At a local English-speaking poetry slam, I shared a total of four pieces, 2 in the first round, 2 in the Final. In the final I chose a favorite text: Breakfast forever and an entirely fresh poem that had been brewing over these last weeks. Here it is:
Extremists Have Taken over the Government
Extremists have taken over the government So what are you planning to do? Comply in advance? Give them a chance? Keep your mouth shut? Ignore your own gut?
Extremists have taken over the government Here’s what we’re not gonna do: Roll over and sigh Believe all the lies Abandon the weakest Show up as defeatists
Extremists have taken over the government But certainly not your mind So fix your face Find your pace Grow a spine Donate your time
In my role as facilitator of a regional collaborative, I was asked about the future of our group’s terminology. Having recently scrubbed DEIJ from our group name in order to maintain organizational funding which stems from an arm of the US government, the question was a good one. The process of responding proved clarifying.
Here’s what I said:
Also we have to determine what we are going to say, no matter what. At our schools we strive to create the conditions for every community member to experience belonging. That is fundamental to our institutions and expressed in our guiding statements in one way or another. We can’t cede all the territory to one group just because they appear to have more power.
Today or tomorrow, “belonging” might become a new target word that we’ll be asked to abandon. But should this happen we always have to ask for the reason, whom the person believes this term is harming, etc. For every attempt to ban or censor, workarounds will always be found. Word choices can’t prevent teachers from caring for all of their students. Or prevent school administrators from protecting their faculty and staff from backlash. Yet another reason why community and solidarity become and remain key to weathering the storms coming our way.
I genuinely believe all this and it’s so much easier to be brave on paper. Will I actually have the wherewithal to pose the necessary questions when someone proposes that I stop using a word or talking about a given topic? I honestly don’t know. But writing the possibility is a form of rehearsal.
Meanwhile, there are always small actions we can take as practice. You can find some lovely creative ideas here and here. Maybe it’s a donation of money or time; joining a mobilizing call or printing up your own 1 page flyer to distribute in your neighborhood. I’ve written to my representatives often enough that I’ve even received two responses. All these small tasks that remind me that I’m in the fight.
So let’s try on some bravery where we can. We’re rehearsing, practicing, getting better.
No takes. As in, I have no take on the current situation. I have no special insights to proffer. Rather, I am witness, not on the stand or in the arena but up in the nosebleeds where I can still smell danger even if I can't make out what's actually happening before my very eyes. There's talk of smashing, grabbing, seizing, withholding; Closing, firing, removing, revoking; erasing, dismissing, denying, dismantling. All caught in the wrong film, main characters where the only setting is disaster. No longer a thriller, just a cheap slasher where the gore is systems and protocols instead of blood and guts. Witness to a decline, no, a leap, into the arms of automated oblivion. Watching the descent accelerate
A spectator being given a show; the show given a run; the run given a chance to continue who knows how many seasons
No takes, as in, no relevant analysis to position in the marketplace of ideas. In fact, I am sick of the marketplace. Nothing grows there but ego and spite. Spite costs energy that I don't have. Ego is cheap and gets lousy mileage.
No takes for a period of unforgiving vanity No takes on the supposed ultimate destination I would never choose for myself or whoever comes after. No predictions, assertions, speeches, pronouncements
Let there be an end to this particular madness once, twice, again.
That’s what I’m telling myself. Say less. Listen closely, Read to the end. Pause. Read things a second time. Walk away. Come back later. Come back tomorrow. Write to my representatives. Take a walk. Touch grass. Breathe fresh air. Sleep.
Speculating on the motivations of others costs energy that I don’t have.
Guessing at outcomes not even experts are willing to predict costs energy that is not available to me.
Worrying without a specific action plan is doing me no good.
So maybe I’ll just say less. Listen more. Hug my dear ones. Go outside. Sing in the kitchen. Write to my reps. Read fiction. Draw comics. Go to work. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.
In my head there’s a to-do list; a collection of commitments, assignments, events – all kinds of yeses made in the past. Shy of regret, I’m wallowing in a slosh of overwhelm. It’s neither fully intellectual nor emotional but it has weight and substance. I feel worn out without the benefit of having done anything of consequence. Perhaps my mind is running extra laps but I do not feel an increase in mental stamina or fortitude as a result.
