This summary provides the key details from the long document in 3 sentences:
G. is a 15-year-old black student who is attending a previously all-white high school in the American South, facing daily insults and isolation, though no physical violence so far. His mother Mrs. R. chose to have him reassigned to improve his education, despite opposition from others in the black community. The document explores G.'s experience integrating the school through conversations with G., his mother, the principal, and others in the community.
R3D_L!Nk_D!$TR!ct - Porn loops from the dark age of porn
r3d L!nK D!$tR!cT is a «DIRTY»#REMIX version of some gifs from my other projects #PIRATEPORNOMATERIAL/1&2, a selection of pornographic contents found online.
I wished to make porn loops accessible via URL (browser) and QR-Code (stickers) for tablet and smartphone screens, the new peep show digital mobile devices, approaching gifs as Stan Brakhage approached films and approach porn as Lasse Braun did it producing film loops but, this is not the golden age of porn, Red Link District, as well as Pirate Porno Material 1&&2, are gif loops from the dark age of porn.
R3D_L!Nk_D!$TR!ct - Porn loops from the dark age of porn
r3d L!nK D!$tR!cT is a «DIRTY»#REMIX version of some gifs from my other projects #PIRATEPORNOMATERIAL/1&2, a selection of pornographic contents found online.
I wished to make porn loops accessible via URL (browser) and QR-Code (stickers) for tablet and smartphone screens, the new peep show digital mobile devices, approaching gifs as Stan Brakhage approached films and approach porn as Lasse Braun did it producing film loops but, this is not the golden age of porn, Red Link District, as well as Pirate Porno Material 1&&2, are gif loops from the dark age of porn.
The black box model,Factors influencing consumer behaviorSurvey, Methodology, questionnaire on customer perception towards miniso, analysis, limitations of the survey
A FLY IN BUTTERMILK
BY-JAMES BALDWIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PURPOSE
The story emphasizes the problem that hinders integration in the school system as a microcosm for American society. Baldwin identifies that people in the south, both black and white are unwilling to initiate change.
Nasty girl, Janet Jackson, is a veteran of piercing. She claims that it was her septum piercing though, not her nipple or labia, that hurt the most.
Once upon a time Christina Aguilera had an array of dirrty piercings including her nipple and her vaj.
Lady Gaga debuted her new vagina piercing in New York City this week.
Eric and Mike find a book that lets them transform themselves into other people. Eric decides that Mike would better serve him as his new sex slave, and the book also has some plans
The black box model,Factors influencing consumer behaviorSurvey, Methodology, questionnaire on customer perception towards miniso, analysis, limitations of the survey
A FLY IN BUTTERMILK
BY-JAMES BALDWIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PURPOSE
The story emphasizes the problem that hinders integration in the school system as a microcosm for American society. Baldwin identifies that people in the south, both black and white are unwilling to initiate change.
Nasty girl, Janet Jackson, is a veteran of piercing. She claims that it was her septum piercing though, not her nipple or labia, that hurt the most.
Once upon a time Christina Aguilera had an array of dirrty piercings including her nipple and her vaj.
Lady Gaga debuted her new vagina piercing in New York City this week.
Eric and Mike find a book that lets them transform themselves into other people. Eric decides that Mike would better serve him as his new sex slave, and the book also has some plans
30J a m e s B a l d w i nJames Baldwin (1924–1987) wa.docxgilbertkpeters11344
30
J a m e s B a l d w i n
James Baldwin (1924–1987) was born the son of a clergyman in Harlem, where
he attended Public School 24, Frederick Douglass Junior High School, and
DeWitt Clinton High School. While still a high school student he preached at the
Fireside Pentecostal Assembly, but when he was seventeen he renounced the
ministry. Two years later, living in Greenwich Village, he met who encouraged
him to be a writer and helped him win a Eugene Saxton Fellowship. Soon after-
ward Baldwin moved to France, as had, to escape the stifling racial oppression
he found in the United States. Although France was his more or less permanent
residence until his death from cancer nearly forty years later, Baldwin regarded
himself as a “commuter” rather than an expatriate:
Only white Americans can consider themselves to be expatriates. Once I
found myself on the other side of the ocean, I could see where I came from
very clearly, and I could see that I carried myself, which is my home, with me.
You can never escape that. I am the grandson of a slave, and I am a writer. I
must deal with both.
Baldwin began his career by publishing novels and short stories. In 1953 Go
Tell It on the Mountain, his first novel, was highly acclaimed. It was based on his
childhood in Harlem and his fear of his tyrannical father. Baldwin’s frank depic-
tion of homosexuality in the novels Giovanni’s Room (1956) and Another Country
(1962) drew criticism, but during the civil rights movement a few years later, he
established himself as a brilliant essayist. In his lifetime Baldwin published sev-
eral collections of essays, three more novels, and a book of five short stories,
Going to Meet the Man (1965).
“Sonny’s Blues,” from that collection, is one of Baldwin’s strongest psycholog-
ical dramatizations of the frustrations of African American life in our time. Like
Wright’s autobiographical books, Baldwin’s work is an inspiration to young writers
struggling to express their experience of racism. The African writer Chinua Achebe
said that “as long as injustice exists . . . the words of James Baldwin will be there to
bear witness and to inspire and elevate the struggle for human freedom.”
Related CommentaRy
James Baldwin, “Autobiographical Notes,” page 884.
