About halfway to the lot, a ribbon of cobalt rises on the horizon; when it’s cloudy, a common occurrence in the mid-Atlantic, the darkness stays pure. The spectrum of color will change with the seasons, but now it is winter and the sun comes slowly, if it appears at all.
Upon arrival, I exit my car, leaving it unlocked, and strap on my hazel backpack, which holds a bottle of tap water, a book (usually detective or spy fiction), lens cleaner, Imodium, a pen (I hate being anywhere without one), cough drops, hand sanitizer, two granola bars, and a banana. Garden mat and flashlight in hand, I begin my safety check, circling the vehicle for anything suspicious. Then I inspect rims, lug nuts, and tire tread before kneeling on the pavement to check the frame, slack adjusters, fuel tank, steering linkage, bushings, shock absorbers, brake lining, and a bunch of other doohickeys, a task that age and temperature make especially unpleasant. I open the door, examine the stairs and handrail, click the interior lights, unlock emergency hatches, and walk the aisle to make sure seats are properly bolted, exiting again into the cold morning, its cobalt replaced by the lucent bloom of dawn, where I check tire pressure, light covers, and compartments. After lifting the hood, I shine the flashlight on belts and engine parts and fluid tanks, finally removing the floppy dipstick to verify proper oil level. An elaborate brake test, three more walk-arounds, some additional prodding and dickering, and I’m done.
The lot is a colossal expanse of asphalt with yellow markings in diagonal patterns, circled by more spaces around the periphery. Despite regular bursts of sound and light, it’s a lonely place, filled with people but unconducive to conversation. Every now and again, I run into a colleague and exchange pleasantries. We rarely discuss management. It’s a largely contented workforce.
“Have a good run,” we say in closing. A good run can include any number of things, but mostly it means the delivery of uninjured children.
When I first climb aboard, the bus smells like an oncoming cold front. After the engine runs for a few minutes, it fills with the smoldering warmth of burning diesel. It will later reek of bubblegum and lunch meat.
I rev up and pull into rush hour, maneuvering through stoplights and turn lanes. The subdivisions I work are sortable by income: garden-style condos, townhouses, single-family homes, and McMansions. In my area—the portion of the county where I am assigned—most schools are mixed-income and ethnically diverse, though other districts are suburban as imagined by Hollywood. I pick up bushels of children, some smiling, others nervous. I make sure they’re seated before putting the transmission into drive. I’m still learning their names; they call me Mr. Steve.
Depending on the particulars of my route, I sometimes make it home for a smoke and a nap between shifts. Normally I’m close enough to sneak back, but traffic in the DC region is unpredictable, tending toward intolerable. If escape is unlikely, I skim a book and doze in the driver’s seat, nestled in a coat and hood when the exterior seeps through the capacious glass.
In the afternoon, I perform a shorter safety check and enjoy more small talk before pulling into a loading zone hectic with the dither of freedom. Now the children are more enthusiastic and thus more prone to mischief. Every minute or two, I deposit mini-hordes of cantankerous pupils into bustling subdivisions that will soon resume a quiet normalcy. I pull forward again. I stop a few blocks later. And on it goes until I’ve completed all three levels of secondary education.
That’s me inside the panoramic windshield, a vagrant mercenary living a post-professorial life of interrupted motion.
*****
Becoming a school bus driver wasn’t random. I used to be a professor—I rushed my way into academe, in fact, landing on the tenure-track (at a public regional university) straight out of grad school. I put in a good effort to make it happen, but the career felt manifest. My father taught physics at an HBCU in southern West Virginia and my earliest memories involve following him to work, chalk dust and textbooks intoxicating my emergent senses.
“Prof,” he called me with booming approval, his breath warm with pistachio and nicotine. I earned the moniker by disappearing into my room for hours and validated it by becoming my father’s unqualified research assistant. At some point during my childhood, the nickname became a decree. I went to college at seventeen knowing I would never leave.
21 years later I got fired. Now I can’t return.
We mainly think of job loss in economic terms. It’s a reasonable focus; the suddenly unemployed must consider food and shelter in a society unempathetic to destitution. The destitute are terrific symbols of caution, which makes them a class to vehemently avoid. But we’re also conditioned by jobs. They organize social relations. They influence mobility. They are essential far beyond utilitarian qualities.
I loved teaching, and often loved writing, but I had a hard go of things in the academy. Three consecutive jobs ended in public controversy. I’m bothered by the (admittedly logical) inference that I courted drama or mistreated colleagues because of that controversy. In reality, I was only un-collegial in my reluctance to participate in the civic life of campus. That is, I vigorously minded my own business. My words weren’t so reticent, however.
There are lots of stories from Virginia Tech, the University of Illinois, and the American University of Beirut [AUB], but they all end with the same lesson: for all its self-congratulation, the academy’s loftiest mission is a fierce compulsion to eliminate any impediment to donations.
When I recall my hardest moments in academe, my thoughts invariably wander to AUB, perhaps because it was my last gig. As my contract wound down and the job market came up cold, every morning felt like the Friday of finals week. During this period, I finally understood the ugly possibilities of mendacity and alienation in spaces devoted to higher learning. A search committee had selected me for a directorship. Meanwhile, US Senators and AUB’s reactionary donor class pressured the university’s president to cancel the appointment. AUB has long been a site of soft power for the State Department. Platitudes about faculty governance and student leadership notwithstanding, universities inhibit democracy in ways that would please any thin-skinned despot. Despite vigorous protest from a small but spirited group of students and a smattering of bad press, AUB held firm. I left Beirut in August of 2017. The program I was hired to direct has since collapsed, though it maintains a five-million-dollar endowment.
The situation provided an occasion to confront the nagging trauma of infamy. Lots of people washed out of the news cycle can tell you that the upshot of recognition is disposability. Consumers want heroes, but heroism is contingent on the hero’s willingness or ability to emblematize an audience’s psychic and libidinal needs. In other words, adoration stipulates obedience, which produces a tenuous codependency. Conditions of support supersede the subject’s control (and sometimes the subject’s knowledge). The great paradox of public life is that leadership requires conformity.
Infamy never agreed with my disposition. I disliked the attention, which seemed to elicit vague expectations of reciprocity; I hated the rewards that come from reciting slogans and platitudes; I detested the tacit contract that I was supposed to be some kind of role-model to people who proclaim mistrust of authority. After a while I felt obliged to sabotage my fame. No media appearances. No networking. No phony relationships. No orchestrated controversies. No whiny monologues about being repressed. In short, none of the usual bullshit that goes into the making of a micro-celebrity. When a white liberal upbraided me for failing in my responsibilities as an “Arab American leader” (I had criticized one of Bernie Sanders’s terrible opinions about Palestine) a return to pseudo-anonymity seemed to be the only viable response.
You hear ex-professors say it all the time and I’ll add to the chorus: despite nagging precariousness, there’s something profoundly liberating about leaving academe, whereupon you are no longer obliged to give a shit about fashionable thinkers, network at the planet’s most boring parties, or quantify self-worth for scurrilous committees (and whereupon you are free to ignore the latest same-old controversy), for even when you know at the time that the place is toxic, only after you exit (spiritually, not physically) and write an essay or read a novel or complete some other task without considering its relevance to the fascist gods of assessment, or its irrelevance to a gang of cynical senior colleagues, do you realize exactly how insidious and pervasive is the industry’s culture of social control.
There are tragic elements to this adventure, sure. A political symbolism informs my academic career. After months without work, my family suffered financial hardship. And I didn’t matriculate through 22nd grade in order to land a job that requires no college. Then again, neither did I attend so many years of college in order to be disabused of the notion that education is noble.
*****
School buses are probably the most iconic symbol of American transit. Nearly everybody who grew up in the United States rode the bus as a child, even private school kids. It’s rare to take a drive without seeing one. Itinerant yellow rectangles (though I always thought of them as orange) with black trim and amber lights, school buses are essential fauna in roadway ecology. Because of their ubiquity, few motorists notice them (as opposed to, say, the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile); when stuck behind one, it’s all a frustrated driver can see.
Most adults remember the school bus with mixed feelings. For some, it was a place of mischief and merriment, for others a site of anxiety. But everybody shares the experience of getting carted to boxy structures with brick exteriors and drab paint where they sat in sterile cinder rooms adorned ineffectually with cheery décor and pledged allegiance to their own dispossession. The school bus is our erstwhile conveyance into good citizenship, blazing along with the promise of economic mobility.
The life of a driver, then, is surprisingly complex. The main task is simple—transport kids safely to and from school—but it involves various forms of delivery. We’re supposed to facilitate access to education without considering its function in the systems that inform our wages. The roads we traverse are monuments to automobile culture, spread across endless acreage in seemingly random but brutally deliberate patterns. This infrastructure emerged from racism, extraction, and accumulation, the bellwethers of civic pride, patterned and imprinted on enervated, overburdened land. Every weekday morning, we spark the ignition, warm the engine, and put the spirit of colonialism into overdrive.
Yet the job induces primal expressions of love. School buses supersede their physical structure; they anchor a huge apparatus designed to guard the vulnerable. The machine is outfitted with lights and blinkers calculated to announce its presence. It is excessive on purpose. Nothing is more important than its cargo. SUVs, bicycles, eighteen-wheelers, ambulances, fire trucks—all abdicate their right of way when the stop sign and crossbar swing into the roadway. The school bus is one of the few institutions in the United States that protects the powerless from the depredations of commerce.
*****
Reinvention is difficult in middle age, all the more so in relation to prestige and salary. Professing is more an avocation than a job and so departing campus can be disorienting. My departure was incomplete until I became serious about a nonacademic career. It became final when I traded the hue of my collar. Incrementalism is good for think tank fodder and bureaucratic culture because it’s a natural accoutrement to boredom. For people trying to overcome indifference or ennui, abruptness is a better approach.
People still call me “prof” but these days I dislike the title. I no longer see myself as an academic (and was always wary of pompous descriptors like “expert” or “public intellectual”). Forfeiting that title is more philosophical than practical. I no longer profess and therefore no longer assume the burden of professorial expectations. No more civility or nuance or dispassion or objectivity or whatever term they’re using these days to impel obedience. It’s as close to freedom as a prole can get in this self-deluded country, where the government legislates on behalf of the private sector and the private sector obliterates dissent on behalf of the government.
I wanted good work, honest work, the kind in mythologies of industriousness and humility, where humans with denim overalls deposit saline piety into the earth and die for rustic ideals of personal valor. I dreamed of coffee and tea and cassava raining down on the countryside. But I settled for health insurance. Like any person disavowed of reverence, I finally recognized the need to disappear into the system that destroyed me.
*****
During the height of my infamy, I visited Toronto for a conference. I’d been traveling a lot and felt perpetually lightheaded. The line for passport control at Billy Bishop Airport was manageable. A couple dozen yards into the lake facing downtown, the airport is one of the few comfortable spots in North America for the economy class traveler. With about four parties between me and the window, I noticed that my pen was missing. My pockets and backpack came up empty.
“Pardon me,” I said to the woman in front of me. “May I borrow your pen, please?”
She herded her two kids back into line. “I’m so sorry,” she replied tartly, “I don’t have one, either.” I glanced at her freshly completed customs declaration card. “My children lost it,” she explained.
I turned around but nobody was behind me. After pivoting back, I noticed the woman assessing me with a quizzical expression whose meaning was by that point of my life unmistakable. Before I could turn away again, out it came.
“Are you…Steve?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. She immediately launched into an indignant soliloquy about my plight that would have ended in pious assurance of support had the agent not called her to the window halfway through the performance.
I wasn’t listening. Had she loaned me a pen, I could have written the speech for her. Instead I seethed through a silent monologue: “No, I’m not fucking ‘Steve.’ I’m a careless son of a bitch who somewhere in or above this godforsaken continent, maybe at a stuffy boarding gate or in a cramped airline seat, lost a writing utensil I normally guard with spastic obsession. Because I’m human and humans do stupid shit. I’m not a disembodied mascot for public affectations of outrage. I’m just a crank who needs a goddamn pen.”
