That’s a short list. Perhaps shorter now even than it was then. But the exercise of starting with what you know and then working outward from there is clarifying.

I was invited to speak to a group in Bentonville recently about the work I do with Arkansas Strong. There were a lot of questions about different things our government in Arkansas is doing and how it may affect people’s lives. These were good people of all ages, willing to work together across party lines, because of values we all share.

I told them about being at the Capitol one day from 7 am till 9 pm listening to teachers. The last one, who was from Bentonville, walked out of the House Ed Committee meeting with me at 9:15 pm. She had a 4-hour drive ahead of her and would get up early and teach the next day. She was there, not really because she stands to lose a lot personally from the implementation of LEARNS. She serves an affluent school district and already makes a decent wage. But she was there because she believes in the value of public education for everyone. She knows it is not just about her and her school, but all of us. So she was there to speak alongside others from all over the state.

I have a lot of questions about what I see happening in Arkansas right now: unnecessary pain inflicted on the vulnerable by the powerful in our state. The amount of difficulty ahead is something I cannot know.

But here is what I do know: what that little group was doing by meeting and planning action, what this teacher did— what so many teachers did as we stood together for ourselves and each other, because of the values we believe in that sustain a better Arkansas for all of us — is the way to overcome it. One issue, one day, one moment at a time.

The post This is what I know appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I am often asked what drives me to fight so hard for public schools. The people who ask me this are usually introspective types who read books like Finding Your Why by Simon Sinek, or perhaps Pastor Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life. I recommend both of those books as well as a fair amount of introspection. And I love people who ask me honest questions. But I am never asked that question by public school teachers; they already know. Because every public school teacher knows a James.

James grew up in an old clapboard house his father inherited from his father, on land they did not own but were allowed to farm. He was the oldest of 4 children. His mother was a homemaker and his father a driller for the gas company. His few clothes were patched and his hair was often greasy. He slept with his siblings in a cold, drafty room with a high ceiling under a pile of quilts.

For a child in poverty, James was pretty well-fed. His father grew a huge garden, and they raised their own beef and hogs. They gathered eggs from hardworking hens. James had a BB gun by the time he was 4 and hunted squirrels with his uncle. His mother fried them up just like chicken to eat with mashed potatoes and gravy.

James also scoured the Ozark Mountains for rabbits and quail that the family ate. He fished in the Arkansas River for their supper. A few years later he would hunt deer and learn to dress it himself.

On his first day of school, James wore a shirt his mother made him. She dropped him off at the Cecil schoolhouse, which had 2 classrooms. James was with grades 1 though 4, and the class next door had 5th-7th. Between the 2 classes there were 97 students. 97 for 2 teachers.

James cried all day. He didn’t know anyone. He didn’t even know how to tie his shoes. He did know the alphabet because his mother taught him.

James says his 1st grade teacher was nice, but it’s the teacher next door, Mrs. Lyla Crawford, who made a bigger difference in his life. I guess she had bus duty because when the last bell rang, Mrs. Crawford noticed how sad and scared he was while waiting for the bus. So she took his little hand in hers and walked onto that bus with him and sat down. She patted the seat for him to sit beside her. And as mile after country mile passed James snuggled up next to Mrs. Crawford. He even laughed a little bit while they talked. And when he got off the bus, James told his mother he loved school.

James went on to County Line for high school, and then to Arkansas Tech, the only one in his family ever to go to college. After that he earned his master’s degree at the University of Arkansas. The world opened up to him and he became a history teacher, bus driver, junior high principal, then an assistant superintendent. I guess he really did love school because he gave 40 years of his life to educating children in public schools in Arkansas.

But that’s not all he did.

James is my dad. I am living proof of how public school — and specifically the teachers a child encounters there — can change the trajectory of a person’s life. And it is never just that one person. In our case, my dad’s education changed what my brother’s and my life would have been and is still changing the lives of his seven grandchildren.

Every public school teacher has taught a James. And I say public school teacher because public schools are the ones who serve the children in poverty all over this state. At the end of the day, James is why we fight for teacher raises to recruit and retain people fleeing our profession. He is why we fought the LEARNS Act. We know that vouchers won’t fix education because vouchers don’t fix poverty — they just exacerbate it. And when public schools are hurt, James gets hurt. James, and all of the children like him, as well as all of the other lives their lives touch for better or worse in the future. 

