For to err in opinion, though it be not the part of wise men, is at least human. – Plutarch (46-120 C.E.)

I presume you’re mortal, and may err. – James Shirley (1596-1666)

To err is human, to forgive divine. – Alexander Pope (1688-1744)

Then gently scan your brother man,/ Still gentler sister woman;/  Though they may gang a kennin’ wrang. To step aside is human. - Robert Burns, Address to the Unco Guid [1787]

“Address to the Unco Guid’ makes the point that it is this natural sympathy and compassion that is important in society: not self-righteous condemnation.” - Juliet Linden Bicket

I remembered Alexander Pope’s words this week as I watched events unfold in the BC provincial election.  When I checked my copy of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations to verify them, the footnotes led me to other quotes on the same theme and to Google for the full text of the Burns poem where I found the comment by Bicket. 

And despite these wise words, which span approximately 2,000 years of human history, it would seem that in our time the motto has become “to err is human and to forgive is impossible”. 

Or maybe even more to the point, “to err is human and let’s make sure everyone’s mistakes are never forgotten”.  

And given our rush to judge others on this principle, it seems to me that the greatest disincentive to running for public office has become the process of getting elected.

While this trend has been emerging over time, it seems to have bloomed with noxious fervour in this election.

We’re all on the lookout for “bozo eruptions”.  That’s the term applied to the actions of candidates who slip up in real time, but everything has become fair game: whether a word that’s said today or over 20 years ago, whether a misstep now or one from long ago.

And I have to ask what added value, if any, is there in this “new” way of doing politics.  Does it benefit voters? Does it allow society to progress?  Does it ensure the health and vitality of our democratic institutions?

Why?

Because we have made perfection a condition of holding office and yet no one is perfect.  It’s not human.

Because we have lost perspective. If anything from any point in our lives can be construed as a liability, then we lose the ability to distinguish between misdemeanors and serious crimes.

Because we have forgotten that living involves choices and that we sometimes make bad choices, particularly when we’re young.  But we learn and those mistakes do not necessarily or automatically make us incapable, incompetent, or untrustworthy for life.

Because setting up impossible standards for conduct and behaviour lead to unreasonable controls being implemented to maintain power once it’s been secured.

And that’s why we have a parliament full of men and women commonly derided as trained seals.

We have parliaments and legislatures which we denigrate and political representatives whom we disrespect. We have governments, political parties, and candidates who are more focused on slander and defamation, on digging up the dirt, than they are on policy and good governance.

And that’s an unforgivable mistake.

Jian described how concerned he’d felt about his ability to connect with Mr. Ebert in the studio given the latter’s health challenges. “I needn’t have,” he said.

His words this morning paid tribute to the man, but they also served as a testament to the power of connection.  

Listening to Jian made me reflect on my own feelings now that the spring term at SFU is drawing to a close. I’m not completely disentangled from my teaching obligations yet: I’m expecting final essays from my students next week.

But there are no further lectures for the course and no remaining tutorials.  And that makes me wistful.

Why?

Because the end of the term represents a loss. The connections I’ve forged with my students after thirteen weeks of working together are now tenuous if not severed. I may have gained back time for my own work and my other commitments, but I am no longer a part of these particular journeys, the unfolding lives of these particular individuals. 

Since my first stint as a TA, I’ve connected with approximately 120 students. 120 students from a variety of faculties and departments, given the way course requirements are structured at SFU, and 120 students who represent the gamut of undergraduate experience.

Aside from the occasional encounter on campus, I don’t know where they are now or what they are doing or how they are faring.

When I walk around the Burnaby campus now, a movie reel of sorts plays out in my mind: momentary flashes of memories, frames filled with faces, snippets of conversations, disappointments, and noted accomplishments.  

The characters of my movies are students: those with strong opinions, those with a sense of humour, those who struggled, those who exceeded their own expectations, and those who were observers yet offered so much when they found the courage to voice their opinions.

The plot revolves around classic texts of Western civilization and delving for insights into the human condition, then and now.  Work on writing, developing critical thinking skills, and trying my best to impart the importance of questioning.

A few students have reconnected via LinkedIn and others lurk on Twitter, but these electronic tentacles, in my mind, pale in comparison to the strength of the collective experience of an in-person weekly seminar or a personal visit during office hours. 

My experience at SFU has strengthened my belief that the most critical factor in teaching and learning is the personal aspect.  Technology may carry us forward into a brave new world where the nature of human interaction is fundamentally altered forever, and learning is transformed into something which I am not yet able to imagine, but for now it remains as it always has been.

The value of educational experiences rests predominantly, as it does for radio interviews, on human connections.

