Sunday, August 21, 2005
PAYING FOR TRANSPORTATION
Good news about high gas prices
Steve Chapman
August 21, 2005
Last weekend, I saw the trailer for "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo" and immediately concluded there was nothing in the world I would less rather see. Since then, though, I have found something even more painful to my eyes: gasoline selling for $3 a gallon. I immediately concluded I would watch Rob Schneider on the big screen every day if it would bring back $2-a-gallon gas.
Of course, if you're older than kindergarten age, you may be able to remember even better days. If you go back in history to March 2004, you can find charmingly antique news stories like the one that began, in a tone of grave alarm, "The average price of gasoline has hit a record high of $1.738 a regular self-serve gallon."
And you think things are bad now? One expert, Craig Smith, co-author of "Black Gold Stranglehold," predicts pump prices will reach $5 a gallon next year--and could go as high as $10.
That prospect may have some Americans pondering which children they will have to sell into bondage to pay for transportation. It also has some politicians demanding that the federal government reduce prices by releasing oil from the government's Strategic Petroleum Reserve.
But neither of these drastic steps is necessary or wise. It turns out there is plenty of good news in the oil market, and it requires only a little patience.
Gas prices are high because crude oil has been selling for upward of $60 a barrel. That price, fortunately, looks as transient as a summer romance.
The going rate has been pushed up in the last couple of years by rising fuel consumption. But Michael Lynch, president of Strategic Energy and Economic Research Inc., says global demand has fallen short of predictions this year. Not only that, but crude oil inventories have been expanding in the U.S., which should help push prices down.
It turns out the law of supply and demand has not been repealed: When the price of oil rises, people consume less than they would otherwise. The longer oil remains expensive, the more people will look for ways to conserve it. Already, car buyers are flocking to gas-stingy hybrids, which were once regarded as the equivalent of living in a yurt.
Lynch expects prices to drop to $40 a barrel by the end of the year, if not sooner. He's not alone: The Russian government has drafted its 2006 budget assuming that's all it will get for its oil. That would bring gas prices down in the range of $2 a gallon.
Some alarmists, known as "peak oil" theorists, predict world output will hit its absolute limit soon--in November, to be exact--and then begin a steady, unstoppable decline. But pessimists have always been wrong before, and I'd bet a barrel of oil they'll be wrong again.
Why? Because aside from dampening demand, high prices have served the other useful function assigned to them by economics textbooks: boosting supply. Oil producers, spurred by the lure of big profits, have been investing like mad in new sources.
"Significant new capacity will be coming onstream--much of it launched a few years ago on price assumptions much lower than today's market prices," according to Daniel Yergin, chairman of Cambridge Energy Research Associates. A recent study by his firm says that, based on investments already made, worldwide output could rise by as much as 20 percent in the next five years. CERA thinks the peak of global production is indeed on the horizon--but not till after 2020.
Maybe the best news about the oil crisis is what the government is doing to solve it: very little. True, President Bush recently signed a major energy bill that may waste taxpayer funds on assorted subsidies, but it generally refrains from mucking around with the operations of the market. Unlike the 1970s, when prices last soared, no one is insisting that the federal government regulate the price of gas.
A few politicians, including Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-Calif.) and Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich, have called on President Bush to force down prices by selling oil from the Strategic Petroleum Reserve. That would be self-defeating, since it would discourage consumers and producers from doing what they need to do.
Fortunately, the president seems about as likely to heed them as he is to free Saddam Hussein.
Letting markets function naturally may have occasional regrettable results, like "Deuce Bigalow." But when it comes to energy policy, nobody has come up with anything better.
----------
E-mail: schapman@tribune.com
Copyright © 2005, Chicago Tribune
Steve Chapman
August 21, 2005
Last weekend, I saw the trailer for "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo" and immediately concluded there was nothing in the world I would less rather see. Since then, though, I have found something even more painful to my eyes: gasoline selling for $3 a gallon. I immediately concluded I would watch Rob Schneider on the big screen every day if it would bring back $2-a-gallon gas.
Of course, if you're older than kindergarten age, you may be able to remember even better days. If you go back in history to March 2004, you can find charmingly antique news stories like the one that began, in a tone of grave alarm, "The average price of gasoline has hit a record high of $1.738 a regular self-serve gallon."
