The Swahili Coast (“Have To” History)

Stuff You Don’t Really Want To Know (But For Some Reason Have To) About the Swahili Coast

Three Big Things:

1. The Swahili Coast was an important part of the Indian Ocean Trade Network in the 12th – 15th centuries. It’s a useful historical example of trade networks, cultural diffusion, and interaction between man and environment.

2. Over time, the people of the Swahili Coast evolved into a series of independent city-states sharing a common language (Swahili), a common faith (Islam), and a coherent economic system (er… “Trade”) – all of which were adapted and substantially modified to fit their local needs and collective culture.

3. The Swahili Coast declined after the Portuguese tried to take over Indian Ocean trade and mandate adherance to their superior Euopean whims. It didn’t work, but it did enough damage that the glory days were no more.

Introduction

The Swahili Coast was not a nation or political body in and of itself so much as a related series of trading posts, many of which developed into city-states, up and down the eastern coast of Africa. Unless otherwise specified, the term generally refers to the region during its economic and cultural zenith, from roughly the 12th century to just past the 15th. The Swahili Coast was in some ways a libertarian ideal – a loose but successful association of traders, held together not by a central government or national laws but connected through commerce and mutually beneficial norms which developed more or less organically over the years.

The term “Swahili” is not a designation of race, nationality, or religion, but a description of a specific group of people in a particular place and the language which evolved among them. It’s derived from the Arabic word for “coast” and is often translated as “people of the coast.” “Swahili” refers to both the people and their language – a lingua franca derived from Bantu (an indigenous language family from northern Africa) stirred together with healthy dollops of Arabic, Persian, and a sprinkle or two of whatever else was on hand.

Swahili language and culture evolved as part of a gradual migration to the coast from northern Africa. They were traders from the start, exchanging coastal items like shells and jewelry for agricultural products from the interior. They eventually settled in dozens of distinct communities up and down the coast, many of which became autonomous city-states and grew quite wealthy over time – especially after they began trading with merchants from the Indian Ocean as well as the continent itself.

Swahili Coast Maps

The Power of Trade

When the Swahili Coast comes up in history class, it’s usually in the context of its role as a “trading network.” Rather than a formal arrangement between nations, trading networks are better understood as a series of regular stops along well-traveled routes. Sometimes stationary marketplaces would evolve along the route; other times traders would simply visit specific merchants or connect with other traders as possible. Like the famous “Silk Road,” what may appear on the map to be a baffling trek across multiple continents more often represented the cumulative effect of hundreds of shorter journeys, back and forth over some segment of the larger network. Long annual journeys were more common sailing along the Swahili Coast than hoofing the mountains and nether regions of the Middle and Far East, but that doesn’t mean every trader hit every post in order before reaching the end and starting back the other way.

Each transaction meant someone had to make a profit. The party who didn’t hoped to quickly sell their purchases at a slight markup themselves. Multiply this by a half-dozen or more exchanges before reaching the final buyer. That’s why for so many years, the majority of things being carted around the known world were “luxury goods” – silk, ivory, porcelain, spices, etc. Traders could only transport so much stuff, and they naturally chose items which were relatively easy to carry and on which a reliable profit could be made, no matter how many times it changed hands.

There was no specific point at which uncoordinated migration eastward suddenly became the “Swahili Coast.” No Grand Opening celebrations marked its connection to previously established trade networks or their role in the onset of the modern world. It evolved over several centuries – no doubt in innumerable fits and starts. Historians have to place it somewhere in history, however, and traditionally that means the “people of the coast” came into their own just as Europe was coming out of the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance. And, since history is about asking the “why” as much as sharing the “what,” there are several generally agreed-upon reasons for this emergence of the Swahili Coast into the larger narrative of world history.

Technology and Innovation

Blue DhowThe development (or at least the substantial improvement) of dhows and other sailing vessels were making maritime travel and trade safer and easier, even over great distances. There are several things which make a dhow a dhow, but the two most likely to come up on your standard world history exam are how they were held together and what made them go. First, they were stitched together rather than simply glued or nailed. They were made of wood bound together with various types of cords and fibers. Second, and more noticeably, they had lateen sails. These triangular sails are still in use today, and when properly manipulated allowed boats to effectively sail against the wind – an obvious game-changer, nautically speaking, and a nice metaphor for technology in general.

Dhows had existed in various forms since the Greeks and Romans (although some historians are convinced the Chinese invented them like they did everything else at some point). The important thing to the Swahili Coast, however, was that by the 1500s, Arab sailors had mastered the craft. Even Europe was beginning to catch on and develop its own versions of the technology – “cultural diffusion” in action. Dhows traditionally had one or two sails, but by the 15th century ships were getting substantially larger and able to withstand longer and more onerous journeys. It’s no coincidence that it was around this same time Christopher Columbus was able to reach the “New World” – boats could do that now.

The compass was coming into more popular use as well, again largely thanks to the Islamic world. Yes, the Chinese had invented long before, but like Toto’s “Africa,” ideas sometimes arrive, then fade, before coming back again, bigger and stronger and covered by Weezer.

AstrolabeAnother old technology reappearing in new and improved form was the astrolabe, a device so modernized by Muslim astronomers and mathematicians as to be essentially a whole new toy. The astrolabe was a miraculous little device that allowed mere mortals to use the positions of the stars and calculations of various angles to determine the time, their current location, and accurately predict America’s Next Top Model, all from the deck of a sailing vessel in the middle of nowhere. Among other things, the astrolabe allowed Muslim sailors to determine the direction of Mecca from anywhere they happened to be, a major assist in adhering to their religious commitments. It was also, no doubt, a powerful psychological connection to home, allowing users to journey an infinite distance while in some way remaining connected to all they held dear. It wasn’t quite Google Hangouts, but it was leaps and bounds ahead of “maybe my next letter will arrive within the year.” 