Amongst the list of terms is one used to describe the model in which Boards of Education and the provincial government function: co-governance.

But what does co-governance mean?

I decided to look it up and started with the word governance.  Here’s what I found:

 governance:  

1. government; exercise of authority; control.
2. a method or system of government or management.

And “co-”? It’s apparently a variation of “com-” which is defined as follows:

a prefix meaning “with,” together,” “in association,” and (with intensive force) “completely,” occurring in loan words from Latin (commit): used in the formation of compound words…

Putting the two together, I can say co-governance is a shared exercise of authority, control exerted in association with one another, or a partnership system of government or management.

Defining the term is easy, but applying it to BC’s public education system, as currently structured and operating, may be a misnomer.

Why?

Because the inherent nature of the relationship is one of imbalance.  Public education is financed by public revenues which are allocated by the province. 

And if one party in a relationship is the ultimate arbiter of funds, then it may be a challenge to ensure that other critical issues are addressed on the basis of a co-governance model. In the past few weeks alone, we’ve seen the release of a 10-year framework for bargaining as well as the debut of a new website, mostly with little or no direct consultation with Trustees.

I’ll admit it’s not easy when one has a firm grasp of the purse strings to share control, but the current structure is paternalistic and does not lend itself easily to a co-governance model.

And while my call for a Royal Commission on Education is likely to continue falling on deaf ears, here are two things I’d like to see.

First, I would like all eligible voters in BC to vote in the May 14 provincial election no matter what their political persuasion.

Second, I would like the new government, whether Liberal, NDP, Green, Conservative, or other to convene a meeting with Board of Education Trustees.  Maybe two from each district. That’s a group of 120 people. 

And talk. 

Have a real discussion. 

A substantive discussion.  

One where Trustees do most of the speaking and elected officials and Ministry representatives do the listening.  

And then do the same with each significant group in the education sector.

Compile the results of these discussions, distribute the report, and then put everyone in a room together to see if we can work together to ensure that our children will continue to benefit from a vibrant and thriving public education system.  

One that is not characterized, if I may borrow from the philosopher Hannah Arendt, by questions of “what are we fighting against”, but “what are we fighting for?”.

And let’s see, if through dialogue, we can put the “co-” back into “co-governance”.

I heard this sentiment expressed more than once this past week. And to a certain extent it’s true. It’s a day when we offer camouflage to those who don’t realize they are the bullies we’re talking about.

Even so, the day does shine a light on the topic.  It inspires people to share their own experiences as Shane Koyczan has done this year with his spoken word poem (link below). 

As my friend Bob has done on his blog.

And as I want to do here because sharing our stories helps to build awareness.

I won’t address overt bullying such as when the boys in high school taunted me with choruses of “areema, areema, areema” from the back of the class or a girl slapped me or another taunted me about the strap on my training bra.

I want to talk about the peculiarly female form of bullying which isn’t dealt with by initiatives such as pink-shirt day.

Why?

Because the majority of female bullying is insidious.

Women tend to organize in circles.* Girls refused entry into the circle or who have been dismissed from it are the ones, I would argue, who are often subject to bullying because they are isolated and excluded.

I was a new kid in Grade 8, my family having just moved to West Vancouver.  Fortunately a strong friendship helped me survive the transition, but the friendship dissolved the following year and it was difficult to replace.

My memory of Grade 9 is one of tears: tears shed because I was always on the edge of the group.  Sitting in the hall at lunch, for example, listening while the other girls made plans for the weekend and not being invited to participate.

Tears shed because I was alone.

In my second year at UBC, I joined a sorority. In hindsight, it may not have been the best fit for me.  If being on the outside of the circle in high school is difficult, falling out of favour in a group of 40 or so is excruciating.

I remember carpooling with two of my sorority “sisters” although as I reflect on it today, I realize I must have done all the driving because I was the one with the car.  On the way home one afternoon, we hatched a plan to get together later to watch a movie.  I dropped them off and went home to get ready, sitting by the phone waiting for the call (yes, that’s how it was done in those days!).  The call did come, but to cancel.  Secrets are very hard to keep though and I found out later that the get-together had gone ahead as planned, but without me. 

Trying to understand, I asked.  The explanation? “Reema, when you ask someone how they are, you really mean it.” In other words, being with me was work. My interaction with others was based on more than a flippant line or light-hearted gossip or trivial talk. 

I still am work and when I ask someone how they are, I still really mean it.  My interest is in the whole person and their truth, not simply the mask presented to the world.  I am a little too earnest to fit in easily and that has often put me, continues to put me, outside the circle.

