In the last few years a lot of debate has been had over promise and perils of ESSA. Many education advocates argued we must embrace ESSA because it promised to reduce federal choke hold of high stakes standardized testing that was wielded starting with NCLB and ramped up further under Race to the Top. The promise of EESA seemed too good to be true. Why would the same people who devoted decades to dismantling public schools, creating avenues for defacto segregation, and privatizing a public system suddenly want to turn around and “do the right thing?” ESSA authors (Lamar Alexander) claimed that testing would take a “back seat” And it has. The argument support of ESSA was “to restore responsibility to state and local leaders what to do about educational decisions. If a state decides to move away from Common Core, they don’t have to call Washington and ask permission—they can just do it.”

And so many supporters of democratic public education “bought in” to the hype. Exactly what ARE states deciding to do instead? Those are the details we need to examine, and it’s vital (if we are really to reclaim public spaces and democracy) that we understand that there is a global paradigmatic shift occurring beyond the scope of what we already think we know or can anticipate. We must broaden our understanding of the end-game.

In unwritten or loosely defined ways, ESSA also ushers in a host of opportunities for corporations and private entities to avail themselves of every child’s most private funds of data. See Emily Talmage. The data surveillance tactics have found their ways into what otherwise might have been meaningful community and classroom practices.

Companies and government agencies still have access to students test scores (via online daily competency based education data), despite claims of reducing end-of-year testing. ESSA may in fact be reducing the role that HST testing does play in education policy and practice. But don’t be fooled. It is not because those of us in the opt out movement “won” the battle. The powers-that-be manufactured that move as a distraction. The formulators of ESSA have created the illusion that these new policies will be what we want. The opposite is true. The new avenues of data collection formulated for ESSA, in addition to academic (test) data,  include social emotional data, measuring such things a “grit and tenacity.”  They evaluate “mindfulness.” Some might be asking the question “why?”—what is to be gained from this data collection? The answer is: A great deal if you are keeping up with the research. You know this answer– at least in part.

In part, it is because in the traditional neoliberal framework, any data means money. For example, “Silicon Valley is going all out to own America’s school computer-and-software market, projected to reach $21 billion in sales by 2020.”

Data also means knowing how to anticipate outcomes through predicative analytics, how to sort and track students as future consumers, workers, or prisoners (using 3rd grade data to build prisons goes back decades). But wait….there’s more. We need to understand what this “more” is, and why HST (as insidious as it is/was) PALES in comparison to the new data collection mechanisms and forms of data being mined, and the ways in which this data will significantly erode global democracy and human rights. This is because “a mechanism that is at the heart of biocapitalism in its ever-expanding attempts to commodify all aspects of life.” (Haraway).

The capitalist/consumer paradigm is shifting beneath our feet. With the growing capacities of new technologies, such as artificial intelligence and the push for Big Data (McKinsey),  we have seen in the last few decades the development of education policies mirroring something more (i.e. Common Core becomes CBE which becomes online learning which means more and more uses for AI and tracking student behavior because now the computers must monitor the children once the teachers are all gone)…. See a summary here. The growing technological advances are slowly forming a new relationship between human and capital. It’s called biocapitalism. And the education policies underway, invited in through the gates of ESSA and other tactics such as social impact bonds, are the way forward for biocapitalism to successfully engender us unto it. Those “innovative assessments” being developed for ESSA are a vehicle by which corporations can build a new biocapital world for all of us. In a biocapital reality, data becomes surveillance becomes total control.

Biocapitalism transforms the interdependent systems of capital and labor (as external phenomena) into a capitalist system that utilizes more abstract form of labor that are internal and intangible. The relationship between man and machine is far more enmeshed in a biocapital relationship.

One website describes it as follows:

“(T)he concept of biocapitalism refers to the production of wealth by means of knowledge and human experience, through the use of those activities, both intellectual and corporeal, that are implicit in existence itself. We might add that every process of production reflects not only material realities, but also social contexts. Thus, relations of production not only characterize different modes of production, but also societal forms. Gradually, the process of production turns into a process of production and reproduction of itself, which is the fundamental activity of a living organism. Although this basic idea is shared by all social forms of life, it becomes absolutely central in biocapitalism.”

As this article Harpers from 1997 clearly describes, “Scratch the surface of information and biotech revolutions ….and what one discovers underneath is a ‘control revolution’….a massive transfer of power from beauracries to individuals and corporations. In an unregulated control revolution free markets and consumer choice become even more dominant forces and in virtually every arena social regulation gives way to economic incentive. …even such social intangibles as privacy become commodified.”

To learn more about how biocapitalism controls bodies and minds of children via public education policy read Clayton Pierce –Education in the Age of Biocapitalism: Optimizing educational life for a flat world. Pierce explores how generations of “extractive schooling” (of which standardized testing has been a part since the birth of the Eugenics movement in the early 1900’s) and how this has begun to transform itself through “technologies of control” of which the increasing push toward computer learning, machine learning, and artificial intelligence as the mode of education delivery for all children. He concludes, “education life is ever more becoming the target of an expanding range of sophisticated technologies of control (p. 142) … calling for greater and greater degrees of regulation and discipline over the body of the students” (p. 143). This makes me wonder even more about Class Dojo and other uses of privately owned technologies to monitor the student body and mind. And the purpose of them becomes yet more evident.

So as we continue to fight yesterday’s battle, i.e for a reduction in standardized testing and believe that that’s a “win” while also ignoring the profound destruction these other education policies (see McDowell) being quietly floated under our noses are having, the effort to control the next generation (our children) will be complete. We cannot become distracted by a bait-and -switch set of tactics.  Look for the forest, not the trees. We have to see the picture for these corporate reformers is much bigger than most parents and teachers and citizens can even imagine. It explains why global billionaires and tech giants like Bill Gates and Google have such a vested interest in “disrupting” education and taking education over with “21st century technology.” Biocapitalism relies on “the use of the relational, emotional and cognitive faculties of human beings.” LINK. In a biocapitalist framework of which 21st century education is a necessary part, “what is exchanged in the labour market is no longer abstract labour (measurable in homogeneous working time), but rather subjectivity itself, in its experiential, relational, creative dimensions. To sum up, what is exchanged is the ‘potentiality’ of the subject. Whereas in the Fordist model it was easy to calculate the value of labour according to the average output and professional skills based on workers’ education and experience, in bio-capitalism the value of labour loses almost any concrete definitional criterion.” LINK

The goal is not merely to sell us all iPads or market education materials and services. The scope is greater than that, and personal data (to be gathered via educational systems sold out to private interests) will use our children’s data not simply to sort and track them by test scores, not simply to close schools in black and brown neighborhoods to profit Wall Street charter schools)….sure all of that is true….but that’s not the end game. We cannot continue to fight yesterday’s demons and expect to reclaim the rights to our schools, our children’s futures, or our democracy. First, we have to see and understand the nature of biocapitalism as an all encompassing and global phenomena and the clear pathways between the new ESSA assessments and education delivery systems and the mechanisms of control being constructed.  We have to construct systemic avenues of wholesale resistance instead piece meal compromises. We cannot afford distractions or avoidance.

