Lesson not learned

For five months, North High administrators have prohibited English teacher Carlo Baldino from showing White Man's Burden to his class. It's a dispute that pits academic freedom against the appropriateness of showing R-rated movies to students. Both sides have forgotten the real issue in jeopardy: frank talk about racial inequities in America.

by Kristen Lombardi

By now, the premise of the 1995 film White Man's Burden is well-known. Our world is reversed so that black is white and white is black. Every inverted detail serves as satire on white privilege: black joggers in posh neighborhoods; black cops who stop white men; black dolls in toy stores. And the tragic tale of the relationship between an oppressed laborer, played by John Travolta, and his smug boss, played by Harry Belafonte, symbolizes the complicated issues of race, class, and crime.

In the opening scene, Belafonte's character plays host to a group of prim, elegantly dressed black folks. Conversation soon turns to "those poor people," in which he hints at white inferiority. A guest feigns insult. "White people are genetically inferior or culturally crippled or socially deprived," Belafonte's character replies. "The bottom line is . . . are these a people who are beyond being helped?"

White Man's Burden was not a box-office success; it was even criticized for falling flat. But it presents a depiction of American race relations that's sophisticated enough to spark discussion.

That discussion, though, hasn't been allowed to happen at North High School this academic year.

The film's R-rating prompted North High principal Elizabeth Drake to prohibit its showing, which then led to the removal of all R-rated movies from the school library, including such classics as Schlinder's List, Macbeth, and Glory. Yet it's questionable how much of an issue White Man's Burden would be were it not for Carlo Baldino, the North High English teacher who had hoped to use the film as supplemental material not only to illustrate the literary concept of irony but also, he says, "to make a strong point about racism." After all, Baldino has managed to make a name for himself as the troublemaker of Worcester Public Schools, a system that often shies away from controversy.

The reputation is rooted in Baldino's high-profile battle last year to show a video of Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, who is widely regarded as anti-Semitic. Baldino planned to illustrate oratory style by presenting a video of Farrakhan speaking at the 1995 Million Man March in Washington, DC. After it was banned, Baldino filed a grievance with the teachers union, setting off an emotional, combative debate among Baldino -- backed by anti-censorship advocates -- and prominent Jewish residents. He eventually won, but not before more than 30 letters-to-the-editor were published in the T&G, including his own, which went so far as to argue that those opposed to Farrakhan were really attempting to select who was fit to represent black leadership in America.

"This is not only patronizing and paternalistic, it is a classic example of white supremacist thinking and it is blatantly racist," he wrote.

If such volatile language hasn't hurt Baldino, it probably hasn't helped him either. Indeed, he filed a second grievance over the White Man's Burden ban assuming, he says, he'd be permitted to show the film. Instead, he's been rejected at every administrative level so far. Not only that, but what started as a fight over an R-rated movie has grown into a battle with consequences for all teachers, considering the school department announced a tougher video policy last month.

As Baldino pushes his cause to overturn what he calls an affront to teachers' academic freedom, the administration's focused on its systemwide R-rated policy. The school committee even held a 15-minute, closed-door grievance hearing on May 20, at which members mainly considered the hardened policy's effect on teacher contracts. Yet what people aren't talking about is the debate's very impetus -- the film's content, let alone the valuable, racial lesson it would provide.

In the reversed world of White Man's Burden, misfortune begets misfortune until Travolta's protagonist resorts to crime. He kidnaps Belafonte's character, setting off a series of perilous events that drive each to recognize the other's humanity. In one scene, the two sit outside a fast-food joint in the ghetto, eating fries, slurping soda. They share a kind of Kodak moment gazing at wallet-sized, family photos.

Then Travolta's protagonist confides, "I didn't mean for things to turn out they way they did . . ."

Things, he realizes, have really unraveled. They've become so uncontrollable, in fact, there seems only one direction in which they can go.

"I'm fucked either way," he surmises.

No one in Worcester has said as much, of course, yet the debate over White Man's Burden can easily appear as chaotic and heedless as the movie's own plot. The controversy began in January, when Baldino, 55, a veteran teacher, challenged Drake because of the library ban -- a ban that he considers "tantamount to a book burning."

Throughout the past five months, though, the grievance has developed into a larger issue. Baldino, for instance, has practically appointed himself the champion of academic freedom in the city's public schools. "This is about classroom control," he says. "It's about being micro-managed by people who don't even teach."