But with the passage of time and the wisdom of experience, comes strength and acceptance, and a circle of true friends including that friend from Grade 8 whose friendship was reclaimed and a few from those sorority days.

It does get better, but it is never forgotten and it is not always easier.

Bullying requires constant and persistent vigilance, and that’s why it’ll never be eradicated simply by wearing pink one day a year.

*From the work of Deborah Tannen which I was introduced to in a writing workshop many years ago.

Three videos which touch the heart and mend the soul:

To This Day – Shane Koyczan

“It Gets Better” (Broadway sings for the Trevor Project)

It Gets Better – Royal Canadian Mounted Police (BC)

An informative interview on the topic of bullying:

Author Emily Bazelon on CBC’s Day 6

Going back to school, part-time, was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.  In addition to reentering the world of study and immersing myself again in the humanities, my status as a Masters student allowed me to apply for Teaching Assistant (TA) positions at SFU.  I’ve been fortunate to serve as a TA in the Department of Humanities for four terms.

I love being a TA.  I love attending lectures and brushing up on familiar subjects and topics or delving into new ones.  I love the dialogue with students in tutorial — especially on those days when they decide to leap into the discussion — and I love the challenge of trying to figure out how to engage them in texts so that they see how a work that’s centuries old does have relevance to their world today.

And I love playing a role, however small, in helping them develop their writing skills. However, I’m frustrated by the general level of writing I’ve encountered in these courses especially since the participants represent the gamut of undergrad experience, from level one to level five or higher.

It’s more than a question of writing. Although we live in an age of literacy, it seems to me to be a question of reading.

Why?

Because in a world where information is literally at our fingertips, students do not take the time to search out a reference in a literary work or to look up a word. 

A simple check in a dictionary app or online could make all the difference in the interpretation of a passage from a primary document or a novel or a philosophical treatise.  

A simple Google search can tell you more than you’d ever need to know about a name or time which adds layers of meaning to assessing an author’s intent or understanding a character.

And I find that I can pick out the words which students will most likely not have understood or not have taken the time to investigate, with eerie accuracy, even if they are what I would consider simple words for someone studying at the post-secondary level.

The latest such word was “pious”.  

The professor I’m working with this term used the word during his lecture. He was talking about characters or figures who, albeit pious, face serious consequences in their lives.  That is, the tragedies with which they contend are not a reflection of their personal morality, but are often a reflection of their time and the socio-cultural values of their societies.  That’s a much more sophisticated analysis than saying they were “bad” or “unlucky”.

What’s in a word?  

The world is in a word.

A world of meaning is embedded in a word, a world of interpretation, a world of understanding.

Words by the Bee Gees (1968)

You think that I don’t even mean

A single word I say

It’s only words and words are all I have

To take your heart away

Later that day I received an email from my friend: she’d ordered a copy of the movie for me. She didn’t realize it at the time, but the copy she’d tracked down was reasonably priced because it was a VHS tape.  Not a problem: I have a working VCR at home.

I first saw Truly, Madly, Deeply when I lived in Toronto (1986-1992). There were any number of cinemas within walking distance of where I lived and a quick subway ride could get me to movie theatres on St. Clair or further north along the Yonge Street corridor.  

I went to the movies often during this time and often alone.

Why?

Because when you live on your own, you learn to take yourself out.  You can’t always count on having someone there to go with you, whether to a movie or for dinner or to special events. It’s tough to do, especially as a woman, but it’s key to surviving the isolation and loneliness of city life.

I remember enjoying many new releases in Toronto including Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.  I was much older than the target demographic but was enticed by the reviews which described Belle as a new-style Disney heroine. She reads!

I saw Thelma and Louise in Toronto although I’m not sure the stranger who sat beside me understood the film given how his hand drifted over during the screening to fondle my thigh.

There were also movies I enjoyed with friends or with visiting family members. Dirty Dancing, Dances with Wolves, Terminator 2 (at the time, the most expensive movie ever made).  I also remember going to see Silence of the Lambs (it made me nauseous) and The Princess Bride which had me laughing as much as I’d ever laughed.

Those memories may not be as vivid as they once were, but the stories, the images, the feelings, the impact of that time and those movies have stayed with me.

So as I anticipate the click of the VHS tape in the machine and the whirl of the spools as the tape begins to play, I’m also a little nervous.  Will the movie live up to my remembrance of it?  Will it move me in the same way as before?  Will I go through piles of tissues the way I did when I first saw it?

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.  I’ll enjoy the film, but the memory I’ll latch on to is that of a friend who went out of her way to help me recapture the magic of a darkened theatre and a brilliantly acted story of love, grief, healing, and life.

Thank you A.E.!

