To Act or not to Act (Part 3)
The next year at Robeson Community College did not go well. My temper with students was shorter, and my resentment toward the administration grew deeper as I tried to manage my time between working and looking for work elsewhere. Chimerical ideas occurred to me. How do I fight back? Is it possible to fight back? One of the wildest thoughts to occur to me was if I did get fired I would immediately catch a flight to Tehran and ask for political asylum. Secretly, I admired the Iranians. The US government had done everything in its power to make the Iranian people suffer for their Islamic revolution. Secretly, I also admired the Palestinians for they had suffered greatly for the last half century – yet they hung on in spite of what must, at times, seem like a hopeless battle. Maybe I should catch a flight to Ramallah or to the Gaza International Airport in Rafah in southern Gaza? But then I looked online and saw the Palestinian airport at Rafah had been bombed to smithereens by the Israelis in 2001.
Then, unexpectedly, I had a problem with a student at the end of the fall term. Even though my patience with my students was definitely less, I usually had a very good rapport with my students, but at a community college there are students who are not quite ready for the college experience. A student in my developmental class absolutely could not stay off of her cellphone. She would try to hide her constant texting behind her backpack while I was teaching the class. She would even race from class to get cellphone calls. Of course, it is written into the syllabus that cellphones are to remain off during class, and her constant texting was a clear violation of classroom etiquette. When I confronted her about taking cellphone calls during class, she said this:
“It was important.”
Since this statement of fact was indubitably true, I merely commented this:
“I’m glad it wasn’t a wrong number.”
However, this was not the end of my problems with this student, whose name was Montechellanasia.
I decided rather than confronting Möñţ-ćĥěĺĺăñ-ăśĩā again and again about her incessant texting, I would ignore it until the end of the term. (At least, she was quiet when she was texting.) She also turned in all of her papers late – even though it was clearly stated in the syllabus that I was not required to accept anything late – and she flunked nearly all of the tests. At the end of the term, she had clearly earned an R, which meant she had to repeat the developmental course and was equivalent to an F. So she got an R.
This was not the end of it.
One of the papers students have to write in my developmental classes is a summary. Because my students in this particular class did so badly on that paper, I did not grade it, but I left the column open with no grade in the online Moodle gradebook, which students can see. Möñţ-ćĥěĺĺăñ-ăśĩā did do the summary and submitted it online, but it was clearly an F. There were also other columns for other quizzes and tests that I left open for students to see, even though I had never given those quizzes or tests during the term, but these columns were left open with no grade. These columns were from a previous term, and I had not bothered to close them.
At the end of this term, I went to a writing seminar at Appalachian State University, so I was not available for a few days. During this time, the student complained to my department chair about the grade. Then the student’s mother, Māmā Möñţ-ćĥěĺĺăñ-ăśĩā, got involved and complained to my department chair. When I got back, I talked to the student and refused to change the grade. Māmā Möñţ-ćĥěĺĺăñ-ăśĩā immediately put a phone call through to the school’s dean. I was then dragged before the tribunal, the Student Grievance Committee, to explain my grading. I had to admit I had not given a grade for the summary, and there were open columns for quizzes in the gradebook that I had never given out. Moreover, I had to admit I had not followed the pacing guide to the letter as it was mandated by the great state of North Carolina. I did not follow the pacing guide because it was ridiculous to cover day by day so many concepts, so I focused on what I believed my students needed the most. (In so doing, I had violated the Golden Rule for every cloned bureaucrat: Never think for yourself!)
The tribunal ruled! I had to give a grade for every ungraded column in the gradebook.
Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, and I honestly felt as if Māmā Möñţ-ćĥěĺĺăñ-ăśĩā would put a phone call through to the White House and demand to speak to President Obama if her daughter did not pass my class. I also spoke with my department chair after the meeting with the Grievance Committee, and she strongly indicated I should pass the student or this issue would be passed up to the college’s president. I really couldn’t believe I was being pressured to pass one of the worst students I had ever had, but I was so bewildered by what had happened that I agreed to pass the student.
Still, in a calmer moment, part of me wanted to make a stand and refuse to pass the student when she had so clearly failed my class. So did I make a noble stand and refuse to pass the student?…. (Oh, hell no! cloned bureaucrats don’t make noble stands!) (At least, not at this time over an issue like this!) However, the college’s dean was insisting that I do the numbers so that the student’s grade actually came out as passing. Now math has never been my forte, and it concerned me greatly that I might have to develop an entirely new math in order for the numbers to come out as passing for this student. However, I think when I put the figures through derivative calculus, subtracted with long division, put the numbers through a quadratic equation, and finally added a whopping curve, the student’s grade, miraculously, did actually come out as passing. (Numbers don’t lie!) I quickly uploaded a P for passing into WebAdvisor, which was the place online where the final grades were recorded. And that was that.
It did occur to me at the time that this incident with my student would be used as additional evidence for my dismissal, but I just wanted the conflict to end. Plus, I had an interview the following week at Sandhills Community College, and I was confident I would get the job. I just wanted to get my ass out of Robeson Community College as fast as I could, and Sandhills Community College was within driving distance, so I would not have to sell my house right away.
I did not get the job at Sandhills Community College, and during the spring term there was another problem that completely blindsided me. Robeson Community College had hired a new president during the previous academic year. The board of directors had decided they wanted a woman to be the president of the school, so that’s what they got. This did not create any problems for me at all until we were required to take online sexual harassment training. I do not believe I have ever sexually harassed a woman in my life, and, quite frankly, it would never occur to me to do it since, as my mother used to say, “You were not born in a barn.” (However, my mother was from an earlier world where decency was expected; that world has been vanquished.) Still, I think I have a pretty good idea of what sexual harassment is, so the training struck me as unnecessary. Nevertheless, like most modern men, I endure the training, even though the training is clearly directed at me. (I guess, as a man, I need to be periodically put through what amounts to a Vietnamese Reeducation Program in order to make certain I am properly inculcated – or oppressed!)