I fight for public schools because it is personal to me. Our state government holds in its hands the power to change the lives of children like James every day, which in turn changes the lives of their families for generations. It is a sacred privilege and responsibility. But instead of addressing the poverty that plagues our schools and communities, our lawmakers deliberately choose to leave children like James behind, for their own personal gain.

This is not okay.

We are the ones who stand between a corrupted government and our children. We are the Lyla Crawfords, the ones who see them and refuse to leave them behind. And we are not going away.

Elections are in 2024. And actions have consequences. Just like when we give out report cards and a student has failed to do what we asked—they fail the class. Arkansas Strong is keeping track of the legislators who ignore their teachers. They are failing our state.

There are 30,000 teachers in this state and every one of us has a sphere of influence. Families, students, and parents who support us; communities that depend on us to lead. If we stick together and vote, we can decide who represents us, ousting the ones who have failed Arkansas.

This is a long game. And we are in it to win it — for the sake of our kids, and for generations to come.

The post On What Drives Me appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

One of the Star City teachers who spoke directly to lawmakers gave a beautiful and moving speech. I couldn’t help but think of this teacher as a patriot for sharing his truth with our elected officials.

During the meeting Senator Breanne Davis, the sponsor of SB 294, became angry as people raised concerns about LEARNS and its negative impact on children and communities. She said there were people spreading disinformation about the bill and declared “superintendents are misleading the public at best, and at worst, they are lying.”

Allison, a parent of two children with disabilities, was also there to speak against the bill. Her primary problem with LEARNS is that private schools don’t have to accept special needs kids like hers. She is worried about the students with disabilities who are already underserved because of lack of funding in their public schools, and how that problem will worsen as public tax dollars flow to other sources. She met the teachers from Star City and it inspired her to find out their superintendent supported their attendance and involvement in the legislative process. Later that evening, she tweeted something to this effect.

Senator Breanne Davis saw Allison’s tweet and used it to attack Star City. She tweeted an accusation that Mr. Frizzell violated policy in allowing teachers to miss school to attend the legislative meeting. Her tweet even went so far as to suggest the situation be investigated. Senator Davis’ reaction was not patriotism.

A school law attorney then jumped on Twitter to sort things out. She pointed out the Senator’s interpretation of policy was bogus, and corrected her mistake in judgment. She then outlined the paper trail that proved Frizzell nor the teachers did anything wrong. Thank God this woman spoke up when she saw this intimidating unfolding on social media.

On the same day Judd Deere, deputy chief of staff for Governor Sarah Sanders, referenced Allison’s tweet with one of his own, chiming in, “Nothing says I care about students like skipping out on those students for political advocacy.”

Teachers have already been labeled as far-left indoctrinators and lazy. This happened throughout the governor’s campaign and it continues today. Such blatant and direct attacks on public educators as these tweets are a further abuse of power and are the opposite of patriotism.

And these tweets come on the heels of our conversation with Senator Bart Hester, in which he told a group of teachers “Superintendents are my enemy.” This happened on “Take Your Teacher to the Legislature Day” and was said to a large group of us who stood out in the hall after being kicked out of the Senate Ed Committee Meeting for lack of space. Members of our coalition who were not asked to leave later told us that Senator Breanne Davis derided superintendents in that meeting as well. It is a narrative voucher peddlers push in order to divide us.

As public outcry against LEARNS has intensified, however, so has the viciousness of the narrative, especially the propaganda that paints educators as leftist enemies of that state. Nothing could be further from the truth. Members of our coalition are fiercely committed to defending their public schools and motivated by protecting the future of their students. These educators are patriots. Not political pawns.

We have heard from several admin and teachers who are being intimidated both directly and indirectly. One wrote this week—confidentially of course—that “the targeting teachers and administrators are receiving from the AG, Governor’s office, and distance are barriers for us [to be able to come to the Capitol Tuesday].”

This is not okay. Our leaders, the people that work for us who have sworn oaths to uphold the Constitution and to do right by Arkansans, are attacking the free speech of public employees. This is not patriotism. Instead, standing up for public schools in the face of political attacks from the highest levels of state government is patriotism.

The abuse of power is unacceptable and it is wrong. If this is happening to you, we want know so we can help support you. If you have shared concerns about The LEARNS Act but have been silenced or bullied by elected leaders, please message on Twitter or Facebook. Or email us at info@arstrong.org.

The post Abuse of Power is not Patriotism appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

In Matthew 10, Jesus warns his disciples of the hostility that lies ahead of their commissioned work. In verse 16, Jesus says,

“I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; therefore be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.”