And you think things are bad now? One expert, Craig Smith, co-author of "Black Gold Stranglehold," predicts pump prices will reach $5 a gallon next year--and could go as high as $10.
That prospect may have some Americans pondering which children they will have to sell into bondage to pay for transportation. It also has some politicians demanding that the federal government reduce prices by releasing oil from the government's Strategic Petroleum Reserve.
But neither of these drastic steps is necessary or wise. It turns out there is plenty of good news in the oil market, and it requires only a little patience.
Gas prices are high because crude oil has been selling for upward of $60 a barrel. That price, fortunately, looks as transient as a summer romance.
The going rate has been pushed up in the last couple of years by rising fuel consumption. But Michael Lynch, president of Strategic Energy and Economic Research Inc., says global demand has fallen short of predictions this year. Not only that, but crude oil inventories have been expanding in the U.S., which should help push prices down.
It turns out the law of supply and demand has not been repealed: When the price of oil rises, people consume less than they would otherwise. The longer oil remains expensive, the more people will look for ways to conserve it. Already, car buyers are flocking to gas-stingy hybrids, which were once regarded as the equivalent of living in a yurt.
Lynch expects prices to drop to $40 a barrel by the end of the year, if not sooner. He's not alone: The Russian government has drafted its 2006 budget assuming that's all it will get for its oil. That would bring gas prices down in the range of $2 a gallon.
Some alarmists, known as "peak oil" theorists, predict world output will hit its absolute limit soon--in November, to be exact--and then begin a steady, unstoppable decline. But pessimists have always been wrong before, and I'd bet a barrel of oil they'll be wrong again.
Why? Because aside from dampening demand, high prices have served the other useful function assigned to them by economics textbooks: boosting supply. Oil producers, spurred by the lure of big profits, have been investing like mad in new sources.
"Significant new capacity will be coming onstream--much of it launched a few years ago on price assumptions much lower than today's market prices," according to Daniel Yergin, chairman of Cambridge Energy Research Associates. A recent study by his firm says that, based on investments already made, worldwide output could rise by as much as 20 percent in the next five years. CERA thinks the peak of global production is indeed on the horizon--but not till after 2020.
Maybe the best news about the oil crisis is what the government is doing to solve it: very little. True, President Bush recently signed a major energy bill that may waste taxpayer funds on assorted subsidies, but it generally refrains from mucking around with the operations of the market. Unlike the 1970s, when prices last soared, no one is insisting that the federal government regulate the price of gas.
A few politicians, including Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-Calif.) and Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich, have called on President Bush to force down prices by selling oil from the Strategic Petroleum Reserve. That would be self-defeating, since it would discourage consumers and producers from doing what they need to do.
Fortunately, the president seems about as likely to heed them as he is to free Saddam Hussein.
Letting markets function naturally may have occasional regrettable results, like "Deuce Bigalow." But when it comes to energy policy, nobody has come up with anything better.
----------
E-mail: schapman@tribune.com
Copyright © 2005, Chicago Tribune
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Fall planning: Now is the time to prepare for upcoming hunting trip
Special to The Forum - 08/14/2005
I hate to bear bad news, but summer is fading faster than the Minnesota Twins. While there is still some time to soak in the last remaining days of August, it’s also a good time to start preparations for autumn and all its splendor.
It’s never too soon to begin planning for fall hunting excursions. While the tally on waterfowl and upland game mid-summer data gathering is not yet known, odds are you’ve a pretty good idea of the areas you’ll likely target for deer, ducks, pheasants or grouse.
Now is the perfect time for an evening or weekend scouting excursion. You might find out that land you previously hunted changed ownership, or the land use practice has. Or maybe everything will look the same as it always has. Whatever the case may be, now is a good time to find out, instead of the day before a season opener.
In addition, late summer is a great time to just enjoy a trip along the dusty trail. And if you happen across an area that looks like a promising spot for a fall hunt, make a conscious effort to be polite and considerate when contacting the landowner.
While some landowners don’t mind a short visit, keep in mind they’re busy in late summer. Don’t be like the office co-worker who won’t leave you alone while you’re trying to meet a deadline. First, ask the landowner if he or she is busy, or better yet, lend a hand and extend your visit while fixing fence, throwing square bales –whatever it may be.
