Bring On 2022

December 31, 2021June 12, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I don’t know about you, but I’m not all that happy with how things have been going lately. Even worse, I’m not thrilled with how I’ve been responding. I’d hoped for better from my nation, many of my friends, and (as much as I hate to admit it) myself.

But if you’ll allow me to coopt a phrase from another genre… it’s a new day. At least, it has the potential to be.

For longer than I care to remember, New Years has been my favorite holiday. (I’ve written about it before, enthusiastically if not always successfully.) The past several Decembers, however, it’s been more difficult to maintain that sense of renewal – of possibility. In 2019, I was mostly just glad the damn year was over. In 2020, I’d recently started a new position at a new school and was pretty much failing miserably – or so it felt.

Now, as 2021 sputters to a close, I’m staring forward and not liking much of what I see. Midterm elections will likely prove a continuation of everything it’s become impossible to ignore about American politics. Our collective boredom with the pandemic and general lack of concern with the well-being of those around us continues to prolong unnecessary suffering. We’re not quite up to actual book-burning just yet, but much like we’ve learned to do with our other sins and vices, we’re accomplishing many of the same things less directly.

Also, I’ve gone up a few more sizes and nothing fits well anymore. This may not objectively belong on the same list as Uncle Sam once again openly embracing Jim Crow, but I assure you, it’s a joy-killer.

Nevertheless, it’s a new year. (That’s the whole idea, after all.) I’ve spent too much time and energy trying to help others focus on the parts they can control for me to sit back and marinate in despair – at least, not exclusively. My goals for 2022 may not seem overly ambitious to the better-adjusted among you, but for me… these could be game-changers. I suspect the same is true for one or two others out there as well.

1) It’s time to start reading non-fiction again, especially stuff involving the real world around me. For several years now, I’ve largely avoided watching the news or listening to NPR. I’ve ignored any documentaries that weren’t about art theft, tiger kings, or the movies/albums/toys that “made us.” I’ve largely stuck with hockey and series I’ve already seen – lots of Star Trek, M*A*S*H, Archer, and Marvel movies. That’s OK. It was necessary for things to settle internally. But it’s time to shift back into engagement, this time minus the rage and discouragement that made it counterproductive before. It’s time to reclaim knowledge and thoughtfulness as coping mechanisms, not trap doors.

2) It’s time to put a little more effort into relationships. I’m an introvert in the best of times. I enjoy select people and usually manage to be enjoyable in return, but I don’t draw strength or energy from socializing or networking or whatever. I recharge alone, preferably in quietness. Until these past two years, however, I didn’t realize how much I needed those periodic connections with other people. I don’t need many of them, or for them to happen every day, but I’ve neglected too many good humans who deserved better… and I’ve paid something of a price emotionally and socially.

3) It’s time to practice a little grace and patience with evil self-deluding fascists. Yes, they’ve blasphemed against everything I once believed in spiritually and finally convinced me there’s no truth left in it. Yes, they’ve sacrificed the ideals of what could have been a pretty nice little country in their desperate efforts to assuage their own manufactured sense of perpetual victimhood. Yes, they reek of white supremacy painted up as “meritocracy,” fundamentalist theocracy wrapped in the wool of “religious freedom,” and raw ignorance celebrated as enlightenment. But despite all of this, they’re not all individually irredeemable, or so I’d like to think. Besides, treating others decently isn’t always about them so much as it is about us – and I’d like to be a better “us.”

4) It’s time to continue coming to terms with my own shortcomings, quirks, and failures. I’m still trying to embrace self-awareness enough to make positive changes without becoming so mired in self-loathing that I can’t function. (And yes, I tend to experience things in emotional extremes and react accordingly.) I probably won’t lose twenty pounds, but maybe I could lose two. I’m not swearing off video games or professional wrestling, but maybe those things could take up half of my free time instead of ninety percent of it. I’ll probably still be too reactionary, too angry, and too overwhelmed by things, but maybe I can channel more of that into advocacy, empowerment of others, or self-improvement.

5) It’s time to learn how to make better use of my air fryer. OK, maybe that doesn’t seem like it belongs on the same level as those other things, but it’s a metaphor… or something. It’s one of way too many little things I’ve wanted to learn or do better, but have felt too crushed by reality to bother with anything past chicken strips and air fries. It’s time to reclaim the simple things that feel like progress, real or imagined. It’s time to find small joy in small successes. It’s time to reclaim our sense of self from the events around us.