Wolves are ferocious, violent creatures that prey on sheep. Jesus knew his disciples needed galvanizing and specific instruction to be on guard — sharp and clever like snakes. But He also knew to instruct His twelve to remain steadfast in their purity of heart. What seems like a contradiction, snakes vs doves, is Jesus guiding His followers to be savvy of the traps laid before them but exhorting them to never forget their true purpose.

Like many of Arkansas Strong’s followers, I’m an educator. That fierce love for Arkansas kids is our purpose, and we must be awake and attentive to the traps laid before us as public school advocates. Vouchers are wolves in sheep’s clothing; proponents of voucher programs masquerade their snake oil as the savior of education. But we know it’s a scheme, a trap set for hundreds of thousands of rural students to be harmed by a policy that’s not made for them. Instead, these voucher programs undeniably funnel public tax money to families that can already afford a choice for their kids. We do not need this rip-off here in Arkansas.

It’s time for patriotic Arkansans, we who believe in the American Dream, to stand together and stand strong for Arkansas children. We will be shrewd like serpents and innocent like doves. We will stand up and fight for our public schools, and we will do this because we are rooted in faith, hope, and love for all Arkansas kids.

Arkansas Strong in Education is a resource for public school advocates to become shrewd like serpents in public education policy. Please use these materials to educate and equip yourself and others who believe in standing up for public schools.

Arkansas Strong also has several pieces on first-person experiences from public educators. We recommend taking time to read through these poignant stories and hope you will find empathy and shared community with these authors. May we suggest beginning with “My turn to speak: a rural teacher lends her voice to the voucher debate.“

The post The wolf in sheep’s clothing appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I know about Anne Frank because my teacher mother put the diary in my hands when I was in fifth grade. As I grew closer to the age of Anne when she lived in the Secret Annex, my ability to comprehend the story and interest in her grew. By the time I was in college I was hellbent on visiting the Anne Frank Huis in Amsterdam, so Stone and I backpacked there when we graduated, and we took our kids as soon as they were old enough even though we really could not afford the trip.

I am glad that Arkansas collectively appreciates the importance of teaching about the Holocaust. A bill proposed in our legislature, if approved, will require Arkansas public schools to observe Holocaust Education Week the last week of January, in keeping with the United Nations designation of January 27, the day Auschwitz was liberated, as International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

My goal when I speak to students, in a nutshell, is empathy. We start with macro-facts, like the number of Jews murdered in the Holocaust, close to twice the population of Arkansas. And then we put that number under a microscope and examine closely the one short life of a child the same age as Heathcliff’s 8^th graders. The girl who moved from Germany to Holland to be safe. Who received a small diary covered in red plaid for her 13^th birthday; who was sassy, friendly, and funny; who cut out pictures of movie stars from a magazine to tape to her wall. The girl who, with her family, would leave home in layers of clothes with nothing but a small bag, go into hiding, and stay hunkered down in a tiny apartment in the middle of Amsterdam for two years. Anne would never go outside during that time, or see a movie, or run, or play, or speak to her friends. She would be forced onto a train’s cattle car and taken to a Polish concentration camp. Separated from her parents. Anne Frank would die a few days after her sister at age 15 of starvation and typhus, contracted from the squalid conditions of still another concentration camp in the Netherlands only a short time before it was liberated.

This is painful history we all need to learn. I am scared of junior high students. It takes a special kind of person to teach in a junior high school day in and day out and I am not that special. But these students who might not listen to me about anything else listen to the story of Anne Frank, because they see themselves in her. And the hope in that for a teacher is the same as Otto Frank’s hope in publishing his daughter’s diary: that it will have an effect on the rest of their lives, and insofar as it is possible within their own circumstances, they will work for unity and peace.

Why is it easy for Arkansas lawmakers to agree on the urgency of teaching the Holocaust in all of its darkness and yet when it comes to our own state’s and nation’s terrible sins there is a debate? This contradiction is something we see in the governor’s executive order to ban so-called CRT, which is not being taught in our schools, but nonetheless sends a message that incites fear about teaching basic historical facts on things like slavery and the Civil Rights Movement. 

