Last night, the board of the Alameda Unified School District finally voted on whether to adopt a controversial addition to its anti-bullying curriculum. "Lesson 9" adds some vocabulary, reading material and teaching guidelines for explaining to K-5 students that LGBT families are families, too, and that kids should not be teased because they have two mommies or two daddies. One might ask why an anti-bullying curriculum exists in the first place and whether it has replaced, say, spelling, but that ship sailed a long, long time ago.
The superintendent recommended that the board adopt the new lesson as part of the curriculum at the request of teachers who wanted some guidance and common ground in nixing playground bullying in which children call others "gay" or "fag." Teachers already felt comfortable addressing bullying on the basis of other protected class status, such as race or religion, but needed some backup in talking about sexual orientation issues. To me, this makes perfect sense. A generation from now, our culture will be able to honestly address prejudice based on sexual orientation but, as the community reaction has made clear, these days homosexuality is still tough to talk about for some reason.
That community reaction has been splashed across the pages of the local newspapers and barely contained in several hearings leading up to last night's vote. Although I did not attend those sessions, I decided to go to the board meeting last night to see what would happen. It was painfully boring, but still somehow an interesting process to have seen for myself.
Naturally, before any discussion of the issue that had packed the board chamber at City Hall to overflowing, there was an hour's worth of tedious agenda items to get through. Middle schoolers presented slide shows, student board members were recognized, reports were given, all while the polite attendees waited for the promised vote. Each side was to have 15 minutes to sum up its arguments; just as this process was to begin, the cops kicked out a random group of attendees into the overflow room, including yours truly, due to the concerns of the fire marshall, that iconic civic spoilsport.
We went quietly and remained quieter yet as we strained to hear the speakers' messages, garbled over CCTV. The overflow room seemed about 1/3 pro-curriculum and 2/3 Muslim, which for some reason meant monolithically anti-curriculum. A couple of the men carried signs that said "Alameda Muslims against LGBT," about which I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and interpret to mean "against the LGBT curriculum," which they've simply made slightly pithier by omission. That's what that means, right?
The opposition spoke first. A Muslim woman spoke about the bullying and teasing endured by Muslim girls in the public schools of Alameda when they wear the hijab. She told of one little girl who was particularly tormented by a classmate, who kept pulling her headscarf, and about how some of the parents in the local Muslim community don't feel comfortable enough with English to know what to do about this treatment. And therefore, she concluded, the board should vote down the curriculum.
Just to sum up that brilliant argument, because Muslim students in Alameda schools are sometimes unfortunately bullied because of their observation of their religious beliefs, gay students or students from gay-parent families should not have a curriculum that addresses anti-gay bullying problems. Huh? Wait, maybe I can translate this one: because your lifestyle is an abomination according to my religious beliefs, and your proposed curriculum does not specifically address my children, or respect my desire to teach my children religious intolerance and bigotry, fuck you.
This was more or less the message of a black pastor who spoke for the opposition, too. The other speaker was a lawyer who essentially said that if the school board passed this curriculum, a bunch of angry parents were going to sue the bejesus out of the already cash-strapped district for not providing an opt-out provision, allowing parents to protect their children from having to have this horrible lesson of peace and tolerance. Another wonderfully American way of saying Fuck You.
So, I'm not against the fuck you, if people would just sack up and say what they mean. How refreshing would it be for someone to say, "Yes, I am a bigot, that is my right, and it is my right to teach bigotry to my children, because that's the way Jesus or Mohammed or who-fucking-ever would have wanted it, so suck on that!" The Muslim woman claimed that the kids in her religious community would be forced to admit their prejudices during the lessons about how it's OK for Billy to have two mommies, which would subject them to even more bullying.
This is an interesting point and I won't dismiss it out of hand. Naturally, it is a legitimate concern for members of conservative religious communities that their children be treated fairly and with sensitivity in the public schools. No one who is not an asshole would dispute this. I am kind of an asshole, and I do not dispute it. In fact, I believe this kind of pluralistic fair treatment to be the very cornerstone of American democracy.
Which is why the woman's point of view and, apparently, that of many other members of her community, not to mention many others in the larger Alameda community, is so abhorrent to me: it violates that basic tenet of our democracy. How dare you make a point of demanding fair treatment for your own children while turning around and denying equal treatment to someone else's child?
