Progressive News, Opinion, and Analysis
Should the public sector invest its savings based on our social values?
Of course we should! That such a question can even be debated speaks volumes about what our values are: making money. Though, as my TV arch nemesis Justin Katz points out, it would be a great follow up if that gun stock turns out to be a real dog!
News, Weather and Classifieds for Southern New England
Providence Mayor Angel Taveras makes it official on Monday as the Providence Journal reports he’ll announce he’s running for governor next week. WPRI also reported the news last night.
Taveras, the “Head Start to Harvard” first Latino mayor of Providence is a champion of progressive values and local liberals are inspired by his candidacy in the same way we were with Barack Obama in 2008. A key difference is Taveras has executive political experience as mayor of the Capital City. He averted a financial crisis in Providence by negotiating compromises with organized labor and local tax-exempt nonprofits.
Taveras will likely square off against General Treasurer Gina Raimondo, who has come under fire lately for cutting public sector pensions and then reinvesting those savings in volatile alternative investments with high fees for money managers. Pundits anticipate a bruising primary, with Taveras receiving grassroots support from local labor unions and other Providence political activists while Raimondo will benefit from anonymous super PAC donations from wealthy Wall Street special interests.
Yesterday, Taveras personally asked Raimondo if she would sign a People’s Pledge and disavow anonymous out-of-state donations. Her campaign has yet to respond to the overture though it did distance itself from the idea on Wednesday.
Clay Pell is also considering running for governor as a Democrat. The wealthy grandson of Senator Claiborne Pell, it’s unclear how his candidacy could affect the Taveras-Raimondo race.
Some may scoff.
Others ignore.
But, the ‘Pumpkin’s Curse’
is something I saw.
So, sit back friends,
it’s a scary tale
about what happens
when school kids fail.
This story, macabre,
has goblins and ghouls,
all of whom
prey on our schools.
The Curse of the Pumpkin
There once was a time.
There once was a place,
where teaching kids
became a race.
Where kids were tested
day and night
to see if they
could answer just right.
They raced in the cities.
They raced in the towns.
Each student was rated
either up or down.
In order to determine
who was the best,
folks at the top
had invented a test.
Called it the NECAP
and gave it much weight.
If you didn’t pass it,
you’d graduate late.
Or perhaps worse,
not at all.
This test was given
each and every fall.
Those folks at the top
of a place called RIDE
looked at the testing
with all kinds of pride.
They talked about measures,
standards and failings.
They talked of how
those teachers were derailing
their efforts to test
each laddie and lass.
“How dare they,” one stated,
“have each student pass.”
Now, some of the children
from very rich schools
had little problem
playing RIDE’s rules.
Many tested quite high.
Few tested quite low.
Most were quite sure
of which college they’d go.
It didn’t quite matter
what they had learned.
All anyone cared
was the grade each kid earned.
But, for a number of children
it was hard to write.
They spoke different languages
or their wallets were tight.
And, when considering math,
those with special needs
were hurt worst of all.
Were hurt most indeed.
At a moment when things
where going so slow,
voices from Providence
told which way to go.
Students of Color
Hispanic and White,
all came together
to do something right.
They sang in the evening.
They spoke in the day.
Telling all listeners
testing wasn’t the way.
Then lo and behold,
other strong voices
followed the students
extolling new choices.
Rumblings and bumblings
came from the top.
The boss of all bosses
said, “This has to stop.”
So she sent out henchmen,
set down new rules,
fired some teachers,
closed some old schools.
Then, with all of this done
and much more said,
she brought out new pencils
loaded with lead.
More tests were ordered
rather than less.
Why this was done
‘twas anyone’s guess.
When all seemed lost,
at a point of despair,
an autumn wind
provided something rare.
You see, dear reader,
during this autumn season,
many things happen
despite any reason.
The Mets won a series.
The NECAPs are done.
Bizarre things happen
with the shortening sun.
Yes, a Halloween gift
from a power unseen
turned everyone at RIDE
back into a teen.
And, not only that,
this is what’s best,
they were all forced to take
a standardized test.
When, surprise of surprises,
few of them passed,
each was ordered to
a remedial class.
For so many students
this nightmare is here.
