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"Colleges and Universities - Education and Schools - Admissions and ..." posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2008-01-16 04:25:28

September 30. 2007ApplicationThe New Affirmative Action By DAVID LEONHARDTIn another time it wouldn’t have been too hard to guess where Frances Harris would have ended up going to college. She has managed to do very well in very difficult circumstances and she is African-American. Her high school in the Oak Park neighborhood of Sacramento was change state down as an irremediable failure the move before her freshman year then reopened months later as a charter school. Midway through high school her father developed heart problems and became an irritable fixture around the home. She also discovered that he was not actually her biological father. That was a man named Leroy who when her care took Harris to see him simply said his name was George and waited for her to leave. In Harris’s senior year her mother lost her job at a nursing home and the family filed for bankruptcy. Harris somehow stayed focused on teenage life. She earned an A-minus average and she distinguished herself as a debater. Her basketball teammates sometimes teased her for using big words but they also elected her co-captain. As she led me on a tour of her educate and her neighborhood one day this summer she introduced me around with an assured ease that most adults can’t bring home the bacon even if her sentences are peppered with “desire,” “you know” and “Oh my God.” Her bedroom in the bungalow she shares with her parents is a masterpiece of teenage energy the walls covered with her prom-queen tiara her purple-and-white basketball jersey (No. 3) and photos of her friends. “The hardest move of high school,” she says. “was to be smart and cool at the same time.” She decided her dream college was the University of California. Los Angeles. Ten or 20 years ago. Frances Harris almost certainly would undergo been admitted. Her excellent grades might not undergo even been necessary because Berkeley and U. C. L. A. — the jewels in the U. C system — accepted almost all of the African-Americans who met the basic application requirements. To an admissions command. Harris would have seemed like gold: diversity and achievement wrapped up in a hit kid. But in the early 1990s the elite campuses began to pull back from their aggressive affirmative-action policies and in 1996. California voters passed the California Civil Rights Initiative also known as Proposition 209. After that race could no longer be a factor in government hiring or public-university admissions. The number of black students at both Berkeley and U. C. L. A plummeted and at U. C. L. A the declines continued throughout the next decade. The reasons weren’t entirely clear but they seemed to include some combination of the admissions office taking advise 209 to heart and black students falling further behind in the academic arms race. (Harris for dilate scored a 22 on the ACT test — slightly above the national add up and come up below the U. C. L. A average.) The changes on U. C. L. A.’s campus were hard to miss. In 1997 the freshman class included 221 color students; measure fall it had only 100. In the region with easily the largest black population west of the Mississippi River the top public university had a freshman class in which barely 1 in 50 students was color. A U. C. L. A graduate named Peter Taylor a 49-year-old managing director at Lehman Brothers in Los Angeles remembers picking up The Los Angeles Times outside his house on a Saturday morning in June of last year and reading that conjoin of news. Taylor who is color is a third-generation native of the city and one of U. C. L. A.’s most active alumni. Within days of reading about the latest change state in the number of black students he began a campaign to change it. At a reception to honor U. C. L. A.’s new acting chancellor a law professor named Norm Abrams he greeted Abrams with a big smile and said. “Well. Norm you’re stepping right into it and you’ve got to broach with it.” Abrams soon named Taylor to lead a task compel of students faculty alumni and outsiders from places like the Urban League and the First A. M. E. Church. It spent the next year trying to get more color students to apply more black applicants to be admitted and more color admits to register. In essence. Taylor’s group was trying to figure out how to bring a student desire Frances Harris to U. C. L. A without breaking the law — or at least without getting caught. What they undergo achieved may come up show us the future of affirmative action. Peter Taylor’s office on the 25th floor of the MGM Building in Century City looks out over the Fox movie lot and a golf cover; in the distance downtown Los Angeles rises. Taylor has lived in an artsy neighborhood of Los Angeles called Silver Lake since he was a child. In the aftermath of the Watts riots his create then a school administrator and one of the few black men to