An excerpt from La Muerta (The Dead Woman), a poem by Pablo Neruda, which is recited in Truly, Madly, Deeply

No, forgive me.

If you no longer live,

if you, beloved, my love,

if you have died,

all the leaves will fall in my breast,

it will rain on my soul night and day,

the snow will burn my heart,

I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow,

my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but

I shall stay alive …

I’d log on to Twitter.com and scroll through the streams, fascinated.  

I started to tweet in support of my campaign during the 2011 civic election and now it’s part of my daily routine.

With Twitter, I keep an eye on my community.  I get news from around the world. I read analyses of issues and events from different perspectives. I interact with well-known figures and people in faraway places, opportunities I may never have had otherwise.

Twitter is also ugly at times, “nasty, brutish, and short” in the words of Thomas Hobbes.  And while it is liberating to talk to so many so easily, Twitter is also constraining.

Why?

My Twitter account is a mirror of who I am as a whole person, but that whole person includes being a public figure. I have to be aware that although I am speaking personally, some may mistakenly take my views as those of the West Vancouver Board of Education.  I have to be aware that while I distinguish between the different hats I wear in life and the various roles I play, others may not.

Which brings me to the Foundation Skills Assessment (FSAs), a test administered to Grade 4 and Grade 7 students throughout British Columbia.  

Twitter streams were on fire about the FSAs recently, but I kept mum. I felt that whatever I said in 140 characters could be mischaracterized.

Here’s some of what I wanted to say.  

As a parent, I had no objection to my child writing the FSA.  As a Trustee, I see value in the data collected because it can be used to align resources with demonstrated need.

Here’s the problem: what we want the FSA to do and what is done with the FSA results have diverged.

FSA data, in addition to use by the provincial government and by school districts, is used by a third-party organization to rank schools.  

The Fraser Institute rankings are myopic: they claim to present an overall picture of a school, but the rankings seem to be unduly weighted on one factor, FSA scores. 

Rather than the FSA, why not invest in developing literacy screeners for key grades, the results of which would be privately held and exclusively used by the school, the district, and the student’s family? I’m thinking of something like the early literacy screening used for kindergarten students in West Vancouver. 

And while I acknowledge that provincial measures are needed for accountability purposes, perhaps a better method of tracking student performance could be determined through a consultative process with key partner groups.

Perhaps by separating the two requirements — diagnostic and reporting — and by creating mechanisms for each, we would be spared the yearly rankling spectacle of school rankings.  

At our January public board meeting, Sandra-Lynn Shortall, District Principal – Early Learning, paraphrased a conversation she’d had with Dr. Stuart Shanker.  “Early intervention,” she said, “is not the answer to helping students address their needs, rather it’s continuous intervention and connectedness.”

Just as Twitter is not always the best mode of communication, the FSA may not be the best mechanism to match vulnerable or struggling students with the continuing supports they need to succeed in our public education system.

I think we can do better.

The Agreement in Committee, a framework for bargaining which was fashioned in a collaborative effort between BCPSEA* and the BCTF**, was ratified this weekend at two separate meetings: the BCPSEA Annual General Meeting and the BCTF Representative Assembly.

This is a bold step for these two organizations. It sets the stage for positive dialogue before the start of labour negotiations.  That doesn’t necessarily mean the discussions will be easier or decisions arrived at without difficulty; it does mean that the parties have opened a door to a respectful process, respectful interaction, and — I hope — results.

Yet this step forward may have been jeopardized given the startling turn of events on Thursday, January 24, 2013.

Why?

On Thursday, the provincial government released a document entitled “A Framework For Long Term Stability In Education” (http://ow.ly/h4sZ4) which came as a surprise to many of us who have a role to play in the public education system in British Columbia.

Although stakeholder submissions had been made by key partner groups on the issue of bargaining before the December holidays, this framework was much broader and incorporated many more issues than I believe were contemplated in those submissions.

While the goal of “stability” in education is admirable, and the narrative that has been designed to sell this new initiative may sound awfully good, scratch beneath the surface and many troubling issues emerge.

For example, why 10 years?  Where is the business case for introducing a level of inflexibility which may take away from the employers’ ability to respond to changing circumstances and uncertain economic conditions? Given rapid changes in technology and the reassessment of education, which seems to be in progress in many parts of the world, proposing such a lengthy time span seems like building your foundation on shifting sands.

Premier Clark and Don McRae, the Minister of Education, have both spoken about the plan and the media, including the full array of social media, have played and replayed, digested and parsed their comments.  

I also had the opportunity of hearing Minister McRae speak in-person at the BCPSEA AGM today.  

