Torture

The Rubber Room is a form of torture.

Because there is no physical pain,--Actually, there IS physical pain, so let me begin again.  Because there is no physical pain comparable to the many horrors that people have been subjected to throughout the ages, you might think that this is an outrageous exaggeration, but it is not.

There are many forms of torture.  The Rubber Room and the workplace mobbing that precedes it might be on the low end of the scale compared to processes like the one in this picture, but they result from the same cause and serve the same end.

The cause is that a social hierarchy is in trouble.  The people who are on top are getting worried that they can't maintain their position, so they start terrorizing the people at the bottom--and if they become really worried, they attack the people in the middle as well.  The more torture you find in a society, the less secure the power structure is.  That is of little comfort to the people who are being tortured.

The Rubber Room opened my eyes to the many forms of torture used in this society to keep people in line.  The prison system is an important part of it.  So is war.

After reading the latest posts on South Bronx School, I am sad to see that torture continues to be the preferred method of controlling teachers and children in the New York City Department of Education.

The King is Dead, Long Live The... ?

Yes, Bloomberg, the man who assassinated (notice the two asses) my career and the careers of hundreds if not thousands of teachers, will not be Emperor/King/CEO/Dictator/Fuhrur/Tyrant of New York much longer.  I would be more hopeful that NYC politics would move toward more democratic principles--but that's the HOPE FOR CHANGE I had when Obama was elected. It didn't happen.

One man does not make a Democracy--but a few very rich and powerful men, can destroy one.

Now, what about Principal Sh _ _ _ _    T _ _ _ y?   Will the principal who lied and got children to lie for her be fired?  Or will the new mayor recognize the advantages of having loyal slaves who do as they are bid, no questions asked.  I'm taking illegal bets.

And yes, I am back.  How could I resist contributing to the METTADATA at a transitional moment such as this?

If They Hadn't Sent Me To The Rubber Room...

...I wouldn't feel this poem the way I do.

Rhinocerous Woman by Assata Shakur

Rhinocerous woman
who nobody wants
and everybody used.
They say you’re crazy
cause you not crazy enough
to kneel when told to kneel.

Hey, big woman -
with scars on the head
and scars on the heart
that never seem to heal -
I saw your light
and it was shining.

You gave them love.
They gave you shit.
You gave them you.
they gave you hollywood.
They purr at you
cause you know how to roar
and back it up with realness.

Rhinocerous woman,
big momma in a little world.
You closed your eyes
and neon spun inside your head
cause it was dark outside.

You read your bible
but god never came.
Your daddy woulda loved you
but what would the neighbors say.

They hate you momma
cause you expose their madness.
And their cruelty.

They can see in your eyes
a thousand nightmares
that they have made come true.

Black woman. Baad woman.
Wear your bigness on your chest like a badge
cause you done earned it.

Strong woman. Amazon.
Wear your scars like jewelry
cause they were bought with blood.

They call you mad.
And almost had you
believing that shit.

They called you ugly.
And you hid yourself
behind yourself
and wallowed in their shame.

Rhinocerous woman -
this world is blind
and slight of mind
and cannot see
how beautiful you are.

I saw your light.
And it was shining

Unattached

http://www.davidtanych.com/unattached.html

 I live in the same neighborhood as the school where I was mobbed by students, administrators, teachers, and parents.  It is inevitable for me to cross paths with them.  I imagine that it must be something like living in Salem after being accused of being a witch.

When I see one of the people who colluded with Liar Principal Sh----T----y., I deal with it by ignoring them.  I walk right past as if they didn't exist.

I have already admitted to hating them.  I have tried not to fuel it by refusing to acknowledge their existence.  I have maintained rigid mind control, and have excised all thoughts about them.  That means that I have had to avoid the topic of education altogether.  I have also avoided this blog.  I haven't returned calls or emails from people I knew in the Rubber Room--the only colleagues that ever call me.  It was necessary because of the intense feelings of hatred and anger I felt every time I thought about what had been done to me.  I had suffered since the early 2000's when Principal Sh----T----y took over.   During that time, my feelings were totally shut down.  I actually marveled at how calmly I took it all. Then all of a sudden, about a year ago, I was flooded with intense anger.  I didn't welcome it, but it was there anyway.

