O P I N I O N

THE SOAPBOX

tandup

Stand up. Speak up. It’s your turn.

Ironically – or more likely deliberately – Florida governor Ron DeSantis chose the lead-up to Black History Month to announce his objection to the African-American history Advanced Placement curriculum proposed for high schools in the Sunshine State.  He did so because he regarded it as too woke.  In response, the College Board, the entity that administers Advanced Placement exams, watered down the curriculum by eliminating units about the intersectionality of race and class and race and gender – among other topics – and by sidelining famed Black artists and thinkers.

Among those cut out of the curriculum, according to media reports, was Audre Lorde, perhaps the foremost Black woman poet of the 20th century.  As famous as Lorde, who died at age 58 in 1992, is in certain circles, hers is hardly a household name, but there is a group of now-middle-aged Central High School graduates who are unlikely to forget their run-in as high school students with a woman whose work Ron DeSantis believes to be unfit for high school consumption.

Those who know Manchester know that Central has always fancied itself as a breed apart.  In 1983, it was announced that Central would host a career day, a staple of most academic calendars in the typical American high school, after not having done so for many years.  Such an announcement would, in most schools, prompt no objections.  This was not the case at Central, however, where cries of “corporatism” and “Reaganism run rampant” soon filled the halls.

The juniors in Bob Lord and Millie Hussey’s American studies class were particularly aggrieved (as they often were about something), and they decided that the best way to express their displeasure with the concept of careerism would be to invite a true free spirit to speak to their class — someone who would stand out as a counterpoint in the steady stream of doctors, lawyers, bankers, and engineers parading on the appointed day through the halls of the Classical, James, and Practical Arts buildings.

The name of the student who said, “Hey, I have an idea: Let’s invite a poet” is lost to history, but the suggestion was made, and the members of the class agreed that hearing from a real, live poet would both make a point and provide for an interesting and educational 90 minutes.  How one went about finding a poet was a bit of a challenge until someone remembered that there was a hotbed of assorted creativity (including poetry) just a few miles up the road in Peterborough at the MacDowell Arts Colony.  Also lost to history is the name of the person who made the call and whether he or she understood the significance of being told, “Would Audre Lorde suffice?”

As anyone who is familiar with her work knows, Audre Lorde always introduced  herself at her public readings as a “Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet.”  In 2023, such a recitation barely elicits the bat of an eyelash – unless you are Ron DeSantis.  However, in a Central High School classroom in the early 1980s, this string of nouns had an incendiary impact, and the students who invited a poet as a lark sat at rapt attention as a true master of the craft taught them a thing or two.

It is likely that none of the students in the classroom that day can remember the poems she read, but it seems plausible that she would have shared in a room full of angsty teenagers “Hanging Fire,” a poem written in 1978 about an angsty teenager:

I am fourteen
and my skin has betrayed me
the boy I cannot live without
still sucks his thumb
in secret
how come my knees are
always so ashy
what if I die
before the morning comes
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
I have to learn how to dance
in time for the next party
my room is too small for me
suppose I die before graduation
they will sing sad melodies
but finally
tell the truth about me
There is nothing I want to do
and too much
that has to be done
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
Nobody even stops to think
about my side of it
I should have been on Math Team
my marks were better than his
why do I have to be
the one
wearing braces
I have nothing to wear tomorrow
will I live long enough
to grow up
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.

Take that, Ron DeSantis.