It is also clear in legislation that would end Affirmative Action in Arkansas. The phrase “Affirmative Action” came from President John F. Kennedy in 1961. He declared by executive order that government contractors must “take affirmative action to ensure applicants are employed, and employees are treated during employment, without regard to their race, creed, color, or national origin.” It was a way to try to help people who previously had not had equal opportunity under the law for a couple of hundred years. To acknowledge that as a country and attempt to right that wrong by giving them the chance to catch up. I love it when humans do this—acknowledge wrong and try to make it right—and it makes me proud to see America repent of past sins. It is healthy, responsible, and right. It is often a messy process, not an exact science, and we should err on the side of mercy.

But Senator Dan Sullivan seems to believe 60 years is enough time for catching up, and that white men are now victims of discrimination. His bill to end Affirmative Action in Arkansas, SB 71, passed through committee and will go to the Senate floor.

Dr. Jim Ross, historian, writes that “the philosophical assumption behind Affirmative Action was to identify classes of Americans who had been left behind because they did not have the same access to capital development, education, or political influence that the majority had.  It was accepted as a historical fact that because of slavery and Jim Crow laws, African American and Latino business had not grown like they would have in a free and open system where everyone had equal opportunity.” It worries me to imagine schools afraid to teach those facts—and that our lawmakers in Arkansas are no longer accepting of those truths as fact. That they claim somehow 60 years of Affirmative Action has finished the work, when there is not evidence to support such a conclusion. It will be finished when groups marginalized by history’s failings are represented in numbers that correspond to the percentage of those folks who exist in Arkansas. Until then, we still have discrimination, and should keep Affirmative Action until what was wrong is made right. Even if it takes 200 years.

The post Anne Frank appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

“There is a cost to silence, and a cost to using your voice, and every day I wake up and decide which bill I’m going to pay.”

I read this quote one day as I scrolled through Twitter. The person who tweeted it could not remember who said it as she live-tweeted from a leadership conference somewhere. But she said it stopped her in her tracks, and it did the same for me.

Silence about injustice is not a good option. However, I have been at something of a loss for the right words since I attended the Joint Education Committee meeting Oct. 3. Arkansas Strong organized a sit-in for the few of us who could be there to represent Arkansas public educators, who were of course working their full-time jobs teaching 92 percent of the state’s school children.

Afterward I vented some of my biggest feelings with fellow sit-inners, who shared their own. “You should write about this,” one said. “You have such a beautiful way with words.” But they weren’t beautiful words I was thinking. They were angry ones. And I don’t ever want to write–or otherwise operate–from a place of anger. Not if I can help it.

One of my life policies is to try to approach people and situations by giving them the benefit of the doubt. I do this because it’s the golden rule, and it’s how I would have others do unto me. It is also insurance against becoming hardened and cynical. So even though I have been sorely disappointed by lawmakers these past years, I tried to set grace before me when I made the two-hour trip to the Capitol.

After all, this was the meeting in which they had the chance to keep their word–all of those who voted against staying in special session to discuss teacher raises. Back in August, they told us it wasn’t because they were against us. When we questioned where they stood, most of their correspondence contained a form of this answer: I am for teacher raises. Just not in special session. I want to do it the right way, you see. This is not the time. There is a proper procedure we must follow. After the adequacy study, we will make recommendations. That is the correct order of things. That is how it needs to be done.

I was not inclined to believe this based on past experience. Nor did I appreciate the implication that concerned citizens were stupid enough to believe a tax cut for wealthy Arkansans is more of an “emergency” than the education crisis–and therefore special session material–while teacher pay is not, or that in some other way the tax cuts are good stewardship of the surplus $1.6 billion, but using it for teacher raises is bad. Still, I hoped the desire to do right eventually, and perhaps more thoroughly based on the study, might possibly be true. At least for some.

But evidence from the recent meeting proves otherwise.

I had a sinking feeling when Rep. Bruce Cozart, the House Ed Committee chair, came down to greet the row of ladies in red who were with me in the audience. One asked, “Do you have a proposal for teacher raises?” He answered that they did, and it was great. “You are going to love it.” She pressed, “Will you tell us about it?” He smirked.

“Oh no, I can’t do that now.” He tamped down the air with his hands. “It has to go through the process. You’ll have to wait. But I think teachers are going to be really happy.”

Cozart went on to say how he had gotten a “bad rap,” and claimed, again, that he was truly a big supporter of public schools. That was strange since the only bad rap I know of was one he gave teachers at a Garland County Tea Party meeting where he said, “The reason people are losing their faith in the schools is because of teachers who do not want to do what they need to do for the betterment of the kids. That’s not their priority. Their priority is just themselves.” Perhaps he thought we wouldn’t know that is a quote directly from his mouth?

