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August 24th marked six months since Russia launched its war on Ukraine, with millions displaced and tens of thousands of civilians and soldiers killed. That same day, August 24th, marked the centennial of the late historian Howard Zinn's birth. Zinn was an author, professor, and anti-war activist. His seminal book, A People's History of the United States, revealed a different, dissident perspective on the historical arc of the Western hemisphere, from Christopher Columbus' arrival in 1492 to the so-called "War on Terror." First published in 1980, A People's History has become a standard text, with over 2 million copies in print. Howard Zinn died in 2010, at the age of 87. His words, more than a decade after his death, are still worth hearing in a world wracked by war, racism and inequality.
"War poisons everybody who engages in it."
"War poisons everybody who engages in it," Howard Zinn said in a 2006 address in Madison, Wisconsin. The United States was waging two major wars at the time, in Iraq and Afghanistan, and supporting ongoing conflicts elsewhere. Howard Zinn continued, "We've had a history of war after war after war after war. What have they solved? What have they done?"
Howard Zinn volunteered to serve in World War II, becoming a bombardier. He participated in the bombing of Royan, a small town along the coast of France, in April, 1945:
"This was a few weeks before the war was going to be over, and everybody knew it was going to be over," Zinn said on the Democracy Now! news hour in 2005. "There was a little pocket of German soldiers hanging around this little town of Royan on the Atlantic coast of France, and the Air Force decided to bomb them--1,200 heavy bombers, and I was in one of them, flew over this little town of Royan and dropped napalm--first use of napalm in the European theater. We don't know how many people we killed, how many people were terribly burned as a result of what we did. But I did it, like most soldiers do, unthinkingly, mechanically, thinking we're on the right side, they're on the wrong side, and therefore we can do whatever we want, and it's OK."
Howard Zinn visited the French seaside resort in 1966 to speak with survivors. He wrote a detailed history of the raid and its consequences. "It was...a very great sobering lesson about so-called good wars."
In Zinn's 2006 Wisconsin speech, he described "the different ratio of civilian-to-military deaths in war... in World War I, 10 military dead for one civilian dead; in World War II, it was 50-50, half military, half civilian; in Vietnam, it was 70% civilian and 30% military; and in the wars since then, it's 80% and 85% civilian."
Howard Zinn taught at Spelman, a historically Black women's college in Atlanta, during the height of the civil rights movement. Among his students were author Alice Walker and Children's Defense Fund founder Marian Wright Edelman. Zinn explained on Democracy Now!, "At Spelman, I got involved with my students in the actions that were going on in the South, the sit-ins, the demonstrations, the picket lines." His solidarity got him fired. In 2005, Professor Zinn was invited back to Spelman to deliver the commencement address.
Howard Zinn became a prominent opponent of the war in Vietnam. In 1968, he and activist priest Father Daniel Berrigan flew to North Vietnam, coordinating the first release of U.S. prisoners of war held there. When renowned whistleblower Dan Ellsberg released the Pentagon Papers, the U.S. government's secret history of its involvement in Vietnam, Howard Zinn and his late wife Roz hid a copy of the documents in their home. His dedication to peace and anti-war activism continued unabated throughout his life.
August 24th, in addition to the anniversary of Zinn's birth, is also the day that Ukraine marks its independence from the Soviet Union. This year, independence celebrations were banned across Ukraine for fear of Russian attacks. Russia did attack a rail station on that day, in the eastern Ukrainian village of Chaplyne, killing at least 25 people, including children. On the same day, President Joe Biden announced an additional $3 billion in military aid to Ukraine, bringing the total in U.S. military aid to Ukraine since Biden took office to $13.5 billion.
Howard Zinn is not here to condemn this war, or any of the others now being fought. But through his example, his activism, and the enduring relevance of his writings, we can commit, on the centennial of his birth, to reiterate one of his central messages: war is not the answer to conflict in the 21st century.
According to the state of Georgia's Standards of Excellence for teaching the Reconstruction era to eighth-graders, students ought to "compare and contrast the goals and outcomes of the Freedmen's Bureau and the Ku Klux Klan." That side-by-side framing of the federal agency tasked with supporting formerly enslaved people in the years after the Civil War with a group of White supremacist terrorists has two problems: It is not only an unsettling echo of the "both sides" language mobilized by then-President Donald Trump following the 2017 deadly white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, but is also an example of how state standards fail to help educate young people about one of the most important eras in U.S. history.
