As I’ve watched the events at our nation’s capitol unfold over the last couple of days, I’ve been struck by how strongly I feel toward them. I don’t consider myself an overly political person, and I avoid at all costs the social media rabbit holes where political views are aired. But something about the storming of the capitol made me pay attention in a different way. I’m not sure I realized before now how important the institutions of democracy are, not just to our country, but to people all over the world. Especially for those struggling under corrupt governments or suffering under dictatorships, the sacred (and I don’t use that word lightly) institutions of this country provide both a model and hope that things can be different. Though I’ve never labeled myself “patriotic,” I do believe we have a great country. And though I believe we have an obligation to inspire others toward more democratic forms of rule, I would not consider myself an American exceptionalist; there are plenty of other countries doing great things.
All that to say that I feel a profound grief that our institutions of democracy are being pummeled, and yes, even some anger toward those who are doing it. This event will not just fade like many of the other antics of the last four years; it will have significant ripples across the world and through history.
As teachers, we’re taught to remain apolitical. To ask questions of our students, to engage them in critical thought, to turn them into active, engaged citizens. This can happen in either political party. If a student asks me who I voted for, I’ll tell them. But I won’t ask them to agree, and I’ll keep it as impersonal as possible.
We cannot ignore this event in our classes. Especially for our students of color, who are comparing the police response on January 6 to the police response to BLM, we must address it. Although there were political overtones to what happened on January 6, it was not a political movement. It was a riot, plain and simple. A violent, rule-breaking mob that had nihilistic goals. They weren’t creating or saving anything; they were destroying. That’s why politicians on both sides of the aisle have condemned it.
When talking about this event with students, I would argue that we have a moral obligation to name it, and not excuse it under the guise of moral equivalency (“everyone is entitled to their own opinion”). It was a threat to democracy, and it was incited by the President of the United States. If we excuse this as just another aberration, we not only ignore the pattern of events leading up to it, but also the people who enabled this to happen as the logical conclusion of a years-long assault on human decency and political protocol. In this particular case, being “neutral” is being complicit.
This was a pre-calculated, violent attempt to interrupt the transfer of power. Unlike some, I wouldn’t label it a “coup,” because I don’t think anyone involved, even the President, believed in their heart of hearts that they would gain any credible power. But that doesn’t excuse it, and is further indication of its nihilistic intent.
If we are to preserve what makes this country great, now is the time for accountability. If we look the other way, we are sending an implicit message that this act was somehow justified, or at least not serious enough for a response. If I’ve learned anything from working with teenagers, it’s that they need boundaries to make sense of the world. This act is screaming for boundaries, and for a well-reasoned response. It doesn’t have to be personal, and I’m not saying people need to be shamed or guilted. There can be accountability with grace and dignity. In fact, somewhere deep down, my guess (naive hope?) is that most people involved expect that there will be consequences. They must know, now that things have settled, that they crossed a line. When President Trump tweeted Wednesday afternoon that there would be a peaceful transfer of power on January 20, he was anticipating exactly this. Finding himself and his followers firmly across the line, he tried to retreat. Failing to hold people responsible for these actions leaves a vacuum of accountability that is in many ways scarier than the alternative. If no one’s in charge, then what?
This is a delicate discussion to have in a class. And resources are now emerging to help us address it with students. But for once, I don’t think there can be any equivocation on what happened or who was responsible. It needs to be spoken with courage and conviction, for our country, and for everyone in the world who aspires to democratic rule.
When you’re ready to sit with your emotions, feel free to try this practice.
Commenti