What Do You Teach the Kids, Nones?

March 18, 2015
 From Reli­gion in the News, an inter­est­ing study on what “spir­i­tu­al but not reli­gious” par­ents (the “nones”) are look­ing for:
Many of [the nones] are nonethe­less reluc­tant to impose their skep­ti­cism on their chil­dren, and will often out­source reli­gious edu­ca­tion by send­ing their chil­dren to a Protes­tant Sun­day school or Catholic CCD or Jew­ish Hebrew School. But while, like oth­er Amer­i­cans, Nones “agree that every­body should be able to choose,” Man­ning said, “Nones won’t allow chil­dren to choose just anything.”
What I find inter­est­ing is par­ents’ will­ing­ness to out­source reli­gious edu­ca­tion to local insti­tu­tions that have stronger beliefs that they them­selves do — as long as the school pro­gram is rel­a­tive­ly non-judgemental.
This actu­al­ly rings true for me per­son­al­ly. Although I’m Quak­er and my wife Catholic, the most reg­u­lar outside-the-home reli­gious ed my kids get is from the Pres­by­ter­ian Sun­day School in our town. We’ve picked it because it’s hyper-local, the teach­ers are nice and down to earth, and — well, they only focus on cross-denominational Bible sto­ries and crafts.
In the Philadel­phia area, Quak­er schools are known as the go-to place for par­ents that want (and can afford) a pro­gres­sive, eth­i­cal edu­ca­tion that has a spir­i­tu­al com­po­nent but isn’t reli­gious. If “nones” are look­ing for safe reli­gious edu­ca­tion on Sun­day morn­ing, it seems like it would be the­o­ret­i­cal­ly pos­si­ble to extend that known “Quak­er school” brand and rep­u­ta­tion over to our First-day schools. It would be a treme­nous out­reach tool.
Alas, this is just idle spec­u­la­tion. I don’t see many local meet­ings that are able (will­ing?) to take on a big project like this. Some meet­ings would get con­sumed over inter­nal dis­agree­ments on what to even teach. And then, well, I won­der if we have a deep enough bench of expe­ri­ence. A few years ago Philadel­phia Year­ly Meeting’s ses­sions over­lapped with the Vaca­tion Bible School at my local Pres­by­ter­ian church. This is one small church in one small town and yet their VBS atten­dance was not that much less than the elementary/middle-school youth pro­gram at PhYM ses­sions. It was sober­ing to real­ize just how small we Friends some­times are.

Taxes then and now

March 13, 2015

WW I pie chart.indd

Every year as April’s tax dead­lines comes near, the War Resisters League pro­duces a pie chart show­ing mil­i­tary spend­ing as a per­cent­age of the fed­er­al bud­get. This year Ed Hede­mann went back in time to see what the chart would have looked like dur­ing World War I:

A strik­ing dif­fer­ence between this fic­tion­al WW I era pie chart and today’s ver­sion is how much sim­pler the fed­er­al bud­get was back then. Not only was it a lot small­er – vast­ly small­er – there were many few­er cat­e­gories. A hun­dred years ago, the bud­get was most­ly mil­i­tary (75% of the bud­get) – even before entry into WW I – a large part of which was to pay off expens­es incurred dur­ing the Civ­il War from 50 years ear­li­er and the recently-ended Spanish-American War. The non­mil­i­tary por­tions were labeled “Indi­ans,” “Postal Defi­cien­cies,” and “Civ­il and Miscellaneous.” 

H/t The Pick­ett Line

Remembering Juanita Nelson

March 10, 2015

juanita04One of the coolest activists of her (or any) gen­er­a­tion is gone. Juani­ta Nel­son’s obit­u­ary is up on the nation­al war tax coali­tion’s site. My favorite Juani­ta sto­ry was when some agents came to arrest her at home and found her dressed only in a bathrobe. They told her it was okay to go into her bed­room to change but she refused. She told them that any shame was theirs. She forced them to car­ry her out as her clothes fell off. Talk about rad­i­cal non-cooperation!

