On the Thinker

A lot of my friends have been watching the History Channel's new critically-acclaimed series, America: The Story of Us. The documentary series covers the first successful Pilgrim establishment at Jamestown, Virginia in 1607 up until the present day. Using state-of-the-art special effects and a number of celebrity guests to help narrate, the creators of the series seem to have achieved their goal of reaching a more diverse populace beyond your average history nerd. Still, there is something uncomfortable, almost pathetic about these episodes. I mean, what do Diddy, Sheryl Crow, and Michael Strahan really know about specific historical events or people? Just what exactly these celebrities and politicians contribute to the conversation seems ambiguous at best. Moreover, the coverage of important historical events is full of cliches, generalities, and sometimes useless fun facts. Granted, some of the CGI is pretty impressive and who doesn't like seeing a portrayal of New Bedford on television in a positive light? But despite my rambling, this post is not meant to be a critique of one attempt at retelling the American story, it (and many to follow) is meant to explain how much your typical textbook treatment (which we get from this series) leaves out, why it is left out, and how those omissions from the history are so damaging and deceitful to generations of Americans who learn our history in classrooms across this country.

Not Your Typical Textbook Treatment:

Anyone who took AP US History at New Bedford High School in the past few years should instantly be reminded of the way in which they were taught American history. We asked the difficult questions. We filled in gaps in the broader historical narrative by uncovering often-invisible ties. We read works by Howard Zinn and Studs Terkel that give voice to minority groups in America. We assumed the roles of seemingly-minor historical figures and told their stories through creative writing and in role-play scenarios. We analyzed essential questions and grappled with ethics problems all while using the most current social media outlets to further our discussions. In short, we ripped the textbook to shreds and reconstructed it piece by piece.

At Boston University, this kind of unconventional approach to teaching American history is the norm. Most of BU's professors (including the recently-deceased Howard Zinn) are among the most distinguished in the field and continually prove that we still have much to learn about American history. A slew of young professors are demonstrating their historian's craft by reexaming primary sources past and present, uncovering new material to challenge a number of supposed truisms, and by evaluating alternative global futures. For now, let me just quickly go over some of the methodology involved in one of my courses entitled, "Americans in the World, United States History in a Transnational Perspective." In future posts I'll explore some of the more interesting lectures and discussions we had as a class.

This course in particular serves as a paradigm of how I think our youth should be taught American history. Certainly we reviewed the basic dates, people, and events. But at this level, these are really of minor concern. Our study of American history was a kind of recovery process in which we uncovered hidden ties, forgotten affinities, and the connections between American people and other people and cultures around the world. We took common textbook histories and put them up against a transnational framework to get a more accurate and complete sense of ourselves. We reviewed letters, diaries, journals, film, and novels to find that the world beyond the U.S. has appeared in a variety of new ways for Americans as something critical to our sense of self and our understanding of our own culture. We looked at how the world has appeared variously as a place of suffering in need of alleviation (in works by Emma Goldman), a place of complicated and critical cutural interactions (in works by Henry James), a sphere of noble political action (in Casablanca), and now in the early 21st century as a place of opportunity and travel and also an environment of unchecked danger (in Syriana). Most importantly, our professor greatly enhanced our understanding of and appreciation for American history while maintaining our continued interest in the subject.

Why the Watered-Down Version of American History?

I think there are a number of reasons why many teachers, textbooks, and documentaries about the United States simply recite important dates and facts while only skimming the surface of analysis. Many of them have to do with the quality of the materials available, the socio-economic status of the students and the community, the dedication of the teachers and administration, general time constraints, and in some cases television ratings. But I also think that politics, religion, and ideology play a huge role in covering up some of the more ugly episodes in our history. For example, some states in the South and the Midwest teach a fundamentally different curriculum than you will find in the Northeast. I'm not just talking about teaching evolution vs. creationism. Some textbooks are more hostile toward immigrants or spend less time covering slavery. Generally in religious schools, America is portrayed as being founded upon Judeo-Christian values, without considering other influences equally. Many times conservative textbooks and districts will champion certain terms like "American Exceptionalism" and omit certain facts that portray America in a negative light such as the fact that many Founding Fathers owned slaves (Sally Hemings ring a bell?). Most often, high school students get a watered-down treatment of events such as Indian removal, overseas expansionism and interventions, the dropping of the atomic bombs, cultural imperialism, segregation, and discrimination. Too much time is spent glorifying America as a beacon of hope and prosperity. While I believe these depictions are true, we must acknowledge that we are less-than-perfect as a nation and a union and making continual moral progress.

Admittedly, there are violators on the other side of the aisle as well. At times, some discussions I had in classes at BU, a very liberal university, seemed almost anti-American and some professors make no attempts to hide their liberal bias. Many of them have great ideas that might work in a theoretical world (like legalizing drugs), but most likely would not work practically (though one could say that these ideas are essential for human progress). My point is, I have deeply religious friends and friends who are atheists and both are sometimes at fault for choosing ignorance or complacency. Also, I need to point out that many other nations teach their youth versions of their history that hide horrors of the past (think of Holocaust deniers). But I think we can foster a climate of patriotism in this country without having to water-down the stories of Chief Joseph or Rodney King.