When I reached the window, the agent looked unimpressed. “Listen, sir,” I began, “I don’t seem to have a pen. Can I use yours real quick?” He handed over a clear Bic with a black cap and pointed to the back of the room.
“Go over there. Fill out your card. Get back in line.”
“Can I do it here? It’ll just take a second.”
“Go over there. Fill out your card. Get back in line.”
“I promise it’ll just be—”
“When you get back to the front of the line, be sure to return the pen.”
I walked to the table and opened my passport. It took about a minute to complete the task. In the meantime, two planeloads had filled the queue beyond the final barrier.
*****
Academic jobs are notorious for long, convoluted hiring processes, but becoming a school bus driver, at least in the county where I work, isn’t much easier. For an academic position, applicants submit a dossier (often packed with repetitive material), survive a screening interview (with a committee larded by ulterior motives), and visit the prospective employer for at least a day, during which they’ll be tested and measured by dozens of gatekeepers, before negotiating a complex employment package and earning the governing board’s rubber stamp, all of which can take over a year. Aspiring drivers attend an orientation, watch dozens of online videos, solicit moral references, pass a physical (including a drug screening), get a commercial learner’s permit (a laborious process that requires extensive testing and hours at the DMV), finish classroom and road training (at least 200 hours), sit for various written exams (failure of a single exam can mean removal from the program), complete a half-day CDL test (which includes a daunting pre-trip bus check), and undertake at least two weeks of on-the-job training before showing up at the intake office to request a route that probably isn’t available. Trainees are paid once they reach the classroom. I finished everything in about six months.
Before showing up to the classroom, numerous emails instructed us to arrive before 6:00 AM and wait to be buzzed in. They were particular about where to park and how to dress. I began to feel like the protagonist in a campy spy novel. The address led to a brown brick office/warehouse combo in an industrial park filled with squat, rectangular buildings. The novel took a dystopian turn.
I parked my mom’s 2006 Buick Lacrosse, its dashboard covered with Central American swag, and walked around the building, passing unmarked doors. The lot was filled with small trucks sporting the county seal. In front of the building, a sign ten yards above one of the doors read “SCHOOL BUS DRIVER TRAINING PROGRAM.” I popped a lozenge into my mouth and pulled the handle. Inside were about two dozen people (nineteen, I would later find out) waiting in a stairwell leading to another unmarked door. The trainees lined up in two rows, leaning against cinder walls painted the color of uncooked biscuits. Nobody spoke, but we smiled and nodded heads.
Soon a tall, owlish woman opened the door, latched it against the wall, and invited us in, offering everyone a personalized “good morning.” Tired and wary, we wandered through dead-end corridors and finally found our classroom. The room was cheerier than the building, but still depressing. The heater worked and that was enough. Eight hexagonal desks were surrounded by disembodied bus parts: tires draped in snow chains, a simulated dashboard, fisheye mirrors, a sample fuel pump, exhaust pipes and drive shafts. It was like a mechanical stations of the cross for bright-eyed Sunday school pupils.
Our instructor was setting up PowerPoint on a projector. I had met her months earlier at orientation, when prospective drivers formally submit applications. She was in her mid-sixties, rail-thin with a shock of frizzled blond hair above her forehead. Her name was Brenda and she was serious about her responsibilities, with a style that combined den mother and drill sergeant.
She asked us to fill in the empty nameplates adorning each table. What should have been a simple exercise quickly developed into farce. My “Steve” was uncomplicated only because it’s my actual name. The guy across from me wrote “Tom.” I tried not to be presumptuous, but he didn’t look or sound like any Tom I’ve ever known. The guy at the next table didn’t look or sound like a “Charles,” either. One person wrote “J,” skipping the “a” and the “y.” Another wrote “E.J.”
These names in fact proved fake when Brenda took roll. Suddenly “E.J.” (Eusebio, it turns out) was incomprehensible. “Tom” (Bountham) became an Indochinese mystery. After Brenda failed to pronounce “JungSook” half a dozen times, the woman she tried to identify added “(call Esther)” to her nameplate. Those who opted not to Anglicize ended up with new names, anyway: Mehdi was rechristened “Matty”; Susheela became “Sss…uh…Soo?”
Out of 20 trainees, 17 were immigrants—and my parents are from other countries, so the room was brushing against 90 percent foreign. The all-American conveyance would be driven by surplus.
Brenda was game, though. She’d sent hundreds of people from borderlands to school buses and she intended to whip us into shape no matter how many sequential vowels or consonants she encountered. About an hour into the first day, she was reading from an HR document when she stopped short and glared at one of the tables. “Hong!” she bellowed. “What are you doing?” The guilty student looked up nervously from his smart phone. Everybody winced in sympathy at Hong’s mistake (real name Shi-Hong, by the way). “You’re on paid time. Cell phones aren’t allowed.”
“No, no,” he pleaded. “I was just getting my social security number.”
“You keep that thing on your phone?”
Hong looked confused, as if to politely ask, “Where else would it go?” He said, “Yes, on the phone, yes.”
Brenda feigned incredulity and continued the lesson. I was grateful for Shi-Hong’s blunder; bursts of excitement were the only thing keeping me awake. Although I was a professor for nearly fifteen years, I never did well in school settings. Teaching was different. Time passes smoothly when managing a classroom, even on the rough days. Sitting in the audience, whether it’s a seminar or training session or conference panel, has the effect of skin dripping down sallow cheekbones. Things that irritate the teacher are welcome from the student’s point of view.
Since college I’ve had a recurring nightmare about being forced through some absurd scenario into finishing high school. It’s vivid to the point of tactility. The dank ambience of the old building, with its tawny walls and ossified classrooms, stays with me for the next day or two. I’m an adult among teenagers, terrified because I’ve skipped a class all year and report cards are coming. Sometimes I realize that completing the degree is unnecessary and announce to mom and dad my intention to quit. Usually, though, the dream ends inside school, before the salvation of cap and gown.
Halfway through my first day in the training center I realized that the nightmare will no longer be necessary. My subconscious wasn’t processing the past, but preparing me for an unknown future, initiated by a departure from the constraints of education. Here was a different form of commencement. I suppose it’s a common realization. The professional world doesn’t offer escape from numbing consonance and enforced conformity; it rehearses those afflictions in more perilous environments. High school is forever. You have the chickenshits who talk big but never challenge authority; the alt-kids who jump at any chance to impress the cool crowd; the dickhead men (usually coaches) getting away with obvious abuse; the classmates prosecuting rules on behalf of administrators; the outcasts and losers everyone ridicules to enhance their own status, or avoids in order to preserve their spot in the social hierarchy. We don’t matriculate through discrete existential increments; we reproduce the same dispossession across the entire accursed economy. To hell with reading, writing, and arithmetic; school is real-time preparation for the indignities of capitalism.
Brenda evinced no mean-spiritedness, but she carried out the task of discipline with gusto. When we reached the section on appropriate handling of students, she launched into a diatribe about freaks and perverts, vowing to hunt down any among us and inflict corporeal harm. A man in the back of the room chuckled. Brenda stopped mid-sentence and put her right fist on her hip, pointing her left finger in the air. “Excuse me?” Everybody turned around to see the man, who was smiling. “Why are you laughing…what’s your name?…Oscar?”
“I’m not sure,” Oscar said in singsong English. “I just thought that was funny, you know?”
“What on God’s green earth is funny about abusing children?”
Oscar wasn’t ridiculing the abuse of children, but the person discussing abuse of children as if narrating a Steven Seagal production. He was too gracious to point out the distinction. “Nothing funny,” he shrugged.
Brenda wasn’t convinced. “Do you have children?” she demanded.
“I have a grandson in elementary school.”
“How would you like it if some pervert did something to him?”
“I’d be very upset.”
“Okay then,” Brenda declared triumphantly.
Oscar continued smiling, something, we soon learned, he does often. A few days into training, he began referring to me as “doc.” The first time, I was taken aback. Did he know something about me? I decided he was being jocular, possibly riffing on my native English or my habit of reading novels during break. He didn’t inquire about what brought me to the training center at middle age. None of us made such inquiries. Our group was friendly and supportive, but adhered to an unspoken embargo on nosiness. None of us grew up dreaming of becoming a school bus driver. It didn’t seem tactful to extract backstories. People drive for various reasons, but the profession is no stranger to hard luck. Everyone in my cohort was there either from boredom or deprivation: retirees looking for extra income, escapees from bureaucratic tedium, taxi/Uber subcontractors pursuing steadier employment, global drifters seeking relief in a brutal job market, inhabitants of a wealthy nation somehow in need of benefits.
The demographics of my cohort informed its restraint. We inquired about children, language, town of residence, and country of origin, but never about politics, religion, or ideology. Immigrants understand that social media algorithms and advertising categories are unstable. Plenty of Muslims support Trump; plenty of dreamers want strong borders. People come to the United States for hundreds of reasons. Any of us could have been an academic, dissident, grifter, politician, spy, prisoner, jailer, soldier, activist, peasant, or war criminal. The possibilities didn’t matter. The moment we converged upon the training center, class became our shared priority.
*****
The provost was desperate. I had ignored his emails for two days. His assistant got through by phone and implored me to come in for a meeting. The provost was eager to see me. That afternoon. No, it couldn’t wait.
I climbed the hundred-plus stairs from my apartment to upper campus. I knew why I had been summoned: administration was pissy because a group of students had been agitating in response to its arbitrary cancellation of my appointment as director of American Studies. The group was small but effective. It had upset management by connecting my situation to AUB’s colonialist existence, a touchy subject at a lavish campus enclosed by barbed wire in an insolvent country suffering the hardship of U.S. and Israeli aggression.
The provost greeted me effusively. It wasn’t a gambit to put me at ease. Overwrought joviality was his thing. A tall, lanky man with the gravitas of a pogo stick, he had earned his job through the sort of obsequiousness senior faculty love to confuse with merit. His office was spacious and dignified, with stone and hardwood flourishes, affecting the air of a midcentury secretariat in the tropics. The surroundings were jarringly discordant with their boobish occupant.
“Stee-fen!” he exclaimed after asking about my family, “there are strange things afoot on campus.” It appeared that a few misguided students were yelling about some kind of injustice. I could see where the conversation was going long before he got to the point, which was surprisingly forthright. He wanted me to quash the rebellion. I told him it wasn’t mine to quash. You could quash it anyway, he noted (accurately). He made it clear that I would be rewarded if I named the troublemakers. The president, he declared, motioning toward the hallway, would put me “on his head,” an expression that sounds less stupid in Arabic. “Put you on his head, Stee-fen!” he repeated, pointing at me with one index finger and tapping the other against his cranium. The offer wasn’t especially appealing; the president stood at chin-level and I had serious doubts about his sense of balance.
The provost’s proposition is standard operating procedure in the corporate university, though rarely so explicit. Assist in maintaining order and enjoy the compensation; disrupt progress and suffer a cascade of indignity. Campus governance is a masterpiece of pusillanimity. Upper administrators are happy to step in and maintain discipline when self-policing goes awry. Dozens of mechanisms, some imperceptible, combine to send the message that looking after the well-being of the wretched is a bad idea. Here I had someone tossing away the pretense and informing me that cooperation might preserve my livelihood.
I told the provost I’d think it over. He looked pleased but unconvinced. I hurried down to my apartment and told my wife about the meeting.
“What’ll you do?” she asked.
“I ain’t no fucking rat,” I replied.
The students received no support from faculty, or from any demographic invested in the brand, eliminating the need for extortion. A few months later we packed up our home by the sea and moved into my brother-in-law’s spare bedroom in Northern Virginia.
*****
I was rarely nervous speaking in public, even when infamy provided large audiences. During that period I was fighting for a cause, one indivisible from my career, and so I welcomed opportunities to lecture. Self-assurance gave way to nervousness after speaking became an occupation. Like any prestige economy, speechmaking is fraught with ego and betrayal. It requires self-promotion and networking and assertiveness and all kinds of other things I do poorly. People in the circuit are cognizant of the approaches and opinions that would limit their desirability and the size of their audiences. They also understand which demographics to ridicule and which to promote. Public discourse doesn’t exist in a free market.