Update

Pam McAl­lis­ter point­ed out on her Glob­al Non­vi­o­lence: Sto­ries of Cre­ative Action Face­book page that this sto­ry is online. Here’s a bit more of Juani­ta her­self telling that bit:

Sev­en law enforce­ment offi­cers had stalked in. I sat on the stool beneath the tele­phone, my back lit­er­al­ly to the wall, the sev­en hem­ming me about in a semi­cir­cle. All of them appeared over six feet tall, and all of them were annoyed.

“Look,” said one, “you’re gonna go any­way. You might as well come peaceful.”

There they stood, ready and able to take me at any moment. But no move was made. The rea­son was obvious.

“Why don’t you put your clothes on, Mrs. Nel­son?” This was a soft spo­ken plea from the more benign deputy. “You’re not hurt­ing any­body but your­self.” His pained expres­sion belied the assertion. 

The essay where that came from is much longer and well worth read­ing.

NYTimes video remembers the 1965 Selma James Reeb attack

March 6, 2015

One of the white min­is­ters with James Reeb in the 1965 attack that helped pro­pel the Vot­ing Rights Act remem­bers the night.

He also reflects on the val­ue of white lives vs. black lives for nation­al atten­tion in the Civ­il Rights Move­ment. While the actu­al Sel­ma march was protest­ing the killing of black civ­il rights activist Jim­mie Lee Jack­son by a state troop­er, nation­al out­rage focused on the vis­it­ing white minister.

In 1967, Dr. King not­ed, “The fail­ure to men­tion Jim­my [sic] Jack­son only rein­forced the impres­sion that to white Amer­i­cans the life of a Negro is insignif­i­cant and meaningless.”

Don’t miss Gail Whif­f­en Coyle’s overview of con­tem­po­rary Friends Jour­nal cov­er­age of Sel­ma on our website.

Looking locally at the Underground Railroad

February 28, 2015

It seems like we’re under­go­ing some reassess­ment in terms of the Under­ground Rail­road. A piece appear­ing in yesterday’s New York Times, “Myth, Real­i­ty and the Under­ground Rail­road” by Ethan J Kytle and Carl Geis­sert, tell one nar­ra­tive tells the sto­ry of one of the pri­ma­ry myth-makers of the 1890s:

Although Siebert tem­pered some of his con­tem­po­raries’ hyper­bole, he nonethe­less took many Under­ground Rail­road sto­ries at face val­ue. Undaunt­ed by a dearth of ante­bel­lum doc­u­men­ta­tion — most rail­road activists had not kept records in order to pro­tect run­aways and them­selves — Siebert relied on the rem­i­nis­cences of “‘old time’ abo­li­tion­ists” to fill “the gaps in the real his­to­ry of the Under­ground Railroad.”

An arti­cle in last month’s Times explains that this sto­ry got the revi­sion­ist treat­ment in the 1960s:

That view large­ly held among schol­ars until 1961, when the his­to­ri­an Lar­ry Gara pub­lished “The Lib­er­ty Line,” a slash­ing revi­sion­ist study that dis­missed the Under­ground Rail­road as a myth and argued that most fugi­tive slaves escaped at their own ini­tia­tive, with lit­tle help from orga­nized abo­li­tion­ists. Schol­ar­ship on the top­ic all but dried up, as his­to­ri­ans more gen­er­al­ly empha­sized the agency of African-Americans in claim­ing their own freedom.

That arti­cle focus­es on Eric Fon­er, who’s just come out with a book that you might call a post-revisionist his­to­ry, based on some recently-uncovered doc­u­ments by little-known 19th-century abo­li­tion­ist edi­tor named Syd­ney Howard Gay. It’s on my to-read list. It’s nice to have some new doc­u­men­tary evi­dence, as it some­times seems the Under­ground Rail­road is the prover­bial blank slate upon which we project our con­tem­po­rary politics.

