WAsSC-Backwards

Tuesday, March 21, 1995

It's six-twenty and when I arrive this morning, the sky is only slightly lighter than it was when I left last night. It has rained overnight, and the hall ceilings have leaked. Great, more reality. Some of the members are walking into the library. I head over. As I put my hand on the door handle, I hear Aimee's voice behind me, "Bill."

I turn and look. The new skirt. Long black top. She looks tired. "What's up?"

"Do you have the transparencies?"

"Don't you have them?"

"Don't do this to me..."

"They're inside on the overhead. I think." I smile. I’m ready. We head in together. Lori is inside waiting for us. She looks around the room and notices just about everyone is wearing black. Does that sum up our perceptions on how well this is going or what? Some of us are laughing. Fatigue has turned to giddiness. Gallows humor.

The Committee enters. Stone-faced again, only now they’re tired, too. But they look cranky-tired, not giddy-tired. Oh, well. Doctor Taratino, as usual, begins. "After yesterday, we met last night to go over our notes and our recollections of our dialogues yesterday. We feel that there are some misunderstandings over what your Action Plan." no shit, sherlock. "I met with some of your leadership team yesterday afternoon. And we’d like to know if there is any preliminary statements that you would like to make."

Is she serious or did she see the overhead projector and figure that she’d better let us ramble? Regardless, Aimee stands, motions Mary to kill the lights, and I hit the overhead.

Aimee dives into her spiel. It seems to be going fairly well, right up to the second transparency. Then questions start flowing in again. And Aimee’s idea of going on the offensive dissolves and we’re back on our heels, back on the defensive. They don’t still see the impact on students. Aimee motions for the third transparency. It’s up and I’m writing on it, going with her cues, showing the connections between ideas, teachers, and the classroom... the kids. Are they getting it? Yet?

Nope. We never get to the fourth transparency. Within five minutes, the lights are back on, the overhead off, and Aimee’s and my asses down against metal. Thirty minutes later, I will tell Liz that I wish they’d bring the K-Y next time.

Some of the leadership team are not only going on the defensive, but they’re getting defensive, too. Almost siege mentality. Luckily, one of the WASCers senses this and its unhealthy repercussions, and turns the tables deftly.

"I think I know what you are trying to tell us. But could we go around the room and see what you all think we are trying to tell you?" Very smooth. And smart.

Aimee: "I think you want to see the plan and proposed student outcomes."

Jim Miller: "Product, not process."

BubbaDumber: "I think you want to see the ‘staff’ in our flowchart replaced with ‘students’ with an assessment structure built in before it goes off to the School Site Council and the Leadership Team." huh? I know he’s working on his thesis, but DAMN! I never thought I’d hear him trade edu-speak with the WASCers.

And on it goes.

By the end of the pre-first-period meeting, we come to realize that they really do like our Plan, they just want more specifics on what we think we might be doing (as opposed to our fear of prescribing to our staff) and what kind of student outcomes we envision these changes having.

This doesn’t seem too bad, though I’m not sure exactly how we can do that in the twenty-four hours before they write their report. So I’m not exactly feeling great when I leave the room.

Others who stay behind, however, feel much better with the extended dialogue they are allowed to have.

When I meet Harold in the staff lounge between first and second, I on my bladder run, he on his coffee run, he’s loose, almost happy, definitely satisfied and confident. He says that he thinks--after the lingering moments of the meeting following the exodus of first-period teachers--that the Committee and the team have come to an understanding... or at least that the Committee now has an understanding through dialogue of what we wanted to achieve. Well, I’m glad he’s so confident.

Others share his good feeling, as well. When I meet with Aimee, Lori, and Mary at lunch, all of them also feel better about the morning meeting than I remember thinking we had any right to. Of course, all of them had been able to debrief with the Committee at seven-thirty. Lucky them. But their good vibes are contagious. This coupled with overhearing a student, who had been pulled into an ad hoc student discussion group third period, tell Aimee how well he thought it went--complete with a retelling of his statements to the panel--make all of us feel almost confident with less than a day to go.

