I need to write 3 discussion(like 3 piece of small writing,each need 220 words)

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I need to write 3 discussion(like 3 piece of small writing,each need 200 words) in my writing class, each need around 220 words

it's a discussion part of my writing class. The professor will not grade about it but he would check if I finished this assignment or not. I just need to let him know I had finished this discussions part and not required a high quality.

I also can give you the many examples about this three topics which written by my classmate also in this class which easy for you to understand what you need to write.(You also can look a glance the prompt and the related reading and write based on others answers and write a new conclusion)

each discussion I have 10 answers that already written by others.


prompt(1):

A talk to teacher

1. Baldwin is speaking in America in 1963 and is addressing what is, in that moment, a national crisis. What parts of that situation are different from our current moment and need to be "listened to rhetorically" (p. 5-7 of the AGWR) and translated in order for us to understand his message now as it was understood then?

2. Thinking of ourselves as writers writing to a current audience, what parts of our own context (historical or cultural) do we need to pay special attention to and be careful with when writing about Baldwin in order to shape our own ethos and not be misunderstood by our own audience? Are there problematic issues or differences in language, etc. that we need to handle with sensitivity in order to keep a good ethos with our readers?

Prompt1 sample:Those parts that African Americans cannot sit in the front of the bus. And, they work so hard at that time. Also, the neighborhood they lived is different from the same place right now. At past, black and white people were separated. Black people were supposed to be "a source of cheap labor." These situations are different from our current moment, and in order for us to understand these, we should understand by ethos.

In order to write to a current audience, we need to pay attention to the language we use when we write our own cultural essays. For example, at that time, he wrote African American people "were treated as though they were animals." And he wrote that white men were "white republic." These sarcastic words may produce issues if we write our own context to current audience. Because of different situations between now and past, we should pay attention to these words to give our audience a comfortable time reading our context.



prompt(2):

Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations

In two paragraphs:


Please explain the overall structure of Mendelsohn's review. How does he introduce his topic to the reader? What part of his own arguments or background information does he want the reader to understand before he begins to compare the different translations?

Why do you think he chose this particular organization for his review?

prompt(3):

We have been considering the role that ethos plays in writing - the character of the writer and the "character(s)" of themselves that writers create by the way that they write -- especially when they write about themselves.

How does Rowland's discussion of himself as a writer -- his motivations and his self-doubt -- affect our perception of his character? And what is his purpose in telling us so much about his own private life and about his need to learn that writing can be private in a piece that is, after all, quite public?

Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM Page-Turner Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations By Daniel Mendelsohn October 31, 2011 This week in the magazine, Daniel Mendelsohn reviews a new version of Homer’s Iliad, translated by Stephen Mitchell. He also discusses the translation and his piece in this week’s Out Loud podcast. A good way of getting a sense of the values and priorities of the Iliad’s many translators is to compare how they translate a given passage. The best showcases for these comparisons aren’t necessarily the poem’s “big moments” but smaller, more ordinary passages, such as the one I’ve chosen below, lines 795-800 from Book 13. This is one of the dozens of extended similes that Homer uses to convey how a given event looks and feels—in this instance comparing the massed ranks of Trojan troops preparing for battle to waves breaking on a shore reviews during a wild storm at sea. A reasonably straightforward translation might look discusses like this: And they went in like a maelstrom of quarrelsome winds that goes earthward beneath Father Zeus’ thunderbolt and with an inhuman din churns with the salt sea, the many roiling waves of the greatly-roaring ocean https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 1 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM cresting, !ecked with white, some before, and others hard behind; So too the Trojans were packed together, some before, others hard behind. But simply to convey what Homer’s words mean gives no sense of the real challenge that the translator faces, which is to think of ways to reproduce the wonderful sound effects Homer contrives here to evoke the sounds of the sea. Below is a line-by-line transliteration of the Greek text—with the stressed syllables in ALL CAPITALS—with translations of each word or phrase just beneath. [#image: /photos/590953df2179605b11ad3b9d] [#image: /photos/590953df2179605b11ad3b9d] /photos/590953df2179605b11ad3b9d]HOI d’isan AR[#image: ga-le-OAN a-neh-MOAN ah-tah-LAHN-toy ah-EL-lay, They went (of quarrelsome) (winds) (resembling) (a maelstrom) [#image: /photos/590953de019dfc3494e9e587] [#image: /photos/590953de019dfc3494e9e587] /photos/590953de019dfc3494e9e587]HAY rha th’oo[#image: POH BRON-TAYZ PAH-TROS Di-os AY-si peh-DON deh, that beneath (the thunderbolt) (of Father) Zeus goes earthward [#image: /photos/590953e0c14b3c606c10432a] [#image: /photos/590953e0c14b3c606c10432a] /photos/590953e0c14b3c606c10432a]THEH-speh-see[#image: [#image: /photos/590953df2179605b11ad3b9d] OY d’oh-mah-DOY ha-li MIZ-geh-tai, EN deh teh POLL-ah (with an inhuman) (din) (the salt sea) (churns), and many [#image: /photos/590953e01c7a8e33fb38af0e] [#image: /photos/590953e01c7a8e33fb38af0e] /photos/590953e01c7a8e33fb38af0e]KU-mahtah PAH[#image: [#image: /photos/590953de019dfc3494e9e587] PHLAH-DZON-tah poh-LEE-PHLOYZ-BOY-oh thahLASS-ays Waves roiling (of the loudly-roaring) sea [#image: /photos/590953e0c14b3c606c10432a] [#image: /photos/590953e1019dfc3494e9e59b]KUHR-ta phahhttps://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations [#image: /photos/590953e01c7a8e33fb38af0e] Page 2 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM LAY-ree-oh-OAN-tah, pro MEN T’AHLL’, OW-tahr ep’ ALLah: Curved white-capped (in front) some, (but) (hard behind) others [#image: /photos/590953e22179605b11ad3bb2] [#image: [#image: /photos/590953e22179605b11ad3bb2] /photos/590953e22179605b11ad3bb2]HOSS TROEEHS pro men ALL-oy ah-RAY-roh-tehz, OW-tahr ep’ ALL-oy (just so) (the Trojans) (in front) some (were packed together) (but) ( hard behind) (others) Note, #rst of all, how the last words of the #rst, third, #fth, and sixth lines of this passage all end with the same sound combination, loaded with liquid “l”s (aellêi, “maelstrom”; polla, “many”: ep’ alla, “others hard behind,” ep’alloi, “others hard behind”): these liquid “l” sounds (with some explosive “p”s thrown in in the third, [#image: /photos/590953e22179605b11ad3bb2] #fth, and sixth lines) beautifully evoke the sounds of the roiling waters, even as the insistent repetition of the “p-ll” sound cluster from line to line gives a sense of whitecaps breaking on the beach, one after another. (In other words, the nearrhyming words do what the waves do.) And, as if to make the analogy concrete, the sixth line—which reconnects the imagined world of the sea to the narrated world of the Trojans at war—repeats the “some before … others hard behind” language of the #fth: the waves are all’ … ep alla; the Trojans are alloi … ep’ alloi. So the sixth line is packed behind the #fth, imitating its sound cluster precisely the way in which the Trojan ranks, packed together in battle formation, are massed one behind the other. Also of note is the way that the two adjectives in the fourth line—paphladzonta, the “roiling” waves, and polyphloisboio, the “greatly-roaring” sea—replicate each other’s consonants: the “p”s, the “ph”s, the “l”s, the soft “s”s and “z” sounds. If you repeat those languidly unspooling words, you’re making the noises of the surf. https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 3 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM With that in mind, let’s compare some notable translations of this vivid passage. Here is Richmond Lattimore’s 1951 rendering: They went on, as out of the racking winds the stormblast that underneath the thunderstroke of Zeus-Father drives downward and with gigantic clamour hits the sea, and the numerous boiling waves along the length of the roaring water bend and whiten to foam in ranks, one upon another; so the Trojans closing in ranks, some leading and others after them, in the glare of bronze armor followed their leaders. Lattimore is alert to Homer’s effects, particularly his play with consonant sounds. His “drives downward” in line 2 nicely gets the “d” and “n” sounds in the Greek eisi pedo_n d_e, “goes earthward”; and I particularly like the way he reproduces all those liquid “l” sounds in his line “boiling waves a long the length of the roaring water.” He also strives to reproduce the “some … other” construction of the Greek in his “one upon another … some leading and others after them.” You’ll notice, too, that Lattimore favors a long, six-beat line that mimics the six-beat line that Homer uses—one of the ways he tries to conjure the grandeur and expansiveness of Homeric verse. Four decades after Lattimore, Robert Fagles’s 1990 translation took the #eld, establishing itself as the preëminent English translation. Fagles uses a loose #vebeat line. It can be a bit too loose—it sometimes feels like stacked prose—but has an admirable clarity: Down the Trojans came like a squall of brawling gale-winds blasting down with the Father’s thunder, loosed on earth and a superhuman uproar bursts as they pound the heavy seas, https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 4 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM the giant breakers seething, battle lines of them roaring, shoulders rearing, exploding foam, waves in the vanguard, waves rolling in from the rear. So on the Trojans came, waves in the vanguard, waves from the rear, closing. Fagles’s sensitivity to the alliteration of “l” is clear, especially in his #rst two lines (“squall of brawling gale-winds” is really good), and it’s nice that he tries to suggest Homer’s line-ending alliterations with his end-rhyming “roaring” and “closing”. And at the end of this passage he uses a striking repetition of the word “waves” to suggest