By Patty Smith, see part one here
What constitutes American character is hope. Optimism. The faith that we can change, begin again (isn’t that the American Dream?). And isn’t that what the Declaration of Independence suggests? We see this motif over and over again in our literature and in that most American Dream-y of all books, The Great Gatsby. Spoiler alert if you haven’t yet read it — the last page of this gem of a novel (no partiality here) reinforces, to use President Obama’s words, “the audacity of hope,” the very quality that Nick Carraway admires so much in his neighbor and friend Gatsby, the very quality that Fitzgerald, by the audacity of his last page, inexorably links with what is central about being American. On the very last page, Fitzgerald writes as Nick, looking out over Gatsby’s land -- Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes — a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder. Then, Nick reminds us of his admiration of Gatsby’s hope, his “wonder when [Gatsby] first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock.” In spite of everything—Gatsby’s refusal to give up the past, the shadowy ways he has earned his fortune, the messes that ensue because of his single-minded goal—Nick has admired Gatsby’s endless gift for hope. Here at the end, though, he is trying to make sense of everything that has gone on that fateful summer. He says: “[Gatsby] had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.” The dream, Nick/Fitzgerald suggests, is over. It ended almost as soon as it began, after one “transitory enchanted moment.” And here, we might think so that’s it? The American Dream is dead? That’s what Fitzgerald is suggesting after all, the impossibility of the American Dream? We might think so, but then he offers us those two final paragraphs: Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning —-- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
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By Patty Smith
As an American literature teacher, I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be American and how America is reflected in and defined by its texts. I ask my students to think too, about the idea of the American Dream which is, it seems to me, a crucial concept that influences both what it means to be American and what constitutes America at its core. When we ask the questions— What makes American literature American? — we’re also looking to define what makes us unique, what characteristics separate us from other countries and people. I posted elsewhere on this blog one answer to that question about what distinguishes American literature, an answer from writer Russell Banks who said that the ideas of “race” and “space” are what differentiate American literature from all other literature — and I like that explanation. Certainly, race, while not a uniquely American issue, has played out in a fairly unique way in our country and is reflected as such in our literature. And the idea of space is what launched the American Dream in the first place—back first when St. Jean de Crèvecoeur wrote “Letters from An American Farmer.” He wrote about the vastness of the land, asking “Who can tell how far it extends? Who can tell the millions of men whom it will feed and contain?” The endless space offered possibilities that just didn’t exist in Europe. In America, there was always somewhere else you could go, someone else you could be. Europeans who emigrated here didn’t find, “as in Europe, a crouded [sic] society, where every place is over-stocked; he does not feel that perpetual collision of parties, that difficulty of beginning, that contention which oversets so many.” Now my students will often immediately point out that while de Crèvecoeur was so cheerfully optimistic about America and its future, he seems to have forgotten or ignored two facts: 1) there were already people living here when Europeans arrived; 2) there were also already enslaved people living on this continent, too, by the time de Crèvecoeur was writing. And here we have the conundrum of what has continued to be true about America until today — that it was a place of inconceivable space, lending itself to a new way of life for many people, a place where, it seemed in de Crèvecouer’s day,“There [was] room for everybody”— and simultaneously, where certain people were already overlooked and/or killed and for whom, one might argue, there was in fact not nearly enough room. Of course, this conundrum is carried right over to the Declaration of Independence, which states that “all men are created equal” when we know some were more “equal” than others. What are we to make of this document, then? What are we to think of these words? Are they insincere? Hypocritical? By Felisha Nguyen
I’ve been on a bit of a social media hiatus. Rather, let me rephrase that: I’ve been hiding from Facebook because my newsfeed terrifies me. I’m doing the ostrich in the sand thing, shoving my head so deep into Instagram to get my social media fix without engaging with the tougher questions that Facebook brings up. My newsfeed is fraught with warnings about Trump, Hillary, the upcoming election, black people getting shot, refugees starving and washing up on shores, riots in the street, trans people being killed, bathrooms being bombed... Overall, it’s not a great place to be. As someone who has recently suffered a great personal tragedy, I’m not in the headspace for this kind of place. This social media onslaught of terrible things that happen in the world, even if I’m mostly in an echo chamber of my friends (problematic in it’s own way, I know, I know), is just too much for me. So I hide. I know it’s not the right thing, and I know that come election time, it’s not going to be helpful. But I’m Team #AnyoneButTrump, for good or for bad, and that means