Then, not long ago, I crossed paths with one of the Slave Brains that helped Principal Sh----T---y. and as usual I turned my head the other way and walked right on past.  But this time was different.  I didn't feel anger.  I didn't feel hatred.  It was a great relief for me.  Those are burdensome feelings, and it takes a great deal of effort to suppress and/or sublimate them.

I hesitated to hope that I was over it all.  Had I just shut down again?  But no.  Somehow, I am no longer attached to that part of my life.  I tried to find an image that would illustrate what had happened to me by Googling the word "Unattached" and I found this picture of a sculpture of a huge screw and wing nut.  It was perfect.  It took years to screw me and years to unscrew me.  

People are still back there screwing each other, but this wing nut is free to fly and will stay that way.

Training in Compassion

Compassion is different from pity.

"Compassion is a far greater and nobler thing than pity. Pity has its roots in fear, and a sense of arrogance and condescension, sometimes even a smug feeling of "I'm glad it's not me."  As Steven Levine says:  'When your fear touches someone's pain it becomes pity.  When your love touches someone's pain, it becomes compassion.'  To train in compassion, then, is to know all beings are the same and suffer in similar ways, to honor those who suffer, and to know you are neither separate from nor superior to anyone."  Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying.

Training in compassion: You don't want to start with something you can't handle. 

It is as impossible for me to feel compassion for Principal S. T. as it is for me to lift this barbell.

In the last five years I have felt compassion for holocaust victims, lynching victims, witch trial victims.  I could reach out over a great distance in time and space and say to them, "My situation is no where near as grave as yours was, but I have new insight into what you must have gone through. I'm sorry for your pain." 

It was more difficult to feel compassion for the people in the Rubber Room.  We were not separated by time and space.  We were too near to each other.  Our fear, anger, and pain literally resonated off the walls.  I am sure that someday they will invent a means to see the energy of suffering the way we can see X-rays today.

There was no way to idealize these all too human individuals.  We annoyed each other endlessly.  Some enjoyed pushing others over the edge and then testified about their "unprofessional behavior" at their 3020a hearing.   Others loved to go around bad mouthing teachers and pronouncing the judgement, "And that's why he's here".  Did people act this way to each other in the Nazi concentration camps?  I think that they must have.

It is very difficult to feel compassion for other people who are in the same bad place that you are.  You would think it would be easy, but it's not.

Hatred

Hatred is a poison and it's antidote is compassion, according to the Buddha.   I was raised a Christian, and that is basically what Jesus said too, in different words, but Christianity didn't help me deal with the Bloomborg like Buddhism did.  Meditation, focusing on the breath, living in the moment.  That's what helped and continues to help--but compassion for them?  Not feeling it.  Can't even imagine feeling it.  The best I can do is live in the moment where Principal S.T. and the rest of the Bloomborg do not exist.  They are not here.  I don't have to think about them.

If I do think about them, I hate them.  I thought with time and distance the hatred would lessen, but it has actually grown.  It has grown to encompass everything related to education. 

I have to stop here to say that I have no plans to do damage to persons or property as a result of my anger and hatred.  Those people aren't worth the effort to do the crime,  much less the pain of doing the time.  I deserve to suffer less, not more.  Therefore, whatever suffering they might find in life, and I hope it's a lot, won't be because of me.  I can't speak for others, but the fact that not one New York City teacher has gone postal after everything they have put us through,  shows that I am not the only one who has been able to deal with negative emotions without resorting to violence.

So let's see, how much do I hate thee?  Let me count the ways.

I hate the word "differentiation".   You never heard that word before the Bloomborg invaded (except in Earth Science class) .  Now people are slipping it into their discourse with smug self-satisfaction as though mouthing the word somehow proves what a good teacher they are.  Slave brains.