If the landowner wants to visit, fine, but if the rains are coming and windrows are waiting for the combine, an unwanted work stoppage will decrease your odds of forging a positive relationship. The key is to recognize subtle hints and sincere gestures that indicate it’s time to move on.
If a landowner is busy and doesn’t offer to accept a phone call or a visit at a later time, consider that a polite decline and move along. No still means no, and pushing the subject will do more damage than good. Accept their rationale and continue on your trip.
Case in point: A few years back I asked a landowner for permission and he related that if he allowed me to hunt he’d have to allow access to any hunter who inquired. While that’s not a standard rule, the landowner saw it that way, and I thanked him for his time and departed, rather than beg, or worse yet, argue my point.
One phenomenon currently evolving is a generation of hunters who are choosing to hunt public access areas almost exclusively to avoid the work required to obtain permission from private landowners.
The bottom line is, only a small portion of North Dakota rests in public ownership. There will never be sufficient public opportunities to satisfy all hunters, and working with landowners is a must if we’re to sustain hunting in North Dakota. The responsibility rests with hunters to respect the wishes of the landowner.
As the day’s become shorter and you’re out and about late this summer, it’s a good time to connect with a landowner acquaintance if you want to ensure a variety of places to hunt this fall.
Leier, a biologist for the North Dakota Game and Fish Department in West Fargo, can be reached at(701) 281-1220 or at dleier@state.nd.us
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Abandoned by my church
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Abandoned by my church
August 7, 2005
BY JOHN W. FOUNTAIN
Sunday morning arrived, like so many before, with a mix of sunlight and chirping birds outside my bedroom window and a warm greeting from my tiny son, lying beside my wife and me. My wife rose quickly, announcing her plan to jump in the shower and get ready for Sunday school at the Baptist church, not far from our house in suburban Chicago, that she and our two children attend.
As for me, in what has become my ritual nowadays, I turned over and pulled the covers up around my head. Soon I overheard my 9-year-old daughter's familiar question: "Mommy, is Daddy going to church with us?"
"No-o-o-o," my wife replied. After months of my failure to accompany them, she has abandoned the excuse that "Daddy has a lot of work to do."
Sunday mornings used to mean something special to me. But now I face them with dread, with a bittersweet sorrow that tugs at my heart and a headache-inducing tension that makes me reach for the Advil. I am torn between my desire to play hooky from church and my Pentecostal indoctrination that Sunday is the Lord's day, a day of worship when real men are supposed to lead their families into the house of God.
Once, that's what I did. I am the grandson of a pastor and am a licensed minister. I love God, and I love the church. I know church-speak and feel as comfortable shouting hallelujahs and amens and lifting my hands in the sanctuary as I do putting on my socks. I have danced in the spirit, spoken in tongues and proclaimed Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. I once arrived faithfully at the door of every prayer meeting and went to nearly every Bible study and monthlong revival. I attended umpteen services, even the midnight musicals and my church's annual national meetings, like the one held two weeks ago in Kansas City.
Yet I now feel disconnected. I am disconnected. Not necessarily from God, but from the church.
What happened? Probably the same thing that has happened to thousands, if not tens of thousands, of African-American men who now file into coffee shops or bowling alleys or baseball stadiums on Sundays instead of heading to church, or who lose themselves in the haze of mowing the lawn or waxing their cars. Somewhere along the way, for us, for me, the church -- the collective of black churches of the Christian faith, regardless of denomination -- lost its meaning, its relevance. It seems to have no discernible message for what ails the 21st-century black male soul.
While there are still many black men who do go to church, any pastor will admit that there are far more who don't. Jawanza Kunjufu, a Chicago educator and author of Adam! Where are You?: Why Most Black Men Don't Go to Church, contends that 75 percent of the black church is female. The church's finger seems farthest from the pulse of those black men who seem to be most lost and drifting in a destructive sea of fatalism and pathology, with no immediate sign of the shore or of search and rescue crews. Without the church, most of those men are doomed. But it seems clear to me that the church does not -- will not -- seek out black men, or perhaps even mourn our disappearance from the pews.
Instead, it seems to have turned inward. It seems to exist for the perpetuation of itself -- for the erecting of grandiose temples of brick and mortar and for the care of pastors and the salaried administrative staff. Not long ago, a preacher friend confided: "The black church is in a struggle for its collective soul -- to find itself in an age when it is consumed by the God of materialism."