03_CHA_6555_pt01_pp0006-0086.indd 30 30/05/14 10:14 AM
11/23/2015 - RS0000000000000000000000115248 (New User) - The
Story and Its Writer, Compact
chenhuihu
高亮
chenhuihu
高亮
chenhuihu
高亮
31
Sonny’s Blues
19 5 7
i read abouT iT in the paper, in the subway, on my way to work. I read it,
and I couldn’t believe it, and I read it again. Then perhaps I just stared at it, at
the newsprint spelling out his name, spelling out the story. I stared at it in the
swinging lights of the subway car, and in the faces and bodies of the people,
and in my own face, trapped in the darkness which roared outside.
It was not to be believed and I kept telling myself that, as I walked from the
subway stati.
Running head GRANDMOTHER1GRANDMOTHER5Grandm.docxwlynn1
Running head: GRANDMOTHER 1
GRANDMOTHER 5
Grandmother
EW
Grandmother
When thinking of the characteristics of a grandmother what does one think about? In the story “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor it is written from the perspective of the grandmother. With it being told from her perspective it shows how she feels and her opinion. Even if the grandmother looks down on someone she still can find the good in others, well if it is to her advantage. A characteristic of this grandmother is someone who tries to manipulate others to get her way.
At the beginning of the story, the grandmother tries to manipulate the son from going on vacation to Florida. She did not want to go to Florida; she wanted to go to Tennessee. She had friends she wanted to visit in Tennessee and was disappointed that she was not getting her way to go there. She had even noticed an article in the newspaper that her son was reading about how a guy “that calls himself The Misfit is aloose from Federal Pen and headed toward Florida” (Glaspell, 1916, p. 117). She gave this as a reason that going to Florida would not be a good idea. Neither the son nor the daughter-in-law listened to her, and she then turned to her grandkids in hopes that trying to scare them would make them upset and get her sons attention. The kids did not get scared but rather turned her manipulation back on her letting her know they did not care if she went on the trip. Her granddaughter June Star even stated the reason her grandmother would not stay home was that she was “afraid she’d miss something” (Glaspell, 1916, p. 117).
When the family first got in the car going on the trip, the grandmother hid her cat so it would not be left behind. Her son would not approve so manipulating the situation by hiding the cat was her best option. She wore a very nice outfit that she felt a lady should wear. Her daughter-in-law was dressed as though she was wearing clothing someone would wear to do chores around the house. The grandmother wanted everyone to know she was a lady by just looking at her. If they had a wreck on the way to Florida and she passed away, she wanted anyone coming up to the scene to know she was a lady when they first laid eyes on her. To pass the time she told the kids a story about how when she was a young lady a man named Mr. Teagarden, that she had dated would bring her a “watermelon every Saturday afternoon” (Glaspell, 1916, p. 117). She stated, “she would have done well to marry Mr. Teagarden” (Glaspell, 1916, p. 117) because he became rich when he was older. Even though she would be manipulative with something’s, she still was very interactive with the kids and kept them entertained.
When the family drove through the town of Toombsboro Georgia, the grandmother began to talk about a plantation that she used to visit when she was young. She started to describe the house and lied by saying it had a secret room that no one knew about, but the people living there. The gra.
30James BaldwinJames Baldwin (1924–1987) was born the .docxgilbertkpeters11344
30
James Baldwin
James Baldwin (1924–1987) was born the son of a clergyman in Harlem, where
he attended Public School 24, Frederick Douglass Junior High School, and
DeWitt Clinton High School. While still a high school student he preached at the
Fireside Pentecostal Assembly, but when he was seventeen he renounced the
ministry. Two years later, living in Greenwich Village, he met who encouraged
him to be a writer and helped him win a Eugene Saxton Fellowship. Soon after-
ward Baldwin moved to France, as had, to escape the stifling racial oppression
he found in the United States. Although France was his more or less permanent
residence until his death from cancer nearly forty years later, Baldwin regarded
himself as a “commuter” rather than an expatriate:
Only white Americans can consider themselves to be expatriates. Once I
found myself on the other side of the ocean, I could see where I came from
very clearly, and I could see that I carried myself, which is my home, with me.
You can never escape that. I am the grandson of a slave, and I am a writer. I
must deal with both.
Baldwin began his career by publishing novels and short stories. In 1953 Go
Tell It on the Mountain, his first novel, was highly acclaimed. It was based on his
childhood in Harlem and his fear of his tyrannical father. Baldwin’s frank depic-
tion of homosexuality in the novels Giovanni’s Room (1956) and Another Country
(1962) drew criticism, but during the civil rights movement a few years later, he
established himself as a brilliant essayist. In his lifetime Baldwin published sev-
eral collections of essays, three more novels, and a book of five short stories,
Going to Meet the Man (1965).
“Sonny’s Blues,” from that collection, is one of Baldwin’s strongest psycholog-
ical dramatizations of the frustrations of African American life in our time. Like
Wright’s autobiographical books, Baldwin’s work is an inspiration to young writers
struggling to express their experience of racism. The African writer Chinua Achebe
said that “as long as injustice exists . . . the words of James Baldwin will be there to
bear witness and to inspire and elevate the struggle for human freedom.”
Related CommentaRy
James Baldwin, “Autobiographical Notes,” page 884.
03_CHA_6555_pt01_pp0006-0086.indd 30 30/05/14 10:14 AM
11/23/2015 - RS0000000000000000000000115248 (New User) - The
Story and Its Writer, Compact
31
Sonny’s Blues
1957
i read abouT iT in the paper, in the subway, on my way to work. I read it,
and I couldn’t believe it, and I read it again. Then perhaps I just stared at it, at
the newsprint spelling out his name, spelling out the story. I stared at it in the
swinging lights of the subway car, and in the faces and bodies of the people,
and in my own face, trapped in the darkness which roared outside.