The economic, political, and social gains made by the formerly enslaved during the 1860s and 1870s were swiftly and violently reversed.
In the first-ever comprehensive review of state standards on the Reconstruction era, "Erasing the Black Freedom Struggle: How State Standards Fail to Teach the Truth About Reconstruction," the Zinn Education Project found that most states tell a top-down story of government action that ignores the role of formerly enslaved people organizing for freedom. State standards include Black people more often as objects than subjects.
Equally troubling, several states' standards reveal the fingerprints of the Dunning School, an early-20th-century historical interpretation of Reconstruction named after the Columbia University historian William Archibald Dunning, who deemed the era one of "scandalous misrule" by "carpetbaggers and Negroes."
The narrative of Reconstruction perpetuated by many state social studies standards is part of a longer and larger struggle over the past, the latest episode of which can be seen in a rash of new restrictions on what teachers can tell young people about our nation's history. According toEducation Week:
More than 17.7 million public school students enrolled in almost 900 districts across the country have had their learning restricted by local action and the recent slate of laws and policies aimed to ban teaching concepts related to race, racism, and gender, and often deemed "critical race theory."
These memory laws affirm Faulkner's famous adage: "The past is never dead. It's not even past." The interpretation of the past always shines through the prism of struggles in the present, shaping what we can imagine and how we act today.
For much of the 20th century, the Dunning School was the dominant narrative of Reconstruction--expressed not just in academic dissertations and books, but also in popular culture such as "Birth of a Nation" (1916) and "Gone with the Wind" (1936). It posited the era as a "failure" and, in the words of historian Eric Foner, "helped provide moral and historical cover for the Jim Crow system."
Today's efforts to restrict what teachers can say about white supremacy's long shadow--including about its role in crushing Reconstruction--is only the latest manipulation of the past that serves a white supremacist political project.
Even before abolition was affirmed in law, Black people got to work making freedom manifest. They built churches, mutual aid organizations and hundreds of schools. They reunited with stolen family cleaved by slavery, formalized marriages, and established households on their own terms. They negotiated for control over their own labor, sought access to land, and advocated for the right to vote and serve on juries, and for state-funded public education. They held conventions and ran for and held political office at every level of government. And they joined the political coalition that enacted the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments to the Constitution, fundamentally changing the nature of U.S. citizenship and government. This was Reconstruction.
Yet this breathtakingly ambitious effort led by formerly enslaved people to eradicate a brutal and centuries-old form of racist exploitation--and to build an entirely new society--is rarely captured in state standards.
Instead, too many standards bear the mark of Dunning's Confederate interpretation. Alabama, Oklahoma and Tennessee, for example, all exhort educators to "explain the role carpetbaggers and scalawags played during Reconstruction." These terms are offered up as neutral. But they are not. They are the rhetoric of white supremacists intent on reversing gains toward racial equality.
In Texas, one standard asks students to "explain the economic, political, and social problems during Reconstruction." There is no similar standard calling for explanations of how Reconstruction resulted in the expansion of democracy, education and rights. Texas requires its children to learn about Reconstruction as an era of problems, not solutions.
A more subtle example of the influence of the Dunning School is the "successes and failures of Reconstruction" framing that shows up in dozens of state standards. Arkansas's standards call for students to "evaluate successes and failures of Reconstruction," while Tennessee's ask them to "assess the successes and failures of Reconstruction as they relate to African Americans." Given the Dunning School's narrative of Reconstruction as an era of "scandalous misrule"--i.e., a "failure"--one can imagine that the writers of these state standards see the inclusion of "successes" as a kind of balance, a framing that allows for arguments on "both sides."
But the successes and failures story dangerously masks the truth about Reconstruction's demise. The economic, political and social gains made by the formerly enslaved during the 1860s and 1870s were swiftly and violently reversed. White vigilante groups and the Democratic Party waged a campaign of terror to restore a white supremacist social order while the Republican Party reneged on promises to freed people--and the larger promise of multiracial democracy--by returning to business as usual.
No, Reconstruction did not "fail"; it was destroyed. And its destruction was reinforced by a regime of laws, institutions, and violence that lasted well into the 20th century--and beyond.
Asking children to check the "success" or "failure" box on Reconstruction forces them to declare finished what is still alive and still underway. The struggle for voting rights, for example, did not "succeed" with the 15th Amendment, "fail" with the rise of Jim Crow, or finally "succeed" with the Voting Rights Act of 1965; that struggle continues today. History teachers are fond of talking about history as "relevant" to the modern moment; we want our students to understand that the past offers explanations of our origins, examples to be followed or avoided, models and inspiration for action today. But Reconstruction is more than relevant. It is ongoing.