I mention this interaction because it so perfectly captures the pervasive attitude a supermajority of legislators has toward teachers: my experience since the first time I tried to engage at a House Ed Committee meeting years ago, the atmosphere of the ALC meeting this summer, the tone of the not-so-special session, and the result of this latest meeting in which it was proposed that Arkansas raise the state minimum teacher salary to $40,000. This travesty of justice was the proposal Cozart believed we educators would love.

What mental gymnastics does a lawmaker–or body of lawmakers–have to perform in order to presume this? Is the disrespect intentional, or blindness brought on by power’s corruption? Maybe it does not matter, since the consequences are the same either way: The 30,000 highly trained, professionally certified teachers of Arkansas–and those great young minds who consider going into the profession–are increasingly demoralized, denigrated, and disappearing.

Consider the hubris of this scenario: In 2022, the minimum salary for part-time legislators in Arkansas is $44,357. In addition, if they live within 50 miles of the Capitol, they get $59 per diem; the price increases to $155 per day if they live further away. On top of that they are paid 58.5 cents per mile they travel. No college degree is required, no professional certifications; they need not even have knowledge of the law. (I would add they need not have knowledge or experience in any of the areas for which they make rules and spend millions, like education, medicine, agriculture, small business, transportation, public safety, etc.)

A starting full-time teacher’s minimum salary in the state of Arkansas is $36,000. There is no per diem, nor is there any mileage provided. At least a bachelor’s degree is required, plus official certification and licensure, which includes passing the Praxis Principles of Learning and Teaching exam, and further Praxis exams in one’s specialty area.

Ours is the lowest starting salary in our region, which is the lowest paid region in the country. Because neighboring states pay better, they recruit our teachers fresh out of college. Many also recruit our veteran teachers because of better pay and benefits all the way up the scale.

Yet, even after the fiscally conservative governor and ADE proposed raising the base teacher salary by $10,000, backed up by a solid plan for how it could be funded in a financially responsible way, our Legislature balked. Then they refused the compromise offered by the governor, and another proposed by the Democratic caucus.

Elected leaders–who have no qualifications other than citizenship, residency in their districts, and being at least 21 years of age, who are paid $44,347, plus per diem and mileage, plus benefits for a part-time job–denied the professional educators expected to be responsible for the mental, emotional, and physical health of 473,861 school children in Arkansas.

The offer from the House Education Committee, pushed by Representatives Cozart, Evans, and Vaught, is $40,000. Which keeps us behind not only them, as our part-time lawmakers, but educators in the rest of the region. This is more than $5,000 less than the part-time salaries of every legislator who supports it, if you factor in even a few days of their per diem and mileage expenses. For our full-time jobs. And they expect us to be happy–to “love it.”

Much of the discussion in the meeting compared schools to businesses. There’s a call popular with the supermajority for them to be run more efficiently as such. But a wise business person knows that to attract and keep the most talented people in key positions, they must be paid well.

Unfortunately, many large corporations exploit their least skilled workers by paying them poorly because they regard them as easy to replace. This corporate greed and arrogance manifests in the disdain of lawmakers toward educators. Rather than recognizing we are the keys to our children’s–and therefore our state’s–future, they have no appreciation for our hard-earned skills. They think we are easy to replace.

They are wrong.

The post Our Legislators’ Injustice Toward Teachers appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Though constant hermiting is no longer mandatory, and I teach five classes in person, my dogs remain in favor of this other arrangement. And I find myself so spoiled by a husband who brings me coffee, layers of covers so warm and cozy, and the ambience of snoring dogs so conducive to writing, that on days I am off I may never return to my desk, even if in some future scenario I happen to find it under the piles of miscellany it has accumulated.

In addition to the Boston terriers, I have a golden retriever spread out like a rug beside my besk. They growl at him if he tries to get on the bed and sometimes he lets them be the bosses; not always. When he gets enough he goes savage like in “Zootopia” when an otherwise well-behaved animal loses its mind and turns violent. We try to avoid those times.

I also have a black Lab who John Whiteside says is the only dog I have that’s worth a dime. You can find her curled on the couch at any time of day. If she sees a human she wags her tail and it thumps loudly against the cushions. Like many Labs, the only thing that awakens passion in her is food. Even this most docile, sanguine creature has been known to fight for her right to leftover sausage gravy.

