Skip to comments.White pride in my classroom
Posted on 06/05/2013 5:01:17 PM PDT by Altura Ct.
He made me uncomfortable and challenged my worldview. But the biggest surprise: I ended up liking him
I didnt recognize his name at first. It was his writing that caught my attention. An autobiography in 100 words. That was the first assignment, and it was as much for me to get to know my students as to evaluate their writing skills. When I scrolled through the submissions, I saw that many of them were fun-loving, ambitious and determined to succeed, but only one was living on a radical fringe that put him at risk of being a societal leper. Only one spoke of being duty-bound to a right wing resistance, and asserted that if he didnt stand up for European folk and advocate for his race, the liberal sheep would continue to erase his heritage.
In an act of piousness, I did to him only what I would have had him do to me: I Googled his name.
I was met with dozens of pictures: grinning in Confederate flag T-shirts, grinning in Straight Pride T-shirts, grinning in mid-interview stills excerpted from the evening news.
He was the founder of the White Student Union. And on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he would be in my fiction writing class.
Id been aware of the White Student Union since its inception the semester before, having encouraged my students to participate in the groups meetings. (If they disrupted the agenda by overwhelming the message of exclusivity with one of inclusion I wasnt going to complain.) Their first speaker, a self-described racial realist, had spoken glibly, and in radio-show-host tones, about human nature and diversity how the combination of the two could only lead to tension and conflict, not strength. Shorty after, the Southern Poverty Law Center placed the White Student Union on its national map of hate groups.
I knew all this, but until that moment, I hadnt put names or faces to the students whod started the club. And there it was: a name, a face.
I was excited, and immediately ashamed of my excitement. A celebrity, in my classroom.
But the more I clicked through his online persona, the more nervous I became. From what I was reading and the video clips available he seemed to be a smooth-talking, levelheaded advocate for his point of view. He had the kind of facts and figures on hand that, though they sounded specious, I couldnt immediately disprove. What if he challenged me in class?
How would I respond, at the end of the day having already taught three 75-minute classes, my brain mostly fried besides saying something innocuous about the beauty of human difference? I was not able, for instance, to controvert some of the more specific arguments of Pat Buchanan. I was not current with the politics of the ANC Youth League in South Africa. I probably should have been. But I also needed to be current in contemporary American fiction, in community container gardening, and with the trade rumors surrounding the Washington Wizards. There were only so many hours in the day. These were the excuses wheeling through my brain.
I was quick to seek out my colleagues, and what they told me seemed right: Just teach the class. Dont change anything.
I consoled myself with that. Teaching fiction argues strongly against the tendency to generalize. Writing about all people of color, for instance, or about all homosexuals, is the same silly oversimplification as writing about all people, which results in flaccid storytelling. Revision often necessitates choosing one of those characters and getting to know them much more intimatelytheir strengths and weaknesses, the fears that keep them up at night, the small moments of beauty that move them through a day. In other words, to write better fiction, it is not unusual for me to ask my students to humanize their characters. Would I offer any different advice to a racial realist? Id simply teach the stories I was planning to teach, focusing on the unique complexities of the people who populated them.
But the first unsettling moment came early. We were reading, What Happened During the Ice Storm, a story about a group of teenage boys who, during an ice storm, are struck by a sudden compassion to remove their jackets and cover some frozen, dazed pheasants. In doing this, they keep the pheasants alive, where otherwise they would have made for easy prey.
As the students discussed this story in groups, he turned companionably in conversation to each of the two women sitting next to him. They seemed to be commiserating about some point the writer was making. But after a few minutes, he raised both hands in exasperation. I cant take this! he said, and put his chin to his chest, removing himself from further chatter.
I thought about what to do. I thought about breaking up the discussions to address his problem as a class. What I came up with was this: I said nothing. And the little pods of conversation in the room continued.
