Civics - Art of Civil Disobedience Monday 4th Period - FIELD TRIP

[biotic_psychotic]

The students had been handwaved sent notice to meet at the parking lot on the far side of the causeway. They'd been told to dress for the weather and to wear shoes comfortable for walking in. There was a bus waiting for them. Jack checked them in and then hopped into the driver's seat. She explained about the trip while she drove.


"Today we're going on a trip. Sandy Springs, Maryland. It's a town that was settled by Quakers. They're a religious branch that believes in non-violence, and when I say that it is not with sarcasm or snideness. They walk the talk. They don't believe in violence of word or faith or deed. Which is completely backward from everything I ever known but it's their own truth. In the 1700s, the church in this town decided that all members would free their slaves and most of 'em lined right up and did. The first stop is the home of a Quaker family who refused to free their slaves and the Quaker church kicked 'em out of the church and basically ignored 'em from then on. Woodlawn Manor.

The town got famous as being a safe haven for escaped slaves from the South. The Quakers would supply 'em, hide 'em, and help 'em find their next stop. They stood up against soldiers and bounty hunters to help people escape. They didn't lie, they wouldn't break the law but they sure were good at doing nothing and doing it loudly. Standing in the face of a bounty hunter yelling questions and saying nothing.

It's not much of a hike. Total's about four miles if you do all the trails. You'll see along the way the waymarkers done as boulders and cairns to help lead the escapees to the next safe place. Also hollowed out trees that were used to hide caches of supplies and sometimes even people inside. Some of the trees out there, you'll see old scars and marks where people who didn't know how to read or write left their mark, left something behind just to say 'I was here; I existed; I lived.'

This part don't have an actual 'underground' to the 'underground railroad' but lots of places like this did. Not all of 'em Quaker run. Sometimes run by free people of color but lots of 'em run by white abolitionists. They had priest's holes, areas under floors where people could be hidden or secret basements or attics. Hollow walls or beams or storage barrels. It wasn't usually real tunnels. Mostly it's a term that just meant 'secret' or 'illegal'.

Sometimes people think that meant it all happened in the dark and at night but that's not so. The railroad abolitionists found clever ways to work in broad daylight and in public. They'd dress up slaves as different genders because if the hunters were looking for a young boy they sure weren't looking at the young girl in a dress or vice versa. They forged papers for 'em. Sometimes of ownership and sometimes of manumission depending on the situation. The ownership papers claimed the slave to be a different name, owned by a different person so the bounty hunters would keep going. When they could, they'd make maps done up in pictures because not a lot of escapees could read. That part was hard because the information kept changing. Sometimes a stop would get raided or compromised, or it'd be too hot with too many soldiers or bounty hunters around and it wouldn't be safe.

I want you to walk the trail, I want you to see all the markers and the cache drops, the hollow trees. The marks the escapees left. I want you to know of these people who ran away from an unjust society where they were considered property. They risked everything to get away from that. They deserve to be remembered.

Today's class has no homework. Not really. I just want you to walk and think about it. What you'd do if society was against you. Would you stay? Would you run? What would you need to survive? How would you find help and what would it mean to you for help to be offered?"



She let them think about it until they got to Sandy Springs and the Woodlawn Manor. As she checked them off the bus, she continued.

"For some of you, this class is way too real. I get it. Others of you, this is nothing you've ever had to think about before and it's heavy and I get that too. These last few classes have been to give you a foundation of how laws work. Next week I'm going to run you through how civil disobedience can help change a law. Then? We get into how to resist unjust laws and how to break them when they need to be broken. There's consequences to everything and we're gonna work on how to minimize them and what to do if you can't.

In this country, today's a holiday. It celebrates the life and achievements of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was a black man during the era of segregation. He was spearhead for a lot of those non-violent protests and marches we talked about. He insisted that his people stay calm and non-violent and for the most part they did but the violence was done to 'em and it was done bad every time. He gave a famous speech and part of it, the most famous part, goes: "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'"

Jack was quiet for a moment. "He gave that speech in 1963. In 1968 while organizing another rally, he was assassinated. His dream sounds like a fantasy. For all people to be decent to one another? Pfft. Right. People generally suck. But that's also kind of the great thing about people and a society - they can suck, but they can change. They can be changed. His dream? It's a good dream to have."