One fateful day this summer I attended a sit-in with other teachers in Little Rock at the Arkansas Legislative Council meeting in which members of the Legislature voted to answer our request for raises by punishing our local school districts. They did this by snatching covid relief money already allocated and approved for covid-related projects in those districts and re-assigning it for one-time teacher bonuses.

They did this to spite school boards and administrators, local control they claim to champion but really despise, and of course to try to squelch a movement of teachers who have finally decided to keep them accountable for their actions when it comes to the degradation of public schools–actions like the one the ALC chose that particular day: using none of the $1.6-billion surplus to raise teacher pay, instead awarding it to the wealthiest Arkansans through tax cuts. In the middle of a statewide teacher shortage.

Just typing that makes my heart beat fast. So you can imagine the state I was in when I left the ALC meeting. I did my breathing thing to tamp down the bubbles of rage fizzing fast to the surface, and drove to Brummett’s. Yes, that Brummett. I am allowed to call him Brummett or even Johnny Ray because I am his favorite if only self-appointed apprentice. He is my favorite crochety columnist.

I had braved Clarksville’s Peach Picking Paradise in the rain the day before to obtain some of his and my favorite white peaches and a few other varieties for his saintly wife Shalah. I thought they weren’t home so I left the peaches on the porch and scrambled halfway to my car before I heard him bellowing, “Hey! Come back here!”

I sat down in their exquisite living room and drank water Shalah gave me in a vintage glass. Their regal beagle Sophie sauntered over to lick my legs. Roscoe, the other beagle, jumped into my lap for a cuddle. Brummett was horrified, which I found hilarious. “Roscoe! Get down!” He looked at me hopelessly. “He’s going to ruin your dress!”

I did have on a nice dress but in that moment I could not have cared less if it survived Roscoe. Because in the way of all good dogs, Roscoe is a rescue dog. And he was doing his best to rescue me. As I petted him I could literally feel my heart rate slow, my shoulders relax, my spirit beginning to rest.

Brummett finally gave up fussing, and while we sat and talked about peaches and furniture and neighbors, goodness returned to the world. Hope floated back into the air. Friendship, joy, laughter, love–all that matters most–superseded the ugly of the morning. And by the time the beagles and Brummetts were through with me, I was fortified to go back out into the world. Restored.

If you are like most humans, you have moments of anxiety and sadness. If you are a person who belongs to a dog, being comforted in those times is likely a familiar experience. Even the Bible records how dogs helped people in ancient times, keeping them company and soothing their sores.

If you don’t have this kind of help on a rough day, well, bless your heart. Maybe it is time to find a rescue dog–or two–and let them rescue you.

Column originally published in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette

The post The redemptive grace of our rescuers: Dogs appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

She was tiny. The same age as my 15-year-old Adelaide, but several inches shorter. Eyes the color of whisky; hair the color of wheat. Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt like any other teenager. Alabaster skin, little pearls for teeth. The only thing severe at all about her, the only thing not childlike, was her eyebrows. They swept across the top of her face like two long, elegant brushstrokes, high and arched.

I wanted to hug her because that’s what I do. And her mother is an ocean away. But she regarded me a little bit like a scared rabbit, so I refrained.

We talked about nothing at first. She likes it here; loves the people. The people are very friendly. Her host family is good to her. She likes the school. “I feel big support here.” She smiles. The high school made a poster for me.”

“What was it like,” I asked her, “when you heard the news of the Russian invasion?”

She nodded, anticipating the question. “I was very surprised. What I mean is, there has been war in my country since 2014. So there are always threats, and sometimes soldiers and sounds of fighting. We kinda got used to it, and you might have to be careful a few days, and then everything would be normal again. But everybody didn’t expect this to happen.”

Olena Havrylova lives with her parents, Sergei and Yulia, in a town of 90,000 called Lisichansk in the Donbas region of Ukraine. Her brother, Daniil, 19, is a student at the University in Kyiv. Because of Covid, he’s been home for three months, scheduled to go back to Kyiv in February. But Covid numbers started climbing again so the university extended quarantine. Olena is grateful he was home with the family instead of in Kyiv when the bombing began.

The Donbas region is in the far east of Ukraine, bordering Russia. She said for now the fighting has died down in her town, but her family still keeps their windows boarded. They live on the first floor of a nine-floor building. There’s a basement in the building the residents use as a bomb shelter. Her school is across the street, and also has a basement in which neighborhood folks can hide. She showed me a picture of her school, and the street in front of it, where a rocket sticks up out of the blast it made in the pavement. It looks like some weird sculpture, a macabre artistic statement. Her grandparents live five minutes away.