This preoccupation with the material world is pervasive, and has bred a culture that has left a trail of blood and tears in black neighborhoods across the country with little collective outcry from the church. Still, it's one thing for the world to be ensnared by the trappings of materialism -- but the church?
I am incensed by Mercedes-buying preachers who live in suburban meadows far from the inner-city ghettos they pastor, where they bid parishioners to sacrifice in the name of God. I am angered by the preacher I know, and his wife and co-pastor, who exacted a per diem and drove luxury vehicles, their modest salaries boosted by tithes and offerings from poor folks in a struggling congregation of families, a number of them headed by single women. This at a time when the church didn't own a single chair and was renting a building to hold worship services.
I wonder why, despite billions of dollars taken from collection plates -- much of it from the poor -- in my own denomination, I see few homes for the elderly, few recreation centers, little to no church-financed housing development and few viable church-operated businesses that might employ members or generate some tangible measure of return on years of investment. I scratch my head at the multimillion-dollar edifice a local church recently erected and wonder if that is the most responsible stewardship for a church in a community filled with poor families.
I have come to see the countless annual meetings and church assemblies, camouflaged as worship services, as little more than fund-raisers and quasi-fashion shows with a dose of spirituality. I am disheartened by the territorialism of churches, vying for control and membership, as a deacon at a Baptist church said to me recently, in much the same way as gangs, rather than seeing themselves as communal partners in a vineyard with one Lord and a single purpose.
But even in an age of preacher as celebrity, it is not the evolution of a bling- bling Gospel that most disheartens me. It is the loss of the church's heart and soul: the mission to seek and to save lost souls through the power of the Gospel and a risen savior. As the homicide toll in black neighborhoods has swelled, I've wondered why churches or pastors have seldom taken a stand or ventured beyond the doors of their sanctuaries to bring healing and hope to the community -- whether to stem the tide of violence and drugs, or to help cure poverty and homelessness or any number of issues that envelop ailing black communities.
Once, after a service at my grandfather's church in a small western suburb of Chicago, I mentioned to a visiting pastor that there was a drug and gang war going on in his community. "I don't know nothing 'bout that," he responded. I wondered why not. How could he not know about something that affected a community in which he was a "shepherd"?
When I returned to Chicago nearly five years ago, after living in Northern Virginia, where I worked as a reporter at the Post, I was eager to assist in the ministry at my grandfather's church. Within a few months, however, it became apparent to me that there was little serious interest among the leadership in connecting to the local community -- aside from the idea that they might potentially fill the empty pews. And I decided to leave, though not without first having many conversations with my grandfather about the implosion of church ministry.
And further contributing to my disappearing act is that, after being put down and put upon in a society that relegates black men largely to second-class status, the last place I want to feel that way is at church. And yet, in the church, where I have at times in my life felt the most uplifted, I have at other times felt greatly diminished, most often by insecure leaders. If such leaders feel threatened by your ability to speak or preach or teach better than they, or by the fact that you think differently from them, or by the fact that you possess some other social badge they do not -- like a college education -- then they perceive you as stealing a little of their sheen in the public's eyes. And you become subject to the same kind of shunning and subtle disconnection that I have seen and known in the professional world.
By the summer of 2002, there had been myriad hurts and disappointments to accompany my disillusionment. When the then-pastor of my Chicago area mega-church responded to my inquiry about not being able to reach him for weeks, I was already bending in the wind.
"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked during a follow-up telephone conversation to a letter I had sent to him.
"Yes," I answered.
"Then let me ask you something, John," he continued. "If you had a problem with your cell phone and you called SBC, would you expect to reach the CEO?"
His words blew me away.
Given the state of black men in America, given the number in prison or jail or headed that way; given the thousands of us who find our way to early graves and the black men on the other side of the guns who send us there; given the number of us who seek solace in a bottle of liquor or in illegal drugs; given the number who silently cry ourselves to sleep at night, it seems that we would make for a plentiful harvest for a church really seeking souls.
I suspect, however, that as long as our wives, our children and our money flow through the church's doors; as long as there are still a few bodies to fill the seats; as long as the church can claim a semblance of relevance to the community; as long as some of us on the outside loom as potential critics of the direction, heart and stewardship of those black men charged with leading the church, very few are likely to ever come looking for us.