My writing has changed. I cannot claim that it is better or clearer or even more ambitious. It has become more routine. My habits are familiar enough to me now to be annoying. There’s still heart and a dash of passion but also a dull sense of propriety and decorum. Creativity seems to have seeped out through the seams and now there are just polite stacks of paragraphs, staking no claims, just calmly filling storage space.
“As The World Turns For the Worse” would be an appropriate title for these times which are no longer interesting but demoralizing on the daily. Some would advise to lay off the news. Get a massage. Exercise more. Eat healthier and get enough sleep. Sure, Jan. But those things aren’t going to make our digital engagements less fraught. Or our political and economic prospects any rosier.
My monthly newsletter remains on hold while I get a grip. I’ve shifted platforms and chosen a mediocre theme that does the job. My thoughts are scattered. The newsletter will wait. To curate effectively suddenly feels like a Herculean task. I read and listen and read more.
The news is bad, the analysis necessary and the connection points undeniable. This characterizes so much of what I have taken in over the last several days in articles, news reports, op-eds. Bad news, necessary analysis, visible connections.
“I believe that the friction we feel on platforms and apps between what we want to do and what the app wants us to do is one of the most underdiscussed and significant cultural phenomena, where we, despite being customers, are continually berated and conned and swindled.”
It’s a wildly long read and I’m still making my way through it but the reality of his argument is staring me in the face.
An academic article that crossed my path that I’ve only skimmed to begin with takes on the shift in big tech priorities from the attention economy to the intention economy. From the abstract:
“In the past, you shared your attention with a platform to access products like Instagram and Facebook. In the future, we argue, the intention economy will treat your motivations as currency. This is an unsettling prospect, if left unmonitored… While prior accounts of an intention economy have positioned this prospect as liberatory for consumers, we argue that its arrival will test democratic norms by subjecting users to clandestine modes of subverting, redirecting, and intervening on commodified signals of intent.”
So, yes, in the age of AI slop and tech’s relentless dedication to growth at all costs, we – users, consumers, citizens – are merely means to profitable ends for a very tiny slice of oligarchs. Bad news, necessary analysis, prescient connections.
And all this as backdrop to the very real political stakes in just about every Western democracy. Billionaires are financing their very distinct form of class war against the rest of us. In broad daylight, before running cameras.
To cut a long story short, the richest man in the world has recognised that representative democracies are, at this point, an impediment to his further accrual of wealth and power, and so is acting directly against those democracies. His peer group is following suit.
The way we were… PHASE 2024 at NIST (photo: Spelic)
Dear friends,
I’m back home in Vienna and gradually readjusting to Central European temperatures and a household that has waited patiently for my return. I got back early in the morning and was surprised to see light in the apartment as I approached. Signs that the teen was up studying, perhaps?
Well, yes and no. When I opened the door he was in fact filling the dishwasher, clearing the countertops and kitchen table of a couple days’ worth of accumulation. And yes, his charge was also to be studying for chemistry test today. Plenty of evidence covered the big table in the living room. We were happy to see each other. Within minutes we resumed our usual roles and I soon recognized that he had a significant cold and should stay home rather than power through.
I share all this to say that returns after peak or uplifting experiences can be complicated. We come back home to laundry and work and all sorts of responsibilities that carried on in our absence and we may find ourselves playing catch up to compensate for our time spent elsewhere. In my planning I gave myself this day to recover from jet lag and I am grateful. I also need to use this time to reflect, to put my mental and emotional house in order before I jump back into the classroom and office.
How has your return been? What are you still processing from the conference?
Saying ‘thank you’ is more than a courtesy. Sometimes we can’t say ‘thank you’ enough to all the people who make us possible. I’m feeling deep well of gratitude for the PHASE AP planning committee, for the entire team of 21st Century Learning, for all the folks at NIST who made our visit as welcoming and seamless I’ve ever experienced. Just remember all the kind folks who prepared and served our lunches, gently signaled which direction to head to reach our next sessions, who cleared our snack glasses and dishes. There were so many people whose efforts made our experience as attendees reflect a degree of ease and comfort that I will not soon forget.