She showed me another picture. “This is a free train. It is taking women and children to L’viv.” The hoards of people lined up on either side of the tracks reminded me, eerily, of old photos from World War Two. “From L’viv they must get a car to take them to the Polish border. It’s a dangerous journey.”

Olena explained that her mother could leave if she wanted to, but the men—her son and husband—must stay. So she is staying. “The men have to stay and fight,” Olena said. “If they try to leave, they will be caught and immediately drafted.”

I asked Olena what she thinks about the Russian people. Does she see them as her enemies? “I feel sorry for them,” she said. “All they have is fake news. Putin tells them their army is going to my country to help us, because we are fighting each other. Even the soldiers didn’t know the truth until they crossed the border. That’s when they were given the order to shoot us.” She told me her best friend’s brother studies in Russia and he believes the fake news. “It is crazy. So sad.”

Leary of fake news myself, I asked her if our impression of Zelensky—as the brave, beloved, heroic leader—is accurate. “Oh yes,” she exclaimed. “We love him. The whole country is behind him.” She shows me a video of Putin surrounded by fake people, in front of a background she says is fake, then one of Zelensky. “See how he moves the microphone? That is to let us know it is real, he is right there in his office. He will not leave us. He fights with our army, while Putin stays hidden.”

Olena, who shares a first name with Ukraine’s first lady, swells with pride as she continues. And I understand that the image of fierce, patriotic Ukranians I’m seeing on Twitter and CBS is not fake news either. “What do you think will happen?” I asked her.

“I think we will win.” She looks into my eyes. Hers are suddenly very serious. “Putin didn’t know how strong we are. He thought he could just come in and take our land, that Ukraine would allow it. But that will never happen.”

The post Ukraine Strong appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I was inspired by your article today to write a note to you. I don’t usually do this sort of thing; I try to ignore politics since I hate it so much!  However, I find myself wanting to let you know how much I agree with you.  I’m neither conservative nor liberal – I’m pretty much in the middle, but I seldom find anyone else in that position.  There’s always another way to look at things, I believe, and we should always consider the other side (which doesn’t seem to be a common practice in this time). For instance, I am a devout Catholic who firmly believes that abortion is sinful.  I would never consider it myself and hope my children are the same. (I’ve had eight pregnancies and 9 children with my husband of 60 years who died in 2013.)

However, an experience I had as an assistant principal at Pine Bluff High School in the 60’s caused me to consider the other side.  My office had a sweet, smart, young girl as our monitor – 15 years old and a sophomore.  One afternoon as she was walking home from school, she was accosted by a man in the alley as she passed and was raped.  Humiliated and ashamed, she told no one, not even her mother.  Later on, she missed her period and told her math teacher in tears.  I drove her to the lab where her pregnancy was confirmed.

When we got back to the high school, I called her mother who promptly picked her up and took her for an abortion.  I hate to say it, but I was immensely relieved, because her life as she expected it was not ruined by this criminal experience.  Ever since then, I have hoped for another way to address this situation for others, and even though Catholic, I cannot protest for the complete end to abortion. 

I have been retired from education for 18 years and so grateful! Thank you for reading this email!

I so appreciate her perspective. It’s remarkable to me for many reasons. This person—a moderate, or centrist—feels like she is alone in the middle of the political spectrum. She’s elderly, married 60 years in 2013. A mother of 9. Devout Catholic. Highly educated; her signature included a doctorate. Retired educator. She witnessed this tragic thing in the 60s, before abortion would have been legal in Arkansas. Roe v Wade was decided in 1973.

I can relate to feeling lonely in the middle, although I believe there are many more of us than anyone realizes. I can relate to being married a long time, though not 60 years yet, and having a lot of children, though a lot for me is four. I can also relate to having spiritual reasons for hating abortion and believing I could not emotionally survive it myself.

As a fellow educator I understand seeing things, bearing witness at times to intimate details of people’s lives. My students have taught me a great deal about worlds as foreign to me, personally, as another planet: the worlds of poverty, abuse, and crime; worlds with very little agency or access or options. It is in my role as a teacher that I am constantly confronted with the heartbreaking nuances of things that might otherwise, from my limited experience, seem black or white.

We need this woman’s story. We need people like her at the table in Arkansas, weighing in on how we make policies that affect our citizens. We need the wisdom of her age and experience as an individual, mother, and school administrator.

