August 30th, 2010 by talfonsin
I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. ~Voltaire
In my last post, I discussed how a writer’s thoughts can sometimes make a reader uncomfortable. But only through honest reflection can writing forge a new path for both the writer and his/her readers. Deliberately creating a classroom community where all thoughts and ideas are welcomed is an essential component for any language arts classroom. In fact, one can argue that this is a vital component to our society as a whole. Sure, I may choose to disagree with the thoughts stated in front of me. But the voice should not be silenced because it makes me or other readers squirm.
Unfortunately, throughout history, writers have succumbed to pressure to not make known his/her thoughts. Thankfully, most do not. Most have drawn a line in the sand when it comes to censorship. Most writers live by this credo: “If you stand for nothing, you’ll fall for anything.” Renowned YA author, Ellen Hopkins, is one such writer.
Invited to speak at the Teen Lit Fest scheduled in Humble in January 2011, Hopkins readily accepted. However, a librarian caught wind of her invitation and passed it up the food chain until her concern fell upon the ears of the district’s superintendent, Guy Sconzo. Although he has never read any books penned by Hopkins, he summarily uninvited her to the planned gathering. In a show of solidarity, four other authors bowed out, taking a stand against censorship. One of the authors had this to say, “The political and philosophical problem of censorship, in all its forms, harms all of us, and each of us has a responsibility to fight it.” (If you wish to read Pete Hautman’s well-spoken full blog post, you may do so here). Ultimately, the whole event was scrapped.
In response to the cancellation, my friend and fellow teacher, Paul W. Hankins, wrote two absolutely gut-wrenching poems. An advocate for reader’s choice (even and especially at the high school level), he lists his many talents as such on Twitter: English Teacher, Creator of RAW INK Online(rawinkonline.com), National Writing Project TC, and State Representative to ALAN. But little did I know that an accomplished writer hid behind his caustic tweets. Below are Hankins’ thoughts. They are a testimony to the power of our words, and the duty language arts teachers have to preserve a safe zone in which readers and writers create magic.
Recently, our good friend, Ellen Hopkins (who has been so supportive of RAW INK Online and a trusted respondent to my rough poems I share with her) was uninvited to a Teen Literacy Event in Humble, Texas. This is a poem I have written tonight. It is very rough, but it is meant to communicate that the power of story is the power to reveal and to have revelation. So much of the current YA literature invites us to escape and imagine. Ellen’s work (along with so many other brave authors out there) asks us to examine and confront. Thank you, Ellen for sharing your gift with us. A number of readers, ones who may never be able to talk about how, have been forever aided by your work. Your titles are a path out of darkness. . .into the light where we can discuss issues so close to our young readers.
“There Are Dark Places and Spaces Where We Can Still Talk about Them”
by Paul W. Hankins August 28th, 2010
There
in the back of the house,
in the clothes closet, under the bed,
or maybe under cartoon-covered blankets,
are
elements more frightening—
terror existing, plundering under covers—
things far scarier than anything found between them—
dark
scraps and fragments of horror returning
those we would like to forget, at least deny
or tuck away deep, deep within
places
where they could be dismissed.
We could pretend they were never a part of us,
that they never settled into the places where we slept
and
dreamed. They never appeared in family photos
of some better place, waiting not only for us,
but for those who would come after—
spaces
where the sun might make itself known,
safe spaces for searching, for sharing,
for safety. A place for stories we might tell and hear
where
we could feel free to smash gla**** against stone walls,
where the turn of the cul-de-sac was not the end of the line,
where four letter words like hurt and heal could come together;
we
could stay up late into the nighttime and reclaim the dark
as a time, once again, for imagining the possibilities—
a time or re-imagining, for dreaming, remembering we
can
be larger than the elements that try to make us
feel small and helpless, building shelters from security blankets,
lifting the edges to take a peak underneath into morning
still
to find that we are still here, we are still alive,
and the sum of who we are is the sum of what we share
when we come out of silence ready to listen;
talk
about the tough stuff, baring our scars
to show where the new growth is like a new skin
proof of a battle waged when we were thrown
about
but found our bearing and straight path
the journey narrative, where we are the hero, the conquerer
and we no longer have to fear these things or anything like
them.
This is the second part of the poem for Ellen Hopkins written this weekend. My intent was to draft this in the style of Ellen’s Identical. It took me a little longer to draft the companion piece, but I was able to get this down after church this afternoon. The two pieces are for the use of anyone who would like some kind of response to censorship, however it might manifest itself. –P. W. Hankins
There
standing in entrances and before closed doors,
standing at the ready with pens, not ball bats, to spin away
twists of yarn the stories that aren’t, knowing full-well the tales
are
those we need to tell, hear and share—how the prick of a finger
can lead to a punch in the arm or a scratch running at arm’s length—
the progression of the unhealthy touch, in the light,
dark
or any other places the bad things find us, sometimes in the suitcases
of a relative we trusted or in a small plastic baggie with a twisty-tie
offered by the hand of a stranger we’ve just met
places
where we should have never wandered,
but how could we have known beforehand what—who— could hurt, cut, and heal
were to be found just as well in the fluorescent lighting
and
tiled floors so carefully selected at a store specializing in making homes?
Now our shelters are like those blanket-crafted, make-shift tents,
and we live between the covers, the writing on the walls
spaces
white, messages clear as day when we are ready to receive them.
Don’t you know we are seeking guides not guardians;
we left our homes to seek the trusted keepers of the tomes?
where
are those awaiting who can help me to clarify my thinking?
Are there no answers in ancient scrolls or personal journals with answers?
And why are you clutching the scrolls so closely to your chests?
we
followed the examples of the bee and our low buzzing went unheard,
so we suppressed our song into a kind of hum,
all the while flapping our arms to no avail ; did you not see we had questions?
can
we agree that there are those who have been called to keep the stories?
we agree that there are stories that need to be carefully kept and told?
have we resolved ourselves to the two elements of story—the teller and the listener?
still
our hands are waving in the air and you mistake this
for some failed attempt to fly, so you categorized the steps
and standardized the act of taking wing in the guise of careful tutelage
talk
about what’s appropriate for each person,
look closer, you closed the door on the story and the hero both;
neither can find their way out from the trunk, the closet, the burn barrel, looking
about
for their release, out in the open where they can be heard;
there’s a journey to be taken within the words they would share
and all we need to do is to give them a place and to listen to
them.
censorship, freedom, YA lit
blogged briefly in the spring last year, I was glad to his expertise with us (he trained all nine fifth grade classrooms in three days’ time). I’m excited about the prospects that blogging affords a reading and writing teacher, and can even begin to see our fifth grade newspaper begin to take shape on the (virtual) blog pages. But one thing that really stayed with me was when I reiterated to my kids the rules that we have in our classroom when they speak (they must ask themselves, “Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”) also apply to the blogging world. It was a great reminder to us as citizens of the Internet and served as a gentle reminder to my novice blog writers. Whispering in their ears as they tap-tap-tapped on the keyboards, the “kind, true, necessary” guidelines can go a long way beyond the walls of a school setting. If only we ALL strove to live up to those three ideals. What a wonderful world it would be!
