White Nationalists 'R' Us

Digital literacy requires a diverse and complex skill set in our ever-evolving media landscape. It is difficult to navigate as an adult, much less teach effectively--but I am increasingly convinced that the skills to critically interpret the onslaught of media and to communicate clearly are the most vital instruction we can provide our students. As much as I love literature and narrative, I increasingly find myself prioritizing strategies to decode the torrent of information and disinformation that inundates us and our students every hour of every day. This summer, I had a disturbing object lesson in the susceptibility of our rural communities to insidious online hate organizers. 

Some of you may have heard of Tom Kawczynski, the Jackman Nazi who was ousted when the community didn't buy his white separatist utopian sewage. He resurfaced this past summer, this time in central Maine, with outreach and recruiting in the form of the Maine for Mainers Facebook page and in-person meetings (exposed through the "White Supremacist Picnic" fliers that prompted a round of right wing radio appearances and attempts to exonerate himself). Following his firing, Tom had been busy pontificating on the impending race war and working to capitalize on his martyrdom and raise his profile in national white supremacist networks. He connected with like-minded purveyors of white grievance (like neighboring New Hampshire native Chris Cantwell, the “Crying Nazi” of Charlottesville fame) and tried to build his following in overtly supremacist forums like Gab, while soft-pedaling his extremist agenda in the guise of Maine for Mainers. He doesn't even conceal his strategy of drawing in fearful and dispossessed locals, casual bigots, and rural nativists who he believes to be prime targets for radicalization. The appeal in Maine’s lack of demographic diversity and the importance of maintaining that 'purity' are pervasive and unifying themes.

Although I was increasingly aware of their presence, and had shared information on the growing white supremacist presence in central Maine, I did not become personally involved until the Maine for Mainers group launched a vile attack on a former student, Mackenzie Swift, who had made a post exposing their activity and membership. She accurately stated that the group was “run by white supremacists” and included state and local politicians and business owners. “It’s a public group,” she wrote, “so if you’re interested in finding out which politicians to make sure not to vote for or which businesses to boycott, go ahead and search the group’s member list.” She also created her own group, "Maine for Everyone," to counter the malicious hate directed against refugees, immigrants, and other vulnerable members of our communities. 

In fact, none of the Maine for Mainers founders are actually from Maine— Tom Kawczynski and his extra-fascist ‘trad-wife’ Dana (@Snow_White with her Hitler greeting cards) are Arizona transplants; Kenaz Filan is a New Jersey internet ‘culture warrior’ working to boost his credentials as a white identity theologist; Camille Cheaney-Patterson, who helped orchestrate the ensuing trolling and harassment campaign, is Floridian white supremacist and gun rights activist. On the M4M forum, they promptly launched a concerted harassment effort—mostly veiled threats and defamation—calling her employer (Slates in Hallowell) dozens of times to exert pressure and get her fired. They continued to harass the business with social media spamming, and threatened to show up in person. When Mackenzie contacted me, I worked to connect her with social justice and employment law resources, and also with journalists who I thought might frame the situation clearly.

When others (including myself) began looking into their activity, we immediately became targets ourselves. They began systematically using people to float different kinds of bigotry—I was the test case for anti-Semitism, needless to say, with extra points for (((Rothschild))) tinfoil hat conspiracy theories—trying to ascertain what might gain traction with the group. The harassment directed against Mackenzie, however, continued to escalate. Soon, an extremely distorted media narrative emerged, obtusely focusing around the conflict between Mackenzie and Slates of Hallowell. The restaurant's owner, despite my own efforts to reach out and inform them of the troll storm's origin, reacted with fear and self interest.

The News Center coverage was disappointing and irresponsible, framing the story as a "social media fire storm" rather than a pernicious white supremacist group trying to operate under the radar, attacking the people who worked to expose them and dividing our communities by leveraging the fears of civic and business establishments. This predictably fed into Tom Kawczynski and Co.'s both sides sewage, as they worked assiduously to spin the narrative into further attacks on Mackenzie and her family. Kenaz Filan's 5th rate Goebbels blog was shared gleefully on M4M, and apparently its title, Europa's Children, didn't seem to ring many bells in the wake of Identity Europa's role in the deadly Charlottesville "Unite the Right" rally.

Unwilling to cede reality in the face of this toxin, I worked to connect Mackenzie with more thoughtful and informed journalists. She told her story on WERU's Radioactive with clarity, composure, and insight that made me proud to have had any part in her education. I spoke to Maine Beacon writer Dan Neumann, who did an excellent job providing perspective and focus, and locating the white supremacist beliefs and tactics within a broader national story. Followup investigative reporting by Nathan Bernard added a degree of class analysis that elucidated the ways that white supremacy does business, and will hopefully make it harder for hate to gain purchase in our state.

Politics and the English Language

To me, teaching has always been inherently political—certainly not in the sense of pushing some partisan agenda, but in the far more fundamental, personal realm of advocating for the children, families, and communities I serve. Empowering young people to think critically, analyze systems of power, and raise their own voices is a profoundly political act. The materials we choose, the ideas we curate, the passions we bring to our work are inescapably political. Many teachers face pressure to project a kind of neutrality, and Tim Walker addresses the disservice this does to both students and teachers in this excellent piece for the NEAToday forum.

