“In God We Trust” (Or Else)

June 6, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

There are certainly plenty of wonderful individual people of faith around, including many Christians.

I feel obligated to open with this acknowledgement (disclaimer?) because my next several posts are going to focus on clashes between religious folks and public education which have been in the news recently, and it seems like every time you come across a story about someone asserting their Christian beliefs via legislation or the courts, they’re doing it for one of three reasons: (1) they want more government money for something without having to follow the same rules as everyone else, (2) they want the government to like their religion best and tell everyone about it more often because that’s “freedom of religion,” or (3) they want to be horrible to some group of people everyone else is supposed to be kind to.

All in all, it doesn’t paint a very flattering picture of the group as a whole. Then again, we’ve seen their voting habits, so…

Texas Demands Empty Proclamations of Faith Without Substance

The Texas State Legislature has passed a bill requiring that any public schools which just happen to end up with one or more “In God We Trust” signs in their possession post them as prominently as possible. (As of this writing, it’s waiting on the Governor’s signature.) Presumably, they’re hoping this will pass constitutional muster thanks to a combination of factors:

The signage will be donated, not paid for by state tax dollars.
“In God We Trust” is our national motto – a statement of patriotism (supposedly), not religion.
The Supreme Court has previously ruled that some religious statements are so drained of meaning as to no longer trigger “wall of separation” issues.

The “national motto” thing is a remnant of our 1950s terror of all things Communist. If spiritual purity and a commitment to capitalism weren’t synonyms before World War II, they certainly became so by the time of color television. The Commies were “godless,” so one way the U.S. could stand tall was to insert things like “under God” into the Pledge of Allegiance and make “In God We Trust” our official national motto. (For those of you unfamiliar with the teachings of Jesus, he was very big on public rituals and governmental gestures of support.)

This conflation of all things red, white, and blue with orthodox Christianity has only intensified since. In the hearts and minds of the controlling (and voting) majority of American faithful, you can’t love Jesus and favor gun control legislation. You can’t take communion and oppose tax breaks for the uber-wealthy. And it’s easier for an elephant to go through restorative justice training than for a Black man to have equal rights in the eyes of the law because look they must have been asking for it or they wouldn’t have the mark of Cain to begin with. It’s hardly a coincidence that the same Texas legislature pushing the “In God We Trust” signage passed a law requiring sports teams to play the National Anthem before every game.

From FoxNews.com:

Texas Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick was a staunch advocate for the bill, dubbed the “Star Spangled Banner Protection Act.” The measure was first introduced in February after the Dallas Mavericks briefly stopped playing the national anthem before their home games.
“Texans are tired of sports teams that pander, insulting our national anthem and the men and women who died fighting for our flag,” Patrick said in a statement in April. “The passage of SB 4 will ensure Texans can count on hearing the Star Spangled Banner at major sports events throughout the state that are played in venues that taxpayers support. We must always remember that America is the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

Notice the title – the “Star Spangled Banner Protection Act.” Because patriotism, like faith, apparently can’t survive without government propping it up by force. Note also the claim that American soldiers fight and die “for our flag.” Not our values, not our Constitution, and certainly not our people – for the cloth and the symbols and the rituals.

I won’t even try to make sense of mandating adherence to a ritual in order to remind us we’re the land of the free. Modern GOP “reality” gives me a headache. Instead, back to those godless public schools…

“Ceremonial Deism”

In 2004, the Supreme Court heard a case involving the “under God” bit added to the Pledge in the 1950s. A non-custodial parent objected to his daughter being exposed to this daily chant of devotion in her local public school. The Court avoided deciding the case on its merits, finding instead that the plaintiff lacked standing to sue (the girl’s mother, who legally had custody, had no objections to the Pledge).
Several concurring opinions, however, indicated that had they addressed the issue itself, the Pledge would have been fine. The best-known was this bit from Justice Sandra Day O’Connor:

Given the values that the Establishment Clause was meant to serve… I believe that government can… acknowledge or refer to the divine without offending the Constitution. This category of “ceremonial deism” most clearly encompasses such things as the national motto (“In God We Trust”), religious references in traditional patriotic songs such as The Star-Spangled Banner, and the words with which the Marshal of this Court opens each of its sessions (“God save the United States and this honorable Court”). These references are not minor trespasses upon the Establishment Clause to which I turn a blind eye. Instead, their history, character, and context prevent them from being constitutional violations at all.