It was not to be believed and I kept telling myself that, as I walked from the
subway station to the high school. And at the same time I couldn’t .
"Fade to Orange" is a narrative I developed whilst talking Advanced Fiction Workshop during Spring 2017. The full story, projected to be 200 pages, tracks the life of Amir Dabiri -- now a disillusioned thirty-four-year-old producer -- as he reflects on his adolesence, and in particular, the year he spent studying film in Prague. That year, he began an intimate, tumultuous, and ultimately transformational relationship with a fellow student named Catherine, whose radical views on life and love would inspire Amir to shift his attitude towards his family and himself. Yet as the program ends and Amir and Catherine face overseas distance, their relationship unravels -- due to mistakes Amir has only begun to confront. In present day, Amir's reflections on the misjudgments of his youth prepare him for a difficult meeting: his first time seeing Catherine, a new hire to his company, in ten years.
Review the Strategy Questions for Organizing Your Argument Essay.docxronak56
Review the Strategy Questions for Organizing Your Argument Essay in Chapter 5, and then write a 1000- word response to the primary question of Chapter Activity #4 at the end of Chapter 8: How do family traditions and cultural legacies contribute to and/or inhibit an individual’s self-identity?
Chapter 5
Strategy Questions for Organizing Your Argument Essay
1. Do you have a lead-in to “hook” your reader? (an example, anecdote, scenario, startling statistic, or provocative question)
2. How much background is required to properly acquaint readers with your issue?
3. Will your claim be placed early (introduction) or delayed (conclusion) in your paper?
4. What is your supporting evidence?
5. Have you located authoritative (expert) sources that add credibility to your argument?
6. Have you considered addressing opposing viewpoints?
7. Are you willing to make some concessions (compromises) toward opposing sides?
8. What type of tone (serious, comical, sarcastic, inquisitive) best relates your message to reach your audience?
9. Once written, have you maintained a third person voice? (No “I” or “you” statements)
10. How will you conclude in a meaningful way? (Call your readers to take action, explain why the topic has global importance, or offer a common ground compromise that benefits all sides?)
Chapter activity #4
How do family traditions and cultural legacies contribute to and/or inhibit an individual’s self-identity? What do you know about your family history? How is this history shared, and how is it valued among individual family members? Beyond its literal meaning, what are the broader implications of the cliché “keeping the family name alive”? Or has this cliché outlived its validity? A number of readings in this chapter address an aspect of family tradition/cultural heritage and individual identity and fulfillment—for example, Walker’s “Everyday Use” (page 385); Rich’s “Delta” (page 412); Kelley’s “The People in Me” (page 424). Drawing on evidence from several readings and your own experience and observations, write a claim of value argument about an aspect of family heritage and individual identity.
Everyday Use (1973)
Alice Walker
for your grandmama
I will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yesterday afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the house.
Maggie will be nervous until after her sister goes: she will stand hopelessly in corners, homely and ashamed of the burn scars down her arms and legs, eyeing her sister with a mixture of envy and awe. She thinks her sister has held life always in the palm of one hand, that “no” is a word the world never learned to say to her.
You’ve no doubt seen those TV sh ...
The requirements for this essay are1. 500-600 words; 5-paragr.docxteresehearn
The requirements for this essay are:
1. 500-600 words; 5-paragraph structure (can have more than five).
2. Your idea about the story itself—the value of the story (at least a paragraph)
3. How it applies to life in general (at least a paragraph)
4. How it applies to you. Write about an item that is important to you, one that has been passed down to you or one that you hope will be or an item that you have that you will plan to pass down to someone (at least a paragraph). .
5. Be sure to supply
a. A parenthetical reference
b. A Works Cited
I will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yesterday afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the house.
Maggie will be nervous until after her sister goes: she will stand hopelessly in corners, homely and ashamed of the burn scars down her arms and legs, eying her sister with a mixture of envy and awe. She thinks her sister has held life always in the palm of one hand, that "no" is a word the world never learned to say to her.
You've no doubt seen those TV shows where the child who has "made it" is confronted, as a surprise, by her own mother and father, tottering in weakly from backstage. (A pleasant surprise, of course: What would they do if parent and child came on the show only to curse out and insult each other?) On TV mother and child embrace and smile into each other's faces. Sometimes the mother and father weep, the child wraps them in her arms and leans across the table to tell how she would not have made it without their help. I have seen these programs.
Sometimes I dream a dream in which Dee and I are suddenly brought together on a TV program of this sort. Out of a dark and soft.seated limousine I am ushered into a bright room filled with many people. There I meet a smiling, gray, sporty man like Johnny Carson who shakes my hand and tells me what a fine girl I have. Then we are on the stage and Dee is embracing me with tears in her eyes. She pins on my dress a large orchid, even though she has told me once that she thinks orchids are tacky flowers.
In real life I am a large, big.boned woman with rough, man.working hands. In the winter I wear flannel nightgowns to bed and overalls dur.ing the day. I can kill and clean a hog as mercilessly as a man. My fat keeps me hot in zero weather. I can work outside all day, breaking ice to get water for washing; I can eat pork liver cooked over the open fire minutes after it comes steaming from the hog. One winter I knocked a bull calf straight in the brain between the eyes with a sledge hammer and had the meat hung up to chill before nightfall. But of course all this does not show on television. I a ...
Sonnys BluesI read about it in the paper, in the subway, on m.docxrafbolet0
Sonny's Blues
I read about it in the paper, in the subway, on my way to work. I read it, and I couldn't believe it, and I read it again. Then perhaps I just stared at it, at the newsprint spelling out his name, spelling out the story. I stared at it in the swinging lights of the subway car, and in the faces and bodies of the people, and in my own face, trapped in the darkness which roared outside.