the important repetitions of both sounds and words in the original (particularly that “some … others” construction). Some readers will appreciate the way that Fagles (who wrote poetry of his own) ampli#es Homer’s “curved” and “white-!ecked” waves into waves with “shoulders rearing, exploding foam,” although a little of this poeticizing goes a long way. The big mistake, to my mind, is the way Fagles blurs the line between the two parts of the simile: the waves and the battle-lines of Trojans. By importing the diction of warfare into the #rst part of the simile (“battle-lines” of waves, a “vanguard” of waves), he actually weakens the impact of the simile overall. Nonetheless, it’s a strong, successful rendering, with an energy and verve appropriate to the lines themselves. VIDEO FROM THE N! YORKER A Time Line of the U.S. Strike in Syria after the Chemical Attack https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 5 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM To my mind, the sensitivity to sound effects shown by both of those translators isn’t strongly present in the new translation by Stephen Mitchell. What I like best about Mitchell’s version is its strong #ve-beat rhythm—arguably the best yet in English. But as his rendering of our passage shows, there’s virtually no attempt here to reproduce the sound effects in the Greek: The Trojans attacked like a blast of a sudden squall that swoops down to earth with lightning and thunder, churning the dark sea into a fury, and countless waves surge and toss on its surface, high-arched and white-capped, and crash down onto the seashore in endless ranks: just so did the Trojans charge in their ranks, each battalion packed close together. The only repetition here is “ranks” in the #fth and sixth lines, and we get virtually none of those alliterations and sea-sounds, which the earlier translators grappled with. I #nd, too, that there is a general heightening of diction https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 6 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM —“attacked” for “went in,” “swoops” for “goes,” “countless” for “many,” “battalion” for “rank”—and a loss of some #ne points (“fury” misses the fact that Homer’s thespesioi homadoi, “with an inhuman din” is meant to evoke a sound). There’s a lot of energy here, but Homer knows better how to pace himself and mete out his effects. I’ve done a translation myself (of a modern Greek poet ), and my guess is that you could spend an entire working day solving the problems presented in this six-line passage—nailing down the meaning in a #rst draft, perhaps, and then spending several hours working out how to get the sound effects, to say nothing of the rhythm. At this rate, it would take about seven years to translate the Iliad —assuming you worked on weekends. That’s just about how long it took Alexander Pope to produce his Iliad; it was announced in 1713 and the #nal volume was published in 1720. Many consider it the greatest English Iliad, and one of the greatest translations of any work into English. It manages to convey not only the stateliness and grandeur of Homer’s lines, but their speed and wit of a modern Greek poet and vividness: As when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs, That bears Jove’s thunder on its dreadful wings, Wide o’er the blasted #elds the tempest sweeps; Then, gather’d, settles on the hoary deeps; The afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar; The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore: Thus rank on rank, the thick battalions throng, Chief urged on chief, and man drove man along. One small example of the many beauties of this translation is the precision and detail of the #fth line. In Homer, those two gurgling adjectives, paphladzonta and https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 7 of 8 Englishing the Iliad: Grading Four Rival Translations | The New Yorker 4/20/18, 3*57 PM polyphloisboio slow the line down mightily—you have to chew on them a bit, roll them around in your mouth, make the surf-noises. Pope manages this in English by dragging the line out with the many s sounds— “deeps,” “tumultuous,” “mix”; and by placing “deeps” before “tumultuous,” he forces your tongue to drag a bit as it searches for the helpful “t” in “tumultuous” to latch onto again before you can move on. It’s just one of many tiny effects that accumulate to make this at once the grandest and the most minutely detailed there is ever likely to be. Daniel Mendelsohn, an author and critic, teaches at Bard. His new memoir, “An Odyssey: A Father, a Son, and an Epic,” will be published in September. Read more » © 2018 Condé Nast. All rights reserved. Use of this site constitutes acceptance of our user agreement (effective 1/2/2016) and privacy policy (effective 1/2/2016). Your California privacy rights. The material on this site may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used, except with prior written permission of Condé Nast. The New Yorker may earn a portion of sales from products and services that are purchased through links on our site as part of our a"iliate partnerships with retailers. https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/englishing-the-iliad-grading-four-rival-translations Page 8 of 8
9/30/2017 "A Talk to Teachers" James Baldwin, 1963 “A Talk to Teachers” By James Baldwin (Delivered October 16, 1963, as “The Negro Child – His Self-Image”; originally published in The Saturday Review, December 21, 1963, reprinted in The Price of the Ticket, Collected Non-Fiction 1948-1985, Saint Martins 1985.) Let’s begin by saying that we are living through a very dangerous time. Everyone in this room is in one way or another aware of that. We are in a revolutionary situation, no matter how unpopular that word has become in this country. The society in which we live is desperately menaced, not by Khrushchev, but from within. To any citizen of this country who figures himself as responsible – and particularly those of you who deal with the minds and hearts of young people – must be prepared to “go for broke.” Or to put it another way, you must understand that in the attempt to correct so many generations of bad faith and cruelty, when it is operating not only in the classroom but in society, you will meet the most fantastic, the most brutal, and the most determined resistance. There is no point in pretending that this won’t happen. Since I am talking to schoolteachers and I am not a teacher myself, and in some ways am fairly easily intimidated, I beg you to let me leave that and go back to what I think to be the entire purpose of education in the first place. It would seem to me that when a child is born, if I’m the child’s parent, it is my obligation and my high duty to civilize that child. Man is a social animal. He cannot exist without a society. A society, in turn, depends on certain things which everyone within that society takes for granted. Now the crucial paradox which confronts us here is that the whole process of education occurs within a social framework and is designed to perpetuate the aims of society. Thus, for example, the boys and girls who were born during the era of the Third Reich, when educated to the purposes of the Third Reich, became barbarians. The paradox of education is precisely this - that as one begins to become conscious one begins to examine the society in which he is being educated. The purpose of education, finally, is to create in a person the ability to