In other words, “under God” was no more spiritual than saying “bless you” when someone sneezed or “OMG!” when you see a cool TikTok video. It was purely ceremonial, stripped of substance by repetition and years of historical impotence.

That’s what Texas is going for with their motto requirement – something barely constitutional because it lacks the slightest spiritual or religious meaning in the eyes of the courts or, presumably, the citizenry at large. Otherwise, it would be blatantly unconstitutional.

A Moment Of Pray—Er… Silence

The same basic approach was taken by numerous states when passing “moment of silence” legislation. These laws require school announcements each day to include 3-4 seconds of silence (some statutes specify a full minute) during which students can “reflect, meditate, or pray” or some variation thereof. These laws pass constitutional muster because they’re so pointless. Sure, kids can pray – but they don’t have to. Of course, they can also pray silently before the moment of silence, or after it. Kids have never ever EVER in the history of the United States been prohibited from praying silently during the school day, or from praying collectively and out loud on school grounds as long as it’s not in the middle of class. Never.

Legislators tried the same disingenuous strategy with the Ten Commandments as well, but the “HOW IS THAT RELIGIOUS?!?” argument somehow didn’t stick with that one. Opening with “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” kinda gave it away.

So if these moments and postings and such are neutered, meaningless symbols, why do some legislators fight so hard to make them happen?

Conservatives have somehow persuaded a majority of religious voters that these little token victories – the ones that slide past First Amendment concerns specifically because they lack substance – are somehow pushing Jesus back into public schools or securing God’s blessings on America. Mumbling “under God” or posting “In God We Trust” operates as a sort of code phrase, opening a spiritual portal for the Lord Almighty to swoop back in and take His rightful place in the big leather chair in the principal’s office. Statues become woodland creatures again, teenagers stop being interested in sex or any music recorded after 1957, and Common Core was never even invented, let alone mandated by many of these exact same legislators.

(OK, that last one wouldn’t be so bad.)

Let There Be (Gas)Light

In other words, the only reason to pass these laws is because those supporting them believe they ARE statements of faith. They DO matter in distinguishing America’s official religion (which they’re willing to pretend isn’t official in order to secure it as such) from all of those other belief systems (which have no place in public schools because of the First Amendment).

Religious legislators have learned to go through the motions of manufacturing pseudo-secular reasons for these theological breaches. They assert that a “moment of silence” rewrites the chemistry of the teenage brain each morning or that the Ten Commandments are purely historical context for the U.S. Constitution (despite the two having not so much as a single line in common). The trick is to do this while still celebrating the banishment of the White Witch from Narnia with their constituents, who believe their nation is so great and their God so powerful that neither can survive without such gestures.

Legislators aren’t the only ones perfectly aware of the power of these little religious “victories.” They’re a reminder to anyone outside the cell group that they don’t belong. You atheists, Buddhists, Hindus, or Muslims, along with you LGBTQ+ teens and anyone else who isn’t showing proper deference to state-mandated religious and patriotic rituals – you can stay for now, but you are outsiders. You. Don’t. Count. And honestly, you’re ruining everything for the good people – the ones who believe and do the right things, in unison, whenever we’re told.

If you think I’m overstating it, go visit another country for a few years where the dominant culture is different than yours and send your kids to school there. Or just ask one of those gay or atheist types you don’t let your kids hang out with. Maybe they’ll try to explain it.

The Governor has about ten days from the time a bill is presented to either sign or veto it in Texas. You’ll know if it becomes law because you’ll hear a cock crow three times.