The devil is in the details.

The devil is in the data.

It sounds a little “out there”…. sure. Unless…. you begin to see the evidence right before your eyes. Then what? How long will we choose to remain complicit? (Special thank you to Don Bunger for sharing this document with me!). Click on image to enlarge. See the original bill from the Center for Evidence based Policy Making Act here.

Another way to summarize all of this is as follows from Truthout:

“…the theory of cognitive capitalism provides us with a ‘stage’ theory of the changing nature of capitalism that helps us better to understand the logic of knowledge capitalism that operates on the basis of algorithmic logic to expand a universe of information accessibility while changing the nature of the regime of accumulation. All the while, knowledge capitalism also creates giant global info-utilities that make its profits on the backs of the creative endeavors of others while posing as corporation dedicated to the commonweal.”

Interregnum Mile: Chapter Eight

Posted: October 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

Note to readers: Just when I thought what I writing was fiction, I came across this courtesy of Alison McDowell  

DATA ON DNA– https://www.sciencealert.com/microsoft-could-be-storing-data-on-dna-within-the-next-three-years


Chapter Eight

The industrial track-lighting in the Romer Onyx complex always reminded Susan of a piss- yellow color. Her artistic temperament incited her to naming colors that elicited strong feelings in her. Susan’s stomach tightened as it did every time she came to Central Office, which was not every often. Even the smell of the anti-septic hallways brought back a rush of memories that re-ignited anxieties she had buried sixteen years ago.

As a contractual employee, Susan was granted a lot of freedom in her work, and it limited her interactions with other RO staff. Keesha’s voice was always inside her head, reminding her that she had made an ethical compromise.

“You can’t change the inside from the outside,” Susan would tell Keesha. “You have to work change from the inside. And then, we can claim our power from within.”

Keesha was never convinced by this. “Show me when that’s ever worked out for folks like us, Mom. RO will make you believe you’re making changes, but they’re just fooling you into complacency!”

Keesha’s argument always gave Susan pause and a feeling of uneasiness. But she wanted to believe that what she was doing, in the long run, was the right choice. She had to.

Today, she quelled her unease with her excitement that Keesha had finally agreed to take an internship with RO. She didn’t even ask what had prompted her daughter’s change-of-mind. Susan didn’t care. She was just eager to have some time to be close to her daughter.

Susan had developed a variety of ways to quell her loneliness as the girls grew older and farther away from her. She never wanted them to feel guilty about deciding not to go with her to the colonized city. Nor should they, as the children, feel the need to adjust their lives to accommodate the needs of their mother. Their happiness was paramount. She leapt at the opportunity to help Keesha apply for this job painting a mural on the side of the Westborough Town Hall Annex building, as part of the corporate led initiative to “beautify” the blighted urban landscapes and recast them in their RO image.  It offset the massive demolition projects RO had been spearheading throughout the rest of the city, leaving its occupants scrambling to find new places to live. What concern were they to the RO grand project?

The air was acrid and cool inside the RO headquarters. Her feet whispered down the carpeted hallways until she reached her destination: The office of Randolph Parks, CEO of Special Projects. She tapped lightly three times with her finger tips.

“Come in!” a voice replied from the other side of the heavy walnut door. She pushed it opened.

“Hello, Susan!” Mr. Parks said standing up from behind his large glass desk. He strode his large six foot frame over and embraced her with both arms.

“Hi, Mr. Parks,” she replied, politely pushing herself back to a more formal distance. “Good to see you, too.” She forced her best smile.

“Susan, it’ been too long. What has it been? Perhaps six years since you’ve been here to say hello?” He thought for a moment and then added, “How is Keesha?”

Susan’s stomach tightened. “Oh, she’s fine. Thank you. But you probably knew the answer to that without having to ask me.” She grimaced a little.

His smile hardened just slightly. “Well, I’m glad to hear things are going well.” He moved back toward the window and looked aimlessly outside.

“Did you …ever …tell her?” The word tell hung heavy in the air between them.

Susan realized she had overstepped her boundaries.

“Keesha says she is looking forward to her internship with me and RO,” She said with genuine optimism. “And no,” she said in a low tone, “I never told her.”

He turned back toward her with a frozen smile. “Good! Well, then. We look forward to bringing her into the fold!”

Susan fought down the bile rising her throat. “The fold.”

“You know, Susan,” he said, pretending to flip through a stack of papers on the edge of his desk, “Without the DNA program, we wouldn’t be standing here now talking about Keesha’s future, at all.”

She knew that without him, and without the funding and technical support from RO, Keesha never would have been born. Sperm donations were expensive. Susan had spent her life saving on becoming pregnant with Naomi and was barely able to pay her rent for months after her birth.

“I know, Mr. Parks. I was very grateful to be selected for embryonic tissue experiment.”

The hope was that RO could grow patented human tissue that was then successfully implanted into a woman’s uterus, and brought to a full term pregnancy and healthy delivery. The idea of genetically modified and patented seeds, successfully mastered in the previous generation led the engineers and technicists to ask themselves, what else could they grow and patent? Could they patent humans, like seeds? From the data they generated at birth, every facet of the human condition could be controlled and monitored.

Susan knew the community would help her get herself the food and housing she and her new baby would need. She had months of mural painting jobs lined up throughout the city, as Interregnum City was still enjoying its renaissance period following the struggle for decolonization. She had a solid safety net.

How many late afternoons had she and Kelley spent walking through Green Square Park, laughing at how her tall and lithe form was growing to resemble a Q tip with a basketball growing out of the middle.

More than a dozen times he said, “Susan. You know how I feel about you.” He’d let the tips of his fingers brush hers as they walked. “Why don’t we make this a family thing, huh? You and me? I love Naomi like she were my own already. How could I not love this little one inside you right now any less than I do her? Or…you?”