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How Farrakhan, a highly controversial figure, known for his explosive rhetoric, was deemed appropriate while White Man's Burden, a mild R-rated film (it features limited violence, no sex, and no nudity) exploring race in America, has repeatedly been rejected is nothing less than baffling.

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Likewise, administrators and school committee members have also taken a global perspective, using the grievance as a way to ponder a systemwide policy on R-rated films. As Phil Niddrie, a school committee member, explains, "This gives us the opportunity to review our video policy and double-check that we're on the right track."

But ultimately, the debate's momentum has simply served to push both sides into corners -- so much so that a few key players admit to casting votes without ever having seen the video in question.

So if Baldino wanted irony, he has plenty of examples to pick from. Baldino, for starters, had intended to show White Man's Burden to his "repeater class," consisting of students enrolled in ninth-grade English for the second or third time. Many are actually ages 18 and 19 -- old enough to watch R-rated films in theaters without parental consent.

And then there's the fact that, during the North High ban, other Worcester teachers have presented R-rated videos to their students. Baldino even claims that Forest Grove Middle School students saw the R-rated movie Tombstone in April.

Perhaps a more dramatic irony centers on the North High administration's rush to rid the library of R-rated films. What can only be viewed as an attempt, however shortsighted, at consistency has resulted in the banning of Schlinder's List, a powerful tale of one man's effort to rescue Jews from concentration camps. And so the very Jewish leaders who fiercely opposed the Farrakhan video last year -- arguing for Farrakhan to be censored in the T&G letters section and in meetings with school officials -- must now witness censorship of a highly significant Holocaust movie instead.

Baldino, who is perfectly capable of spotting irony, has tried to enlist the Jewish community in his latest fight. In a January 24 letter to the Worcester Jewish Federation, Baldino noted that, while school policy prohibits Schindler's List, he can still show the 30-minute, non-rated Farrakhan video.

So far, Baldino hasn't received help from the Jewish Federation. Indeed, unlike the Farrakhan video, White Man's Burden has sparked limited, if any, public debate. Even advocacy groups like Black FBI, which had seized the Farrakhan controversy to stress a lack of black North High teachers, have remained silent on this matter.

That the banning of countless R-rated films has yet to stir emotion is astonishing, considering Baldino prevailed last year by arguing against censorship's "double-edged sword." In a T&G column, Baldino had even contended that, "If Louis Farrakhan can be censored, then someday down the road a Jewish history teacher can be tapped on the shoulder and told he's spending too much time on the Holocaust." But now the self-described, free-speech absolutist looks to be losing the censorship debate.

Which, no doubt, is the most striking irony of all.

Baldino acknowledges that he hasn't enjoyed the sort of conspicuous support that would make school administrators take notice -- at least, not from the general public. Yet this isn't to say that his colleagues are letting him fight alone. Tom Bostock, a Burncoat High School English teacher and longtime friend, says Baldino's doing right by teachers, adding, "We should be trusted with our decisions on what we show kids."

If anything, Bostock and others are more likely to back Baldino's latest grievance, as opposed to Farrakhan, because it hits so close to home.

After all, movies have become increasingly popular teaching tools in today's classrooms. Once necessary yet mindless fillers for substitute teachers, videos are now considered invaluable, everyday supplements to books, especially in an age of visually oriented kids. English teachers, for example, often rely on contemporary films of Shakespearean plays like Romeo and Juliet and Henry the Fifth to help students better understand the archaic language.

In the past several years, Worcester teachers have had to justify why they wished to show videos, elaborating on how videos fit into the curriculum. Yet it's questionable just how the school policy was managed: some teachers say principals never asked for ratings; others say they never had to seek special permission to show R-rated films.

Now that Baldino has filed the grievance, though, school administrators have, in essence, jeopardized teachers' ability to show videos at all. In upholding Drake's decision last month, Superintendent James Garvey (who recently retired) tightened policy by putting forth a cumbersome, complex procedure. Teachers must give a more detailed explanation for showing a video, answering why the video is important, what students will learn, and how it relates not only to curriculum but to state standards. Then the explanation, along with a permission slip, must be sent to parents, who can excuse their child if desired.

For Baldino, such an onerous policy -- coming four months after his challenge -- is anything but welcome. As he puts it, "This is a totally disrespectful policy for teachers; it's the fiasco of the whole thing."

