Things I wish I would have said
because things should be very different
THINGS I WISH I HAD SAID
I’m back in Iowa after my journey home to the west coast. It’s good to be back. Though I still haven’t gotten into any kind of routine - what with the holiday hullabaloo. And I’ll be getting on a plane and heading back for family hullabaloo for the New Year, so routine will have to wait until mid-January, it seems.
While I was back in my hometown, watching the crows gather and flock downtown in the evenings, I’d wistfully think, “ you aren’t worried about the political landscape right now, are you?” As they’d fly above in various sized groups, some small and silent, five to ten, wings flapping, all moving south and west from my neighborhood, toward the trees along the riverfront downtown. Some in large cacophonous groups, scores of black glossy birds in clusters, bustling and shouting at one another, trading places in the sky like assholes in rush hour traffic who seem to think they have cornered the market on getting somewhere first. And who knows? Maybe the crows do have their own politics that they gather downtown to negotiate.
As I finished packing my car and was crawling into the front seat with coffee in hand, ready to start my 1,800 mile drive east, a few crows were hopping around on the street, exploring the delicacies of a some discarded something I said, “Bye Crows, I think I’ll miss you most of all.”
Moving east it became clear to me how tethered to animal life I have become, living out here on the acreage, with our four leggeds in the middle of the prairie. Urban living makes me feel so disconnected and adrift. For me, after just a few fragmented years living where I do now, to feel this way so distinctly, makes me understand a little more how unfathomable it must be for S to think about living in the city after living out here for 30 years.
I also think about all the people we see in power who probably have never felt the peace, ease and joy of seeing a deer eat an apple off a tree (though I know those who have orchards feel quite differently) or a flock of tiny bush tits light on salmon berry and young vine maple branches and disappear among the leaves, only to all rise again as one, and descend to disappear amongst new leaves a few yards away, tweeting and twittering all along, or here in Iowa, the gentleman pheasants standing alongside country roads, gazing into the ditches where their ladies sit on their nests, unseen by the passing cars.
I know I talk a big game about resisting, organizing, connecting, fighting back - but all I really want to do is hunker down with my girlfriend and four leggeds and stare out the window hoping to see some cardinals, or dark eyed juncos fluttering or a bachelor pheasant strolling out our window - for about a month.
Instead I taught middle school a few days after I got home and my heart is in pain. Like serious pain. (Studies have shown that the same receptors in the brain are activated for physical pain and emotional pain.1) Middle school is a heartbreaking enough time as it is. But the adults in this world are making it so much worse.
My first day back was mostly quite enjoyable. The kids were generally happy to see me and I was very glad to see them. I love subbing. In many ways it’s the best gig, Even if it can be hard on an empath from time to time. I love hanging with kids, and not having to grade papers or go to meetings. In middle school there are generally quite a few shenanigans during passing time between classes. Kids jostling eachother, stirring up drama with gossip or glances, chasing eachother down the halls, which is not allowed, but that doesn’t stop many. During one of these passing periods, toward the end of the 4 minutes allotted to get from one class to another, two boys were kind of rough housing and one pretended to whip the other saying, “Get to class!”
The boy doing the pretend whipping was white. The boy he was pretending to whip was Black.
A Black girl witnessed this incident and said to everyone around, “Look at that white boy whipping him like a slave! He isn’t your slave!”
No one was really paying attention and the incident passed. I was dumbstruck, but class was about to start and the whole cast of characters disappeared into different classrooms none of them mine.
Two days later I was in an art classroom with 7th graders. There was a girl I haven’t had contact with yet this year. I remember her from last spring because she taught me the phrase, “What the Sigma!”. I had been in her classroom two days in a row and it took that long for her to accept me. I got the feeling that she just saw me as yet another old white lady who would most likely “get her in trouble”(as the kids say). But when, after two days, all I had done was acknowledge her wit and intelligence, express interest in her goofball vibe and was brave enough to utter the words, “what the sigma” at her urging, she warmed up to me. She cooled again over the summer and fall though and had forgotten all about those two days last spring. I imagine I had gone back to - just another old white lady - status. Right before the end of class as kids were lining up at the door I told her, “It’s good to see you.” She barely responded. I said, “What the sigma?” She raised her eyebrows. I said, “You were the first person I heard that from. You taught me that! Don’t you remember? Or I guess that’s just ancient history now.” She narrowed her eyes, her long, hot-pink and black braids flowing out of her bright yellow Pikachu hood and down over her yellow and white Pikachu onesie PJs. (It was spirit week and Friday was PJ Day.)
She said, “Ancient History? Are you talking about slavery? Like you're the master and I’m your slave?” I looked into her sweet, smart 12 year old face and centuries of agony and anger hit me in the chest.
“Oh jeeze! No!” I said. Then I said her name.
The bell then rang and she was gone.
