector somewhere… if they’re lucky.

In short, compromise is rarely as neat or as laudable as we’d like to think. That doesn’t mean it’s always a bad thing, but the results sometimes feel just as sullied as the problems we initially set out to rectify.

Perhaps it’s an issue of scale. My wife watches some of the dumb stuff I like with me, and the next night I stay in the living room while she’s binging on Christmas Cookie Challenge (in October). I occasionally give in and eat at Panera. A week later, she finds something she can live with at Fiddlers’ Hearth. We stay an extra night at her parents’ place over the holidays, but I stay at the house when they head to Ikea. The stakes are low, and for the most part all we’re really doing is negotiating peripheral details in a relationship we both like most of the time.

The trio deciding whether or not to learn a few songs from the latest Taylor Swift album when they’d rather be the next R.E.M. faces a tougher conversation. So does the pastor whose faith is prompting him to speak out against some of the ideologies popular among the highest givers in his congregation. An entire generation of doctors and other medical professionals have learned to juggle their commitment to the health of every patient with the realities of economics, insurance, and legal liability.

The dynamics of compromise are a little different for educators. We’re not really a factor when it comes to setting education policy (which is a whole other issue) and the decisions we make each day aren’t likely to have an immediate impact on people outside our classrooms. Most of our compromises occur in the moment and remain primarily internal. And since compromise by its very nature means no party gets everything they want, our decisions are at least partial failures before we even make them.

At least, that’s how it sometimes feels.

I care about the subject matter I’m teaching, but I often end up grading based on “effort” or “improvement”… however minor or late in the game it occurs. It’s a compromise between academic expectations and not wanting so many kids to fail.

I want to do creative, engaging lessons, but so many of my students are low-performing or only present a few days a week. They lack the confidence, foundational understanding, and consistency for most activities I’ve used in the past to be successful. So, we do the sorts of things which require minimal buy-in and are easy to hand to anyone who’s just missed a few days with reasonably hope they can do it if they choose. It’s a compromise between engagement and accessibility, I suppose, or between the potential of the few and the needs of the many.

When I hold the line on disruptive student behavior and end up following formal disciplinary policies as a result, I spend the rest of the day wondering if I could have done something differently to avoid the problem altogether. When I let something slide in order to avoid escalation, I can feel the vibe of the room shift a teeny tiny bit towards chaos and insecurity. Every day brings a dozen minor compromises between safety and security and a relaxed, low-stress atmosphere.

I realize there are bureaucratic hoops through which we all must jump and legislative requirements we all must meet. And yet… we waste so much time and energy on stupid required stuff, and far too often we fall into the trap of dragging our kids through it as well. When I go along, I feel like part of the problem. When I resist or refuse, I feel like an agitator or, worse, a whiner who’s making things difficult for my coworkers. At best, it’s a compromise between red tape and righteous fury. Other days I think I’m just throwing a fit because I don’t want to watch the same 78-minute seizure training video we’re required to view (the browser knows when you skip it or change tabs) again.

I’ve written before about nudging a few grades in order to get kids eligible to play sports or participate in other activities. Too dogmatic and I’m closing doors they’re not mature enough to keep open themselves; too generous and I’m undercutting the whole point of eligibility to begin with. For that matter, letter grades themselves are an ongoing compromise between our desire for useful information about a student’s academic progress and our need to have something concise and artificially precise so we can do calculations with it or send out easy-to-read reports for parents or other involved parties.

I realize the decisions I make each day don’t start or end wars. Nothing I choose in my little world is likely to impact legislation, other people’s career choices, or the fate of anyone’s eternal soul. At the same time, I think it very much matters sometimes how we handle grades and grading. It matters how manage classroom behavior and attitudes. It matters what we teach and how we teach it. Most of the compromises we’re all making each day are tiny in and of themselves, but collectively, and over time, I suspect some of them matter a great deal in ways we can’t possibly predict and don’t always understand even when we do.

The best we can do is to stay transparent with one another and to keep making the best on-the-spot compromises (and other decisions) we can. Until someone finds a way to make the ideal answer to every situation both clear-cut and universal, our messy little compromises will simply have to do.

Potty Mouth for U.S. Senate!

Tom McDermott the Democratic candidate for the U.S. Senate seat on the ballot next week here in Indiana. This is the landing page for his official campaign website. Anything jump out at you?

Yeah, me too.

Indiana still has early voting (it’s called “in-person absentee voting” here; maybe that’s what it’s called everywhere), so I’d already voted for the man before visiting his site. I only came across it preparing for an assignment in my American Government classes which required students to check out the campaign pages of each of the three candidates on the ballot for Senate and House in our District. There’s a Libertarian candidate, like there always is, and the incumbent, Republican Todd Young. (Young is the less-horrifying of Indiana’s two Republican senators – one of those conservatives I’d have adamantly opposed a decade ago, but who at times seems almost calm and rational compared to Marjorie Taylor Greene, Ron DeSantis, or Indiana’s other Senator, Mike Braun.)