Today’s graduation requirements
are something to fear.
EPILOGUE
Ask no questions,
get no tales,
Gates and his buddies
all did fail.
And let’s not forget
our friend Arne Duncan.
He too fell prey
to the ‘Curse of the Pumpkin.’
The End (or is it?)
Winter Count is an attempt to quantify the number of homeless in Rhode Island who will need beds during the extreme cold of the coming winter.
My friend and I arrived at Burnside Park and joined a group by the fountain. We were assigned to a group of seven people, one of whom, Saul, had done this kind of work before. Saul is about my age. Along with Saul, my friend and myself there were four Brown University students in our group. We ranged in age from 18 to 87, representing both sexes (five men, two women) and were racially diverse. We took a bus to South Providence (a pretty rough area, by my effete East Side standards) and covered the area from the McDonald’s restaurant, through the cemetery that divides Broad St from Elmwood Ave and then up Broad St (and through most of the side streets on either side) up to and around St. Joseph’s Hospital.
After getting our bearings we entered the graveyard and met our first homeless persons. There were three people there preparing to bed down for the night. Our instructions were to be casual, courteous and not force an engagement with people who would rather not talk. We gently explained who we were and what we were doing.
One of the homeless men referred to us as “church people” and immediately associated us with helpful people who have given him food and blankets in the past. Since I was still learning and observing at this point, I simply let Saul do most of the talking. He was gentle, direct and sincere. I was very impressed by his manner and his evident compassion. We talked with the small group of homeless, made sure they did not have any pressing, emergency needs (aside, I suppose, from the fact that they had no shelter and were preparing to sleep overnight in an open graveyard) and entered into our tally sheet notations for two adult males and one adult woman.
It was more difficult than I imagined it would be, and more emotional than I anticipated to move on and search for more homeless. The three I initially met that night ran the range from talkative and appreciative of the interest our group showed to complete silence in our presence. The woman complained of multiple things, but her language was slurred by alcohol and she was confused, difficult to understand and very sad. The three had the clothing they wore, blankets, and some food and alcohol, as nearly as I could tell. They warned us away from the darker parts of the graveyard where people could not be trusted to be nice.
We next went into some of the darker parts of the graveyard. Here I met people in a place so dark I would never recognize them in the light. There were four men and two women, all in various states of homelessness. One man said that the homeless were not well represented on the streets because many had taken to squatting in abandoned, foreclosed and boarded up buildings. Though in our travels we met some who live this way, we of course could not trespass into buildings but only view from the outside for possible signs of habitation. The rules stated that we were only allowed to count homeless persons we actually saw ourselves.
The man we talked to called these squatter houses “abandominiums” and he explained how even people with social security checks who could afford a monthly apartment rental were prevented from securing apartments because they could not manage the first and last month’s rent or first month’s rent plus security deposit. Many fail the background checks police run because of their criminal records (which might be a consequence of their homelessness).
A young woman was with the group. It was impossible to tell her age. She claimed to be eighteen but could have been as young as fourteen. It was simply too dark to tell.
On the street and elsewhere we met with fourteen homeless that night. Many had long, rambling, incoherent stories to tell. One man talked about having his ID stolen by men in a white truck which means he’s in trouble with the Tennessee branch of the FBI. Another simply smiled and smoked and spoke in a raspy voice that vanished when he opened his mouth. I could not understand his words but merely nodded.
We met one man I had heard of before. I do not want to violate his privacy, so I will only say that I almost recognized his voice and when he said his name I knew him from his job in Rhode Island media. This man is homeless now, and alcohol and perhaps mental illness have rendered his stories and anecdotes nearly incomprehensible to understand.
Eventually we covered our area and made our way back to the bus stop. We turned in our results and I went home to my house and warm bed. I found the experience to be profound and had much to consider.
First, there is cultural power in religion. We were called “church people” by one of the first homeless men we met, and though he could not tell our faith or much else about us, the term “church people” was like a code word for “safe.” We were safe to talk to. We were not cops, we were not other homeless persons, and we were not people interested in causing harm. It occurred to me that seeing a group as diverse in age and race as we were, that one of the best assumptions as to why we came together to do something good for other people is that we are in some way religious.