look at the world for himself, to make his own decisions, to say to himself this is black or this is white, to decide for himself whether there is a God in heaven or not. To ask questions of the universe, and then learn to live with those questions, is the way he achieves his own identity. But no society is really anxious to have that kind of person around. What societies really, ideally, want is a citizenry which will simply obey the rules of society. If a society succeeds in this, that society is about to perish. The obligation of anyone who thinks of himself as responsible is to examine society and try to change it and to fight it – at no matter what risk. This is the only hope society has. This is the only way societies change. Now, if what I have tried to sketch has any validity, it becomes thoroughly clear, at least to me, that any Negro who is born in this country and undergoes the American educational system runs the risk of becoming schizophrenic. On the one hand he is born in the shadow of the stars and stripes and he is assured it represents a nation which has never lost a war. He pledges allegiance to that flag which guarantees “liberty and justice for all.” He is part of a country in which anyone can become president, and so forth. But on the other hand he is also assured by his country and his countrymen that he has never contributed anything to civilization – that his past is nothing more than a record of humiliations gladly endured. He is assumed by the republic that he, his father, his mother, and his ancestors were happy, shiftless, watermelon-eating darkies who loved Mr. Charlie and Miss Ann, that the value he has as a black man is proven by one thing only – his devotion to white people. If you think I am exaggerating, examine the myths which proliferate in this country about Negroes. All this enters the child’s consciousness much sooner than we as adults would like to think it does. As adults, we are easily fooled because we are so anxious to be fooled. But children are very different. Children, not yet aware that it is dangerous to look too deeply at anything, http://richgibson.com/talktoteachers.htm 1/5 9/30/2017 "A Talk to Teachers" James Baldwin, 1963 look at everything, look at each other, and draw their own conclusions. They don’t have the vocabulary to express what they see, and we, their elders, know how to intimidate them very easily and very soon. But a black child, looking at the world around him, though he cannot know quite what to make of it, is aware that there is a reason why his mother works so hard, why his father is always on edge. He is aware that there is some reason why, if he sits down in the front of the bus, his father or mother slaps him and drags him to the back of the bus. He is aware that there is some terrible weight on his parents’ shoulders which menaces him. And it isn’t long – in fact it begins when he is in school – before he discovers the shape of his oppression. Let us say that the child is seven years old and I am his father, and I decide to take him to the zoo, or to Madison Square Garden, or to the U.N. Building, or to any of the tremendous monuments we find all over New York. We get into a bus and we go from where I live on 131st Street and Seventh Avenue downtown through the park and we get in New York City, which is not Harlem. Now, where the boy lives – even if it is a housing project – is in an undesirable neighborhood. If he lives in one of those housing projects of which everyone in New York is so proud, he has at the front door, if not closer, the pimps, the whores, the junkies – in a word, the danger of life in the ghetto. And the child knows this, though he doesn’t know why. I still remember my first sight of New York. It was really another city when I was born – where I was born. We looked down over the Park Avenue streetcar tracks. It was Park Avenue, but I didn’t know what Park Avenue meant downtown. The Park Avenue I grew up on, which is still standing, is dark and dirty. No one would dream of opening a Tiffany’s on that Park Avenue, and when you go downtown you discover that you are literally in the white world. It is rich – or at least it looks rich. It is clean – because they collect garbage downtown. There are doormen. People walk about as though they owned where they are – and indeed they do. And it’s a great shock. It’s very hard to relate yourself to this. You don’t know what it means. You know – you know instinctively – that none of this is for you. You know this before you are told. And who is it for and who is paying for it? And why isn’t it for you? Later on when you become a grocery boy or messenger and you try to enter one of those buildings a man says, “Go to the back door.” Still later, if you happen by some odd chance to have a friend in one of those buildings, the man says, “Where’s your package?” Now this by no means is the core of the matter. What I’m trying to get at is that by the time the Negro child has had, effectively, almost all the doors of opportunity slammed in his face, and there are very few things he can do about it. He can more or less accept it with an absolutely inarticulate and dangerous rage inside – all the more dangerous because it is never expressed. It is precisely those silent people whom white people see every day of their lives – I mean your porter and your maid, who never say anything more than “Yes Sir” and “No, Ma’am.” They will tell you it’s raining if that is what you want to hear, and they will tell you the sun is shining if that is what you want to hear. They really hate you – really hate you because in their eyes (and they’re right) you stand between them and life. I want to come back to that in a moment. It is the most sinister of the facts, I think, which we now face. There is something else the Negro child can do, to. Every street boy – and I was a street boy, so I know – looking at the society which has produced him, looking at the standards of that society which are not honored by anybody, looking at your churches and the government and the politicians, understand that this structure is operated for someone else’s benefit – not for his. And there’s no reason in it for him. If he is really cunning, really ruthless, really strong – and many of us are – he becomes a kind of criminal. He becomes a kind of criminal because that’s the only way he can live. Harlem and every ghetto in this city – every ghetto in this country – is full of people who live outside the law. They wouldn’t dream of calling a policeman. They wouldn’t, for a moment, listen to any of those professions of which we are so proud on the Fourth of July. They have turned away from this country forever and totally. They live by their wits and really long to see the day when the entire structure comes down. http://richgibson.com/talktoteachers.htm 2/5 9/30/2017 "A Talk to Teachers" James Baldwin, 1963 The point of all this is that black men were brought here as a source of cheap labor. They were indispensable to the economy. In order to justify the fact that men were treated as though they were animals, the white republic had to brainwash itself into believing that they were, indeed, animals and deserved to be treated like animals. Therefor it is almost impossible for any Negro child to discover anything about his actual history. The reason is that this “animal,” once he suspects his own worth, once he starts believing that he is a man, has begun to attack the entire power structure. This is why America has