Global History:
Maps
History of China

Women's Questions:
Under Construction
 

At the beginning of the Fall 2001 term I heard students complaining, "Why do we have to learn about back in the days, we live now!"  Almost daily when the late bell rang less than half the class was present; and my questions were often met with a dull, "What did you say?" or a one-word answer, like  "Yeah," or, to the question, "What were the conditions for the Puritans in England?"  "Bad."  Mohammed Baig, whose background is Arabic, would pass notes and talk constantly with Carl Pellito during lessons.  Students would call each other names. Frank Chan sat in the back of the room, leaning against the lockers, with his eyes closed.  Few did homework and their assignments were often incomplete. 

 The ability of my students to learn is very much affected by what they meet outside of school.  Each year I've seen the economic situation of their families worsen.  For example, Charles Vega told me the second day of school that he probably couldn't do homework this year because his father was worried about losing his job and he himself was looking for work to help out at home.  Other students were holding down jobs on top of the long school day.  Tamara Santini was often absent because she had to take care of a disabled younger brother when he couldn't go to school and her mother had to go to work; and when she did come to class, she was always very tired.  Alesha Carr, whose parents were in the midst of a bitter divorce, was absent four times in the first two weeks, could not seem to concentrate, and didn't do any homework. 

Then, early on the morning of September 11th, we saw from our windows the World Trade Center across the river burst into flame; a short time later we watched, horrified, as it collapsed before our eyes.  Later, on the street outside the school, there were charred bits of paper, what was left of memos from offices in the two towers. 

In the days that followed I saw two very different things happen throughout the school.  Almost immediately students joined together, organized a blood drive, collected money and supplies for the hoped-for survivors and the heroic rescue workers.  It was tremendously moving to see young people of different ethnic backgrounds working together this way. 

At the same time, there was more anger in the halls; absences increased; fights between students escalated; and I heard that there were ethnic slurs shouted at Arab and Pakistani students.  Adira Abdul stopped coming to school for two weeks because, she told me, people were saying "bad things about Pakistanis" and she was frightened.  "Why are they doing that?" she asked, "We didn't do anything."  And I noticed, after some weeks, that the desks were covered with obscene writing; on one a mechanical army figure was carefully drawn with the word "KILL" in thick, black letters.

As a history teacher I saw it was crucial for these young people to know what I'm very grateful to have learned from Aesthetic Realism, that every instance of brutality between people throughout history has arisen from contempt.  Contempt is an ugly relation of the opposites of self and world.  It's the feeling you'll add to your "self through the lessening of something else."  And it was horrendous, massive contempt that impelled the persons who flew those planes into the World Trade Center, killing thousands of innocent people.  And I told them every fact of history we would study will show the fight that has gone on in people and nations between contempt and ethics.   Ethics has those same opposites of self and world in a beautiful relation.  Mr. Siegel defined ethics as "the study of how to give what is coming to yourself and at the same time to everything else."  Seeing this not only enabled my students to learn the subject, but also changed the depression and agitation prevalent in New York City classrooms after September 11, to greater composure and kindness. 

For example, as we studied the Declaration of Independence, my students saw that very foundation of this country is ethical.  We heard the ringing ethics in these words by Thomas Jefferson under which the courageous men of the Second Continental Congress signed their names: 

A lesson that affected by students very much was about the events that led up to a war that took place 70 years after the American Revolution--the Mexican War of 1846.

First, I'll say that the way this war has been taught has changed in the last twenty or so years--and the change is important.  It used to be presented--and was when I was in high school--as a great patriotic effort.  Increasingly, however, there has been questioning of it.  For example, our textbook The Americans, states the following in the chapter "Expansion and Conflict":

We read that in 1821, after the Mexican people fought for and won their independence from Spain, their government offered land grants in Mexico's sparsely populated northernmost province, named Texas, to Anglo-Americans.  It's southwestern boundary was the Nueces River.  Two years later, 300 families from the US emigrated to the fertile land along the Brazos River.  Our text states that:

Meanwhile, as more and more Anglo-American families came to Texas, they brought with them - along with their cattle, farm tools, and furniture--their slaves.  These were the hundreds of men, women, and children in bondage who did the backbreaking, body - crippling work in the cotton and sugar cane fields.  Then, in 1829, Mexico abolished slavery, and our text states:

e learned further that on March 2, 1836, the Texans decided to separate from Mexico, establishing what they called the Lone Star Republic with its own president, Sam Houston, its own flag, its own army and navy, and its own constitution and laws--which included the right to own slaves.  "They had no right!" Carl Pellito called out--and others agreed.  They were seeing something of what contempt has done historically, and I noticed that the bored and blank looks I'd seen so often were gone.    They were also very surprised that the Mexican people were doing something that we--here in the United States--didn't get to for another twenty years and had to have a war about: the abolition of slavery.  Was our purpose to "spread freedom," or something very different?

