We Need to Talk About the Way We Talk About Politics

There is an oft-cited, infrequently applied rule which we are told to follow when engaging in polite conversation: never talk about politics or religion. While I intend to break the former portion of this law (I’ll leave God alone for now), I hope you stick around to read and consider my argument, for I do not want anyone else to get caught in the web of inanity that our politicians and media have spun.  

Without further ado, here goes:

The way we talk about politics in this country is completely and utterly stupid. If you find yourself taking offense at this statement, I have two things to say to you: (1) The ease with which you get angry suggests you watch too much cable news; and (2) I’m sorry I’m not sorry.

Most importantly, our political discourse suffers because we are too easily outraged. Our news media, cognizant of our society’s bizarre anger fetish and anxious to expand the debate to appeal to the largest audience, focuses on items that provoke anger at the expense of critical thought. For example, the news networks had a field day covering the recent Donald Sterling imbroglio. Audience and analyst alike were afforded an opportunity to express their shock and indignation at the racist ranting of a demented octogenarian. Lost amid the sanctimonious browbeating was any serious discussion about the more insidious evils of institutional and structural racism, but such talk might veer into uncomfortable territory for an industry that remains overwhelmingly white.  

Partisan networks like MSNBC and Fox News frame news segments in a way that will stoke anger within their viewership. While Fox News scours the news wire for any instance in which liberals are undermining the country’s so-called "traditional principles" and examines every nook and cranny of the country to ensure that Sharia Law is not being imposed, MSNBC is patiently explaining to its viewers how Republicans are ruining the "governmental utopia" President Obama is attempting to create. Meanwhile, CNN either ghoulishly obsesses over the fate of missing Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 or provides “expert analysis” of the trial of whatever wayward white person Nancy Grace has fashioned into a celebrity.

Moreover, we too readily cling to the ideological paradigm of liberal-versus-conservative, needlessly dividing ourselves into camps to which most of us do not comfortably belong. As Nick Gillespie affirms in a recent opinion piece for Time Magazine, Americans have been rejecting the false choice between the Democratic and Republican Parties. Gillespie points to a 2013 Gallup poll that shows 42 percent of Americans declaring an Independent political affiliation. Moreover, the author relies on polling to prove that broad areas of agreement exist on seemingly divisive issues like gun control and same-sex marriage, among others.  

Furthermore, the language of politics relies too heavily on clichés and talking points that enable the speaker to avoid the difficult task of actually saying anything of substance. If I were given a quarter every time I heard a Democrat declare that his Republican opponent wanted to “ship our jobs overseas,” I could retire tomorrow. Conversely, the irritating Republican talking point about President Obama’s “feckless” foreign policy ignores the fact that the administration has essentially adopted President Bush’s aggressive counterterrorism campaign. For example, Obama has expanded military operations involving drones; these machines have infiltrated sovereign countries and in many cases indiscriminately killed terrorist and innocent civilian alike. The drone program actually screams for greater scrutiny, but the Republicans in Congress might have to drop their bellicose posture and blind devotion to the Defense Industry in order to pursue a serious inquiry. On second thought, it is probably safer (and more politically expedient) for them to stick with the “feckless” bit.   

Additionally, this toxic environment has turned numerous charlatans and hucksters into millionaires and pseudo-celebrities. For one-time incompetent vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin, political know-nothingness has become a lucrative cottage industry. Commentators like Ann Coulter and Ed Schultz have garnered fame and attention more for the extreme statements they make than for the intellectual value of their comments. Despite his controversial past, Al Sharpton has parlayed his fame into a daily show on MSNBC. Rush Limbaugh has made a fortune wading in the toxic swamp of conservative talk radio.

Finally, and most deleteriously, this noxious political environment has disenchanted innumerable voters. The resultant shrinking of the electorate has further empowered ideological extremists, party loyalists, and special interest groups.

Going forward, we would all do well to remember that idle complaining is easy. Visceral reaction is even easier. Getting educated on the issues and developing a nuanced opinion is a bit more challenging, but such is our duty as citizens. Otherwise, we’ll continue this fruitless cycle of changing our proverbial clothes every election season and then complaining that we don’t like the way we look.

Ultimately, as I survey the current landscape of our political discourse, I cannot help but recall an observation made by George Orwell, who remarked: “To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.” Perhaps by turning down the volume on our televisions and radios and resisting the reflexive urge to look left or right as we confront the problems we face, we might find the enlightenment we so desperately crave.


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At St. Joseph’s Prep, the Tuition is Too Damn High

Anniversaries hold a cherished place on the calendar. They provide us with an opportunity to share memories of the past, anticipate the future, and ponder the changes that have occurred in the interim. They are times for celebration and reflection. Yet, as I observe the ten year mark since I graduated from St. Joseph’s Preparatory School, I feel the occasion demands much more of the latter than the former.