He said, again, that this framework was just the beginning, but I see it as stalling momentum rather than encouraging it.

Rather than asking what the best way to fund the public education system may be, we are now debating the merits of establishing yet another separate fund to deal with specific aspects of program delivery and service provision.

Rather than asking what the best way to set educational policy may be, we are now debating who should sit at the table of the proposed educational council.

Rather than asking how to ensure the best working relationship between the parties who negotiate, we are now trying to guess why the government seems intent on stripping BCPSEA of its core mandate which is to bargain on behalf of the 60 school boards in the province.

This government-proposed framework, says Minister McRae, is a conversation starter.  

I see it, unlike the now-ratified Agreement in Committee, as a conversation ender.

*British Columbia Public Schools Employers’ Association (http://www.bcpsea.bc.ca)

**British Columbia Teachers Federation (http://www.bctf.ca)

One formula that has stuck with me is d = rt or distance (d) equals the rate of travel (r) multiplied by time (t).  And while familiarity with the relationship between these three factors comes in handy for planning, lately I’ve been thinking about the formula’s applicability in a different way.

Why?

Because I think the distance we travel daily contributes to the feeling we have that life is hurtling by us at breakneck speeds. 

On days when I teach, for example, the 25 kilometre journey to SFU’s Burnaby campus takes me about thirty minutes each way if traffic is flowing smoothly.  That’s nothing compared to those who may commute in to Vancouver from the Fraser Valley or drive down each day from Squamish or ferry over from the Sunshine Coast.

Compare that to the daily distance my Grandmothers would have travelled as young women, my paternal Grandmother in rural Lebanon and my maternal Grandmother in rural Jamaica. Until they married, their circle of travel likely extended no further than 10 kilometres, by foot, over the course of a day.

We have extended the distances we travel dramatically and not just for essentials.  How many consider a drive to the Bellis Fair Mall, a three-hour roundtrip from the Lower Mainland depending on border waits, a simple excursion?  Or consider how cavalier we have become about booking vacations requiring hours if not days of travel?

So if the distances we traverse have become more extensive, and if you accept that our time is fixed (not just in the sense of 24 hours a day, but in the finite sense of our mortality), it  would seem that the factor which has changed the most with regard to our day-to-day is r, the rate.

And that may help explain why it feels like we are living at a faster and faster rate, one which increases with each passing year.

Is it any surprise then, as we’re preparing to celebrate the arrival of the new year, that many of us wonder what happened to the old one?  How is it that we are celebrating graduations when it seems like just yesterday we were celebrating the births of the children in our families?

And nothing drives home the finite nature of time as much as the loss of those around us, whether people we’ve known and loved, young and old, or strangers from far away whose images fill the news.

That’s why it’s vital to recognize, sooner rather than later, in our instantaneous 140-character world, that we do not have another now. 

And unless we take control of the speed of our life, it will pass by in a blur.

 As a public education community, we’re very lucky in West Vancouver. We have a great administrative team, we have inspiring leadership from our Superintendent, we have incredible staff, we have a caring Board, and we have a cadre of educators who are diligent, dedicated, and determined to deliver the highest quality teaching and learning.

We’re also favoured in that our community highly values education and families here generally have the means to ensure the best for their children.  And yet, even with all these advantages, I see any number of troubling issues which appear to characterize the public education system in British Columbia.

And so, when I’m asked about my experience as a Trustee, my inclination is to say that the system is more complex and complicated than I realized despite having been an active parent-volunteer for five years before choosing to run for office.

Why?

In part, I think, because there are many different interpretations of the generally agreed upon underlying principle which I see as “the best interest of the child”.  

Is the core purpose of education the success of the individual child or is it the betterment of society?  Do parents know what’s best for their child or do teachers?  Is an educator an autonomous professional or an expert member of a team?  

I’m sure any one of us could generate an endless list of questions on the big picture of education, but then there are the practicalities.  How is the provincial government able to show that funding per pupil is at an all time high while school districts have to nip, tuck, or cut programs and services in order to balance budgets? Given that 80% of a school district’s budget is consumed by salaries and benefits, how can innovative projects be implemented when resources are so constrained? How can infrastructure be maintained and new capital projects be contemplated with no additional funding?  

Despite the seemingly intractable challenges, there’s no doubt in my mind that we have to do everything we can to foster dialogue on this issue. That education needs to be made the highest priority in this province, that we have to find a way to work collaboratively to make our strong system better.

The reason is simple. Education is the path to a more just and more equitable world.

And while it may be difficult to hold on to this truth given the evidence of the harm humans continue to do to the earth and to each other, it is why I remain committed to doing the best I can, for public education, in the remaining two years of my term.