It was not to be believed and I kept telling myself that, as I walked from the subway station to the high school. And at the same time I couldn't doubt it. I was scared, scared for Sonny. He became real to me again. A great block of ice got settled in my belly and kept melting there slowly all day long, while I taught my classes algebra. It was a special kind of ice. It kept melting, sending trickles of ice water all up and down my veins, but it never got less. Sometimes it hardened and seemed to expand until I felt my guts were going to come spilling out or that I was going to choke or scream. This would always be at a moment when I was remembering some specific thing Sonny had once said or done.
When he was about as old as the boys in my classes his face had been bright and open, there was a lot of copper in it; and he'd had wonderfully direct brown eyes, and great gentleness and privacy. I wondered what he looked like now. He had been picked up, the evening before, in a raid on an apartment down-town, for peddling and using heroin.
I couldn't believe it: but what I mean by that is that I couldn't find any room for it anywhere inside me. I had kept it outside me for a long time. I hadn't wanted to know. I had had suspicions, but I didn't name them, I kept putting them away. I told myself that Sonny was wild, but he wasn't crazy. And he'd always been a good boy, he hadn't ever turned hard or evil or disrespectful, the way kids can, so quick, so quick, especially in Harlem. I didn't want to believe that I'd ever see my brother going down, coming to nothing, all that light in his face gone out, in the condition I'd already seen so many others. Yet it had happened and here I was, talking about algebra to a lot of boys who might, every one of them for all I knew, be popping off needles every time they went to the head. Maybe it did more for them than algebra could.
I was sure that the first time Sonny had ever had horse, he couldn't have been much older than these boys were now. These boys, now, were living as we'd been living then, they were growing up with a rush and their heads bumped abruptly against the low ceiling of their actual possibilities. They were filled with rage. All they really knew were two darknesses, the darkness of their lives, which was now closing in on them, and the darkness of the movies, which had blinded them to that other darkness, and in which they now, vindictively, dreamed, at once more together than they were at any other time, and more alone.
When the last bell rang, the last class ended, I let out my breath. It se.
This presentation is the part of Students' Group Activity incorporating the four novels in the syllabus.
Here in this presentation concerning the memory novel 'The Only Story' (2018) authored by Sir Julian Barnes, we have presented the Key Facts, About the Author, Characters, Plot Overview, Thematic Study, and Articles related to the novel.
I woke up to tweet on Saturday morning referencing something negative about Selborne College, East London's "prestigious" all-boys school which I attended from 1992 to 1996. I immediately went to reading about the poster controversy where a matric pupil used as inspiration Sam Nzima's iconic image of Mbuyisa Makhubo carrying a dead or dying Hector Pieterson during the Soweto uprising of 1976 for an artwork he hoped would reflect the matric class's grief at leaving high school. Pieterson's sister Antoinette is running beside them in that picture in case you ever wondered who the lady in the pic was.
Sonnys BluesSonnys BluesSonnys BluesSonnys Blues I.docxrafbolet0
Sonny's BluesSonny's BluesSonny's BluesSonny's Blues
I read about it in the paper, in the subway, on my way to work. I read it, and I couldn't believe
it, and I read it again. Then perhaps I just stared at it, at the newsprint spelling out his name,
spelling out the story. I stared at it in the swinging lights of the subway car, and in the faces
and bodies of the people, and in my own face, trapped in the darkness which roared
outside.
It was not to be believed and I kept telling myself that, as I walked from the subway station
to the high school. And at the same time I couldn't doubt it. I was scared, scared for Sonny.
He became real to me again. A great block of ice got settled in my belly and kept melting
there slowly all day long, while I taught my classes algebra. It was a special kind of ice. It
kept melting, sending trickles of ice water all up and down my veins, but it never got less.
Sometimes it hardened and seemed to expand until I felt my guts were going to come
spilling out or that I was going to choke or scream. This would always be at a moment when I
was remembering some specific thing Sonny had once said or done.
When he was about as old as the boys in my classes his face had been bright and open,
there was a lot of copper in it; and he'd had wonderfully direct brown eyes, and great
gentleness and privacy. I wondered what he looked like now. He had been picked up, the
evening before, in a raid on an apartment down-town, for peddling and using heroin.
I couldn't believe it: but what I mean by that is that I couldn't find any room for it anywhere
inside me. I had kept it outside me for a long time. I hadn't wanted to know. I had had
suspicions, but I didn't name them, I kept putting them away. I told myself that Sonny was
wild, but he wasn't crazy. And he'd always been a good boy, he hadn't ever turned hard or
evil or disrespectful, the way kids can, so quick, so quick, especially in Harlem. I didn't want
to believe that I'd ever see my brother going down, coming to nothing, all that light in his
face gone out, in the condition I'd already seen so many others. Yet it had happened and
here I was, talking about algebra to a lot of boys who might, every one of them for all I knew,
be popping off needles every time they went to the head. Maybe it did more for them than
algebra could.
I was sure that the first time Sonny had ever had horse, he couldn't have been much older
than these boys were now. These boys, now, were living as we'd been living then, they were
growing up with a rush and their heads bumped abruptly against the low ceiling of their
actual possibilities. They were filled with rage. All they really knew were two darknesses, the
darkness of their lives, which was now closing in on them, and the darkness of the movies,
which had blinded them to that other darkness, and in which they now, vindictively,
dreamed, at once more together than they were at any other time, and more .
Operation “Blue Star” is the only event in the history of Independent India where the state went into war with its own people. Even after about 40 years it is not clear if it was culmination of states anger over people of the region, a political game of power or start of dictatorial chapter in the democratic setup.