 I told the class I've learned from Aesthetic Realism that when we have contempt, we are simultaneously too separate from things and also too close--we impinge on them, manage them in a hurtful, ugly way.  In a lecture, Mr. Siegel said: "Two things that make evil are bad exertion of power or managing collision, and aloofness or separation."   Was this what was going on in 1845 and 46?

We read that earlier, in 1836, the Lone Star Republic separated from Mexico by means of an armed uprising, and immediately asked to be annexed-joined-to the United States. President Andrew Jackson refused, but in 1844, President Polk-called by some "Polk the Purposeful," was determined to make New Mexico, California, and Texas part of the US, and so, despite the objections of the Mexican people, on December 29, 1845, Texas became the 28th state.  Then, there arose a disagreement about the border. 

[MAP] 

I asked my class to look again at this map.  Texas claimed the border was the Rio Bravo River, further south than the Nueces River, the agreed-upon boundary.  Not only did the US refuse to honor this border, President Polk sent troops, led by General Zachary Taylor, into the Mexican land all the way to the Rio Grande and began to build a fort blockading the river.

My students saw immediately, as you can, that the Rio Bravo and Rio Grande rivers are farther south and west than the Nueces.  "They just wanted more land!" said Tamara.  "They were real greedy."  added Michael DeMartini. 

Our textbook has the following:

"Do you think," I asked, "we, as individuals, have ever been like the Texans here, that is, tried to impose ourselves on others, manage them while being aloof or cold to what they feel?"  Many students answered thoughtfully and with courage.  One young woman said: "I liked a guy and he was with someone else, so I made up something about her and told it around."  She said she was ashamed she hadn't thought about what either of them felt. "I just wanted him," she said, "and later I couldn't look them in the face."   Another student spoke about how when he wants something - a CD walkman, cell phone - and my mom and dad say no, I just bother them until they give in, no matter what anyone else in the family needs or wants."

I then asked if the horror we had seen on September 11th was "managing collision?"  "Yes," they said.  "And did the persons who flew those planes have to make themselves aloof and separate from the feelings of the men and women whose lives they destroyed?"  "Wow," said Joseph. "That describes it!" and others agreed. 

Through facts in our nation's history, they were seeing, dramatically and vividly, how opposites they themselves were mixed up about, the way they could feel so separate and far away one minute, and then get into an intense fight the next with a close friend - that these very opposites were in an event that took place over a hundred and fifty years ago.  Seeing this had history itself take on new meaning and enabled them to feel they were in a world that could, even at its most confusing, make sense.

The United States won the war.  Mexico was forced to acknowledge the Rio Grande as the border between the two nations.  And nearly one-third of Mexico, including its capital city, its northern provinces, New Mexico and California became part of the United States.  I read from the text:

These people stood for what Eli Siegel has described as the force of ethics in US history.  Everyone was listening, including Frank Chan, who no longer sat at the back of the room leaning against the lockers with his eyes closed.  In fact, he moved his seat up front, and took part in discussions eagerly.  Every student wanted to speak about the courageous people who objected to the war.  "I respect them!" said Alesha Carr.  And Carmela Ramos, who rarely spoke, was smiling and had tears in her eyes.  She said proudly, "I'm Mexican."

By the end of the semester a big change had taken place. Most everyone came to class on time, many rushing from gym.  Homework improved, and students wrote with real feeling about the facts they were learning.  The squabbling and name calling stopped, and they spoke to each other with genuine respect.  Students of different ethnic backgrounds helped each other with assignments.  When Mohammad Baig, the young man of Arab descent, was absent for a week, many students asked me to call his home and make sure he was all right.  On the final exam many chose to write about the Mexican War.  Joseph DiMartini wrote in part, 

On Open School Night Joseph DiMartini's mother told me, "I was worried about Joseph.  But this term he loves history, he talks about what he's learning.  It's like the people are alive! Thank you!"