In 2022, I’m not going to hide from local or national realities, but I would like to find better ways to get involved – to find hope and energy through becoming more pro-active. I’d also like to allow myself the time it will take to organize my music and other computer files, or get back to fixing up the basement, all without feeling like I’m either wasting my time or biting off more than I can chew.

I’m not expecting miracles, from myself or anyone else. I’m fairly realistic at this point about the upcoming difficulties, the ups and downs, and even my own inevitable failures along the way. But if we’re going to survive 2022, it will require a change of attitude, focus, and effort – at least for me. And if we’re not going to make it to 2023, well… I’d like to go down swinging. And singing. And using my air fryer properly.

Happy New Year, my friends. Peace, wisdom, and strength to us all.

“Tank Man”

May 16, 2018June 23, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

Some of you remember this guy. This moment.

It was June 1989. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) had been in power for forty years, following decades of civil war against the Kuomintang (KMT), or Nationalist Party. The People’s Republic of China (PRC) was declared in 1949 with Mao Zedong as its unquestioned first-among-equals; he ran the nation in ways both brutal and strange.

The KMT, led by Mao’s nemesis Chiang Kai-Shek, retreated to Taiwan, where they established Alt-China, or China Classic, and remained (in the eyes of the west) the officially recognized government until 1971. Despite being virulently anti-Communist, the KMT weren’t exactly “good guys” in this tale. Taiwan was under martial law for nearly forty years, led by a government in perpetual paranoia over potential spies or Commie sympathizers. In 1971, the United Nations finally said “screw it” and gave their seat to the PRC.

Within a few short years, China Major – the big, red part we all know and love today – went from a “Cultural Revolution” in which anyone insufficiently excited about Chairman Mao’s “Little Red Book” was assaulted, humiliated, or simply made to vanish, to welcoming President Nixon and celebrating the “thawing” of relations with the west. For the next few decades the U.S. and China took turns pretending to care about basic human rights, while China purchased a bunch of America’s debt – eventually rendering the whole “shared values” thing moot because neither could afford for the other to fall no matter what else they did.

China craved economic growth and global legitimacy, seeking the ideal mix of market forces and “Chinese Socialism.” They loosened their grip on the little people, hoping they’d behave on their own if they knew what was good for them. China even wrote itself a new constitution, adopted in 1982. It’s super-socialist, to be sure, but also rather ambitious in terms of protecting personal liberties.

In 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 and to speak out against those still alive and in power – and then against corruption, and against the party’s mistreatment of Hu while he was alive, and whatever else came to mind along the way.

That was late April.

The protests ebbed and flowed, and government response was inconsistent. Sometimes they cracked down and other times seemed open to discussions. Protestors were unpredictable as well. It’s complicated enough to be clear what you’re against; far trickier to consistently project what you’re for. There were hunger strikes, rallies, some violence, and lots of yelling.

Always with the yelling, those protestors.

By June 4th, the government had had enough. After several strong editorials warning the masses to wrap it up and get on with their carefully managed lives, troops were sent in to disperse the crowds. They rounded up some, but other times simply fired into the crowds. This wasn’t a situation where tensions built and someone’s moment of panic sparked a massacre; this was methodical military action carried out according to the wishes of their superiors.

Tanks then rolled into Tiananmen Square. Protestors who refused to move or who simply couldn’t get out of the way were rolled over – several reports say multiple times, so their remains could be literally hosed into the sewers rather than taken away and buried. Clearly China was sending a message about just how seriously all of this new “freedom” was to be taken – and they were willing to sacrifice their own citizens and a certain amount of reputation in the eyes of the world in order to do it.

The official death toll was 200 – 300. The Red Cross estimated 2,700. Recent memos between British and U.S. officials suggest an alarmingly specific 10,454 – dead at the hands of their own government.

China did its best to implement damage control with the international press. Reporters tell stories of their equipment being seized, their hotel rooms trashed, and their well-being threatened over the words and images they were determined to send back to their respective outlets. But It turns out that pesky liberal media can be quite heroic sometimes, no matter what flavor of corrupt, arrogant power is trying to shut them down this time.

That is why – against all odds – we have this footage from June 5th:

Who is he?

We don’t really know, although there are theories and conflicting reports. He may have been a 19-year old student named Wang Weilin, or he may not have been. He was definitely pulled away – but were they government agents, or sympathetic protestors trying to protect him? He may have been imprisoned, tortured, or killed, or he may have simply faded into obscurity and gone on with his life. We’ll probably never know.

Here’s what we do know. He had absolutely no reason to think those tanks were going to stop.

