I might experiment a bit with some appearance issues here at TDQ. The above header is a very rough-cut. But it includes a beautiful image I thought might serve as a suitable visual introduction. Any thoughts?
Majikthise has an interesting post on a controversy cocerning Brooklyn College sociologist Tim Shortell, and an anti-theist polemic that prevented him from being appointed chair of his department.
Am a bit unsure how to feel about this. On the one hand, there’s academic freedom and all that. And, as an agnostic, I’m in some ways sympathetic to Shortell’s critique, and I’m concerned about the routine discrimination against non-believers in higher education (many private colleges routinely refuse to hire non-religious faculty, and may even require faith declarations from job applicants).
At the same time, Shortell’s polemic may really demonstrate an unfitness for an administrative position. For example:
On a personal level, religiosity is merely annoying—like pop music or reality television. This immaturity represents a significant social problem, however, because religious adherents fail to recognize their limitations. So, in the name of their faith, these moral retards are running around pointing fingers and doing real harm to others. One only has to read the newspaper to see the results of their handiwork. They discriminate, exclude and belittle. They make a virtue of closed-mindedness and virulent ignorance. They are an ugly, violent lot.
Aside from his poor appreciation of reality television, Shortell here voices a visceral prejudice that would arguably preclude him from dealing fairly with religious individuals as an administrator.
And his argument, moreover, is a dangerous one, since it reproduces the intolerance of the religious he’d seek to criticize. Shortell is content to assert the “retardation” of his opponents without citing their arguments, or even citing sociological evidence of the sort you might expect him to produce. If the denigration of the other has long been the specialty of religion (as of course it has been), Shortell reminds us (or ok, me) how often atheist polemic has provided the occasion for crypto-theological jeremiads, and worse.
So, in 1781, a small band of Spanish and native soldiers may have left some cannon-balls in Champaign or neighboring Vermilion county (see my previous post). One historian speculated that these were fired in anger at a small village, but they may just as well have been traded, or lost, on intentionally abandoned by somebody sick of carrying them up to North of Chicago.
But the possibility of some forgotten military exchange prompted me to do a little research on the area between Danville and Champaign where this discovery was made.
It turns out that the area around what is now Kickapoo State park was the last region of Illinois in which Native Americans retained their land, as whites encroached in the early nineteenth century. This came as a surprise to me. White suburbanites like myself might be aware of the Cahokia Mounds outside St. Louis–and might be familiar with legends of the last desperate struggle of the Illinois at Starved Rock. But Danville? I drew a blank. Which, really, should be an embarrassment. I’ll write a little about it now, as I gather things from just a bit of cursory research.
The Vermilion river valley, East of Danville was in the early 1800’s inhabited by the Kickapoo. These were lead by a man who would have been about two years old when the Spanish marched through Illinois. Kennekuk (there are a number of spellings) was the leader, mostly forgotten today, of the Vermilion Kickapoo. He’s a figure who’s proved somewhat less romantic that Black Hawk, Tecumseh, and many other nineteenth century Native American leaders, perhaps because his strategy — which might with some reason be characterized as accomodationist — is one which produces an ambivalent response.
“A bad young man” and a drinker, Kennekuk was banished from his tribe in Northern Indiana, and found employment with a Catholic missionary. A quick and earnest student, Kennekuk saw no conflict between the doctrines of Catholicism and and the beliefs with which he was raised. He developed a syncretic belief system, which he took with him when he returned to his tribe. Reformed, Kennekuk was welcomed back, and soon became a respected leader.
It’s never been quite clear whether Kennekuk’s system was a Christianity with Native elements, or a traditional system with Christian decorations. Detractors from both sides would could characterize him as a dangerous fraud.
Kennekuk nevertheless attracted a hundreds of followers, and began living near present-day Danville in the basin of the Vermilion river. He taught a strict doctrine of moral improvement: no drinking or swearing, no stealing, and men (not just women) should cultivate the land. He also told his followers that he had been ordered by God to never move his people from their land.