Academics, writers, and activists covet nothing more than speaking invitations, especially keynotes. Eminence isn’t a neutral condition, but a commodity subject to intense competition. I can’t count the times I’ve seen someone crash a panel or presentation through artful politicking. A distinct subgenre exists of public intellectuals grousing about the horror of not being granted an audience. Repression as brand equity. It’s a sad scene and a headache for anybody less interested in performance than upheaval. For oppressed communities supposedly represented by prominent natives, the speaking gig economy is just another form of dispossession.
Within a year of returning to the United States, I began ignoring or rejecting invitations. When the inquiries dried up, I didn’t miss them. I no longer wanted to travel, especially by air. The worst elements of capitalism get crammed into pressurized fuselages: comfort is reserved for the high-end customer, who enjoys fast-track security screening, opulent lounges, and excessive legroom; everyone else is cargo. I always figured that an airplane is a good spot for revolution. It’s likely to happen during the boarding process, when tired, cranky travelers who have been nagged and cajoled for hours file through business class on the way to economy and see a bunch of assholes chilling in spacious recliners, cocktails in hand.
Or they could slink into 19-inch-wide middle seats and concede that discomfort is the way of the world, that money justifies inequality, and with harder work they’ll one day relax on the right side of the curtain. No amount of adoring audiences, no accumulation of awards and honoraria, will influence their decision. They took too many bus trips to school as children.
Every now and again while my family sleeps and I’m on the back porch enjoying a final cigarette I think about my days as a star speaker, memories that allow me to better appreciate the quiet of my surroundings, although in pronounced moments of loneliness I miss the company of the audience, the pleasure of applause and laughter and the cathartic thrill of raging against injustice, but the feeling is evanescent, for the sobering immediacy of cold air on my fingertips and pressure in my thorax reminds me of both material and psychological limitations that render me unfit for prominence, being that I’ve become the kind of person content with the humdrum thrill of stopping traffic.
*****
I wasn’t nervous the first time I drove a school bus. I strapped the belt, adjusted my seat, and almost shifted into drive without pressing the brake. Nervousness would have been helpful.
I began on a transit bus, the goofy rectangular jalopies without a nose. They’re tricky to steer because the tires sit behind the driver and the enormous windshield can produce a sense of vertigo. My trainer barked a string of instructions, but in my mind I was already cruising down the interstate. I never dreamed that metal and rubber could feel so natural.
Over the course of two weeks I learned to make hairpin turns, merge onto highways, program a government gas pump, navigate country roads, cross railroad tracks, parallel park, avoid tree branches, and back into narrow spaces. Then I spent a few days on conventional buses, the ones with a hood in front and a huge overhang beyond the back tires. The final step was driving a supervised route, where I refined the art of deploying warning lights to impatient motorists. There were some dicey moments, but I kept the buses in one piece.
I thought of the training as a condensed university education. The diploma is a commercial driver’s license, the bus driver equivalent to a doctoral student’s comprehensive exams. This point isn’t completely hyperbolic. I studied many hours for a CDL; the test itself took many hours longer. Getting to that point wasn’t a certainty. By CDL time, my cohort had decreased from 20 to 11. It’s a terrible mistake to think of commercial drivers as unskilled.
Mostly I was content with a new sense of purpose. A common feature of depression is being unable to imagine a decent future, one reason why insightful thinkers connect the condition to the scarcities of modernity and increasing recognition of a coming ecological catastrophe. I don’t know that salvation can be found in labor, a notion that combines the most alienating elements of Christianity and capitalism, but I’m not disposed to anymore pretend that grace can be attained by discussing work in paid conversations.
*****
My father isn’t much of a talker, but when I was young he occasionally spoke of honest work. It’s a common trope around the world. Honest work emphasizes pride over salary. It’s not measurable according to the value of labor, or the sale of labor to the overclass, but an abstract barometer of integrity. Movies and novels make heavy use of the motif: better to sling garbage or pick lettuce than join the mafia. The honest worker has no money, but enjoys plenty of moral satisfaction.
Little ethical difference exists between legitimate business and the underworld. One group performs legal violence, but both rely on deceit and aggression to maintain an atmosphere conducive to profit. If anything, corporations surpass the brutality of cartels and black marketeers, or exist in league with them. Governments serve at the behest of corporations.
But even to a cynic, honest work has appeal. In a system that so adeptly makes livelihood contingent on obedience, few people can afford to be champions of the downtrodden. There’s something comforting about the low stakes of an hourly wage, but there’s no such thing as a thoughtless vocation. What the bosses call mindless labor in fact requires terrific exertion. I no longer have the energy to struggle through contradiction. It’s easier to contemplate dispossession as an anonymous county employee.
Even as I complicate honest work, I’m aware of how indebted I am to the notion. It guided my exit from academe and my rejection of the pundit economy. I’ve always overvalued recalcitrance, a compulsion, as I understand it, to vigorously avoid situations that require ass-kissing, usually resulting in significant reputational harm. Since elementary school, I’ve searched for a space where I could conform to my surroundings without feeling unmoored from an inner sense of decency. That space, it turns out, is equivalent to the volume of a school bus.
I pitched honest living to my parents when I told them about the new job. Despite being aware of academe’s ruthless memory, they hoped that I’d one day be a professor again. They probably still do. In a better world, my redemption would happen in the United States. I wanted to quell that expectation. “Even if Harvard offered me a job I’d say no,” I proclaimed with earnest hyperbole.
They feigned support but didn’t believe me. I understand why. It’s hard to imagine coming of age in reverse. Hollywood doesn’t make inspirational movies about struggling to overcome material comfort. We don’t aspire to the working class. Personal fulfillment occurs through economic uplift. We go from the outdoors to the office, from the ghetto to the high-rise, from the bar rail to the capital. That’s the dream, to become a celebrity or a tycoon or, in humbler fantasies, a bureaucrat. But forward progress as material comfort is cultivated through the ubiquitous lie that upward mobility equals righteousness. Honest living is a nice story we tell ourselves to rationalize privation, but in the real world money procures all the honesty we need.
For immigrants, these myths can be acute. I could see my parents struggling between a filial instinct to nurture and an abrupt recognition of their failure. My mom, a retired high school teacher, seemed interested in the logistics of transporting students, but my dad, the original professor, clenched his hands and stared across the table. It’s the only time I’ve seen him avoid eye contact.
Parental despair is a well-worn theme, for good reason. The idea of a child’s suffering has tremendous pathological appeal. But discovering a parent’s grief is no less powerful. That sort of discovery is a critical feature of adulthood. Only after I witnessed my father’s pained expression, his furtive anger, his shivering confusion, all of it poorly concealed by hardboiled resolve, was I prepared to continue through an unknown world.
*****
Brenda only ran the first day of training, replaced by a succession of former drivers who were (like Brenda) good teachers. They drilled us on the nuts and bolts of operating a bus, but also shared plenty of philosophical observations. Ours was a Socratic classroom.
More than anything I appreciated the trainers’ sense of proportion. They had to balance experiential wisdom with a rigid curriculum. They minimized certain lessons, surely aware that we’d find those lessons ridiculous.
I had read ahead in the two binders the county provided, which normally doubled my boredom. One unit filled me with simultaneous dread and excitement: communicating with students from different backgrounds. Three columns provided anthropological tidbits. For instance, Middle Easterners tend to be late, Hispanics (the manual’s word) tend to be really late, and Asians aren’t necessarily happy when they smile. Asians, however, are good at waiting in line, something to which Middle Easterners and Hispanics aren’t predisposed. None of the groups can be trusted to mean what they say , but they all revere elders. We weren’t privy to the nuances of African, European, Oceanic, or Indigenous cultures.
That lesson never came, though. The trainers didn’t even point it to our attention.
They did show a video about terrorism. Beginning with a slow-motion scene of a bus getting blown to smithereens, a voiceover giddily explained that the vehicles we drive are prime targets of evil. Its perpetrators come from any racial or religious group, the man (now onscreen) stressed. The disclaimer increased in importance with each new image of ominous brown men with unruly beards. Amid foreboding music, viewers were regularly urged to call some high-tech hotline. After a few minutes, I realized that the pasty narrator wasn’t a garden-variety expert; he was pitching a security company he founded, which compiles a database of suspicious activity based on anonymous tips. I suppose the film’s budget for sacrificial vehicles and incendiary devices should have tipped us off that it wasn’t the usual low-fi tutorial.
I glanced around the room, but nobody presented a visible reaction. We were more scared of the politics of terrorism than of political terror. Common wisdom is that terrorism exists in part to create paranoia, but I don’t think anyone feared a suicide bomber. More frightful was the possibility of being implicated in the government’s security apparatus, which has transformed all residents into potential cops. Terrorism hasn’t impeded our freedom; it illuminated all the reasons we are unfree. After the video ended, we waited in tense silence for the accompanying lesson, but the teacher walked into the room, flipped on the lights, and started discussing special-needs children.
The most consistent message throughout training was the importance of students’ well-being: greet them, provide some entertainment, watch for signs of trouble, bid them farewell. Driving isn’t our only duty. We’re part of the children’s educational experience. Otherwise the training would have been much shorter.
Well-being is predicated on functional machinery. Pre-trip inspection of the bus was by far the hardest part of the process. It requires a lot of memorization and practice. We spent many a dark morning splayed on tattered yoga mats looking at the underside of a bus, sliding around on damp, freezing ground. I came home sore and cranky, my range of neck motion reduced by half, but proud that my old bones could still handle a bit of honest work. I tried to imagine some colleagues from the past contorting beneath torsion bars and U bolts, but it wasn’t a satisfying exercise; I didn’t want to think about those people in any position. Learning a new trade involves mastery of the exotic; leaving academe requires the craft of forgetting.
We can’t put consciousness into formulas because we’re too small for metonymy and too great for imitation. While it’s able, the world produces incessant cycles of comfort and torment, affirmation and disappointment, reward and recrimination. I’m transported into the boundless ambition of childhood every time my first-grade son begs to join me at work. I dissuade the requests, but he’s persistent. In the end I never say no. He knows a lot about how the bus operates and where it’s supposed to stop. He even peeks underneath during pre-trip to make sure nothing is leaking. I’ve begun referring to him as my little professor.
Loved this so much Steve.
Steven Salaita should not be around buses. Curious – will he still defend blowing them up?
Given that you are commenting on a scholar’s post, you should take a more scholarly approach. Please cite a source for your claim that Dr. Salaita defended blowing up buses. Include the full context so your reader will be equipped to judge the veracity of your claim.
Perhaps you should not be around reading material that provokes thought.
Good reply!
Excellent suggestion. I was dumbfounded by the pathological,arrogant and ignorant cynicism. Humanity is cursed by superiority-striving predators.
Especially the rhetoric that came out of the superiority-striving predators of the Arab League in 1947.
Well said.
Not quite certain who you are complimenting. Dr. Salita is on record desiring genocide. It was one reason that the university rescinded its offer of employment. It is unknown as to why his last academic employer decided not to renew his contract. Normally, universities like to retain noted scholars.
Sir, your comment is inappropriate even in jest.
It is a well proven fact that Salaita supports Palestinian Arab terrorism and terrorists as demonstrated by his support of Odeh, who was deported from the US. She spent time in Israeli Jail for her part in the murder of two Jewish students.
Steven Salaita is a member of the Stern Gang?
Or the US Air Force?
I’ve never read more self aggrandizing bull$hit than “steefan’s” essay. And yes, of course he is a “free thinker” except when it comes to Isreal who he hates. Typical hypocrite.
And “steefan”, God Bless Isreal.
May God bless justice, and may justice one day shine on Palestine and its beautiful people.
Are you referring to the beautiful Palestinians who ambushed the ugly pregnant Jewish woman and her 4 ugly pre-teen daughters, shooting each daughter in the head, then shhoting the ugly Jewish pregnant mom in her womb, then finally shooting her in the head so that she would know that all of her children were dead before she died?
Or perhaps you are referring to that beautiful Palestinian who cut the head off the ugly Jewish baby?
Perhaps that word doesn’t mean what you think it means?