The people of Punjab felt alienated from main stream due to denial of their just demands during a long democratic struggle since independence. As it happen all over the word, it led to militant struggle with great loss of lives of military, police and civilian personnel. Killing of Indira Gandhi and massacre of innocent Sikhs in Delhi and other India cities was also associated with this movement.
Safalta Digital marketing institute in Noida, provide complete applications that encompass a huge range of virtual advertising and marketing additives, which includes search engine optimization, virtual communication advertising, pay-per-click on marketing, content material advertising, internet analytics, and greater. These university courses are designed for students who possess a comprehensive understanding of virtual marketing strategies and attributes.Safalta Digital Marketing Institute in Noida is a first choice for young individuals or students who are looking to start their careers in the field of digital advertising. The institute gives specialized courses designed and certification.
for beginners, providing thorough training in areas such as SEO, digital communication marketing, and PPC training in Noida. After finishing the program, students receive the certifications recognised by top different universitie, setting a strong foundation for a successful career in digital marketing.
Honest Reviews of Tim Han LMA Course Program.pptxtimhan337
Personal development courses are widely available today, with each one promising life-changing outcomes. Tim Han’s Life Mastery Achievers (LMA) Course has drawn a lot of interest. In addition to offering my frank assessment of Success Insider’s LMA Course, this piece examines the course’s effects via a variety of Tim Han LMA course reviews and Success Insider comments.
June 3, 2024 Anti-Semitism Letter Sent to MIT President Kornbluth and MIT Cor...Levi Shapiro
Letter from the Congress of the United States regarding Anti-Semitism sent June 3rd to MIT President Sally Kornbluth, MIT Corp Chair, Mark Gorenberg
Dear Dr. Kornbluth and Mr. Gorenberg,
The US House of Representatives is deeply concerned by ongoing and pervasive acts of antisemitic
harassment and intimidation at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Failing to act decisively to ensure a safe learning environment for all students would be a grave dereliction of your responsibilities as President of MIT and Chair of the MIT Corporation.
This Congress will not stand idly by and allow an environment hostile to Jewish students to persist. The House believes that your institution is in violation of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, and the inability or
unwillingness to rectify this violation through action requires accountability.
Postsecondary education is a unique opportunity for students to learn and have their ideas and beliefs challenged. However, universities receiving hundreds of millions of federal funds annually have denied
students that opportunity and have been hijacked to become venues for the promotion of terrorism, antisemitic harassment and intimidation, unlawful encampments, and in some cases, assaults and riots.
The House of Representatives will not countenance the use of federal funds to indoctrinate students into hateful, antisemitic, anti-American supporters of terrorism. Investigations into campus antisemitism by the Committee on Education and the Workforce and the Committee on Ways and Means have been expanded into a Congress-wide probe across all relevant jurisdictions to address this national crisis. The undersigned Committees will conduct oversight into the use of federal funds at MIT and its learning environment under authorities granted to each Committee.
• The Committee on Education and the Workforce has been investigating your institution since December 7, 2023. The Committee has broad jurisdiction over postsecondary education, including its compliance with Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, campus safety concerns over disruptions to the learning environment, and the awarding of federal student aid under the Higher Education Act.
• The Committee on Oversight and Accountability is investigating the sources of funding and other support flowing to groups espousing pro-Hamas propaganda and engaged in antisemitic harassment and intimidation of students. The Committee on Oversight and Accountability is the principal oversight committee of the US House of Representatives and has broad authority to investigate “any matter” at “any time” under House Rule X.
• The Committee on Ways and Means has been investigating several universities since November 15, 2023, when the Committee held a hearing entitled From Ivory Towers to Dark Corners: Investigating the Nexus Between Antisemitism, Tax-Exempt Universities, and Terror Financing. The Committee followed the hearing with letters to those institutions on January 10, 202
Synthetic Fiber Construction in lab .pptxPavel ( NSTU)
Synthetic fiber production is a fascinating and complex field that blends chemistry, engineering, and environmental science. By understanding these aspects, students can gain a comprehensive view of synthetic fiber production, its impact on society and the environment, and the potential for future innovations. Synthetic fibers play a crucial role in modern society, impacting various aspects of daily life, industry, and the environment. ynthetic fibers are integral to modern life, offering a range of benefits from cost-effectiveness and versatility to innovative applications and performance characteristics. While they pose environmental challenges, ongoing research and development aim to create more sustainable and eco-friendly alternatives. Understanding the importance of synthetic fibers helps in appreciating their role in the economy, industry, and daily life, while also emphasizing the need for sustainable practices and innovation.
Introduction to AI for Nonprofits with Tapp NetworkTechSoup
Dive into the world of AI! Experts Jon Hill and Tareq Monaur will guide you through AI's role in enhancing nonprofit websites and basic marketing strategies, making it easy to understand and apply.
A Strategic Approach: GenAI in EducationPeter Windle
Artificial Intelligence (AI) technologies such as Generative AI, Image Generators and Large Language Models have had a dramatic impact on teaching, learning and assessment over the past 18 months. The most immediate threat AI posed was to Academic Integrity with Higher Education Institutes (HEIs) focusing their efforts on combating the use of GenAI in assessment. Guidelines were developed for staff and students, policies put in place too. Innovative educators have forged paths in the use of Generative AI for teaching, learning and assessments leading to pockets of transformation springing up across HEIs, often with little or no top-down guidance, support or direction.