spent such a long time keeping the Negro in his place. What I am trying to suggest to you is that it was not an accident, it was not an act of God, it was not done by well-meaning people muddling into something which they didn’t understand. It was a deliberate policy hammered into place in or4der to make money from black flesh. And now, in 1963, because we have never faced this fact, we are in intolerable trouble. The Reconstruction, as I read the evidence, was a bargain between the North and South to this effect: “We’ve liberated them from the land – and delivered them to the bosses.” When we left Mississippi to come North we did not come to freedom. We came to the bottom of the labor market, and we are still there. Even the Depression of the 1930’s failed to make a dent in Negroes’ relationship to white workers in the labor unions. Even today, so brainwashed is this republic that people seriously ask in what they suppose to be good faith, “What does the Negro want?” I’ve heard a great many asinine questions in my life, but that is perhaps the most asinine and perhaps the most insulting. But the point here is that people who ask that question, thinking that they ask it in good faith, are really the victims of this conspiracy to make Negroes believe they are less than human. In order for me to live, I decided very early that some mistake had been made somewhere. I was not a “nigger” even though you called me one. But if I was a “nigger” in your eyes, there was something about you – there was something you needed. I had to realize when I was very young that I was none of those things I was told I was. I was not, for example, happy. I never touched a watermelon for all kinds of reasons that had been invented by white people, and I knew enough about life by this time to understand that whatever you invent, whatever you project, is you! So where we are no is that a whole country of people believe I’m a “nigger,” and I don’t , and the battle’s on! Because if I am not what I’ve been told I am, then it means that you’re not what you thought you were either! And that is the crisis. It is not really a “Negro revolution” that is upsetting the country. What is upsetting the country is a sense of its own identity. If, for example, one managed to change the curriculum in all the schools so that Negroes learned more about themselves and their real contributions to this culture, you would be liberating not only Negroes, you’d be liberating white people who know nothing about their own history. And the reason is that if you are compelled to lie about one aspect of anybody’s history, you must lie about it all. If you have to lie about my real role here, if you have to pretend that I hoed all that cotton just because I loved you, then you have done something to yourself. You are mad. Now let’s go back a minute. I talked earlier about those silent people - the porter and the maid – who, as I said, don’t look up at the sky if you ask them if it is raining, but look into your face. My ancestors and I were very well trained. We understood very early that this was not a Christian nation. It didn’t matter what you said or how often you went to church. My father and my mother and my grandfather and my grandmother knew that Christians didn’t act this way. It was a simple as that. And if that was so there was no point in dealing with white people in terms of their own moral professions, for they were not going to honor them. What one did was to turn away, smiling all the time, and tell white people what they wanted to hear. But people always accuse you of reckless talk when you say this. All this means that there are in this country tremendous reservoirs of bitterness which have never been able to find an outlet, but may find an outlet soon. It means that well-meaning white liberals place themselves in great danger when they try to deal with Negroes as though they were missionaries. It means, in brief, that a great price is demanded to liberate all those silent people so that they can breathe for the first time and tell you what they think of you. And a price is demanded to liberate all those white children – some of them near forty - who have never http://richgibson.com/talktoteachers.htm 3/5 9/30/2017 "A Talk to Teachers" James Baldwin, 1963 grown up, and who never will grow up, because they have no sense of their identity. What passes for identity in America is a series of myths about one’s heroic ancestors. It’s astounding to me, for example, that so many people really appear to believe that the country was founded by a band of heroes who wanted to be free. That happens not to be true. What happened was that some people left Europe because they couldn’t stay there any longer and had to go someplace else to make it. That’s all. They were hungry, they were poor, they were convicts. Those who were making it in England, for example, did not get on the Mayflower. That’s how the country was settled. Not by Gary Cooper. Yet we have a whole race of people, a whole republic, who believe the myths to the point where even today they select political representatives, as far as I can tell, by how closely they resemble Gary Cooper. Now this is dangerously infantile, and it shows in every level of national life. When I was living in Europe, for example, one of the worst revelations to me was the way Americans walked around Europe buying this and buying that and insulting everybody – not even out of malice, just because they didn’t know any better. Well, that is the way they have always treated me. They weren’t cruel; they just didn’t know you were alive. They didn’t know you had any feelings. What I am trying to suggest here is that in the doing of all this for 100 years or more, it is the American white man who has long since lost his grip on reality. In some peculiar way, having created this myth about Negroes, and the myth about his own history, he created myths about the world so that, for example, he was astounded that some people could prefer Castro, astounded that there are people in the world who don’t go into hiding when they hear the word “Communism,” astounded that Communism is one of the realities of the twentieth century which we will not overcome by pretending that it does not exist. The political level in this country now, on the part of people who should know better, is abysmal. The Bible says somewhere that where there is no vision the people perish. I don’t think anyone can doubt that in this country today we are menaced – intolerably menaced – by a lack of vision. It is inconceivable that a sovereign people should continue, as we do so abjectly, to say, “I can’t do anything about it. It’s the government.” The government is the creation of the people. It is responsible to the people. And the people are responsible for it. No American has the right to allow the present government to say, when Negro children are being bombed and hosed and shot and beaten all over the Deep South, that there is nothing we can do about it. There must have been a day in this country’s life when the bombing of the children in Sunday School would have created a public uproar and endangered the life of a Governor Wallace. It happened here and there was no public uproar. I began by saying that one of the paradoxes of education was that precisely at the point when you begin to develop a conscience, you must find yourself at war with your society. It is your responsibility to change society if you think of yourself as an educated person. And