It’s certainly possibly to desire peace for all peoples and point out terrible choices in Israel’s political and military choices. I can also see terrible injustice in American support of Saudi Arabia’s horrible Yemen war. One big difference for me is I am from a non threatening traditional Christian American family. His article doesn’t go into what he said, was it enough that he shouldn’t have a job?
Salaita had said a truth about Zionist apartheid colony being an apartheid colony in Palestine and murdering Palestinians for not making place in Palestine for colonizers.
And Jack Frank Sigman tells lies about the Zionist apartheid colony being just poor little “Israel” being victim of Palestinians who have a gall to demand their land back from the Zionist apartheid colonizers
It appears that Salaita’s comments had crossed the line from just criticizing the policies of the democratic Israeli government to borderline antisemitism. As he had posted his comments as he was transitioning, the new university administration felt it had no choice but to withdraw on its offer. Normally honor bound, the university found Salaita’s comments to be beyond the pale and decided honor and legalities be damned.
Of course, had his comments been such as Lidia’s, there would have been more backlash. Of course there is no apartheid in Israel and the Israelis are colonizing nothing. Prior to 1948, they legally (and illegally) immigrated to British Mandate Palestine and Ottoman Palestine before that. They arrived with money and skill. They paid for their land, houses, and farms.
They built schools, hospitals, cultural centers and institutions of democracy.
When they grew to many, the Arabs, like white supremacists, committed acts of violence and demanded the halt of Jewish immigration.
Death to your ethnostate
You must be terribly disappointed that Jezus was a rabbi. And that the founders of Zionism – Herzl, Weizmann – cannot claim Hebrew origin (soil) because they came from the Khazar Kingdom. Also, before the mythical invention of the Kingdom of David the jews saw themselves as they are; they shared a common religion, not a common ethnic background.
Excellent post – you are helping many who struggle. May your efforts be blessed in every way.
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Boy there are some real assholes out there.
This is an excellent article, Steve. Thank you. I’m not an academic or a pundit, but I did work for a travel agency in Amman and working there had its moments, both good and bad. If I found myself in a situation where I had to work again, I’d choose an honest living, too.
I love this! And now I’m bookmarking your page so I can read more.Cheap Adidas Originals Shoe
Good read. Thanks for posting this.
I always loved bus drivers..public and school bus drivers…and teachers and professors.
My husband was a professor too.
Lots of working people impact us.
As a worker I hoped my work would make a diifer
Steven, you’ve a new career, book writer. This writing and much more, I am sure, will appear soon, somewhere, as a book, and then, perhaps, you’re out of the driver’s seat. God, principals, morals, and all that stuff. I know about it. When I was about 20 I was a draft dogger—the American War on Vietnam was going hot and heavy, and I was determined to not go. After a bit of toying around with the FBI and my court-appointed (former FBI agent) lawyer, I decided to go in the Army. I did. Over 20 months, I was court-martialed three times for refusing orders for the War three times, spent about 10 months in military prisons, and ended up with a bad discharge. After I got out of the Army, I continued my radicalism and was arrested twice for beating up cops, who actually beat me up. So, I’m also a convicted felon. In mid-life, with two children and a life partner, I was proud of all that, but I was also finished as a cog in the wheel of American capitalism. Every time success came my way, I resigned, quit, moved (changed addresses), got myself fired, didn’t show up, you name it. Where you became a yellow school bus driver, I became a butcher in a retail grocery store, a bus driver of senior citizens, a janitor in a pizza shop, a study hall monitor in a high school, Saturday School (all day detention hall) warden in the same high school, classroom teacher in the same high school, middle school teacher in an adjacent school, adult community ed teacher in the high school’s ‘night school’, research assistant and teaching assistant at the local university where I got two degrees and began a doctorate, grant writer for nonprofits, technical writer, career counselor for homeless veterans … the jobs I’ve had. But I think the writing was on the wall when I decided I would not fight this country’s war in Southeast Asia. I was ruined. I’d never be a good middle-class, ever striving, career (goal) oriented, thingamyjig. I’m not sorry for that, but it was a bit hard at times making a living, not wanting to grovel. No, it had nothing to do with wanting or not wanting, I couldn’t help myself. Not groveling came natural. I’m like you that way. Write on! Steve, write on!
Beautiful.
Beautiful, Steven. Looking forward to many more posts.
thank you, brother, for this grace.
Respect.
Thank you for this and may your words always reach out to the world.
Love this, Steve!
Gives me an idea for a book about folks with certain talents whose jobs do not reflect that talent or training.
I’m reminded of Philly’s Harrison Ridley, Detroit’s Sugar Man Sixto Rodriguez and Mosley’s Easy Rollins.
Your site not only champions the strength of folks to survive in spite of all the “isms,” but affirms that brilliant people can be found in every vocation, not just those careers which are separated from the masses by arrogance, colonial rapture and useless prestige. After all, who grows the food, drives the busses, cleans the clothes, stocks the markets and performs all the other essential tasks that enable aProf to show up for class?
You are an inspiration to me. Thank you so much for sharing. Shukran, dearest Steve. XO, Yvonne
As a mostly unemployed former university program director who was hired on the condition that I raise more money than my salary, with a PhD in cultural anthropology, this was inspiring! Tashakor ustad! Jimmy
ditto. phd anthropology, jd law, no room in academe
Dear Steve,
I enjoyed reading your piece about your involuntary banishment from the liberal halls of academia.
I too was banished from a public university. I did not Twit (I am not subscribed to Twitter), but I made the error of pointing out a clear example of White privilege. The unit administrators did not like it.
I am now piecing together a livelihood by teaching online courses part time.
Maybe my next gig is to also look for a bus driver job.
Luis P.
That was delightfully written. I hope the new job treats you well.
This juggles up towards something I don’t feel comfortable feeling never mind typing- some level of unadorned heroics. Not the noble or physical or even moral type. A type of bold clarity that lands somewhere between exposè and confession. Bravo “Stee-fen”. Fuck all those owners and poseurs. Let’s make some real revolution, starting sometimes, in the just-enough-space to fill a school bus. And an agitprop essay about them.
A great meditation on academe and the concept of “honest work.” It gave me a lot to ponder. Salamat!
Steven, i have the exact same nightmare about suddenly finding myself back in HS at this age in need of passing classes (usually English) that I skipped and for which I did no homework. And now, thanks to you, I can also — when my world collapses — cross out being a bus driver because I know that there’s no way that I can get back on my feet once I drop to check the fucking chassis. While I’m at it, I’m now adding ‘fuck the provost’ to the ‘fuck the Chancellor, President, Dean, Faculty Senate officers, and science colleagues’ list. Btw, some of the totally coolest dudes in my childhood were the Chamorro bus drivers of the 1960s and early 1970s, especially the ones that pulled to a mom and pop store to buy us soda and candy, or send one of us in to buy his cigarettes. The real comment i had was simply, thank you for being true to your soul.
I adored this piece. Thank you for writing it!
Thank you for this, Steven. You cover so much in this posting. Much respect and admiration. (PS: I still hope that in your down time, you write the books that are required reading in your discipline.)
I add myself to the fans of such involved writing; I laugh that so often parents think that bus drivers don’t think…or that professors don’t do practical thinking. Thanks for letting us into your mind and for paying attention to what the system is doing to us.
Good piece, Steve 🙂 I went through about two/three months of testing and training, got my CLP, but ended up for various reasons backing off and being a bus monitor instead of a driver in Illinois. I don’t know if you have a monitor on your route or not. Working on the bus can be hard, particularly when you get a busload full of kids who don’t give a shit and want nothing more than to cause trouble. And when that’s what they want, they pretty much always succeed and there’s not a helluvalot you can do about it. It’s an important job, though, and it can make you feel good sometimes: getting kids safely to and from school. And sometimes, when you drop the kids off and you see where they’re coming from, you understand why they can be so difficult and why they simply don’t give a shit. But understanding it doesn’t necessarily make it any easier to deal with. I hope your routes are mainly kids that behave themselves and are generally considerate. Still… Welcome to the suck. For some reason, your piece made me think of Jackson Browne’s “The Pretender.” By the way, I’m the guy that wrote the review titled “The Bitter And The Tweet” for CounterPunch of your excellent book. All the best to you, man…
A beautiful, exquisite essay. Thank you so very much, Stephen Salaita.
I just wanted to give you a shout-out and show solidarity! I think that your taking a stand will give others courage. We need to make structures outside of these petty structures. Maybe you can continue teaching through online courses and so on. But regardless, I have immense respect for you!
Thank you for this beautiful, honest and moving essay. Your contribution to humanity continues, in many formats, Steven.
I love this, thank you for sharing your story. After being booted from corporate America at mid-life I too have embraced honest work. You have discovered the secret, we are the ones who are truly winning.
As workers everywhere in the U.S. can attest, the work itself is always more and more driven by the ideological necessity for capitalists to be more and more capitalist, by proletarianizing all professions and by speed-up and other means of raising productivity in all proletarian situations. I find it difficult to conceive of just what a bus driver can be whipped to do faster, better, higher, stronger–and perhaps that in itself is its own best mental defense for you (you found a thing that can’t be in overdrive), but I suspect it is actually the case that you will find the things that are overdriven as you drive along. The academic specialty of wringing meaning(s) from data is nothing to mock: it is a particular strength of yours, and it serves you now just as it did when professing seemed honest work. And I think you’ll be happier, in your new situation, at the work of analyzing how the fabric of society provides openings through which peace and justice can be advanced. I know that I feel fresher and more incisive since retiring from my very tertiary specialty of writing and editing in scientific institutions (where the hazard was that I, a non-Ph.D., was supposed to tell all the Ph.D.s around me how to write better and avoid errors [“go up on that hill and draw fire, for a living”]). I’m no longer spending energy on defensive maneuvers. Nor, now, are you–and I think that will work better for you as simply a human committed to humanity. I love your wonderful, muscular prose and hope to see it here abundant!
I left a tenure-track academic position willingly in 1989. I have no regrets about leaving. I found an honest job as a technical writer where I also found a friend who many years before walked out of Harvard with a doctorate in Physics. He decided he didn’t want to build nuclear bombs; he wanted to organize workers. So he became a bus driver and drove for 20 years until the need to support a family drove him to tech writing.
A great essay. Made me think of that classic from the 20s: The Assembly Line, by Robert Linhart.
Be well!
Fantastic — I only wish I knew which county it is…as I live near there.
Thank you so much for this. As a jaded ex-prof from a working-class background who is now a writer and still figuring out how to pay my bills, I relate to this on so many levels. Including my disdain for ego and ass-kissing and building a narcissistic brand around those things. I came to the realization that academia is a cult and I’m still healing from the trauma I sustained. Your piece made me feel less alone. Hopefully you know you aren’t alone either. ❤️
Gresham’s law says … “bad money chases out good.” There is ample evidence today that Sir Thomas Gresham was correct. The same principle elucidated by Gresham manifests in any endeavour not excluding academia. In fact any system, of even minor consequence is handicapped by the same inertia. The best people leave! When has that not been true?
The majority of people live in fear; the fear of disapproval, and a need; the need for approval. Most of us are invisible no matter our accomplishments. The terror of the situation is being invisible to oneself. It is that self you have to live with. Any ordinary job can be invested with your attention. Aim for excellence outside of institutional approval — where there is far less competition, and time wasting raking around in the cold coals of the received — and focus your attention on increasing your competence. You are your own seed — nurture it.
You cannot be the best unless you are open to the certain fact that you do not have a crystal ball. The future is unpredictable but rest assured you make that future. Everyone cannot hearken to such truths.
But for the minority whom are capable of hearing this advice they will discover this field of endeavour is empty. Trust this observation — ‘most people love their chains.’ However there is a caveat. Choose to throw off your chains. Do not wait until you are cast out still shackled to your chains! Far better you ponder this truth. You will at first feel truly alone. Until you get used to the feeling of freedom. This freedom is not the frivolous promises of being happy if you should win some lottery. Real freedom is taking responsibility for you. Freedom requires a discipline of a different order than pacing your existence according to others approval.
An old saying is appropriate here. When you go into water you’ll come out in the fire. When you go into the fire you’ll come out in the water.