I wonder how you are keeping track of your learning from the weekend. Are you going back to look up slides and other resources that presenters shared on the app? (Here are my slides from the keynote and my workshop, btw.) Is your camera roll full of images from talks and what are your going to do with them now? I ask because I still, after all these many years of attending conferences, do not have a reliable system for managing the treasure chest of gifts I received while in your company. Because that’s the thing: we may have specific takeaways from individual presenters and we also learned so much through the thousands of interactions and conversations we had with each other. Is there a file for all that?
When I see my colleagues, I want to share my enthusiasm and the many resources without overwhelming everyone, because frankly, who has the time? One option is to generate a document with some highlights that seem relevant for a particular team that they can look at when they have time. Or, place copies of some of the resources that you really liked in a common area and let people know that you’d be happy to talk about it, if they’re interested. I always have to remind myself: Our colleagues have been holding down the fort, maybe even scrambling a bit, while we were living our best professional catered lives. When I get back, I try to ask about how things went first before describing my highlights. It’s a detail but I think it matters.
Something else that has helped is trying on a few strategies while I we were still together. I incorporated ideas from Ted, Shane, Holly and Nick among others in my own presentations. I’ve got tabs open from Mildred and Erik’s session that I can refer to right away. I’m rehearsing the yoga rock, paper, scissors poses we learned so I can try them in class tomorrow. Perfection is not the goal, trying new things is. Not everything, not all at once, but in manageable doses. Ideally in conversation with colleagues and with what was already in place.
I could go on but you (and I) have other stuff to get to.
Thank you so much for making my first ever PHASE experience a miraculous one! I appreciated the many chats and chuckles we got to share on the NIST campus. I would love to hear from you in the future. I can be reached at sherspelic at gmail dot com. If you’re interested in social justice and our lives in the world, feel free to check out my newsletter, Bending The Arc. There’s a big archive which will give you a sense of how I roll in that context (i.e. Usher’s Tiny Desk next to Native American Heritage month).
Please take care of yourselves, your families and communities. I am forever grateful for the time I got to spend with all of you.
1st grade student refuses to participate; stays on sidelines, looks glum. When I finally have a chance to check in, I first ask if she might join the game in progress. She shakes her head. Are you sick? I ask. Another shake of the head. Are you sad? She nods. What are you sad about? Field trip. She is disappointed that their class field trip had to be canceled. She can’t get over it, so she cannot, will not play. It’s easy to underestimate how deeply children feel.
When we play tag games in class, there are always ways to get back into the game. With small groups the challenge becomes one of keeping the game alive. While there are plenty of opportunities to tag others and be tagged, the game can only continue if students free each other quickly. To free someone usually requires a specific action: crawling under the tagged player’s “tunnel,” or acting out a sequence, or giving them a ball, or mirroring the tagged player’s pose for a few seconds. These are small acts of kindness actually. Although relatively simple to perform, they all begin with a decision to help someone else.
I open my 4th grade class with specific instructions for how I would like to see students jog two laps around the gym. Some manage to follow instructions, several opt to follow their natural impulses. A few race the 2 laps; several ignore the boundaries. We review the definition of “jog.” Because the decisions made have implications for how we can proceed as a class, I explain: Those folks who followed instructions can go strengthen on their own while those of you who chose to not follow instructions, please show us that you understood the assignment by trying again. This is a moment when students are forced to be honest with themselves and each other. Several students go to the middle of the gym and perform cartwheels or handstands while another group sets off on their jog. Making students aware of their decisions is not so hard, it just requires more time.
Students being reasonably quiet when walking in line. Students actually following the directions as given. Students apologizing after accidentally bumping a classmate in a game. Students learning to manage their emotions in class. Students understanding how their individual decisions impact the larger group experience. Teacher pulling a student aside to redirect. Teacher taking deep breaths to resist the temptation to yell. Teacher deciding to let the game go 30 seconds longer than intended. Students bemoaning the brevity of the game.