Susan would blush. Kelley was a smart, strong, and honest man. She cared for him, but kept her mind from entertaining the idea, since she knew it could never happen.

“Oh, Kelley,” she sighed, as dogs and children raced across the grassy lawn and stopped directly in front of them, causing them pause mid-stride on the walking path. “You’re my best friend. But I don’t want romance. Not right now. I want to raise my girls. I want to go see what’s out there, you know, beyond the limits of our community.” She needed a believable cover. Kelley was not an easily swayed man.

“You’ve been out of here, travelling a whole bunch” he retorted. “You’re not sheltered. And I would never stop you from going wherever you want to go. You know that. I could stay and watch the girls, even” He was making a hard sell.

“I don’t know, Kelley” she said, squeezing his fingers a little tighter. He smiled.  “Let me think about it,” she promised.

She had been thinking about it now for 15 years. And Kelley waited faithfully for the day she’d change her mind.  She would never be able to tell him the real reason. She could never tell him about the deal she had made with RO in order to have Keesha.

In exchange for being given a healthy embryo which led to birth of Keesha, Susan had to agree that moments after her birth, they could implant Keesha with a chip that would enable them to track and collect data from her. Psychometric data that tracked her brain functioning, her chemical balances, her blood pressure, pulse rate…every biometric or sensory piece of information ceaselessly and painlessly flowed from Keesha into the data base at RO.

As part of the exchange, Susan was also required to work for RO. But Susan had never told Keesha, nor Kelley, nor anyone about this. The RO experiment had been top secret. So, instead she told Kelley, “I want to see more of the world out there,” forcing her best poker face. Kelley was not easily fooled and so she avoided further discussion of the matter. If she wanted to have Keesha, she would have to give up Kelley. She made the deal and tried never to look back.

“Mr Parks,” she asked him after a long silence as he continued to shuffle through papers as if she were not still standing there.

“Yes, Susan?”

“What happened to the other women? What happened to them and their RO babies? How come I never see any of them here? Or anywhere else?”

His smile faded and his face became expressionless. She had pushed too far.

“You know I can’t discuss other subjects of the study with you…or with anyone else for that matter,” he retorted, sharply.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that …,” she reached for something, “I am so grateful to have Keesha. And I would love to know that other women were as lucky as I have been.”

He nodded with silent acceptance. She had to dig herself out of this awkward moment. Too many questions were dangerous. The less she stuck her nose into RO business, the safer she could keep Keesha. When the girls were old enough, and she and Naomi insisted on staying in Interregnum City even after she moved out, Susan was quietly relieved. Her plan had worked; her plan to get Keesha as far away from RO as possible. But years of loneliness were getting the better of her. She missed her daughters. So how could she say no when Keesha herself volunteered to spend eight weeks with her? The maternal desire was too powerful, and it drowned out her gut fears.

She said good bye, walked carefully down the labyrinth of hallways, and gasped for air as she swung the rotating doors from the front lobby out onto the front steps of the building.

As Susan walked toward her car, recovering from her meeting with Mr Parks with every step, Mr Parks was on a very important phone call. He stood at his office window, looking down below as she scurried through the parking lot.

“Yes?” a voice said on the other end of the phone.

“We have her.” Mr. Parks replied.

“Are you sure? This could easily blow up in our faces.”

“It’ll work. Trust me. Remember the golden rule: You bring your enemy into the tent if you want to eliminate them. It’s easier to take them one of you than it is to eradicate them by force. Disappear people through co-optation. Dissuade change by making people forget what they were asking for in the first place.”

“Okay, then. But you’d better be right.”

“I always am,” Mr. Parks said, and then he hung up the phone.

Susan turned the key in the car’s ignition, took another few deeps breaths, and smiled to herself.  “What could go wrong in eight weeks?” she convinced herself. It would be great.



Chapter Seven

Kelley had kept his word.  When Ryder awoke the next morning and went downstairs, he saw his mother moving with ease back and forth between the kitchen stove and table. She was humming softly. He knew that meant she was in a good frame of mind; had she known about last evening’s escapades, he would have been awoken at first light with a stern, “We need to talk, Mister.”

He was not always successful in his stealth night moves. Sometimes, more often than he cared to admit, the front door would creak as he pulled it open to enter or exit, especially in warm damp night summer weather. The noise, albeit subtle was enough to alert his mother, whose bedroom was just off the front foyer, that someone was entering or leaving the house. Keesha, Ryder, and Deacon had met several times at the Data Pods. Wandering across the vacant grassy fields, down into the tunnels that ran like river tributaries beneath the city out and beyond into RO territory. They had to know if what Keesha was discovering on the RO data base was true. They had to see for themselves. Of course, the threat had still been largely theoretical; or at least it had been until the ground shook just the day before. That was the proof they needed.

Ryder’s mother has been a light sleeper ever since her husband’s disappearance. Punishment for Ryder’s night movements usually involved being grounded or a few extra rounds of chores helping the elderly neighbors up and down his block, in lieu of stick ball or ice cream with Deacon and Keesha. Last summer, she had even impounded his bicycle for two weeks, so that he could not ride to the swimming pool five miles across town. How could he possibly explain to her, or to anyone (other than Deacon or Keesha … and now Uncle Kelley), that they had secretly been following the movements of colonizers.

Now, in the morning light streaming through his kitchen window, Ryder was beginning to wonder if they had just imagined it all. Had they imagined the record of memos passed from Romer Onyx CEO to the development team to work in secret with known frackers; people whose work in mining energy from beneath the earth’s surface was being used for a parallel other agenda. Had they imagined the maps and charts Keesha has mined herself from the depths of the RO database showing the strategic geographical locations of the sites RO would be targeting? No. They had printed records of it all. With Kelley’s help, they now also had a plan.

“You got a letter, Ryder. It’s from the Indigenous Intersection Group,” his mother was saying. “I suppose they’ve reviewed your application to work next spring with the Water Makers in Arizona. Isn’t that where Keesha applied, too?”

Decolonized zones all over the country networked together outside the bounds of the corporate colonizers to provide skills, natural resources and knowledge to one another in exchange to provide what each other was needing. The bottle water crisis and lead water poisoning epidemic which started with Flint, MI, motivated decolonized peoples to find ways to stop the poisoning of their people. Hydraulics experts and geologists worked in tandem to direct water sources including rain water collection centers to local agriculture.