While I look forward to reconnecting and reminiscing with my former classmates, I cannot shake the feeling that our reunion will devolve into a wake, for we are celebrating a St. Joseph’s Prep that might no longer exist. Indeed, our alma mater has been fundamentally altered since we departed its hallowed halls. 

Before I begin, allow me to clarify: I do not intend to engage in an exercise of arrogant nostalgia. I loathe the “back in my day” malarkey that spews forth from predecessors who seek the comfortable blanket of self-righteousness to shield them from their fears of aging and irrelevance. Furthermore, I bear no animosity toward the current generation of Prep students, nor do I entirely blame the current administration for a situation that they have inherited as a result of short-sighted decisions from previous school leaders. Nevertheless, the Prep has a problem. 

The tuition is too damn high.

When I commenced my studies at the Prep in September 2000, the tuition rate stood at $10,000. For the recently concluded academic year, the Prep charged a staggering $19,900. If the Prep had imposed the same rate in 2013-14 as it had in 2000-01, adjusting only for inflation, the school would have issued a much more reasonable fee of $13,528.[1] So what accounts for the $6,372 difference?

Perhaps an analysis of the Prep’s expenditures in recent years might provide us with some guidance. In the autumn of 2000, the Kelly Fieldhouse was completed at a cost of $7.3 million;[2] the christening of the gymnasium culminated a twelve-year, $25 million capital campaign.[3] By September 2008, the school unveiled a brand new cafeteria, dubbed the Sauter Dining Hall, and 16 new classrooms in the renovated rectory, which was re-named Jesuit Hall. The renovation and expansion cost the school an astonishing $21 million.[4]

Aside from their state-of-the-art aura, the newer edifices on campus can be distinguished from the old building by the window design. The Kelly Fieldhouse, the Sauter Dining Hall, and Jesuit Hall each feature large windows that provide an unobscured view of the North Philadelphia community that surrounds the school. By contrast, the older Villiger Hall, built shortly after a devastating and destructive race riot on nearby Columbia Avenue in 1964, was constructed with very small windows designed undoubtedly to mitigate potential property damage. In explaining his design choice, the architect of the Kelly Fieldhouse, John Blatteau, affirmed: “‘we were trying to bring back the connection to the neighborhood.’”[5]

The larger windows are nice, but what Philadelphians really need from St. Joe’s Prep are open doors. In a city in which the median income sits at $37,016 and the poverty rate from 2008-12 was measured at 26.2%,[6] a $20,000 annual tuition constitutes a cost-prohibitive investment. Although the Prep provides financial aid to 35% of its student body with an average package of $7,000,[7] $13,000 still seems unattainable for a significant number of Philadelphia families. Even though the school obviously offers more lucrative aid packages to families that demonstrate a higher need, one wonders whether the “sticker shock” wards off parents of talented students from North Philadelphia and the increasingly destitute Northeast. [8]

Whereas this observation is merely hypothetical, the stagnancy of the Prep’s demographics are indisputable. In 2000, 19% of the student body hailed from Philadelphia; 18% resided in New Jersey while 63% were culled from the Philadelphia suburbs.[9] Today, the breakdown falls in this way: Philadelphia (20.67%), Philadelphia suburbs (58.35%), and New Jersey (20.98%).[10] Over the past fourteen years, I have attended, taught, and visited the school and thus feel very comfortable making the following generalization: the school remains disproportionately affluent and overwhelmingly white. Racial diversity has emerged as one of Philadelphia’s greatest features, yet the Prep has failed to tap into this asset in a meaningful way.

As the Prep’s coffers swell from the exorbitant tuition it imposes on its students, investments have been made in projects that provide the campus with incredible aesthetic value to the detriment of an aggressive urban recruitment campaign. The school has followed a trajectory that mirrors the path pursued by many colleges and universities, which have focused on beautifying their grounds and devoting capital to amenities that provide little educational benefit as they pass the buck (literally) onto the student.

 

***

The mission of Saint Joseph’s Prep as a Catholic, Jesuit, urban, college preparatory school is to develop the minds, hearts, souls, and characters of young men in their pursuit of becoming men for and with others.

-St. Joseph’s Prep, Mission Statement

Besides the physical changes at 17^th and Girard that have occurred over the past decade, the Prep has also given itself a cultural makeover. The stewards of the school have embraced an Ignatian identity that was frankly nonexistent during my years as a student. While the motto “men for and with others” remains, other Jesuit vernacular, like cura personalis, has been added to the Prep’s philosophical dictionary. Moreover, the Prep has taken great pains to mark its physical space with an Ignatian stamp. The dining hall features a walkway with twelve bronze plaques that commemorate St. Ignatius’ physical and spiritual journey. Draped along the walls are the names of Ignatius’ original companions, the cohort that formed the Society of Jesus (Jesuits). The walkway leads to the Ignatian Room, which houses a bronze statue of the founder of the Jesuit order. The opulence of the place is trumped only by the irony of dedicating such a building to a religious order that takes a vow of poverty and to a saint who abandoned a comfortable existence in Spain for an ascetic life served in obedience to the Pope.