that no amount of social media is going to change my mind. If I choose to engage with it, which I do, in spurts, I can certainly seek out news sources for myself. Am I falling into the trope of the uninformed millennial? Or am I reserving my energy for these kinds of conversations when they truly matter, when I see a picture of one of my friends waiting in line for the Trump rally and then see him, standing in front of me? What do I say? I walk away. Too often, the people around me seem ready to take the dec incredibly seriously, to abolish the government that they find is unfit simply because it disagrees with their stances. At this point, we’re running into so many brick walls emblazoned with the words “I hate both candidates,” or “the lesser of two evils” and I wonder what we’ll do in the face of actual rebellion. I doubt it will come to that, though, and maybe I’m naive, but personally, I think that social media has made it all too easy to tout our words without acting on them. Maybe one day, I’ll act. Maybe one day, I’ll take up arms against The Newsfeed and The People Behind It and battle back. Ideally, it’ll be face-to-face because a keyboard is both an excellent shield and sword. Until then, call me an ostrich. By Laura Tornello
This morning, I’m thinking about the danger of accepting things as they are. I’m thinking about one of my favorite lines from Henry David Thoreau’s essay Walden; the author decides to move to an isolated cabin in the woods and reflect on who he is apart from society, but even within a short time there, he finds himself falling into routines: “I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear, that others may have fallen into it, and so helped to keep it open. The surface of the earth is soft and impressionable by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity." I’m also thinking about one particular line of “The Declaration of Independence” that keeps resonating with me: “All experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.” And most of all, I’m thinking about the movie V for Vendetta, which depicts a dystopian world in the not-so-distant future, where the UK is ruled by a fascist police state. In one pivotal scene, a masked revolutionary named “V” takes over the state-run British Television Network and broadcasts his message to the world: "Allow me first to apologize for this interruption,” he begins. "I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of the everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition.” And then he goes on to say: "There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now orders are being shouted into telephones and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?...How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told...if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.” I’ll admit it’s a difficult morning to be an American. Let’s be honest: it’s a difficult morning to be a human. I woke up to news of the Dallas shootings and am still grappling with the two men shot and killed by police in the past few days. I also still haven’t forgotten, of course, about the lives lost in Orlando, and Baghdad, and Istanbul. And this is all happening against a political landscape that day by day feels increasingly more polarized, corrupt, and disenfranchising to the majority of citizens (or perhaps it’s always been that way, but the spectacle of the 2016 election season is making these problems even more glaringly apparent.) I think everyone would agree that there are large-scale changes that must, absolutely must happen in our society. But why haven’t they happened already? There’s this overwhelming sense in the public discourse right now (whether it’s on major news outlets or your Facebook feed) that it’s simply too difficult to make any substantial reforms. The issues change (gun control, police brutality, systemic racism, LGBTQ equality, women’s rights issues and access to reproductive health, campaign finance reform, the prevalence of super PACs and lobbyists dictating the political agenda, universal health care, even standardized testing), but the response is often six quite simple and, in my mind, dangerous words: “That’s the way it’s always been.” Because it’s always easier to stay the same, isn’t it? We cling to patterns and traditions and routines because they give us a sense of stability and bring order to what can often feel like an overwhelming world. At our core, we are creatures of habit. Thoreau recognized this; in spite of literally removing himself from the constraints of society, he found himself carving the same paths over and over. The founding fathers recognized this too; they acknowledge that we are often far more likely put up with evils rather than “abolishing the forms to which [we] are accustomed.” We did ultimately rebel against Britain, of course; the Declaration outlines a list of very specific grievances and makes it clear that the colonists are no longer willing to put up with the way things are. The scales have shifted; suddenly the “forms to which they [were] accustomed” seem far worse than the unknown. The risk and uncertainty are worth it, for the potential to create something better. But what do you do when there isn’t a ruling power? How do you declare independence from your current selves? I’m struggling to answer this question myself. But I do know this: the first step is always what V advocates at the end of his speech in V for Vendetta: “you need only look in a mirror.” I’m spending a lot of time right now reflecting on my own life experiences (as a teacher, as a white person, as a woman) and trying to stay unbiased and open to others’ perspectives. I’m reflecting on my own privilege and drawing on times where I’ve felt marginalized and discriminated against in order to find empathy for others, while making sure that I don’t presume to step inside someone else’s experiences and struggles. And because it’s me (absurdly enthusiastic English teacher who is borderline obsessed with The Great Gatsby, for those of you new APUSHers who don’t know me), I’m reminding myself of a passage from the screenplay for F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”: “For what it’s worth: it’s never too late... to be whoever you want to be. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.” by Tyler Anderson