Environmental and Geographic Conditions

Egypt (up the coast, at the other end of the Red Sea) had been the site of one of mankind’s founding civilizations, largely because the Nile flooded and receded with such wonderful predictability. To Egypt’s east, past the Persian Gulf and south a bit, the Indus River Valley (Harappa, Mohenjo-Daro, etc.) soon followed, largely thanks to the monsoon winds which blew north-northeast (roughly Madagascar to India) every summer and south-southwest (back towards Madagascar) every winter. These same winds were still blowing thousands of years later and made sailing up and down the eastern coast of Africa a breeze. Literally.

Running an assist for the monsoon winds were natural reef barriers and coastal islands which shielded much of the Swahili Coast from the worst seasonal weather and allowed vessels relative safety when operating close to the shoreline. If you zoom in on a map of Africa’s eastern half, you’ll also notice numerous natural harbors which made it much easier for even large ships to dock safely. It’s nice when nature’s all cooperative like that.

Natural Resources

Even before the Indian Ocean developed into one of history’s major trade networks, the migrant Africans who became “people of the coast” were aided by regular rains and plentiful seafood. The interior of Africa provided for the rest of their needs, and as it turned out, offered plenty of goodies desired by the rest of the known world at the time as well. Swahili traders allowed goods to move both directions, with the traders and local rulers of Swahili city-states profiting both ways.

From the interior of Africa came ivory, gold, copper, various woods, incense, spices, tortoise shells, animal skins, etc. There was an early version of the slave trade emanating from Africa long before the discovery of the New World and the large-scale plantation version familiar to most students. This slave trade was later dwarfed by the extent to which Europe took the idea and ran with it, but at the time it was nevertheless significant. Popular imports into Africa from the Indian Ocean included glassware and pottery, jewelry, paper, paints, books, gunpowder, pointy weapons, silk, and other precious fabrics – the same things everyone else who could afford them wanted to buy.

Trading Partners

Swahili Coast MapIt doesn’t much matter what goods you have to trade or how efficiently you’re able to transport them if you don’t have people to trade with. As with most things throughout history, the Swahili Coast did not develop in isolation. Traders from the Arabic world, parts of Europe, and beyond, interacted with the Swahili regularly and at times intimately. It was not unusual for traders to stay in local Swahili homes while waiting for the proper winds to take them on their way, often for weeks or even months. The cultural and other exchanges made possible by such extended time together exceeded even those facilitated by trade. It didn’t hurt when they’d occasionally marry or otherwise choose to mingle genetic codes.

Barter remained common throughout the active life of the Swahili Coast, but several participating city-states developed their own coinage as well. Other currencies were often accepted, depending on what was considered economically viable at the time. Even cowrie shells could be used, like bottle caps in the post-Apocalyptic Fallout video games, or paper money in the modern United States, currency can be entirely symbolic and still quite effective as long as those exchanging it more-or-less agree on its value. Shared economic logistics, however flexible, were essential for trade to flourish. Without them, we’re not studying the Swahili Coast five centuries later.

The Syncretic Coast

It’s worth noting that no one element specifically caused or resulted from the others. The technology enabled the trade, sure – but the trade also pushed forward the technology. The city-states were possible because of environmental conditions and flourished because of trade, but trade flourished largely because there were city-states there, made possible by the natural environment, which in turn was forever changed by the development of city-states and trade. Once the various exchanges begin, it’s difficult to separate the fudge from the ice cream from the peanut butter from the sprinkles. But then, who would want to?

The Swahili Coast provides a wonderful example of not only linguistic evolution but cultural diffusion in general. Traditional African cultures (plural) eventually encountered Muslim traders (and maybe a few Sufis) and meshed to create a uniquely African form of Islam. As traders from the Arabic world and parts of Europe or the East continued to interact up and down the coast, languages were mingled, but so were technologies, cultures, diseases, economics, and genetics (because sailors get lonely). Over time, something unique and new was born, while each of its constituent elements remained somehow familiar, even traditional.

By their heyday in the 12th – 15th centuries, the Swahili Coast was almost universally Islamic, although in many cases they retained elements of native religions as well (particularly when it came to appeasing spirits who brought on illnesses or personal misfortunes or various forms of ancestor worship). They built mosques, but with architectural features unique to the Swahili. This sense of spiritual community (of “ummah”) further strengthened the informal unity of the Swahili Coast and helped guide how business was conducted.

The typical Swahili city-state had some form of sultan, a Muslim sovereign who shared in the profits and acted as “head of state” when needed, although it’s uncertain just how much power sultans actually held in contrast to local merchants. The available evidence suggests that wealthy merchants acted as advisors to the sultan and held other government offices, which would indicate that while local government may have regulated trade, trade in turn regulated local government. Swahili sultanates were thus economic offices as much as a political positions. Given the lack of clear lines between the secular and the supernatural in Islamic tradition, the sultan most likely held religious authority as well. The realities of the Swahili Coast meant none of these roles worked quite like they did anywhere else. Instead, they borrowed what they needed from those around them, mixed it with the parts they retained from their own forebears, and made it work for them. Syncretism at its finest. 

Decline of the Swahili Coast

Vasco da GamaMost history students vaguely remember Vasco de Gama. He was the Portuguese explorer who eventually managed to round the southern tip of Africa and sail up to India via the Indian Ocean. Only a few years after Columbus thought he’d reached it by going west (Columbus never accepted that he’d run into a completely different continent), de Gama actually connected Europe with Asia via water, allowing trade and periodic conquest on a scale never before possible.

Unfortunately, like most European powers at the time (and the Portuguese were one of the biggies), the Portuguese approach to Indian Ocean trade was the same as their approach to pretty much everything else. Take it over, destroy anything or anyone not useful or sufficiently servile, and when it’s all broken, exhausted, and useless, thank God for the glorious harvest and move on. (Hence the glaring lack of idioms like “as subtle as the Portuguese” or “thinking long-term like a European.”) They weren’t able to actually subdue the Swahili or the Indian Ocean, but they did muck things up enough that it was never quite the same.