Thank you. You are in good company. President Nicolas Maduro Moro of Venezuela was a bus driver. He got his start in politics as a labor activist and is often called “Presidente Obrero”…so the children – as were your students – are in the best of hands!
a wonderful piece of writing !
This story resonates so much for me. I used to be a lawyer, and a university writing instructor, and a middle class stay at home mom. After a brutal divorce, I slid into mental illness and poverty. I’m well now, but still on public assistance. I chose training as a massage therapist in order to make a living and also be a writer and an artist, but was fired from my first job at a franchise spa when I told the owners it is illegal to make me do laundry during hours I am not being paid. My own story is more about an escape from a toxic marriage and a community that reveres my ex than from acedemia (though I have much to say about being an adjunct), but it tracks your story in so many ways. This was captivating and beautiful and affirming to read. Thank you. I look forward to more.
Just wanted to say that I really related to your story. I also suffered a career setback (more like I fell off a cliff) due to an illness that came on at age 30. It’s been difficult for me.
Huge respect for you Steven. May the Almighty gives you better result soon.
Thank you for giving language to your experiences with this. During my time as a student, I saw many of my beloved professors fall victim to an unjust academe in one way or another, whether it was a policing of liberatory idea or whether it was losing their positions due to changing requirements in employment. I think it is courageous of you to write candidly about your own transition.
By the way, I thought you may be interested in this project called The Native and the Refugee, which is a long form project comprised of films and writing, which draws mainly on experiences by Native people in North America and Palestinians.
https://thenativeandtherefugee.com/about/
A very engrossing read, Steve. You have been a victim of a huge injustice, yet, you refuse to bow down and have decided to live your life on your own terms. Respect, sir!
I’m an academic–and totally related to what you’re saying about academe. Loved reading your essay. It’s so human and so well written. Thank you.
Dear Steven
Your essay – so brilliant and eloquent and moving. The thugs who “liberated” you from academe created this space for the shifts and suffering and transformations of you and your family. In exploring this surprising trajectory, your insight and knowledge illuminate a life well-lived. And the intricate detail and materiality of that life. I am glad your loving son can accompany you with such delight. Sending warm greetings from the frigid North. And I look forward to your new blog that speaks to so many of us. Another wonderful ground-breaking book in the making.
Last night, my husband and I read Steven Salaita’s first post on his new blog, An Honest Living, out loud to each other. Having both studied at AUB, we recognized the hundred steps he took from the lower to the upper campus to meet the hilarious provost who kept using the Arabic expression “upon my head” in English, as he talked to Steve, producing an unintended pun from one language to another.
I loved, with an affinity based on recognition, the touching scene when Steve describes a training session (for his new job as a bus driver), in which his immigrant co-trainees give phony names to put on name tags because their real names were hard to pronounce for the trainer. The part in the training manual about being mindful of cultural differences but really being all about stereotypes of a couple of minorities, a baffling selection, is another insight packaged in a humorous context.
I could so easily visualize several scenes in a movie script, even though he writes, ” Hollywood doesn’t make inspirational movies about struggling to overcome material comfort. “I am still laughing at that and pondering, “We can’t put consciousness into formulas because we’re too small for metonymy and too great for imitation.”
Rima, I didn’t know you had read this beautiful essay; I did too and loved it. Nor did I know you had studied at AUB. It seems to be a small world.
I’ve followed Steve Salaita’s work for a while and have always looked forward to more writing from him. This essay was certainly no disappointment. I can only hope there will be more like it.
American writing, working against the background of a society that relentlessly extols upward mobility and social conformity, features a string of great works built on a contrapuntal theme in which the central figure backs away from the institutions of “progress.” From Huck Finn and Ishmael through the narrator of Invisible Man to Catch-22’s Yossarian, there are plenty of heroes whose identity is linked to their inability to live, or to succeed, within the system. When I read essays like this one, I can see easily enough why that must be true.
I understand very well how painful that can be for Professor Steve Salaita. I was also blacklisted in UK, I was accused of hit and run,…. etc. What hit and run?.. (after 9 month of stress..I took *** to court.. a letter comes telling me that MR KING WAS KILLED IN ANOTHER ACCIDENT…..nonsense, cowards, lairs, hypocrites, 2 faced..) all for exposing corruption and being anti war….I decided to put my energy in fighting war criminals, warmongers… since then my FB account has been suspended 16 times and I was banned from Faceless FB forever for only telling people about war crimes. I am also now banned form Twitter.. This is a Scam/Sham/Farce/Fake Democracy -EVERYTHING IS ON THE TABLE AND….bullying, Racism,Fascism is under the table.
https://twitter.com/fdejahang
Google dr f dejahang for more information …
Professor Anderson https://twitter.com/timand2037 is also suspended for exposing criminals and war crimes in Palestine….
Please help Professor Anderson to get his job back
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We Heart It
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Thank you for the very interesting piece. I remember my grade-school bus drivers well. One was Mr. Gray, who decorated inside his bus for Christmas, and who got us to sing Jingle Bells ending in, “ Oh what fun it is to ride in the bus with Mr. Gray!”
“Honest work for honest pay” is the theme I’m interpreting here.
I also left teaching after seven years to pursue a career as a mailman, not because of the students, but more because of the infuriating bureaucracy that rewards sycophants. I could always rely on myself to get the job done, but I was completely disheartened with the red tape/culture that binds wrists together.
It wasn’t easy explaining to friends and family about the career transition, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I enjoy the simplicity of punching in, doing the work, punching out and going home.
Your essay is thoughtful and highlights the importance of remaining open to plan B and knocking life’s curveballs out of the park.
Well written. I hope your father now realizes the work you now do is equally, if not more, important. A smile or kind word to a student on your bus can make his or her day.
Enjoyed reading this. Don’t usually read long forms but you managed to keep my attention all the way through, although I forced my attention to stay in check some of the time.
Nice reading this. Enjoyed the part you mentioned about immigrants making up the majority of the class. It doesn’t make the job any less noble than others.
Thank you so much for this beautiful, powerful piece of writing! I love it! And I so admire you, your work and your powerfully courageous choices. I used to go University of Illinois every year for a conference but I have not been back since they broke your contract. You showed us all how to live then and you still show us now. Again, thank you so much. Take good care, Jean Halley
That may be the longest windiest most verbose piece of mental masturbation I have ever seen. But I will say that this could not have happened to a more deserving guy. you werent fired for anything other than being an antisemite, when the University of Beirut thinks you are too antisemitic, you know you are.
anyway Stevie, you weren’t crying about people flying first class when SJP and CJPME were paying for your tour of lies and whining, but its interesting that suddenly you are crying now.
anyway, enjoy your life of irrelevance, its where people like you always end up.
Gotta wonder why you don’t live in Israel, Ryan. If your allegiance is to a country other than the United States of America, you can get the fuck out.
You forgot to mention the underlying arrogance this author displayed, characteristic of anyone firmly entrenched in Academia. You can also smell the author’s loathing of real people, i.e. those not up to his intellectual and social level.
Here comes the racist Zio pondscum. I googled this guy, and he actually is a real person with an internet footprint, and if anyone wants to see how confused he is about SO many things, here’s something he wrote for the Toronto Sun, wtf? :
https://torontosun.com/2013/06/14/native-jewish-bond-thicker-than-water/wcm/d501626e-732e-4cad-ac88-5ba9be7e7cc1
Apparently, he has some Native Canadian ancestry, and is happy to use that as a platform to slam Palestinians, whatevs…
Talking about “mental masturbation,” I don’t think you read your own articles. Obviously, you’re too dumb to understand this kind of writing. So, sod off.
How anyone who supposedly claims some native american/canadian heritage can defend a neo-colonial country like Israel, well that must take some mental torsion I can not even begin to understand. But then again, being metis isn’t quite the same as being aboriginal, is it.
Ryan, the angst you present seems displaced. When an unthinking attack on another is encapsulated in expressions such as “longest windiest,” “mental masturbation,” and followed by “deserving guy,” these word pairings suggests you may be experiencing a sexual identity crisis. This notion is reinforced by your Twitter handle: @Fenris69.
The compulsion to explain your “handle” as an “old football number not a sexual act, May be something you can workout in therapy.
https://www.psychology-today.com/ca/therapists/sex-therapy/alberta
Ryan Bellerose
So often well meaning people manifest emotional reaction when they seek to educate others. As a rule truly informed people do not advance specious or spurious opinions. Your opinions are invalidated by history. My advice is read the Balfour Declaration. Notice the date: November 2, 1917. The declaration called for safeguarding the civil and religious rights for the Palestinian Arabs, who composed the vast majority of the local population.
Then read as much as you can digest. If you do you’ll be in for some surprises.
Loved it.
From the comments I see, this transition is not so uncommon and… it is mine too.
What hurts the most is the ass-kissing and close-an-eye-(or-better-even-both)-on-corruption mindset that keeps being instilled in the young generations.
Unbearable. I left academe not to betray *Academia* and myself.
I think we have a similar saying in india too, both in hindi and tamil – “upon my head”.
Good read. Wish you the best.
Thank you
Congratulations on embarking on the next phase of your life! Your ego will probably take a beating, but that’s a good thing, right? You ≠ your job. Not when you were a professor and not now that you’re driving a bus. Those are just things that you have done or are doing. I am sure in the future you will be doing something else entirely. You = You. You ≠ your job. But in the meantime, while you’re here, what an interesting opportunity to learn more about yourself, and experience yourself in this wholly unexpected and alien context. You also get to meet and interact with people who’s lives are far outside the sphere of your former existence; the so-called hoi polloi, and aren’t they kind of a relief after the pompous stuffed shirts you find at universities?
I also once was in a situation where I had to take a job that an earlier iteration of my self would have considered proof of my abject failure. That job saved my life. I kind of wound up loving it, in the weirdest way. One of the things I got out of it was that it showed me aspects of my personality that were really snobbish, rooted in my own insecurities, and I have worked hard to rout those out over time. I too remember (as you do) feeling like a “spy,” or like I was incognito, having infiltrated this very “Dilbert-ish” work environment — at the lowest possible level! Ultimately I gained valuable perspective, a different way of seeing myself and other people too.
So good luck. I have followed your story for years, rooted for you, and will continue to do so. If you want to take a break from detective stories, I recommend CG Jung. you may find some of his ideas about individuation germane. Cheers!
Beautiful essay.
I left academia and am now working in HVAC, but a lot of this resonates
I am a former teacher, married to an academic, driving a schoolbus for the past 2 years. This piece poetically summarizes the intersection of my worlds. Beautiful and real. With respect, Bob
enjoyed reading this.
have you considered writing as a profession? I suggest that because the post reminded me of the exegesis of a favorite author of mine.
Reminds me of Mike Judges’s 1999 movie Office Space – a film that examines the relationship between the capitalist modern workplace in general and the masculinity it is built upon. Love it when the character of colour side buddy comments on the anti-hero’s scheme to install a virus into the company systems he says ‘Isn’t that illegal?’ and the anti-hero replies ‘Illegal? This is America!’ https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/feb/19/office-space-mike-judge-20-film
Hey Steve,
Remember that the US courts awarded you a reasonable sum of money for your illegal firing.
No other state in the world would decide a judgment in favor of a dissident.
Despite all its faults, imperialism and murders, there are somethings the US gets right.
Sincerely,
A dissident in a Third World Shithole
I really enjoyed your An Honest Living. You write far too well to be an academic. And to be able to read spy novels again!!! I’ve followed your story for a number of years, but only now am motivated to write you (mostly because you have made it so easy by having this forum), and I’ll never again take commercial drivers for granted. I’d love to compare careers–I was lucky, you weren’t– but I live with some guilt that I survived it all and you (and people like you) didn’t. I don’t think I ever compromised, but I was lucky–just lucky. Re: Random Commentator–forget Jung! Enough. Jim
Loved the article. I come from a highly educated family. I was a bit disappointed when my son did not go to college. Today he works to remodel homes. He can fix anything and I am so proud of him.