But before lunch is over, that good feeling is already eroding. We are beginning to hear less wonderful word on the student panel. Now the recap has a surlier student group, mostly Latino, some white, some African-American, being sullen and silent for most of the meeting (save some positive outbursts--Aimee’s student), then the teacher/school-bashing beginning. School is boring. We don’t learn anything (at least correct laying on of responsibility there). Then... African-American students telling of what they see as racism on campus, of their fear for their own safety, of racist teachers (with named names...though we hear no specifics). From that point on, the Latino students chime in on their take on racism. We do not hear if the white students say anything. Great.

Suddenly, Aimee’s back on her whipping post, being the first WASC director to bring a less than six-year accreditation to C.H.S.. She fears this more than anything. She has intimated to me that she feels as if this is something that can make or break her career in this district. I think she’s overreacting. But she retorts that she has yet to be awarded a mentorship, she is afforded little respect at district meetings, and that this could be the final nail into her career coffin. On the flip side, I see that her mentorship was possibly seen as too site-specific (with no possible intra-district in-servicing possibilities), the lack of respect is due to a kind of cronyism (at twenty-nine, she may be seen as not having enough years under her belt to really know what she’s doing; this in reality is bullshit, but I can see how some stupid, insecure teachers [not Aimee, but the cronies] could believe such a rationale), and I’m willing to bet that by next fall, no one in the district (let alone our school) will be able to say who ran WASC where.

I tell her that she’s done the best job that anyone could have done; Teddi could have done no better had she stayed, I could have done no better had I accepted the mantle. She tries to argue with me, but I will have none of it. A process is a process is a process. And the document coming from the process does not depend upon the chair, but the groups. She tells me that Teddi could have done better because of the respect accorded her by the staff. I don’t buy it. While Teddi may have had more respect, I don’t think her product would have been any better. She wasn’t telling us anything about process, she merely gave us instruction. And looking at some of her materials in preparation for the final stages (these were the notes Aimee and I waded through a few weeks ago), I see that Teddi wasn’t heading for a true process plan. She was heading for some kind of mutant process/product. Aimee then asks if isn’t that what (at least) our Committee is looking for...

And I tell her my take. Sure, the Committee seems to be looking for the most concrete aspects of the plan as they can find. It placates their security. We had been given the charge to create a process. We did. We dived off the end of the pier. They have been given the charge of evaluating a process. This is difficult. Aimee and I know this as well as or better than anyone; we teach writing as a process. It’s hard to evaluate a process... we keep going back to the product to help us. The Committee is the same way. They’re floundering and so they’re clinging to anything concrete they can get their hands on; what they don’t realize that concrete will pull them down to a soggy death in the deep water. But they want to hold on to something. We’ve given them a process, they want to evaluate a process, but they’re not willing to dive in fully. They’re insecure because no one’s ever done this. And we’re getting defensive because--WASC be damned--we did dive in, and it pisses us off that the so-called experts aren’t willing or don’t have the guts to do what we’ve done. But through dialogue, we’re better off than the other schools, I tell Aimee. Since we can talk our way into specifics, we can help our Committee. On other campuses, where they have constructed wonderful products, the Committees must feel secure holding on to that sold, concrete product, the report. But sometime between now and Wednesday (or maybe when they get back to their respective schools where they will probably give their recommendations outlining what accreditation to award), those Committees are going to realize that those products are NOT the processes that the WASC requested. And no amount of dialogue will be able to change the fact that they did not follow the directions.

She still looks nervous. Or maybe I’m wrong, and they’ll deny our accreditation. And we’ll all be looking for new jobs in the fall. Only she doesn’t find this very funny. Lunch is over, and the party breaks up. Mary goes off to her focus group meeting with the Committee, Lori off to her class, Aimee off to her classroom, and I set down to work on miscellaneous stuff.

An hour and a half later, I see Mary and I ask her how the meeting went. She shakes her head. This can’t be good.

It started off fine, she tells me. Until our Migrant Education counselor went on one of his tirades. Mary knows that this little, Napoleonic blow-hard is probably my least favorite person on campus, so she doesn’t have to prepare me for the specifics of his rant. But for you, gentle readers, anything...