In charting a new cultural course, it appears the Prep has lost its way. In truth, no one would quibble with the decision to steer the school toward Ignatian principles. Yet the Prep would have been better served if it simultaneously recommitted itself to the values that led to its foundation in the first place. St. Joseph’s Prep opened its doors in 1851 to educate immigrant Catholics escaping the persecution of nativist elements in the city.[11] Anti-Irish Catholic sentiment in Philadelphia had engendered a riot in 1844 that resulted in the destruction of two Catholic churches in the city. As late as 1889, the Prep did not charge a tuition fee.[12]

Philadelphia has certainly changed in the past 160 years. Although there are fewer Catholics in the city, as evidenced by the Archdiocese’s increasing divestment from Philadelphia, intractable poverty continues to pose a major challenge. After a devastating fire in 1966 destroyed the school building, the Prep’s decision makers could have joined in the white exodus to the more comfortable environs of the suburbs. Instead, the Prep remained in the city and courageously committed itself to North Philadelphia. However, the boldness of this decision has been diminished somewhat by the school’s inability to educate the young men of this city in more substantial numbers.

By catering to a majority of wealthy students, the Prep can only exacerbate the tremendous socioeconomic inequality that defines the Delaware Valley. While it is certainly important to offer privileged young men an opportunity to experience an impoverished environment and cultivate in them a social consciousness, it is arguably more important to provide students mired in poverty with an opportunity for social mobility that only a stellar education and superior networking can supply. This does not mean that the Prep should diminish its academic standards in order to accommodate poorer students (just as it should not lower the academic bar for students whose parents can pay the full tuition rate); instead, the school ought to identify and recruit the best and the brightest of Philadelphia’s pupils and provide them with an outstanding education that they might then use to ameliorate the destitute condition they inherited by accident of birth.

An intensive urban recruitment campaign will also inject some much-needed diversity into the student body. Such a strategy emerges as the best way to create the empathy required to develop men “for and with” others. Students left unexposed to poor and/or minority peers are more susceptible to fall into a pattern of “othering” folks mired in poverty. If the status quo is maintained, the Prep runs the risk of perpetuating a culture of paternalism and patronization. Poverty would remain an abstract force exerted outside the walls of the school, something to which one is temporarily exposed during a brief service trip or a community service initiative. I doubt such a culture is Ignatian. It is certainly not Christian.    

 

***

It is quite likely that no one in any position of power at St. Joseph’s Prep will read this essay (or, more to the point, gives a darn what I think about the state of the school), though I can anticipate the criticism that might be directed toward me if it is issued. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” It’s true. I do not have access to the financial ledgers of the school; even if I did, I lack the expertise to offer a constructive criticism of the school’s expenditures. However, I do know what it is like to grow up in a large, middle-class Philadelphia family. I know what it is like to struggle to meet the financial demands of an unreasonable tuition fee. I know what it is like to sacrifice in order to gain access to the elite academic institutions in this city. I know not to be fooled by the sleight-of-hand trick being played when a lavish building is dressed in the humble garb of Jesuit history. And I know this: the financial path that the Prep has taken, if uncorrected, will price out the Philadelphia students most in need of a Prep education.  


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[1] A cost of inflation calculator can be found at: http://www.usinflationcalculator.com/

[2] http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:rXl8Y-fBCd4J:www.sjprep.org/s/80/images/editor_documents/Admission/international_/preppa_-_eo_flyer_-_13_12_05.pdf+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us

[3] Maria Panaritis, “Prep School Dedicates Fieldhouse,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, 20 November 2000. http://articles.philly.com/2000-11-20/news/25614853_1_students-school-leaders-joseph-s-preparatory-school

[4] http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:rXl8Y-fBCd4J:www.sjprep.org/s/80/images/editor_documents/Admission/international_/preppa_-_eo_flyer_-_13_12_05.pdf+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us

 

[5]Panaritis, “Prep School Dedicates Fieldhouse.”

[6] http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/42/42101.html

[7] http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:T3tY-7HtD1wJ:visual.ly/top-ten-myths-about-st-josephs-preparatory-school+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us

[8] http://thephilanews.com/poverty-up-in-northeast-8711.htm

[9] http://articles.philly.com/2000-11-20/news/25614853_1_students-school-leaders-joseph-s-preparatory-school

[10] http://www.sjprep.org/s/80/index.aspx?sid=80&gid=1&pgid=1183

[11] http://www.sjprep.org/s/80/index.aspx?sid=80&gid=1&pgid=1217

[12] http://www.sjprep.org/s/80/index.aspx?sid=80&gid=1&pgid=1221

The Curious Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal

“Facts,” observed John Adams, “are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence.”[1]

 

So, here are the facts.