One might reasonably argue that, by not including other protected classes in the curriculum, the board itself is guilty of this behavior. Reasonably, that is, until you actually look into why Lesson 9 came about in the first place, think about it for a hot second, and stop being a fucking idiot. Teachers felt that they had the tools and vocabulary necessary to make religious and racial tolerance a key aspect of the anti-bullying curriculum already, because those kinds of prejudice are so well known, understood and relatively easy to counter and teach about. What they lacked was a common sense, age-appropriate way to extend the discussion to cover a type of bullying that, by their own report, is becoming more and more common: anti-gay bullying.
Next, the pro-curriculum crowd spoke. Some of their speeches were good, some were classic East Bay hippie-dippy BS. The best was when this dorky 16-year-old hesher kid got up to talk about how he had been bullied for being gay, and how he liked fantasy and heavy metal. He was my hero of the night.
Before voting, the school board members grilled the teachers who had developed the curriculum, or who had been chosen to rep the curriculum, anyway, for what seemed like an eternity of bloviating self-love. Some people started to leave, so I was able to get back into the main chamber for the remainder of the evening. It was here that I had my one personal conflict of the night.
One of the board members, attempting to clarify something, or perhaps just being an ass, asked whether the curriculum would send the message to conservative religious kids that their parents' beliefs about homosexuality were wrong. The pro-curriculum part of the room reacted with a collective No! and I said, sotto voce, "Even though they are." This snide comment, heard by almost no one, caused a laugh-snort from the woman directly in front me and the head of the man sitting next to me to whiplash in my direction. He said, "No more than you," in a mildly shocked and offended voice, and that was it.
This was the most interesting moment of the evening for me because it led me to think about my own intolerance. After all, if I interpret him correctly, he makes an interesting philosophical point. If I would dispute religions claims as false I can, in the end, have no more proof for my point of view than the religious person, therefore I cannot be any more assured of the correctness of my view than I can of the incorrectness of that person's view.
Fair enough, philosophically and logically sound (I am not like the modern atheist whose insistence that logic demands his faithlessness is, in the end, an act of faith) -- but totally irrelevent! You are free to believe whatever you will and to raise your children in your system of belief, to teach them that homosexuality is a sin or that jews are evil or black people shifty. Your freedom to do so is another foundational American right, that I will always defend.
But our public institutions must be agnostic, BY LAW. They must, BY LAW, be equally accesible. They cannot teach one religion or even two or three or four religions as "correct." Sometimes these institutions will come into conflict with people's beliefs. That is the price we pay for living in the United States of America, that we must live with other people whose views differ and be tolerant of their right to profess those beliefs.
I am a tolerant person in that direction: you have the right to believe whatever you want, no matter how foolish or even idiotic I may find your belief system to be. Even if it's wrong! But you will not, cannot, force other people to abide by your belief system in the public sphere. This is the direction in which I am intolerant. I do not tolerate bigotry, demogoguery, lies. I do not tolerate stupidity and prejudice. If that's your religion, keep it in your home, your house of worship and share the public space. But if you want to force your beliefs on me at the expense of justice and equality for all, fuck you.
The curriculum passed, on a vote of 3-2.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
A Month of Oscar
And no blogging. I will get back to it, back to life, back to whatever is normal for me now. The new normal. Normal wasn't normal for me before he was born - I'm actually used to having a job or at least an occupation - so who knows what normal will be now. What I know is that this economy sucks, that rich, greedy assholes fucked it up for everyone, that George Bush is especially to blame, that most politicians aren't much better. What I know is that I love my son and the rest of it matters very little.
Waves of visitors, relatives, food, little sleep, movies on the couch, board games, a crying, pooping, sleeping, bright-eyed baby boy. More baby clothes than even a baby needs. Thrush. A little more awareness, a few more smiles, every day. Bopo, Oz, the Flying Burrito. A sleepy blur of time.
Waves of visitors, relatives, food, little sleep, movies on the couch, board games, a crying, pooping, sleeping, bright-eyed baby boy. More baby clothes than even a baby needs. Thrush. A little more awareness, a few more smiles, every day. Bopo, Oz, the Flying Burrito. A sleepy blur of time.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Important Court Case
Finally, these guys are getting their day in court!
I do think the fashion in question is incredibly stupid-looking. But to make it illegal? Ah, the American funhouse...