I’m cur­rent­ly read­ing “Philadel­phia Quak­ers and the Anti­slav­ery Move­ment” by Bri­an Tem­ple, an ama­teur South Jer­sey his­to­ri­an. It’s a use­ful lens. There are a hand­ful of crazy cool sto­ries of white Quak­ers, but it’s clear that much of the Quak­er involve­ment is point­ing run­aways to the near­est African Amer­i­can town. But that’s where it gets inter­est­ing for me. So many of these towns seem to be on land sold them by a white Quak­er farmer; they’re just a mile or two from a Quak­er town, down a qui­et sec­ondary road where you can see any­one com­ing, along­side deep woods or marsh­es into which run­aways can eas­i­ly disappear.

It seems like one of the most impor­tant Quak­er con­tri­bu­tion to the Under­ground Rail­road in South Jer­sey was par­tic­i­pat­ing in the found­ing of these towns: places where man­u­mit­ted and self-freed African Amer­i­cans could live in a self-governing and self-defensible community.

This rais­es lots of ques­tions. There was one promi­nent South Jer­sey African Amer­i­can Quak­er but he was the excep­tion. And it’s often for­got­ten, but much of the source of Quak­ers’ wealth (the land they had to sell) was war and pre­vi­ous enslave­ment. But still, it seems like there might have been some­thing resem­bling repa­ra­tions going on here: forty acres and a mule and giv­ing the freed Africans the space to min­is­ter their own church­es and gov­ern their own town. The his­toric black towns of South Jer­sey would make a great the­sis for some hard­work­ing grad student.

The racial pol­i­tics of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry have not been kind to these towns (Ta-Nehisi Coates could write a new chap­ter of Case for Repa­ra­tions based on them). High­ways plan­ners look­ing for routes close to the now-historic Quak­er towns drew their lines right through the towns. Since most were nev­er for­mal­ly incor­po­rat­ed, zon­ing and school board bat­tles with their sur­round­ing town­ship have tak­en away much of their auton­o­my. Many have been swal­lowed whole by mid-century sprawl and towns in more rur­al areas have depop­u­lat­ed. An old church is often the only vis­i­ble rem­nant and some­times there’s not even that.

My read­ing has stalled three-quarters of the way through Temple’s book and I’ve missed a few oppor­tu­ni­ties to see him present it local­ly. But I’ll try to fin­ish and give a more com­pre­hen­sive review in the near future.

Overnight camping at Fort Delaware on the Delaware River’s Pea Patch Island. 

September 28, 2014

Ear­li­er this month we took a fam­i­ly trip to the “Three Forts” along the low­er Delaware — Fort DuPont on the Delaware side, Fort Mott in New Jer­sey, and Fort Delaware right in the mid­dle (okay, it’s offi­cial­ly Delaware, mean­ing our hosts were the excel­lent staff of the Delaware Park Ser­vice). This week­end I went back with the two old­er boys on an overnight campout.

The island is only acces­si­ble by fer­ry. Most nights, the entire staff dis­em­bark back to Delaware on the last fer­ry (we joined them last time) but for the first time in any­one’s mem­o­ry, they had this cam­pout. If our fam­i­ly did­n’t scare them they might make it a more reg­u­lar event.

We camped out in the old march­ing ground right inside the fort and got to walk around all of the safe parts of the fort. In addi­tion, the staff had lots of great programs:

  • Scav­enger hunt
  • Para­nor­mal ghost tour includ­ing the normally-closed Endi­cott Tunnel
  • Camp­fire with s’mores
  • I did the nature trail on north side of island in near pitch black
  • A night vision work­shop about how noc­tur­nal ani­mals see in the dark (rods and cones in the eye).
  • The camp­ing of course
  • In the morn­ing there was a guid­ed nature walk where we learned about birds and mam­mals on island.

And because I like shoot­ing time lapse videos late­ly, here are two. In the first the sun ris­es over the riv­er. In the sec­ond we ride the tram from Fort Delaware to the fer­ry dock. If you’re inter­est­ed in low-res videos of bridge cross­ings, spooky night wan­der­ings, or ghost sight­ings then fol­low the links. There’s also a more com­plete Flickr set of the trip.

So why is Pea Patch Island (supposedly) owned by Delaware?