The day after the racist, xenophobic, white supremist, sex offender, Cheeto was elected to be the 47th president of this problematic nation, anonymous texts went out to young people of color in states all over the country, telling them that they have been selected to report to the nearest plantation to pick cotton. Many of these texts referred to these young people by name, told them to pack their belongings, to show up at a particular time and that an executive slave catcher would be there in a particular colored van. Some even said, “You will be killed if you don’t show up or run away.” Terrifying.
It’s 6 weeks later. I have been doing google searches about these texts and they are no longer news. The most recent article about them was a clip on YouTube of Rep. Mike Lawler saying “we need to get to the bottom of this” on November 11th.2 I don’t think any of the texts were received in Iowa, but you know who it’s still news for? You know whose cells still feel the impact of that terror, trauma, grief? The twelve year olds and the 17 year olds and the 25 year olds who received those texts and their parents, aunties, uncles, cousins, friends and anyone who looks like them, whose ancestors survived the horrors of the U.S. slave system and who heard about the texts or saw them on the news or TikTok or instagram… At least that’s what I’m thinking.
In Iowa there is a 2021”Divisive Concepts” law on the books banning teachers from teaching topics that may make people feel uncomfortable. Which people? White people - I’m thinking. It also prohibits teaching that systemic racism exists in Iowa or the US.
“House File 802, (AKA the Divisive concepts Law”) posted on the Iowa Legislature’s website, prohibits teaching or advocating that Iowa and the U.S. are fundamentally or systemically racist and likewise prohibits instructing that anyone should feel guilt, shame, or other psychological discomfort about that or that individuals bear responsibility for past misdeeds committed by those of the same race or sex.”3
So let’s just let all this shit sit there in the zeitgeist and smolder until it explodes, shall we?
Because of winter break, I haven’t had a chance to talk to any teachers about how/if they have dealt with the topic of the texts but I do know that back in 2022 when an AP History teacher in Ankeny, Iowa, Nick Covington, was teaching about nationalism, he showed a clip of the 2017 White Supremest march in Charlottesville he was told by his administration that “current events don’t belong in history class”.4 Similarly that year, Greg Wickencamp, an 8th grade social studies teacher in Fairfield, Iowa was unable to pin his superintendent down on whether he could say Slavery was wrong5, under the “divisive concepts” Law, when he was looking for her support with pushback from parents. As Greg found in his last year of teaching, the law is written in very vague terms, which is why he was seeking clarification, guidance and support from his superiors6. As with the anti-LGBTQ laws and Book Bans - the vagueness creates a chilling effect causing teachers to err on the side of caution and keep things as far from critical thinking, racial reckoning, rainbows and individual affirmation as possible.
Both Nick and Greg have left teaching K-12.
There are some fucks in the legislature right now who feel that just having the law on the books isn’t enough. There should now be a fine attached to it7. As this new Study Bill 112 is written now, all that would be needed would be an accusation by a student or a parent, with no due process for the educator or district and the educator and/or district could be fined $500-$5000. I believe this bill has been forwarded from the education committee and will be eligible to be voted on in the 2025 session. Don’t quote me on that though - I don’t completely understand the inner workings of those sticky halls.
Another thing that happened that day - PJ day - is: I walked down a lonely hall and passed a big white boy, probably a 7th or 8th grader. He was wearing a pair of brown fuzzy onesie PJs that looked very well loved. Kind of like the velveteen rabbit. They looked like they have probably been his favorites for a few years and are a couple sizes too small. As he walked toward me I looked him up and down and thought, “Oh gosh, I hope he’s not getting teased too bad.” We caught eyes as we passed and I smiled. He didn’t. It wasn’t until I was a few yards down the hall that I thought to say something like, “I love your PJs!! They look so comfy! I wish I had known it was PJ day. I would be all cozy like you!”
Just like with “What the sigma” girl. I wish I would have said something like, “ If we’re going to talk about that ancient history, I think of the power and wisdom of African American ancestors who survived and thrived with resilience, joy, creativity and resistance for generations, despite the horrific system they lived under.”
I still don’t know what I would have said to the girl witnessing the whipping - maybe something similar. (And I just pray that none of my ancestors were part of the slave holding class. But if I learn that they were, that is a reckoning I will have to face head on and not let my feelings of guilt or shame stop me from working towards healing.)
One of the bummers about subbing, is the lack of consistency and not being able to form ongoing relationships with kids who might benefit. I imagine that’s about to be outlawed anyway.
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/body-sense/201204/emotional-and-physical-pain-activate-similar-brain-regions
https://education.illinois.edu/about/news-events/news/article/2024/09/11/study--educators-say-iowa-s-divisive-concepts-law-complicates-teaching
https://www.bleedingheartland.com/2022/06/02/current-events-do-not-belong-in-history-class/
https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2023/04/iowa-critical-race-theory-curriculum-slavery-holocaust-teacher-quit.html
https://www.thegazette.com/state-government/fines-proposed-for-iowa-schools-that-violate-divisive-concepts-law/
What the Sigma! Please educate me on what this means (especially if I've used it improperly here).
I love the mash up of serious topics with PJ day!
I loved this!