Another moment of silence.

"Go on. Get your hike on. If you get cold, come back here to the manor to warm up. There's snacks and hot drinks and stuff. If you need me, I'll be here. Don't worry about the time. It's 4th period, nobody's going to care if we're a little late getting back."

[OCD is up.]

Comments

Sign in

[biotic_psychotic]

As you get on the bus, Jack has you check yourself off.

Re: Sign in

[chirpchirpchirp]

Vette

Re: Sign in

[white_oleander]

Astrid Magnussen

Re: Sign in

[onefootoutthedoor]

Peebee

Re: Sign in

[thishouseishaunted]

Mae Borowski

Re: Sign in

[misshapen_spark]

Yang Xiao Long

Re: Sign in

[axe2grind]

Jack (Two)

On the bus

[biotic_psychotic]

Talk to Jack, ask questions, talk to each other, goof off.

Re: On the bus

[chirpchirpchirp]

There was a very particular part of that lecture that was going to stick with Vette. Of course it was.

What would it mean for you for help to be offered.

She already knew the answer.

Of course she did.

Re: On the bus

[white_oleander]

There was, at least, a faint bit of amusement from Astrid as she settled into a seat, sliding close to the window, as she noted how much of her life lately seemed to be crowding into vehicles with other kids to go places. She was glad for it, this time, at least, because a field trip would be a little less demanding of her. It may not have seemed like she was listening to the lecture on the way there, but she was, she was just mostly keeping her eyes trained out the window and the passing scenery, appreciative of the familiarity of the history with all the details she didn't really know. If she closed her eyes (which she did, a few times, leaning back into the seat), she could almost imagine that she wasn't on a bus, that it wasn't a teacher talking to her right now, but her mother, leading her to another museum, another historical place, ready to fill her head with information about it, and she'd tag along, listening, absorbing everything like a sponge, just as eager to get home afterward to transform all that knowledge into art as she was to get to the destination and have Ingrid show her everything, talking on and on.

She missed the sound of her voice so much. She missed how she painted pictures with her words, a poet in speech as well as on the page. And it was almost enough to make her forget about how this class seemed to embody everything Astrid wasn't, embody everything Ingrid wanted her to be, embodied that never-ending struggle to try to fit herself into the space her mother had molded for her, despite being all the wrong shapes for it.

She didn't look like she was listening, maybe, but she was, and she was actually a little excited to just get there, see what Jack was talking about, and have the only expectation for her being just to think.

Woodlawn Manor

[biotic_psychotic]

The manor house has been recreated as a museum. Along the walls are pictures and signs detailing the underground railroad activities and, more sadly, the life of the Woodlawn Manor slaves who were not freed during their lives. It tells how the family was written out of the Quaker church and more or less shunned by the community but their place in history is brief. There are some documents on the walls where some of the people in the community tried to keep records of the escapees, to write down their names in case their families also made escape.

A long wooden trestle table has been set up with snacks and there's hot tea, cocoa, coffee, and also sodas offered. It's both the start and end point for the trip, but also a place to come and warm up from the cold outside.

Re: Woodlawn Manor

[chirpchirpchirp]

Vette moved quickly through the Manor, not taking time to read anything, but taking photos of everything. Making sure they were clear enough to make out the letters on her phone.

She'd read all of this later. Every last bit of it, when she had the luxury of time and privacy.

She wondered if anybody had ever bothered to document her own people.

She didn't imagine they had.

Re: Woodlawn Manor

[white_oleander]

Astrid had grown up moving in and out of various museums, almost like a ghost herself as she seeped herself in the worlds of days long past, be it in artifacts and history like this or the paintings and sculptures that had taken over what little grasp on imagination she possessed. So she spent a good deal of time just looking around, taking it all in, admiring the ideas of preservation and the stories they told, while reminding herself not to take too much time, because she knew she'd probably want to spend even more of her time out on the trails.