Spending three months training with the water makers meant likely spending three months with Keesha. Ryder’s heart raced a little. Her experience in the ceramic arts made her a shoe in for this project. Ryder, fascinated with science and engineering, wanted to understand better how it was that the artist activists from Arizona figured how to use specific clays and minerals via a filtering process, to get clean potable water from nearly anywhere. The goal was to bring this training back to the community and creating working cooperatives to deliver goods and services. More importantly, Ryder had learned a great deal more than that.

In his preparation for his Arizona internship, Ryder had studied fracking: learning how it harmed the water systems, and from there deduced what RO was doing. But now, after his conversation with Kelley, he knew Arizona would have to wait. Kelley had agreed to help with their plan. But his use of this knowledge he had gained would matter more than ever.

“So, can I assume you are going to accept this internship, Ryder?” His mother had a strained expectant look on her face. He hated lying. He was horrible at it. Forcing his best poker face, Ryder smiled and shook his head “Yes.”

“Good!” I’ll make arrangements with the child care partners to cover for me so I can get you out there safe and sound. “It’s nice to know that Keesha will be there too, to keep an eye on you.” She gave him a sly grin.

“No!” He sounded a bit too alarmed. She pulled her face and shoulders back, and frowned.

“I mean, um…” Think Ryder! He said to himself. “I mean, Uncle Kelley wants to take me.”

“Uncle Kelley? When did you discuss this with him?”

She was too damn astute.

“At debate group. Yesterday afternoon. We just ran into him. He was asking me how everything was going…”

He lowered the high pitch in his voice. This lie was becoming a little easier now. He had a story built up.

“So I mentioned the Arizona application to him. He said he wanted to get away…vacation, I guess. Has some friends out that way he wanted to visit?” Was she buying any of this? He added, “And Keesha’s decided to take a different internship.”

Ryders’ mom paused, considering this new information. She walked toward the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet, and started rinsing the dishes.  She sighed. “Well, I guess that’ll be alright.” She bent over and kissed his forehead. “I’m gonna miss you, though.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Ma,” he said, leaning into her with a sweet nudge.  “But its only eight weeks.”

Only eight weeks, he heard himself repeating over and over.

They had eight weeks to stop Romer Onyx.

(Taking a small break between chapters in The Interregnum Mile to bring you something to consider)

Image result for shell game

Is Restorative Justice being “jacked?”

Restorative Justice (RJ) has a lengthy (centuries-old) global history too lengthy and complex to elucidate here. It  thankfully has become the recent focus of school disciplinary and judicial systems at a time when the school- to- prison pipeline is booming (thanks, private prisons), policy brutality is soaring, there is a rise in hate crimes (thanks, 2016 elections), and the inequitable rates of imprisonment and suspensions between white students and students of color have now continued unabated for decades.

However, despite its powerful and positive effects, and future potential to radically re envision our approach to peace, justice and sustainable communities, I am beginning to witness the emergence of something else calling itself “restorative justice,” but is perhaps offering us something else.

In schools across the United States, RJ being presented as group circle discussions on just about anything (so … nice democratic classroom practice… but not justice focused…) and the language being blended into what is being touted as “justice” frameworks are beginning to smack of something else reformy….GRIT.

Speaking to the GRIT narrative,  Pedro Noguera says “I’m not hearing in the conversation acknowledgments of the effect poverty, income inequality and the opportunity gap has on student achievement …All the grit in the world can’t compensate for the obstacles that face so many students in low income communities.” So, when RJ is synonymous with “grit” what happens to the focus on systemic injustice? It becomes  … something else.

RJ has its (contemporary) roots in 1970’s work in challenging systems of inequality by placing the tools for change and healing in the hands of children and communities themselves, and reducing the school- to- prison pipeline. RJ was (is) a practice intended to, “protect individuals, social stability and the integrity of the group.” (“Utu”Ministry of Justice, New Zealand. Retrieved 17 September 2013).

But more and more, what is being called RJ is in fact a focus on “character building” or “grit”—these terms attend to individual character, not on addressing systematic inequality. They place the narrative back in the neoliberal lap of individualism. While restorative justice is definitely personal (i.e perpetrator and victim), the focus is more on community building/healing than it is on strengthening personality traits. It is a process that commits people to one another in a rebalancing of the power distribution in society and shared behaviors. “Restorative justice views violence, community decline, and fear-based responses as indicators of broken relationships. It offers a different response, namely the use of restorative solutions to repair the harm related to conflict, crime, and victimization.” (Zehr, Howard. Changing Lenses – A New Focus for Crime and Justice. Scottdale PA: 2005, 268–69).

Now that RJ is the new “in” thing (everyone’s doing it) it has a following, and examples abound everywhere of teachers modeling this practice. Some of these classrooms are focused on “vocabulary” which includes teaching kids to focus on words like: orderliness, perseverance, and rigor. Not sure what any of that has to do with justice. What I am beginning to sense is that RJ is being carefully and quietly hijacked by the GRIT narrative that has recently gained traction as the vehicle for teaching (tracking? training?) social emotional learning. Yet, ironically they are at their core very different things. Grit and Duckworth’s study have been linked to racist practices and research.

Concepts such as “social-emotional or non-cognitive learning, or character education, or habits of success”  are NOT synonymous with restorative justice, much less equality, any more than Gardner’s learning styles are! Neither is “positive behavior support.”

Those are buzz words that have been developed and embraced by the same organizations that have contributed to decades of inequality through failed policies….now climbing aboard the RJ train. See the Face Book site sharing posts from Angela Duckworth and other practices that are justice “light”

While narratives of grit or habits of mind attempts to (re)colonize attitude and behaviors of students of color, RJ “represents a validation of values and practices that were characteristic of many indigenous groups,” whose traditions were “often discounted and repressed by western colonial powers.” source

Another article argues, “It is based on the principle that crime affects people, their families and communities (Strang, 2001).” And that RJ has, “an intention to reduce the violence inherent to the State’s apparatus

What reformers are able to do is to distract schools and communities from engaging in the more radical systemic work that RJ was intended to do…and places (again…) our best initiatives, the ones we believe in, into the hands of the reformers and privatizers who are experts at selling us back our ideas as watered down, declawed, defanged versions of their original selves. We’ve taken the equivalent of a revolutionary treatise and reduced it to a Hallmark card.

Notice the deft pivot at where the focus is on: “Making sure that students aren’t punished or jailed for actions stemming directly from their own years as victims of crimes and poor upbringing,” but nothing is said about transforming a violent and oppressive system of racialized policing and punishment. The focus is no longer on transforming the system, it is on children as victims of “poor upbringing” (not sure what that means…) or developing better “character.”