I was told this training seminar had to be completed by the end of the month, and this requirement came directly from the new president. I remember I was extremely busy with mid-terms. Plus, I was teaching an overload, which I always did whenever I was asked. Nevertheless, I went to the online training website and began reading and watching about sexual harassment. I can’t remember exactly what was in the videos, but I found them to be borderline humiliating because there was an implicit message: That I would always take advantage of a woman – as was my nature – unless I was trained out of it. Plus, there was a test at the end of the seminar. A test? Moreover, this sexual harassment training went deeper than any other sexual harassment training I’d done before. “Just endure it,” I grumbled. Then, after about 45 minutes of watching and reading, my computer froze up. I had just started the test at the end when the buffering (I call it the twirly twirly thing) began. The buffering signal went around and around. As a modern man, I have probably spent at least four days of my life watching the twirly thirly thing, and I hate it. A flash of anger made my face sweat. I must have clicked every button on the keyboard. Then the buffering ended, but I could not go back to the questions. I had to go through the entire seminar again from the beginning. I flashed anger again. “Just endure it,” I grumbled. Then, just as I came to the questions at the end, my computer froze up. (I had a paroxysm.) Again, I tried to control my emotions as I sent out an email to the vice-president at RCC stating that I could not get through the seminar because my computer kept freezing up and that I thought I knew what sexual harassment was all about, so I didn’t feel I needed any more training. (Later, I would find out that many others at the college had had the same freezing up problem.)
I thought this was the end of it because a sexual harassment seminar had nothing to do with my job performance, and I was very busy with real work, so what did it matter? This was not the end of it. I was told again I had to finish the training. So I went online. Twirly. Twirly. Need I say more? I thought my head would explode from my shoulders, but I was now spending more and more time at Islamic websites watching and reading what they had to say. One Islamic website had a statement that I remember to this day:
“Everything has two meanings.”
I thought deeply about this statement. Lumberton, where I lived at the time, was about 30 miles away from Fayetteville, North Carolina, and in Fayetteville was Fort Bragg, one of the largest military bases in the country. At that time, I was also watching many news reports about soldiers and officers who were being brought up on charges of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and even rape. Although my distrust of the elite media has a long history, I have to admit I believed what I was told, and I had begun to be convinced that some of the worst people in the world must go into the military.
Everything has two meanings. I began to look at what was happening at Fort Bragg from a different perspective: This is a classic Soviet style purge! The state, IT, can destroy anyone for any reason. Soon the only men that can serve in the US military will be half-men, neutered men – like me! Everything has two meanings.
I decided not to take the sexual harassment seminar and see what happens. On a Friday, just before the end of the month, I received another email from the vice-president of the college that did not state outright that I would be fired if I did not complete the sexual harassment seminar by the end of the day but strongly implied it. So I was about to be fired not because I had sexually harassed anyone but because I had refused to take a humiliating online seminar. It struck me this was just another way to bring me down as a man and destroy me as a man – a classic Soviet purge!
“Catch a flight to Iran and freedom,” I mumbled. “Don’t take the seminar! Catch a flight to Iran or Syria or Palestine! Let them fire you!”
I had two hours to make my decision.
The Great Deception
One of the vital strands of propaganda (perhaps the most important), which is very thick and close to the center of the beast’s web, is the deception of choice. I call this the yin yang deception. (If you don’t like the left, then you can choose the right, so you have choice.) (If you don’t like the right, you can choose the left, so you have choice.)
The yin yang deception is the colossal deceiver, but it is highly effective, particularly when paired with an elite media that so devastates freedom of speech.
However, this is what actually exists: We have a two party system that is endorsed by the establishment. (THAT IS A ONE PARTY SYSTEM!) Or as I prefer to think of it: We live in a one party system called the revolting Republicans and the disgusting Democrats. Therefore, there is only the illusion of choice: the yin yang deception: the great deception.
This is why the one party is so pathetically corrupt and degenerate. Nothing can possibly keep it in check because it is a permanent government paired with a ruling press corps that constantly hocks its message into everyone’s ear, and the imperial media’s message now is designed to legitimize that which by all measure of history is corruption incarnate.
The elite establishment is so arrogant because they believe their permanent government is impossible to assail. In short, the American nobility now is worse than the Russian nobility 100 years ago because the American nobility believes, like the Russian nobility before it, that they are forever – in saecula saeculorum – forever and ever.
Then the second law of humanity always kicks in: Everything that exists exists to maintain the state or the status quo, whichever the case may be. Anyone who dares to be free is immediately crushed through a multitude of methods leading to where we are now: a level of corruption and degeneracy that is an infection in the eyes of Allah.
But there is the illusion of choice, the great deception, that the media blasts at everyone. Does this message become truth simply because it is stated so many times? If the elites say the sky is green does the sky become green? The beauty of humanity is to have been given a great gift from Allah, and that great gift is the ability to think. No matter how many times the commissar screamed at the Russian people: “Ya gotta believe in socialism! Ya gotta believe in socialism! Ya gotta believe in socialism!” The Russian people saw something else – something very different. No matter how many times the establishment spews: “Ya gotta believe in democracy! Ya gotta believe in democracy! Ya gotta believe in democracy!” The American people see something very different.
Finally, a critical mass is reached when NOBODY believes what TASS or Pravda or the elite media says anymore, and then there is change.
So what is truth? Truth is he who can get his message out the most – until no one believes the truth anymore.
So there is hope!
The Great American Gulag