A few centuries later, eastern Africa was caught up in the slave trade on a much larger scale. Eventually it was divvied up with the rest of the continent as part of the “Scramble for Africa” in the 19th century. Swahili traders were still involved here and there, but never again as the autonomous and interesting players they’d been.

Make Me (Lessons from the Classroom in a Time of Corona)

Mount Rushmore-19As I write this, the nation is getting restless with all of this Covid-19 “shelter in place” stuff. The daily body count is a constant feature on any 24/7 news channel, and there are some real concerns about how we survive economically even if most of us eventually get through it medically.  I’m not going to argue the science, the economics, or even the politics of the thing at the moment. I can’t help noticing, however, several features of the current crisis which aren’t entirely unfamiliar to educators. Since many of us have a bit more time on our hands than we’d like, I figure there’s nothing lost in pondering a few of them here.

First: The Overwhelmed Medical Profession

Teachers aren’t doctors. We may save lives in some sense, but nothing like what many of them do quite literally every day. Nevertheless, there’s something familiar about the current dynamic in which medical professionals are being asked to handle an ongoing disaster which was largely preventable, using insufficient resources largely selected and distributed based on politics rather than in consultation with those who are actually experts in the field. To those in scrubs: we feel you, friend.

Just to antagonize them further, many of the same voices which are offering token praise of their efforts and personal sacrifices are in the same breath undercutting the entire ideology within which they operate. This isn’t a medical issue to be addressed with science! It’s a plot! A subversion of our way of life based on political skullduggery! “Social distancing”? More like Social-ISM! Again, yep. Been there. Still are, actually.

Anti-Social Distancing, MomSecond: A Federalism of Convenience

The relationship between local, state, and federal government is usually at its tightest when disaster strikes, but not so this time. I feel for mayors and governors who are attempting to manage a situation which by its very nature spills over borders freely and which they lack the power to fully contain. If they had complete control of those in their districts over an extended period of time, they could no doubt make great strides in turning this baby around, but instead people come and go and they lack the power to prevent it.

Even worse, they’re dealing with a federal government claiming to want to help them but often making things more difficult. Resources which could be going to their neediest citizens are redirected by powers in Washington, D.C., based on their own political priorities and pet projects. Any effort to make their own rules is met with resistance; any effort to coordinate solutions is shrugged off as “not a federal responsibility.” I’m not suggesting the immediate consequences are quite as severe, but this dynamic does sound vaguely familiar to those of us in public education.

Third: The “Make Me” Problem

Let’s assume for the moment that the majority of mayors and governors ordering businesses closed or that people stay inside have good intentions and want to save lives and so on. I’m not challenging anyone’s motivation. There’s a tricky distinction, however, between authority and control. More than anything else happening on the national stage at the moment, THIS is something QUITE familiar to educators of any subject at any grade level.

Sorry We're ClosedIn theory, I’m in charge of my class. There are guidelines within which I’m expected to work – I can’t hit the kids, cuss at them, take their personal stuff, etc. There are rules limiting what I can and cannot do. Within those rules, however, I have some leeway how I manage my classroom. In theory, if I insist there be no talking during silent reading, then there should be no talking. If I decree a seating chart, students should sit where the chart says they sit. Because those are the rules. While they may be inconvenient for the individual, they’re good for the class as a whole – or at least that’s the ideal.

In practice, however, every line drawn is a calculated risk. If I tell a class that there’s to be no talking the rest of the hour, I’d better know exactly what I’m willing to do about it if they talk anyway. As any parent knows, once you’ve repeated your expectations without getting the desired results a few times, you’d better have something else in your arsenal or you’ve just announced to the 12-year old that from here on out, they’re in charge. Since most of us can’t spank our students or send them to their rooms without supper, we’re left with less direct alternatives.

Generally speaking, teachers use a concoction of authority, relationship, and reason to prompt student cooperation. The mix won’t look the same from teacher to teacher or even from class to class throughout the day, but most effective teachers have all three in there somewhere.

Authority comes from the position. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll call your mom. I’ll write you up. I’ll give you detention. Authority by itself is a blunt instrument, but one you have to be willing to use for it to mean anything. Ideally, however, you rely on it as little as possible after the first month or so. Authority lets you win battles, but it does little to promote excellence or creativity or taking productive risks.

One things governors and mayors have had to do recently that we don’t see very often is use their authority to tell citizens what they can and can’t do. Not everyone was even sure how it worked – when was the last time you had to worry that the Mayor might find out that you REALLY went to Wal-Mart for a picture frame and only bought canned goods so you wouldn’t look guilty?

No Paint Brushes For You!Relationships are far more subtle. Many non-educators assume teachers get to know our kids because we’re all touchy-feely little snowflake-builders who just want everyone to feel loved. Sure, most of us care what happens to our kids, but that’s not the underlying reason relationships are essential. Without relationships, the only thing I’ve got to motivate them to cooperate are rules and reason. I don’t know if you’ve met an American teenager lately, but they’re not all fond of rules, and as a culture we’re not so great with “reason.”

It’s not about being their “friend” – it’s about wooing, cajoling, inspiring, badgering, or otherwise figuring out what motivates each kid to come to the damned water and DRINK! We’re being measured by little Johnny’s reading scores, however, so one way or the other we’re going to try to figure out what makes him refuse to tick – even if that means we have to get to know him.