Don’t get me wrong. I believe that schools must have quality infrastructure in place to support children who are surviving trauma, children with behavioral challenges, and create nurturing non-punitive classroom communities. There is a place for classroom conversations, circles, and support for individual learning.

I just do not wish to confuse that with restorative justice, or to have the latter subsumed by the former, a process by which the system would (yet again) cease to be the focus of our collective attention, and we instead turn attention to children as isolated agents of “good choice” or “character.”

It is also being blended with social expectations that seem to have little to do with violence or justice:

One school site says “We aren’t interested in ‘punishment.’ Rather, we want to inculcate the values of empathy, orderliness, and manners in students – lifelong lessons which they will use in future arenas.” This almost sounds like the “good behavior” narratives promulgated by charter schools aiming to “civilize” urban black youth.

Orderliness and manners? There are even some resources for versions of “restorative” practices that focus on Habits of Mind traits like “persistence,” “striving for accuracy,” and “impulsivity control.”

Compare an original/earlier definition of RJ:

“(I)n these communities relationships and victim-offender interaction were personal, and usually led to strong bonds and sometimes even to reduction in deviant behaviour. Most importantly, deviance was seen as a community problem, and a community failure not simply as a matter for the offender to pay or restore.” source

With this more recent (watered down) version:

“Restorative justice is about understanding the role trauma plays on the brain and developing teaching methods that actually are based on the needs of the students.” Note the word “personalized” here which reminds me of “personalized learning” now code for “students staring at a screen” learning. Both seem to be trending.

The difference may seem slight…but it’s significant. The emphasis on “the brain” here gestures toward developing a role for the use of psychometrics for predictive analytics (can we predict who might become deviant or commit anti social behavior?) rather than systemic restoration or healing.

There are already links between the Five Factors personality test (used in predictive analytics and data miners in psy ops) and the Grit narrative. As I have posted in earlier blogs:

There is a growing emphasis on the “affective” learning of students.  Some examples include: “ETS’ SuccessNavigator assessment and ACT’s Engage College Domains and Scales Overview … the broader domains in these models are tied to those areas of the big five personality theory.” Also see Empirical identification of the major facets of Conscientiousness

Paul Thomas notes, “grit narratives are also often masks for race and class biases in the same way IQ was embraced throughout much of the twentieth century.”

Bridging grit and personality to restorative justice is merely one more link the in the passage of selling out progressive narratives (justice, peace or restoration for examples) into data profiteering and social corporate engineering. Education reform history is steeped in using such tactics.

See titles like “Justice and personality: Using integrative theories to derive moderators of justice effects” and “The Importance of Perceptions in Restorative Justice Conferences: The Influence of Offender Personality Traits on Procedural Justice and Shaming” to see where RJ language is being blended with new forms of personality testing.

Even Teach for America is on the Restorative Justice ticket.      #Hashtag irony.

Who else might you ask could be leading this hijacking effort? Maybe Chiefs for Change?  who are passing out information using a finely tuned blurring instrument that seamlessly takes you from thinking your focusing on justice, when the shell game in fact is pulling a bait and switch. Note the article entitled: “The connection between grit, resilience, and equity”

What is their agenda? Read on:

“Wilson points out that leading businesses have found ways to diminish hierarchy, to create flatter organizations, and to reinvent work spaces and climates with the needs of real human beings in mind — and have profited as a result. Schools should learn lessons, he says. And they should invest in helping everyone come to a deeper understanding of behaviors that can quickly be classified as insubordination or disrespect, in ways that decrease conflict and punishment.”

With a nudge from researcher and blogger Alison Mcdowell I also did a search on relationships between RJ and social impact bonds. It appears to have been emerging in the U.K.  back in 2015. The article says: “Work with offenders is already delivered on a payment by results basis by the new community rehabilitation companies (CRCs). If an offender who had gone through restorative justice delivered by an independent provider as well as other CRC-funded activities does not go on to commit a further crime, who gets the credit?”

I guess justice is for sale.


The Interregnum Mile: Chapter Six

Posted: September 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

Chapter Six

“You did what???” Kelley demanded the previous evening, his voice echoing with incredulity.

The three of them stood around the empty darkened parking lot, and told Kelley everything they knew. The lot that ran alongside the Interregnum Mile was abandoned; cracked blacktop with lanky clusters of milkweed poking through. The only sounds were the distant hum of cars crawling up and down the busy streets through the center of town. From here, they could see tiny lights twittering inside the row homes, and hear the occasional honk of a car horn. The air was warm and still. But the night was growing late, and they didn’t have much time to discuss what was to be done.

“We had to confirm our suspicions,” Deacon said, insistently.

Ryder kept his eyes turned down toward his shoes. He felt both proud and fearful about divulging to Kelley the snooping they had done. But, they needed the help. There were only three of them. They were short on time and resources. It was time to ask for help.

Keesha recounted to Kelley the information she had been slowly gathering via her mother’s work computer which was kept at her home office. Every weekend she went to visit Susan, Keesha hacked into her mother’s data base to access the Romer Onyx network. She had to be careful that her snooping could not be traced back to Susan, lest she would lose her job. Or worse, she would be distraught by Keesha’s betrayal of her trust.

“I have copies of some of these contracts. I have copies of the emails,” Keesha told Kelley. “We aren’t making this up. We swear!”

Kelley sat, silent. Stunned. Even as a Black Hatter, he was impressed with the way in which they had pieced this together. “Who taught you to hack like that?” he asked her, with a wry smile buried just slightly beneath mock indignation.

“Well, I started with that old phone our friend Orion hides under his bed. Then, I just kept messin’ around with my mom’s computer every night she went to bed. It’s not hard once you figure out the basics.”

Kelley burst out laughing at this last comment. “Brains … wasted on the youth” he chuckled. “Well, not wasted in your case, I guess” he added, nodding toward Keesha, and then shaking his head at the boys. They didn’t disagree.

“Uncle Kelley,” Ryder jumped in. “Please. We need you. We need the Hatters. We need them to know that the data pods have been a distraction. Romer Onyx has gotten ten steps ahead, outthinking us. Meanwhile, we are still fighting the fight from decades ago, hanging on to the idea that what they wanted then, is what they still want. But it’s not. They want more. Everything I told you is true! And we are chasing the wrong leads, and searching in the wrong places. They have been counting on that. It’s not the data pods they want. The real fight is going on right below our feet. Under our streets. We need help.”

“We are gonna need more than that,” Kelley replied. “We need access.” They all paused in thought. Access meant geographical opportunities to get into RO’s physical buildings as well cyberspace.