He began by telling the Committee that the Hispanic community at this school is the most over-looked population on campus. yahright. His "Future Leaders" program is the only support system that really caters to this population. We do not spend enough time or money at this site helping Hispanic students. Most don’t participate in student government because ASB is seen as a white activity, both in students and advisor. There are no clubs that welcome Hispanics on campus. Most monolingual teachers are unwilling to call Hispanic parents to access their assistance in either bringing the students into extra-curricular activities or helping the students achieve in class. Yadayadayada, as Aimee would say.

The message is implicit. We honky teachers are all racists and we are depriving a quality education to all those poor unfortunate students of color (but not that really dark color, mind you--whoops, them too, I forgot the ad hoc student panel). Mary was so upset by this that she took it up with the principal and vice principal, who wondered aloud what he was doing at that meeting anyway. It wasn’t his focus group; his had met earlier in the day, WITHOUT his attendance.

They wonder. Gee, think but don’t act. There will be no reprimand for attending the wrong meeting or blowing off the right one. If I had pulled a stunt like that, my ass would be on the carpet by three o’clock. But don’t fuck with the minorities. And everyone runs scared.

Okay. Freeze. Breathe. Calm down...

Okay. I’m fine. Let’s take this one calmly.

Okay.

Bullshit.

Here’s the deal. We teach at a school with a Latino demographic of over two-thirds. Our limited English proficient population is over a third of the total student population. We employ bilingual teachers, English as a Second Language teachers, a separate counselor for the Migrant Education students, and a number of Migrant Ed aides. We have a great number of bilingual and ESL course sections. We have at least three organizations on campus that cater almost exclusively to the Latino population (MeCha, Zeltzin, "Future Leaders"). There are extra-curricular activities that take in a predominantly Latino demographic. And then there are the school-at-large’s clubs into which every ethnic group is taken for membership. I’m sick of hearing this.

Maybe it’s a bug up my particular ass. For the two last years of my Drama tenure, this particular counselor had been holding court in the Drama room during weekday evenings. I’m willing to share, but he wasn’t asking. The first year I let it slide. When the second year began, and I began to notice that the room wasn’t left in the same condition that I had left it (and they had found it), I raised my concerns to him. He told me that his class for Adult Ed was scheduled in the room and that he had to use it, but that he would keep tabs on the room. Then my office in the Drama room, which they should have never been in in the first place, was left a mess. I asked again for assistance, without much of a response.

Then on the night of their next meeting, the room suffered a "break-in" as well. I quote the phrase because the door had been left unlocked. Much had been stolen, including some personal items. This was the last straw. Whether it was his fault or the fault of his students no longer mattered to me. I wanted him and his class out. He questioned my desire to help all students of all ethnicities. I backed off only when I received his assurance that I would never have to clean my boards after his meetings, that I would never have to rearrange my furniture after his meetings, that I would never have to think twice about finding my stuff on my desk after his meetings.

And it was a civil co-existence for about two months. Then one morning I had to clear my board (and rewrite them, having had half of them erased by his meeting) and rearrange my furniture. I tried to track him down before school so that I could show him what I found. He was not on campus before school that day. So I left him a note, informing him that I would prefer that he not use my class again, citing the state in which I found the room. He shot back another note within the period that he had every right to teach his night class in that room.

So I called Adult Education during my second period prep. They had never heard of his night class. They had no class scheduled in that room on those nights. The class, whatever it was, was not affiliated with Adult Ed or Night School or the District. Hmmmm. I sent him another note, after again not being able to find him in his office; this one recounted my new information, and stating that since this class had no affiliation with either the Pleasant Valley Union High School District or Chumash High School, the "need" to use the Drama room was non-existent. I again reinterated my preference that he no longer use the room.

