End of the Wasteland

Shortly after World War I, American expatriate T.S. Eliot published The Wasteland, a work that came to embody the feelings of the age. The lights had gone out all over Europe, and there was a sense that nothing had changed, that the future didn’t promise hope, but more of the same.

It’s one of my favorite works. It’s a wonderful test of how much one knows—and my kids learn to like it as well. I used to start my classes with Modernism, with Eliot, and it seems fitting that I end with Eliot.

After all—this was one of the tougher blogs to write. I do hate saying goodbye.

That’s a decision that really shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s been reading this for very long. Over the last six months it’s become increasingly difficult to find the motivation to write, and the lack of updates reflect that.

There are a number of reasons. First, MRHS has changed, and continues to climb out of the mire. It’s a great deal harder to be a voice calling for something better when almost every day something occurs that will lead to improvement. Nothing will be fixed over night, but the attitude has changed: We’re asking ourselves what we can do to make learning more effective, rather than despairing there’s nothing to be done.

Second, I don’t think it’s a matter of educating those in the district anymore about what’s going on in schools. I’m looking a the current discussions about the budget, and all I can do is shake my head—cut 10%? Really? Knowing that there’s no such thing as an “across the board cut” and that it will have a disproportionate effect on teaching?

But I lack the drive to fight it. When a fool and a fanatic get into an argument, it’s hard to say which is which—and I’ve no desire to be either.

Besides, I’m cynical enough to think that nobody ever changed their mind because of what I wrote here.

And, speaking of cynicism, my innate despair about humanity (held at bay for two or more years) has done a fine job of reasserting itself. I firmly believe that education should lift all boats, but I don’t know that it can help anyone survive a flood of Biblical proportions, and the rain clouds aren’t just moving in, they’re down-pouring. What we see in the classroom is not the result of bad teaching, it’s not the result of problems in the system—though these are present and we will face them, we will challenge them, and they will be met—but the result of decisions of a larger society coming to roost.

I’m teaching at the end of the Roman Empire, and most of my students firmly believe there will be bread and entertainment in the Colosseum, and can’t imagine the idea of barbarians pillaging Rome. Worse, mom and dad are just as lost, and there’s little that can be done when the family doesn’t think there’s anything wrong… and in today’s society, where we flatly reject the idea of truth, or right, or wrong, we’re not going to agree on much—right down to whether or not education is valuable.¹

That doesn’t mean anything much, really, for the way I conduct my classes. I spent the last two weeks after school every day, and at one point had an entire class—save three students—after school with me, making up work. After that effort, I have 6 of my 60 students failing, and the reasons are all the same: Attendance and refusal to do the work.

Both are nothing I can control. If I thought it would matter, I would give an incomplete to every kids and allow them to make up the work—but they won’t. They’ve told me so… “Mr. Hale, I ain’t going to do it. I’d rather fail.”²

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?

I’ve set my lands—more or less—in order. But the good fight looks a little different than this, and the race is bringing me in another direction.

I might pick this up again. I’ll certainly keep the domain name—if I ever open a coffee franchise, I know what the name will be. But for right now, it feels finished.

Shantih, shantih, shantih.

1 We are, after all, talking about people who don’t see facts and truth the same way I do. I can point to what I feel are convincing arguments all day long, but when the retort is, “Yeah, but I know a guy who…” there’s not much to be done. Post hoc ergo prompter hoc, but nobody knows what that means anymore. When anecdote trumps fact, when people ignore science and research for belief (without even being able to define belief!) then there’s little that can be done, until pain teaches the lesson. ↺

2 In all cases, neither detentions nor phone calls home worked. ↺

Gregarious