In addition I belong to a JVP chapter. Before each meeting we introduce ourselves. At least 6 people call themselves “recovering academics”>
Extraordinarily truthful writing, Ustaz!
as a first-year in a phd program, this is an excellent reminder that the PhD program is job security and health insurance for 5-6 years, and that despite the pressure to professionalize immediately, a position at an R1 university (or even academia) doesn’t have to be the end goal. i left a job in a public library system to do this advanced degree, and i miss it terribly – but that kind of honest, and community-engaged work, isn’t closed off to me forever.
thank you for your honesty, humility, and incision with words, steven.
Dear Steve,
Your essay revived some of the same feelings I had reading “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”. Didn’t realize it was still a part of me after all these years. Thanks.
The Church of Reason is often anything but reasonable. Your journey is leading you to ideas worthy of your time and effort to teach – something you obviously have a gift for whether you realize it or not. Keep us informed as you continue your post education education:)
I kept thinking of Siddhartha by Herman Hesse while reading this blog post.
Very nice, thoughtful, honest essay. I’ve followed your saga for some time now. Criticizing Israel / Zionism is a definite no-no in academe.
Another recovering ex-academic here. I walked away from “adjuncting” several years ago not for specific ideological reasons but because it became plain that this was the rest of my life: ridiculously low pay, worsening work conditions amidst an inept & corrupt bureaucracy, doing work above & beyond that of a full-time professor (5 or 6 classes spread over two & sometimes three campuses) but still unable to afford private health insurance & increasingly unable to afford the rent which kept going up every year….
I’ve since started my own business, although I loved teaching & cannot stop looking back at what might have been.
Thank G-d you won’t be polluting the minds of college students with your hatred of Jews. I wonder if you are infecting the minds of the students you drive.
Thank you, this was beautiful indeed.
Like you, I may soon be living a post-professional life. After receiving a PhD and working for years to find a respectable academic job I eventually gave up. As of the last few years I have not been working at all, partially in protest and partially because I could find nothing else interesting for me to do. However, as of late I’ve been considering just getting an honest job to have some place to go each day — running out of Netflix to watch and video games to play and feel I drink too much! So, Mr. Steve, I may soon be joining you in a post-professional life. I too may disappear into the system that destroyed me.
Thank you, Steve, for courage and commitment from one who went from bus driving to academia. Drivers are more honest. Congratulations for landing on your seat! Hope you have a union.
Nearly 1/4 of the Palestinian people killed in that summer of 2014 were children, including the 4 boys killed on the beach while playing soccer. You had the courage to speak up for them, while most US commentators were falling all over themselves to whitewash Israeli violence. So, in a sense, it seems right that part of your job now is safeguarding children. While the arc of the universe clearly doesn’t bend towards justice, it seems like there may occasionally be those moral correspondences Emerson spoke of, those invisible laws of the universe. I wish you the very best with the job and with writing. Should your travels take you to the West Coast, I will try to prevail on my fellow Californians to be well provisioned with pens. 🙂
The Palestinians were using their own children as human shields. Only a jihadi nutjob would do that.
The 1940’s Blacklist in Hollywood didn’t include only the Hollywood Ten (singled out for intimidation purposes) but much labor-protected skilled labor that undergirded movie-making then, the sound men, props, lights, carpenters, dressers, et al. , who were hounded out of their livelihoods for a supposed wrong meeting or belief or an idealistic aspiration for the dignity of labor. None worked harder toward the goal of indignifying the real workers in film creation than the future president of the United States, Ronald Reagan. He was a fink for the FBI, meaning the unwholesome snoop J. Edgar Hoover who found the enemy everywhere but within. In later years he got rid of Clark Kerr, Chancellor of the University of California higher education system, by spreading the rumor via Reagan among the Regents that he worked with Communists. When the Regents fired Kerr, Reagan said he didn’t know about it, he had to leave early. His vote was recorded among the majority however. The big lie didn’t start with Donald Trump.
One interview stuck in my mind when aged surviving film people were interviewed about those morally depraved years after the nightmare of war. She said simply that she and her husband found other work, that they had each other, all that mattered to them. I saw in the couple (he had since died) the precept, that you may have to suffer for the truth, but you never need to fear.
Thank you. I have followed your struggles but have stopped being surprised by your treatment. This piece resonates as I walk away from a criminally impossible position in academia that ruined my health and my sense of self worth. I was young and inexperienced, but fortunately I’ve come out of it relatively intact. I’m still navigating paying the rent and letting go of the briefest of middle class comforts, and rebuilding an identity that is not about those things, but I count myself lucky that I always fought to maintain a life and meaningful relationships outside the academic bubble. Those people have cared for and supported me. None of them questions my decision to leave an exploitative situation. My ego suffered but my mind is slowly waking up. Your reflection about liberation is true for me too: an unacknowledged burden of the past decades has lifted. I forgot what this felt like. I have also begun writing. It’s like waking up.
I appreciated this piece so much. Peace and best wishes on your daily journeys.
A.A, a classic Zionist moron. You’re probably one of those who’re fine with blowing up schools and weddings full of foreign innocents (e.g. Yemen) killing tens of thousands over the last two decades. By your same logic, you and your likes shouldn’t be around neither schools nor weddings. Go away, ‘khabibi.’
Jim Faris! Lovely to read you again. Greetings to Lucy. My msg to Salaita would be similar: I have sympathetically followed his situation for years, but myself was lucky. I really appreciate his take. Ironically, for some reason nowadays the city of Milwaukee keeps posting wonderful things on fb that its (largely black female) city and school bus drivers keep doing—saving wandering toddlers, taking in freezing people, calling ambulances for the injured. Honest work. I always share the posts.
Hi Micaela,
Lucy and I are fine. Lucy on her 25th book/ Glad you follow Salaita. Hope you are well and happy. Jim
Steve, what happened to the book that was to be published in February. I can’t wait.
Possible inspiration for a future essay:
The “trauma of infamy” vs “not going gently into that good night!”
Greetings, Dr. Salaita,
Academia is very much founded on politics and ideology, it’s not a secret. Nevertheless, one’s mission of teaching and learning doesn’t have to be confined to the spaces of academia or to those of accredited higher learning institutions. While these spaces provide a lot of prestige, they also create learning gaps for those that don’t have access to knowledge created by its faculty. Although you are no longer a part of the academic spaces, which provided you with status of prestige at one point, you seem to be contributing to the same systems that you have been fighting against. While driving buses might be your way of rebelling against academic systems of power, you are unintentionally contributing to mainstream ideals of teaching and learning. You may chose to continue to be a dissident of academia by driving buses, but perhaps you may find that you can make a greater contribution (and impact) to the world by continuing to teach even if you have to do it through unconventional platforms like YouTube. Just a thought from a humble education major.
Some detailed nuts and bolts were missing in this otherwise-excellent article: How much does the new job pay compared to academic employment? Job security? Heath insurance? What is the upper age limit? Do former school bus drivers get a job at the mall keeping an eye on mall rats?
Driving a school bus sounds a better deal than the frugal existences many fine and smart (and even published) adjunct faculty are obliged to endure; years of precarious employment on terms and conditions their callous and uncaring employers would not consider offering to plumbers and electricians in their employ. And that includes the richest and most prestigious, such as ALL the Ivy League and all the so-called ultra-liberal colleges.
A bag of wind like Judith Butler feels free to run her mouth on subjects of which she knows less than nothing – “Hamas and Hezbollah … part of the Global Left” – but if she has ever spoken in public about how adjunct faculty are treated it was, sadly, unreported.
Yes, Judith Butler has spoken about adjunct labor many times as well as the ethics of training graduate students given these labor conditions. Thanks for checking!
Amazing reading.
Good luck
Give my regards to Ralph Kramden.
Mr Steve discovered a Truth…and his wonderfully written essay is appreciated in more than one venue. See> SusieQ on February 24, 2019 · at 2:46 am EST/EDT @ http://thesaker.is/moveable-feast-cafe-2019-02-24/#comments
See also the reply > “parrhesiastes” made
In part: “Universities may be centers of learning, but they also serve to regularize and stabilize political forces and especially dissent, and for elites this is perhaps their primary function. Essentially the situation is that there are, naturally, scholars. Such men and women, if unregulated, would create Changes without the supervision and constraint of an academy under Sovereign Control, if there were no academy. At Leiden I have been told, verbally, that this, and also a genetic goal, was the primary and also secondary purpose of the University. People “on tenure-track” and those who have passed this hurdle and obtained tenure have been filtered to “eliminate radical ideas”. Until recently they were closed to persons, men, who had not taken Holy Orders..another “filter”. ”
He goes on, and he too was a bus driver, for similar reasons.
Very fine writing. Moving material. Thank you for this; I hope we’ll be fortunate enough to receive more from you like this…
Stephen you are a good man who has had his academic career ruined by those unable to tolerate the truth.
It might not seem so now, but in the end the truth will win
Please continue to keep the faith, and may God bless you and your family.
https://fasih.ml/blog
Follow me for more articles….❤
People are actually being nice to each other on the interwebs!
I am blown, not just by Steve’s beautiful writing that reflects his courage and integrity, but also by the goodness of all the people who shared their own stories in the comments.
Mad respects to you all. Faith in humanity restored!
Voltaire said “To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize.”
I learned of that aphorism from Gilad Atzmon, who is presently subject to a campaign of character assassination and disemployment in Britain. Fortunately for him, the jazz club set is not susceptible to ruinous SLAPP lawsuits, and dis-employment campaigns.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strategic_lawsuit_against_public_participation
In this case, and for Norman Finkelstein, the academic professionals amply demonstrate what Professor Salaita so keenly declares: There is a docile acceptance of outrageous Administrative integrity crimes against their own, therefore pay no mind to those splendid robes and sashes, it is all a facade!
From my college days, circa 1960, the lexicon: BS = Bull Shit MS = More Shit PhD = Piled Higher and Deeper
Thank you for your candid post. It is a testament that the human spirit is not easily defeated, and that our freedom and strength lies in how we choose to act when faced with adversity.
I have to admit I had to overcome my reluctance to post a reply. I followed what happened to you at UIUC in the past, and only recently did I learn about what happened at AUB. Like you, I am also of Palestinian descent. However, unlike you, I grew up as a refugee in Lebanon with no basic rights as a human being. I also pursued an academic career. At some point I became disillusioned with academia, not only for the reasons you listed, but also because I was not able to continue being a professor in good conscience while many students around me were shackled with debt. Academic institutions transformed from liberators through education to enslavers, not simply through enforcing an insiduous conformity through the guise of civility, but also through robbing the future generation of its chances for success. Unlike you, I was not ousted, but rather, I willingly left the trap of tenure, and I do not regret it.
Although I grew up a stateless refugee, unlike you, I do not see everything through the lense of colonialism or capitalism. Reality is far more complicated than absolute labels, and often times it is a question of scales. Injustices have happened, and sadly, continue to happen in a lot of places. The real question is what lessons to learn, how to preserve our humanity, and how to make amends. After all, we are all natives to one place. I am glad you found some sort of meaning and freedom outside the academe. I still hope one cay you will find peace.
Humanity needs to learn and evolve more in character,for good progress we need to extend our kindness and himility beyond our own front doors.You have really written it brilliantly.
Nice💓
Follow me for fashion related stuff
http://themehakbhutani.wordpress.com
I don’t know what made me read your blog this morning,just a coincidence but as i was going through your blog i found my self very connecting, even though i have not reached that stage of life in which currently you are but the fact is i also have experienced a kind a similar life style, i heard a lecture of Steve jobs once where he stated something about Connecting the Dots, That made me understand that what ever situation we face in our life, what so ever problem we face, where ever we get travel to , all those are meant for us , not only this even if we get fired up, even if we get court marshaled , we are meant for that , standing at that particular point we cant understand that why the hell only i am going through that situation , or what benefit will that give in my life, but certainly in near future when you look back at those incident you will fell proud or happy or satisfied about those incidents as if they would not have taken palace you would not have become what you are today.
taking your example , if you would not have faced such situation you would not have expressed all these in a blog which become internationally so trending , Now understand the simple fact all what happens is meant for some good.