I could be wrong. My criticism might be too harsh. But it is no harsher than my pain.
And so I have taken some solace in the words of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., who, more than 40 years ago in his "Letter From a Birmingham Jail," wrote that the church was in danger of being "dismissed as an irrelevant social club." "In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church," he lamented. "But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church."
So do I.
And come Sunday mornings, especially on Sunday mornings, I miss the rev of the organ. I miss the spiritual song drifting through the sanctuary. I miss the sight of the gray-haired church mothers in their Sunday regalia and their warm embrace after service. I miss the sound of a spirit-filled choir whose song can be a salve to a hurting soul. I miss the beauty of worship, of lifting my hands in the awesome wonder of fellowship with my sisters and brothers in Christ gathered in the house of God with my family.
"Imani, have you said bye to Daddy?" my wife called to our daughter.
"I already did," she answered.
Actually, we hadn't said goodbye. A few minutes earlier, I had called her upstairs and given her a dollar for Sunday offering and hugged her tight, unable to address her question about why Daddy doesn't go to church anymore.
Perhaps I will explain one day. Or perhaps I won't have to.
John Fountain, a journalism professor at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, was a reporter at the Washington Post from 1995 to 2000. He is the author of True Vine: A Young Black Man's Journey of Faith, Hope and Clarity (Public Affairs). E-mail: author@Johnwfountain.com
Copyright © The Sun-Times Company
All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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Abandoned by my church
August 7, 2005
BY JOHN W. FOUNTAIN
Sunday morning arrived, like so many before, with a mix of sunlight and chirping birds outside my bedroom window and a warm greeting from my tiny son, lying beside my wife and me. My wife rose quickly, announcing her plan to jump in the shower and get ready for Sunday school at the Baptist church, not far from our house in suburban Chicago, that she and our two children attend.
As for me, in what has become my ritual nowadays, I turned over and pulled the covers up around my head. Soon I overheard my 9-year-old daughter's familiar question: "Mommy, is Daddy going to church with us?"
"No-o-o-o," my wife replied. After months of my failure to accompany them, she has abandoned the excuse that "Daddy has a lot of work to do."
Sunday mornings used to mean something special to me. But now I face them with dread, with a bittersweet sorrow that tugs at my heart and a headache-inducing tension that makes me reach for the Advil. I am torn between my desire to play hooky from church and my Pentecostal indoctrination that Sunday is the Lord's day, a day of worship when real men are supposed to lead their families into the house of God.
Once, that's what I did. I am the grandson of a pastor and am a licensed minister. I love God, and I love the church. I know church-speak and feel as comfortable shouting hallelujahs and amens and lifting my hands in the sanctuary as I do putting on my socks. I have danced in the spirit, spoken in tongues and proclaimed Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. I once arrived faithfully at the door of every prayer meeting and went to nearly every Bible study and monthlong revival. I attended umpteen services, even the midnight musicals and my church's annual national meetings, like the one held two weeks ago in Kansas City.
Yet I now feel disconnected. I am disconnected. Not necessarily from God, but from the church.
What happened? Probably the same thing that has happened to thousands, if not tens of thousands, of African-American men who now file into coffee shops or bowling alleys or baseball stadiums on Sundays instead of heading to church, or who lose themselves in the haze of mowing the lawn or waxing their cars. Somewhere along the way, for us, for me, the church -- the collective of black churches of the Christian faith, regardless of denomination -- lost its meaning, its relevance. It seems to have no discernible message for what ails the 21st-century black male soul.
While there are still many black men who do go to church, any pastor will admit that there are far more who don't. Jawanza Kunjufu, a Chicago educator and author of Adam! Where are You?: Why Most Black Men Don't Go to Church, contends that 75 percent of the black church is female. The church's finger seems farthest from the pulse of those black men who seem to be most lost and drifting in a destructive sea of fatalism and pathology, with no immediate sign of the shore or of search and rescue crews. Without the church, most of those men are doomed. But it seems clear to me that the church does not -- will not -- seek out black men, or perhaps even mourn our disappearance from the pews.