Re: Woodlawn Manor

[onefootoutthedoor]

There wasn't much that could get Peebee to shed her flippant, happy-go-lucky demeanor, really. The fact that she was quiet, serious, and not bouncing about restlessly spoke volumes.

The trail

[biotic_psychotic]

The trail meanders through woods and what used to be farm fields. There are modern trail markers and signposts pointing out the areas of interest. The old markers and cairns, the few remaining hollowed trees, the trees that still had slave marks existing and now far up the trunk from when they were originally carved.

The trail passes the freshwater spring that gives the town its name and it ends at a 300-year-old white ash tree that stands like a beacon in the center of the town. From here, the trail loops back toward the manor. A slightly different route with very similar signposts.

Re: The trail

[chirpchirpchirp]

Vette followed the trail, pausing every now and again to look closely at anything she could walk right up to. Taking more pictures, of the signs along the way, more to be read later.

The woods were too sparse to really hide away in if she needed a moment, especially this time of year with the branches all bare and the undergrowth dead for the winter. She pictured trying to run in woods like this, in the cold, being out in the open, exposed, even in terrain that, perhaps deeper into spring, should have offered some cover.

She couldn't breathe.

Re: The trail

[white_oleander]

Guided and helped along by the signpoints and trail markers, Astrid tried to focus less on the stark beauty of the woods and fields from an astist's perspective and attempted to put herself into the shoes of the people who had used the trail. She liked to think she would be able to do it, that she could put up with almost anything, really, if she had to, if survival was the key. She put up with this, didn't she? This school, being on the other side of the country, a revolving door of unfamiliar places and faces whenever she wanted to go home, but she didn't have a home, not really, not any more, home was locked away behind bars where she could maybe return to her all of two or three times a year, special visiting hours based around holidays they didn't even believe in.

Small potatoes, she figured, compared to slavery and oppression, sure, but it was hard to see it that way when it was pretty much all you ever had.

Talk to Jack

[biotic_psychotic]

She's hanging out at the manor but she's available for questions or comments, or solace but she's really bad at that.

Bus ride back

[biotic_psychotic]

Jack checks you all back in to make sure nobody's left behind. If anyone is missing, she's going to start obnoxiously beeping the horn and bellowing your name until you show up.

Again with the talk to her or among yourselves, goof off, whatever.

Re: Bus ride back

[chirpchirpchirp]

Vette was the first back on the bus, her expression a blank mask betraying nothing at all.

The fact that she made her way straight to the very back seat and crammed herself as far into the corner as possible, pulling her feet up onto the chair and hugging her knees once she was there... probably gave away that she wasn't doing great, anyway.

Re: Bus ride back

[biotic_psychotic]

If you think you're getting off the bus without a talk with Jack, you're very wrong Vette. First on and in the back equals last off.

"Vette," Jack said, "Take a seat."

Re: Bus ride back

[chirpchirpchirp]

Vette paused in the doorway, taking a moment to look through it at the other students as they wandered off for the day. And then, grudgingly, she stepped back onto the bus. Flopped into the front seat. Looked at Jack quietly, but expectantly.

Just waited.

Re: Bus ride back

[biotic_psychotic]

Jack looked back at her for a minute. No judgment. No pity. Just calm. "What was the worst for you today?"

Welcome to Jack's version of caring.

Re: Bus ride back

[white_oleander]

And, if nothing was going to be expected of them, discussion or listening-wise on the way back, Astrid was just going to curl up comfortably in her seat, finally digging the sketchbook she'd been itching for out of her backpack, and setting to work, recreating some of the things she'd tried to remember behind an inevitable curtain of hair. She'd definitely talk to anyone if they wanted to, but Mondays were a long, long day for her, and the end was almost in sight, but not quite close enough yet.

OOC

[biotic_psychotic]

Annnd flops.