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Wednesday, April 6, 1994
OPINION UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
VIEWPOINT
Valedictorian selection unfair at Georgia school
By making long-term residency a criterion for becoming class valedictorian, the Crawford County, Ga., school board has put community pressure ahead of scholastic achievement. For that, it deserves an "F."
Until two weeks ago, Adelina Kabashi was expected to be this year's valedictorian at Crawford County High School. Kabashi, a refugee from Kosovo, Yugoslavia, has attended the school since September 1992. Her grades since that time, combined with her transferred scores, put her ahead of 67 other seniors. Her grades have been controversial because her transfer scores were simply listed as "excellents." The school board assigned an arbitrary 95 to each of those excellents. It then appeared that she would graduate with honors.
That's when the parents of the No. 2 and No. 3 girls stepped in. They complained to the school board that Kabashi's transfer grades were unfair in that her scores were not justified. Her grades at Crawford High obviously have been excellent as well, but that doesn't seem to matter. The school board mumbled something about valedictorians being required to attend school in the county from grades nine through 12 and bowed to the parents' demands. Kabashi now will receive only an honorable mention.
To rethink class honors this late in the game hurts everyone concerned. Kabashi is denied acknowledgment of her hard work. The new valedictorian always will remember she was honored by default. And the school board is now vulnerable to parental pressure.
Fortunately, the Crawford school board still has time to improve its performance. By acknowledging co-valedictorians this year, the board could put politics aside and honor academic performance. For that, the board would undoubtedly deserve an "A."
SAMANTHA ADAMS FOR THE EDITORIAL BOARD
Humans not property and neither is sperm
A recent court decision that labeled sperm as property is both inaccurate and inappropriate. The court awarded Deborah Ellen Hecht 20 percent of her dead boyfriend's frozen sperm. William Kane, left Hecht 20 percent of his property in his will. A Los Angeles judge determined that Kane's frozen sperm was property.
At first glance, this story has the same stench of sensationalism that accompanied the Bobbitt trial. There is, however, a serious issue behind the uncomfortable snickering. Human sperm has been labeled as property. Beyond this it has been given no more significance than a pie that can be divided up and handed out.
Since the time of the Civil War, it has been illegal to consider people as property. Sperm, of course, are not people, but without sperm there could be no people.
This is not an argument about when life begins. It is a statement of fact that life cannot begin without this indispensable factor. A judgment that labels sperm as property disregards the potential for life.
The courts would not allow Kane's living children to be labeled as property. It is inappropriate to treat any of his future children with less dignity.
Hecht has every legal right to 20 percent of Kane's property. Kane determined this in his will. She can have 20 percent of his ties, a fifth of his shoes and even 20 of the 100 butterflies in his collection. Including Kane's frozen sperm in this farcical list shows just how ridiculous it is to consider sperm as property.
Awarding sperm as you would a family heirloom is as offensive as the locker-room humor that surrounds the issue.
MATT HOOD FOR EDITORIAL BOARD
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Ownership of Swiss Army knife should not be a show of power
I felt so powerful yesterday. The guest lecturer in my biology class was having trouble setting up some equipment, and he asked if anyone had a pocketknife. The guys in the class glanced at each other. No one had a knife. The lecturer was turning away when I pulled my Swiss Army knife out of my backpack and handed it to him. The looks I got ranged from surprised to humorous.
The funny part about this situation is that I didn't buy the knife. My dad found it at work and gave it to me. I stick it on my key chain so I wouldn't lose my keys (and because I occasionally need a bottle opener). I never expected the reaction it would get.
If I was a biology professor or an enthusiastic hiker, people wouldn't think twice about it. But people see me, see my knife and then look at me again, but this time with respect in their eyes. I'm not a 5-foot-2 helpless female anymore. I'm a capable person. That's the message I consistently get, and I admit, I do feel tough when it happens. But I mainly feel tough because I know I am. I don't need a
piece of metal to prove it.