That afternoon we had a faculty meeting. As it was coming to an end, he accosted me at the back of the library, waving my last missive, berating me. How dare I send this trash to him. How dare I tell him how to run his program, his program that services migrant students, unless of course I meant to deny those student an education. I retorted that it was not my intention to deny anyone anything, but to simply keep my classroom as I saw fit, and to make sure people lived up to their agreements. At which point, he invaded my personal space... the aging fuckin’ punk got in my face. I think he expected me to back down. Fuck no. I could take the old fart down, so I wasn’t backing down.

Of course, eyes were beginning to turn upon on us, eye brows cocking. He wagged a finger in my face. I told him to remove it, I wasn’t some ignorant putz he could intimidate. And voices began to increase in volume.

At this point, the library clerk at the time, Lola, came out of her office to pull us into it. She said something about decorum and professionalism, and I deferred. The Napoleonic shit would not. And then she barked some Spanish at him. I couldn’t give you a complete translation, but it basically said to show some respect. He glared at her then at me. He snottily said that he would "personally" guarantee the state of the room, and he began to storm out, shouting back at me that he would continue to use the room anytime he pleased because he had cleared it though the principal. As he exited, I called out after him that I appreciated his professionalism, too.

I apologized to Lola for making her pull us out of the library. And quite frankly I felt ashamed. It was unprofessional behavior. Of course, not as unprofessional as I would feel in the coming days when staff members would pull me aside and tell me that I should have punched the fucker out (and it was even worse, when the next day at a district-wide in-service, people from other campuses were telling me that the bastard had it coming). I felt badly.

So did I ever confront the principal on the issue? Had she sided with Senor Dickhead? I never went in. I caved. I did not want to look like a racist, something I knew would happen if I tried to do battle with him. I caved, in fear of the perception. As do many of my peers and administrators. And we are gutting our integrity when we do it. Standing up for what is right, no matter the color, is now becoming a joke.

A case in point that I will finally tell (after many teasing foreshadowings)... In the fall of last year, just after the death of Frankie Hunter, and in the power vacuum that followed, Mindy Rose, the head counselor, went to a conference. At this point in time, there were four other counselors, Kpu Sorreno, Elena Maria Ledesma (a woman with NO high school teaching experience who was hired as a counselor under pressure exerted by El Concilio [a Latino rights activist group] which stated that the district must hire more Latino counselors), Sal Ortiz (Senor Dickhead), and Lorraine Washington (a new counselor). In Rose’s absence, they convened and voted her out as head counselor (Washington voted for Rose, thinking the process was all wrong). When Mindy returned, she was out, Sorreno was in. Sorreno, it was obvious, was Ortiz’s puppet. She could no more be head counselor than I could shit gold nuggets. Ledesma was pregnant and unwilling to take on the duties of head counselor. And Ortiz wanted the power but not the title; it would be too obvious that way. When Mindy took this up with our fearful leader, the response was that she would see what the district felt. But before that could happen, Ortiz made it known to the administration that if they made any move to reverse the counselors’ vote, he and El Concilio would call for a discrimination suit. So nothing happened. The righteous bow to strong-arm tactics so that their reputations won’t be sullied by the title "racist".

And it’s not the only example. Earlier this year, when the Proposition 187 upheaval was taking place, just about everyone came out in opposition to the initiative. Probably rightly so, since it was poorly worded and incompletely thought-out. But most people on campus who voted for it did not voice their support publicly in fear of being called racist. And few teachers called for the suspension of students who walked out of classes in protest over the initiative. Now, I’m sorry... Thoreau went to jail for his beliefs, Gandhi went to jail for his beliefs, King went to jail for his beliefs. If you’re going to practice civil disobedience, you’d better be willing to pay the price, live up to the consequences. But nooooo, not at C.H.S., the home of no repercussions. You ask that those students be suspended and suddenly you’re some racist, fascist pig undermining the Constitution. What bullshit.

Take a deep breath... smell the manure.

Okay, fifteen hundred word diverson over. Sorry. But it had to be said.

Anyway, that’s how the day ended, with the tale of Ortiz in a focus group: Chumash Warriorland is really full of NordicVikingAryan racists.

Let’s just hope that the rumor that this is Ortiz’s last year is true. And hope that he hasn’t done more damage to our chances of accreditation.