Finally, there’s the issue of “buy-in.” Do the rules make sense to those expected to follow them? I can tell my kids to quiet down and most probably will, but it’s not simply because I have authority, although that helps. It matters that I’ve invested in getting to know them – they don’t all love me, but we have mostly positive relationships. What clinches the deal is that most of them accept on a fundamental level that a quiet environment is sometimes reasonable and normal in class. They may not always cooperate, but few would argue with conviction that moving around and more random outbursts would really help them focus on their reading. 

With enough relationship and/or authority, I can sometimes get “buy-in” on things they don’t yet understand or see the value of. OK, Mr. Cereal – we’re not sure what you’re up to here, but you’ve mostly been OK up until now, so we’ll go along with it for a bit and see how it plays out.” It’s actually deceptively easy to stumble deep into the pedagogical woods before you turn around and realize no one’s coming with you. You can play the “authority” card all you like at that point, and the best you’ll get is external compliance minus all real learning or enthusiasm. Often, you won’t even get that – especially if they start to notice that others among them feel the same.

It can turn. Quickly. Ask any teacher.

Snowflake MakerThis is the part presenting the biggest challenge to local authorities at the moment as they try to figure out how long to keep some things closed, or – like the poor Governor of Michigan – how to let you go to Wal-Mart for car parts and milk but make sure you don’t grab a few $5 DVDs while you’re there because those aren’t “essential.”

Sure, there are folks at each extreme – some insist the virus is no big deal because people die of other stuff all the time, while others bleach their mail before opening it. Most, however, are somewhere in between. They’re willing to mostly stay at home, and practice a certain amount of “social distancing,” and wait this out for a few more days. Maybe even weeks. They may not like it, and may not always follow the rules, but they subscribe the basic concept – we don’t want people to get sick and die.

Just like my students, however, we’re starting to see the backlash when authority lacks relationship or people no longer buy the reasoning. Why can’t we just…? What about…? And surely you can’t tell me not to…? It’s not a failure of mayors or governors, it’s human nature when it comes to unfamiliar rules and people you may not know or like much telling you what to do. I’m not sure mayors or governors are used to being in the position of having to win folks over once they’ve taken office, particularly not when it comes to matters of public health or emergency measures. They have my sympathy – even the ones I usually disagree with.

I suggest taking a breath and starting fresh tomorrow. Be ready to bust out the authority, if you have it and are willing to use it, and try to listen to representatives from the disaffected. If that’s not enough, however, they’ll need to do a much better job persuading the majority that their reasons and policies make sense for everyone – that they have a plan and it will pay off, if only we’ll play along. If not, you should consider calling everyone’s moms. You’d be surprised how often that works.

“Have To” History: Stone v. Graham (1980)

The following is a first draft for what I hope will become the follow-up to “Have To” History: Landmark Supreme Court Cases. I’m sharing some of the chapters as they’re written, partly to share with you, my Eleven Faithful Followers, and partly because nothing brings out the typos, grammar errors, and other shortcomings like publishing something online. Enjoy.

FOLLOW UP: The final version of this one (and the one that ended up in the book) can be found here.

Thou Shalt Post These In Every Classroom

Three Big Things:

1. Kentucky required that the Ten Commandments be posted in all public school classrooms without comment, but with a little disclaimer underneath about them being the “fundamental legal code of Western civilization.” 

2. The Court applied the “Lemon Test” and determined that the legislation had no clear secular purpose; it was thus a violation of the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment.

3. Whereas recent cases had dealt with efforts to support the secular education of students in religious schools without running afoul of the “wall of separation,” Stone marked a new generation of cases focused on the reverse – seeing just how far religion could be brought back into public schooling.

Background

Ten CommandmentsThe Supreme Court’s decision in Stone v. Graham was announced on November 17th, 1980. Less than two weeks earlier, Ronald Reagan had been elected President of the United States, initiating what would later be called the “Reagan Revolution” – a resurgence of conservative values and policies anchored in an idealized past. The events leading to Stone began years earlier, but its outcome sent a message to the faithful in the 1980s similar to that of Engel v. Vitale and Abington v. Schempp two decades before: American’s fundamental values (meaning public promotion of Christianity) were under attack by intellectual elitists… aka “liberals.” And some of them wore robes.

Less than a month after Stone was decided, John Lennon was assassinated. In January of 1981, Reagan took office and began “making America great again.” The symbolism is purely retrospective; it’s not like the 1970s had been great for either side of the cultural divide. The U.S. had weathered Watergate, Vietnam, and a major energy crisis before succumbing to disco, of all things. Cult-leader “Reverend” Jim Jones had recently led his followers in mass suicide, the horrifying event from which the phrase “drinking the Kool-Aid” was coined. As the new year began, the U.S. was on Day 400-plus of the Iranian Hostage Crisis. Everyone knew the exact number each day because the evening news led with it every night.

The “Miracle on Ice” at the 1980 Olympics was nice, but it already felt like a LONG time ago.

In short, there are many for whom it may not have seemed like such a bad time to try to slip some old-time religion back into the classroom, and nothing was more old-time-y than the Ten Commandments.

Rules to Live By

There’s nothing like a decade or two of perceived dissolution and chaos to make law-and-order look wonderfully shiny and assuring, and the Decalogue fit the bill perfectly. It offered clear guidelines for proper living, literally set in stone, but minus the sort of detailed penalties and depressing legalistic minutia spelled out elsewhere in the Old Testament.

It didn’t hurt that it was more-or-less universally revered – Protestants, Catholics, even Jews liked it! (You know, all the REAL religions.) What more could one ask?

The State of Kentucky required that a copy of the Ten Commandments be posted on the wall of every public school classroom. The Commandments were purchased via private contributions, so no state money was used, and teachers were not required to discuss, promote, or even draw attention to the Commandments so posted. At the bottom of each copy was this explanation:

The secular application of the Ten Commandments is clearly seen in its adoption as the fundamental legal code of Western Civilization and the Common Law of the United States.