👍👍👍… interesting post… a life story with many lessons and points to learn from…the bottom line is that no matter our statuses its important to have a strong inner core and do all we can to consistently protect it from negativity and anything that could weaken it so that when bad times befall us, we would be in a better position, and more likely strong enough to handle any storms
Brother, you shouldnt be driving a friggin bus. Leave America, go to a free country where you can speak your truth. Try Mexico, Cuba, Venezuela. Yes Venezuela. America is sick. Mentally ill. We are under the boot of plutocrats and Zionists. The State Department is the servant of a foreign country. I myself cant get my passport renewed and there has been no due process.
http://www.hpub.org
Steve, you also need a Patreon page. I invite you to republish your work, or the work of others including BDS at http://www.hpub.org
We are non-commercial, not monitized and dont need donations, so we cant be stopped. 25,000 articles published since 2010.
Enjoyed this very much. I also recently left academia after 15 years and was shocked by the invigorating difference “life on the outside” makes. Everything Steve says about academia is spot on. It IS larded with hidden agendas. It IS full of boobs who mistake position for excellence. It is crippled by the weird combination of an imperative toward free thinking and a strict adherence to the tenets of political correctness and gender politics–which I was more or less happily agreed with, but woe to the person who chose not to. Coincidentally, my father, a teacher for 40 years now happily drives a bus in his post-teaching days. He loves it. Funny how this piece joins our two experiences.
Thanks for sharing this Great article
I appreciate the valuable time you have used to share this.
Steven , I am interested in learning more about how your relationship with your father has developed. I see that your mother has a more open mind. We all want to make our fathers proud and how has your descion affected your life and relationship with father. I think Carl Marx and other Philosophers would admire your work. Steven can you reassure us that you are not headed down the same path as the Ted Kaczynski.
Thanks Steve. This was a wonderful read.
by supporting hamas, you supported the genocidal mufti Husseini, who convinced the 3rd Reich to kill, not merely expel, its Jews. And with British and imported nazi help in 1948, he hoped to finish the final solution of the Jews.
He failed. Clearly you’re mentally ill for hating the Jews for refusing to die, for refusing to go back to a state of dhimmitude where the muslims you admire could gleefully rape, kill, and abuse the Jews at their whimsy.
And the fact that you insist that it is the Jews, who fought back against your British and German backed Arab heroes as the ‘colonialists’ is both laughable and pathetic.
Sadly, your views are mainstream in the Arab-owned joke known as ‘middle east studies’ in US academia, but you were just a bit too obnoxious in expressing them. There are a handful of righteous muslim/Arab zionists, but clearly you lack the courage to be among them, so you are in your rightful place.
Peter–you are an incredible jerk!
Brilliant reply, James. The truth hurts–which is why you replied in such a manner. Like I said: Steven lacks the fortitude to be one of those rare Arab Zionists.
Mr Schwartz,
I have to admit I am baffled by your reply, even after repeated attempts to filter the ad hominem attacks. You make claims, but you never back them up with any references. Did you ever visit pre-1948 mandate Palestine? Did you personally talk to people from there? What sources do you rely on to form your unassailable “truth”?
The best friends of my grandparents were Jews from Eastern Europe, and the mother of my grandfather who was dispossessed and forcefully expelled in 1948 was from the “Qatsav” family. Some of my best friends are Jews who are not necessarily Zionists. This is my version of “truth”. Furthermore, it seems that in your declared “truth”, ideologies are confounded with groups of people. In reality, one can easily delineate an unambiguous demarcation line between the two. You can be against targeting civilians in war while not taking sides in the conflict, and you sure can be against a nationalistic ideology without being in cahoots with the third Reich.
You do not have to agree with everything Steve says. Personally, I do not, see my earlier reply to him,
https://stevesalaita.com/what-to-do-about-corporate-media/#comments
That being said, I very much doubt he hates any group. The image he projects is carefully crafted, that of a rebel intellectual à la Kanafani who oscillate between consuming anger against injustices and paralyzing cynicism. The audience for this image is perhaps himself, first and foremost. I think he realizes it all boils down to one universal fact, even if he never admits it: We are all equally human, despite our ideological or political differences that are mostly shaped by random historical (and sometimes unfortunate) contingencies.
When I first came across Steve’s blog, I had the false hope that perhaps there will be, for once, an honest, respectful, open and intelligent conversation about a complex situation. Unfortunately, the repeated ad hominem attacks like your posts proved me wrong.
W, I am not going to write an academic paper with references to make my point so there will be truthful claims without citations. I just finish an article on education being necessary to fulfill the human right of democracy, that has citations and I expect to be paid. For free, you get zilch.
As Peter implied, MESA in the US is a hot mess with so much anti-Israel propaganda, bordering on antisemitism, that many professors refuse to join and set up a rival organization, ASMEA. The same occurred with Genocide Scholars when John Docker started accusing Israel of genocide. You can read my book for more info, but try to borrow it. I am in the middle of the 2nd edition, so it is not worth the $10 right now.
As for the Grand Mufti and Hitler, it may be that he spoke to Hitler and encouraged killing Jews, but it is doubtful that any of it came up at the Wannsee conference.
As for your stories, that is anecdotal information. As individuals, most get along well. But a mob is a different story. We see this in the slaughter in Rwanda and Bosnia. Even those two places have the same anecdotal tales you tell.
My statements on the mufti are easily verified, not controversial, just not broadcast by the current crop of NGO funded liars because it tends to expose their lies.
In 1948, around 300-320K fellahin listened to their leaders and relocated to other places, typically Jordan. They did not own land. They were not expelled or dispossessed. Israel long ago compensated the few Arabs that could actually show deeds for lost land.
The reality is that the landowning effendi sold their land to the Zionists (documented even by anti Zionist historians such as Nathan Weinstock).
I’m quite familar with pre-1948 palestine, and I don’t consult liars and embellishers to get my version of truth. Arabs supported the 3rd Reich then, and do so now (Mein Kampf and the Protocols are best sellers in the islamist countries). Your grasp on these facts is tenuous at best. And you’re doing a weak job of deflecting attention from ‘James Faris’s’ ad hominem attack.
The fact remains that Salaita is a hate-filled person, not unlike everyone else that lies for islam and harbors such intense hatred for the fact that there is a small sliver of land, far smaller than it was originally supposed to be, where Jews no longer live as abused dhimmi to muslims. And this country is at the forefront of medical technology, computer technology and helping the world (eg. Israel sends help to global disaster areas all over the world).
Perhaps when Salaita drops the hatred, he’ll be at peace.
Peter:
I will not reply to ad hominem, but rather engage in a discussion.
There is definitely a possibility for all people in that “small strip of land” to live without being at the mercy of anyone and without Zionism. For example, you can have one neutral state like Switzerland with different cantons and local democracy. I am not saying they will want to do that. All I am saying is that there are always possibilities if people are willing to think about them.
w,
Zionism is nothing more than the liberation movement of the Jews. Your opposition to zionism indicates some kind of latent antisemitism, a driving need (perhaps based on your religion?) for Jews to be in a degraded and abused state. For many muslims, their religion is only ‘right’ when the Jews in their midst are in such a state.
Instead of trying to eradicate zionism, you should instead try to liberate the poor and oppressed living under kleptocratic islamic rule in the surrounding countries (or even those living under hamas/PA rule).
Alas, the antizionists care little about the Arab poor/oppressed. I don’t even think there is much of an Arab middle class outside of Israel, where the Zionist regime has inflicted an actual economy upon Arabs that enables them to escape poverty.
Peter,
You speak for me when you do not know me or know my religion or that of my family. Do not make false assumptions.
You can call it a “liberation movement”, but you did not answer my question.
Your question makes no sense. It’s not possible to have a country as you describe, yet with the absence of Zionism. Unless you plan on replacing the Jews of Israel with Christians.
Fundamentally, the Arabs of Hejaz spread throughout the Mediterranean and north Africa via forced conversion, brutality, and murder. And Israel is the only area there where it has not succeeded. No compelling reason to fix what isn’t broken.
An objective person would only seek to liberate the residents of Gaza from hamas rule, and to liberate the Arabs of Judea and Samaria from PA rule. Muslims have flourished only under secular (or even philosemitic) leadership. Why do antizionists like their Muslims to be lead by oppressive antisemites?
Peter,
I will rephrase my question.
Is it possible for Jews and everyone else in that “small strip of land” to live in security within a neutral country like Switzerland that has a system of direct and local democracy and that gives cantons a lot of independence?
Again, do not make any assumptions. I am not anti-anything. I am for justice while being cognizant that some historical injustices can not simply be erased.
Now back to some points you raised (after filtering ad hominem). From the point of view of those escaping the holocaust, Zionism might have been seen as a liberating movement. However, it evolved into something else, and its impact on the local population is not that of liberation.
Judaism is infinitely more profound and predates Zionism. Zionism is mostly inspired by nationalistic movements in Europe. When I read the whole of Tanakh, one message stands out repeatedly: Treat others like you want them to treat you. This is antithetical to how Zionism treats the local population.
As surprising as it might sound, I look forward to the time when Judaism will be liberated from Zionism, but I am realistic enough to know I might not live long enough to see that happen.
The current situation on the ground is “broken”, even if various groups are “liberated” from their oppressive rulers. One can not be blind to the fact that occupation harms both the occupier and the occupied.
To W,
Zionism is part and parcel integrated with Judaism since the Diaspora. Political Zionism starts in the 1860s. In the 1890s, with the revelation that antisemitism was never going to leave Europe and Jews would always be in danger, Zionism is seen as a liberation movement. Regardless, Zionism has always been a national movement of the Jewish people’s longing to return.
Treat other as you would have treat you is not Judaic. More profound is the Judaic tradition of do not treat others as you would not have them treat you. If Jews were murdering grandmothers via knifings and suicide bombings and beheading children via knife blades, they would expect the same treatment accorded the Palestinian Arabs.
I do not recall any of the nationalities that make up Switzerland becoming suicide bombers or deliberately murdering Priests, Grand mothers and little babies.
I will not reply to specific claims not to fall into the trap of “whataboutism”, and because we can repeat propaganda ad infimum . (We are already beyond the point of ad nausium.)
“More profound is the Judaic tradition of do not treat others as you would not have them treat you.”
But
(A B) is logically equivalent to (NOT A NOT B)
The conceptual foundations of Judaism are complex and high-dimensional, and they have been evolving over millennia. Zionism, on the other hand, is a 1-dimentional reduction that is restricted to nationalism and power structures. The two are not equivalent, not by any stretch of the imagination. The claim that the latter is needed to save the Jews is simply false. There are other possibilities. However, whether people collectively choose them or not is another story.
Not only are the two formulas (Christianity’s versus Hillel) not equivalent, there is a depth of literature discussing the differences.
As for your Swiss analogy, the Swiss works for them because of their relationships. Those relationships do not generally exist between Israelis and Arab Palestinians.
Zionism as nationalism has been around 1800 years or so, evolving over a millenia. No one stated an equivalence. However, it remains that Zionism is an integral part of Judaism. If may have not had more that a spiritual significance 1000 years ago but it is much more in the last 300 years.
The ethics of reciprocity appears in both positive and negative forms, and 300 years is an order of magnitude less than 3000 years.
Think of it in the context of the “prisoner’s dilemma”. When the realization of a nationalistic ideology is structurally tied to an imbalance of power and to the oppression of locals, it is quintessentially fragile. As in any complex system, the balance of power will eventually shift (due to external factors and/or internal factors, such as corruption). For the sake of Jews and all other groups in this “small strip of land”, seeking a local political structure that is just to everyone is more secure and robust in the long run.
To W. as there is no “reply” button. Zionism became a part of Judaism 1800 or so years ago, not 300. The position between Israel on the disputed Palestinian territories evolved over 160 years, not just since Israel liberated Jerusalem and ended Jordan’s illegal occupation of Judea and Samaria. While the balance of power did shift from Ottoman and Arab Islamist authoritarian control to a liberal democracy dominated by Jewish interests, it is not likely to shift back to a dictatorship, as most Islamist regimes seem to be.
Yes, there must be a political solution, but as long as Palestinian leadership refuses to recognize that they will never get what they state they want, and come to the table openly and honestly, it is likely another Gaza solution will be made.