You have to believe me: I really didn’t want to do this. In fact, I specifically told myself to out run all of my Trumpian temptations as I prepared for this article, but, alas, I have failed. I am slave to the illogical, contradictory blabberings of the presumptive Republican nominee, and I as I closely read and re-read our Declaration of Independence, I couldn’t deafen the blaring modern parallels between Trump and King George’s “Despotism”, specifically regarding safety and immigration. My contribution will probably not be an entirely original analysis—Trump has been likened to despots for almost a year now—but I couldn’t conscionably ignore the violations Jefferson cites in the Declaration of Independence that would (or still) persist today under a Trump Presidency. First, Jefferson remarks on The King’s “[endeavor] to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither…”. Of course King George purposefully gummed up immigration to the colonies out of population management concerns—not necessarily to alleviate the colonists’ concerns for national safety--but it’s hard to not connect the King’s overreach to Trump’s proposal to ban all Muslim refugees and immigrants in 2016. Based off what I’ve read, the American colonists welcomed immigrants simply because there is a solid, reassuring strength in numbers. Today, we welcome immigrants in hopes of diversifying our economy, culture, and education. To “ban” an entire population from our shores, regardless of reason, compromises the foundation we rest our entire republic on: independence. To be wholly independent means to move where we want to move, believe what we want to believe, explore what we want to explore and live amongst others in harmony without stifling political and philosophical directives. Like King George, Trump is actively seeking to obstruct a population’s freedom of movement; however, he is doing it in the name of public safety. Regardless, he’s taking a page straight out of the 1776 playbook to further his position. Government officials can’t institutionally ban an entire population of people or complicate immigration and integration unless they drum up a resounding fear of amongst the masses, and how does an institution do that? Dehumanization of course! Sadly, our esteemed Founding Fathers weren’t immune to this tactic either. In fact—perhaps regrettably?--they are kind enough to deliberately draw out the dehumanization of entire population in our country’s most important document when listing one of King George’s transgressions: “He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.” “He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us”….. San Diego, anyone? Chicago? Potentially Cleveland? ‘[He] has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.” Here, I don’t think it’s a stretch to replace “Indian Savages” with “Muslim Refugees”. Of course I am not implying that all foreign “Muslims” are savages; rather, I’m contending that Jefferson’s characterization of the “Indian Savages” parallels Trump’s inane characterization of the foreign Muslims who are seeking refuge in America. Trump has gone on the record with quotes such as, “I think Islam hates us”, and “It is obvious to anybody the hatred [among Muslims] is beyond comprehension”, and " our country cannot be the victims of horrendous attacks by people that believe only in jihad, and have no sense of reason or respect for human life.” Of course Trump has recently softened his stance on Muslim-banning, but please note the generalities and the connotation of almost inevitability in the above lines, as though each Muslim is genetically made up of an unabated hatred for America and its values, not unlike the Founding Fathers’ use of “merciless”, “Savage”, “known rule”, and “undistinguished destruction” in their characterization of the Native Americans. However, the primary difference between these two characterizations is context: The relationship between the colonists and the Native Americans was notoriously violent and strained; several Native American tribes did in fact ally with the British in hopes of avenging tribal losses and conserving pockets of their land. On the other hand, Outside of ISIS—a group that reportedly makes up only 31,500 (at most) of the world’s 1.6 billion Muslims—there simply isn’t an Islamic-fueled existential threat to America that warrants Trump’s recycling of such incendiary language. Unlike the British in 1776, modern nations are not contracting out warriors to further their own political agendas on America. North Korea isn’t contracting out scores of Syrian suicide bombers to attack The Capitol. Russia hasn’t hired Libyan nationals to terrorize American schools or workplaces. The fact of the matter is misguided outsiders of all races and religions carry out terrorism in America, and Trump’s lines are a reminder of how poorly we have escaped our bigotry and prejudice over the past 240 years. We are still led to believe that a group incorrectly deemed unconscionable and “savage” threatens us existentially, a belief that only cuts and divides. Two hundred and forty years later, and there is still very much an “us”, and very much a “them". Our guest contributor this week is Austen Bundy, a former APUSH charge of mine who has moved on to the journalism program at Arizona State University.