Eventually, I opened them into a circle, and posed the question of the merits (or demerits) of the storys happy ending. He raised his hand and said that the author clearly had no blue-collar background. That this wasnt a happy ending. His voice was authoritative, measured, articulate. He said that theres nothing beautiful about an ice storm, that it can wipe out an entire years crop. It became clear that by questioning the author, he was, in a way, mocking my own pantywaist reading of the text. The other students looked at one another, a bit like dazed pheasants, themselves, and I conceded that his reading was certainly another way of interpreting the story. He went on to say that furthermore, if hed ever come home without his jacket in an ice storm, his kin would have beaten him, that by not killing the pheasants, those boys had deprived their families of food. That would be unheard of in a poor rural community.
I asked him where the story gave clues as to the communitys socioeconomics, or if it was possible that a rural community might have the means to be well-fed. He said hed never seen a rural community that wasnt poor.
This was the beginning of what I saw to be the primary means of his instigative expression: not the racism I was expecting, but an insistence on intellectualizing a kind of redneck order of the world. An insistence that the things that make liberal professors cringe (child beating, or maybe even the word kin, for instance) were the vocabulary of legitimate analysis.
Instead of finding a counter-example a rural community that was, for instance, doing just fine I said: OK. Maybe what I read as compassion or whimsy was actually foolishness. Thats possible, too.
The following class, he arrived wearing a shirt with a Confederate flag. The words It Aint Over were printed beneath it, but it was subtle a dark green shirt, the flag a small one over the breast, with a larger version on the back, which was pressed against his chair. As I saw it, I thought, What are his rights? Are they limited by the level of distraction he poses?
When he leaned forward, I thought I saw a student crane her neck suspiciously. But it was only a T-shirt. It was distracting, yes, but not much more so than his camouflaged backpack and crew cut.
That day, we read Kafkas A Hunger Artist, and my questions quickly revealed that he was one of the only ones to have read it. He was quick (and smart) to point out the storys commentary on the nature of celebrity and its perversions, and seemed to take pleasure in the Hunger Artists pitiful death in a bed of straw. The same thing, he said, happens with celebrities today. Just wait until it happens to Miley Cyrus.
If I was once ashamed of my excitement at having him in class, that shame didnt keep me from talking about him. Though it made me uncomfortable, hed become the most interesting part of my teaching. I was primed for something to boil over, but I also found myself liking him. He arrived to class on time; he was prepared; he was respectful. He had a way of calling me professor in the middle of sentences that appealed to my ego. You know, Professor, what Kafka might be saying here
In spite of his militancy, he was quick to joke and smile. He often stayed after class to shoot the breeze a little.
I spoke to a colleague about this, that I felt myself being charmed against my will. She was not surprised. Hes a community organizer, she told me. He has to be likable. He has to be charismatic.
Theres an anxiety to that, but of course she was right, that people espousing wildly antithetical beliefs to me can surprise! be pleasant. They can check me out at grocery stores, and help me with legal documents; they can be my neighbors. And how would I even know?
Or am I simply allowing myself to be fooled? Is it just that, as a middle-class white man, it doesnt come up all that often? The difference between those people and whatever it was that my student was peddling was that with my student, Id received the memo beforehand. It was out in the open and brazenly so (the Confederate flags on his shirts were getting larger, and hed adhered a sticker to his laptop that read The South WILL Rise Again).
It was a few weeks later that he stayed after class to alert me to an upcoming absence. He was going to CPAC as a member of the college Republicans. It was decent of him to tell me, but it also seemed like he was bracing for a fight. Its an excused absence because the SGA is paying for it, he said. To my knowledge, there is no such arrangement between the student government and the university. Not that it mattered. I told him it was fine.
I cant remember how I first saw the videos. It may have been the friend who emailed me, the subject heading: Is this your student??? I clicked the link and saw the photo at the top of the page; indeed, there he was, wearing that same Confederate flag shirt, and now a credential, looking as open as he often looked in class when discussing story versus plot.
The video footage was of a Q&A at a conservative strategy session. And though it wasnt my student asking the questions, there he was, sitting right next to the questioner (another member of the WSU) without any measure of shock, without offering any restraint, as the question was smugly posed what it was that Fredrick Douglass had to forgive his former slave owner giving him shelter and food.