This Gasta posits a strategic approach to integrating AI into HEIs to prepare staff, students and the curriculum for an evolving world and workplace. We will highlight the advantages of working with these technologies beyond the realm of teaching, learning and assessment by considering prompt engineering skills, industry impact, curriculum changes, and the need for staff upskilling. In contrast, not engaging strategically with Generative AI poses risks, including falling behind peers, missed opportunities and failing to ensure our graduates remain employable. The rapid evolution of AI technologies necessitates a proactive and strategic approach if we are to remain relevant.
Normal Labour/ Stages of Labour/ Mechanism of LabourWasim Ak
Normal labor is also termed spontaneous labor, defined as the natural physiological process through which the fetus, placenta, and membranes are expelled from the uterus through the birth canal at term (37 to 42 weeks
1. A Fly in Buttermilk, James Baldwin
You CAN TAKE THE CHILD OUT of the country," my elders were fond of saying, "but you
can't take the country out of the child." They were speaking of their own antecedents, I supposed;
it didn't, anyway, seem possible that they could be warning me; I took myself out of the country
and went to Paris. It was there I discovered that the old folks knew what they had been talking
about: I found myself, willy-nilly, alchemized into an American the moment I touched French
soil.
Now, back again after nearly nine years, it was ironical to reflect that if I had not lived in France
for so long I would never have found it necessary -- or possible -- to visit the American South.
The South had always frightened me. How deeply it had frightened me -- though I had never
seen it -- and how soon, was one of the things my dreams revealed to me while I was there. And
this made me think of the privacy and mystery of childhood all over again, in a new way. I
wondered where children got their strength -- the strength, in this case, to walk through mobs to
get to school.
"You've got to remember," said an older Negro friend to me, in Washington, "that no matter
what you see or how it makes you feel, it can't be compared to twenty-five, thirty years ago --
you remember those photographs of Negroes hanging from trees?" I looked at him differently. I
had seen the photographs -- but he might have been one of them. "I remember," he said, "when
conductors on streetcars wore pistols and had police powers." And he remembered a great deal
more. He remembered, for example, hearing Booker T. Washington speak, and the day-to-day
progress of the Scottsboro case, and the rise and bloody fall of Bessie Smith. These had been
books and headlines and music for me but it now developed that they were also a part of my
identity.
"You're just one generation away from the South, you know. You'll find," he added, kindly, "that
people will be willing to talk to you . . . if they don't feel that you look down on them just
because you're from the North."
The first Negro I encountered, an educator, didn't give me any opportunity to look down. He
forced me to admit, at once, that I had never been to college; that Northern Negroes lived herded
together, like pigs in a pen; that the campus on which we met was a tribute to the industry and
determination of Southern Negroes. "Negroes in the South form a community." My humiliation
was complete with his discovery that I couldn't even drive a car. I couldn't ask him anything. He
made me feel so hopeless an example of the general Northern spinelessness that it would have
seemed a spiteful counterattack to have asked him to discuss the integration problem which had
placed his city in the headlines.
At the same time, I felt that there was nothing which bothered him more; but perhaps he did not
really know what he thought about it; or thought too many things at once. His campus risked
being very different twenty years from now. Its special function would be gone -- and so would
his position, arrived at with such pain. The new day a-coming was not for him. I don't think this
fact made him bitter but I think it frightened him and made him sad; for the future is like heaven
2. -- everyone exalts it but no one wants to go there now. And I imagine that he shared the attitude,
which I was to encounter so often later, toward the children who were helping to bring this future
about: admiration before the general spectacle and skepticism before the individual case.
That evening I went to visit G., one of the "integrated" children, a boy of about fifteen. I had
already heard something of his first day in school, the peculiar problems his presence caused,
and his own extraordinary bearing.
He seemed extraordinary at first mainly by his silence. He was tall for his age and, typically,
seemed to be constructed mainly of sharp angles, such as elbows and knees. Dark gingerbread
sort of coloring, with ordinary hair, and a face disquietingly impassive, save for his very dark,
very large eyes. I got the impression, each time that he raised them, not so much that they spoke
but that they registered volumes; each time he dropped them it was as though he had retired into
the library.
We sat in the living room, his mother, younger brother and sister, and I, while G. sat on the sofa,
doing his homework. The father was at work and the older sister had not yet come home. The
boy had looked up once, as I came in, to say, "Good evening, sir," and then left all the rest to his
mother.
Mrs. R. was a very strong-willed woman, handsome, quiet-looking, dressed in black. Nothing,
she told me, beyond name-calling, had marked G.'s first day at school; but on the second day she
received the last of several threatening phone calls. She was told that if she didn't want her son
"cut to ribbons" she had better keep him at home. She heeded this warning to the extent of
calling the chief of police.
"He told me to go on and send him. He said he'd be there when the cutting started. So I sent
him." Even more remarkably perhaps, G. went.
No one cut him, in fact no one touched him. The students formed a wall between G. and the
entrances, saying only enough, apparently, to make their intention clearly understood, watching
him, and keeping him outside. (I asked him, "What did you feel when they blocked your way?"
G. looked up at me, very briefly, with no expression on his face, and told me, "Nothing, sir.") At
last the principal appeared and took him by the hand and they entered the school, while the
children shouted behind them, "Nigger-lover!"
G. was alone all day at school.
"But I thought you already knew some of the kids there," I said. I had been told that he had
friends among the white students because of their previous competition in a Soapbox Derby.
"Well, none of them are in his classes," his mother told me -- a shade too quickly, as though she
did not want to dwell on the idea of G.'s daily isolation.
3. "We don't have the same schedule," G. said. It was as though he were coming to his mother's
rescue. Then, unwillingly, with a kind of interior shrug, "Some of the guys had lunch with me
but then the other kids called them names." He went back to his homework.
