The good seed of Fred Phelps

Last Saturday, my aunts Vicki and Janice and I zipped over to Topeka to hear Nate Phelps. The second son of the infamous pastor of Westboro Baptist Church (Rev. god hates fags), Nate escaped from his violent, hate-filled home at midnight of his 18th birthday.

Nate has shared his story in many places, but last Saturday was the first time he spoke out in his hometown.

Read about it here.

Gov. Jan Brewer can kiss my big, strong Puerto Rican ass

Every Monday morning, I greet my first class with the brightest smile possible, even if I haven't had the day's first cup of coffee (which, fortunately, is rarely the case).

"Good morning! How was your weekend?" I ask enthusiastically. Sometimes they even respond.

"What did you read over the weekend?" is my next question, which often meets curious glances. I'm still trying to instill the idea that not only is reading outside of class acceptable, but it can often lead to further enjoyment and enrichment. It's a work in progress.

Never one to shy from controversial issues in the classroom, I then asked, "what does everyone think of the new immigration law in Arizona?"

Blank stares.

So, I pulled up a news report and filled them in. Their initial response was confusion.

"Why would anyone make a law like that?"

"How are they going to get away with that?"

The confusion quickly gave way to frustration and hurt. They knew, without my suggesting it, that this would lead to racial profiling. Most of my students have at one time or another fallen victim to profiling, and some face it on a daily basis.

What weighed heaviest on my heart, though, was the eyes of my students who are first generation immigrants. Hurt, betrayal, frustration, anger. One wrote in her creative writing assignment that day, "Why do they treat immigrants like criminals?"

According to the new law, a legal immigrant who is caught without immigration papers could be charged with a state crime. Yep. That's right. It will be illegal to leave home without their papers.

I looked into the beautiful, gentle face of R___, one of my top students, and a scene flashed before my eyes. I saw her hurriedly racing from school to work (the young woman is always in class, at work, or studying), and being pulled over by a police officer because she looked suspicious. What if she had rushed out the door that morning without her papers? I saw them arresting her, processing her, charging her a fine that she most certainly couldn't pay.

Even if she were not arrested, even if she produced her papers when they were demanded, I can not imagine the humiliation of being singled out, pulled over, and questioned to prove that she belonged in the country that she has made her home, that she has worked feverishly night and day to make her home. She does not deserve to be treated this way in her own home, nor does a visitor deserve this treatment. It's demeaning, demoralizing, and downright cruel.

My father is still searched more thoroughly in the airport than his fairer skinned friends and family. This is only one example of the times I've seen him singled out or left out because of his skin color. I cringe when I see this proud, loving man treated as less than. Even a college education and a lifetime of white collar work has not rescued him from insidious racism.

We wonder why we still struggle so much with race relations in this country. Really? It seems that we are going out of our way to bolster the mistrust between people, to damage tenuous relationships.

Shame on you, Jan Brewer, for giving into the fear and overreaction of a few of your constituents. This was an unwise move that reflects poorly on your state and sets us back decades.

Because who hasn't at least wanted to flip someone off?

I absolutely love stories like this one. There is so much that is funny and silly about it, and yet there is pith, if one is willing to dig deeply.

An Olathe man flipped off the police officer who ticketed, received a second ticket for disorderly conduct, then enlisted the aid of the ACLU to teach the Olathe police that flipping off authorities is an expression of our first amendment rights. Yep. So go for it.

Oh, and the pith? Read here.

Plaza flash mob part 2: students' reactions

The flash mob in the Plaza this past Saturday was the main topic of conversation in my classes today at Kansas City Kansas Community College. Of my 80 students, approximately 70% are African-American, 20% are Hispanic, and 10% are Caucasian. Their ages range from 16-40s.

Yesterday I told them to stay up-to-date on the latest reports about the incident and come to class today prepared to discuss it. I was pleased that most of my students did just that, and was not at all surprised that they were full of ideas and opinions.

What did surprise me was that one student revealed that he had received a facebook invitation to the mob. He said it’s called a “flood,” and it’s not the first invitation he’s received. He decided to ignore this invitation, since he was afraid it was going to spiral out of control.

Another student said with absolute certainty that he knew what incited the mob; it was a reaction to the massive school closings planned for this upcoming fall in the KC, MO school district. I asked him if he was absolutely positive this was the reason, and he said that he was. When I asked him how he knew this, he looked at me long and hard and simply said, “because I know.”

To launch our discussion, I asked the students to answer three questions:

1. What assumptions did the news reporters make?
2. What assumptions do you make?
3. What assumptions do you think others might make?

Below are some of the most popular answers to these questions.

What assumptions did the news reporters make?

