
Welcome to my podcast. My professional development session. My keynote address. My #edreform movement. My next book.
As I’m sure you’ve noticed, everything sucked before I got here – especially how we teach history. All social studies-related education since time immemorial has been taught badly, usually by caricaturized coaches (whose good names we’ll implicitly besmirch throughout today’s presentation). They recited nothing but long lists of disconnected facts, usually in hours of monotone delivery, and demanded you memorize several hundred miscellaneous dates and the names of all dead white men – mostly warriors, kings, and presidents. When visuals were utilized, they were on transparencies, using the same overhead projectors they presumably received on their fifth birthdays when first chosen to haunt the living in this particular fashion.
They only assigned two things – infinite vocabulary lists or questions at the end of the chapter. On good weeks, though, you’d get a documentary on Friday. It usually involved an actual film projector so it could make that cool ‘rakkikikikikikikikik’ sound the entire time.
But no longer – I am here to save history and history education. I will speak of women, and individuals of color, heretofore unknown in all of publishing or pedagogy. I will tell of the ‘common man’ and hypnotize you with my colorful storytelling, a concept ne’er before dreamt of since before Horace Mann first established the Kingdom of Public Schooling. I will then engage you with what I call “activities” – you will speak to one another, and discuss multiple possible responses to open-ended questions, pausing only temporarily to weep with appreciative joy at what I’ve brought to your day. Finally, you will regurgitate – nay, reveal! – what you’ve learned through various multimedia projects, slathered in terms like “real audience,” “digital natives,” and, of course, “coding is the future.”
I hope you’re not overly disoriented – I realize the level of #amazeballs I’m about to bring can be a bit daunting at first.
Do I sound bitter? More than usual, I mean?
Maybe I am, a little. I just can’t take one more podcast intro, one more author’s forward, one more introductory activity built around the assertion that prior to about 2017, all public education – particularly in subjects related to history – ran pretty much as portrayed in your typical 1980s teen comedy. (Bueller? Bueller?)
I just don’t think that’s true. Sure, there were boring history teachers – boring everything teachers – just as there probably are now, although I think we oversell their prevalence. I’ve encountered a few rather dry specimens over the years, and even a very stereotypical coach or two. But they’re not the norm, and I’m not sure they ever were. I think we tend to recall our public school years through crud-colored glasses, mostly because we’ve been told to so often.
In the same way your memory of an event will gradually evolve to fit the way you tell it over the years, I respectfully suggest we’ve been told the same few lies about public schools – then as much as now – often enough that we’ve started to buy into the clichés. Unless we stop and question it, at least with ourselves, we become one more purveyor of the same sort of shibboleth – thoughtless, foundationless folderol of the sort we mock when we recognize it from others.
“I don’t see color…” (Oh dear god, you poor dear – how are you with age, gender, or object permanence?)
“I don’t vote for the party, I vote for the person…” (That’s adorable. Yes, you’re totally above the rest of us, mere slaves to whatever single initial appears parenthetically on the ballot. I wasn’t even aware there were specific people running!)
“Deep down inside, people are all the same…” (Yeah, that’s why we all understand one another and get along so well – especially across cultures and throughout time. Maybe your history teacher did suck…)
“We don’t really watch much TV…” (Just keep telling yourself that; besides, those 47 hours a week on Facebook and YouTube are mostly educational, right?)
“History isn’t boring; history teachers are boring. Especially in high school. Damned coaches.” (We seem to have come full circle.)
I call bullsh*t. Totally and loudly. I’ve simply sat in too many classrooms, had too many discussions at too many conferences, to buy this even a little. And it’s not just the current generation – many of them got into teaching because of the passion and creativity their teachers brought to everything they did. And yet, when people tell me about it, they always couch it in how lucky they were to have that one capable, energetic teacher alive in 1962, or in the entire state of Iowa, or whatever. Even their own personal real-life experiences have been relegated to the “What are the CHANCES?!” bin thanks to the power of the “History Normally Sucks” narrative.
(Perhaps it should provide me some sense of continuity that the same basic phenomenon infects discussions of modern education policy, as the vast majority of people are quite happy with their child’s school and their kid’s teachers but remain nevertheless convinced that public education as a whole must still be a disaster.)