I began to realize that there were not only a great many things G. would not tell me, there was
much that he would never tell his mother.
"But nobody bothers you, anyway?"
"No," he said. "They just -- call names. I don't let it bother me."
Nevertheless, the principal frequently escorts him through the halls. One day, when G. was
alone, a boy tripped him and knocked him down and G. reported this to the principal. The white
boy denied it but a few days later, while G. and the principal were together, he came over and
said, "I'm sorry I tripped you; I won't do it again," and they shook hands. But it doesn't seem that
this boy has as yet developed into a friend. And it is clear that G. will not allow himself to expect
this.
I asked Mrs. R. what had prompted her to have her son reassigned to a previously all-white high
school. She sighed, paused; then, sharply, "Well, it's not because I'm so anxious to have him
around white people." Then she laughed. "I really don't know how I'd feel if I was to carry a
white baby around who was calling me Grandma." G. laughed, too, for the first time. "White
people say," the mother went on, "that that's all a Negro wants. I don't think they believe that
themselves."
Then we switched from the mysterious question of what white folks believe to the relatively
solid ground of what she, herself, knows and fears.
"You see that boy? Well, he's always been a straight-A student. He didn't hardly have to work at
it. You see the way he's so quiet now on the sofa, with his books? Well, when he was going to --
High School, he didn't have no homework or if he did, he could get it done in five minutes. Then,
there he was, out in the streets, getting into mischief, and all he did all day in school was just
keep clowning to make the other boys laugh. He wasn't learning nothing and didn't nobody care
if he never learned nothing and I could just see what was going to happen to him if he kept on
like that."
The boy was very quiet.
"What were you learning in -- High?" I asked him.
"Nothing!" he exploded, with a very un-boyish laugh. I asked him to tell me about it.
"Well, the teacher comes in," he said, "and she gives you something to read and she goes out.
She leaves some other student in charge . . ." ("You can just imagine how much reading gets
done," Mrs. R. interposed.) "At the end of the period," G. continued, "she comes back and tells
you something to read for the next day."
4. So, having nothing else to do, G. began amusing his classmates and his mother began to be
afraid. G. is just about at the age when boys begin dropping out of school. Perhaps they get a girl
into trouble; she also drops out; the boy gets work for a time or gets into trouble for a long time. I
was told that forty-five girls had left school for the maternity ward the year before. A week or ten
days before I arrived in the city eighteen boys from G.'s former high school had been sentenced
to the chain gang.
"My boy's a good boy," said Mrs. R., "and I wanted to see him have a chance."
"Don't the teachers care about the students?" I asked. This brought forth more laughter. How
could they care? How much could they do if they did care? There were too many children, from
shaky homes and worn-out parents, in aging, inadequate plants. They could be considered, most
of them, as already doomed. Besides, the teachers' jobs were safe. They were responsible only to
the principal, an appointed official, whose judgment, apparently, was never questioned by his
(white) superiors or confreres.
The principal of G.'s former high school was about seventy-five when he was finally retired and
his idea of discipline was to have two boys beat each other -- "under his supervision" -- with
leather belts. This once happened with G., with no other results than that his parents gave the
principal a tongue-lashing. It happened with two boys of G.'s acquaintance with the result that,
after school, one boy beat the other so badly that he had to be sent to the hospital. The teachers
have themselves arrived at a dead end, for in a segregated school system they cannot rise any
higher, and the students are aware of this. Both students and teachers soon cease to struggle.
"If a boy can wash a blackboard," a teacher was heard to say, "I'll promote him."
I asked Mrs. R. how other Negroes felt about her having had G. reassigned.
"Well, a lot of them don't like it," she said -- though I gathered that they did not say so to her. As
school time approached, more and more people asked her, "Are you going to send him?" "Well,"
she told them, "the man says the door is open and I feel like, yes, I'm going to go on and send
him."
Out of a population of some fifty thousand Negroes, there had been only forty-five applications.
People had said that they would send their children, had talked about it, had made plans; but, as
the time drew near, when the application blanks were actually in their hands, they said, "I don't
believe I'll sign this right now. I'll sign it later." Or, "I been thinking about this. I don't believe I'll
send him right now."
"Why?" I asked. But to this she couldn't, or wouldn't, give me any answer.
I asked if there had been any reprisals taken against herself or her husband, if she was worried
while G. was at school all day. She said that, no, there had been no reprisals, though some white
people, under the pretext of giving her good advice, had expressed disapproval of her action. But
she herself doesn't have a job and so doesn't risk losing one. Nor, she told me, had anyone said
anything to her husband, who, however, by her own proud suggestion, is extremely
5. closemouthed. And it developed later that he was not working at his regular trade but at
something else.
As to whether she was worried, "No," she told me; in much the same way that G., when asked
about the blockade, had said, "Nothing, sir." In her case it was easier to see what she meant: she
hoped for the best and would not allow herself, in the meantime, to lose her head. "I don't feel
like nothing's going to happen," she said, soberly. "I hope not. But I know if anybody tries to
harm me or any one of my children, I'm going to strike back with all my strength. I'm going to
strike them in God's name."
G., in the meantime, on the sofa with his books, was preparing himself for the next school day.
His face was as impassive as ever and I found myself wondering -- again -- how he managed to
face what must surely have been the worst moment of his day -- the morning, when he opened
his eyes and realized that it was all to be gone through again. Insults, and incipient violence,
teachers, and -- exams.
"One among so many," his mother said, "that's kind of rough."
"Do you think you'll make it?" I asked him. "Would you rather go back to -- High?"
"No," he said, "I'll make it. I ain't going back."