A Final Thought:

I could argue that in the last decade, teaching America's youth a truthful, complete account of American history from a national and a transnational perspective has never been more important. We are facing an almost-unprecedented economic depression and dismal job market, the cost of higher education has never been higher or more exclusive, and social media has exploded to the point where some young teens aren't developing real social skills. I think a first-rate education, with special attention to our own history, is the most important gift anyone can receive because among many other things, it helps us discover who we are as a people and where we are going as a nation.

I'm not suggesting that everyone needs to get a liberal arts education from an expensive university. The methods I described above are certainly not new and are things that most high school teachers could implement into their curriculum with relative ease, like the teacher I had did. True, there will likely always be a large percentage of the population who won't get this kind of history lesson, won't have access to it, or won't care about it. There are plenty of people in this country who are satisfied with stereotypes, (sometimes) ignorant religious doctrine, or a blindly-patriotic sense of American history that portrays us as the constant victim (to Indian aggression, to interracial marriage, to affirmative action and immigration, etc.). Even more are content with exclusively watching mindless reality TV and biased documentary series. But in this time of uncertainty for our future, I think we owe it to our youth to broaden their understanding of American history.

Much of what I have said about history can be compared to the practice of mapmaking. Both are imaginative enterprises. How we want to define America depends on how we frame the history of it. What we emphasize, what we bring up, is going to determine how our nation looks. We can tell our history as one of exceptionalism, as one of superiority, and put the U.S. at the center of our imaginations. Or we can try to decentralize it. I think it is better to throw ourselves off balance just enough to make us rethink the assumptions we take for granted. Let the politicians and preachers preach about exceptionalism and America's moral example. Let the pundits give us their opinions (but watch both sides). Let the administrators ensure that they play our national anthem each day before public school begins and that they remind us to honor our military servicemen and women (which we should). But let's not let our youth learn American history from one perspective, no matter which ideology or religion might subscribe to it. In teaching American history, we need to acknowledge stereotypes we have of others and consider if they drive our foreign policy. We need to understand that American culture and society has been made and shaped at the edges of the nation not just at the center. Our nation is a process that hinges on wired contexts and has changed over time. Let's encourage more of our youth to travel as part of their education. Travel helps us see what we take for granted, it helps us understand how others percieve us. Seeing the history of the U.S. from outside is a kind of corrective. It offers us a way to learn U.S. history for a purpose besides inoculating us with a good dose of patriotic loyalty. That is of course important. But if we are going to live in a globalized world as we have been told we do, we ought to have a better sense of how we got here and how our national past relates to it.

[The following is an article I wrote that was published in Boston University's Pre-Law Review Magazine,

Spring 2008 edition. The views herein expressed are my own.]

The death penalty is among the most controversial sentencing practices in the American criminal justice system. The United States remains one of few industrialized countries that employ the death penalty as a form of legal atonement. Testing the religious and moral values of the American public, the practice has been notoriously lengthy and costly. While debate over the issue will undoubtedly persist, recent developments in a flagrant, violent crime have had grave implications for supporters of death penalty jurisprudence.

On March 11, 2005, Brian Nichols, a 33 year old African American, appeared in court to face charges of rape and false imprisonment. Nichols’ previous trial for these offenses had resulted in a hung jury. While in the custody of the Fulton County Courthouse in Atlanta, Georgia, Nichols began a violent rampage that would result in the largest manhunt in Georgia’s history. While changing into street clothes to wear in court, he overpowered sheriff’s deputy Cynthia Hall and took her firearm. After attacking the deputy, he entered the private chambers of Judge Rowland W. Barnes, where he encountered another deputy and stole his gun. Nichols then entered a courtroom, shot Barnes in the back of the head, killed court stenographer Julie Ann Brandau, and shot Sergeant Hoyt Teasley, a pursuing officer.

After his escape, Nichols carjacked three vehicles at gunpoint and pistol-whipped a reporter. In search of a hiding place, he murdered federal agent David Wilhelm and kidnapped a woman, who later convinced him to surrender. Georgia authorities arrested him 24 hours later. He was indicted in May 2005 in the same courthouse in which many of the killings occurred months earlier, facing the additional charges of murder, kidnapping, robbery, aggravated assault on a police officer, battery, theft, carjacking, and escaping from authorities. District Attorney Paul L. Howard, Jr. sought the death penalty and the case was expected to cost nearly $5 million and to last up to seven months.

Nichols, a former UPS employee and regular churchgoer, devised an elaborate scheme to break out of an Atlanta jailhouse that involved his pen-pal girlfriend, a paralegal, and at least two sheriff’s deputies. The plot was discovered and foiled in October 2006 when Nichols was moved to another facility. The Nichols case gained further national media attention after it stalled almost three years later. During the pre-trial conference in September 2007, Nichols’ defense team, which had been paid $1.2 million for its services, announced that it was not receiving enough funding from Georgia’s public defender’s office. Superior Court Judge Hilton Fuller was forced to suspend the state trial during the jury selection process. Fuller warned that the case might be suspended indefinitely if the defense was not provided adequate funding. The state public defender’s office defied the judge’s order to continue funding the defense attorneys, arguing that it did not possess the necessary funds.