 

On a cold December night in 1981, Police Officer Daniel Faulkner observed a vehicle traveling in the wrong direction on a one-way street and initiated a traffic stop. After surveying the situation, Faulkner requested the assistance of policemen working the wagon detail. He then exited his patrol car and encountered the wayward motorist, William Cook, who had gotten out of his car to engage the officer. A physical altercation ensued and Faulkner subdued his attacker with a flashlight or a nightstick. From across the street, a black male sporting dreadlocks ran toward the scene and fired his gun at Faulkner, striking him in the back. The wounded policeman spun around and, as he fell to the ground, shot his assailant, depositing a bullet into his chest.

 

Undeterred, the dreadlocked gunman sought to finish his task. Standing over Faulkner, the assassin peered into the eyes of a man who was twenty-five and recently married; of a policeman whose performance record contained zero disciplinary actions and numerous commendations; of a determined dreamer who hoped to rise to the position of police commissioner or to attain a law degree and work in the District Attorney’s Office; of a fellow human being who aspired to become a father in the not-so-distant future.[2] The gunman pulled the trigger, firing the fatal bullet. Officer Faulkner laid dead on the street, executed for the crime of performing his duty.

 

The murderer attempted to flee, but only managed to make it to the curb. Police officers arrived on the scene quickly and apprehended the suspect. His name was Mumia Abu-Jamal, formerly known as Wesley Cook. By a stroke of coincidence, Abu-Jamal’s brother happened to be William Cook, the driver who had been involved in the initial confrontation with Officer Faulkner.

The testimony of four witnesses assisted in the reconstruction of the incident. A fifth eyewitness, the aforementioned William Cook, asserted on the scene that he was not involved in the murder. At the trial of his brother, William refused to testify, citing his Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination.

 

The murder weapon, a .38-caliber Charter Arms, was registered to Abu-Jamal. The bullet removed from Abu-Jamal’s body was traced back to Officer Faulkner’s service weapon. Both guns were discovered and retrieved at the scene of the crime.

 

After being transported to the hospital to treat his gunshot wound, Abu-Jamal allegedly stated: “I shot the motherfucker and I hope the motherfucker dies.”[3] The confession was overheard and recorded by Priscilla Durham, a security guard who worked at the hospital.

 

These are the facts, and they are indeed stubborn things.

 

Nevertheless, these truths have been submerged in a sea of obfuscation as the events of 9 December 1981 recede into the abyss of the past. Floating along in this body of water is Mumia Abu-Jamal, who has emerged as the vessel that represents all that is wrong with the American system of justice for both his advocates and his opponents. Over the course of thirty-two years, Mr. Abu-Jamal and his supporters have transformed the case from a local homicide of a police officer into an international referendum on the persistence of racism in American jurisprudence. They have wielded America’s history of racial intolerance as a rhetorical shield to fend off the compelling proof of Abu-Jamal’s culpability. They have encouraged others to view the case with an historical telescope rather than a microscope, which has engendered a form of myopia in which broad historical context supersedes even the most basic knowledge of the crime.

 

Abu-Jamal’s legal team has marshaled an impressive stable of wealthy celebrities and influential academics to support his cause. These patrons have afforded Abu-Jamal the credibility and, more importantly, the finances to construct a platform upon which he can rail against the perceived shortcomings of America’s justice system, whose protections have enabled Abu-Jamal to make his case for innocence in appellate proceedings for three decades, to no avail; whose caution led to the overturning of Abu-Jamal’s death sentence on the grounds that jurors might have been confused about the instructions that they received before commencing deliberations during the penalty phase of the trial; and whose restrictions have not silenced Abu-Jamal’s voice during his incarceration. In short, Mumia Abu Jamal’s “persecution” is mythic and risible.    

 

Consider, for example, the claim that Mumia was not granted a fair trial. A reasoned analysis of the trial transcript reveals that the biggest impediment to Abu-Jamal's obtainment of an impartial hearing was Mumia Abu-Jamal himself. The defendant created incessant disruptions throughout the court proceedings; for instance, he spent a considerable amount of time demanding that John Africa, the founder of the radical group MOVE, represent him. Africa possessed little in the way of formal education, much less any knowledge of the intricacies of American law. In this instance (and in quite a few others) the judge, Albert Sabo, was forced to save Abu-Jamal from himself by refusing his motion and instead appointing a public defender of Mumia's choosing to serve as secondary counsel. The judge’s ruling was based purely on the application of legal precedent and did not preclude Africa from offering the defendant advice and counsel during the trial.