"He ain't thinking about going back," said his mother -- proudly and sadly. I began to suspect
that the boy managed to support the extreme tension of his situation by means of a nearly
fanatical concentration on his schoolwork; by holding in the center of his mind the issue on
which, when the deal went down, others would be forced to judge him. Pride and silence were
his weapons. Pride comes naturally, and soon, to a Negro, but even his mother, I felt, was
worried about G.'s silence, though she was too wise to break it. For what was all this doing to
him really?
"It's hard enough," the boy said later, still in control but with flashing eyes, "to keep quiet and
keep walking when they call you nigger. But if anybody ever spits on me, I know I'll have to
fight."
His mother laughs, laughs to ease them both, then looks at me and says, "I wonder sometimes
what makes white folks so mean."
This is a recurring question among Negroes, even among the most "liberated" -- which epithet is
meant, of course, to describe the writer. The next day, with this question (more elegantly
phrased) still beating in my mind, I visited the principal of G.'s new high school. But he didn't
look "mean" and he wasn't "mean": he was a thin, young man of about my age, bewildered and
in trouble. I asked him how things were working out, what he thought about it, what he thought
would happen -- in the long run, or the short.
"Well, I've got a job to do," he told me, "and I'm going to do it." He said that there hadn't been
any trouble and that he didn't expect any. "Many students, after all, never see G. at all." None of
6. the children have harmed him and the teachers are, apparently, carrying out their rather tall
orders, which are to be kind to G. and, at the same time, to treat him like any other student.
I asked him to describe to me the incident, on the second day of school, when G.'s entrance had
been blocked by the students. He told me that it was nothing at all -- "It was a gesture more than
anything else." He had simply walked out and spoken to the students and brought G. inside. "I've
seen them do the same thing to other kids when they were kidding," he said. I imagine that he
would like to be able to place this incident in the same cheerful if rowdy category, despite the
shouts (which he does not mention) of "nigger-lover!"
Which epithet does not, in any case, describe him at all.
"Why," I asked, "is G. the only Negro student here?" According to this city's pupil-assignment
plan, a plan designed to allow the least possible integration over the longest possible period of
time, G. was the only Negro student who qualified.
"And, anyway," he said, "I don't think it's right for colored children to come to white schools just
because they're white."
"Well," I began, "even if you don't like it . . ."
"Oh," he said quickly, raising his head and looking at me sideways, "I never said I didn't like it."
And then he explained to me, with difficulty, that it was simply contrary to everything he'd ever
seen or believed. He'd never dreamed of a mingling of the races; had never lived that way
himself and didn't suppose that he ever would; in the same way, he added, perhaps a trifle
defensively, that he only associated with a certain stratum of white people. But, "I've never seen
a colored person toward whom I had any hatred or ill-will."
His eyes searched mine as he said this and I knew that he was wondering if I believed him.
I certainly did believe him; he impressed me as being a very gentle and honorable man. But I
could not avoid wondering if he had ever really looked at a Negro and wondered about the life,
the aspirations, the universal humanity hidden behind the dark skin. As I wondered, when he told
me that race relations in his city were "excellent" and had not been strained by recent
developments, how on earth he managed to hold on to this delusion.
I later got back to my interrupted question, which I phrased more tactfully.
"Even though it's very difficult for all concerned -- this situation -- doesn't it occur to you that the
reason colored children wish to come to white schools isn't because they want to be with white
people but simply because they want a better education?"
"Oh, I don't know," he replied, "it seems to me that colored schools are just as good as white
schools." I wanted to ask him on what evidence he had arrived at this conclusion and also how
they could possibly be "as good" in view of the kind of life they came out of, and perpetuated,
7. and the dim prospects faced by all but the most exceptional or ruthless Negro students. But I only
suggested that G. and his family, who certainly should have known, so thoroughly disagreed
with him that they had been willing to risk G.'s present well-being and his future psychological
and mental health in order to bring about a change in his environment. Nor did I mention the lack
of enthusiasm envinced by G.'s mother when musing on the prospect of a fair grandchild. There
seemed no point in making this man any more a victim of his heritage than he so gallantly was
already.
"Still," I said at last, after a rather painful pause, "I should think that the trouble in this situation
is that it's very hard for you to face a child and treat him unjustly because of something for which
he is no more responsible than -- than you are."
The eyes came to life then, or a veil fell, and I found myself staring at a man in anguish. The
eyes were full of pain and bewilderment and he nodded his head. This was the impossibility
which he faced every day. And I imagined that his tribe would increase, in sudden leaps and
bounds was already increasing.
For segregation has worked brilliantly in the South, and, in fact, in the nation, to this extent: it
has allowed white people, with scarcely any pangs of conscience whatever, to create, in every
generation, only the Negro they wished to see. As the walls come down they will be forced to
take another, harder look at the shiftless and the menial and will be forced into a wonder
concerning them which cannot fail to be agonizing. It is not an easy thing to be forced to re-
examine a way of life and to speculate, in a personal way, on the general injustice.
"What do you think," I asked him, "will happen? What do you think the future holds?"
He gave a strained laugh and said he didn't know. "I don't want to think about it." Then, "I'm a
religious man," he said, "and I believe the Creator will always help us find a way to solve our
problems. If a man loses that, he's lost everything he had." I agreed, struck by the look in his
eyes.
"You're from the North?" he asked me, abruptly.
"Yes," I said.
"Well," he said, "you've got your troubles too."
"Ah, yes, we certainly do," I admitted, and shook hands and left him. I did not say what I was
thinking, that our troubles were the same trouble and that, unless we were very swift and honest,
what is happening in the South today will be happening in the North tomorrow.