I do think the fashion in question is incredibly stupid-looking. But to make it illegal? Ah, the American funhouse...
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wendy and Lucy
Kelly Reichardt's third film is Wendy and Lucy, in which Michelle Williams' down-and-out hipster, Wendy, searches for the director's dog, Lucy. In KR's previous film, Old Joy--not to be confused with Oldboy--I thought Lucy's performance edged out that film's leads, but here Williams holds her own.
And more so. This is a superb film and it's built around Williams like a little cabin in the redwoods. It seems somehow cozy and expansive, though there's nothing cozy about the futility, the darkness, knawing at the edges of this simple story. I'm not the first to be struck by its similarity to Carver, though it's actually based on a story by Jonathan Raymond.
I was impressed with the rigor and beauty of Old Joy, but ultimately didn't have enough curiousity about the characters to sustain the narrative minimalism. Here it was different. In Carver's best work, his effects come across in how the reader constructs the spaces between what he's given us and tries to resolve what he's denied us. Reichardt, too, allows us to know very little for sure about our heroine (that is to say, Wendy). She's "passing through," she's estranged from her family, she's counting her last hundreds in her drive across country, hoping to make it to the canneries of Alaska. Her golden retriever mix, Lucy, is pretty much all she has.
But we don't get cheap clues or clumsy exposition or voice-over or flashbacks or really anything more to help us fill in any other facts of Wendy's life. Rail-thin, she's largely desexualized in her hipster boy-clothes and cropped haircut, unless you like that sort of thing. She's still rather stunning, of course, because it's a movie and she's Michelle Williams. For that reason and because she's so down-and-out, she has our sympathy from the beginning.
And she continues to have it, for the most part, but throughout the film--and days later, it seems--many questions spin out from her circumstances, even as they deteroriate. It's a wonder to be watching a film that depends on you to help construct what you're seeing and doesn't simply spoon feed you. Wendy and Lucy, in its still, quiet way, constantly asks you to respond. What would you do in her shoes? Would you help her? How did she get here? What's the right move? How did she screw her life up like this? How far away from this am I? Your sympathies shift moment to moment as you scrutinize her more and more closely.
The film encourages--demands, really--a deep, close reading. Like Gus Van Sant's best work, Wendy and Lucy cannot merely be watched. To do so, frankly, is to risk boredom--it would be like watching someone else play a game. These films are meant to be engaged with, stepped into, like Mia Farrow in The Purple Rose of Cairo.
Lucy the dog, by the way, is a remarkable screen performer. She was such a good doggie in Old Joy that she upstaged pretty much that whole movie by her very...well, joy, actually. Hmm, I think I've just realized something. Anyway, her long absence in the new film lends the story its dread, touching on, in its neo-realist way, the Northwest Gothic dread of Twin Peaks, the dark whistling pines at the forest's edge a metaphor for the unspeakable state of nature beyond.
We fear for Wendy that, though things look bad now, they may get much worse just down the road.
And more so. This is a superb film and it's built around Williams like a little cabin in the redwoods. It seems somehow cozy and expansive, though there's nothing cozy about the futility, the darkness, knawing at the edges of this simple story. I'm not the first to be struck by its similarity to Carver, though it's actually based on a story by Jonathan Raymond.
I was impressed with the rigor and beauty of Old Joy, but ultimately didn't have enough curiousity about the characters to sustain the narrative minimalism. Here it was different. In Carver's best work, his effects come across in how the reader constructs the spaces between what he's given us and tries to resolve what he's denied us. Reichardt, too, allows us to know very little for sure about our heroine (that is to say, Wendy). She's "passing through," she's estranged from her family, she's counting her last hundreds in her drive across country, hoping to make it to the canneries of Alaska. Her golden retriever mix, Lucy, is pretty much all she has.
But we don't get cheap clues or clumsy exposition or voice-over or flashbacks or really anything more to help us fill in any other facts of Wendy's life. Rail-thin, she's largely desexualized in her hipster boy-clothes and cropped haircut, unless you like that sort of thing. She's still rather stunning, of course, because it's a movie and she's Michelle Williams. For that reason and because she's so down-and-out, she has our sympathy from the beginning.