 

Moreover, the transcript is littered with instances when Mumia insulted Judge Sabo and repeatedly revisited issues on which Sabo had already ruled, ranting like a petulant child when he did not get his way. The defendant did not seem to care that his disrespectful behavior toward the judge might have reflected a general disregard for officers of the law and the law itself, which likely influenced the jury. In the end, if Abu-Jamal’s sympathizers would like to proclaim that Mr. Abu-Jamal's trial was a circus, they would be remiss if they did not include the identity of the ringmaster when formulating their argument.

 

In spite of the myriad petitions that Abu-Jamal’s defense team has offered in court, no new trial is forthcoming. The exculpatory conspiracy theories, which have relied on the testimonies and recollections of petty criminals and serial prevaricators, have only exposed the desperation to which Abu-Jamal’s lawyers will resort to free their client from his rightful sentence. With his appeals finally exhausted, Mumia Abu-Jamal will spend the rest of his life behind bars.

 

Undoubtedly, there will remain individuals unconvinced of Mumia’s guilt who will regard the prisoner as a martyr to American racism. They will point to our nation’s past as proof of a present injustice. Mumia Abu-Jamal’s supporters would be well-advised, nonetheless, to keep in mind that the light of history can blind just as easily as it can illuminate. Otherwise, they will continue to fall for the cynical sleight-of-hand that Abu-Jamal has employed to conceal the truth, which has been determined by a jury and reaffirmed after numerous appellate proceedings: Mumia Abu-Jamal murdered Daniel Faulkner on December 9, 1981. Case closed.

 

 

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[1] http://www.quotationspage.com/quote/3235.html

[2] This general sketch of Officer Faulkner was gleaned from the following book: Faulkner, Maureen and Smerconish, Michael, Murdered by Mumia (Guilford, CT: Lyons Press, 2008).

[3] Marc Kaufman, “Abu-Jamal Said He Shot Officer, Two Tell Trial,” Philadelphia Inquirer, June 15, 1982.

Johnny Manziel and the Fraud of Collegiate Amateurism

One of the more frustrating aspects of the Football Bowl Subdivision (formerly known as Division I) system has been the extent to which subjectivity factors into the determination of the best teams in the nation. Unfortunately, such a shortcoming seems inevitable in a game as physically demanding and as ubiquitous as college football. One could not reasonably expect student-athletes to endure a twelve or thirteen game season and then compete in a March Madness-style tournament (which would add another six games to the schedule for the eventual champion and runner-up), all the while playing at an optimum level. Therefore, subjective comparison will remain a fixture of the college football ranking system for the foreseeable future.  

In spite of this subjective streak in college football, few aficionados and analysts would deny that Johnny Manziel was the best player in the nation when the dust settled on the 2012 season. Manziel, a redshirt freshman who emerged from third-string obscurity to lead the Texas A&M Aggies to an 11-2 record, won the Heisman Trophy after a stellar campaign that was punctuated by a stunning win over the vaunted Alabama Crimson Tide in Tuscaloosa. Manziel’s meteoric rise mirrored the stunning progress of the Texas A&M program, which in the span of one year morphed from a middling Big 12 team into a Southeastern Conference powerhouse. While the Aggies’ reversal of fortune was due in no small measure to the outstanding coaching of offensive wunderkind Kevin Sumlin, the emergence of Manziel stands as the primary reason for Texas A&M’s football renaissance.

Texas A&M’s victorious season on the gridiron was reflected in the program’s financial ledger. By the time the 2012 season ended, the Aggies had raked in nearly $120 million.[1] For his troubles, Coach Sumlin earned a healthy raise that bumped his annual compensation to $3.1 million.[2] As for the players who were primarily responsible for turning the dream season into a reality, well, they got nothing. Nothing for dedicating themselves year-round to the task of sculpting their physiques in order to withstand the physical punishment of a football game. Nothing for waking up in the early morning for meetings and tape study. Nothing for attending interminable practices and mandatory study sessions. Nothing for ensuring that their broken bodies would be mended in time for the next game by visiting the training room. Nothing for an 11-2 season and a Cotton Bowl victory. Nothing for wonderfully representing Texas A&M University under a spotlight that outshines the one under which the university’s highly-paid administrators labor.

 Nothing.

Well, not really nothing. A free education is certainly something. So is access to an expansive and influential booster network that could facilitate an outgoing player’s quest for employment. Moreover, one cannot adequately valuate the privilege of playing in college football’s best conference in front of hundreds of thousands of rabid fans. So the players received some compensation.