One of the questions on the assignment was “What two or three things does this candidate most want you to notice, feel, or think about when you first browse their site?” I wasn’t looking for anything overly profound – just wanting us to notice the abundance of American flags, what issues the various candidates lead with, and the general “tone” each site projects. This catchy little slogan certainly qualified.

Honestly, at first I thought perhaps I’d stumbled across some sort of parody site or imitation webpage intended to besmirch McDermott. (It’s not like Republicans are known for their commitment to taking the high road and staying classy about anything these days.) But no – this is the real thing.

I’m not offended, and after thinking about it for a few moments I’m not even all that surprised. This is still a very red state. If you click on “About Tom,” the brief biography leads with his 18 years as Mayor of a reasonably sized Indiana city and the millions of dollars in economic development he’s apparently brought in over the years. There’s a brief bit about helping lots of local kids get to college, then an effusive description of his time in the U.S. Navy aboard a nuclear submarine and some of the very manly sounding things he did there.

Only then does the bio slide back into anything overtly “liberal” – while earning his law degree at Notre Dame, McDermott worked in the school’s Legal Aid office “providing legal services for the less fortunate.” Before wrapping up, we also learn about his love of competing in marathons and his leadership roles in a local church.

Why am I bringing all of this up, especially given that most of you can’t vote in the state of Indiana?

It’s not to offer criticism of the man or his campaign page. I get it. I remember my surprise several years back in Oklahoma at how many of the Democratic candidates bragged about their favorable ratings with the NRA or made a point of emphasizing their orthodox religious beliefs. Any left-leaning hopeful wanting to at least make a race of it in such conservative states has to project a certain image to even be taken seriously. An overdose of patriotism and testosterone is unlikely to sway anyone determined to vote for the far-right crazies, but it might prove reassuring to someone who considers themselves conservative but hasn’t fully embraced the gaslit fascism of the modern Republican Party.

Honestly, I have to think that for many people of all political stripes, “No Bullshit” actually sounds pretty appealing these days. It also suggests a type of aggressiveness and an unwillingness to follow social norms – neither of which I love in politics at the moment, but both of which have a degree of feral appeal nonetheless.

A visit to the “Issues” page brings up “Reproductive Rights” first and foremost. Local polling has been inconsistent, but despite Young having something like a zillion more dollars in his war chest than McDermott, this issue alone has some predicting a close race. Once you scroll down, however, it’s “Inflation and Spending” (as in less federal spending), “Health Care” (with a focus on getting costs under control), better care for Veterans, and promoting Small Businesses across the state. Only then does another traditionally “liberal” issue appear – Education. (Based on the campaign blurb there, it’s apparently “very important.”)

Then comes Voting Rights (he supports them) and Environment & Climate (another yay). After that my attention wandered a bit, proving that I, too, am a REAL American.

Senator Young’s site is the only one of any of the six candidates we used in class (3 running for Senate, 3 running for House) which practically hides his “Issues” page. It’s not available from the main page, but if you read all the way through “About Todd,” there’s a “Priorities” link at the bottom. Senator Young is pro-adoption, but apparently has no other thoughts or opinions about abortion. (He wants to “promote” life, but stops short of “protecting” it, which I find to be a rather tepid distinction .) He wants housing to be affordable, veterans to be served, and education to be “modernized” (which seems to mean “more focused on cranking out skilled workers for local industries to consume”).

Then again, why should he stir any of those pots with specifics? He’s the incumbent, and the Republican, and he’s probably going to win. A few photos of the senator shaking hands with farmers and a video montage of him speaking to small gatherings in cafes or the local VFW is probably sufficient. And to be fair, he has a great look. I don’t like most of his actual policies (the real ones, not the vague rhetoric on the campaign site), but I trust his hair implicitly. And that jaw – so firm, so reassuring!

Remember when being a serial killer was enough to get you on the naughty list for most folks? Then Jeffrey Dahmer came along and raised the bar for “bad.” Now, we can’t help but think that while folks who merely kill lots of people still aren’t ideal, at least they’re not eating them afterwards. That’s kinda how it is with modern Republicans. It’s such a relief when one of them isn’t actively trying to destroy democracy or undermine the founding values on which the nation was built (not to mention objective reality itself) that we can hardly get worked up over their otherwise horrifying agenda. 

Plus, did I mention the hair? It’s totes svelte.

I don’t know if there’s a “right” balance between polish and substance when it comes to modern politics. I’m a big fan of simply laying your cards on the table, but I know that’s not how elections are won – and it doesn’t much matter how forthright or laudably honest you are if it condemns your campaign to obscurity. You have to win before you can make any changes, whether you intend to move the nation forward or take it way, way back.

So, good luck, Mr. McDermott. Unfortunately, I suspect there will be plenty of “bullshit” raining down from all directions before this time next week, even if none of it comes from you. Here’s hoping democracy survives long enough for us to continue these sorts of discussions.