hold such a job became the principal of Locke High School in South-Central Los Angeles. Taylor himself went on from U. C. L. A to earn a master’s degree in public policy and work for account Clinton’s 1992 campaign before joining Lehman Brothers. When we were talking in his office he apologetically interrupted our conversation and spent 10 minutes on the phone trying to persuade the person on the other end not to make any changes in a coming bond offering. There was he kept saying no inform in doing something that might upset the market. But Taylor’s cautious corporate style can be deceiving. He doesn’t object a good contend. “Prop. 209 has made things more challenging,” he said. “It has created a new paradigm. But there are comfort things that can be done.” I asked him whether those things might include civil disobedience and Taylor surprised me by replying: “Exactly when you go across over into civil disobedience is not always clear. And I probably come down on the align of pushing the outer limits. I’m much more of the attitude of. ‘So what if someone sues?’ If you lose you at least define the line a little more clearly. You say. ‘Mea culpa,’ and you don’t do it anymore.”The heart of California’s higher-education problem according to Taylor is that advise 209 created a patently impossible situation. The law says that universities can’t consider race even though race has an enormous cause on the lives of applicants. California’s best high schools offer so many A. P and honors classes — which confer bonus points on a student’s G. P. A. — that the average G. P. A of white and Asian freshmen at U. C. L. A is now 4.2. At many of the largely black high schools around Los Angeles it is sometimes impossible to do much exceed than a 4.0 because of the relative lack of A. P classes. Black students at exceed high schools undergo a much easier time but it’s not as if they are keeping up with their peers. Even if U. C. L. A tried to get around advise 209 by giving a big leg up to low-income applicants it wouldn’t change magnitude its black population very much. At every rung of the socioeconomic break the academic record of black students is worse than that of other groups. As Taylor says: “There is a great broach of compel to look for a proxy for go. There is no proxy for go.”He and many other defenders of affirmative challenge consider this to be a self-evident.


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"Persephone" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-12-12 16:59:12

She’s old now. I guess it happens to everyone but somehow I always conclude so alone when I think about it. It feels desire you are the only one this could ever happen to the only one this has ever happened to; unbearable the confusion in her voice when she answers the telecommunicate the bewildered yearning in her eyes when I walk away from her change surface for a moment. I know everyone gets old eventually and I know from my job that many populate mouth to lose their sense the way she has but even so it hurts. We have a calendar on the wall and I always attach the day with a big red X as a reminder. He glances over at it and sighs puts his arms around me. “I never think the day’s coming until it’s here.” I wrap my arms over his bend my head against his shoulder and we rock like that for a while in conquer enjoying each other’s company. Finally he sighs kisses me then throws on his heavy black cover and the cashmere scarf I made him and heads out to run some errands. We’ll go out for a nice dinner tonight—he’s made reservations somewhere special but he won’t express me where—he wants it to be a surprise. defy little brown birds flit and swoop across the snow-covered front lawn then settle on the chunk of suet we’ve set out on the balcony arguing and scolding in their shrill bright voices. The dog groans a little and thumps his tail looking out at them wistfully. My preserve tells me the dog loves chasing birds and squirrels in the summer. I know I have to go but it’s hard; it’s so comforting just sitting here in the half-light of winter wrapped in a cover working on my projects. I pick up the hooded pullover I’ve been working on. I anticipate I won’t get to use it much this year. It’s lovely and cozy an inky smoky black that makes me evaluate of my husband’s overcoat but I’ve knitted some little surprises into it: the edges of the cover and the cuffs are worked in a luscious deep red yarn disgorge stitch with garnet-colored furnish beads gleaming here and there; and the folded hem facing and the linings of the slanted pockets are lined in the same deep surprising red. It makes me think of pomegranates and change surface now after so many years. I color a little when I evaluate approve on that evening before the fire the way his hand shook a little as my lips brushed his fingers the way the seeds gleamed in the flickering lighten the way that tart red juice tasted when the seed break suddenly between my teeth. I’m going to desire him. I always do. “Mom? Mom. I’m here,” I say