Deacon finally chimed in. “Pop’s basement has got a tunnel that runs underneath through the city. When he was making his cellar for keeping things cool, he blasted a wall that opened right up into an old subway tunnel by mistake.”

Interregnum City hadn’t used the underground tunnels for a decade, at least. Instead, the community had repurposed the old trolley cars, and rebuilt the above-ground rail system to enable its citizens  to get around. It was less infrastructure to maintain, and easier to manage. Now, the tunnels lay empty and hollow like sedimentary half-memories.

“Anyone else besides you and Pops know these tunnels are accessible?” Kelley asked.

Deacon thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so at least. My parents barely every go down there. I do most of the heavy carrying up and down from that cellar.” Kelley nodded, satisfied with this answer.

“So, Ryder. You and I are going to drive off to Arizona … as far as your mom is concerned. Deacon, you’re going to get us into those tunnels next week, after everyone’s in bed. You’ll have to tell Pops everything, I suppose.”

They all nodded in agreement.

“Yep,” Deacon said. “But…on some level… he knows something’s going on. He won’t take much convincing. And, I’ll have to get my old car fixed. It’s too far to travel on my bike.”

Keesha looked around at all three of them. “This is all so easy for all of you!” she bemoaned. “I’ve gotta go into the belly of the best!” She scraped the tips of her shoes against the parking lot gravel.

Kelley sighed slowly. Ryder fell silent, trying to stop the worry that was already crowding his mind.

After a long silence between the four of them, Kelley said, “Yes, Keesha, you do.”

Story Summary: 

Ryder, Keesha and Deacon, three lifelong friends, now in their teens have been named the leader-futures for Interregnum City, the first city to decolonize itself from the script of corporate enslavement. The city has gone “off-script.” They, along with their friends and families take the reader into a hopeful landscape of what might yet be possible if, and when, communities embrace the revolutionary power of the collective will, imagination and love. It is fiction of hope; representing any city in America and set in an unknown future time. This is a tale of what could be. Ryder, Deacon and Keesha confront obstacles such as the looming data pods built along the Interregnum Mile, and their secret discovery of the terror that lies waiting for their community if they cannot stop the colonizers secret mission in time. With the help of Ryder’s Uncle Kelley, Deacons grandfather Pops, and Keesha’s mother Susan, these three youth lead their city on a mission for reclamation, resurrection, and resurgence.

Chapter Five

Kelley was on duty with the watchmen late that evening.  He volunteered most nights. The job of protecting the data pods from data thieves took the place of having a family of his own; something he had never shown in interest in pursuing. The data pods, once churring and whirring with around -the -clock action now lay stagnant.

While the system was dead, thanks to Kelley and the others in the original insurgency, the data that had been reaped for decades still remained locked inside. They resembled the enormous first computers he had seen pictures of in history books-the computers which lined walls from ceiling to floor in the rooms of NASA space stations and the Pentagon back in the 1950s and 1960s. The data pods each ran fifty feet in length and thirty feet high, linked together by thin pipe like strands of iron sausage-holding  inside them the latest technology devised by Romer Onyx (R.O.).

R.O., as they were better known, were the first colonizers to invent a way to store data in these Intercept Nodes made of a hybrid alloy that wedded ancient alchemy with 21st century coding techniques. They intercepted all transactions that occurred electronically, which before going off script, was pretty much everything everyone did. The result was genius: Data that could never be destroyed or erased. But it had to kept in an Intercept Node to be preserved. The alchemical recipe transformed it from mere bites of binaries into true “gold.” But the temperature controls required special storage facilities.

Like electrical towers and landfills of centuries before them, these data pods were built just within sight of the lowest socioeconomic neighborhoods, who lacked the legal or financial resources to fight it. Kelley’s community had been the first to have one built. No one knew of the potential health hazards that the alchemical wizards may have overlooked in their formulaic construction. No tests on effects to human development had ever been done. Some theorized it was worse than radiation. Scientists, often on the R.O payroll, made media statements convincing the public of their safety.

Kelley walked up and down the steel catwalks, his boot heels clanking and echoing in the silent evening air. The stars blinked through the clear navy blue sky. He looked down thirty feet below at the rolling hills festered with milkweed, dandelions and metal fragments from old household items. The hills spilled down toward the level fields and walls that lined the outskirts of the neighborhood.  Kelley considered the same dilemma he considered every evening as he walked back and forth across the catwalk while keeping an eye out for intruders.

He thought, “Until the community could find a way to disappear the data their job was to protect it. They couldn’t just simply blow up the data pods. That would potentially be the equivalent of exploding an oil refinery-since no one but the alchemists understood how the data pods even worked, no one could hazard a guess as to what elements might be released into the air, ground or water, if they did.”

But the insurgents had found a way to kill them, in effect. Kelley, then in his late teens had conspired with two of his friends, one a chemical genius (working as double agent from inside R.O.), and the other an expert metals expert in the properties of metals and welding, created a cocktail which they anticipated, if thrown into the right pipeline between the data pods, would create a neutralizing effect on the active agents needed to transmute the data. It took them years of meeting in secrecy to devise a successful cocktail. But finally, they created the perfect combination. Then, it was a matter of waiting and watching for the right moment to insert the cocktail into the alchemical beast. That was the window of opportunity the community needed. While the data pods grew weaker and weaker, infected with this invasive metallurgical kryptonite, the people took back their power. They took it all back.

And Romer Onyx had no forgotten. They would never forget. This community, right here, had started it all; the decolonizing insurgency that swept like wild fire across the nation once the people had finally had enough under the growing weight of corporate ownership. The secret cocktail for destabilizing the data pods was passed long through cryptic messages communicated by tags and art on city walls, passed from one city to the next. Despite their best and brightest, R. O analysts could never crack the secret code.

Alliances with other groups and communities, comprised of multiple social classes, ethnicities, gender identification, and religious affiliations all shared one thing common: Living under the pervasive yoke of corporate control; control of their behavior through social media, control over their choices through consumer product manipulations, control of freedoms through sorting and tracking, pipelines to prison, job, and placement in the economic hierarchy….all handed freely to the colonizers by way of data handed freely decade after decade. The public blindly outing their faith is goods and services promoted for their benefit.

But isn’t that how colonizers operate? They created the illusion that there is a problem (one which they create but transpose onto those they wish to correct), and then they move in (physically, psychologically, economically) into the space they need to grow their own interests, off the backs and minds of those whose space they have overtaken. All in the name of “progress.”