Danville was a dirty little town at the time. A by-way to the West, with some old salt mines. For a long while its white inhabitants were grateful to have sober, law-abiding, agriculturalists like Kennekuk’s Kickapoo as neighbors. The settlers recognized their neighbors as friends, and perhaps even as Christians.
But then Indian-killer Andrew Jackson was elected president. And then the Black Hawk wars of 1830 or so terrified Illinois’s whites (or at least provided a them with a pretext). And the population of dirty little Danville kept on growing and growing. But Kennekuk and his followers had “opened up their hands and [thrown] away all their vices and bad thoughts.” The good-will of their Illinois friends and of a God pleased at the Kickapoo’s reformation would continue to protect the tribe, even as it had while other tribes had been pushed across the Mississippi. Kennekuk explained:
Every red and white man is my brother, and I desire to be united with them in [friendship], and for this reason I am afraid of nothing.
You know how it goes. At last, in 1832, Kennekuk was forced to sell the land he had determined to keep forever. His tribe’s journey to Kansas was better provisioned than most, and his leadership helped to fend off missionaries and keep his tribe from being again dislocated. But the fertile river basin of the Vermilion river would fall into the hand of the whites.
In 1850 the land given up by Kennekuk and his tribe was put to use by the inhabitants of Danville, and became “the birthplace of commercial strip-mining practices,” and “one of the first areas to use mechanization for strip mining,” in an operation that turned the river valley into a network of deep pits and slag heaps.
Sometime in the 1940’s, the lunar-scape was handed over to the government. Since then, it’s been recovering, and slowly returning to a semi-natural state. It’s pits have now become a chain of lakes that seem bottomless, set in a series of state, county, and energy-company owned sections of protected land, surrounded by small forgotten cemeteries, and evidences of industrial and pre-industrial life.
I went there today, with my friend Allison, who’s in town for a couple days. We saw deer, fish, and turkey-vultures. It was a beautiful day, in a strange and wounded landscape.
Did you know that that reign of Spain once invaded Champaign? (and champaign means what?). It was a long time ago. I was re-reading J.O. Cunningham’s The History of Champaign County a couple nights ago, and I took note of this:
On January 2, 1781, a small army, consisting in part of Spanish soldiers and in part of Indians, under a Spanish officer named Pourre — officers and all not exceeding one hundred and fifty men — marched out of St. Louis, then the capital of the Spanish provence of Northern Louisana, and across the Mississippi, under orders to capture for his royal majesty, the King of Spain, the fort at the mouth of the St. Joseph River, near the south end of Lake Michigan, under the control of a garrison of the English, then at war with Spain, in Europe.
The expedition being undertaken at a season when the waterways of the country were frozen, the route taken was wholly by land, across the praries. The errand was successfully performed, as a surprise was sprung upon the lethargic garrison within the fort, and all were made prisoners of war. As a result, the conquerors claimed the Illinois country as conquered territory.
Not fun, marching across Illinois in the middle of January. Or being in stuck, bored to death in a garrison, until you find out you’ve just been overrun by the forces of the King of Spain.
But what really caught my attention was J.O. Cunningham’s next bit, for which he turns to Edward Mason’s older history of Champaign County:
From the points made between marching counter-marching between St. Louis and St. Joseph, the territory of Champaign county could hardly have been missed. Such seems to have been the conclusion of the author of “Chapters from Illinois History.” This work says: “Some years ago, in the valley where a large Indian village once stood, a few miles West of Danville, in Illinois, three cannon-balls of European manufacture were found. The place was within the range of a small piece of artillery planted on the hills nearby, and it has been conjectured that these balls are relics of this expedition. If so, these afford the only clew to the line of march.”
It’d be interesting to try and locate those cannon-balls, and see whether their composition might reveal more about their origin that was obvious to Cunningham or his nineteenth century predecessor. It’s hard to believe that the Spanish would have fired those as shots in some unremembered skirmish — more probably they were dropped, or traded? Still, it would be interesting to learn more about them.
Anyhow, reading up on this yesterday lead me to a whole world of Danville history. It turns out that Champaign’s neighbor to the East has a kind of horrible and tragic history. More on that tomorrow.