As you might guess, I find injunctions against political speech in schools both absurd and absurdly oppressive. Attempts to circumscribe “difficult” or “contentious” issues are worse than misguided and, at least with adolescents, utterly impracticable. And political issues--from regulating corporate practices, to environmental protections, to education policy, to allocation of funding resources for MaineCare and public assistance—impact my students and their families every day in innumerable ways. Without the ability to confront new and uncomfortable ideas, to seek information through real inquiry, to interpret and synthesize different sources and viewpoints, authentic learning is impossible.

If kids can’t ask questions, try out arguments, or encounter pushback, it only impairs their own abilities and degrades our collective discourse. This is not a call for the kind of apocryphal proselytizing and indoctrination that haunts right wing fever dreams regarding liberal educators. There are legitimate differences in values and culture that must be respected. There are also non-negotiable values of empathy, respect, and intellectual honesty that go beyond mere ‘tolerance’ to help young people develop strength as individuals and community members. For as long as I have been teaching, I have built my instruction and approach around social justice. I truly believe that students (well, humans) want to connect and understand the lives and experiences of others, and to share their own. 

Whether we are studying the erasure of Malaga Island’s mixed race community in the early years of the last century, attending Wabanaki REACH reconciliation hearings, submitting public comment on a state bill designed to coerce the cooperation of local law enforcement resources with ICE/CBP efforts, engaging in public forums on the NECEC corridor development through a student’s home town, or researching referendum and ballot questions ahead of a first voter’s first registration and election, we are digging deeply into the stories, data, and concerns on all sides. 

One of the things I am hoping to do in this blog is address the pitfalls and parameters of political engagement in the fraught sphere of public service--and what it means to be engaged in civic and political action for teachers and for students in these tense and polarized times. Some resources that I have found particularly helpful can be found below:

Social Justice Books is a great resource for texts and materials categorized by theme and learner age/reading level.

The Southern Poverty Law Center helps organize all the Teaching Tolerance education and outreach materials as well as following an amazing array of national and regional human and civil rights issues through their Hatewatch bulletin.

The Holocaust and Human Rights Center of Maine is an amazing resource, hosting educator workshops, and fielding educators to deliver instruction and support across the state. Some of their excellent curriculum materials are drawn from the Facing History project, which is available to classroom teachers as well. Incidentally, following my engagement with a serious situation I will detail in a followup post, I was contacted by the HHRC education coordinator, Marpheen Chann about an open position with their organization. I am extremely overextended this year, but hoping to follow up on a volunteer basis. And if any fellow Maine teachers are passionate about social justice education, they're hiring!

Beyond the Walls

To give readers a sense of the work I do, which is indeed a radical departure from the supports and confines of traditional education, I am beginning this blog with a reflection I wrote late last spring, as I began the final stretch of my second year with the Maine Academy of Natural Sciences new outreach program, Threshold. A version of the piece below will be published in the Maine Journal of Education, as part of a collaborative effort with our program's founder, Emanuel Pariser.

Meet Them Where They Are

The diverse and beautiful women of Shepard Fairey’s “We the People” series gazed down from 24” x 36” vellum posters above the upper beadboard of my classroom walls. I had borrowed the custodian’s 10 foot stepladder to mount them up there, between the enormous vaulted windows--a graphic punch of red, white, and blue against the pale sage walls. The work of my students was on revolving display below: bright oil pastel self-portraits pinned to cork boards along with illustrations of whimsical beasts from the artificial selection game; raku pots with geometric patterns of iridescent glaze and pit-fired river clay totems shared a shelf with a bow drill from our archaeology intensive unit. The ill-fated tots of Gorey’s alphabet, clipped from an 18-month calendar, were arrayed above three giant whiteboard panels that dominated the front wall. Shields bearing individual coats of arms devised by my advisory group overlooked the long expanse of our conference table (actually six of my eight 4’ by 8’ tables arranged together so my classes sat facing each other and I could circumnavigate with ease). Christmas cactuses, jade plants, and plectranthus soaked up light and brightened the wide window sills, and an ancient, enormous snake plant reached its sword-like leaves toward the high ceiling. Our collective learning contract, the needs and expectations we compiled together at the start of each school year, occupied a prominent place above the bank of cubic shelves.

Every teacher I know works intentionally to create a space for learning, arranging elements of the physical environment to facilitate social interaction and spur curiosity. If there is disorder, it is usually the fertile chaos of production, the tumult of ideas and materials that marks the messy process of exploration and creation. And I always tried to showcase the products of my kids creativity and labor, both as collective inspiration and as a celebration of talent and accomplishment. I did not realize the power in this ability to curate the learning environment until it was gone. When I helped launch the Threshold program at Maine Academy of Natural Sciences last year, I left my classroom behind, venturing out into students’ homes and communities to meet them where they are, literally and figuratively.