Later in the night a man asked us if we believed in God and I was silent on the question, because it was important to this man that we believe in God for some reason. It was a way he knew to ascertain if we could be trusted. Many in my diverse group were religious. The students answered easily that they were believers, two of them were Catholics. The man asked where they went to church, which is the kind of personal information we were told not to give out about ourselves, but the student who answered mentioned a Catholic church in his home state of Louisiana, so I did not think this too much of a breach.
This assumption, that people do good because of their religion is not just a false cultural assumption. In the very real world the homeless people we met last night live in, religious people are pretty much the only people they can trust. The government might promise shelter, food or money, but political whims or complex procedures to determine qualifications for help can quickly and confusingly deprive someone of the promised care.
Religious people can be counted on to deliver blankets, food and other amenities without conditions and without judgment. I know how ironic this sounds. We think of religious people as offering help and support in payment for listening to their sermon, and I am sure such people exist, but to the people I met on the street last night, this was not their perception. They saw belief in God as a way of determining how much to trust a stranger.
I was new and still learning last night. I do not know what the reaction would be if I told a homeless person that I was an atheist. I worry that the ensuing conversation might sound like I was proselytizing my non-belief in some way. Avoiding the truth seems dishonest, but at the same time, my priority has to be the care of these people, not defending my personal beliefs.
The Rhode Island Coalition for the Homeless is not a religious organization, but there are several religious groups among their membership, including Quakers, Congregationalists and Catholics, to name just three. The Coalition’s Vision of “a State of Rhode Island that refuses to let any man, woman, or child be homeless” is an idea that transcends petty religious and political debates. This is a human problem requiring human solutions, and I am proud to have contributed, even if only in a small way.
The kaleidoscope of colors found in the fall foliage as trees stop making chlorophyll and reveal a spectacular assortment of red, yellow, purple, and orange pigment is one of the great consolation prizes accompanying the loss of summer. However, there is another miracle of the natural world occurring in autumn, albeit a slightly less obvious one, fall bird migration.
Each fall millions of shorebirds, songbirds, raptors, and waterfowl stop in Rhode Island on their migratory journeys south. These birds are engaged in majestic pilgrimages of thousands of miles from breeding territories as far north as the Arctic to their wintering grounds in locales as distant as South America.
A patient observer on a fall walk along one of Rhode Island’s beaches may be treated to glimpses of more than a dozen species of plovers and sandpipers. These two major groups of shorebirds are most easily distinguished from each other by the shapes of their bills. Sandpipers have long thin bills, while plovers have short, thick bills. In addition, their behavior is another reliable tool of identification. If the bird is foraging quickly in a large group it is most likely a sandpiper. On the other hand if it is more methodical and solitary in its foraging technique it is likely a plover.
The most common sandpiper found along Rhode Island’s shores is the Sanderling. This is the bird most likely to be observed in large groups foraging at the ocean’s edge, following the surf as it advances and retreats. Sanderlings forage on small invertebrates both within the surf and in the exposed sand. While many of these birds will stay in Rhode Island throughout the fall and winter, others are merely pausing to rest and refuel before embarking on the next leg of their journey.
The other two sandpipers which are commonly observed along the ocean’s edge during the fall are the smaller Least and Semipalmated. These two species are similar in size and appearance, both being smaller and darker than the Sanderling. The easiest way to distinguish between these two species is by looking at their legs – the Semipalmated has black legs and the Least has yellowish legs.
Our most common plover is the Semipalmated Plover, although it lives in relative obscurity due to the notoriety of its cousin in the genus Charadrius – the Piping Plover. Another very common visitor this time of year is the Black-bellied Plover. A larger Plover in the genus Pluvialis.
Once the common birds become familiar it becomes easier to pick out the less common migrants like the Baird’s Sandpiper, Buff-breasted Sandpiper, or Red Knot. In addition, many more shorebirds can be found in the salt marshes behind the barrier beaches.
But let’s save that for another day, I can see your eyes glazing over in the back. Just get out there and enjoy the beautiful fall weather and the salt air, and maybe stop for a minute and take a closer look at these small migratory birds passing through our state on their way to distant lands.