However, some compensation does not equate to adequate compensation, especially in the case of Johnny Manziel. According to one estimate, Manziel’s Heisman season produced $37 million in media exposure revenue for Texas A&M.[3] This figure does not include the profits from the university’s merchandising operation, which included the sale of Manziel jerseys (er, #2 jerseys- gee, I wonder why that number is popular?). Rather than receiving a reward for his sensational season, Manziel has instead been saddled with a heavy burden: he has become the “beneficiary” of an insane level of media attention.

The ESPN network, which played a significant role in cultivating the “Johnny Football” ethos, now seeks to exploit the new sports hero whose pedestal it created. Gone are the days when Manziel could commit the common college student sins of oversleeping, underage drinking, and shortsighted tweeting under the cloak of anonymity. Now every one of Manziel’s actions is scrutinized and inanely “debated” on ESPN shows like "First Take." Articles are written on ESPN’s website about the “questions” with which NFL evaluators are contending as they analyze the “controversies” that surround the quarterback.[4] The most recent scandal involves an NCAA investigation of an accusation that Manziel was paid in exchange for autographing memorabilia. According to ESPN Sports Business reporter Darren Rovell, if the NCAA substantiates the allegation it could deem the quarterback ineligible for the infraction of “accepting money for promoting or advertising the commercial sale of a product or service.”[5]

One can safely bet that ESPN’s coverage of this imbroglio will avoid the touchy issue of the NCAA’s obvious hypocrisy on this front since the network just secured a twelve-year television contract for the BCS playoffs (set to begin in 2014) for the princely sum of $500 million per season.[6] After all, it’s uncouth to attack a business partner. If ESPN did revert to a journalistic approach in covering this investigation, perhaps its reporters would ask the NCAA why the organization continues to enforce the principle of amateurism on its student-athletes while the other members of the college football landscape profit like bandits. Why are the student-athletes compelled to play for free, for “love of the game," when the game has been commercialized by the NCAA and its member institutions? Even the sacrosanct bowl games have been adulterated by the presence of corporate sponsors (Discover Orange Bowl, Rose Bowl Game presented by Vizio). While coaches drift from one job to the next in search of the highest payday and athletic directors move their universities from one conference to another in search of the highest television rights payout, college student-athletes are left twisting in the wind. Their destinies are shaped and contorted by the influence of money, but the foolish and self-serving enforcement of the amateur ideal prevents them from accessing the wealth that they create.

Alas, no one should expect the network, or any sports “journalist," to ask these questions. Everyone is too invested in the narrative of a star quarterback who could not handle the pressures of fame, who selfishly put himself ahead of the team by accepting money. As reporters myopically focus on Manziel, a bigger scandal remains unexplored: namely, the absurdity of the college football business model, which generates hundreds of millions of dollars for universities without distributing any of the spoils to the laborers. And that is just an objective fact.      

 

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[1] http://collegesportsblog.dallasnews.com/2013/05/texas-am-one-of-13-schools-that-made-100-million-revenue-in-2012.html/

[2] http://www.cbssports.com/collegefootball/blog/eye-on-college-football/21786912/kevin-sumlin-gets-extension-salary-raise-to-31-million

[3] http://www.thebatt.com/a-m-football-season-manziel-generate-37-million-in-media-exposure-revenue-1.2973571#.UgMGoxXD_IV

[4] http://espn.go.com/nfl/story/_/id/9542030/nfl-eye-johnny-manziel-wrong-reasons

[5] http://espn.go.com/espn/otl/story/_/id/9537999/otl-ncaa-investigating-johnny-manziel-profiting-autographs

[6] http://collegefootballtalk.nbcsports.com/2012/11/21/espn-lands-12-year-agreement-to-televise-playoffs-bcs-bowls/

An Open Letter to Dad on Father’s Day

Dear Dad,

For as long as I can remember, I have tried to emulate you. Perhaps my motivation resides in the fact that, as your namesake, I consider it my duty to match your achievements, or perhaps I am driven by the same ambition that influences all sons who love their fathers. Whatever the origin, I have devoted myself to emerging from your large shadow to establish an impressive reputation and a level of success that would enable you to be proud of me. However, in recent years I have wondered whether I am up to this challenge.

After all, you have always been an imposing presence in my life. I could never match your physical stature, but it never stopped me from making an honest attempt. For years, I religiously committed myself to a weightlifting program in the hope that I could look like you, a muscular fellow with whom one should not trifle. I never quite accomplished the goal, which frustrated me. I wanted to play football like you; I had to settle for rugby.      

Growing up in a neighborhood in which my peers seemed fixated on creating an ethos of “toughness”, you instructed me to appreciate the work of the pen and shun the destructive power of the punch. You taught me how to read and write and instilled in me an enduring love of knowledge. You made incredible financial sacrifices to ensure that money would never emerge as an obstacle in my quest to attend the best schools. Often, you would take on several odd jobs to make ends meet; you officiated track meets, operated the scoreboard at basketball games, and conducted SAT tutoring sessions. I’m sure you loathed these endless workdays, but you assumed the responsibility anyway in order to improve the lives of your children.