Students arrive at our program for a wide variety of reasons: some are dealing with upheaval and dysfunction in their home lives that fueled chronic truancy and disconnection from traditional education; some are pregnant or parenting; many have developed severe anxiety, and their struggle to navigate the social landscapes of peer conflict and school pressures has led to profound withdrawal; others have been derailed by family demands and economic realities that force them to prioritize work or childcare responsibilities at the expense of education. Although I have reached out to families for background information and to iron out logistics, I never know what maelstrom or isolation chamber might await when I knock on a door for my first home visit. I could step into a darkened trailer, permeated with cigarette smoke and silent but for the ever-present din of daytime television, or a cramped apartment with a cacophony of barking dogs and a shrieking toddler with a full diaper and a dirty fistful of gummy worms. 

When you work with students in their homes, you see what the institutional structure of school obscures. The physical chaos and clutter often leaves little room to work, and distractions of every sort claim attention. The internal stressors that students carry with them when they walk into our classrooms are external and readily apparent. Helping kids carve out space and working with families to create accommodations for learning in homes driven by other needs and priorities requires creativity and persistence. I move furniture, donate or requisition reading lights, help establish internet access, teach students to use digital and physical tools for planning and tracking progress. If their homes are too impracticable, I try to help them find spaces and support in their communities, coordinating with public libraries, after school programs, or Adult Ed. We work cooperatively, developing organizational strategies and goals that are relevant and possible for my students to implement. 

Along with the evidence of social-emotional obstacles and challenges to organizing space and time, I am immediately looking for opportunities and connections, signs of my students’ skills and interests. I note the logging equipment, stripped down truck carcases, and partially-rebuilt dirt bikes spilling out of sheds and workshops along a driveway. I look at the types of vegetables and flowers arranged in raised beds outside a ramshackle ranch-style home, or bird feeders, or fishing gear. Inside, I habitually scan for books and magazines (in anyone’s home, actually, not just on the job), but I also look for evidence of other entertainment-- movies or video games, music posters, a 12 gauge pump shotgun leaned in a corner awaiting bird season. And a newborn, toddler, or unexpected pregnancy might be exhausting and overwhelming for a young parent, but there are few more fascinating and powerful incentives for learning and growth. I am scanning for starting points. 

During our first session with each student, we conduct an interview that covers many aspects of their learning and personal experiences, preferences, difficulties, fears and dreams. We try to identify and help them unearth their strengths as a learner, their goals and interests, from mechanics, cooking, and cosmetology to community activism, veterinary science, or horticulture. I use these conversations as a launch pad for interdisciplinary projects that draw on the resources they have and activities they are already engaged with: building ramps and producing instructional videos on learning and executing BMX tricks; planting and maintaining a kitchen garden to promote better nutrition; developing a stencil design portfolio to pursue an internship at a local tattoo studio; seeking certification as an arborist and documenting actual job experience and training, from safety gear and knots to climbing techniques and saw work. Kids are conditioned to view many of the things they are passionate about as extraneous or even antithetical to school. One immense strength of our already experiential and project-based curriculum is the ability to build learning experiences around individual interests and abilities that will allow students to demonstrate progress in diverse content areas and meet learning targets across the curriculum. This capacity to tailor projects, improvising as need and opportunity arise, is amplified in Threshold’s one-on-one sessions.

The ability to negotiate the teacher/student relationship on our own terms is likewise both difficult and liberating. The enervating, culturally-constructed dynamic of antipathy between teachers pushing for compliance and resistant students soon evaporates. The initial awkwardness of a stranger--a “teacher”-- in the home soon wears off, and the ‘performance’ of school roles, of vested authority and delinquent rebellion, becomes quite irrelevant. Deflection and disruption calculated to establish “street cred” with peers or avoid the humiliation of not knowing the answer are pointless. As a teacher, this new landscape requires intensive, honest reflection. You can’t hand things off or compartmentalize, focusing solely on your content area or even the sphere of academic development and “intellectual growth” generally. Sometimes this means a steep learning curve as I prepare support and materials in unfamiliar academic territory. Sometimes it means going with a student to renew MaineCare and apply for TANF/SNAP benefits, or searching job listings and building a resume, or developing a meal plan for the week and taking them grocery shopping. Without the expectations of the learning community and the boundaries that are created by school norms, you have to forge your own “social contract” with students. They need to know that you will invest in them, advocate for them, and support them, but also hold them to account and help them become active agents in their own learning.

While the unique difficulties and opportunities of a program like Threshold are not always applicable or practical in many classroom situations or school settings, they underscore the need for concerted mindfulness of the realities our students face. Trauma--both acute, situational stress and the slow-motion, incessant trauma of poverty that marks many students’ lives--is not confined to those so profoundly alienated from the education system that they have essential withdrawn or stumbled on alternatives like our program. There is much talk about “trauma-informed schools” and “ACES,” but little support for recognizing and remediating the level of need we encounter. It can feel totally overwhelming, and it is often simply not possible to provide solutions for the underlying problems. But we can absolutely work to see beyond a child’s frustration or withdrawal, to extend patience and empathy, to give them space and ask questions that help uncover the function of behavior. We can help students learn to identify and build on skills, assets, and motivation by making their learning experiences serve their real needs and interests. We can learn to look and work through many of the barriers that we have erected, and those that our students have constructed for themselves.