This is a reply to your reply below my earlier reply. Such is the warped state of the world we live in!
Look up the first war of Kappel in 1529, the second war of Kappel in 1531, the Villmergen war of 1656, the Toggenburg war of 1712, and then the Sonderbundskrieg of 1847. The Swiss still managed to evolve into a stable and secure neutral country with a local political system based on direct democracy and a high level of independence for the cantons. Such a system is not the so called “political solution” that you refer too. (I will save myself the Sisyphean trap of the blame game.)
Zionism as an ideology is less than 300 years old. Simply because some part of it is inspired by events 1800 years ago does not imply it is 1800 years old.
I think we are running out of space for replies, both literally and metaphorically. This discussion is perhaps premature, since collectively, it seems that societies are shortsighted and react rather than act in what is in their best interest.
Zionism is over 1800 years old. Political Zionism is 160 years old. So the Swiss nationalities stopped trying to kill each other 180 years ago. The Arabs never stopped trying. The Swiss likely underwent a religious reformation. Islam has only regressed. There is no analogy.
Peter,
I risk being redundant, and I will not answer ad hominem or unfounded claims. What is my motivation? Having a robust solution that is just for everyone. I think this is rational enough.
Both political structures are a counter reaction to political Zionism that actually served the needs of the latter before falling out of favour. For every action there is a reaction. One can safely say the reaction is a product of the action.
Go back to my earlier replies, and you will find the answer to your questions. I am not here to convince you or anyone of which path they choose. All I am saying is that there are other possibilities. Personally (and I emphasize “personally” here), not only do I view political Zionism in its modern form as at odds with at least two foundational concepts in Judaism (Tikkun olam and the ethic of reciprocity), but it is a dead end for everyone, including Jews, in this “small strip of land”.
W, It appears that your utopian responses are a result of your adherence to the Lilienthal school of anti-Zionism. It is totally unrealistic and not worth the time discussing. The Arab position is the same as the white supremacist’s. It belongs to them and no one shall take it from them, regardless of how they got it and what they do with it.
The Arab claim is that the Jews invaded, colonized, and ethnically cleansed. The truth is that the Jews legally and illegally immigrated to Ottoman “Palestine” and British Mandate Palestine. They brought skills and capital. They bought land from Arab, non-Arab, and the state. They built homes, farms, ranches, orchards, and businesses. They built schools, hospitals, centers of culture, and democratic institutions.
When they grew too numerous, the Arabs, like the new Pharaoh, sought to destroy them.
Frank,
I fail to see the logical merit of categorizing people in order to accept or dismiss their arguments. The answer is simply no, I do not belong to any school of thought.
Lilienthal was an ardent supporter of the two-state solution later in his life. We are practically beyond this point. As I said, think of it in terms of game theory, and you will realize the current path is a dead end. As Alexander Pope said, “[f]or fools rush in where angels fear to tread”.
W, Lilienthal was hardly ever a supporter of Israel, but was certainly pro-Palestinian Arab. Many of his later contributions are highlighted by Holocaust denial organizations and anti-Israel borderline antisemitic publications such a Rense and WRMEA. Additionally, Lilienthal denied the Jews constitute a people, among many other sentiments critical of Israel on a religious basis, just like you.
But wait!! Who is Frank?!
Frank, I mean Jack, it is the best nickname I can come up with, given how absolutely “sincere” you are in your writings. The admin, aka Steve, is perhaps having a chuckle every time people argue in the comment section. See, he perhaps sees himself as some Greek deity overlooking the theater of the absurd that he rules, an omnipotent provocateur who enjoys sporadically throwing an outrageous article and then watching from a safe distance others squabble using keyboards and tablets.
For the Nth time, because I believe children of all groups, including Jews, deserve a secure and robust future in this region of the world, I think an alternative path is needed. How this is interpreted as being against anyone is beyond me! Now I will exit this theater of the absurd (without the permission of its supreme ruler).
W, unfortunately, the leadership and a significant portion of the Palestinian Arab people do not share your beliefs. Until they do, The Israelis have no reason to put their children at risk.
Jack,
I never claimed there is a historical analogy. I said one can imagine a future that is secure and just for all groups, including Jews, in that part of the world, and without (political) Zionism. The shameless ad hominem attacks, the repetition of unfounded claims as “truths”, the lack of logical consistency and the parroting of dehumanizing propaganda are proof that perhaps all parties need reform before any meaningful coexistence is possible. Today, the discussion might be dismissed by one side as irrelevant because of the current balance of power. Let us hope some people will have the foresight and courage to have an honest discussion before it is too late.
w,
You continuously harp over some desire to replace political zionism, even though Israel is an entirely secular democracy which protects everyone’s sacred history and rights.
What would you replace this secular democracy with? and why do you have no such desire to eradicate the clerical fascist politics of hamas and the PA?
Based on the constant incitement to violence by the Palestinian Arab government, political parties, clergy, education professionals, parents, and Ahed Tamimi, no one with an education worth salt can imagine such a future you imagine. This is not based on a lack of imagination. It is based on a firm grounding in realism. To suggest that Israel’s religious and secular beliefs need reform, as Islam must, is a rather far fetched suggestion. While there is demonization coming from the small number of fanatic fundamentalist ultra-orthodox Jews, the same comes from the vast majority of moderate Palestinian Arab Muslims. What comes from the fanatic Muslims puts demonization to shame.
Peter,
I will only answer your last question, not because I do not believe in open discussion, but because my filter is starting to malfunction. PA and Hamas are a product of political Zionism. Have a just and local political structure that benefits everyone, and they will not be there.
W,
again there is no reply button. There is zero evidence that hamas or the PA are the results of political zionism. What is a result of political zionism is the fact that Zionists were working with Fawzi Darwish Husseini (cousin of the mufti) in a collaborative manner, and Arab nationalists killed Fawzi and likeminded Arabs for doing so.
Thus, we see that hamas and the PA are the results of political islamism, a clerical fascist ‘all or nothing’ ideology. Since this is not a valid ‘partner for peace’, it is only just that Israel take care of Israelis, do what is best for Israelis, and let the political islamists and their supporters stew in their hatred, which is not open to rational thought or discourse.
You have yet to explain how or why Israeli leaders would a) treat Israeli Arabs so benignly and with full civil rights yet b) want Arabs outside of Israel to be lead by antisemitic and genocidal clerical fascists. This is a common trait among those with irrational issues with Israel.
There’s no evidence it evolved into anything else. There’s no evidence it had a negative impact on the local population. In fact, Arabs that live in Israel live better than Arabs in surrounding countries, and numerous articles from the 40s and 50s make it clear that Arabs flocked to the region due to the Jew-created economy. Thus, you’re typing in common jargon with no foundation in fact.
Your statements about Zionism have no foundation in fact. I just got back from several days in Israel, followed by a few days in the very different Jordan, a palestinian Arab country where the vast majority of people live in poverty (although this is normal for them). Your statements on Zionism indicate you’ve never actually been to Israel. Nothing is broken. The only occupation is that of Arabs in Judea and Samaria, but they do live under their own government, the PA. As you well know, Arabs are indigenous to Arabia (the Hejaz), not palestine, nor Africa.
Incidentally, based on the long history of pogroms and crusades against Jews, only Jews can be trusted to preserve the neutrality when it comes to the Jews, which Israel is doing at the present.
I do not know that I would agree with the neutrality issue, but based on the routine refusal for sanctuary and succor, the safety of the world’s Jewish population depends on Israel.
Excellent post – you are helping many who struggle. May your efforts be blessed in every way.
W,
your statements are not predicated on any actual history, nor any actual Israeli policy. Alas, it seems you’re willfully blind to both, which makes it impossible to engage in good quality discourse.
As we confirmed: The Arabs that were interested in benefitting Arabs were killed off by Islamic extremists. In light of this, Israel should do what is best for Israelis, and continue to be a light among nations, rescuing and helping people around the world while the Arab nationalists continue to do nothing of the sort. These are natural results of the political zionism and anti-zionism in the region.
When truth is replaced by propaganda, there is no means for quality discourse. You do not know other groups well enough to know whether they have people helping or not.
W, Israel’s good deeds are buried in mainstream media, but still can be located. Hamas’s and the PA’s are not just hidden, they actually don’t exist. Such is to be expected from rabidly anti-zionist groups, which are not about improving this world at all. But if you have information on the humanitarian work of hamas or the PA, feel free to post about it.
When I said others, I did not mean any political group. There are regular people like you and me who work for improving the world. Again, political groups or ideologies are confounded with people.
Israel’s government, a coalition of various parties, routinely deploys personnel to help in disaster situations. You just haven’t made much of a case regarding what is wrong with Israel’s government, nor what you’d replace it with that would be an improvement.
Excellent post – you are helping many who struggle. May your efforts be blessed in every way.
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When truth is replaced by propaganda, there is no means for quality discourse. You do not know other groups well enough to know whether they have people helping or not.
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When truth is replaced by propaganda, there is no means for quality discourse. You do not know other groups well enough to know whether they have people helping or not.
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Excellent post – you are helping many who struggle. May your efforts be blessed in every way.
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I loved your post. Remember, I gave you your first academic position at Whitewater. Well, they finally got me but it was one hell of a fight! I am going to try my hand at writing now. Keep up the good work!
Great to hear from you, Howard! I remember well and hope all is good in your world–Steve
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how about today?
hi
Steve Salaita…
Reading some of your words and seeing your passion and heart was a joy for me recently. Those kids on the bus have been lucky to have you. And as you know.. You’ve been lucky to have them to serve and assist as best you can, true to your integrity and inner beauty and belief in progressive principles. Which all shines through. Wishing You all Best Festive Wishes and success with Cake Baking and Enjoying Nature and the Wonders of Life.
You’re always welcome aboard my simple floaty home in Kent, England.
As i recall you and your family once welcomed me.. With Scott, Brian and Zee.. On a 5Islands Road trip to savour The Beast.
All Best Wishes
Love and Respect
Peter Morgan
Radford Neighbour Visiting Brit 1995
Oh my God! Peter? What a treat to hear from you! I’ll write you at the email account listed on your profile.
Yeah… It’s me. Same one! Good eh. Be great to hear from you sometime via the email i left. Either way… Keep writing dude. I hope it stays a Passion and never a Poison. I’ll leave details again. Bravo again old friend.
Honest life is beautiful, isn’t it true that lying will bring disaster?
was it enjoyable for you to be a bus driver ?
good is very good
One of the biggest benefits of Travelling is that it takes you out of your comfort zone. Especially if you are travelling to a place you have never visited before, everything seems fresh and new. New stimuli attack all your senses. You see new landscapes and experience vivid colours.
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I see that you’ve not changed any, since we rubbed shoulders a time or two at Tech. I guess that’s alright. I, too, was a professor, and have also found “work” where I’d least expected it: as a substitute teacher (a step lower than a bus driver; at least the bus drivers don’t have to deal with the indifferent and oft coddled students all day). Oh, and I didn’t get a nearly-one-million-dollar settlement form any of my employers in between Tech and now, so there is that difference (and, knowing such, I’m pretty sure the bus driving thingy isn’t nearly as painful as without such a lump settlement).
At any rate, hope your wife and son are alright. It was a pleasure to be able to work with your lady back in the day, and to have met you in person, though you likely won’t remember me.
Best Wishes
I am likely to lose my tt job soon and will be transitioning to a trade. Reading this was oddly comforting. Thank you for sharing and I wish you the best.
Appreciate you for sharing.
I think I’m crying. It’s that exquisite.
Brother from another mother: I understand that transition, forced as it was, from academe to something else. I also went to transit and still am after five years. My coworkers are an ethnicity palette. We’re refugees of one sort or another.
I miss teaching and interactions with students. Being pushed out also meant moving away from my children when they were pre-teens. My oldest will be graduating high school soon.
The Tower transforms people or at least induces them to be foot soldiers of its brand. The fact that some of us look different inside of it doesn’t negate its oppressive structure. AcadFreedm is but a feel good slogan. There’s marginal tolerance as long as politically sacred institutions are left gleaming. The Tower isn’t perfect. It doesn’t have to be when their control is primarily done without orders from above!