I ask myself why any of the above matters. I am convinced it matters. All of these details. Yes, and I struggle to explain why. How we get along with each other minute to minute, how we negotiate a range of roles and responsibilities – this is what life among people demands. It is a process that requires practice and that practice requires instruction which requires feedback and more practice. My students are at school. I’m at work at school. We expect things of and from each other. I explain that walking quietly in line has to do with being considerate of other people in the building; it’s a form of kindness. When students complain of an injury, one of the first questions I ask is about whether the other person apologized. The bumps are often minor but the hurt feelings require swift attention. Both of these examples are about being in community.
Classes have been underway for a few weeks. I know my students’ names. Students are familiar with most of our classroom routines. Boundaries are being clarified. Expectations have been noted, if not uniformly accepted as obligatory guidelines. I worry sometimes that I am too old/cranky/tired to be a pretty good teacher to my students. And with that I’ll admit that being “the best” has never been my calling. I do feel compelled, however, to make sure that students know that I care for them and am excited about their potential to learn and grow.
In class I am forced to confront and negotiate my own impatience. Very few things are as straightforward as they appear in my mind. Students, of course, enter the space with their own unique set of priorities. They are on the lookout for fun, action and play. While they understand the need for directions, spoken words that extend beyond the 30 second mark test their patience. I forget, too, that their experience with particular formations (lines, rows, groups, sides) is still developing. It’s hard for many to visualize the instructions I am trying to convey. And in that process they are pursuing their own urgent social agendas – angling to secure their favorite partners, to attract the attention of the popular one, to distract from the task they would rather avoid… It’s all there on display from one activity to the next. Every time we accomplish a task or manage to play the game, it’s cause for celebration, at least in my book.
It’s still early in the game. Not quite a month under our belts so far. I’m trying to be less cranky and more understanding. I’m trying to stay curious and acknowledge when my patience is limited. As a department, we’ve committed to prioritizing joy. And because student joy can look very different from teacher joy, I’m having to reconsider my framing of how I structure lessons and what the aims are. It’s hard and I don’t always feel up to the task but as the weeks go by and my students and I grow to appreciate each other in lots of different ways, our shared path towards negotiated joy is emerging.
Recently a colleague reached out to me with a request: What resources might I have pertaining to setting the tone for the year in Physical Education? She had heard from staff that many students were overly competitive and displayed poor sportsmanship in class. It sounded as though teachers have been struggling with it for a while but I actually have no idea. There were no further details given.
I don’t have an immediate go-to in terms of an article or framework. Rather, it sounds like this may be an occasion for members of the PE department to engage in a form of inquiry.
What do our department guiding statements tell us about what and how we should teach our students?
What is our philosophy of practice and how is that made visible and tangible for students and the school community?
What are we doing well that aligns with those guiding values?
Where are our practices misaligned or less effective in reflecting our guiding values?
What are students telling us they need more of?
What are students telling us they need less of?
Whose activity/sports preferences are currently prioritized in our program?
Which students might feel alienated from our program based on their experiences?
In what ways do we see our program contributing to and boosting student and staff well being?
How do we ensure that ALL students feel welcomed, safe and capable in the range of movement experiences we offer?
Without knowing the specifics of your context, some of these questions, explored in a well facilitated forum (i.e. by an outside facilitator, perhaps) may enable productive conversation that allows a department to consider what is going well and what could be improved upon. In such a process it’s certainly helpful to have concrete data to work with (i,e., student surveys, school climate surveys, etc.). Student voice and experience should be a significant driver of how the team responds to the questions above. (How is/ what makes this good for students and their well being?)
Generally, I try to refrain from offering advice unless explicitly asked. Seeing as I didn’t have much information to go on, I tried to think of what questions I might pose, given the opportunity. As I begin a new school year with my PE department, I know that these are they types of questions we are likely to explore. I feel very fortunate in that. The process also reminds me that the solutions we’re seeking are products of the questions we’re asking.
In this case, whatever decisions or agreements are reached, they must be made among the people involved, applying their knowledge of the context constraints and possibilities. I certainly wish them well and also hope to both see and demonstrate evidence of this kind of reflection with my own team as we embark on another year of Phys Ed with our students.