The vision of Arkansas Strong is to amplify voices like hers. May this be the place all voices in Arkansas are heard. May this be the place this reader is not alone, but brings her unique strengths and finds others who strengthen her. May we be the table set for everyone to gather, together, and make Arkansas Strong.

The post Come to the Table appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Joan Didion

But this too is true: stories can save us.

Tim O’Brien

I spend a lot of my life thinking about stories. It’s my job as an English professor, newspaper columnist, and writer/curator of Arkansas Strong. There’s a side to it that is clinical. In literature classes, for example, we examine the nuts and bolts of stories, put them under a microscope and look at all of the parts and how they come together to form a working whole. I try to teach people skills of good story-telling: voice, order, pacing, description, and dialogue.

For a teacher, however, there’s an entirely different side than the clinical, as I imagine there is with many jobs. Teaching is special, though, in that it lends itself to the listening. If a teacher is willing, she becomes privy to all kinds of stories that bubble up in her students. I’ve come to believe that everyone has a story and a need to tell it—if only there is someone who will listen, in a place that is safe. My office often becomes that place. Sometimes the walls hum with the sense of the sacredness of things they share. And I feel like a story keeper. It’s an enormous privilege.

At Arkansas Strong I am challenged to write my own stories, and offer a wider space for others to tell theirs, as we put together this patchwork of what it means to be Arkansan. Strong. Present with each other in this moment. Hopefully progressive in making our state better for everyone.

So on Christmas Eve, the day after Joan Didion died, I am thinking of stories and how they shape us, reflect as well as determine our world views, and what we can learn from the choices we make about what stories we believe. I wrote earlier about An Arkansas Christmas—the different things that can look like for different folks. Today I am thinking about Christmas. The holiday. The point of the whole thing, which of course will be different for different people, and I respect that. I can only tell my story. And the point of the whole thing for me is Jesus.

I have read Dawkins, Hitchens, and Harris. Seen Zeitgeist. I’ve been to Bethlehem. I know the mythology and pagan traditions surrounding the holiday and its history—I teach all of that in ancient World Lit. And although I believe the story in the bible about the birth of Jesus, it is not so important to me to debate anyone about its literal or figurative truths. What is important to me, personally, today, is to contemplate the story. To sit with it. To embrace as much of the mystery of it as I can and be instructed by it in ways that make me better, kinder, more graceful, humble, and possibly able to participate in the project of bringing more peace on earth.

On our screens in favorite holiday movies, in Christmas carols present and past, in pulpits and Sunday School classes across America, the Christmas story will be told a thousand different ways. Some of those will be silly and superficial. Others homespun. Still others will even be harmful, appealing to our worst impulses as humans rather than our best. Is there possibly anything new that can be said, any insights for this particular moment in our state, country, world?

It is not so important to me to debate anyone about its literal or figurative truths. What is important to me, personally, today, is to contemplate the story. To sit with it. To embrace as much of the mystery of it as I can and be…
Share on X

I want to have a moment like U2’s Bono had sitting in a Christmas Eve service behind a pillar in St. Patrick’s in Dublin, trying not to fall asleep. Here’s how he recounts it:

For the first time…it really sank in, the Christmas story. The idea that God, if there is a force of Love and Logic in the universe, that it would seek to explain itself is amazing enough. That it would seek to explain itself by becoming a child born in straw poverty, in shit and straw…a child…I just thought ‘Wow!’  Just the poetry…Unknowable love, unknowable power describes itself as the most vulnerable.

Bono goes on to observe that Love has to become action. It has to become flesh. It’s not just something that is; Love must do. And the way Love chose to introduce itself to the world—the being and the doing—is the most counter intuitive story in the world. The opposite of strength as we tend to think of it: conquest, powerful, rich, imposing, invulnerable. It’s strength as innocence. Humility. A willingness to step into the mess and offer itself regardless of the difficulties and dangers. I want this story to shape me, to be my story too. I want to recognize this Love in the world. I want to be it and do it.

Carlos Rodriguez wrote this on Twitter this morning, and gave me a Bono moment I now pass along to you:

It’s an unwed woman who carries God.

It’s the pagans from the East who recognize God.

It’s the workers in the field who hear from God.

It’s the marginalized neighborhood who welcomes God.

It’s God who chooses the lowly and the broken to rise.

Christmas is here.

Let hope in.

The post Tell Me a Story appeared first on Arkansas Strong.