on the basis of the evidence – the moral and political evidence – one is compelled to say that this is a backward society. Now if I were a teacher in this school, or any Negro school, and I was dealing with Negro children, who were in my care only a few hours of every day and would then return to their homes and to the streets, children who have an apprehension of their future which with every hour grows grimmer and darker, I would try to teach them - I would try to make them know – that those streets, those houses, those dangers, those agonies by which they are surrounded, are criminal. I would try to make each child know that these things are the result of a criminal conspiracy to destroy him. I would teach him that if he intends to get to be a man, he must at once decide that his is stronger than this conspiracy and they he must never make his peace with it. And that one of his weapons for refusing to make his peace with it and for destroying it depends on what he decides he is worth. I would teach him that there are currently very few standards in this country which are worth a man’s respect. That it is up to him to change these standards for the sake of the life and the health of the country. I would suggest to him that the popular culture – as represented, for example, on television and in comic books and in movies – is based on fantasies created by very ill people, and he must be http://richgibson.com/talktoteachers.htm 4/5 9/30/2017 "A Talk to Teachers" James Baldwin, 1963 aware that these are fantasies that have nothing to do with reality. I would teach him that the press he reads is not as free as it says it is – and that he can do something about that, too. I would try to make him know that just as American history is longer, larger, more various, more beautiful and more terrible than anything anyone has ever said about it, so is the world larger, more daring, more beautiful and more terrible, but principally larger – and that it belongs to him. I would teach him that he doesn’t have to be bound by the expediencies of any given administration, any given policy, any given morality; that he has the right and the necessity to examine everything. I would try to show him that one has not learned anything about Castro when one says, “He is a Communist.” This is a way of his not learning something about Castro, something about Cuba, something, in time, about the world. I would suggest to him that his is living, at the moment, in an enormous province. America is not the world and if America is going to become a nation, she must find a way – and this child must help her to find a way to use the tremendous potential and tremendous energy which this child represents. If this country does not find a way to use that energy, it will be destroyed by that energy. Home | Writing by Gibson | Writing by Others | No Blood for Oil | Rouge Forum http://richgibson.com/talktoteachers.htm 5/5
12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium Nick Rowlands Follow just wondering around Jul 17, 2013 · 13 min read Photo by Rennett stowe The Walls We Build Around Us On writer’s block, obsession, and the Egyptian revolution Some time back in 2011, amidst the chaos and confusion of the Egyptian revolution, I forgot how to write — constructed a barrier in my mind and hammered home the instruction, “WRITER’S BLOCK, DO NOT PASS!” Two years later, and I’m only just learning to peek over to the other side and see there is life beyond. The hows and the whys form a story I’ve been needing to tell for a long time. . . . From 2006 to 2010 I lived in Egypt, working as a tour leader and then a travel writer. Mine was the Egypt of felucca captains and donkey boys, boisterous games of backgammon and cafes thick with scented tobacco and laughter, old magic locked in stones and the echoing solitude of the desert. https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 1/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium But by 2010 it was time to move on. The exotic had nally become mundane, and the delicious chaos of life in Cairo was taking its toll; my writing felt lifeless and formulaic; I missed my family. I needed to quit while ahead, before I morphed into that species of resentful and twisted expat who forgets how privileged he is, who allows his fear of leaving the familiarity of the foreign to poison his relationship with the host country. So in November 2010 I said a bitter-sweet goodbye to friends that had become family, and who refused to believe I was really leaving. I traveled to the US, and spent my rst Christmas in years at home with my actual family in England. Along the way, having received a job o er too good to refuse, I decided to prove my friends correct by returning to Egypt “for one last year”. I was set to y back some time in February 2011, after giving a talk at a travel writing workshop in London. Which is why I was stuck in England at the end of January 2011, watching the beginnings of the Egyptian revolution through the at glare of my computer screen. Like many people following along from afar — especially all those with a deep and personal connection to Egypt — I was overcome with con icting emotions: exhilaration, admiration, fear, impotence, guilt. Frustration, too, because I felt I was meant to be there. I knew I had to go back. . . . I consider myself fortunate that I’ve always found it easy to express myself, although I’m more comfortable doing so verbally than through writing. It’s only recently that I have come to understand why. There’s a exibility and a uidity to the spoken word — thoughts don’t need to be complete, and the ebb and ow of conversation means there is a participatory shape to the expression of ideas. By contrast, writing is a more deliberate, more linear, and more solitary act; there is a sense of something solid, something permanent, in the act of committing our thoughts to paper. To write necessitates standing beside our words, owning them. But to speak — to speak requires conviction only at the point of utterance, as our sounds dissipate into the ether to live on as memory alone. . . . Egyptians are fond of saying that if you drink from the Nile, you are fated to return to their country. But the Nile is as ckle as it is timeless, https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 2/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium and the Egypt to which I returned in March 2011 was not the country I had left four months earlier. This was around the time that the euphoria following Mubarak’s ouster was decaying into the disillusionment, fragmentation, paranoia, and confusion of an epic, country-wide comedown. While it is true that the street was invigorated and there was an almost tangible excitement and hope for the future, there were also palpable and thickening tendrils of tension; the atmosphere in Cairo was both explosive and brittle. The cycle of broken promises, demonstrations, violence, and politicking that has subsequently come to de ne Egypt’s ongoing revolution was just beginning. I had hoped being in Egypt would illuminate the realities on the ground, o er some much-needed clarity on an undeniably complex situation. But I found that proximity to the unfurling revolution made events seem even more opaque and confusing than they had been from the comfortable tumult of Twitter, back in England. To appropriate a common expression — it was impossible to see the desert for all the swirling grains of sand. And I could never get over my