applauded.
“But seriously,” he continued. “Let me ask you—does my daughter need to know about birth control? Perhaps. But not in our schools. Does my son need to know about homosexuals and single-sex parenting? Perhaps. But not in our schools. Do my children need to come in contact with music that teaches pornography and hate? I would say never. But certainly not in our schools.” Tieg took a sip from the glass. “That’s why, by petitioning your school boards, we’re asking to distance our children and ourselves from a system that, in the name of some constitutional freedom, claims the right to impose those standards—and I use the term very loosely—upon all of us. These aren’t standards. They’re an excuse. An excuse to give up responsibility for what goes on inside these walls.” Another burst of applause.
“When I ask government officials—and I have—why my child needs to be indoctrinated by a bunch of liberal policy makers, they have no answer. At least none that makes any sense to me. It’s become painfully apparent that they realize that schools are nothing more than holding pens, part-time jails for children who have no desire to learn about themselves, let alone anything else. They aren’t children . They aren’t allowed to be children, with all the mumbo jumbo that’s thrown at them. Does a fourteen-year-old understand the questions abortion raises? Does a fifteen-year-old recognize the implications of a single-sex home? Can a sixteen-year-old distinguish between music and political brainwashing? I don’t think so.” The room erupted in applause.
“Standards.” Again Tieg laughed in disbelief as he turned to camera one. “Standards imply caring—caring for those young minds, their spirits, their senses of themselves. And that’s been lost.” Again he paused. “Now, suppose I told you that the system, the chain that we’re forced to wear around our necks, can’t survive? And that when the time comes, we have to be ready with schools where children actually graduate with a sense of purpose, a mission. A new type of student, a new approach to learning and activism. How would you respond? How do you respond?” Waves of applause. “But the only way for that to happen, for those schools to pave the way and set those standards, is if we set ourselves apart now .
“Folks, that’s what we’re working toward. We have to be prepared to assert ourselves when the moment comes. We’re on the brink of a powerful period of turbulence; too much is happening for us not to see it. I’m truly afraid that Washington yesterday was only the beginning. That’s why this school, these schools, must be ready to take the reins, to stand as the very rocks on which our future is built. To pave the way to that future.” He shifted his gaze to camera two.
“What does that future bring? And how do we prepare for it? That’s what we’ll be talking about tonight.” He picked up the papers in front of him and placed them to the side. “You’ve been nice to let me have my say, but now it’s your turn. When we get back, we’ll see how far we can take this tonight. So start thinking, folks, and we’ll be right back.”
The bright light on his face dimmed and Tieg sat back. He pulled the earphone from his ear in anticipation of the makeup man, who approached from the wings for a few touch-ups. Amy was right behind him.
“Keeping them awake?” Tieg asked.
“Just keep it within reasonable limits,” she answered, placing another stack of papers on the desk. “You were pretty close to the edge there at the end—‘the brink of turbulence.’ Let’s stay this side of the apocalypse.”
“Trust me, Amy. They were eating it up.”
“They always do, Jonas. That’s what’s a little frightening.”
“Are you complaining about the ratings?”
She smiled and picked up the earphone. “Stick it in your ear. We’re back in thirty.”
Tieg smiled. Close to the edge, he thought. Far closer
“But seriously,” he continued. “Let me ask you—does my daughter need to know about birth control? Perhaps. But not in our schools. Does my son need to know about homosexuals and single-sex parenting? Perhaps. But not in our schools. Do my children need to come in contact with music that teaches pornography and hate? I would say never. But certainly not in our schools.” Tieg took a sip from the glass. “That’s why, by petitioning your school boards, we’re asking to distance our children and ourselves from a system that, in the name of some constitutional freedom, claims the right to impose those standards—and I use the term very loosely—upon all of us. These aren’t standards. They’re an excuse. An excuse to give up responsibility for what goes on inside these walls.” Another burst of applause.
“When I ask government officials—and I have—why my child needs to be indoctrinated by a bunch of liberal policy makers, they have no answer. At least none that makes any sense to me. It’s become painfully apparent that they realize that schools are nothing more than holding pens, part-time jails for children who have no desire to learn about themselves, let alone anything else. They aren’t children . They aren’t allowed to be children, with all the mumbo jumbo that’s thrown at them. Does a fourteen-year-old understand the questions abortion raises? Does a fifteen-year-old recognize the implications of a single-sex home? Can a sixteen-year-old distinguish between music and political brainwashing? I don’t think so.” The room erupted in applause.
“Standards.” Again Tieg laughed in disbelief as he turned to camera one. “Standards imply caring—caring for those young minds, their spirits, their senses of themselves. And that’s been lost.” Again he paused. “Now, suppose I told you that the system, the chain that we’re forced to wear around our necks, can’t survive? And that when the time comes, we have to be ready with schools where children actually graduate with a sense of purpose, a mission. A new type of student, a new approach to learning and activism. How would you respond? How do you respond?” Waves of applause. “But the only way for that to happen, for those schools to pave the way and set those standards, is if we set ourselves apart now .
“Folks, that’s what we’re working toward. We have to be prepared to assert ourselves when the moment comes. We’re on the brink of a powerful period of turbulence; too much is happening for us not to see it. I’m truly afraid that Washington yesterday was only the beginning. That’s why this school, these schools, must be ready to take the reins, to stand as the very rocks on which our future is built. To pave the way to that future.” He shifted his gaze to camera two.
“What does that future bring? And how do we prepare for it? That’s what we’ll be talking about tonight.” He picked up the papers in front of him and placed them to the side. “You’ve been nice to let me have my say, but now it’s your turn. When we get back, we’ll see how far we can take this tonight. So start thinking, folks, and we’ll be right back.”
The bright light on his face dimmed and Tieg sat back. He pulled the earphone from his ear in anticipation of the makeup man, who approached from the wings for a few touch-ups. Amy was right behind him.
“Keeping them awake?” Tieg asked.
“Just keep it within reasonable limits,” she answered, placing another stack of papers on the desk. “You were pretty close to the edge there at the end—‘the brink of turbulence.’ Let’s stay this side of the apocalypse.”
“Trust me, Amy. They were eating it up.”
“They always do, Jonas. That’s what’s a little frightening.”
“Are you complaining about the ratings?”
She smiled and picked up the earphone. “Stick it in your ear. We’re back in thirty.”
Tieg smiled. Close to the edge, he thought. Far closer
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