I’m thinking about a guy who couldn’t handle the truth.
It was years ago. I was in college, in the education program, lookin’ to get my certification to teach. And I was assigned to do a group project.
I hate group projects. I hate them with a passion. Every teacher who’s ever assigned them rattles on about how “In The Real World,” you will be expected to work with groups all the time, and therefore group projects are a good and necessary thing!
And I am here to tell you, “Bull.”
Group projects exist solely for the convenience of the teacher, who will have fewer projects to grade and less stuff to sit through. In the real world, you are generally judged on your own merit, not that of those around you, and if you are in a job where you are judged by those around you, I’d recommend you fight like hell to be assigned to the best people. And don’t be afraid to report them what ain’t doin’ their jobs. In the real world, this has consequences.
I also hate group projects because every group project upon which I have ever worked? I’ve done most, if not all, of the work. And there is always that one ass who doesn’t do a damn thing, and rides along on YOUR effort and time. And the teacher always says that people like that won’t get a good grade, and yet they always seem to pass. Grr.
But I digress.
I’ve completely forgotten what the group project in question was, but I was working with three other people, and had resigned myself to simply ramrodding the project forward singlehanded and doing all the work myself, same as always. I would discuss and interface with my three partners, volunteer to write the whole thing myself, break it down into four parts for the presentation, and we’d present it in four parts, and there goes another group project, hey presto. This one had something to do with a comparison between pre-Civil War and post-Civil War economics. And the problem arose when the subject of slaves came up.
Slaves were a part of pre-Civil War southern life and economy. They did the actual work that produced agricultural products that were then sold for money which fueled the economy. That’s how it was DONE. That’s how it WAS. We all agree that using humans as farm equipment at gunpoint is wrong, and we don’t do that any more, for all that we had to fight a war to force the wealthy to quit exploiting their workforces. And they responded by forming their own government and convincing non-slaveowners to go and fight for their right to own slaves.
Hm. Maybe I remember more of this project than I thought I did…
Anyway, we used a class period to put our heads together and discuss. I began to build a mental picture of the project I was going to have to write, and incorporated the additions of my teammates; maybe I wouldn’t have to work so hard this time…
Except for Dumbass. “I’m really not comfortable with the way this is coming together,” said Dumbass.
“What are you uncomfortable with?” asked the Hippie Chick.
“This whole business of slavery,” he said.
I blinked twice. “Nowadays, most of us are uncomfortable with slavery,” I said. “This is a major reason for its abolition.”
“No,” he said, “I don’t like that word.”
“Slavery?” asked Miss Sunshine.
“Yes,” said Dumbass.
“We’re going to have a mighty tough time discussing it if you don’t like that word,” I said.
“Well, it’s not like they were the basis for the Southern economy, anyway,” he said. “Agriculture was. Not the buying and selling of… people.”
“And precisely who do you think was out there weeding the corn and chopping the cotton?” I asked. I was admittedly growing irritated. I already had half the damn paper written in my head, and this asshole was wanting to mince words and rewrite history, and I already was seeing a scenario where he wanted to rewrite the damn thing to suit his personal views, and there went my grade…
"Be nice, " said Miss Sunshine. “Is there another word you feel would be more appropriate, Dumbass?”
“Well, again, the Southern economy didn’t depend on … those people,” he said. “Farmers actually were the ones growing things. THEY were doing all the WORK. And there was manufacturing, and stuff. They didn’t need to … um…* own* people.”
“Most Southerners didn’t own slaves,” said Hippie Chick, “but the big plantation owners were the ones who actually did most of the cash cropping. They were selling millions of dollars in cotton to England every year. Says so right here.”
“But the FARMERS were the ones–” began Dumbass.
I interrupted. “Are you honestly going to sit there and try to tell me that Colonel Sanders’ grandpa was out there singlehandedly weeding and tending ten thousand acres of cotton singlehandedly?”
Dumbass looked indignant. “Well, no,” he said. “He had help.”
“Aaaand who was doing all this ‘helping’ with these export cash crops?”
“Well, yeah, black people helped out.”
I closed my eyes in exasperation.
“I think you’re kind of undercutting their contribution to the Southern economy,” said Hippie Chick.
“Most Southern farmers did not own … people,” insisted Dumbass.
“Most Southern farmers were subsistence farmers who did very little, if any, cash cropping,” I said. “Some of them owned slaves, too. And the big plantation owners owned entire crowds. Of SLAVES. Slavey slave slave SLAVES, human property, owned people, human merchandise, forced laborers, who, by Supreme Court fiat, had ‘no rights that a white man was bound to respect,’ if I remember the Dred Scott decision correctly. Now can we get on with–”
“Now, calm down,” said Miss Sunshine. “You’re just being mean, now.”