There is little doubt that Baldino's grievance has merit, particularly when more and more teachers use videos. Thus it's no surprise that the Educational Association of Worcester and the local American Civil Liberties Union are standing behind Baldino. The teachers union, for one, has publicly stated that teachers have the "right and responsibility" to choose supplemental materials, and that the tightened policy violates the union's current contract. The ACLU, which is considering legal action, also thinks teachers are the most qualified to make decisions on class videos. "Principals come from varied backgrounds," says Ronal Madnick, the local ACLU director. "Some have not taught in a classroom for years; others have not taught the subject matter."

What concerns Madnick most is the potential chilling effect of the recent video policy -- because now it's easier for teachers to just avoid showing R-rated movies. "The policy may make things so difficult," he adds, "people won't even bother showing films."

If anything is surprising, it's that Drake's decision has been upheld at every phase of the grievance process. This is not just because the finding hinges on a voluntary, film-industry standard; it's also because the Farrakhan ban was instantly overturned last year. How a highly controversial figure, known for his explosive rhetoric, was deemed appropriate while White Man's Burden, a mild R-rated film (it features limited violence, no sex, and no nudity) exploring race in America, has repeatedly been rejected is nothing less than baffling.

In this debate, though, both sides look so fixated on their agendas -- namely, policy-setting vs. professional freedom -- that compromise has been impossible. Take the fact that Thomas Kennedy, the school system's human-resources manager, suggested in March that Baldino show the television-version of White Man's Burden instead. "This edition does not contain the strong language that led to the [original] R-rating," Kennedy told the T&G.

At the time, he was going against Garvey, who had initially said principals should use discretion with R-rated films. And so Baldino balked at the suggestion. "It was disingenuous," he explains. "The administration was trying to a find way around the whole issue of R ratings."

Besides, he adds, one of the film's ironies is the way in which blacks speak with a refined, proper tongue while whites swear, as well as use slang and poor grammar. Yet in the TV version, which is dubbed, the meaning behind language is lost. "The dialogue is so stupid," Baldino exclaims. "If you had not seen the original, you would miss the irony."

Baldino, who outright bristles at the administration's "interference," suspects that this grievance has been rejected merely because of his reputation as, he says, "professional agitator." Particularly since he showed White Man's Burden to his ninth-grade class without incident last year. As far as he's concerned, the decision to ban the same movie this year is really an attempt to eclipse the type of controversy Farrakhan had spawned. That it's yet to be reversed hints at something more personal.

"I'm like the maverick teacher and they have to stop me," he says.

Baldino isn't alone in his suspicions. James Martin, the Black FBI president, calls the school administration's rulings "vindictive." Administrators, he surmises, "saw a golden opportunity to strike back at him for making [them] look foolish last year."

North Hight principal Drake could not be reached for comment before press time.

To be fair, though, Baldino admits that he could probably show White Man's Burden in classes today if he were willing to follow the new procedure. He could outline his rationale, then send home permission slips. But he doesn't. "It's a matter of principle," he explains. "The administration is trying to right a wrong by coming up with an explanation for something irrational." Teachers are so outraged by the policy, he adds, "If I acquiesce, I will be letting them down."

Of course, the ultimate cost here is the frank, racial discussion that students could and should have. The movie shows white America what it means to be black in this country -- forcing whites to experience the depths of racial oppression. It is obviously meant to provoke genuine dialogue, and what better place for it than the classroom. As Martin poses, "Where else do we teach but in the schools?
"If that movie is too hard for high school," he concludes, "We will never be able to tell the truth about American slavery."

It's true that the school committee could throw out the administration's judgment as soon as June 3 (members, incidentally, stress that the precedent exists). But even so, North High students aren't likely to have that talk on race this academic year, which ends June 15.

For now, though, we must wait to see if the school committee's decision turns out to be as predictable as White Man's Burden. By the movie's end, it becomes clear that the cards are stacked too high against Travolta's protagonist. And while his demise is inescapable, so is the fate of Belafonte's character. Indeed, no one is better off -- least of all the protagonist's son. In the final scene, the boy watches Belafonte's character, dejected, walk to his luxury car. For one moment, it seems as if the boy will run to Belafonte's character and thus be saved from ghetto life.

But then, in this reversed world, as in reality, the balance of race, power, and privilege can only allow for one thing: a missed connection.

In many ways, the banning of White Man's Burden from North High is also a missed connection -- among students, anyway.

And for a school system that touts diversity, the final irony is its own willingness to sacrifice such a crucial lesson.

Anne Kymalainen contributed to this report.

Kristen Lombardi can be reached at klombardi[a]phx.com.