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

May 30, 2020June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

There aren’t many advantages to being home for going on, what… seventeen months or so now? Considering all the extra time it seems we have, the kitchen and restrooms are dirtier than ever, my ‘To Do’ list is out of control, and I’m actually exercising LESS than I did when I was “busy.”

On the other hand, I’ve watched some fascinating documentaries (those things formatted like Tiger King, but with better-dressed subject matter) which I’d probably never have gotten around to otherwise. I’ve organized random sections of the basement and made sure my entire music collection has accurate album covers in Media Player. Somewhat less tragically, I’m also finally catching up on some reading I’ve been meaning to do since, well… sometime during the Obama Administration. (He was that quirky one that used full sentences and stuff.)

Each summer, I solicit suggestions from real live middle school teachers of books to use in social studies classes. I post them on Blue Cereal as a reference for other educators, and over the years it’s become one of the more visited sections of the site. I’m a huge fan of reading across the content areas, although I try not to call it that because it sounds too much like the name of an expensive curriculum being pushed on desperate districts, like “Literacy First!” or “Pre-AP.” I even try to actually read the books before I add them to the list. Given that most of them are written with 12-year olds in mind, you’d think I’d do a better job keeping up.

Several of the titles I’ve enjoyed during Duck-and-Covid have been wonderful surprises. By far my favorite, however, is The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, by Jaqueline Kelly. I’d never heard of this book, although I’ve since learned it received something shiny from the Newbury folks and has several sequels – so clearly I’m behind the curve a bit here. It was suggested to me by a 7th Grade Texas History teacher, but its value goes well beyond that.

Hence this gushing post.

Calpurnia is an 11-year old girl surrounded by brothers, living in what we’d today consider an upper-middle class family in southern Texas. It’s 1899 and a new century is looming. This was a rich time period for several of the historical and cultural themes sneaking around in the text and an appropriate metaphor for the ways in which the times, they were a-changing, for Calpurnia as well as the world around her.

As it turns out, Calpurnia is not especially good at many of the things expected of young ladies of her standing but quite adept at observing and scientifically questioning the world around her. She’s also just rebellious enough to stay interesting:

I asked Mother if I could cut off my hair, which hung in a dense swelter all the way down my back. She said no, she wouldn’t have me running about like as shorn savage. I found this manifestly unfair, to say nothing of hot. So I devised a plan: Every week I would cut off an inch of hair – just one stealthy inch – so that Mother wouldn’t notice. She wouldn’t notice because I would camouflage myself with good manners. When I took on the disguise of a polite young lady, I could often escape her closer scrutiny… Plus, the heat aggravated her crippling sick headaches, and she had to resort to a big spoonful of Lydia Pickham’s Vegetable Compound, known to be the Best Blood Purifier for Women.
That night I took a pair of embroidery scissors and, with great exhilaration and a pounding heart, cut off the first inch… I was striding forth to greet my future in the shiny New Century, a few short months away. It seemed to me a great moment indeed.
I slept poorly that night in fear of the morning.

Calpurnia manages to utilize an impressive vocabulary while remaining entirely believable and her tale perfectly readable. Challenges to gender roles and, to a lesser extent, racial dynamics, unfold naturally. The issues are inherent to her story but never seem forced or preachy – a tricky balance these days. We quickly begin to genuinely care about Calpurnia and root for her at every stage, even when she’s being childish.

Of course, she’s actually a child. So there’s that.

Calpurnia could use our support as she a begins to pay attention to the world in ways most people around her – especially girls – do not.