[Ok, yes, the image above is a little anachronistic. But I’m not sure how closely Spanish troops trekking through Illinois in January would have resembled their European comrades.]
A free on-line Variorum Edition of Foxe’s Acts and Monuments. Who knew?
After spending half an hour searching the eight volume paper edition, I find this letter from Stephen Gardiner in ten seconds. We bless (and fear) the web.
Even given that they are helping to take over our minds, this seems a little mean. And unlikely to save what’s left of our precious precious free-will. A problem of this magnitude can only be resolved by taking out the leader!
A couple nights ago I was lucky enought to catch Neko Case at the Highdive–a great show.
But last night, a friend and I went for another epic walk (see also), which was fun. In the course of the walk, we took a quick look-see at the new Ko-fusion (a Korean Fusion place that looked slick and interesting, despite (or because of?) offering foods such as “Free-form lasagna”). Next to it is C-U’s newest hippest “ultra-lounge,” SOMA. Which seems (as my fellow walker observed) to have scanned-in pictures from Bacardi ads as illustrations on its promotional web site. While I’m not sure if actual Soma is yet available at this new super-hip joint, there is a VIP section, they do have bottles of Cristal ($700) on hand to pour on fortunate female members of your entourage. I’m saving up already!
I’d wanted to write a bit about a film I caught a couple days ago–The Take–over at The New Art Theater, downtown. It tells the story of worker cooperatives formed in Argentina, which took-over and began to operate plants closed as a result of a fiscal crisis brought on by the country’s adoption of IMF policies.
The Take is an earnest and straightforward documentary. Not notably slick or witty, and perhaps not as technically informative as I’d have liked. But well worth watching, and a strong indictment of the neoliberal IMF policies that produced the deserted factory landscape of Argentina. Beyond that, however, the film exhibits a new model of progressive action. I mean, we all remember the 1937 sit-down strikes that won the day for the UAW, when workers didn’t just stay home from work, but went to the factories to prevent work from happening. But this seems a step beyond. To take over a factory and operate it. To Occupy, Resist, and Produce–as the movement’s slogan puts it.
It’s an interesting idea. Watching the story, it’s hard not to be impressed and inspired by the efforts of employees to take control of their factories. But watching it, one can’t help wondering what lessons if any it has for those outside Argentina. After-all the circumstance there was unusual in the extent to which the whole economy was shutting down, and the number of factories that has simply stopped working.
To what extent is employee ownership a necessary part of a progressive labor politics? It’s an interesting question I’d like to read more about.
The Take–and its discussion of employee ownership might be read as a companion-piece to a documentary which might possibly be the best television program I’ve ever seen. It’s my favorite episode of Frontline–the PBS documentary series that imho is the singel best reason for any American to own a television. Called, A Dangerous Business, the episode is more than just an incredibly disturbing expose of “worker safety” in the U.S., but (as it wraps-up) a parable about capitalism, worker-ownership, and the Calvinist ethos. And guess what? The Frontline episode of which I speak is available now available free on-line, here. You should watch it (though it does contain some very disturbing images). And then take a look at any of 50 other excellent Frontline episodes that are available on-line for free. The show is almost always illuminating, even on subjects where you think you’ve heard it all.
It seems that cat germs may be controling your brain.
The fact that she and he resoreted to pummeling her stomach to end her pregnancy must say a thing or two about the availablity of abortion in the the Lone Star state.
So, I good though not so productive weekend. On Friday, I caught percussionist Tatsuya Nakatani over in Downtown Urbana. I wouldn’t have thought to use drums as wind instruments, but it worked. Then across the street to Crane Alley for some amazing food, and then to Sanjay’s going away party. Too much wine led to a feeble start on Saturday, but eventually dinner was had, after which some kind friends gifted me with me a beautiful copy of Meet the Presidents, which I have vowed to one day play in my own hall of presidents. (It is a sad commentary that today even many larger homes lack a hall of presidents).