And she continues to have it, for the most part, but throughout the film--and days later, it seems--many questions spin out from her circumstances, even as they deteroriate. It's a wonder to be watching a film that depends on you to help construct what you're seeing and doesn't simply spoon feed you. Wendy and Lucy, in its still, quiet way, constantly asks you to respond. What would you do in her shoes? Would you help her? How did she get here? What's the right move? How did she screw her life up like this? How far away from this am I? Your sympathies shift moment to moment as you scrutinize her more and more closely.
The film encourages--demands, really--a deep, close reading. Like Gus Van Sant's best work, Wendy and Lucy cannot merely be watched. To do so, frankly, is to risk boredom--it would be like watching someone else play a game. These films are meant to be engaged with, stepped into, like Mia Farrow in The Purple Rose of Cairo.
Lucy the dog, by the way, is a remarkable screen performer. She was such a good doggie in Old Joy that she upstaged pretty much that whole movie by her very...well, joy, actually. Hmm, I think I've just realized something. Anyway, her long absence in the new film lends the story its dread, touching on, in its neo-realist way, the Northwest Gothic dread of Twin Peaks, the dark whistling pines at the forest's edge a metaphor for the unspeakable state of nature beyond.
We fear for Wendy that, though things look bad now, they may get much worse just down the road.
Vermont and the National Organization for Marriage
Following closely on the heels of my last post, Vermont has now legalized same-sex marriage. Thanks to last year's political campaigns, I am on way too many liberal email lists for having signed this or that petition, or maybe even giving money somewhere along the line. So I get mail the other day, warning me about the existence of this video:
I only post this video because I don't think anyone viewing it on my blog is going to take to the streets in opposition of gay marriage from having seen it. It's pretty hilariously stupid. What I think about when I see this kind of bullshit is about the poor actors in the video. I mean, do they believe what they're shilling? or are they just whores, AKA desperate actors?
I frequently wonder myself whether I could make a commercial for an organization as detestable as this one. Some days I try to embrace the kind of hard-partying, hedonistic, omnivorous self-interest I admired so much in some of my old-school libertarian conservative buddies in college (looking at you, Lewis). Other days I can't muster the requisite self-loathing.
But if you start rejecting work on the basis of moral outrage and contempt for idiocy, how quickly your opportunities as an actor dry up.
And then there's the issue of Damon "Rainbow Coalition" Owens. Who is Damon Owens? For those of you who clicked through and actually read the linked article, I mean, holy shit: Opus Dei? That got weird pretty fast.
The capper for me is that this organization uses the acronym NOM, which was my acronym. Bummer. Thankfully, I don't think it's gonna catch on.
There's small print in the video as the "California doctor" comes on to tell her story of religious persecution at the creamy-smooth hands of the gays, which says, "The stories these actors are telling are based on real incidents. Find out more at www.nationformarriage.org" I note the lack of trailing period there, which I take to be a sign of anxiety. Will the kids find our website as easily as they can be recruited by Harvey Milk?
Won't someone please think of the children?
I only post this video because I don't think anyone viewing it on my blog is going to take to the streets in opposition of gay marriage from having seen it. It's pretty hilariously stupid. What I think about when I see this kind of bullshit is about the poor actors in the video. I mean, do they believe what they're shilling? or are they just whores, AKA desperate actors?
I frequently wonder myself whether I could make a commercial for an organization as detestable as this one. Some days I try to embrace the kind of hard-partying, hedonistic, omnivorous self-interest I admired so much in some of my old-school libertarian conservative buddies in college (looking at you, Lewis). Other days I can't muster the requisite self-loathing.
But if you start rejecting work on the basis of moral outrage and contempt for idiocy, how quickly your opportunities as an actor dry up.
And then there's the issue of Damon "Rainbow Coalition" Owens. Who is Damon Owens? For those of you who clicked through and actually read the linked article, I mean, holy shit: Opus Dei? That got weird pretty fast.
The capper for me is that this organization uses the acronym NOM, which was my acronym. Bummer. Thankfully, I don't think it's gonna catch on.
There's small print in the video as the "California doctor" comes on to tell her story of religious persecution at the creamy-smooth hands of the gays, which says, "The stories these actors are telling are based on real incidents. Find out more at www.nationformarriage.org" I note the lack of trailing period there, which I take to be a sign of anxiety. Will the kids find our website as easily as they can be recruited by Harvey Milk?
Won't someone please think of the children?
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