Dear Eldridge Cleaver

Dear Eldridge Cleaver

by Cathy Newman

A morning “scroll” through my phone was halted by a headline, “18-year-old male is dead, and three students are in custody, after a fatal, noon-hour stabbing Monday, just outside S.W.Laurier Collegiate Institute in Scarborough”. Violent occurrences in high schools were on the increase in several Toronto neighbourhoods, this one was close to home.

As I re-read the report, a text popped up from my sister, Chris who works at a local branch of the Toronto Public Library.

Chris: “OMG! You see what happened at the school?”

Me: “Just horrendous. Cannot believe it.”

We’re both transfixed by images of police cruisers, ambulances, yellow tape, and sobbing teenagers, on the grounds of the same high school we attended, unbloodied, several decades earlier - about the same time John Lennon's “Give Peace A Chance,” was on Top 40 radio.

Chris: “Police even took a kid out of the library the other day!”

Me: OMG! The library?! This is getting worse! There must be some way to help.”

As young adults, Chris and I had both moved, and lived elsewhere (Chris, elsewhere in the world), for a long time. But when our elderly parents had begun to need extra support, we returned with our spouses. We found a much changed community, parts of which were now considered one of the City's thirteen,“high priority neighbourhoods”, designated as such due to, “high rates of poverty, low educational attainment, and limited access to amenities.”

I was about to retire from a forty year career as a nurse, in an “essential” service, and dreading a future of privileged uselessness. Our father had died, and Mom lived well in a nearby retirement residence. “Now, don’t you ‘girls’ hover over me,” she’d warned.

I’m useless. I have no role.

I felt even worse, when I stumbled on Eldridge Cleaver’s 1960s quote, “there’s no more neutrality - you’re either going to need to be part of a solution, or you’re part of the problem”.

Dear Eldridge, I want to be part of a solution. But how? Where?

A possible “solution” arrived in the next issue of our local paper: “Volunteer tutors needed, in an academic support program for students experiencing obstacles to completing secondary school.” Upon further enquiry, I learned that the students’ eligibility for the program was determined by their addresses, within “high priority” neighbourhoods.

What does address have to do with “obstacles” to finishing high school?

According to Carl James, it has a lot to do with obstacles. James is a former Toronto Youth Worker, now a distinguished researcher, and professor at York University. “Rather than placing responsibility solely on students to “work harder,”...meaningful equity requires society to work harder …[and address] the structural barriers that limit opportunities outside of the classroom”.

This reminds me of that movie, “Stand and Deliver,” where the teacher said, “education is a vaccine for violence.”

Tutor! That’s what I’ll do. That's a solution, isn't it, Eldridge?

Except, as soon as I applied, reality prompted me to question how I could be useful to a high school student, given I’d graduated from high school through divine intervention alone. Those were the days of, “Sha-la-la-la, live for today. And don’t worry about tomorrow, hey, hey-ey-ey”.

Eventually, my mid 20’s brought maturity, and a goal, to obtain all the post secondary education requirements for my, successful, Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing. Nonetheless, my need now was for upgrading in secondary school academics. So at age 65, I enrolled in a summer upgrading program for Science, Math, and English. In essence, the program was intended for new Canadians to learn English …their chances for job getting success. For me, the program was a second chance to do well, or at least better, in high school.

Fall leaves were scattered around the parking lot of the community center, where I was scheduled for my first shift as tutor. To steady myself, I sat in my van for a while, and watched as the parade of students arrived from their various schools. Heads covered in hijabs, and hoods, or hair, in every shade of black, brown, blue, purple - even multicolour. Suddenly, I felt 14 years old, on the first day of high school, separated by the alphabet from my public school “familiars,” and about to enter a “homeroom” full of strangers.

What if none of them like me? What if I don’t know anything? What if, what if, what if?

Cathy, just exit the vehicle, and get in there.

The tutoring program is located in one of the community center’s large rooms, just spacious enough to contain the high energy of approximately fifty, 15 to 19 years olds. Tables are set up around the room.

The supervisor says, “Cathy, you can pick your own spot at one of the tables, the kids will find you.” I took a seat and waited for students to approach me for help.

How does my hair look? I hope I don't have spinach in my teeth, or something. Kids are picky about appearance.

The students are fascinated that I attended the same high school as they do now.

“Miss," they laugh. “We look at old pictures on the school wall. Which one are you?” I am there, but they expect someone with white hair, and glasses, not a long haired blonde, in a tie dye t-shirt. We were all blonde back then, leading charmed, unserious lives.

My students are not blonde, nor charmed, but very serious about their education. I discover that many are war children, from places where daily life involves relentless shelling, car bombings, dire food insecurity, and other untolled deprivation, such as no school. During tutoring sessions, they will sometimes share details. Maryam, Grade 12, described a time, “in ‘my back home,’ a car exploded on our road, and human meat was in our tree.” I wish they wouldn’t tell me these things. Zoya, Grade 9, speaks of her ‘back home’, where she, and her sisters, were banned from education. “Everyday, no school. Make me sad.”

Even the students born in the area, experience a kind of conflict zone. Food insecurity, precarious housing, limited outdoor recreational space, harassment by “authorities” because of colour or attire, or, drawn into activities that never turn out in their favour.

Nathan

Nathan, 17, drops his 6 foot frame onto a chair beside me,

“Yo, Miss, you gotta help me. This chemistry shit is getting me salty.”

Oh, no. Not more chemistry!