A middle school history teacher in Louisiana told the Zinn Education Project: "It's impossible to understand the rest of the history of the United States without an understanding of Reconstruction." Indeed. Yet too many state standards are still riddled with the fictions of Confederate apologists, and too many state legislatures and school boards are making it harder for educators to correct them.
What might young people do with the real history of Reconstruction? That, it seems, is exactly what some people are afraid of.
When U.S. voters cast their votes in the 2020 November election, an unchecked pandemic raged through the nation, uprisings against racism and police violence stretched into their eighth month, and new climate change-intensified storms formed in the Atlantic. The reactionary and undemocratic system by which we select our president was an insult to the urgency of the moment. Although the most recent tallies show more than 5 million more people voted for Joe Biden than for Donald Trump, thanks to the Electoral College, it took several days to learn who won. To the relief of many, it appears that this time -- unlike 2000 or 2016 -- the candidate who got the most votes nationwide also won the election.
When our students only learn about this exceptionally strange system from their corporate-produced history and government textbooks, they have no clue why this is how we choose our president. More importantly, they develop a stunted sense of their own power -- and little reason to believe they might have the potential to create something better.
To review: A voter in Montana gets 31 times the electoral bang for their presidential vote than a voter in New York. A voter in Wyoming has 70 times the representation in the Senate as a voter in California, while citizens in Puerto Rico or Washington D.C. have none. The Republican Senate majority that recently confirmed Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court, was elected by 14 million fewer votes than the 47 senators who voted against her confirmation.
Yet politicians and pundits regularly pronounce the United States a "democracy," as if that designation is self-evident and incontrovertible. Textbooks and mainstream civics curricula make the same mistake, treating democracy as a fact rather than an enduring struggle -- in which our students can play a critical role.
The standard iteration of "civics" in schools stipulates the brilliance of the framers, the democratic nature of the U.S. system, the infallibility of the Constitution (it was built to be amended!), so that our institutions seem outside of history and beyond politics. As the Koch Brothers-funded Bill of Rights (BRI) Institute states,
The founding documents are the true primary sources of America. Writings such as the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and others written from 1764 to 1791, showcase the philosophical, traditional, and political foundations on which our nation was built and that continue to shape our free society.
"Our free society." One danger of a curriculum that declares the United States "free" is that it casts all U.S. institutions, by definition, as also free. The district-adopted textbook I was assigned last year in my Portland, Oregon, suburb, America Through the Lens (National Geographic, 2019), says about the 2016 presidential election, "...Trump won a narrow majority of voters in a number of swing states, or states where the election might go to either party. Even though almost 3 million more Americans cast their votes for Clinton, Trump won the electoral vote 306 to 232." Since freedom is assumed, this textbook sees no need to offer any elaboration of a system in which "swing states" are decisive, and in which the person selected by the majority of voters does not win the presidency.
Perhaps the editors of America Through the Lens assume students have read a previous section of the text on the Electoral College? No. Paging back to the chapter on the Constitution, one finds only this anemic paragraph:
But how should the president be chosen? Some delegates thought the president should be directly elected by the voters. Others wanted Congress or the state legislatures to make the choice. The delegates finally arrived at a solution: an electoral college made up of electors from each state would cast official votes for the president and vice president. The number of electors from each state would be the same as the state's number of representatives in Congress, and each state could decide how to choose its electors.
Students deserve an explanation for the origins of the Electoral College. Instead, the textbook offers mere description, dry as dust. We learn that the Electoral College emerged from a disagreement among delegates, but nothing about the actual substance of that disagreement or the interests at stake. Shouldn't the authors explain to students why our founders rejected direct election of the president by the people, the most democratic option? With no sense of the problem, textbook writers assure students that the Electoral College was a "solution" and send them on their merry way.
But for whom was the Electoral College a solution? Many of the 55 White men at the Constitutional Convention worried about giving too much power to the people. Alexander Hamilton said the masses were prone to passion and might use their vote unwisely. Of course, both passion and wisdom are highly subjective terms. James Madison listed the "wicked schemes" inflaming the people to act so unwisely: "A rage for paper money, for an abolition of debts, for an equal division of property. . ." Madison called voters advancing their own economic interests wicked, but referred to his brethren -- insulating their own wealth and power in Philadelphia -- as "enlightened statesmen." The Electoral College was a "solution" to the bankers and plantation owners in 1787 but looked like exclusion if you were a poor indebted veteran in western Massachusetts, an enslaved person in Virginia, or a Hitchiti person fleeing land-thieving White settlers in Georgia.