Even the middle class neighborhoods who had experienced mere fractions of controls and abuses at the hands of the elite were starting to catch on and begin the process of decolonizing their own communities; taking advice, and notes of wisdom from lived experience and histories from those in Kelley’s neighborhood. They had had the tools for resistance against tyranny built up for generations. Only now people, all people, were beginning to finally use it. But twenty years later, vigilance was still key.

Sure, the pods were stagnated, at least for now, but no one really knew how long the chemical cocktail Kelley and his friend had created would last. In addition, data thieves were known around the country to hack into segments of the pods and tear out smaller sections of the Intercept Nodes, and hook them up to makeshift computer-machine hybrids that could unlock the alchemical composition and release the original data.

He was pulled back from his thoughts when he heard what sounded like the shuffling of feet below him, coming from behind a small copse of scrub trees. He leaned into the walkie-talkie resting in his shirt pocket, “Hey, Lou. I think I got something. Over.”

He waited. Seconds later a voice, fragmented and crackled, came back, “OK. Go find out. I’ll stay up here. Tell me what you see. Over.”

Kelley checked to feel the two-foot metal pipe hanging from his belt. There were no guns of any kind in the community. They had been eliminated as well when they went off script, discarded alongside their electronic devices which has been the pipelines to the data pods and surveillance. They agreed during the insurgency that guns, too, would have be eliminated from their homes and streets. They had not had a single murder or violent assault in their community since decolonizing celebration day. Disagreements flaired. But the community had developed series of restorative and supportive practices that folded in legal, economic and health related professionals into teams. Teams also included committees of the youth.

Kelley wound down the spiral stairway at the far end of the metal catwalk and softly pressed his feet onto the soft grass, careful not to create any sound. He could see small movements from around the other side of scrub trees that were now only fifteen feet away. As he edged closer, keeping his body close to the walls of the data pods so as to blend in and not reveal his figure in the moonlight, he could hear voices. At least two. Maybe three. Then figures appeared. One of them was wearing a bright yellow shirt.

“Dumb ass,” Kelley noted to himself. “Some way to be invisible while trying to stealing Intercept Nodes.”

Kelley lunged into the scrub trees grabbing wildly for a solid grasp of the yellow shirt. He yanked hard, and pulled a tall thin figure from out of the brush. He locked the person’s head under one of his thick arms, and with his other arm. raised up the metal pipe over the person’s head.

“Don’t move you bastard, or I’ll knock you out!”

A second figure leapt out from behind the trees, waving his hands wildly. “Uncle Kelley! Stop! It’s me. Ryder!”

Deacon’s body went limp under the restraint of Kelley’s forearm. Kelley released his grip and Deacon crumpled to the earth. He moaned, and then coughed.

“What the hell, Ryder!” Kelley demanded. “Hold on.” He reached for the walkie-talkie. “Lou. Come in. Lou, you hear me?”

“Yeah. I hear you. What’s out there, Kelley? Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Kelley sighed. Ryder could vaguely make out the frown of his displeasure through the darkness. “It’s my dumb-ass nephew. And his buddies. I’ll be back up in a sec. Over.”

Lou replied, “OK. Gotcha. You tell that Deacon, if he’s there, that he and I are gonna have a few words tomorrow morning. Over.”

Kelley peered at the patch of scrub trees. “You too, Keesha. Get your ass out here. I know you’re there.”

Keesha slowly slunk out from the darkness.

“I can explain!” Ryder began.

“I’ll bet you can,” Kelley said, laughing. “Can’t wait to hear you explain it to your mom!”

Ryder groaned. “Come on!” he pleaded. “She doesn’t have to know!” Ryder’s mother was not known for an easy or flexible nature when it came to child rearing.

“Humph. I see. Well, I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me the truth about what you all are doing out here. And maybe, just maybe, she won’t have to know.”

So they told him everything.

Chapter Four

Was going off script the right thing for our community? What is the future of decolonized zones?

Those were the questions scribbled in faded green marker on the white board in front of the basement-level reading room in the public library. Ryder sighed. He recognized the familiar handwriting, and understood from it that Jacob would be leading the group again. This was his favorite debate topic.

The weekly debate sessions gave the young members of the community a chance to develop their critical thinking and research skills. Each subset of neighborhood, or city blocs, had debate groups. Skills they were told, and understood, were the key to fending off colonizers and hijackers. Their weekly policy debate training developed knowledge of structural social, political and economic issues. Colonizers were the slick moneyed corporations who historically had come in looking like lambs and then tore the communities apart like lions. These colonizers, like all those that came before them, came as “saviors,” promising to “fix” what they deemed wrong with the people. Then, after destroying the communities, they swooped back in with the so-called solutions…at a price.

Hijackers worked differently. They moved in disguise. They gained the trust of the community and then redirected the efforts for change away from anything radical that would upset the system, and sell the movement out in the name of “cooperation” or “compromise.” Hijackers knew the best way to defeat revolutionary action was to invite their adversary into the big tent and make them feel like they belonged. In such a way could you assuage the anger of the people, while maintaining power and control.

Being armed with their own facts and their skills at arguing and maintaining their decision to become, and remain, an “off script” community was a vital facet to their survival.

“We have to be prepared to answer those questions!” Ryder overheard Jacob saying to a group of teens at the far corner of the room.

Ryder smiled a little. Uncle Kelley would agree with Jacob. “If we cannot defend our decisions against all critical questions, then we cannot anticipate our weaknesses nor own where we need to improve ourselves,” his uncle repeated over and over like a mantra.

Suddenly Keesha appeared at his left side. “Hey,” she murmured causally. He looked at the clock. 10:00 a.m. Where was Deacon?

“Hey,” replied Ryder.

Together they located Deacon, now pushing his way through a small cluster of people by the snack and beverage table. He grabbed a fist full of crackers out of the large yellow bowl and met the gaze of his two friends. Ryder gestured with a nod of his head for Deacon to “hurry over.”

“Did you hear that noise this morning? Did you feel it?” Deacon asked as he got closer.

“Hush!” Keesha admonished, looking around furtively.

“Like anybody’s paying attention to us, Keesh,” Deacon retorted, his mouth full of crackers.

“Yeah. We heard it. And I felt it,” Ryder added. His feet had quivered as if a rug were being pulled quickly back and forth beneath him.

“Everyone’s been saying it was just a bunch of drones that crashed. Or building demolition from the town of Westborough. They’ve been doin’ a lot of reconstruction. Seems to be an explanation that is satisfying most folks.”