Nathan’s is my third request in a row, for assistance with Grade 11 chemistry, which despite upgrading, is still my weak subject. However, I’m the only volunteer tutor today, and the staff are occupied with keeping the peace.

“Miss, says Nathan. The nets are open again, but my Mom won’t let me play, unless I ace these assignments. A whole bunch more is coming up.”

The “nets”, are outdoor basketball courts, originally opened for kids who live in high rises to compensate for diminished extra curricular activities in the schools. They’ve been closed due to noise complaints from neighbours. Now, somebody, thank goodness, has recognized that the noise of youth’s sports activities is a minor irritant, compared to the tragic outcomes for youth with not enough to do.

Basketball stardom, not chemistry, is Nathan’s escape plan from the ‘hood. However, his wise mother has determined a different future for her son. She knows that it's not basketball, but Grade 11 Chemistry, plus the rest of high school studies, that will lift him out of this “high priority” neighbourhood. The fact that Nathan has presented for tutoring, tells me he knows that too.

The volunteer handbook describes Grade 11 Chemistry’s purpose as, "deepen understanding of organic chemistry, electrochemistry, structure and properties of matter, [and] refine ability to communicate scientific information”.

I never got this in Grade 11!

Girls in the 1960s were never encouraged in science. We were kept in the dark, even allowed to drop it.

I want that back!

So now I study. For kids like Nathan. And for me.

“ Here we go, Nathan, I begin with a sensation of cold sweat, first question. An isotope of Carbon, Carbon-14, is used for radioactive dating. How many protons, neutrons, and electrons are in a neutral atom of Carbon-14?”

“Cool, I know this one, Miss. Hope they're all this easy.”

The equations are not all easy, but Nathan is bright, and with help from Khan Academy online, the first assignment is completed.

“You’re saving me, Miss,” he says over his shoulder, and heads back out to the nets. Back tomorrow.”

Dear Eldridge, am I part of a solution?

Fatima

Fatima, Zoya’s sister, is a grade 10 student with beautiful dark eyes, highlighted by a burgundy hijab. I've been helping with her English essays. Just over a year ago, she arrived in Toronto with her parents, four sisters, and a brother. They live here in a two bedroom rented condo. Seven people in a 2 bedroom apartment …just one of many sacrifices Fatima's parents, and other parents like them, make for their daughters' education.

The tutor handbook describes the goal of Grade 10 English, [is to] “refine reading, writing, oral communication, and media literacy skills …focuses on analyzing challenging texts (novels, plays, media), improving essay writing, and developing critical thinking”.

Today, Fatima has asked, “Caddy, when I come back from prayers, please help with essay on ‘Hamlet Prince’?”

Hamlet? Uh, oh!

My knowledge of Shakespeare extends to Coles Notes, plus one school trip to Stratford where I watched figures on a dark stage, not sure of what play it was. Now, I feel ashamed of that.

I sure hope there’s still Coles Notes somewhere?

I cast around the room for younger, more Shakespearean competent tutors, available to help Fatima. Some of them are already certified teachers on staff in the program, while they wait for my generation, long over due to retire, to free up full time teaching jobs.

Everyone’s occupied, so I remind myself that Fatima has made phenomenal progress in English, regardless of my help. But I’m also aware that she counts on me. At one point, early in our work together, she said, " in my back home, I dream of Canada, and somebody like ‘Caddy’will help me.” Once when her parents came to escort her home, she pointed me out to them, as if I was some kind of celebrity.

I text my sister at work at the Toronto Public Library.

Me: “Can I get Shakespear notes on the TPL website?”

One of the huge benefits for becoming a tutor was my discovery of rich learning resources, available through online sites such as the miraculous Toronto Public Library. I've been able to demonstrate to the kids the value of the Library, and encourage them to get a library card.

Chris: “Are you at tutoring,?” Smiley face.

She’s amused, but proud of my efforts to upgrade, and maintain, the knowledge needed to be useful to the students.

Me: “Yes, please quick, tell me!”

Chris: “Do you have your card?”

Me: “Yes.”

Chris: “Go on the TPL site, and search ‘No Fear Shakespeare’.”

Me: “Oh, thank you!”

And while Fatima is in Prayers, my phone teaches me Hamlet.

As we get started, I ask Fatima, “what does the rubric say?”

The term rubric was new to me, but for students, it is the voice of God. I learned from wiki, it “comes from the Latin “rubrica”, and refers to the red ochre or red chalk, found in medieval illuminated manuscripts in the 13th century or earlier”.

As Fatima hands me the assignment, she says,“I don’t understand this part,” and points to a highlighted paragraph, which I read out loud. “Analyze the impact of Hamlet on popular culture.”

Oh, get real, Ontario educational system, is this fair?

Fatima asks, “Caddy, why does Hamlet Prince say, Ophelia must go to a ‘none’?”

Oh crap, how do I explain nunnery?

“Do you mean where Prince Hamlet tells Ophelia to “get thee to a nunnery?”

“Oh-h-h-h, it is nunn- a- a-REE. Why, Hamlet Prince says that?”

I managed to come up with, “Prince Hamlet is telling Ophelia, who he thinks is his enemy, to go to a nunnery, a place where only women live, and don’t come out.”

Fatima is quiet, her eyes flick from side to side, as if searching for understanding, or perhaps, a memory.

“I think Hamlet Prince is like Taliban …right, Caddy?”

Dear Eldridge, maybe I am part of the solution.

The End