In November 2007, the district attorney appealed to Georgia’s Supreme Court to force Judge Fuller to commence the jury selection process. His request was denied, and the trial was delayed for the fifth time on November 16, 2007. On January 30, 2008, Fuller stepped down from the case after being quoted in The New Yorker magazine as saying, “Everyone in the world knows he did it.” He submitted his recusal to the chief justice of the superior court, noting his breach of impartiality.

In light of these recent, troubling events, the Nichols case raises serious questions about the effectiveness of the death penalty process, a system clearly overburdened. The Supreme Court ruled in Gideon v. Wainwright (1963) that impoverished defendants must be provided free legal counsel in order for proceedings to commence. However, the question of how much these public defenders should be paid and how to assign them remains up to the legal purview of individual states. The system in Georgia had been revised in 2005 and now includes the Georgia Capital Defenders Office, which provides indigent defendants with attorneys specifically trained in capital cases. The funds for these attorneys come from legal fees collected from plaintiffs, since taxpayers were disinclined to pay for expensive capital cases. This system is representative of other systems in states that still practice capital punishment.

In the case of Brian Nichols, the prosecution enjoyed the prospect of eye-witness testimony and a written confession to all four killings. This reality, uncommon in capital cases, has not guaranteed that his victims will be vindicated. The capital punishment system appears broken, with evidence-filled cases taking longer and costing the public more. This reality represents the failures of the capital punishment system and has repercussions that are hard to deny.

According to Amnesty International, 135 countries have abolished the death penalty. The United States remains one of few industrialized countries to permit it. The Nichols case serves as an example of a whimsical practice that is hard to vindicate. Supporters of capital punishment argue that it is the ultimate form of deterrence, incapacitation, and moral correctness. Yet, research by William Bowers of Northeastern University shows that the death penalty does not curtail violence. States that do not allow the death penalty tend to have lower murder rates than those that employ it. Former Texas Attorney General Jim Mattox has remarked, "It is my own experience that those executed in Texas were not deterred by the existence of the death penalty law. I think in most cases you'll find that the murder was committed under severe drug and alcohol abuse." According to a survey by former presidents of America’s top criminological societies, 84 percent of them admitted that research has not proven the death penalty is a deterrent to crime.

Aside from the debatable statistics and research, death penalty cases are extremely expensive. Defendants are afforded an array of additional rights and protections when preparing their defense, including character analysis by experts, psychiatrists, and psychologists. Juries in these cases are asked to consider much more than guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. They must account for factors such as mental illness or any aspect of the defendant’s character or record that may mitigate a lesser sentence. However, if the system is unable to function due to economic constraints, as evidence suggests, it should be abolished. If states are unable to derive the necessary funds, a miscarriage of justice becomes likely, such as in the case of Brian Nichols. If the district attorney had not sought the death penalty, Nichols may well be currently serving a life sentence in prison.

Based on the Brian Nichols case, as well as analysis of the cost-benefit factor, the death penalty is inefficient and ineffective. Legislators should move beyond the moral and religious debate and simply realize the economic constraints of the system. If states cannot provide public defenders with adequate pay, criminals win. In the case of Brian Nichols, he has won, as his case remains suspended until the situation is resolved. The reality of the death penalty in Georgia has shaken Americans’ trust and faith in the criminal justice system.

[The following material was not published.]

UPDATE: On December 13, 2008, Brian Nichols received multiple life sentences from a judge in Atlanta's Municipal Court. The Nichols case, originally docketed as a capital trial, cost the state of Georgia $3 million dollars. According to the Federal Bureau of Prisons, which compiles data for all 50 states and the District of Columbia, the average annual cost of housing an inmate per year is $25,000. Confining Brian Nichols for 40 years would still not equal the $3 million spent by Georgia to achieve a sentence. Moreover, the prosectors failed to persuade the jury to sentence him to death. If the jury had obliged, the Nichols saga would have continued through the complicated death row appellate process, which would have cost taxpayers even more money.

I do not intend this post to begin a debate over whether or not the death penalty is morally justifiable. Frankly, I believe in some instances it is preferable. Rather, we need to examine the issue from an economic and deterrence standpoint. We need to establish a more concrete connection between capital punishment and deterrence. If such a connection cannot be found, we cannot rely on that argument for justifying the death penalty. Moreover, if the system we employ to convict criminals in capital cases ends up costing us more than housing an inmate for 40 years or more (nearly life), clearly it needs to be revised. Since capital punishment remains a state power, the states are burdened with paying for the cost of the proceedings. If we as a nation insist on retaining this most-antiquated practice, we should at least update the legal process it relies upon.

Assuming that states will never cede this power to the federal government, there are two methods for improving the system that stand out to me:
1.) State and local legislators might need to remove some of the safeguards in the system, particularly at the appellate level, to keep costs down and expedite the process.
2.) Taxpayers will have to foot more of the bill in order to prevent 4 year trials that cost millions of dollars.