I hate everything written about testing and teacher ratings as if it's all about improving the educational system for the dear little children.  That's a big fat lie.  It's about privatizing public education for profit--not for children, but for money.  Emphasize it.  Repeat it.  Money, Greed, Profit. Hedge-funders.  The 1%. 

I hate it when people begin a sentence with, "Of course, we all know teachers who should not be teaching, but....."  Come on, stop it already.  It's been a decade since Bloomberg began to cleanse the profession of "the few" bad teachers.     I don't have access to the data (does anyone?) but I'm willing to bet that they've gotten rid of half the teachers who were teaching when Bloomberg first came into office.  But it's not enough.  The bad teachers are still there--just look at the teacher ratings.  Face it.  If you have tenure, you're a bad teacher and your days are numbered.

I hate the way the UFT treats, as an isolated case,  each teacher up for termination and each school slated for closure.  Once the Bloomborg locks onto its target, the result is inevitable.    Wake up, people, it's death by a thousand cuts.  Stop allowing teachers and schools to disappear without a fight--a unified, citywide fight.

 I hate most of what is written about education and the people who write it.

I hate it when people say they don't hate the person, they hate what the person did.  What does that mean?

I hate what you people did to me, and I hate you for doing it.

Five Year Anniversary

Well, as it turns out, I would have had to resort to something much stronger than aspirin to keep writing about test scores, and it wasn't worth it.  I think I made my point in two or three posts, anyway. 

Why do I keep writing here?  Old time's sake?  No.  I stated the purpose very clearly in my first post.
That was on March 21, 2007, and I just realized that it's been almost exactly five years to the day.

"...I am going to make this a very public shaming, shunning, or what-ever-you-want-to-call-it. This isn't going to happen in some little dark corner of Bloomberg-land. So, if you want to see the step by step destruction of a very long, and, I think, very proud teaching career, then come for a visit.

Why have I chosen to display what could be a very painful process? Well, as a science teacher I have noticed that germs don't grow as well in the light as in the dark. Lies are germs. And truth is light.

This blog is my truth."

 I don't know what my expectations were.  I actually don't remember, so I'll just have to take my own words for it.

 " I am going to make this a very public shaming...." 

It didn't turn out that way.  Not many teachers found their way to my blog.  A few people read what I wrote--I'm sure Principal S.T. did--but despite the fact that Bloomberg stepped up his assault on teachers exponentially with each year that passed,  not many people searched the internet for answers to what was happening to them, their friends, or their loved ones.

They would have found me if they had--and if they hadn't found me, they would have found Education Notes, Chaz's School Daze,  Pissed Off Teacher, and many more.  There should have been thousands of hits on these blogs every day, and I know for a fact that there weren't.  Teachers were suffering in silence, and alone, and they were not using Google to search for answers. 

"This blog is my truth."

"Nobody cares", was the reaction I got from P.B., my chapter leader when I told him about the blog (which is how I know that Principal S.T. also knew about the blog).  He was right, of course.  But I am very glad that I wrote as much as I did.  I wish I had written more.  The reaction that my mind has had to all those years of suffering has been to blur it over.  I really don't want to think about it.  The book I threatened to write has not been written.  I've had over a year, and I should have gone through the mountains of paper they used to bury my career, but I can't bring myself to touch them.  All I  have is what I wrote in this blog and my responses to the disciplinary letters they wrote.

So I was thinking of closing this blog down.  I've moved on.  I'm Occupying.  :)

However,  the story's not over.  I'm different because of what I went through.  There's a lot of my so-called "truth" that I wish were not true, but it is.  The rage, the hurt, the anger... the hatred.  I wish I could say that I have moved on and don't care, but that is not "my truth".

I have been working through it on my own, and I don't really need to write about the process in this blog.  I mean, why give S.T. the satisfaction of knowing that she still has power over me?  When you hate a person, that is what happens--you give them power over you.  I hate that I hate her, but I do.

If I don't write about it here, I won't write about it at all.  Someday I won't hate her.  No feeling will connect us, and I will be free.