They hadn’t, the day before. As he stood there defiantly he could hear the gunshots and screams of other protestors paying for their defiance. It’s not clear where he came from or how he ended up alone in Tiananmen Square, facing off with destruction, but 20 years after “Tank Man” became an international symbol of… something, this photograph, taken from a different location several minutes before its more famous counterpart, was unearthed:

He’d decided.

He’d seen them coming, and he’d decided.

It looks like he was on his way back from the grocery store or something, doesn’t it? One of the 20th century’s most iconic rebels seems to be wielding… fresh citrus and minty dental floss!

I’m particularly impressed that he had the gumption to climb up on the tank and – it seems – yell down to the men inside it.

I’m probably projecting a bit – idealizing the event – but the more I watch it, the more convinced I am that he was refusing to limit the interaction to human vs. machine. I think he’s up there insisting that inside the machine are other men. Other Chinese. Other citizens. Other humans. I think he’s demanding they own up to their role, that they confront him, or answer to him, on behalf of the people.

Like I said, projecting.

He didn’t stop the tanks. We can’t reasonably connect his actions to the saving of any lives. At best, he slowed down one segment of a long, complex series of horrors for about five minutes.

Nothing changed in China’s policies, tactics, or narrative. The Tiananmen Square Massacre is scrubbed from all internet searches and prohibited in all texts. If “Tank Man” lived past his asymmetrical showdown, it’s supremely unlikely he had any idea that his actions had been viewed or discussed by anyone not there that day. Even if he’s alive and well today somewhere in China, odds are he has no idea that he’s an iconic photograph or world history talking point.

Whatever his fate, he leaves us with a rather disquieting question…

Did it matter?

Did his efforts accomplish anything? Was his defiance worth the risk? Did he have the slightest impact, that day or the years to come? Did he alter or improve his society, his government, or his world?

Sure, he’s in the history books, but so is Chester Arthur (in the appendix, at least). So are entire paragraphs explaining the distinctions between feudalism and manorialism. So are Anastasia’s sisters. I love history, but I doubt my world changed one way or the other because Olga Romanova showed up for picture day.

So… did “Tank Man” matter?

I’ve never stood in front of a tank, or willingly put myself in any danger more substantial than voicing my opinion of an outfit my wife was trying on. I’d never be “Tank Man.” Simply put, I lack the courage.

He makes my challenges seem so silly and small. He makes my struggles seem so… safe.

We teach. We listen. We blog. We share. We love and we sacrifice, we rework and retry. We stand here with our little bags and our inflated gumption and we demand that the bad things stop. We insist that humanity come out, own up, and take over, knowing that it usually doesn’t. We often lose. We often fail. And when we do stumble into a win, there’s no one snapping contraband photos.

Like “Tank Man,” I’m not sure we’re changing anything. It’s very unlikely anyone’s even watching – or that if they are, that they understand what we’re trying to do, or why it matters.

Unlike “Tank Man,” the odds that I’ll be crushed by a military vehicle for my efforts are very, very slim. I may wonder if my state retirement is being properly invested, but while Indiana doesn’t love public education any more than Oklahoma does, they’re not out to end my life and torture my family to drive the point home.

So that’s a plus.

Still, I keep wondering – the soldiers in those tanks, the politicians making those decisions, the protestors lingering near the square, or the millions who’ve stared at that picture since… were they in some way changed by his wild, desperate efforts? Is there any way he could have imagined, or that any of us can know, whether any of what we’re doing so much as nudges the world in the direction we so desperately need it to go?

The whole thought process can be rather crippling.

And yet, it seems I’m still talking about “Tank Man” thirty years later. He makes me want to risk more and care harder.

So… I suppose I have my answer.

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Of Hockey Bias And Edu-Paradigms

October 17, 2015June 12, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I have a confession. One which is likely to shatter your adoration for my suave veneer and perpetually professional perspicacity. In fact, send the children out of the room, because –

I like hockey.

More specifically, I like Dallas Stars hockey – especially when mingled with the weird world of Hockey Twitter Commentary during games. When you follow and love the same team, you become a strange little community… not exactly friends, but more than random fans at the same game. It’s fun. And maddening. And sometimes just odd.

Then there are the feels…

Of course, emotions can run dark as well as light. I mean, it’s live – so there’s that. It’s also semi-anonymous. Even those using their real names aren’t real people in your real life with real faces and real feelings, right?

I realize the logic falls apart pretty quickly there, but that’s kinda my point.

It’s also Twitter, meaning “not a private line” – anyone in the world can look up what you’ve written and hold you to it. This has the potential to become a thing when controversy and strong emotions mix.