Another development is that I’ve become fed up with my Lingo voip telephone service. With the new taxes, it’s costing me not 19.95/mo., but $28.74. Plus it was dropping calls and just not working quite frequently. So when I saw that Nextel was selling 800 anytime minutes for 32.99/mo., I was easily seduced, and have joined the cellphone wielding multitudes. I will soon lose my stylish awareness of increasingly secret payphone locations, (lately getting trickier to find than these), to become a garden-variety mobile chatterbox.
Cellphones are an advanced form of electronic pet, needing to be fed, protected, and attended to throughout the day. The demand attention and are turning us into cyborgs. The shorts I picked up from Target a couple weeks ago have an odd mesh pocket designed to stick a cellphone in, so that you can feel its desperate quivering against your thigh. This is weird.
But anyhow I do how have a cellphone, and its a beautiful specimen. Now to start wandering around the quad conversing while chirping away pointlessly!
I’ll try for a more interesting post soon. Good night.
Maybe not. Score one for the ‘91 Dodge Colt?
A friend emailed me a link to an article from the New York Times, about the new essay section of the SAT. Turns out that the test-graders aren’t asked to evaluate the content of the exams they grade, but just the formal correctness of the essay. Not everyone is pleased:
But the SAT essay, to say nothing of the controversy it has occasioned, might well make you wonder about the rhetorical and reasoning habits being peddled (and modeled) to students. Critics of the writing exercise have wasted no time in finding fault with its scoring methods and its ”formulaic and superficial” approach to the craft. The National Council of Teachers of English, among others, condemns what it sees as a narrow equation between ”good writing” and ”correct writing” and laments that the essay requirement may squeeze self-expression out of the classroom. One director of undergraduate writing at M.I.T. has disparaged what he found to be a nearly direct correlation between an essay’s length and its score. The more verbose, the better; content, he has suggested, is irrelevant.
It turns out, however, that not everyone is so critical of the content-free approach to composition. Two days later Stanley Fish wrote in that very same New York Times, that when it comes to teaching writing that “Content is a lure and a delusion, and it should be banished from the classroom. Form is the way.” Fish is so worried about content sneaking into his composition classes, that in order to avoid it he has his students spend the semester inventing a fake language. By the semester’s conclusion, his students have learned to avoid content automatically, and the project is complete:
In my classes, the temptation of content is felt only fleetingly; for as soon as students bend to the task of understanding the structure of language - a task with a content deeper than any they have been asked to forgo - they become completely absorbed in it and spontaneously enact the discipline I have imposed. And when there is the occasional and inevitable lapse, and some student voices his or her “opinion” about something, I don’t have to do anything; for immediately some other student will turn and say, “No, that’s content.” When that happens, I experience pure pedagogical bliss
Fish’s argument is silly, and hardly worth refuting. Mostly a provocation, one must suppose. It might be interesting however to do so from within his class. How could one design a language without considering the functions to which that language will be put? Should the language include markers for gender, or formality distinctions that express the distinctions in social class between speakers? Which sorts of syntax would be useful for distinguishing membership in which communities? Asking questions like these in his class might not have won points with Fish, but might have helped raise his class to a level more approaching the Dorm room arguments he seems here to believe he’s transcended.
One can almost forgive the SAT’s for their approach to writing assessment. After-all, the scoring of so many essays poses problems of scale, and in the context of one scored exam, it’s difficult to tell whether a a essay that seems incoherent gestures towards a richer insight or is just poorly made. But Fish’s contempt for undergraduate argument is inappropriate for one charged to teach a course in freshman comp, rather than descriptive or imaginative grammar.
The irony here is that Fish’s best line of defense would be to maintain that he’s striving to avoid a false classroom “openness” that invites students to participate in a classroom power dynamic in which instructors dishonestly foist their views on their students. To pretend that there’s “free speech” in the classroom is a deception that Fish hopes to avoid by excluding content from his course. Fish is right to react against the use of the classroom as a place of teacherly manipulation and intimidation; but to exclude “content” from a composition class is not so easy, and when Fish publishes his classnotes as on the Op-ed page of the Times, I think his claim to have tossed controversy from his Olympian classroom is pretty disingenuous.