I realize that I am not physically imposing, I get caught between heavy doors regularly, and I can't cut people down Van Damme-style. Brute strength, however, does not constitute toughness. I can keep my cool in stressful situations, and unlike a lot of women my age, I am proud of my intellectual abilities. I respect other people for their talents, but I don't try to hide mine to boost someone else's ego — mainly the male ego.
I have been called many names for having this attitude. Not all of them are terribly creative, but they all have a generally unflattering theme of
"look nice and keep your mouth shut." The problem that I have with this is that I like thinking for myself. I like knowing that I can live independently and still put antifreeze in the car, balance my checkbook and baste a turkey.
I'm not aman-hater or a blazing feminist. I think that both women and men should be capable of taking care of themselves. I appreciate help when it's needed, but I don't like being told that I shouldn't do something because of my sex. Mechanical engineering does not require testosterone, and secretarial duties do not necessitate estrogen.
The world is changing slowly, but attitudes still hinder real progress. I went car shopping last summer with my father. Every single one of the salesmen showed me sporty-looking automatisms that were basically average cars with flashy exteriors. When I informed them that I was looking for a car with a bit more power and that I was considering only five-speeds, I received skeptical stares. One man even guffawed, "What's a pretty li'
thing like you want with a five-speed" and patted me on the back. My dad laughed out loud when I quietly told the man that first, my name is Alisha, second, I think five-speeds handle better, and third, I don't care to do business with him anymore.
Human beings are really more similar than different in terms of capabilities. Society decided a long time ago to repress "unfeminine" behavior in women, "unmasculine" qualities in men. We've been playing along for too much time. If Jerry wants to be a lawyer and Jane wants to stay home with the kids, so be it. But Jane should be able to take the Harley out for a spin, and Jerry shouldn't be embarrassed if he knows a really great casserole recipe.
Obviously, the world hasn't accepted sex equality yet. Women can't walk alone at night, and men ridicule women because their buddies expect it. All I can say is, I like my pocketknife.
Allisha Aorale is an Overland Park freshman in biology and English.
Old teachers taught life lessons
But as I go through life, I have my high school teachers to thank for giving me self-esteem, my dreams and a lesson I'll never forget.
When I start my career, I'll have my college professors to thank for giving me the skills I'll need to be a journalist.
I entered Shawne Mission Northwest as a member of the first freshman class to attend that school with a heavy heart.
Junior high school had been rough on me. My self-esteem had been picked apart by my peers.
Some of my peers saw me as an easy target and called me names. They singled out as a stepping stone. That's how you rise to the top in junior high — by knocking down those with low self-esteem.
But from the moment I hesitantly walked through Northwest's doors, Tom Moss, my music teacher, began to piece my shattered confidence back together.
Ihung out with a crowd that listened to AC/DC, Motley Crue and Metallica. I had long hair. I wore black concert T-shirts and ripped jeans. I wasn't mainstream. I didn't have many friends.
I wanted to quit marching band after
a week of stumbling around with a trombone. Moss talked me into staying. He saw something in me — a sheltered love of music. I didn't want to show it. I thought that if exposed it, it would be beaten down and crushed beneath the harsh words of my peers, just like everything else.
He also was the kindest man I ever met.
And Moss and I were able to help each other — my freshman year was his first year at the school, as well.
By my senior year, I played lead in the school's jazz band. I was basketball band director. I was a section leader in marching band. Music continues to heal my self-esteem today.
Mr. Clipner encouraged one student to stay in school when many other teachers, tired of her wise cracking in class, were happy to see her go. She eventually got her diploma with the help of his private tutoring.
If Moss gave me courage, my journalism teacher, whom we called Cough, after her maiden name, gave me my dreams. By my junior year, I
A buddy of mine — a guy we called Pinhead — was failing school and
doing drugs. When I talked one day with Clipner about Pinhead's psychically overbearing father, he nodded his head and said, "Well, he's just going to have to live with me." Clipner already had three kids living with him at the time.