Madison expressed another set of concerns about the direct election of the president. He pointed out that a popular vote would deprive the White South of "influence in the election on the score of the Negroes." He was, of course, referring to the 40 percent of the southern U.S. population made up of enslaved people. Since the men at the Constitutional Convention had already adopted the Three-Fifths Compromise, establishing that enslaved people would bolster enslavers' representation in Congress, the Electoral College was a "solution" because it meant the humans they violently exploited would inflate their influence in presidential elections too.
When my textbook matter-of-factly declares that the Electoral College was a "solution," but makes no mention of the elite and white supremacist interests for whom that was true, nor the exploited and disenfranchised peoples for whom it was a disaster, it does not educate students, but lies to them. The very same textbooks that paint the Three-Fifths Compromise as a shameful relic of slavery, treat the Electoral College as an unremarkable feature of our system, as if they were not borne of the same white supremacist original sin.
This feigned neutrality covers up the classist and racist origins of our institutions. It is not only bad history but signals to students in 2020, "Nothing to see here." The mock elections and legislative simulations common in U.S. civics classrooms encourage students to investigate the swirl of issues inside the container of U.S. "democracy," but rarely the container itself. Students are commanded to vote, but not to judge the fundamental questions of governance not on the ballot -- like the legitimacy of an electoral college devised by enslavers. What if our civics invited students not just to become occupants of an already-built U.S. government, but engineers and architects able to redesign, reframe, and rebuild the whole structure? What if our civics repurposed the word "framer" to mean all of us today -- including our students?
One way to cultivate this activist sensibility in our students is to offer them a curriculum rich with an alternative pantheon of "framers" and "founding parents" in the ongoing struggle for democracy. Central to this project is the rejection of the singular, miraculous, and exceptional founding peddled by the Bill of Rights Institute and others. As Eric Foner's newest book, The Second Founding -- about the Reconstruction Amendments that finally made multiracial democracy possible -- suggests, building freedom is a work in progress.
Similarly, many scholars and activists, notably the Rev. William Barber II, have embraced the idea of a multiplicity of Reconstructions: the first Reconstruction, following the Civil War in which freedpeople and their allies reimagined citizenship, social relationships, and politics; the second Reconstruction in the 20th century, when Black activists and their allies dismantled 100 years of Jim Crow, championed and popularized "one person, one vote," and transformed U.S. law and society; and the third Reconstruction, happening now, exemplified by Black Lives Matter, the Dream Defenders, United We Dream, and others to address the ongoing manifestations of systemic racism in everything from housing to immigration, policing to education. In this telling, the United States has been constructed by many framers, not just those White elites in Philadelphia, but also the millions of unsung heroes who have never stopped seeking to transform the United States and the meaning of freedom.
Angela Davis writes that "freedom is a constant struggle." When, for example, we teach students about the fight for the 15th Amendment, alongside the movement 100 years later for the Voting Rights Act, alongside the efforts now to combat voter suppression, we not only provide evidence of Davis's words, but invite students into that struggle. By rejecting both the textbook's boring and evasive approach to our anti-democratic institutions, and BRI's glorification of a U.S. founding that meant -- and continues to mean -- oppression for so many, we affirm our students' reality and provide models of activism through which they might reimagine and revise it.
On November 2, 2020, one day before the general election that would deny him a second term, Donald J. Trump issued an executive order establishing the 1776 Commission. The commission's mandate? A "restoration of American education" to emphasize the "clear historical record of an exceptional Nation dedicated to the ideas and ideals of its founding." President Trump has been defeated, but this commitment to institutionalize the teaching of American exceptionalism has not. We educators must fight for a curriculum that teaches our students facts not fables. The United States has never been a democracy, defined by freedom and equality for all. But nor has there ever been a time when people did not struggle toward a democratic future, dreaming of freedom, risking life and limb to make those dreams manifest, and creating a more just society along the way. Let's teach civics and history that affirms for our students there is nothing sacrosanct in the political and economic status quo, that freedom fighters, past and present, are founders too, and we all have a right to be framers -- to redesign this structurally unsound house to better shelter our lives, safety, comfort, and full humanity.