And yet, there were a few parents who for some reason thought this might violate the Establishment Clause. The case worked its way through the courts until it was accepted on appeal by the big one.

The Decision

The Court’s 5 – 4 decision was nevertheless issued per curiam, meaning “by the court.” Per curiam decisions are traditionally  for situations in which there was little need to elaborate on constitutional reasoning and the Court was so united as to eliminate the need for an identifiable voice speaking for the whole. Gradually over the course of the 20th century, however, the Court began allowing concurring opinions to per curiam decisions, then dissents… and eventually it became an unacknowledged tool for avoiding personal responsibility for controversial ideas or arguments.

In other words, per curiam opinions periodically allow a degree of avoidance and misdirection from a body otherwise recognized as unflinching and unafraid.

The Court’s anonymous majority opinion revisited the three-part “Lemon Test” laid out less than a decade before in Lemon v. Kurtzman (1971). Part one stated that in order to pass constitutional muster, a law must have a secular purpose to begin with. Clearly, the Court argued, that was not the case here. The Ten Commandments weren’t being used to study the evolution of written law, or in comparative religion, or even as literature or general history. They were just… there.

This is not a case in which the Ten Commandments are integrated into the school curriculum, where the Bible may constitutionally be used in an appropriate study of history, civilization, ethics, comparative religion, or the like. Posting of religious texts on the wall serves no such educational function. If the posted copies of the Ten Commandments are to have any effect at all, it will be to induce the schoolchildren to read, meditate upon, perhaps to venerate and obey, the Commandments. However desirable this might be as a matter of private devotion, it is not a permissible state objective under the Establishment Clause.

Nor was the majority impressed by the State’s “Religious values? Are they really?” defense:

The preeminent purpose for posting the Ten Commandments on schoolroom walls is plainly religious in nature. The Ten Commandments are undeniably a sacred text in the Jewish and Christian faiths, and no legislative recitation of a supposed secular purpose can blind us to that fact…

We conclude that {this legislation} violates the first part of the Lemon v. Kurtzman test, and thus the Establishment Clause of the Constitution.

Having failed the first test, there was no reason to discuss the remaining two. End of story.

The Dissent(s)

Four justices disagreed, but only one went to the trouble to elaborate as to why. Judging from his tone, Justice William Rehnquist (who’d later become Chief Justice) was shocked and a tad appalled that the Court wouldn’t simply take state legislators at face value when they explained that posting religious laws without context in every school classroom regardless of age level or subject matter was actually part of a very important historical lesson on the evolution of Occidental jurisprudence. Because isn’t that normally how lesson plans are put together – mass stapling of posters paid for by outsiders?

Rehnquist quotes from previous decisions extensively and rather effectively:

The Establishment Clause does not require that the public sector be insulated from all things which may have a religious significance or origin. This Court has recognized that “religion has been closely identified with our history and government” (Abington School District v. Schempp, 1963) and that “[t]he history of man is inseparable from the history of religion” (Engel v. Vitale, 1962). Kentucky has decided to make students aware of this fact by demonstrating the secular impact of the Ten Commandments…

What was arguably his strongest rhetorical moment, however, came in one of his footnotes:

The Court’s emphasis on the religious nature of the first part of the Ten Commandments is beside the point. The document as a whole has had significant secular impact, and the Constitution does not require that Kentucky students see only an expurgated or redacted version containing only the elements with directly traceable secular effects.

Aftermath

Stone was one of the first cases to rule that even a “passive display” of religion could nevertheless violate the Establishment Clause. It was from this reasoning the Court would subsequently take issue with certain government-sponsored Christmas displays and other state-sanctioned religious ceremonies. The Ten Commandments in particular would become a symbolic “line in the sand” on various state capital grounds or displayed in a public building or two. Consistent with the Court’s decision in Stone, decisions in those future cases would often come down to context – where were they posted, how were they presented, and why were they included?

The 1980s would see a minor explosion of cases directly or indirectly related to the “wall of separation” between religion and public education. The question of equitable facility usage became a thing – can schools who allow community groups to meet on school grounds after-hours deny the same opportunity to religious groups? (Spoiler: Nope.) Indirect aid to religious institutions via tax credits for parents, secular school supplies, or simply sending over teachers kept coming before the Court, always in slightly different forms and forcing the Court to continually revise their solutions. There was even a brief foray into “Evolution vs. Creationism” before the decade was out. 

By far the most interesting cases, however, would be ever-shifting efforts to circumvent Engel, Abington, and the rest by testing one problematic element at a time. Eventually, all sorts of religious expression in public schools would be framed as “student led,” but in the 80s it started much more simply. What if schools weren’t posting commandments, reading Bible verses, or leading students in prayers? What if every day simply began with a… “moment of silence”?

Turns out that one will be hard to dispute, no matter how obvious the intent. The right was finally going to have a few wins.

RELATED POST: A Wall of Separation – The Ten Commandments (Part One)

RELATED POST: A Wall of Separation – The Ten Commandments (Part Two)

RELATED POST: “Have To” History – Zorach v. Clauson (1952)

“Have To” History: Wisconsin v. Yoder (1972)

I’m working on a follow-up to “Have To” History: Landmark Supreme Court Cases. I haven’t settled on a title yet, but the content seems to revolve around cases involving church-state separation in relation to public schools – and there are a LOT of them. I’m posting first drafts as I go, partly to share with you, my Eleven Faithful Followers, and partly because nothing brings out the typos, grammar errors, and other shortcomings like publishing something online.

“Normally I’d Agree With You, But Come On… It’s the AMISH!”

Background

Wisconsin v. Yoder (1972)

Orthodox Amish and your more conservative Mennonites are a fairly traditional bunch. While popular culture tends to oversimplify their beliefs and caricaturize their lifestyles, it’s fair to say that in general they prefer to avoid excessive entanglement with the modern world. The Amish tend to be a bit more separatist overall, preferring to remain in their own communities and interact with the world as little as possible. Contemporary Mennonites, on the other hand, can be difficult to spot until you notice the social justice bumper sticker on their hybrid parked tranquilly in the church lot.

