Teach Soviet Russia Through Klingon Empire

June 27, 2008 in The Way It Were
Tags: allegory, animal, bookend, cheesy, chekhov, class, classroom, closure, counterpoint, country, day, diverse, earth, expansionism, farm, hitler, klingon, last, mnemonics, original series, orwell, shakespeare, soviet, star, thin, tools, trek, undiscovered, union, vi, youtube

Allegories are the way to learn Soviet history — Animal Farm, anyone? — in no small part because it creates an relatable framework for a subject that students will find dull despite how interesting it really is. Now that the end of the Cold War is within the scope of the responsible history class, Orwell’s novella has a marvelous counterpoint — Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country.

Bear with me.

Star Trek’s original series was always a thin allegory for the Cold War and American-Soviet relations. The diverse cast of the 1960s exploited fear of the commies by creating a warlike, Soviet-like archenemy in the Klingons while simultaneously catering to the “Let’s be friends” mentality with adding that guy named Chekhov.

I grew up with the even-numbered Star Trek movies by way of library VHS, and my dad’s favorite was the last movie that had the complete Scotty-Spock-Kirk-”Nuclear Wessel” crew. Until I saw it earlier today, I didn’t appreciate how thin a Cold War allegory it really was.

At least three lines in the movie that directly flesh perfectly with some part of Cold War history. Who could forget the complete-with-context old Vulcan proverb: “Only Nixon could go to China“; or “last, best hope for peace”; or “don’t wait for the translation.”

The movie doesn’t just cover Cold War, either — like any cheaply written movie with a dearth of original ideas, it lifts more than a few lines from the Bard. Klingon High Chancellor Gorbachev-wannabe gives the movie its title by making a toast to the undiscovered country: the future. Spock quips:

Hamlet: Act III, Scene i.

Later, Klingon villain Gen. Chang — in the climatic scenes will speak almost entirely in Shakespeare — justifies Klingon expansionism. We need breathing room, Chang says. Kirk quips:

Earth, Hitler: 1938.

Despite those entertaining thematic digressions, in so many ways the last old school Trek movie bookends the close of Soviet history the way Animal Farm bookends the beginning. Because of the way it definitively puts a period at the end of this period, I’d say the last, best Trek movie has more than earned its spot as the last, best day of a world history course.

Best yet, this movie ends with a slow clap. Talk about closure on the last day of class.

Some Districts Learn Motivation from Alec Baldwin

June 25, 2008 in Personal Reflection, Reading Response
Tags: alec, baldwin, cadillac, classroom, edublog, edublogosphere, education, film, fired, glen, glengarry, jack, knives, lemmon, metaphor, motivation, movie, not safe for work, nsfw, rant, ross, speech, steak, teacher, teachers, you're, youtube

Technically, the following video is not safe for work. Personally, I think it’s perfect for work.

During Alec Baldwin’s tirade against the failing quality of this particular office, salesman Jack Lemmon responds with excuses.

The leads are weak, Lemmon says.

You’re weak, Baldwin says.

In this short clip from Glengarry Glen Ross — spoilers ahead — this exchange describes much of the working world, and most professions.

Let’s use education.

So many educators make excuses, as they try to make do with the alleged students in their classes. Some favorite excuses: It’s the family life at home; it’s the socioeconomic level; it’s that they’re learning English as a second language. Alec Baldwin character, transposed to education, could care less about these excuses.

In the movie, it’s Lemmon’s job to sell real estate. In education, it’s your job to teach children content, at the very least. but you’re having trouble with the group of kids you have, over at that urban school district. In this transposition, you are Lemmon.

Baldwin comes from downtown. He doesn’t care. Why aren’t your kids passing? You are a teacher: Teach. It isn’t that hard. They’re showing up, and are just waiting to learn. He knows: He has years of experience in education.

In the movie, when Lemmon gets a lead, he is paid to sell property to that investor. When you get children — sometimes you even get students — you are paid to teach them, whoever they are. That’s the bottom line, says Superintendent Baldwin.

Professionals can do it easily. If you can’t do it, you aren’t a professional.

No ifs. No ands. No buts.

Even late in his rant, Baldwin’s mentality easily translates to the teaching profession: I do have some positions at Glen Ross Unified, that golden, trouble-free district in a wealthy part of Florida — but you can’t have even interview for them. That district is for teachers, and you peons aren’t very good teachers at all if you can’t teach who you have, already. If your students right now aren’t learning, you can’t teach anyone.

There are a lot of Baldwin characters angry at education in this country. They don’t care about your excuses. They care about your results. If you don’t have results, you’re worthless. Excuses just prove it, and so Lemmon does himself a disservice by offering up his excuses.

Yet some excuses are legitimate. Sometimes, just sometimes, the cards are as stacked against you as you claim they are. That students have a rocky home life is important, and does affect the effectiveness of your teaching. That students can’t speak much less read English, yet, will affect their score on the test. When the cards are stacked against you, you really can’t do anything about it.

As Lemmon finds out at the end of the movie, this was exactly the case. The cards were almost purposefully stacked against him, and Baldwin isn’t his enemy. He had been all-but doomed even before Baldwin showed up and made all that noise.

To wit: In both the movie and the field of education, Baldwin’s appearance didn’t raise the difficulty of success. It raised the stakes of failure.

First prize: Cadillac. Second prize: steak knives. Third prize: you’re fired.

That’s motivation.

Passion is a Lie

June 11, 2008 in Personal Reflection
Tags: cause, classroom, education, just, lie, passion, peeves, pet, profession, silly, teaching

I rushed through college. With all those classes flying by, there wasn’t much time to breathe — and yet there were a few things I learned.

My very first collegiate pet peeve: “It’s because I’m so passionate.”

I heard this all the time, often for the silliest of reasons. Dislike a political rival? Tell everyone who will listen that you’re better, because you’re passionate. Blow up in unrighteous anger? Defend yourself by proclaiming your passion. Desperate for attention? Scream out to the world how passionate you really are.

Professed passion smokescreens deep faults, and helps keep you in denial. In this sense, passion is a lie.

Passion itself isn’t a lie, because deep, unfailing devotion has its place, as does zealotry. When the cause is just, and when the tangible benefits are few, passion fits in. Passion, however, is no excuse for a lack of self-control.

Maybe that’s because I really don’t know passion as much as everyone else says they do; I don’t feel that strongly about anything, especially what profession I want, even now. I’m 21 years old — I don’t know what I want to do with my life, and I certainly won’t pretend to have some deep, unending passion for anything I don’t love or hate absolutely.

When I graduated college, I thought my years of hearing passion in the form of an excuse were over. Then I started the credential program, and got a peek at the profession of teaching.

On the very first day, in an context I was familiar with.

“It’s because I’m so passionate.”

I remain skeptical. In college, I learned this passion is a lie.