1. This event was planned through social media channels.
2. The teens started the incident.
3. This will likely happen again.
4. Teens were labeled as “unruly” and “violent.”

What assumptions do you make?

1. The teens need something to do, somewhere to go, and Kansas City has very little for them.
2. Next time will involve even more teens.
3. This was racially motivated.
4. Those involved were acting out of ignorance, and ignorance breeds more ignorance.
5. People will stop patronizing the Plaza.
6. Someone will be killed next time.
7. The Plaza area will begin to enforce a curfew for teens and a dress code for everyone.
8. This will lead to greater profiling by the police.
9. Many of the teens were high on something.

What assumptions might others make?

1. Parents are to blame.
2. The teens were all black.
3. Teens should not be out at night without adult supervision.
4. The city will be better prepared in the future for this kind of event.
5. This was racially motivated.
6. The Plaza is a dangerous place now, and this will hurt tourism.
7. Drugs were involved.
8. It was gang related, because when black people fight, it’s always about gangs.

An overwhelming majority of my students believe this will continue to escalate. One student remarked that the inevitable increase of police presence in the Plaza might lead to greater security, but could also lead to an increase in volatility and hostility.

My students were very divided on how this could or should be addressed. While they did not defend the actions of the mob, they were fairly pessimistic about whether authorities and community leaders could successfully address this issue. Many were also concerned that this will lead to greater racial tension in Kansas City.

I hold great respect for my students, and I love them dearly. They, in turn, respect and trust me. Whatever the future of the Plaza and other Kansas City hot spots, I hope that our classroom, at least, will continue to be a thriving community where we build bridges, strive to understand and support one another, and live out the kind of peace and cooperation that we desire for our city, our country, and our world.

Flash mobs, race relations, and ignorant mayoral comments

I heard about it on a beautiful, peaceful Sunday afternoon while playing frisbee with some friends across the street from the Nelson-Atkins museum. "Did you hear what happened on the Plaza last night? A mob of hundreds of teenagers descended on it. The police came out in force and even had to use pepper spray to break it up."

It was shocking. This didn't sound like the Kansas City Plaza. When I later watched the video footage, my heart sank even more. Even though the reporters' words continue to call the mob "unruly teenagers," the video reveals something more. It was a group of black teenagers. I could almost feel the racial tension instantly rise in this city that already struggles with racial tension.

Hoping my fears were misplaced, I brought up the story in my classes today. At Kansas City Kansas Community College, the majority of the student population is African-American, and I knew my students would have opinions.

I showed them the short news video footage from this morning, and their reactions were immediate.

"Oh, I see. It was a bunch of BLACK teenagers. That's why people were scared."

"Is this why they don't want us in the Power and Light District? Now they're going to start a dress code for the Plaza, too."

And then, after Mayor Funkhouser's unfortunate comment (he does seem to make a lot of those), "We had sort of a Westport night in the Plaza," the reaction was strong.

"See. There they go, blaming the black people."

And it's true. Scroll through the hundreds of comments, and you can see the inevitable. A large number of people are insulting the African-American community, blaming the race at large for the unruly teenagers.

Several of my students were incensed at the teenagers' behavior,

"If they're going to act like idiots then that's the way they'll be treated and they deserve it," one said with many nodding in agreement.

When mob mentality takes over, people do stupid things. I'm concerned for the teenagers that got carried away with this, for the Plaza patrons and residents, and especially for the health of inter-racial cooperation, respect, and relationship in Kansas City. This could pull us apart even further, or it could force us to work together with open minds and the perseverance to seek real solutions beneficial to all.

I gave all my students the assignment to read the latest reports from this story and be ready to discuss their thoughts and reflections tomorrow. I will share their feedback on this blog.

Two wheels are better than four

Over the last two days, I've seen a different Kansas City than what I've ever seen before.

On most days, I'm a highway driver. I set my course based solely on the fastest route to my destination. I'm in the northland and want to go to the Plaza? No problem. Jump on the interstate and presto, 20 minutes later I'm there. It was as if a stretch of concrete or asphalt and maybe some heavy traffic was all that separated one point of interest from another.

But yesterday, I joined some friends (who all know the city better than I) on a bike tour which started in Westport, meandered down through the east bottoms, then circled back to downtown and then Westport again. Jason Steliga took the picture above during our bike tour. Can you name that bridge?

Moving slowly, open on all sides and above me, pedaling along backroads and trails, I discovered Kansas City. And you know what? It's beautiful, funny, ugly, sad, and amazing. Why have I never noticed before? Why the narrow habit of staring straight ahead and moving from box to box while enclosed in a box? This city is rich with color, variety, oddities, and flavor.

