A student's coloring:
Most of my students were 2 or 3 years
old when Obama was first elected. The
significance of electing our first African-American president doesn’t dawn on
them in a historical sense, but they are quick to recognize that Obama looks
like them—that he is not only black, but he is powerful and black. He’s a star.
He evokes more ambition than any black musician, athlete, or historical
hero has ever presented to them, especially in this early stage of life, when
they remain little and dreamy and every opportunity still feels like a growth
spurt away.
Their
teachers were excited too. We also have
our hopes and dreams. How different is
leading a classroom than leading a nation?
To channel this excitement our 2nd grade team ran a “teacher
for president” election Ms. B ran under
the platform that she baked cookies and wanted all the kids to go to
college. Ms. T said she saved puppies
and believed in peace. Ms. W shamelessly
advertised that she voted for Obama in 2008.
I ran under the platform that we should have Saturday school, extra
homework, less recess, and eat chicken foot soup for lunch every day. I was not interested in moderate politics, in
centrist facades, and soft issues; I wanted the children to understand there
were real differences in the candidates and that it was their obligation to
vote based on issues instead of who they liked more.
More
than 100 scholars showed up to the polls in their classrooms. I received 7 votes. I failed to appeal to my base. Ms. W won by a slim margin. There was no recount.
The
Monday before Election Day I held a more relevant election between Romney and
Obama. I thought back to the 2008
election when I was working in a South Boston
classroom and we had run a similar mock election. There were two white kids in the class that
came from traditional Irish Southie families just outside the Old Colony and
Broadway Projects. They were the only
two children to vote for McCain. Their
reasons were clear: “Obama is a terrorist from Kenya.” “Obama will blow up our country.”
The
black and Hispanic kids started to pressure me.
“You’re voting for McCain because you’re white.” I had vowed never to reveal my leanings, but
went back on my word to disband their developing theory that people vote for
the candidates that most closely reflect their skin color. I wondered if I would have to play the same
role again four years later.
In
my class in New Orleans I told the kids that before they vote they should know
more about both candidates and to keep an open mind. “You might learn something about Romney that
you might really like.” Chance, a bright
but squirmy challenge to my daily patience, looked me in the eye, and said
“Hmmm…maybe I’ll vote for Romney.” Then
he flopped onto his back on the carpet and pencil-rolled into the girl next to
him. I made him go back to his seat.
Together
we read a profile list from Time For Kids
comparing the candidates.
“Obama’s
wife's name is Michelle. Romney’s wife is
Anne.” The room was quiet to start but
it got louder as went down the list.
“Obama’s
favorite sport is basketball.” Mild cheers. “Romney’s is baseball.” Soft
boos.
“Obama loves pizza and
chili.” Wild claps, Nate, another bright but mobile child, gets out of his seat
and pumps his fist.
“Romney
loves meatloaf.” A loud, collective groan. A
child blurts out, “oooh, disgusting!” I
don’t mention that we all ate meatloaf two days ago for lunch and it was
delicious.
The room grew louder, a piston
of cheers and heckling with each item on the list until we got to the bottom.
“Obama’s
hero is Martin Luther King Jr.” Nate leaps from his seat and into the air
and starts to scream. Kids bang on their
desks and holler in approval. Chance
does a half-twist in his chair and swings at the air in excitement.
I motioned for them to calm-down.
“Romney’s
hero is….Ronald Reagan.” The room
erupted. Kids banged their desks in
disapproval. They booed and jeered. “No,
Reagan, No!” a girl shouted, mimicking a book called No, David, No about a wild and mischievous boy who breaks all the
rules. It took us two minutes to settle
down. I made them put their heads down
on their desks for a few seconds before they colored in their electoral
maps.
Obama
won 23-1 in our class. Romney’s only
vote came from one of the sweeter girls in the class, who can’t yet read, but
liked the way Romney looked on our pictorial ballot.
The
next day our school was closed because it was a main polling place of the
French Quarter. It was a special school
and indirectly has had its hand in politics and history before, having educated
Truman Capote, Richard Simmons, and more importantly, Lee Harvey Oswald.
I
voted at the Holy Rosary School on the Bayou.
I entered through a small stairwell room adorned with extra desks and a
small fenced-in statue of the Virgin Mary.
After I voted I noticed a picture of the Pope on the wall.
I
went to another school to observe other 2nd grade teachers and take
notes. In one classroom the teacher
asked the kids to write about the election.
It was clear they had written about the subject before and some looked
tired of it. One girl, though, sat at her desk and thought for several minutes
before writing. Her pencil never left
the paper once she started. “I think
Rockobana will win. The white man will
lose.” Her handwriting was perfect.