Even these are overgeneralizations, however. Both faiths encompass a wide range of approaches to appearance, behavior, technology, and interactions with outsiders. What’s fairly consistent across the spectrum is a prioritization of family and community over wealth, convenience, or individual accomplishment, and of course a particularly devout commitment to their Christian faith. From these ideals stem all the rest – the horses and buggies, the dashing hats and svelte black coats, the aversion to technology, and that wacky love of hard work and simple living. 

In short, it’s not about whether electricity or shopping at Target is “evil;” it’s about what best serves the spirit over the flesh and the community over the individual. As it turns out, that was the issue in the early 1970s when Jonas Yoder and Wallace Miller, both Old Order Amish, and Adin Yutzy, a Conservative Amish Mennonite, pulled their children out of public school in Wisconsin after they’d successfully completed the 8th grade. They argued that while a basic education was fine – maybe even necessary – high school itself was too full of behaviors, ideologies, and subject matter which brazenly violated their religious beliefs and priorities. Rather than expect the school system to change to accommodate their faith (that wouldn’t be a very Amish approach), they simply removed their children from the system.

It’s not like the Amish or Conservative Mennonites let their kids lay around in their underwear eating Doritos and playing video games all day. Teenagers were expected to help care for animals, raise crops, cook and sew, or otherwise labor their little hearts out while learning essential skills for a long, healthy life in their respective communities. It seems unlikely their counterparts at the local high school were keeping a similar pace.

Amish You So Much

Amish Target

Wisconsin law required that kids be in school SOMEWHERE – public or private was up to the parents – until they were at least 16. Yoder, Miller, and Yutzy were prosecuted for violating state law and the case went to trial with Jonas Yoder acting on behalf of the group. While he was no doubt a capable individual, the Amish and Conservative Mennonites aren’t big on using the court system to resolve their difficulties. They do not, by and large, sue people for damages or seek legal recourse for minor infractions. An “Amish Lawyer” would be about as common as a “Shiite Stripper” or a “Hindu Butcher.”

The original court, in an effort to remain consistent with existing Supreme Court jurisprudence, determined that the requirement that parents keep their kids in school until the age of 16 was a valid secular state function. While there was no doubt that the Amish and Mennonites had genuine religious objections (they weren’t using religion as a pragmatic excuse for illegal behavior), that didn’t override the larger needs of the state as a whole. The families were convicted of violating Wisconsin law regarding mandatory school attendance, and each fined $5.00.

$5.00, as it happens, was the minimum penalty allowed by the statute in question. It doesn’t seem like too much of a leap to infer that while the court was willing to adhere to the letter of the law, they perhaps lacked the passion to make an example of these bearded rebels.

It was at this point that a Lutheran minister by the name of William C. Lindholm came on board. While he may not have shared the defendants’ precise theology, he supported their claims to religious freedom. The case was appealed to the Wisconsin Circuit Court, which affirmed the lower court’s decision, then to the State Supreme Court, which reversed it on the grounds that Wisconsin hadn’t actually demonstrated that there was anything about going to high school which was SO essential to the public good that it justified overriding the “free exercise” of the families involved.

It was now the State of Wisconsin’s turn to appeal (which is why their name is first in the title), and the case reached the Supreme Court.

The Decision

Walking Amish

The Court, in a sort-of-unanimous decision, supported the Amish. Chief Justice Warren Burger wrote the Majority Opinion. Two Justices (Lewis F. Powell Jr. and William H. Rehnquist) abstained, as they’d joined the Court after the case had been heard. Justice Stewart wrote a very brief (and odd) concurrence, in which he was joined by Justice Brennan. Justice White added a longer (and slightly less odd) concurrence, in which he was joined by both Brennan AND Stewart. And Justice Douglas filed a dissent, in which he was joined by no one, and in which he supported the Court’s majority decision.

For such a landmark case, this one was a bit of a mess. Imagine if it HADN’T been unanimous…

Chief Justice Burger’s Majority Opinion took a three-step approach to explaining the Court’s rationale. First, he addressed the question of whether the beliefs in question were legit (as opposed to being conjured up pragmatically to justify illegal behavior or otherwise falling outside commonly accepted definitions of “religion”). After sharing a history lesson on the Amish, Burger determined that they and their spin-offs were all widely-recognized and well-respected forms of traditional American Christianity.

Since this had never actually been challenged, it’s worth asking why Burger would devote so much energy to “establishing” the validity of the Amish and their ilk as religious communities. The most obvious explanation is the Court’s constant awareness that everything they say and do becomes precedent for every other court, both present and future, at every level across the nation. Thus, a degree of respectful delineation is often appropriate. One can’t help but suspect, however, that there’s a secondary motivation for Burger’s cautious venture into historical apologetics. He was in many ways laying the groundwork for the Court’s almost paradoxical decision: “Look, we agree with the State in theory – in most circumstances they’d be correct and we don’t want anyone else to get carried away and think they can do whatever they want in the name of religion. But, dude… this is the AMISH.”

He put it a bit more jurisprudentially than that.

Step two was to examine whether or not the law in question created a substantial burden for the beliefs validated in step one: 

The impact of the compulsory attendance law on respondents’ practice of the Amish religion is not only severe, but inescapable, for the Wisconsin law affirmatively compels them, under threat of criminal sanction, to perform acts undeniably at odds with fundamental tenets of their religious beliefs… It carries with it precisely the kind of objective danger to the free exercise of religion that the First Amendment was designed to prevent…

{T}he unchallenged testimony of acknowledged experts in education and religious history, almost 300 years of consistent practice, and strong evidence of a sustained faith pervading and regulating respondents’ entire mode of life support the claim that enforcement of the State’s requirement of compulsory formal education after the eighth grade would gravely endanger, if not destroy, the free exercise of respondents’ religious beliefs.