So today, instead of driving from my apartment in Grandview to the Ultimate game across the street from the Nelson-Atkins museum, I hopped on my bike and rode. Since bicycles and highways don't mix, I rode on streets I've never driven before. As I was pedaling, little things popped out at me: a little free-standing New York style bakery on Troost, a hot dog stand on Grandview Rd, a darling old neighborhood on Rockhill Rd. And a guy riding the funniest looking bike I've ever seen. Must have been an art student.

I discovered that, for the most part, the city's landscape changes gradually. I couldn't tell you when I left the suburbs and entered the urb. At which point exactly did the average home value jump from $70,000 to $500,00? When did the narrow, empty roads become wide and crowded?

So, I'm starting a new exploration. Next week, I'm going to bike to that hot dog stand and try it out. I'll let you know if it's any good.

Does our willful ignorance contribute to collateral murder?

A military video from an American Apache in Iraq in 2007 was posted a few days ago on Wikileaks, and independent online journalism site. The controversial video reveals the gunning down of two Reuters news staff, several unarmed civilians, and a family that drove in to try to help the wounded. The video has generated significant online conversation, and now even the international news conglomerates are picking up the story.

Emotions are running high in this debate. Many are outraged, others are jumping to the defense of American soldiers, claiming that this is not representative of reality and that those who have never lived through combat can not understand and have no place to judge.

With this much contoversy and heated debate, how could I not blog about it?

I watched the video. My stomach started churning in the first minute and I had to force myself to finish watching it. I don't know what sickened me more: watching the civilians gunned down, or listening to the soldiers who sounded like they were playing a video game.

I have never lived through combat. I have never even lived in a violent neighborhood, so I can not imagine the emotional and mental state of soldiers, charged with battling terrorism, living day in and day out in a hostile environment.

But that's just the point. We don't have to see it. That's the American way of life.

We can wake up in the morning and enjoy our cheap eggs and bacon without once asking ourselves what the true cost is of this cheap food, without ever visiting the unnatural, unhealthy, and painful lives animals are forced to live. We don't have to think about the various ways we rape and pillage the land and poison the world's water for our insatiable appetites.

After breakfast, we can choose our day's outfit from our closets stuffed with relatively inexpensive clothing without ever looking in the eyes of the children who labor 12-18 hours a day in sweltering factories producing our latest styles.

We can sip our coffee and savor our chocolate without considering the children sold into slavery so that those who harvest the beans can still turn a profit off the backs of this cheap labor.

We can flash our dazzling diamond earrings without ever sullying our hands with the blood that was shed over them.

And we can breathe peacefully and easily in an empire that sends boys and girls barely old enough to vote into combat on the other side of the world. We don't have to think about what it means to their fragile souls to be given the duty to kill. We don't have to live daily with the reality of the shattered lives on both sides of the weapon.

We are no more civilized, no less brutal than the very first humans. We're just better at shielding ourselves from the ugly truths. We turn our faces from what should sicken us to the core while rail against sports stars for setting a bad example for our children.

I don't know what I can do. I just know that I can't look away any longer.

Yes, Aliyah, there is a monster

"Are there really monsters, mommy?"

My daughter watched Monsters Inc. for the umpteenth time this afternoon. I told her that I didn't know, that I had never seen a monster, but that they may exist somewhere.

After she fell asleep tonight, the question returned to my mind. Are there monsters?

Tomorrow begins our fourth quarter at school. Last week over 80 new students enrolled in our adult education program designed to prepare adults for the GED and college. The instructors met with the students one-on-one for advising, and, as always, the students I met inspired me. One wants to open his own soul food restaurant, another wants to be a social worker so that she can help others who are struggling through the same system that she struggled through. One young man, under the question "what are your long-range goals?" wrote, "to be known, to be loved, and to be larger than life." Their eyes were bright and their faces revealed their enthusiasm. Several said, "I'm going to get it right this time."

My short history here predicts that not all of them will last through the quarter. A couple will be incarcerated, at least one will lose her home, a few will lose their motivation, family issues will relentlessly pull away several, and a couple will simply not show up one day and when we try to call them we will only reach disconnected lines.

I hate this truth. I rail against this reality. I want to fight like hell for each and every one of them. This is my monster.

But this monster is sly and elusive. Just when I think I've cornered him, I strike out and hit nothing but emptiness, then hear the low, sinister laugh behind me. Sometimes I think I have struck a near fatal blow only to discover that my sword has accomplished no damage whatsoever.

I cannot hurt the monster because he belongs to the students. I can walk with them into battle, I can suggest fighting techniques, I can equip them with weapons, and I can cheer for them. But they must fight him. They must kill him themselves.

Tomorrow, we take up arms and storm the castle. Beware, monster; your days are numbered.