Your altruism has not been confined to the immediate family. You have offered free SAT instruction to high school students in the neighborhood for years. Also, you continue to coach CYO baseball, even though all of your children have grown up and moved on from the program. You are what the Jesuits would describe as a “man for others.” Moreover, you are not content to express your Catholicism by simply attending weekly Church services; you live your faith.

I guess I should not be surprised by these displays of selflessness from a man who selected education as his profession. Over the course of a career that has spanned four decades, you have molded the malleable minds of high school students. Whether you are deciphering for your pupils the nuances of English grammar or you are explaining iambic pentameter to teenagers encountering Shakespeare for the first time, you are always in command of the material and work very hard to relate your lessons to a younger generation. Furthermore, your commitment to your school extends beyond the classroom. For thirty years, you have coached football, imparting your wisdom to star running backs and special teamers alike.    

As anyone can see, there is so much to admire about you, Dad. On some level, my quest to live up to your legacy influenced my decision to become a teacher. Unfortunately, things did not work out very well on this front. I remember walking through the snow with you on the way to Mass one Sunday evening, crushed by the knowledge that I was about to lose my job and burdened by the weight of failure. I informed you of my fate and anticipated a harsh condemnation. Instead, you told me that everything would be okay. That is what I love most about you, Dad: when I fell down, you always greeted me with an extended hand rather than a shaking fist. You would rebuke me not for failing, but for failing to try.

Recently, I was presented with an opportunity to watch you in action as you taught a class. I observed from outside the door as you controlled the room and executed your lesson plan. The confidence you exuded reflected your strong grasp of the subject matter, which caused your students to remain respectful and attentive throughout the period. You truly are a master of your craft. As I observed you, an important realization dawned on me. It is something every son who reveres his father must discover at some point: while I should continue striving to be like you, I should cease trying to be you.

So, in lieu of a new tie or a box of golf balls, on this Father’s Day I would like to offer you a simple “thank you”. Thank you, Dad, for everything you have done for me. And even though I know I must discover my own path as I navigate through life, thank you for pointing me in the right direction.  


Love,
Tim


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Shackled by a Liberal Arts Education

A few months ago, an acquaintance of mine wandered into the beer distributor where I am employed and we engaged in some idle chatter. He talked at some length about his job as an electrician and, at some point during the course of the conversation, directed a question at me that I often field from people who are aware of my academic credentials: why am I working at a beer distributor? After I offered him the rehearsed answer I often supply for this type of query, that I tried teaching and didn’t like it and am now struggling to find another profession, the inquisitive electrician posed a follow-up: what was my major? After I told him that I double majored in English Literature and History, he offered a devastating summation: “So you basically did nothing.” He spoke not maliciously but rather matter-of-factly, which did nothing to dull the blade of the rhetorical sword he plunged into my chest. My electrician pal’s dismissive comments about my academic choices left me in a reflective mood, a state with which I have grown quite familiar.

Why did I opt to major in English and History? What was I thinking? Was I thinking? As I tried to recall my thought process when I wrestled with this pivotal decision, my mind gradually drifted back to memories from my time at the University of Pennsylvania.

I arrived at Penn a diffident teenager. I had excelled as a student in high school, but I was entering a much different arena. My peers emerged as some of our nation’s most elite academic talent and emanated from some of the most prestigious secondary schools in the world. Who the heck was I to be included among such impressive company? True, my grades in high school were laudable, but my transcript lacked the litany of AP courses that so many incoming Penn freshmen had taken. Yes, I had fashioned myself into a decent wrestler and was honored as a captain of my team, but in the end I was just an unexceptional wrestler on a middling squad in an average league. Upon introspection, I viewed myself as an ambitious overachiever with a mediocre core that would be exposed once I flew too close to the sun.

 My first experience in the new world I had entered arrived quite quickly. After my three roommates and I had settled into our new quarters, we conversed for a bit in an effort to become more familiar with one another. After a time, our banter shifted onto foreign terrain as my three new friends began comparing SAT scores. Back home, I was used to hearing my friends argue inanely over who was the toughest guy in the neighborhood, and I guess my roommates’ game served a similar purpose. It was like a bizarro alpha male contest, one in which I stood no chance of winning. I had indeed moved into a new environment, one in which I feared I would be chewed up and regurgitated quickly.