September 8, 2014

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How did a sand­bar halfway between New Jer­sey and Delaware become the prop­er­ty of one state and not the other?

The British roy­al gov­ern­ment was noto­ri­ous­ly slop­py in its award­ing of land grants in its colonies. There’s a lot of bound­ary ambi­gu­i­ty and over­lap­ping claims. With Amer­i­can inde­pen­dence, the task for ref­er­ee­ing fell to the new fed­er­al government.

The spe­cif­ic prob­lem of Pea Patch was as young as the nation itself. Accord­ing to tes­ti­mo­ny record­ed in the 1837 records of the U.S. Sen­ate, Pea Patch was formed around the time of the Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion when a ship loaded with peas report­ed­ly sunk there (smells of a tall tale to me but I’ll let it stand). Allu­vial deposits formed a sand­bank around the wreck and it even­tu­al­ly coa­lesced into a full-fledged island.

When claims over­lap on an island in the mid­dle of a bound­ary riv­er, it’s typ­i­cal to look at two mea­sures: the first and most obvi­ous is to see if it’s clos­er to one side’s river­bank. The oth­er is to look at ship­ping chan­nels and use this as a de fac­to bound­ary. Accord­ing the the Sen­ate tes­ti­mo­ny, Pea Patch Island is both clos­er to New Jer­sey and on the New Jer­sey side of the ear­ly nineteenth-century ship­ping channel.

There’s also human fac­tors to con­sid­er: accord­ing to tes­ti­mo­ny in the Con­gres­sion­al Record the island was gen­er­al­ly con­sid­ered a part of N.J.‘s Salem Coun­ty through the ear­ly nine­teenth cen­tu­ry. In 1813, New Jer­sey res­i­dent Hen­ry Gale bought Pea Patch Island and began devel­op­ing fish­eries on it. New Jer­sey for­mal­ly min­ut­ed the island as his prop­er­ty, con­firm­ing the land deeds and giv­ing it to his “heirs and assigns for ever [sic].”

State own­er­ship of Pea Patch would seem to be a pret­ty straight-forward deci­sion then: geo­graph­i­cal­ly New Jer­sey’s, cul­tur­al­ly a part of Salem Coun­ty, and owned by a South Jer­sey businessperson.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly for Gale, the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment thought it was a good strate­gic loca­tion for a new fort. They offered him $30,000 but he did­n’t think it was a fair price. They did­n’t want to nego­ti­ate and so made a side deal with the State of Delaware. They decid­ed the state bound­ary line should be drawn to the east of the island to make it a part of Delaware. The state declared Hen­ry Gale a squat­ter and gave full own­er­ship of the island to the U.S. War Depart­ment. Gale was forcibly evict­ed, his build­ings demol­ished, his fish­ery busi­ness ruined. It does­n’t take a con­spir­acist to imag­ine that the Con­gres­sion­al Delaware del­e­ga­tion got some­thing nice for their par­tic­i­pa­tion in this ruse.

(Lat­er on, con­tin­u­ing bound­ary dis­putes between the two states led to the truly-bizarre geo­graph­ic odd­i­ty that is the 12-Mile Cir­cle. Any­thing built off the New Jer­sey coast into the Delaware Riv­er is Delaware’s. This still reg­u­lar­ly sparks law­suits between the states. If you could get behind the scenes I imag­ine you could set a whole Boardwalk-Empire-like show in the Delaware land grant office.)

A cen­tu­ry and a half lat­er the crum­bling ruins of Fort Delaware would come under the admin­is­tra­tion of the Delaware Depart­ment of Nat­ur­al Resources and Envi­ron­men­tal Con­trol. The DNERC folks do a great job run­ning Fort Delaware. When read­ing up on this I was sur­prised to find Hen­ry Gale’s name. My wife’s fam­i­ly has Salem Coun­ty Gales so Hen­ry is at least some sort of dis­tant cousin of my kids. I think Delaware should give us a spe­cial toot on the fer­ry horn every time they land back on the soil of their ances­tral home.