So that would be a “yes.”

Finally, the Court asked whether or not the state’s interest in pushing public education beyond 8th grade was substantial enough to justify overriding the rights of Amish parents to keep their kids home doing other things. At that point, there was no way to avoid substantial subjectivity, despite the Court’s effort to frame their response in terms of precedential cases and constitutional reasoning. Despite the substance of their decision, they seemed uncomfortable straying too far from the “belief-action” distinction established in Reynolds v. United States (1879).

Beliefs v. Actions (Place Your Bets)

Amish Church

Reynolds was a polygamy case. Mormons insisted the practice was part of their “free exercise” of religion. It didn’t hurt anyone and involved only consenting adults. Dominant American culture countered with “Eeewww! Weird!” and the courts were included to agree. Given that “Gross!” was a rather weak constitutional argument, they instead proffered the “belief-action” theory – you can BELIEVE whatever you like, thanks to the First Amendment, but the law can still set limits on what you can DO. In other words, freedom of religion is not absolute. The State has a right and an obligation to pass rules that help hold society together, which includes not letting people just go and marry whoever they want as many times as they want and then go about their business like it wasn’t totally “OMGWHAT?!”

Again, they put it a bit more formally.

Strictly construed, this same reasoning would prescribe that while the Amish and their ilk were welcome to BELIEVE whatever they liked about public schooling and the values of the modern world destroying their youth, that didn’t mean they could ACT on it without consequences. The Court wasn’t quite ready to go there, however, instead choosing to remind us a half-dozen more times what nifty folks the Amish were and how well they seemed to get along without telephones or nuclear power or public assistance. All the usual reasons given for why kids needed to stay in school – to get good jobs, to become informed voters, to grow into productive members of society – the Amish already had covered quite convincingly.

The Court had already been quietly pulling back from this “belief-action” ideology, despite paying it clarified respects in Wisconsin and then becoming infatuated with it again in subsequent cases. Major decisions were finding more and more instances in which sincerely held religious beliefs were enough to offset otherwise valid laws or policies. (In the most famous of these,  Sherbert v. Verner (1963), the Court required the State of South Carolina to pay unemployment to a Seventh Day Adventist who was fired for refusing to work on Saturdays, despite specifically guaranteeing protection for those who might object to working on Sundays. The burden thus imposed on Seventh Day Adventists exclusively violated their right to “free exercise” of their faith.)

Aftermath

Amish Horse & Buggy

The ultimate import of Wisconsin v. Yoder was – and is – to some extent “in the eye of the beholder.” It’s easily read as strengthening parental rights over their children’s education, a principle established in prior cases but without the overtly religious motivation seen here. It was certainly a major victory for the Amish and their ilk, but to what extent similar exemptions would apply to other religious groups was uncertain.

On the other hand, the Court’s written opinion certainly suggested that one of the primary reasons the Amish didn’t have to obey this particular law was because their theology, lifestyle, and work ethic fit closely enough with the larger ideals of traditional American culture without directly participating in the modern version more than necessary. If a primary purpose of Supreme Court jurisprudence is to offer guidance and consistency going forward, a decision built around the exception to several already uncertain “rules” wasn’t exactly ideal.

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Scaffold The $#*& Out Of It

Scaffolding StairsMy students are not typical of those I’ve had in the past. I’ve had plenty of diversity in my 22+ years of public education, but it’s always been just that – diversity. My current school is not particularly diverse. Sure, there’s a mix of haggard white kids and not-particularly-prosperous Hispanic students walking the halls, but by far the greatest majority of my darlings are poor, Black, and from backgrounds the rest of us might cautiously clump together as “complicated.”

So it’s been a learning experience.

The most bracing realization was that pretty much nothing I’d ever done in class with any other group of students actually works here. That’s not an attack on them so much as a confession of my own shortcomings. I’ve been riding high on personality and pedagogy-with-a-flair for quite a few years, and finding out that I was incapable of successfully communicating, for example, the “iceberg” approach to analyzing a short story (the author uses the “ice” above the water – the details in the story – to hint at the larger realities just below the surface) was humbling.

I’d rather not even discuss the results of our efforts to recognize ethos, logos, and pathos is persuasive writing, commercials, or print ads. It was… messy.

But hey – I’ve been to teacher school. Once. A long time ago. I’ve got one of them “toolboxes” we always hear about, stuffed onto a shelf somewhere in my metaphorical pedagogical garage. This is doable, right?

Right?

The Five Paragraph Essay

Scaffolding MysteryFor those of you new to education, there are several things you can bring up in any gathering of teachers to virtually GUARANTEE a complete and total breakdown of whatever was SUPPOSED to be happening. “So… what’s our primary goal as educators, exactly?” is a classic – both unanswerable and constantly answered poorly. “How should our honors/advanced/GT/AP classes be different than our regular/on-level/academic classes?” is another sure-fire disrupter. Oh, and I particularly enjoy overtly ethical and unavoidably emotional conundrums: “Do we really want students missing class because they’re not properly aligned with our outdated and possibly misogynistic ideas about clothing?” or “Should attendance really matter if they can demonstrate they can do the work and have mastered the skills?”

It’s good times, I assure you.

For English or Social Studies teachers (especially those frothy AP types), the Holy Hand Grenade of rapport-killers is the Five Paragraph Essay. Come out in favor, come out opposed, or simply mention it in passing, and off the rest of us will go. Only Wikipedia and Teach For America have achieved similar infamy for their ability to produce pseudo-intellectual chaos and mutual hostility, online or in the teachers’ lounge.

Honestly, you’d be better off bringing up religion, immigration, or abortion. Fewer emotions or deeply entrenched convictions in play that way.