“No.” Keesha said, keeping her face expressionless and her voice low. “It’s them. I know it.”

How do you know?” Deacon’s voice was edged with skepticism.

“I just feel it.” She was always so sure of herself. “We have to get to Westborough. I know that’s where they’re at!”

Ryder opened his mouth to add his thoughts, but he was cut off.

“Hey, everyone!” Jacob called. “Let’s get started.”

Ryder estimated about fifty kids present today most on them around his age. Attendance wasn’t required. Attendance wasn’t a requirement for anything, usually. When something is of necessity, calling it required is merely redundant. In Ryder’s world, in the “off script” community, things were required for their well-being. Choosing not to participate had its own natural consequences, like not having enough to eat, or not being able to move up into the job of one’s choice, or not caring for one’s own home, family or street. Motivation to participate became internalized. Necessity was its own requirement. Being a part of the larger course of the family, community, and future generations created a sense of desire, of pride, of belonging. What Ryder and the others were doing mattered.

Jacob announced, “Today we will hear from Sam and Marcie. They have each prepared an argument to reflect one side of the issue. As usual, they will take turns making a statement. Their point-counter point statements will continue for five minutes. This will be followed by a summary analysis given by someone whose name will be pulled from the jar. So all y’all need to listen and be prepared to respond!” There was a light wave of laughter.

Sam, dressed in a bright yellow over-sized T shirt and brown slacks strutted to the front of the room. There were hoot and hollers from the audience. Marci, much taller in height than her adversary, cheered, “Oh, I got this!” and waved her arms in the air as she moved toward the podium. Her waist length braids swung from side to side as she moved. The girls clapped.

Jacob shouted over the clamor so as to quiet the room, “OK. Marci. Sam. You have five minutes. No outburst are permitted by the audience. If you disrupt the debate you will be asked to leave. The question for today is:  ‘Was becoming a decolonized zone and going off script the right thing for our community?’” He looked down at a stop watch, clicked it with his thumb, and shouted, “Go!”

Marci leapt like a horse out of the starting gate: “Well, it wasn’t a choice.”

Sam replied “Yes it was. There’s always a choice.”

Marci said, “After realizing the full magnitude of abandonment by the larger socioeconomic order, well they never really were here to begin with…other than to shuffle us from school to prison, we could have chosen to languish that way. Some communities still do.”

“We lost money from the billionaire class. We lost access to that world. They wanted to train us and bring us into the fold,” replied Sam.

Marci’s voice was rising. “But the ones who left us to go into that world never came back. Or they came back –changed-doing the bidding of the master. Instead, we have learned to form real alliances, all over this country with other cities, with other groups, doing what we are doing. Neighborhoods like King-Lincoln, back in the day, showed us we can create something for ourselves. But we cannot remain isolated either. These are intersections of need and respect.”

Keesha thought of her mother and then pushed the thought aside quickly. She leaned in to Deacon and Ryder. “We need to talk!”

“Shhhh!!” said the boy beside her. Deacon and Ryder glared at the boy but complied.

“Later,” Ryder whispered. “Tonight. At the tower.” Deacon and Keesha nodded.

Sam demanded in a low but firm voice, “How can we really have any true power while existing outside the system? How long can we remain apart? King-Lincoln was ripped apart by outside forces. So what makes us different?”

Marci responded, “This is a different time. When the corporate class became the master class they sold out white folk too. And we were able to create a new alliance because the colonized class just expanded. So we are not apart. People are coming to our side!”

Sam said, “But can our movement really go to scale? Can we really expect the whole world to change? We are up against data pods. We are up against Colonizers and Hijackers who will never…never stop. We need to think about our long term survival.”

Marci shouted, “Exactly! This is how we survive. Others are waking up. It’s been gradual for decades. We must continue to build our off-script alliances. But what was partial independence for generations finally was now in our community realized as full independence. We had the knowledge at our disposal the whole time. Starting with the abolition movement, and the Black Panther party, the Surrealists, and Black Lives Matter to name just a few. Malcolm X once said, ‘I just don’t believe that when people are being unjustly oppressed that they should let someone else set rules for them by which they can come out from under that oppression’.”

Sam looked intently down at his notes. He said, “But we cannot pretend the rules aren’t there. We should be finding ways to go out there, and work with the rules as they are, and then change them. Why can’t we work with the corporate colonizers and get a seat at the table for ourselves?”

Keesha thought of her mother. She worried, Was she right?

Marci would not be deterred. “Because,” she replied, “Nowhere in history can we find a moment where that has worked for people like us…. People of color, and folks of all races with little or no money or privilege, and anyone whose identity doesn’t fit into the “script” written for society. Show me where anything was handed to us that we didn’t demand and fight for.”

The audience cheered. “Quiet!” demanded Jacob.

Marci continued. “We finally realize now in the 21st century version of colonization that history reveals how the colonizers only ever give us what they wanted to give us, under the illusion that we are now their equals, the illusion that we can have a piece of their pie. Meanwhile they kept finding new ways to stack the deck, rearrange the rules, and put us right back at square one. We had to cease being dependent on them for any of our success.”

Sam was showing signs of frustration his voice raised a pitch and his brows furrowed. “Yeah but there has to be some compromise. We cannot isolate ourselves from a bigger movement. The outside world sees us as ‘extremists’ and don’t take us seriously. In addition, with what resources are we going to make it without them?”

Marci didn’t skip a beat, as if she anticipated he would make this point. She said, “Re-organizing the resources took some doin’. But with a collective will and wisdom that focused on us, on ourselves taking care of each other is the only means of survival. We created our own cooperative business with our own capitol. We developed our own schools, educating our children by our own community volunteers, and using a curriculum that met our needs. We created our own medical centers and community clean-up crews, and assistance for the elders.” As if to really drive the point home she added, “We need to create routes to connect with others doing the same.”

The crowd burst into more hoots and hollers.

“They will run interference,” Sam countered. “So why don’t instead think of how we can work out there in the corporate world with them and make changes from within?”

Marci continued, “Either we go to scale for full independence, or we would have been quietly annihilated. And blamed for our own demise. Come on, people, don’t you all wonder what that noise was this morning? Ya’ll think that’s some coincidence?” Everyone in the crowd settled into an uncomfortable stillness. “They’re up to something! The watchmen have to keep….” She was cut off before completed the sentence.

Jacob called out, “Time!!!!” and held up the stop watch. Applause rang out causing the walls to vibrate.