Pinhead got off the drugs. He got his diploma, and now he is an officer; in the Navy.
But perhaps the most valuable lesson I learned was from Mr. Clipner, an old, burnt-out man who taught sophomore World History. He had battled alcoholism all his life. He would flip us off to get our attention. Once he spent a whole class period talking about why Ronald Reagan was "a blithering idiot."
Clipner taught me that everyone—including those branded by society as "lost"—were worth a second chance. That lesson saved me. I had believed my peers and a few teachers when they had remarked that I belonged in that group.
still lacked goals for my life. That was before I entered Journalism I.
I'll miss Clipper and the jokes he never ran out of. He died alone two years ago, his liver nothing but alcohol-ravaged tissue.
Cough's frantic, almost explosive method of teaching sparked in me a love of writing and the fast pace of working for a newspaper. Her infamous desk, a mass of paper and pens, could swallow any important document in a matter of seconds.
Certainly. I love my career to my college professors. They gave me the skills to do what I love most.
I wound up writing for the school newspaper and being editor of the yearbook. Both publications won national awards.
But I'm afraid, I'll never be able to repay the debt Iowe to my high school teachers. I owe them something much more valuable.
My life.
Dan England is a Lenexa senior in Journalism.
Anti-Semitism is hateful, dangerous
"It's racism!"
For years, this has been the battle cry of minority groups throughout the United States—and not without legitimate reason. Racism does exist. In the past few months, however, a new type of racism and bigotry has caught the attention of the national media. This time, not only is the "victimized" group a minority, the "racist" group is, as well.
In the past few months, Jewish leaders have decried remarks made in November by Khalid Abdul Muhammad, a representative for the Nation of Islam, at Kean College in New Jersey. Muhammad referred to Jews as, among other things, "blood suckers of the Black community." Much to their credit, the Black
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Congressional Caucus and other civil-rights leaders such as the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Benjamin Chavis have joined Jewish leaders in criticizing Muhammad. Much to his discredit, Louis Farakhan, minister of the Nation of Islam, has not spoken against Muhammad's comments.
More recently, the New York Times reported a similar incident at Wellesley College in Massachusetts. Tony Martin, who teaches Black studies at the college, wrote a book titled "The Jewish Onslaught: Dispatches from the Wellesley Battlefront," which, according to the Times, accuses Jews of being "disproportionately responsible for the slave trade." Wellesley College has censured Martin, saying his book was "unneccessarily disrespectful."
Prejudicial attacks on Jews in the name of African-American empow-
The attitudes of Muhammad and Martin are based on a classical stereotype of Jewish people. Ask yourself how often you have heard people say things such as: "Jews are greedy," "Jews have all the money," or "I was Jewed." I never realized the subtle verbal discrimination aimed at Jews until I had a Jewish roommate and put my foot in my mouth a few times. Not more than forty-five years ago, the same blind classification of Jews led to the
erment, the gist of Muhammad's remarks and Martin's book, are disturbing. Muhammad and Martin single out a minority and blame it for many of the problems confronting the African-American community. Furthermore, the accusations seem to lack a strong empirical foundation. Instead, they are vicious and malicious bars aimed at the Jewish community.
Holocaust, the worst case of documented hate and discrimination ever.
We live in an era open to the noble ideals of equality and freedom from discrimination. Though I don't disagree with their right to discuss their point of view, the attitudes displayed by Muhammad and Martin are dangerous. These attitudes are not only divisive, they damage the credibility and respectability of organizations that use legitimate action to pursue civil-rights goals.
We need to work together with Jews, African Americans, Native Americans, Asian Americans, whites and others to end discrimination. Nothing is more loathsome than being disrespectful of other humans for no other reason than their race or religion.
Scott D. McClurg St. Louis senior
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