Often, during hockey, controversy and strong emotions mix.

Especially when someone gets hurt. Not normal hockey hurt – but ‘uh oh, that looked bad’ hurt. This happened Thursday evening when the Stars visited the Tampa Bay Lightning – a particularly strong team loaded with offensive talent and surrounded by a passionate fan base.

I don’t follow many Tampa people, but response from the Dallas end was predictable…

Hedman – the player receiving that hit – left the ice and didn’t return.

And then it got uglier – in the game AND on Twitter – with what looked like retaliation – and that’s also where it became interesting from more than a hockey standpoint.

I respectfully suggest that what unfolded over the next few minutes was a lesson in perspective and assumptions, with maybe a few big words like ‘confirmation bias’ thrown in for good measure. I’d also argue that the lessons potentially learned from this round of Twitter Fallout could be applied in realms ranging from political arguments to interpersonal relationships to discussions over education reform.

See, some of us got pissed.

My outrage was not without provocation. I’m at home on my couch, watching events unfold on my TV. The camera zooms in on the injured player – MY injured player – while the Stars’ broadcast team expresses concern over his condition. As the extent of his suffering becomes clear, the crowd’s applause swells in the background – and with it, my blood pressure, my adrenaline, and my just-two-beers-I-swear-fueled sense of injustice and twitter-outrage.

It is clear, it is unspeakable, and it is objectively horrific.

Except the crowd in Tampa watching the game live didn’t view a half-dozen slow-mo replays of Benn’s hit on their guy – who they feel like they know and care for. They saw it once in real time, maybe a replay on the Jumbotron, and their guy was hurt enough to leave the ice – which brings the feels. Nor would they have side-by-side video comparing it with the retaliatory hit a minute later.

As the kerfuffle brews after the hit on McKenzie, most people physically there would be drawn to the developing scuffle, the potential for a rather large-scale fight. So yeah, the cheering increases – but we’re experiencing two different things. I’m watching McKenzie, MY GUY, listening to familiar voices confirming my fears; they’re watching a potential fight of all-on-all at a live event with only group feels to drive their reactions.

On the surface we appear to be reacting at the same time to the same events, but we’re not exactly working from the same reality. It’s not just that we disagree – we’re not even addressing the same things.

Time for more preconceptions to enter the mix…

My hockey world consists largely of TV viewing and Stars Twitter – a mixed group, to be sure, a bit cynical and sometimes pissy as hell, but not a group which generally chants for blood or demonstrates pleasure when someone gets injured – no matter what the team or circumstances.

Well, maybe if it were Corey Perry. But otherwise, never.

We tend to give one another the benefit of the doubt when, you know – THE FEELINGS – so when I’m challenged on my interpretation, it is through that lens:

Look what the power of relationships and presumed goodwill can do to change the tone of a discussion. I don’t even KNOW these guys in real life. To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never even interacted with Kedge online before.

But we see ourselves as ‘on the same side’, and consequently I receive their comments much differently than I might otherwise. We’re all suddenly showing our bellies and reassuring ourselves that we’re all good.

Take a moment and mentally apply this to any of your favorite realms of recurring consternation – political, social, personal, or professional – and the parties involved.

Imagine the change if we began with different assumptions about one another. I’m not saying all intentions are good or all participants pure-of-heart – just that we might wait until they’ve established actual malice before proceeding under that paradigm.

In other words, let’s not be like me during hockey.

The next day I was called out by someone I don’t know at all – a writer who covers the Lightning. By way of perspective, writers for SBNation.com contribute as a labor of love – they’re not making serious money; they’re fans.

I asked for clarification, and he referred me to his comments of the previous evening:

What’s the difference in perception?

Well, he knows his team, for one. He has history with the players and a feel for what they are or aren’t likely to do. He probably attends live games in Tampa, and thus sees things through arena norms compared to my televised paradigm. When I’m watching hockey, I’m a fan participating in social dynamics; when he’s watching, he’s a fan doubling as a reporter.

I’m not saying he’s right. Don’t be ridiculous. Clearly I’m far more outraged, therefore justice is on MY side.

But I AM suggesting that there’s something to be gained by viewing circumstances through other lenses. His dissent – while not particularly warm and fuzzy – was also not personal. He finds my thinking bewildering… perhaps inane. But that’s what he attacks – my position. He can even explain why he thinks so, with just the right amount of tone.

OK, maybe it’s a tad belittling – but still…

I’ve been attacked on Twitter in far more juvenile ways, I assure you. It’s a gift I have, bringing out that side in others. And me, so demure and naïve in the ways of the world.

