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Teaching Kindness: On becoming animal rights activists.
-Escort little visitors outside.- That had always been the rule in Mr. Bogle's classroom. But when the 1996 school year got underway, a parent called and demanded that their daughter-and all the rest of the students-be allowed to kill any bugs that came into the room. That complaint kicked off a controversy that ended up changing the course of two teachers' lives forever.
- GenresNonfiction
122 pages, Paperback
Published March 13, 2017
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February 18, 2022
Rick Bogle was a well-liked middle school math teacher in the mid-1990s in a small town in Oregon, where logging, ranching, rodeo, and hunting were the predominant forms of income and recreation. His interests and values differed from those of his neighbors—he had been a vegetarian for humane reasons for many years, but he wasn’t an activist. Those who knew him either ignored or were unaware of his beliefs and he got along with just about everyone. And then everything changed.
For nearly his entire teaching career, Bogle had a “no squishing” rule for bugs and spiders that made their way into his classroom. Reprimands were rare and minimal. No one took issue with this, until one year, a parent who was a member of a ranching family that was rather infamous for their troublemaking had something to say. Kids should have the right to stomp bugs anywhere they wish, the dad argued in a meeting with Bogle and the school principal, and the math teacher was imposing his personal opinions on the students. This went round and round until the principal floated an idea: What if the entire class worked on a unit that explored both sides of the animal rights debate in an equal and balanced way, and then students would be encouraged to ask questions and write their own position paper at the end of the unit? Shockingly, the angry dad agreed, and the principal gave his okay to begin the program.
Bogle went to pains to ensure there was no appearance of bias. He purchased “Point/Counterpoint” essay collections written especially for students. Of the speakers invited to the classroom, those who supported the consumptive use of animals actually outnumbered those supporting animal protection. The latter were drawn from moderate animal welfare groups and animal shelters—hardly extremist sources. The unit was described in detail to parents in a letter sent home from school, and they had the discretion to disallow their child to participate in any or all of the sessions if they wished.
What happened was a tornado of outrage. Bogle became the target of death threats, letters to the school board, constant calls for his firing, and more. Coworkers he once considered friends gave him the cold shoulder. Students began disobeying and openly mocking him, no doubt egged on by their parents. The father whose complaint started the whole mess, of course, conveniently forgot that he had given the unit his approval when it was just an idea from the principal.
Bogle was at first taken aback. He knew animal treatment was a controversial topic, but, not being involved in activism, he did not realize that it had become the rage-inducing culture war issue it had become by the 1990s.
There was deep fear at play in even allowing students to be exposed to the humane viewpoint, even if they ultimately rejected it. The people Bogle encountered in his small Oregon town—like those in communities throughout the country-- had been primed by their news sources, employers, and special interest organizations to see animal advocates as a threatening enemy to be vanquished. It didn’t matter if the “enemy” was just a middle school math teacher who asked students not to stomp spiders in his classroom.
Or an introverted, bookish teenage girl.
This book was distressing to me, and I related to it deeply, as I thought I would. My situation was different in that I was a student, not a teacher, during the same era Bogle writes about. So much nastiness was directed toward me by some students as well as teachers when they found out I was a vegetarian who supported animal causes. Unless you’ve been there, it’s honestly hard to describe.
I can still picture my 7th grade teacher’s sarcastic, sneering reaction when I made the outrageously radical suggestion that one of our classroom projects for that year could be collecting supplies for the local animal shelter.
To this day, I still inwardly cringe and expect hostility whenever I mention any animal welfare issue—even if directly asked. I probably always will. But I never did give up caring about animals. No doubt, there have been many, many young people over the years whose compassion was crushed by the people around them.
But back to the book.
The ending was very abrupt and left the book feeling unfinished; after the great detail from the alternating voices of Bogle and his wife I wish we would have had a better ending chapter.
Anyway, TEACHING COMPASSION was overall, an engaging and sobering look at what happens when we allow bullies to take over teaching policy. We’re seeing it right now with a new rash of book banning. Even if animal protection isn’t “your” issue, Bogle’s story and others like it should rightly concern you.
For nearly his entire teaching career, Bogle had a “no squishing” rule for bugs and spiders that made their way into his classroom. Reprimands were rare and minimal. No one took issue with this, until one year, a parent who was a member of a ranching family that was rather infamous for their troublemaking had something to say. Kids should have the right to stomp bugs anywhere they wish, the dad argued in a meeting with Bogle and the school principal, and the math teacher was imposing his personal opinions on the students. This went round and round until the principal floated an idea: What if the entire class worked on a unit that explored both sides of the animal rights debate in an equal and balanced way, and then students would be encouraged to ask questions and write their own position paper at the end of the unit? Shockingly, the angry dad agreed, and the principal gave his okay to begin the program.
Bogle went to pains to ensure there was no appearance of bias. He purchased “Point/Counterpoint” essay collections written especially for students. Of the speakers invited to the classroom, those who supported the consumptive use of animals actually outnumbered those supporting animal protection. The latter were drawn from moderate animal welfare groups and animal shelters—hardly extremist sources. The unit was described in detail to parents in a letter sent home from school, and they had the discretion to disallow their child to participate in any or all of the sessions if they wished.
What happened was a tornado of outrage. Bogle became the target of death threats, letters to the school board, constant calls for his firing, and more. Coworkers he once considered friends gave him the cold shoulder. Students began disobeying and openly mocking him, no doubt egged on by their parents. The father whose complaint started the whole mess, of course, conveniently forgot that he had given the unit his approval when it was just an idea from the principal.
Bogle was at first taken aback. He knew animal treatment was a controversial topic, but, not being involved in activism, he did not realize that it had become the rage-inducing culture war issue it had become by the 1990s.
There was deep fear at play in even allowing students to be exposed to the humane viewpoint, even if they ultimately rejected it. The people Bogle encountered in his small Oregon town—like those in communities throughout the country-- had been primed by their news sources, employers, and special interest organizations to see animal advocates as a threatening enemy to be vanquished. It didn’t matter if the “enemy” was just a middle school math teacher who asked students not to stomp spiders in his classroom.
Or an introverted, bookish teenage girl.
This book was distressing to me, and I related to it deeply, as I thought I would. My situation was different in that I was a student, not a teacher, during the same era Bogle writes about. So much nastiness was directed toward me by some students as well as teachers when they found out I was a vegetarian who supported animal causes. Unless you’ve been there, it’s honestly hard to describe.
I can still picture my 7th grade teacher’s sarcastic, sneering reaction when I made the outrageously radical suggestion that one of our classroom projects for that year could be collecting supplies for the local animal shelter.
To this day, I still inwardly cringe and expect hostility whenever I mention any animal welfare issue—even if directly asked. I probably always will. But I never did give up caring about animals. No doubt, there have been many, many young people over the years whose compassion was crushed by the people around them.
But back to the book.
The ending was very abrupt and left the book feeling unfinished; after the great detail from the alternating voices of Bogle and his wife I wish we would have had a better ending chapter.
Anyway, TEACHING COMPASSION was overall, an engaging and sobering look at what happens when we allow bullies to take over teaching policy. We’re seeing it right now with a new rash of book banning. Even if animal protection isn’t “your” issue, Bogle’s story and others like it should rightly concern you.
Displaying 1 of 1 review