It was hard for me to take. Though Id seen it coming, I felt a bit betrayed. Id been telling myself that he was a decent kid whod gotten sucked up by the experiment of his own rhetoric that he enjoyed the attention more than the ideas, themselves. But this was CPAC. This was hand-held iPhone stuff. He wasnt being hijacked by the liberal media. The rest of the room was audibly uncomfortable with the level of insensitivity.
His profile in the national media continued to grow, and by the middle of the semester, he was the most hated man on campus. There were rumors that, to intercept black men from committing crimes against white women, the WSU would lead nighttime patrols on campus. There were rumors that they were training in mixed martial arts, and that they were networking with racist groups across the country. And yet, in class, he continued to be guileless. Outside of an occasional raised eyebrow, I couldnt even tell if my other students knew who he was.
One day, he came in a half-hour after class had started, and then stuck around to apologize.
Sorry I was late, he told me. I was dealing with the police.
The police? I said.
I might not be in class on Thursday. I got my first death threat. He lifted his computer to show me his Facebook wall.
Usually, they just call me a motherfucker or tell me to suck a dick, he said. But this one says theyre going to kill me on Thursday.
Thats terrible, I said. What are the police doing?
Theyre not doing anything.
You shouldnt have to deal with that, I said, while at the same time knowing that had he not been in my class, had I not seen him furrowing his brow over Carver or OConnor, asking serious questions about characterization and voice a more reprehensible me might have muttered he deserved it.
He stood with his hands clutched in front of his waist, looking down at his chest, very much like a frightened child.
Its been getting worse for you? I asked.
These interviews keep getting it wrong. They take out all the good stuff I say.
Its a huge price to pay for this kind of celebrity.
I guess I have to double down, he said. I dont like this. I dont like this at all.
This was my moment. I thought maybe I could change something. There he was, after class, a scared kid and me, in loco parentis. But I wasnt sure what to say.
Or, I tried, you can just go silent.
He thought about that. But then they just write whatever they want.
For now, I said, and it might get worse before it gets better. But if you dont feed it, it will eventually starve.
Thats interesting, he said, looking me in the eye. I might try that.
Maybe Id gotten through; maybe Id made a connection. And what was more, at a university where I felt politics were often treated with apathy, new and myriad connections were being made. A few professors had organized a teach-in about racism on campus; the president of the university was forced to comment on policies of inclusion, and students were watching the news, staging protests and talking about it. At a majority white school on the edge of a majority black city, Id once sat through a presentation that bemoaned the fears that suburban people harbored for urban people, keeping them off of public transit. At least now the issue was becoming black and white.
The next emails came on May 2.
On May 1 May Day there had been Workers of the World-type protests in D.C. The emails in my inbox had subject lines like, At it again, and Is this what its like in class? They linked to videos of the White Student Union standing in a line across a street, calmly leaning Confederate flags (more appropriately sized for poles) against their shoulders, as a wave of bearded and backpacked anarchists approached them, flanked them, and began to call them fuckers and racist pigs.
They chanted, Nazi scum, your time will come, told them to get in the fucking ground where you belong, and held extended middle fingers fractions of inches away from their faces. There was my student, unflinching, chewing a piece of gum, occasionally asking someone to stop grabbing at his flag. In other videos, he posed measured questions about affirmative action to his screaming counterparts. It was only after someone managed to rip his flag from his hands that he lunged forward, was caught up in a shoving match, and was lost in a swarm of police. Later, I read that bags of urine had been thrown at him.
I guess that for someone accustomed to an all-in brand of righteousness, my suggestion of just shutting up had lacked a certain credibility. What kind of connection had I really made? Id told him to keep his opinions to himself. Was I comfortable with that advice, even when giving it to someone who had advocated for a whites-only state?
I know, hed said to me earlier in the semester, you probably dont agree with my politics, because no professors do, but youre one of the only ones who treats me like a human.
Id wanted to receive it as a compliment, but does receiving a compliment always mean letting down your guard?