I have absolutely no interest in some sort of passive relativism preventing us from arguing or resolving anything as we scrape and bow before one another’s point of view. God knows if we’re going to make any meaningful progress in the realm of public education (or anything else) we’ll need vigorous and thoughtful debate.

But perhaps those debates will be more productive and our own insights a bit richer if we begin with different assumptions about one another and work from there.

Unless it’s during hockey.

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Thanksgiving Perspective

November 27, 2014July 31, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I’m not one to worry overly much about properly targeting my posts or tweets, or appropriate scheduling of posts, etc. I have nothing to sell, and am content to post sporadically about whatever happens to seem of potential interest or amusement to myself and my Eleven Faithful Followers (#11FF) – who I love and appreciate.

Still, I do try to stay in the general realm of education policy or subjects of historical or pedagogical interest. If I think I have so very much to say about hockey, or They Might Be Giants, or superhero movies, it wouldn’t be so difficult to set up another blog.

Oh god – imagine MORE of me carrying on. I just felt the full inanity of that for a moment.

I lack the pressures of a huge following. Normal weeks a few hundred people visit some part of this blog or the associated goodies, and of those a few dozen stay for any real length of time. My Twitter and Facebook accounts have similar numbers – I’m there, but I’m not, you know… a thing.

Still, I couldn’t help but notice this past week – as I melted down a bit over the ongoing public executions of black youth and the subsequent white disparagement of those silly negroes and their uncivilized reactions – that despite the regular ‘New Follower!’ notices, my numbers dipped overall. The likes and shares stopped, even for the traditional stuff. The zany commentary on life in the classroom. The spikey insights on our edu-natures.

Which is fine. But I noticed.

It could simply be that I went way off my usual topic base for long enough people lost interest. It’s also likely that my approach to the entire subject alienated or offended or just annoyed people. I do get going.

I’ll be back on topic after a few days out of town doing holiday stuff and watching some #DallasStars hockey. I’d like to do a post about ‘cognitive dissonance’ and its role in history and in the classroom. I’m sure it’s also a major factor in the ability of otherwise decent, intelligent people to believe that pretty much anytime a black kid is killed by the police, they were probably asking for it. Always. Every time.

That power never corrupts, race never shapes our assumptions, and people never try to cover their shame. That human nature has dramatically changed in recent decades, after centuries of being pretty much the same. That the bell can toll for you all it likes – I haven’t done anything to make it toll for me, so maybe if you’d stop being however you’re being…

But I probably won’t write about it that way when I do the post. I’ll stick with historical examples, or anecdotes with a little emotional distance. I’ll be thinking about Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Kimani Gray, Kendrec McDade, and others who look a great deal like my students but whose deaths don’t change much for my peer group or many of my friends. But I won’t call it out so much.

Because the real slap-in-the-face by reality this past week is the reminder that nothing I have to say is so powerful or effective that it changes minds or mindsets. I’m simply not that important.

Don’t grab your tissue and start typing fuzzies in the Comments box – my self-esteem is fine. Most of us aren’t that important – not to the extent that a few words of outrage reshape paradigms for all who hear them. Besides, I’ve been reminded of my place in the universe before, and no doubt will be again. The universe is very consistent that way – kindly kicking our lil’ egos back into line when we stray.

I’m sticking with my foundational delusion – that over time, through sheer persistence, monkey and typewriter, I’ll nudge a few people a few small degrees. That something will be amusing at the right time, or helpful, or resonate in some way. Like in class, the results are rarely dramatic – and may be negligible. Hell, they may not exist.

But what else can we do?

What else is there, other than to keep plowing and watering and pulling and hoping you’re not just making it all worse? I assure you, if I saw an opportunity to be more dramatically useful, I’d take it.

Those of you stuck with me in real life will receive no such relief. We’re invested in one another personally and professionally. You’ve earned the right to call me out or laugh me down and I’ve earned mine to wax prosaic. We’ll just have to endure, I suppose.

On an unrelated note, there will be shirts. Like, Blue Cereal Education shirts. You won’t be able to buy them, but you can earn or win them. I know, right? The perfect demure brag on your insider status as one of the #11FF. The perfect gift for that person you’re not actually sure you should buy gifts for but they seem to like, um… not being topless.

Happy thoughts to each of you. Perhaps we see through a glass darkly, but surely between us we can experiment with angles and light and assumptions until there be gleaning. Maybe we can catch a few… useful glimpses.

I am thankful to each of you who share your LEDs at one angle or another. You are treasured. I leave you with me: