Student Stories: A New Orleans Classroom Chronicle

After Katrina, there has been a lot of talk of citizen participation and its increase in New Orleans. At Douglass we have been experiencing this in a range of ways: absence of many pre-Katrina school and community leaders because of difficulty of returning, neighborhood residents building renewed commitment to and work in public education, and hindrances to full community involvement by policy restrictions, conflicting visions for the school, and lack of full, careful communication and consensus among all stakeholders.

In the midst of our work in one neighborhood school, it is refreshing and encouraging to have students challenge us to think about ways our students continue to develop as incisive and broad-based thinkers. Today’s essay, by Nguyen Hoang, a 2008 graduate of Eleanor McMain Secondary School, demonstrates the mix of critical thinking, personal experience, cross-disciplinary reading, and community concerns that Students at the Center encourages. Nguyen and his peers give us great hope in the future of New Orleans and beyond. Our students and graduates are determined to work for a just and democratic future for their city and the other places they call home.

Citizen Education
Nguyen Hoang

When I was young, I frequently went to the beach every evening to have fun with my friends or my family. In Vietnam, the beach was just a block away from my house; therefore, it was common place for me to spend the evening walking or swimming. I remember observing men netting fish on the beach. They pulled out large amounts of fish in just a short time. I also followed my dad around to catch crabs crawling in bunches around the beach. That was back then. When I was twelve, things changed dramatically. Sea creatures such as crabs and fish were diminishing in great number. I could hardly find a crab crawling across the beach or a fish that suddenly popped up from under water. Five years after coming to the United States, I began to realize the reason why those sea creatures are greatly reduced in population. I had been watching a lot of shows about nature, and thus, I identified the main cause of the shift in sea resource. It was due to over fishing that those resources were severely reduced. I thought that it would be hopeless to find a solution for the problem; however, after reading the 2004 Nobel Peace Prize speech by Wangari Muta Maathai, I believe that there is a solution to re-enrich the sea natural resource that my birth place once possessed.

Sea resources were what hundreds of men and women in my town of birth depended on to live. It was their main income for a whole year. Because of that, every one of them wanted to net as many fish as possible. This act drained the fish out, because fish could not reproduce so fast to restore its population while the netting and fishing went on regularly. The fish population reduced rapidly each year as the town population increased. The seamen struggled to keep up with their lives while the fuel price rose so high that its cost surpassed the money the seamen made over each fishing trip. Yet, fishing is the job that has been deep-rooted inside every seaman, and thus, they take any risks to look for the fish over the vast ocean. They traveled farther from the land to the deep water of the South China Sea, hoping to find a huge school of fish. The trip often took a whole month, yet its result sometimes is not as good as the seamen have anticipated.

Overhearing a telephone call between my mom and my relative in Vietnam, I discovered that the fish season is worse this year in town. Again, the seamen are struggling to earn a decent income for this year. Sympathizing with what I heard, I began to think about the fate of a neighboring friend in Vietnam. He quit school after fifth grade, because his family could not afford to pay for his education. At the age of nine, he was already out there with his dad and his brothers, pulling up the captives that were stuck inside the net. I remember my time seeing he and his mother removing the fish and the crabs from the net while his father, who was soaking wet and smelled like fish all over, prepared a big, shallow bottom basket to put the little creatures in. Those fish and crabs would then be sold at a nearby flea market, earning his family enough money to have a decent dinner. His family life was subsistent and dependent on the sea creatures that were caught. At my age, he already was a professional fisherman. He talked like a fisherman, acted like a fisherman, and lived like a fisherman. He never felt unhappy about his life situation, but I thought of him as being provincial. My mom told me that he is currently somewhere in Phu Quoc, an island in South Vietnam, fishing along with some other sailors. His family has long been fishermen, and inevitably, he is one now.

Thinking about my friend makes me wonder what should be done to improve the lives of many young people like him, and I have realized the solution: education. This idea came to me when I read the speech of Maathai, in which she emphasizes the primary need for education. Her “citizen education program” is what struck me the most. The program itself is a mutual organization of native people to “identify the problems, the causes and possible solutions.” Through her program, people begin to make connections between “their own personal actions and the problems they witness in the environment and in society.”

They are exposed to many human activities that are devastating to the environment and societies. The participants discover that they must be part of the solutions. They realize their hidden potential and are empowered to overcome inertia and take action. They come to recognize that they are the primary custodians and beneficiaries of the environment that sustains them.

The result of this program is so fantastic that I am speechless about it. “Thousands of ordinary citizens were mobilized and empowered to take action and effect change. Trees of peace were planted in many parts of the country to promote a culture of peace.”

I hope that the same program will be carried out for the people of my home town in Vietnam, especially for that friend of mine. Fishermen are not interested in the subject of engineering or science, yet they are interested in how to harvest fish in large quantities. Therefore, it would be beneficial to teach them to reserve the sea resources. They need to see the negative effects of over fishing on their lives. They must be led to come up with their own solutions to protect that resource. In addition to that, new methods of fish farming should be taught to the fishermen so that they can harvest plenty of fish while conserving many fish species. Finally, they need to be empowered to take action. This can be done with financial support, because fishermen will need a huge capital to carry out the fish farming plan or any new methods for both conserving and harvesting the sea resources.

Talk is always easier than practice. My idea sounds good, yet it is difficult to do. Still, I hope that it will come true one day. The fishermen need the environmental education. They need to learn how to solve their fishing issue in an efficient way. They need new methods that can help them conserve their sources while they continue their traditional job. If it comes true, the fishing industry in my town will be saved. My friend will longer need to go that far away for fish; he could just walk on the beach leisurely knowing that he has good income for the year and that he is able to conserve the resources that god has given to Vietnam.

Posted by Jim Randels at 11:37 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Today we feature one student’s reflections about the public school facilities issue in New Orleans. Alexandra Lear, a 2007 graduate of McMain Secondary School and staff member with Students at the Center, shares these thoughts as the city is going through a massive and controversial planning process for school facilities. As her essay illustrates, questions about equity in public school facilities are still a major issue in New Orleans.

Schools in New Orleans
Alexandra Lear

On my Easter break I visited my older cousins who moved to Maryland after the hurricane. As soon as the plane landed the first thing I said was, “It’s cold as hell out here. Did Maryland get the message that it is spring?” Everything we passed on our way to their apartment was so beautiful but so different. I remember one day we were driving up the street, and I asked my cousin-in-law Rick: “What university are we passing?” My younger cousin, who lived in Maryland all his life, looked at me like I was crazy. He asked me if I knew what a school looked like. Rick interrupted him and told me it was a high school. I was shocked. It wasn’t just a big building. It was a campus. They had the biggest buildings I had ever seen. It had a gym building, an outdoor pool, a tennis court, a football field, and a media center. I was amazed! Then I asked if it was a private school. He told me, “No, it is a public school.” Public?

I knew the schools out there were better than the ones where I lived, but damn. I’m from New Orleans, and I don’t know of one school with all of those features, especially not a public school like the one we passed in Maryland. My school is one old building that was run-down before and after the hurricane. It was awful. Rick told me that all the schools out there didn’t look like the one I saw. He told me it was one of the newer buildings and most of the old ones in different areas look mostly like the ones in New Orleans.

Rick then told me his views on the history of education between the school I saw and the schools I’m familiar with in New Orleans. He started off by using my grandparents as an example. My grandfather dropped out of school in the sixth grade when his father died and had to get a job to support his mother and two sisters; my grandmother only finished high school, got married to my grandfather, and started having children. I know at that time schools were still segregated, but Rick told me the schools built for black children weren’t adequate for any child’s education.

Little did I know, that both my grandparents went to a school in New Orleans built by African Americans, in an African American community, for African Americans. It was called Valena C. Jones, after a black educator. The school was built because at that time there were no schools that were in good condition for African American children. Knowing that there were no good schools, African American leaders got together with the community to build a school. In 1929, Valena C. Jones was completed. The community raised their own money and built the school by themselves. The state and the city government had nothing to do with the building of the school.

My mom is the one who told me all those stories. She told me when she was younger all the parents wanted their children to go to Jones Elementary, but everyone couldn’t get in. She told me my grandparents split them up into two groups of four and sent some to Jones and some to Craig, which was another public school for African American children built around the same time as Jones.

My Easter break was a blast. I learned new things about my family history and the history of public schools. School was important to people back in the day, but it was African Americans against the rest of the city. I now feel like nothing has changed. The education system has not changed. Public schools are still not adequate. Yes we have more of them, but they are not in the same condition as they were in the 1920’s. A hurricane has passed, and the school still looks old and run down. I can’t tell what are new damages and what are old damages. On the other hand some selective admissions public schools and well-funded charters got new buildings, renovated old ones, and took over underachieving public schools that didn’t get much damage and made the school look better than it ever did before.

And now that I go to Douglass every day to work with my fellow Students at the Center writers there, the inequalities slap me in the face regularly. On the way home, I often pass by NOCCA Riverfront, a state-run arts school that is public but also has a lot of private donations like so many schools now in New Orleans. This campus has many buildings and state-of-the-art equipment, just like the high school I saw in Maryland over spring break. And what’s most ironic is that it’s built where Homer Plessy got on a train in 1892 to challenge Louisiana’s Separate Car Act. Just like separate but equal didn’t work then, it’s still not working now. Maybe it’s like back in the 1920’s. Neither our government nor our well-off citizens are going to make sure that everyone has great facilities. Maybe we need to build our own schools again, just like they did with Jones Elementary in 1929.

Posted by Jim Randels at 2:34 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

On Tuesday, May 6, the Recovery School District (RSD) superintendent, Paul Vallas, was 30 minutes late for a community meeting to discuss the school system’s plans for Douglass High School. Over 100 people attended, including well over half of the school’s faculty, who were eager to have an opportunity to hear directly from the superintendent.

Audience members encouraged Mr. Vallas to read the book The Long Ride, a history of social justice and civil rights history in New Orleans written by students from Douglass and two other public high schools in New Orleans. He did not agree to do so. We gave Mr. Vallas a copy of the book in August, 2007, so we did not really expect him to agree to such a request. But the offer is still there, and maybe he will read it now and let it inform his decision-making and his communications. Better late than never.

Frederick Douglass Writes a Farewell Letter to His Daughter
Dayoka Edmonds and Marlon Cross

Dearest Annie, My Youngest Child:

I can remember the first time you grasped my index finger. Fresh from the womb, your small voice cried loud as I held you in my arms. Annie, you were as beautiful as roses & daisies in a spring garden. Your voice spoke to me quietly in a language that I didn't understand. Inside my heart I knew you wouldn't have to slave for freedom as much as I did. My youngest love, my youngest life, you remind me of the ocean.

As I write you this letter, the waves rock this ship like your cradle rocked you when I was too busy with your four older siblings. I sit on deck and watch the waves. I think of your ways, soft and calm, at times, rough and fast, but always a wonderful sight to see. Just last month when you were drawing a picture of your baby doll, I disturbed you, asking you to pick up your shoes. The tone of your voice was sweet even when you didn't want to be bothered. Why, I would have done anything for you. I learned that from my own mother. She went through a 24-mile walk after work just to come see her son, your father. She worked in the fields on another plantation, while the other children and I stayed 12 miles away. She cared for me just as much as I care for you. I think of her long journey as I cross the Atlantic Ocean once again, placing my life in danger, weeping that your earthly life has ended.

How my heart wishes to walk into my residence to see the face of my Annie, those eyes like your mother’s that sparkle in the moonlight, those pretty white teeth that shine in the dark, and that graceful smile that to which no other can ever compare. I know that inside my heart everything happens for a reason. I am so sorry that I could not have been in your presence to adore you with my love, to kiss your cheek, as your soul passed to the next life.

You must understand why I was away the day you died, only eight years old. You won't know the name John Brown or the meaning of the words abolition and justice. But these are some of the reasons I was away. John Brown’s skin was white but his soul was pure. His heart was set on one goal--abolishing slavery. He too is now dead. Our country wants me to join him. I knew of his plot to attack Harper’s Ferry, take over the weapons there, and wage war against slaveholders. I told no one about this plot. For that this country, which declares itself a defender of the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness, accuses me of treason. I do not regret my silence about Brown’s plot. I only regret its failure, his death, and most of all my absence as you took your last breath.

So now I journey again. The water, the source of life, gives me little comfort. I return to your four siblings and dear mother. I return to a country stuck in greed and evil. I also return with the hope of freedom for all. I pledge my life to remain in this country, to die fighting for freedom for all people rather than to escape to another country. Your untimely departure tells me where I must remain. It reinforces my determination, my conviction that I will never be free until all my people are free. Thank you for this gift you give me on your leaving. Forgive my absence at your departure.

All Love Always,
Your Father,
Frederick A. Douglass

Posted by Jim Randels at 1:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Today’s entry is from Kirsten Theodore, who will graduate in June 2008 from Frederick Douglass High School, which she has described in a previous essay in this blog series as her dream school.

We continue to worry about changes in a public school system that happen without deep study of and respect for those of us who learned and worked and read our first books in that very school system.

First Book I Ever Read
Kirsten Theodore

I can remember the first book I ever read. It was about a woman traveling back in time where she happened to run into her ancestors. Ever since I read it, I’ve wondered about my own ancestors.

I was in sixth grade when I first received the book. A couple of Students at the Center (SAC) members and I had just finished performing a play about Homer Plessy and the fight for racial justice in New Orleans. All of the SAC members were in school at Frederick Douglass High, but I wasn’t. My cousin and sister were working with UrbanHeart, an after school program that involved Douglass SAC students helping those of us who were younger with reading and writing and performing.

After rehearsal one day, Mr. Randels was getting ready to take me home. We got into the car, and it was dead silent. “So Kirsten, what books have you read lately?” he asked.

What a way to break the silence, I thought to myself.

“Um The Cat in the Hat I think.”

“Well we got to change that. I got some books in the back, if you’re interested.”

“Ok,” I replied.

I reached into the back and grabbed the stack of books he had sitting on the seat. I went through all the books, and one stood out to me, Kindred, just because it started with a k. I decided that this would be the book that I wouldn’t read.

We arrived in front of my house. As I was getting out Mr. Randels said, “that’s a good book you chose.”

“Ok, thanks.”

I went inside to my room and threw the book on the dresser with no intentions of reading it. A week passed, and I didn’t even look at the book. That next Tuesday I got punished for skipping school. So I was stuck inside with no TV. Since I had nothing to do, I had to find ways to occupy my time. First I tried exercising, but I got tired too fast. Then I tried cleaning, but the bleach was getting to me. Finally I tried studying, but I lost interest. So I just flopped on my bed and counted the dots on the ceiling. Out of my peripheral vision I saw the book. I went over picked it up and started reading Octavia Butler’s Kindred.

Posted by Jim Randels at 5:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)