More ScaffoldingThe primary criticism of the Five Paragraph Essay is that it’s stifling. Students learn to plug-n-play to fit a format without any real conviction and little actual learning. It’s barely an evolutionary step up from fill-in-the-blank worksheets. Secondary teachers and college professors alike lament their students’ inability to break free once their minds have been trapped and corrupted by this five-part infection.

An essay should be however long it takes to say what you have to say! This “structure” practically DEMANDS bland, surface-level thinking and formulaic thesis statements! It destroys creativity and genuine thought! IT PRODUCES STUDENTS WHO ASK HOW MANY SENTENCES HAVE TO BE IN EACH PARAGRAPH!!!

Those voicing these complaints aren’t entirely wrong.

At the same time, there’s something to be said for structure. How much great rock’n’roll started with the same basic 12-bar blues? How grounded is most Occidental music in the standard 12-note chromatic scale? And while there are plenty of examples to the contrary, it’s still hard to beat the power of verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-(verse)-chorus. And yet, somehow, music has managed to remain fresh and creative and meaningful and real.

Well, some of it, anyway.

If the musical example doesn’t resonate with you, there’s a comparable structure for planning a meal. Salads come first, maybe with a little bread. It’s typically green and one of two or three main varieties. The main course comes next, and ideally consists of one-quarter proteins, another quarter carbohydrates, and the remaining half some sort of vegetable. Dessert is last, and usually sweet.

Of course you can defy conventions if you wish. Have your green beans with your mousse or stir your salad into your iced tea. That sort of freedom periodically leads to brilliance and creativity, like whoever first thought to put ham or buffalo chicken on salad. Yum!

Generally, however – especially when you’re new to the process – there’s strength and security in following established wisdom.

Scaffolding Like CrazyI’ve previously compared writing with structure to making brownies from a box. It’s absurd for anyone with actual baking skills, but for someone at my amateurish level, those pre-measured ingredients and carefully diagrammed steps are a lifesaver. So are the instructions about how to put together my new desk or “how-to” guides for replacing the trim in your house. Even John Coltrane and Miles Davis mastered their scales before leaving the planet with their own ideas about what jazz could be.

And it seems I’ve come full circle back to the music metaphor. So be it.

I get that there are problems with the Five Paragraph Essay. For example, it’s unlikely most of my students will ever be called on to open with an attention-grabber, introduce what they’re going to say and how they’ll support it, elaborate on each of those points, then restate everything by way of conclusion. The so-called “real world” will rarely expect them to write this way and, unless you’re an old-school preacher, most of us don’t talk that way – and couldn’t, even if we wanted to.

On the other hand, at some point in their lives, assuming a modicum of personal or professional success, it IS likely they’ll be expected to explain a process, persuade a small group, or advocate for themselves or someone in their care. It may be formal, as part of a business presentation, or informal, standing at a customer service counter, or perhaps sitting across the desk from their child’s teacher or principal. It may be part of their effort to get a loan, defend themselves against a traffic ticket, or make a case at a community meeting for some policy or another.

While expressing themselves like a Five Paragraph Essay may not be the most effective approach, neither is their current default of “Tsst! Are you %&@4ing STUPID?!” The hope, then, is that by working on overall clarity and the necessity of supporting any argument with clear, rational thought, they’ll be better able to transfer this general skill to situations beyond the classroom.

Hey, we can dream, can’t we?

That is, in any case, the current reality in which I teach – or did before the Covid-19 beast descended. (I can’t wait for Easter when everything will be magically cured by saving the stock market.) As recently as a month or so ago, however, we were still just having school and trying to pry open their little minds and cram in some learnin’.

House of ScaffoldsI don’t belong to a particularly organized English department. There’s no time built into the weekly (or yearly) schedule for collaboration or team-building or whatever, and as of March I don’t actually know the names of everyone who teaches the same subject I do. Meetings are infrequent and informal (although there were snacks last time), and most of the teachers I actually talk to regularly are a door or two in either direction in my hallway.

A few days ago, as I was passing by between classes, I casually asked a colleague how things were going. She was unexpectedly peppy in response.

“Great! We finally got through five paragraph essays!”

“That’s awesome. Were they any good?”

“Well… they weren’t all terrible, and that’s saying something.”

“I haven’t even come back to writing yet this semester. What’s your secret?”

“Secret? Ha – no secret. We just scaffold the $#*% out of it!”

Scaffold of LibertyTwenty years ago, I would have been intimidated by the terminology (the “scaffold,” not the “$#*&%”). I was getting by on enthusiasm and self-delusion and if I’d slowed down to think about anything too clearly, I’d have been Wile E. Coyote just after running off the cliff – he didn’t plummet until he looked down.

Ten years ago, I would have understood it, but been a bit dismissive. I had different kids then, and while I’d dramatically improved my grasp of pedagogy and child development, my students generally arrived with enough basic skills that my primary challenge was to engage and motivate so we could push towards greatness, not rehash the basics of playing school.

I genuinely love my little darlings this year, some because I choose to and others because I just can’t help it once I get to know them. Winning them over is still part of the equation – not for my benefit, but because it’s the only way most of them are likely to learn anything “academic” while in my care. I’ve learned not to make any assumptions about what they already know or what they can do – not because they’re “stupid” (they’re not), but because they’re such an unpredictable mix of ignorance and ability. They can definitely learn. They can even learn to enjoy learning. Their tolerance for challenge is low, however, and their frustration palpable at the slightest speedbump.

I can lament the loss of rose-colored “good ol’ days,” or I can put on my big-teacher panties and adjust based on the students in front of me and what they need if they’re to have any chance of moving forward. It just requires a different approach – one I’m finally mastering after 20+ years in the classroom.

We scaffold the $#*& out of it.

Scaffold Map

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