What exactly was a naturalist? I wasn’t sure, but I decided to spend the rest of my summer being one. If all it meant was writing about what you saw around you, I could do that. Besides, now that I had my own place to write things down, I saw things I’d never noticed before.
My first recorded notes were of the dogs. Due to the heat, they lay so still in the dirt as to look dead. Even when my younger brothers chivvied them with sticks out of boredom, they wouldn’t bother to raise their heads. They got up long enough to slurp at the water trough and then flopped down again, raising puffs of dust in their shallow hollows. You couldn’t have rousted Ajax, Father’s prize bird dog… He lay with his mouth lolling open and let me count his teeth. In this way, I discovered that the roof of a dog’s mouth is deeply ridged in a backwards direction down his gullet, in order no doubt to encourage the passage of struggling prey in one direction only, namely that of DINNER. I wrote this in my Notebook.
I observed that the expressions of a dog’s face are mainly manifested by the movement of its eyebrows. I wrote, Why do dogs have eyebrows? Why do dogs need eyebrows?

Calpurnia’s powers of observation are encouraged by a developing relationship with her quirky grandfather despite the frustrated bewilderment of the rest of her family. Although we learn about the scientific method and related realities as the book progresses, the educational elements never take over the story or leave the reader feeling tricked into watching PBS. It’s not historical fiction in the sense of being packed with content, but the tale is so comfortably grounded in the times that I’m 100% confident recommending it for any American or Texas History class. It has enough literary value to work in ELA as well, possibly up through 9th or 10th grade, depending on your readers.

Note the way the author plays with perception and description in this scene, when Calpurnia’s favorite older brother is first showing interest in a female outsider:

Harry dashed out the front door to hand down two women from the buggy, one stout and one slender. He offered his arm to the slender one – the harpy – and they moved up the walk, their heads together, sharing some word, some laugh, some something that none of the rest of us would ever share. My parents met them at the door, and I could overhear the bright chatter of introductions before Mother led everyone into the parlor. I have to give my mother credit, she appeared more relaxed and cheerful than I would have expected under the circumstances. Maybe she’d taken some tonic.
And there She was: taller than I expected, and slender, and dressed in a fuzzy peach dress with too many jet buttons. There was the petulant mouth, the long neck, the buggy eyes, the massy hair. She carried a spangled peach-colored fan that she opened with a theatrical fwop as she met the other guests…
The peach fan beat the air like a giant moth. She looked at me with her big, buggy eyes and said with a trilling laugh, “Why, Calpurnia, what a sweet little girl you are…” And with this, she furled her fan and tapped me playfully on the check with it, a mite too hard. Was I in for such punishment all night long?

What I’d really like to see, however, is what could be done with Calpurnia Tate in a science class. Any science class. If any of you lab-coated types out there are being pushed to “read across the curriculum,” may I respectfully suggest you request a class set or seven of these. I’m sure there are English teachers nearby who’d love to share their strategies for using novels in class, and your administration will find you quite the go-getter.

My hope, of course, is that in addition to promoting reading in general, Calpurnia could enrich your class as well – sparking a few discussions and helping to strengthen the idea that science isn’t something other people do instead of real life, but an essential part of real life itself. Calpurnia’s Grandfather would agree with me:

“What can you tell me about the Scientific Method, Calpurnia?” The way he said those words, I knew they had capital letters.
“Um, not much.”
“’What are you studying in school? You do go to school, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. We’re studying Reading, Spelling, Arithmetic, and Penmanship. Oh, and Deportment. I got an ‘acceptable’ for Posture but an ‘unsatisfactory’ for Use of Hankie and Thimble. Mother was kind of unhappy about that.”
“Good God,” he said. “It’s worse than I thought.”
This was an intriguing statement, although I didn’t understand it…
“And I suppose they teach you that the world is flat and that there are dragons gobbling up the ships that fall over the edge.” He peered at me. “There are many things to talk about. I hope it’s not too late.”

Nothing about The Evolution of Calpurnia Tateis political or forced or inappropriate for little people. It is nevertheless timely, reminding us of the power of asking good questions and wrestling with them rather than simply accepting answers from others for sake of convenience.

It’s also a rather inspiring reminder, intentionally or not, that few things are more empowering than being loved and accepted by others, even when they have no idea what we’re talking about or why we do what we do.