“I am stating historical fact, and I am --” (…and I cut myself off before saying “calling a spade a spade.”) “–not mincing words about it. I don’t like slavery any more than he does, but at least I’m not afraid of the frickin’ word.” Did I mention that this group of four was made up totally of white persons between the ages of twenty and thirtysomething?
“And historical fact doesn’t mean we have to trample on the feelings of those around us,” said Miss Sunshine. And the discussion went downhill from there. Eventually, it was decided, out of deference to Dumbass’s feelings, that these nonwhite persons who were kidnapped over from Africa or bred like animals for sale as forced labor? They would be referred to as “helpers.”
I didn’t like it, but by that point, I didn’t care. I knew I was going to wind up writing the thing myself, and likely presenting it, as well, since the younger they are, the less they like getting up in front of a group, which has always amazed me about people who go into education, because if you’re not willing to get up in front of a class, your teaching career is going to be mighty short and awkward, but, hey, who am I to question? I’d write the paper, I’d do the presentation, and I’d get a good grade, and to heck with all you people anyway.
So naturally, the last class period before the presentation, Dumbass insisted on checking over the paper. He went ballistic. My work went against everything he believed to be true about the economy of prewar Southern USA.
I countered that his beliefs were utterly irrelevant in a historical context, unless he could cite some sort of book or work of some kind that supported his viewpoint, and did he have any of these sources? No? Then hellwichu, Charlie, I’m going with the facts.
And after an argument in which he involved Hippie Chick and Miss Sunshine, it was agreed by three of us that the paper would have to be slightly altered. The history stuff could stay. But all uses of the term “slave” would be changed to “helper.”
“Are you all nuts?” I said. “When we get up there and start talking about ‘helpers,’ the class isn’t going to have the first clue what we’re talking about, and I flat refuse to explain it to the black members of our class. I am NOT takin’ responsibility for HIS stubborn stupidity.”
I was chastised at length by the group for being insensitive. And I went back on the computer and changed every single use of the word “slave” to “helper,” and printed the goddamn thing out again. Four copies. And I made damn sure MY part of the presentation had NO use of either word. I was NOT going to be the one to look like an idiot out there due to one obstinate fool, a politically correct dip, and a person who didn’t give a shit one way or the other. I leave it to you to decide who was who.
So, naturally, on the Big Day, Hippie Chick wasn’t there in class. And while we waited for our presentation time, Miss Sunshine ducked out for a bathroom stop, and stayed gone for thirty minutes. And when the time came up, Dumbass said, “I don’t feel well. Could you just do it?”
I closed my eyes in exasperation.
And I began my presentation by apologizing for the rest of my group, who could not be here with me up in front of all of you for whatever reasons they had for not being up here with me in front of all of you.
And I began to read the presentation.
And very shortly, the class was confused. And I gritted my teeth and explained that since one of our group did not like the word “slave,” that the use of the word had been curtailed in favor of the less inflammatory term of “helper.”
And the black guy off to the left side of class became angry. “Do you realize that you have just belittled and marginalized the suffering of every slave dragged over here and forced to work for the benefit of his masters?”
And I snapped. “Yes,” I said. “You’re absolutely goddamn right. Tell it to CAPTAIN DUMBASS over there,” and I pointed at he who did not feel well and could not be up in front of the class, “because he flat refused to be a part of this project unless we all bowed to his desires and used the word “helper.” I realize it’s a flat insult, but, hey, I wanted to get the stinkin’ project done, and he made it clear that it wasn’t gonna happen unless it was done HIS way.”
And the class didn’t QUITE explode, but the rest of the presentation kind of did not go well. I did start using the word “SLAVE,” spoken with some emphasis, every time I ran across the word “helper,” in text that I hadn’t planned on reading aloud myself. The first time, Dumbass attempted to object, and got shouted down. After that, he looked sullen, but said nothing.
Wound up getting a B on that project, as well as a nice chat with the department head for having a shitty attitude and for calling out Dumbass in front of the class like that. Part of the grade was because no one else presented, as opposed to all the OTHER groups, who’d stood up en masse and done THEIR stuff proper.
(…and by “nice chat,” I mean “chewing out.” Conduct unbecoming a teacher candidate, and all that.)
Dumbass asked to have his name removed from the project, as he had moral objections to what I’d done. He changed his mind when told by the TA that if he did so, he would get NO grade for the project.
It’s not a pleasant memory. But, in time, I realized that I HAD learned something important from it:When you have someone whose beliefs are graven in stone, and incompatible with the facts? Scrape 'em off, as fast and politely as you can. You’re never going to get anything accomplished with THAT chump on board…