Bundy apparently is going to connect the Brexit to this project which I was hoping would happen in the Saturday Open Forum but now he gets to lead the charge. Also officially joining the bandwagon for later July is Patty Smith, an absolutely incredible English teacher at the Appomattox Regional Governor's School. Her laundry list of accomplishments is too much for this small space right here, I will delve more into her awesomeness as we get closer to her post. Please know there is still room left to contribute an article. If that seems daunting please feel free to comment, tweet it out, do whatever you want, just make this a part of your summer plans! Let's make something awesome together! Photo credit here
Last week, Caitlin Lansing bravely wrote a guest contribution to this site. Here are my official thoughts. I may not have known Chipotle was founded in 1993 but I do remember the lines out the door when it debuted in Charlottesville in 2005. I didn't get it. I mean Qdoba also had Mexican food and it did not feature a 30-minute line. Even better, I don't have to stand in line and make snap decisions. What salsa? What condiments? Do I want to spring for guacamole...I mean it's just staring at me, begging me to add it on? If this order is messed up, I only have myself to blame. So many options, so little time to make the decision. What if I choke under pressure? Are they judging me for getting a burrito and not a burrito bowl? What if I just really like tortilla? Qdoba's fascism may be limiting and the opposite of empowerment but it is quick and efficient. It's one less decision that I have to think about in my life. In fact, I heard this anecdote about politicians. The reason so many of them wear the same red and blue color patterns for ties is that they are so overwhelmed by life-altering decisions every day that they just want one decision to be preordained. So what does that say about our society that we have more choices at Chipotle than we do in the election booth? Here is the updated list of official contributors and their articles are linked. Message me if you want in!
Caitlin Lansing-Survived Gibson's first year teacher, going to work on her PhD at Johns Hopkins after having gone to Princeton undergrad (basically following Woodrow Wilson's footsteps minus the racism) Laura Tornello-One of my main inspirations in teaching. She is working on publishing a book and I know it will be amazing! Tyler Anderson-A great human and a hard-working, gifted English teacher. He also possesses enough guitar skills to win Freedom Faculty's Got Talent with Wes Bowman (not that I'm bitter). Bob Hill-Had Mr. Gibson for TWO years at Appomattox Regional Governor's School and mostly survived to tell the tale. Emma Johnson-The very first recipient of the Social Sciences and Global Studies Award under my watch. A spectacular human being and a scholar at William and Mary. Clark Bartolomei-Survived my first year at Freedom in my beloved 7th block that year, even though it was quite...vociferous. Clark just graduated the University of Virginia so that alone makes him pretty awesome. Wahoo wah! By Caitlin Lansing
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” I see the “pursuit of happiness” no clearer than in a visit to Chipotle. I’m no historian of restaurants, but I have a gut feeling that in 1993, when the restaurant was founded, the ability to customize your meal in real time, as you ordered it, was probably novel. In 2016, having so many options is commonplace, even expected. For forty years prior to a 2014 slogan change, Burger King advertised by telling its customers to “Have It Your Way,” only changing its tagline to “Be Your Way.” Panera Bread recently adopted electronic menus where you can customize each food and beverage option. Now, there are dozens of Chipotle spin-offs, including for different cuisines. |
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