I’m glad you’re moving past “Great Man” history. I’m thankful you’re incorporating critical thinking or student movement or kinetic technological STEAM-worship or whatever. Yay for telling good stories in memorable ways. I genuinely love your podcast – for totes realsies – and I appreciate your professional development ideas. I might even buy your book. You know much that I don’t and have so many great ideas, all of which I’m ready to hear.
But for the sake of all that is true, can we try a different launching pad than the conjured up corpse of history-education-ala-days-gone-by? You’re doing such a great job bringing historical figures and events to life, giving them personality and providing us with interesting context and perspective. Why do to the pedagogy of the past what you’re so effectively fighting against in regards to everything else?
Do keep going with the rest of it, though. Please. There’s enough history and enough ways to teach it that we’re unlikely to run out of content or tire of finding new ways to think about it. I’m sorry I got all snippy there for a bit – it’s just kind of a sore spot for me. Please, carry one with what you were saying after the annoying part. I for one, can’t wait to hear more.
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Zooming out a bit, Chara is from Slovakia and speaks seven languages. He’d been in the NHL for twenty years at the time of the interview, over half of it with the Bruins, and he’s one of the most respected players in the game, on and off the ice. He still has the slightest bit of an accent, and while his most defining visual feature is that he’s about nine-and-a-half feet tall, you also can’t help but notice that he’s, you know… ethnic.
Ideas and words matter, all by themselves – absolutely. Books, music, art, fast food – I don’t always need to know the motivations and political ideologies behind every song I crank up or every chicken sandwich I grab from drive-thru. But let’s be honest with ourselves about the extent to which author and context shape our understanding or opinions when we’re not feeling particularly analytical or cautious. Our favorite person in the world might occasionally be an idiot, while someone of whom we’re not personally a fan may from time to time speak great wisdom.
Beyond that, there are some iffy people in our world saying and doing things which aren’t always horrible. I, for one, keep stumbling across recent legal opinions by Justice Kavanaugh with which I substantially agree – despite cringing a bit at the internal dissonance which results. And just last month, a student sent me a Ben Shapiro video in which he said TWO ENTIRE THINGS which weren’t horrifying or insane.
1. In 1989, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, was one of many sites across China where citizens marched, chanted, and otherwise protested government corruption; they demanded reforms and protection of basic human rights.
On April 15th, 1989, a popular politician by the name of Hu Yaobang died (he was 73 and had a heart attack – nothing nefarious). Hu was rebellious and relatively progressive, popular with idealists and college students – the Bernie Sanders of his day. Students and others took to the streets to mourn his passing, which inevitably transitioned into rather blunt criticism towards those still alive and in power. Soon their demonstrations became protests – against corruption, against the party’s mistreatment of Hu, and whatever else came to mind along the way. And they spread.
The Xhosa were (and are) a major cultural group from the Eastern Cape. The land was fertile and there were plenty of fresh water sources for their cattle – which, as it turns out, were rather important to them. Like the Zulu, they were descended from the Bantu who centuries before had migrated from the northwest. Xhosa is still one of the most-spoken languages in Africa, and the native tongue of Nelson Mandela, Bishop Desmond Tutu, and the Black Panther.
Since the mid-17th century, the Xhosa, like the rest of Southern Africa, had been forced to accommodate European settlers on the Cape – first the Dutch, then the British. The Dutch Boers were especially problematic. Staunch Calvinists, they believed themselves quite literally chosen by God and rarely hesitated to transgress on Xhosa territory. In turn, the Xhosa raided Boer settlements for (what else?) cattle, and hostilities erupted regularly.
The homestead was understandably hesitant to embrace this revelation, so Mhlakaza returned with the girls to the site of the visitation. The strangers would only communicate through Nongqawuse (which perhaps should have been a red flag) but Mhlakaza was nonetheless convinced one of the spirits was, in fact, his deceased brother, and embraced the prophecy wholeheartedly. Mhlakaza sent word to the other chiefs, and soon the entire nation was talking. Even King Sarhili sent trusted family members to investigate; soon he, too, was officially a believer.