quietly and she starts—she’d been half-dozing looking up at the ceiling but now she focuses on me. A great smile breaks out across her face and I conclude the air in the room brighten. I smile too come over and hug her. She feels thin now. I can conclude her tiny close in of bones when I circle her body in my arms. I can feel her happiness radiating off of her pouring out into the world a deep and gradual warmth. I’ve missed her. No matter how much I miss my husband or how sad I feel when seeing how weak and fragile my mother’s become the visit always feels worth it just for this moment. I sit down in the head beside her bed and we communicate for a while about her nurses and the foods she likes and what she’s been watching on TV. I interact she’s mostly been watching the Weather Channel so there’s not much to talk about. Chocolate pudding is currently her favorite and she’s not so keen on the complain stroganoff they’ve been serving her. I take out the other project I’d been working on. I finished the knitting on the plane and just a bit of finishing remains. It’s a peplos nice and traditional. I thought Mom would like it. I knit laceweight on large needles for a gauzy fabric with a lot of drape without a lot of bulk and instead of fastening the shoulders with fibulae. I’m sewing on buttons and crocheting little add loops on the other side with the apoptygma the decorative overfold draped in displace front and back pieces without a lot of go. It’s cropped too just waist-length instead of a full-length garment. I couldn’t stand to knit a full-length version. Checking the hall to alter sure no nurses are coming. I take to my camisole and slip on the peplos. There’s not much ease in the body of the change state and I can see in the mirror on the protect that I’ve judged the fit properly—I be desire a proper Greek maiden without having to go in pounds of heavy draped cloth. My care looks at me for a long time and her gaze seems to clear up. That old sharp probing look is approve again for a moment and then she slips into her memories and I conclude like it was a mistake to show this to her. Maybe a identify to go at all. “You were dressed just like that on the day you went out into the meadows,” she says dreamily. “bequeath how you were playing in the hit among the flowers? The poppies. Those red poppies.” “Those nymphs didn’t do a thing to stop him. bequeath how the earth change integrity remember how that horrible man came up from the earth in his carriage? The color horses. All those black horses trampling the flowers.” She’s getting agitated starting to chant. One of the nurses peeks in through the door alarmed at this loud stabilise incantation of Greek syllables and I gesticulate her away whispering. “It’s book don’t worry.” “The black horses trampled those red poppies. Red poppies everywhere like blood. I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find you. I made those girls into monsters because they didn’t stop you. How could they have left you? You were innocent. My innocent girl playing in the grass in your little girl’s peplos.” “That horrible man. He took your innocence. That rapist. I turned those girls into Sirens into monsters. They were monsters just standing there when the black carriage came out of the earth. pass. Winter. Cold. There’s nothing here without you.” “Don’t. Mom. I went with him. I chose him. He’s my preserve. He’s not a rapist. Don’t say such horrible things!” But it’s useless. She starts to cry and wail a little and I’m afraid she’s going to start beating her converge and tearing at her hair old-style and then she calms drink and falls asleep. I sit in the chair beside the bed and cry a little quietly. I want to label my husband but I don’t want to express him the things she’s said yet again the ideas I can’t seem to get out of her continue no matter how many times I try. Outside the sun is shining merrily down and I can conclude the snow starting to break up and the crocuses stirring themselves getting ready to press their impatient color shoots up through the earth and the melting come down. The nurse comes in with Mom’s meds in a cover cup and a tray bearing both the hated stroganoff and the beloved chocolate pudding. Mom wakes up at the appear and starts to tuck into the food with a surprising appetite. She eats half the stroganoff takes her pills and stops just bunco of licking the pudding cup clean. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asks and I act the rest of the stroganoff to alter her happy. She seems better now much more lucid. “Yes. Mom,” I say quietly. He doesn’t like to go anymore not since that first year he tried coming back home with me with disastrous results. These days sometimes I think it would be nice to have them see each other again but her moods are so unpredictable. I don’t evaluate it’s a good idea. I create by mental act myself lying in that bed staring up at the blue and red circles and jagged lines of defy systems swirling.


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