Aside from my insecurity, I was struggling with an existential crisis as I embarked on my college career. I had no idea what I wanted to study and didn’t possess a plan for my post-collegiate days. In retrospect, I should have placed a stronger premium on solving the latter dilemma. Instead, I agonized over the selection of a major for three academic terms. At some point after my freshman year, I even briefly considered taking a leave from school to join the Marine Corps.

Ultimately, I abandoned the military path because I did not want to waste the precious opportunity I had been given. After all, an Ivy League diploma could become a game changer for my family. I wanted so badly to reward my parents for all of the financial sacrifices they made on my behalf. They deserved a son who finished this journey, no matter how arduous it might seem.

Therefore, I returned to school for my sophomore year and heeded the advice of my academic advisor, who offered simple, yet sage, advice. He told me to consider the classes that most piqued my interest during my freshman year as I decided the course I would pursue for my future studies. After a brief flirtation with Psychology, I decided on History and English Literature.

I chose English Literature in part because I knew it would appease my father, who was naturally concerned about my future. He was an English teacher who had majored in the subject during his undergraduate term and who believed, as did I, that a B.A. in English Literature could serve as a solid bridge to law school or to the professional world. Also, I had taken a couple of English courses and thoroughly enjoyed them. I was exposed to some excellent material that expanded my knowledge of the world and the courses enabled me to write multiple essays, which I viewed as one of my strengths.

Whereas my decision to major in English was rooted in utility, my selection of History derived from my passion for the discipline. I aced an Early American History class that was taught by a Pulitzer Prize-winning historian and my T.A. for the course seemed genuinely interested in the insights I offered during the Friday morning recitations. Moreover, I loved the critical approach taken by my History professors. These were not classes in which students were inundated with an avalanche of historical facts; these were classes that challenged accepted narratives and humanized historical figures who are too often deified through the magic of nostalgia and a Whiggish approach to studying the past.

In order to avoid prevarication, I will also disclose that I selected these subjects because I thought they offered the surest path to success while also posing a manageable academic challenge. Of course, my sense of inferiority partially inhibited me from seeking out a more rigorous program. However, my tenuous financial situation played a more significant role in the process. By the spring semester of my Junior year, I had to leave my work-study job to find something more lucrative. I landed at a restaurant on campus and worked most of the weekend, leaving precious little time for studying and socializing. I worked thirty to forty hours per week in order to clear my tuition balance, which posed a major obstacle throughout my college tenure.

A new job was not the only time-consuming challenge I accepted during that spring term. I applied for and was accepted into the History Honors Program. Over the course of three semesters, I conducted research and composed a thesis. My quest for primary source material required me to make frequent, day-long trips to an archives in Center City. Furthermore, the writing process devolved into a painful exercise of reconceptualization and revision. I barely finished the project on time, but I turned in an acceptable thesis.

The complicated juggling act in which I was engaged left me with little occasion to ponder my long-term prospects in a serious manner. I was focused on surviving the present, not thriving in the future. Besides, I knew that my liberal arts education had showered me with invaluable assets that would attract any potential employer. As I traversed through my program of studies, I cultivated my critical analysis skills and honed my writing and speaking abilities. Additionally, I was exposed to diverse viewpoints, which engendered in me a more nuanced understanding of the world. I can honestly say that I evolved from an anxious teen into a confident and well-rounded man during my college years.

Unfortunately, my myopic and relentless focus on the present negatively impacted my future, which was exacerbated by a horrific economic recession that greeted me upon graduation. My liberal arts education in general and my Penn experience in particular had inculcated in me a sense that I was capable of greatness. Yet, without practical training or a well-established network, this notion dissolves into a mere delusion of grandeur. Undoubtedly, I possess an extensive stable of intangible skills, but I wonder whether I can claim any practical skills. I do know, though, that my college experience has bequeathed to me a severe case of cognitive dissonance: while I am sure I can do anything, I fear I am able to do nothing.

Today’s economy demands an educated workforce, particularly in the so-called STEM fields (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics). While I remain steadfast in my belief in the value of a liberal arts education, I know that I should have developed a long term plan when I was an undergraduate. I should have asked myself how I could market the skills with which my college education endowed me and I should have committed myself to building networks. I should have realized that thousands of people possess a similar educational background and we are all battling over increasingly limited opportunities; perhaps a few business classes would have better prepared me for the brutal reality of a free-market economy governed by the forces of supply and demand.

Now I am trapped, consigned to a life that struggles to find meaning. I will not find it at the beer distributor, just as I was unable to find a proper retort to the inquisitive and judgmental electrician. I wish I could have told him of all of the life lessons I learned from literature, or of my solid understanding of our nation’s history. I wish I could have told him that my studies taught me how to think independently, immunizing me from the fear mongering that frequently emanates from manipulative politicians and ratings-crazed media members. Instead, I chose to say nothing. I was lost in thought, a lasting gift of my liberal arts education.  

 

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