It’s what we expect: To learn from people who are designated by us or others as teachers. And yet, in whatever role – as student, teacher, or observer, we know that teaching and learning are fraught enterprises. There’s no guarantee that those two actions will contribute to the desired or even anticipated outcome. Just because I say I’m going to teach you something does not mean that you will internalize the lessons I hope to convey. As the “teacher” I can model and demonstrate, observe and assess, offer guidance and correction, repeat and review with you. But what I can’t do is control what your body, mind and spirit make of the whole experience; how your body interprets the feedback, how your mind prioritizes facts, to what degree your spirit feels welcomed in the process.
I’ve now spent several hours this summer at what I’ll call ‘dance camp.’ Beginning with brief 70min public sessions at various locations around town, then immersing myself in 5-day workshops and finishing off with a weekend intensive course, I’ve managed to surprise myself with the energy I’m willing to expend as well as the energy I’ve gained. I continue to push myself and feel equally pulled into deeper awareness and flexibility. I see effort applied and benefits reaped. It reads both simple and complex. I am recalibrating what my body believes it knows and can do. I keep pressing it into new movement combinations in response to new rhythms. My body is old and still finding out about itself. The process is both glorious and fascinating.
In conversation with a local choreographer I admire, she referred to herself as a slow learner. As a participant in a hip hop course, she said that she felt she needed longer to get the steps than other people. When she was younger this bothered her a lot but now she has made her peace with it and notices that she holds onto those patterns for ages. I suggested that as an instructor/facilitator, that reality is likely advantageous in that she is able to draw from a deep reservoir of moves and also has empathy for learners who need more time and repetition to reach the desired outcome. It’s hard to describe how much I appreciated our exchange and how it sparked my own thinking. When I ran into her a day later, I thanked her for sharing and explained how moved I felt. How it made me consider my own teaching (and learning) practice. How am I accommodating varying rates of learning in my classes? And how do I create the conditions for deeper learning?
Imagine a campus where teaching and learning are happening all around you. On my break time before and after my sessions, I often wandered the halls and peeked into other workshops. I watched dancers move across the floor, repeat sequences with their instructors, facing the mirrors or working in pairs or small groups. A rare privilege to be able sit back and observe pedagogy in practice. How does the facilitator use demonstration to gather learners? How do they move among learners and offer feedback? How do they dose their energies in order to manage 2 or 3 90minute sessions per day? Granted, I was collecting snapshots of practice, not entire stories. But through my own participation, conversations with other participants and facilitators, I was able to reflect on which methods served which purposes best. All of this served as a reminder of what a difference it makes to step into the role of beginner; to relive the awkwardness and discomfort of messing up and trying again. I took the time to observe other teachers, also as a window into which approaches most appeal to me as a learner.
Another feature of my time at camp: all of the workshop instructors I chose were Black women. This only dawned on me as I was on my way home from the last session on Sunday. While my initial selection focus had been on the styles of dance I felt most intrigued and/or less intimidated by, it’s also true that I chose them in succession. I only planned to do one week’s worth. Then added on a second, then opted for a weekend dose. Quite literally one thing led to another. That said, I’m sure that my selection was also guided by a desire for affinity, for the representation I am less likely to see in my personal and professional learning opportunities. Following my final session of party dances, I realized that my presence in the room as the only Black participant was meaningful for my instructor. Part of enjoying the festival atmosphere was also connecting with some of the other Black instructors. I appreciated the ease and familiarity of our conversations and felt so grateful all that they brought to the space.
As a learner, dance camp sent me on a journey back into myself. What happens when I struggle to get something? How do I make peace with my own rate of learning in the group context? Where do I find the greatest joy? All of these experiences roused my curiosity in refreshing ways. A quiet ambition is stirring – what’s the next learning adventure and when does it start? I’m thinking, too, about what has come before, my years of informal choreography for students, 3 decades of teaching and practicing various forms of movements. The cool part is realizing how much learning I can look forward to. Whether in dance or teaching PE or building community, the field is wide open.
edifiedlistener 