concerns with a di erent sort of appropriation — the sense that perhaps, having missed the initial “Eighteen Days”, I had returned to Egypt to stake a claim over something I did not really own. I became obsessed with the idea that there was an invisible but unbreachable crevasse between me and all my friends who had been present for, and participated in, Mubarak’s downfall. A dark and insecure part of me felt like an uninvited guest at someone else’s party. I realize now that I never spoke to anyone about these fears — and I know that my friends would have laughed me out of my hauntings — but I was unable to let these feelings go. Where some people saw opportunity (and indeed, many careers were launched o the back of the “Arab Spring”), I saw opportunism, and what I came to think of as revolutionary voyeurism. I felt that many people, conditioned by a lifetime of news-as-entertainment, were treating the revolution as their chance for interactive ring-side seats at the hottest new drama in town. I knew these thoughts were beneath me, and my sentiments were by no means set in stone; but by opening myself to the shadows of my own motivations, I tainted my perceptions of others’. As the months passed, and the counter-revolutionary rhetoric about invisible hands and foreign interference clamped ever tighter around the national psyche, I began to worry that foreigners attending demonstrations might even be harmful to the cause. Yet many of us https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 3/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium were deeply invested in the country, and strongly believed in the goals of the revolution. And besides, wasn’t this a universal struggle? I discovered I was no longer sure of anything, and a sense of unease and disorientation permeated my existence throughout the year. Everywhere I looked, everything I considered, was swathed in shades of violent gray. All of which is a rather long-winded way of explaining how and why I forgot how to write. More accurately, of course, I simply lost my ability to do so — lost my con dence, my inky mojo. My day job as a video news producer still involved writing, but with the exception of one piece published soon after my arrival, I was unable to sort through my personal thoughts and emotions e ectively enough to nail them to paper. Being unsure of what I felt, I lost con dence in my ability to express myself in writing. There was certainly no lack of material. This may, in fact, have been part of the problem: there was just so much going on, and it was so overwhelming, so complicated, so nuanced; where to begin? Every time I grabbed hold of my eeting impressions long enough to begin the process of solidifying them in writing, I froze up. Even attempting a straightforward account of what I had seen and done left me paralyzed. I was terri ed, either that I would write something which I could not later stand behind — that I would be judged and found wanting — or that in trying to describe my personal relationship to the revolution I would come o as self-centered. Eventually, unable to do justice — in my mind, at least — to the complexity of events or to what I was feeling, I clammed up and started to withdraw. I began looking for excuses to avoid my more engaged friends, and I took solace in drink and in poker. I let my thoughts and emotions run wild, but I allowed my words to shrivel and die inside of me. . . . I came to writing relatively late in life, at the age of thirty. It was 2008, and after two years on the road in Egypt, Jordan, and Tunisia as a tour leader, I was ready to settle in one spot and attempt to assemble the trappings of “normality” — a bed, real friends that didn’t disappear after two weeks, a space to make my own tea. Yet I wasn’t ready to leave Egypt, a country that somehow felt more like “home” than England ever had. https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 4/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium I was lucky to nd work writing and maintaining an online travel guide to Cairo, and freelancing for a local print city guide. I soon took over as managing editor of the city guide, started a blog about daily life in Egypt, found additional work as editor at an online travel media network, and picked up an extra freelance gig here and there. Writing, for me, was therefore a public act, and the words came into existence only so they could be released into the wild. I knew my mum kept a diary, but the idea of writing solely for myself had never crossed my mind. I had no real concept of the transformative power that the process of writing itself holds. Looking back now, this seems laughable: I have always been an avid reader, and if reading the words of others can be so moving as to elicit a strong emotional and intellectual response, it stands to reason that producing such words yourself could have a similar e ect. But I viewed writing as something you threw out there, for money or for approbation, or ideally for both. If I had truly understood that you should write rst and foremost for yourself — if I knew how cathartic and illuminating and liberating an act it can be to abandon yourself to the act of writing, with no thought to potential publication — then perhaps this whole issue of a revolution-inspired writer’s block could have been avoided. Moreover, this does all suggest another question: How could I have “forgotten” how to write, if, as it seems, I never really knew how to write in the rst place? . . . My rst glimpse of salvation came in the latter half of 2012. I had left Egypt in May and was now living in San Francisco, happily married to the woman who’d stolen my heart when I visited the US in 2010. I had hoped that the novelty of pastures new and the excitement of beginning the rest of my life would unlock my creativity; that the words would begin to ow again. But not writing had become a habit, and I still believed that writing = publishing. I was complaining to my wife, who is also a writer, about my continued inability to put pen to paper. She pointed out that I had, in fact, written almost continually during my time in Egypt. We had remained in nearly constant contact since the day we rst met, before we even realized that our futures lay together. While we had used a bunch of communication tools — SMS, chat, Twitter, Facebook, https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 5/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium Skype — email was our primary and preferred means of staying in touch. Multiple emails every day — the mundane, the epic, and the intimate. Tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of words; a digital archive of our shared blossoming, the trajectory of convergence. Many of these emails stretched to over 1,000 words. Many of mine were, by de nition, about my life in Egypt — about what was happening, and how I felt about it. I had never before thought of these emails as “writing”. It helped, a little. Yet still I remained xated on Egypt, convinced I needed to write the proverbial line under that chapter of my life. I felt that if I could only write something, anything, about my time there, my writer’s block would be banished and I would be free to move forward. That without some form of written closure, my words would be left forever hanging over the abyss between past and future. But along with the same conceptual insecurities I had struggled with in Egypt, I now had what I considered to be an additional