In a way, I was getting my own education in human contradiction. As much as I railed against it in my students stories, Id been acting no differently in my attempts to oversimplify to fit him most easily into a prefabricated slot in my mind. I had not wanted to acknowledge his complexity, let alone adjust my teaching style to it. Was he the manipulative leader of a dangerous hate group? Or a college kid experimenting with the power of his voice? Of course, he could be both, and he could be many other things to which spending two and a half hours a week with him had granted me no access.
It was no wonder hed become frustrated trying to exist in media sound bites. Who among us can keep a message on fire in 30-second bursts for good or bad before having to lie down in the straw, exhausted, demoralized or forgotten? On one of the last days of the semester I saw him in the hall, hours before we were due to meet for class. He was playing with his phone.
Hi, I said, catching him off guard. He looked up and said hello as though he had no idea who I was. But after class, later that day, he stayed again. Professor, he said, I just want to really thank you for saying hello to me today.
Yeah? I said.
This morning, a girl spit on me. When you said hello, it really turned my day around.
Im sorry, I said to him. You shouldnt have to go through that.
What should he have to go through? I still had no idea.
Interesting article. It sounds like the professor is wed to his Liberal ‘only certain race topics can be addressed or celebrated’ worldview, but from a human perspective he recognizes that Heimbach (the student being described) is more moral in his human interactions than the self-described anti-racists.
When I was a foolish Liberal I often felt similarly to this professor. I recall going to see Charles Murray speak when he came to my university. I was repulsed by how the allegedly more moral anti-racists acted in disturbing Murray’s speech. I’ve long since abandoned my Liberal ‘only certain race topics can be addressed or celebrated’ worldview and my personal repulsion of how Liberals often act was a stimulant in driving me away from that incorrect viewpoint.
I’m glad that my morality allowed me to listen to Murray rather than attack him like my peers. Actually listening to Murray and doing my own independent research on his arguments allowed me to see that Murray’s facts are accurate and Murray’s conclusions are likely correct.
Interesting. Thanks for posting.
After she receives all the vitriol that is sure to come from her left-wing "friends", she just might.
The academic equivalent to being mugged.
Why is slavery the end all
Been a lot worse things
Minority grievance is why....
Is more special when blacks are enslaved by whites
Are whites held to Hebrew national higher authority
Why did north american slaves live longer than kunta kintes cousins left behind
Or fed better
Housed better etc
slavery was once considered benevolent over vanquish and exterminate the population
Ill tell ya....the mongols and huns and pissed off legions or turkomens or Rus
Or vengeful SS or Nips or Stalin or Beria’s wrath
Or Saladin or the grand Mahdis wrath
Many many things a damn site worse than slavery
Once a constant of the human condition even tolerated by parts of the Bible
I am long over it
The redress is killing us....crippled our will and will eventually turn us into a turd world hellhole baring a war
And stupid whites will still hand wring over white supremacy or racism
Obama and his bolshie govt is merely a harbinger
Don’t doubt me
This is exactly what kills once great nations and cultures....complacency
I like the professor very much. If Obama acted this way he could be great.
Indeed and why are whites(and why do whites allow themselves to be) held to some arbitrary 'standard' that no other race or ethnicity is held to?
Unfortunately the term White Pride itself has been hijacked by skinhead Neo-Nazis,
mixed martial arts fighters of dubious sanity,
crappy punk bands...
and some just unclear on the concept.
It's folks like that who make this fella look downright acceptable.
Great images of white pride losers. When will an ADL party start here, like the UK’s EDL. The piss poor govt. USA now has is the culmination of years of Affirmative Action policies and disproportionate hiring and promotion of less capable people based on their race.
Could it be any plainer that the USA govt is racist and is trying to oppress white people and also impose sharia rules to benefit Muslims over Christians. It’s working, both are a smaller and smaller part of the population.
Our government consults with the ACLU and the SPLC as if those entities are officially part of the government. Muslim Brotherhood has infiltrated the State Department, the FBI and, five years ago, the White House. They’ve been throwing money at all of our educational institutions since the G.H.W. Bush administration.
All is not lost. No matter what the Liberals, socialists, Communists, Democrats and Islamists do they will not win. God and His people do.
The crowd in those pics certainly are a credit to us, lol!