problem. I felt so far away from Egypt, both in time and in space, that my desire to write about it seemed entirely decontextualized, almost a non-sequitur. Not to mention that in an enthusiasm of “new beginnings” I had long since killed my personal, Egypt-focused blog (which had in any case been chronically neglected for years). I needed to begin again with a new platform… but what form would that take and would I design it myself and what was I going to write and how would I attract readers and what could I write and how was I going to ensure everything I wrote was just perfect and besides what did I want to write…? I knew I was digging myself a deep hole, and using the excavated debris to fortify the wall of a writer’s block built from nothing but shadows which only I could see. I eventually began to admit that I might just be making excuses, and to consider that perhaps I didn’t really want to write anyway — to wonder if that stage of my life was truly over, and if the only line I needed beneath it was a mental one. . . . I nd it interesting how the choice to view writing as a public act comes with such a weight of associated baggage. The concept of the individual as brand is both aggrandizing and dehumanizing. I have always been the toughest critic of my own writing, willing to share only that of which I am proud and can stand beside. But for me, at least, this issue of quality was only one facet of the larger and more https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 6/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium complex problem of presentation. How, exactly, do you organize your online presence? Where does your writing live; how is it compartmentalized; to what extent should you strive for an overarching coherence? I have started, and deleted, numerous blogs on Tumblr. I insisted on building my latest self-hosted WordPress blog from scratch; I already dislike the design, as well as most of the (still sparse) content. If not careful, I can spend all my time tinkering with the triviality of cosmetics, the design equivalent of the Oscar Wilde comment on commas. Seduced by the honeyed promises of “personal branding”, disoriented by the range and sophistication of all those publishing tools available to us, it’s easy to lose focus on what actually matters. I see now that my problems with writing were more akin to being lost in a maze, or perhaps a hall of mirrors, than to being stuck behind a wall. The con uence of confusion, indecision, fear, stubbornness, arrogance, and egotism manifested a situation in which every direction became a dead end before I could even start down it. . . . Like most mazes, the way out was deceptively simple once I nally recognized it. You already know what it is. I already knew it too. Towards the start of this year I discovered in my wife’s library the book Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg. The subtitle, “Freeing the Writer Within”, tells you all you need to know. My main takeaway was this: We all have a boundless and energizing wellspring of creativity within us. One of the ways to tap into and release this energy is to get out of the way, and to write. That’s it — you just write. By removing ourselves from the writing process — removing all our hopes and fears, our desires, any thoughts of topic or appropriateness or purpose, the entirety of our ego and all the accumulated sludge of the self — we create a space for the words within us to pour out. The mechanics of the practice, and it is a practice, could not be easier: you sit down at your desk with pen and paper or your computer, and you start writing the rst thing that comes into your head. You do not plan or edit, you do not correct typos or misspellings, you keep your hand or ngers continuously moving and allow that which is within you to manifest without, and you do not stop. You are done only once your predetermined number of minutes or pages has been reached, or once you have (temporarily) bled yourself dry. https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 7/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium It seems stupid to admit it, but the purity of this approach to writing came as a revelation to me. I already knew that the sole thing I actually needed to do was to write; the rst piece of advice given to anybody who wants to write is that you sit on your ass and you write. And yet somehow along the way I had got tangled up and trapped in the maze, fallen for the deceit — magni ed by our hyper-connected and increasingly digital lives — that writing is primarily for public consumption, for sharing, and that it must therefore possess a certain quality. This is not true — it is blindingly obvious that this is not true — but it seems I had to hear it from someone else. My wife had been telling me so all along, but I didn’t listen. I needed it laid out in the solidity of black and white. The reason Goldberg got through to me where all others, myself included, had failed, is that she showed how the act of writing can be an end in and of itself; she elucidated its purpose. By writing without ego, without thought, without intention, you are skimming o the quotidian froth from your brain and setting it aside; this allows you to access a self that is deeper and more authentic than the one you present to the world, and to yourself, on a daily basis. There is a sense that it’s you who is being written. Coming to understand that my writing does not have to be “about” anything, that it does not have to be published or judged, that it does not even have to be “good”, was the liberation I was searching for and that I so desperately needed. The shadows remained, but I was no longer in thrall to them. I was at last able to give myself permission to write again. . . . One of the greatest bene ts of this free-writing practice is that you deposit and nurture and explore a kind of creative mulch of thoughts and feelings, all expressed without passing through the potentially limiting lter of your brain. And from this fecund inner space a more considered and sculpted and polished piece of writing can begin to emerge at any time; something still written primarily for yourself, but with which you may be comfortable enough to share in the world. A story, perhaps, that needs to be told. . . . https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 8/9 12/6/2017 The Walls We Build Around Us – Medium Note: The feature photo was taken from Flickr Creative Commons, and is by Rennett Stowe. https://medium.com/@pharaonick/the-walls-we-build-around-us-c2ae921b51f5 9/9

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PROMPT 1
Prompt 1a
The parts that need to be listened to rhetorically are those that identified African Americans
as people without the rights, which is contradictory to the current moment. Some of the parts that
need to "listened to rhetorically" are African Americans not being able to sit at the front of the
bus, and that they have to work extra hard as compared to the "White Republic". It is also clear
that the neighbourhood in which they resided in, is different from the way it is at the current
moment. The white and black people were separated in the past by black people regarded as "a
source of cheap labour" (Baldwin, 2008). It is clear that the past is different from the present
moment and it is, therefore, essential to have an understanding of ethos.
Prompt 1b
With regard to writing to an...

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