Instead, it seems to have turned inward. It seems to exist for the perpetuation of itself -- for the erecting of grandiose temples of brick and mortar and for the care of pastors and the salaried administrative staff. Not long ago, a preacher friend confided: "The black church is in a struggle for its collective soul -- to find itself in an age when it is consumed by the God of materialism."
This preoccupation with the material world is pervasive, and has bred a culture that has left a trail of blood and tears in black neighborhoods across the country with little collective outcry from the church. Still, it's one thing for the world to be ensnared by the trappings of materialism -- but the church?
I am incensed by Mercedes-buying preachers who live in suburban meadows far from the inner-city ghettos they pastor, where they bid parishioners to sacrifice in the name of God. I am angered by the preacher I know, and his wife and co-pastor, who exacted a per diem and drove luxury vehicles, their modest salaries boosted by tithes and offerings from poor folks in a struggling congregation of families, a number of them headed by single women. This at a time when the church didn't own a single chair and was renting a building to hold worship services.
I wonder why, despite billions of dollars taken from collection plates -- much of it from the poor -- in my own denomination, I see few homes for the elderly, few recreation centers, little to no church-financed housing development and few viable church-operated businesses that might employ members or generate some tangible measure of return on years of investment. I scratch my head at the multimillion-dollar edifice a local church recently erected and wonder if that is the most responsible stewardship for a church in a community filled with poor families.
I have come to see the countless annual meetings and church assemblies, camouflaged as worship services, as little more than fund-raisers and quasi-fashion shows with a dose of spirituality. I am disheartened by the territorialism of churches, vying for control and membership, as a deacon at a Baptist church said to me recently, in much the same way as gangs, rather than seeing themselves as communal partners in a vineyard with one Lord and a single purpose.
But even in an age of preacher as celebrity, it is not the evolution of a bling- bling Gospel that most disheartens me. It is the loss of the church's heart and soul: the mission to seek and to save lost souls through the power of the Gospel and a risen savior. As the homicide toll in black neighborhoods has swelled, I've wondered why churches or pastors have seldom taken a stand or ventured beyond the doors of their sanctuaries to bring healing and hope to the community -- whether to stem the tide of violence and drugs, or to help cure poverty and homelessness or any number of issues that envelop ailing black communities.
Once, after a service at my grandfather's church in a small western suburb of Chicago, I mentioned to a visiting pastor that there was a drug and gang war going on in his community. "I don't know nothing 'bout that," he responded. I wondered why not. How could he not know about something that affected a community in which he was a "shepherd"?
When I returned to Chicago nearly five years ago, after living in Northern Virginia, where I worked as a reporter at the Post, I was eager to assist in the ministry at my grandfather's church. Within a few months, however, it became apparent to me that there was little serious interest among the leadership in connecting to the local community -- aside from the idea that they might potentially fill the empty pews. And I decided to leave, though not without first having many conversations with my grandfather about the implosion of church ministry.
And further contributing to my disappearing act is that, after being put down and put upon in a society that relegates black men largely to second-class status, the last place I want to feel that way is at church. And yet, in the church, where I have at times in my life felt the most uplifted, I have at other times felt greatly diminished, most often by insecure leaders. If such leaders feel threatened by your ability to speak or preach or teach better than they, or by the fact that you think differently from them, or by the fact that you possess some other social badge they do not -- like a college education -- then they perceive you as stealing a little of their sheen in the public's eyes. And you become subject to the same kind of shunning and subtle disconnection that I have seen and known in the professional world.
By the summer of 2002, there had been myriad hurts and disappointments to accompany my disillusionment. When the then-pastor of my Chicago area mega-church responded to my inquiry about not being able to reach him for weeks, I was already bending in the wind.
"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked during a follow-up telephone conversation to a letter I had sent to him.
"Yes," I answered.
"Then let me ask you something, John," he continued. "If you had a problem with your cell phone and you called SBC, would you expect to reach the CEO?"
His words blew me away.
Given the state of black men in America, given the number in prison or jail or headed that way; given the thousands of us who find our way to early graves and the black men on the other side of the guns who send us there; given the number of us who seek solace in a bottle of liquor or in illegal drugs; given the number who silently cry ourselves to sleep at night, it seems that we would make for a plentiful harvest for a church really seeking souls.
I suspect, however, that as long as our wives, our children and our money flow through the church's doors; as long as there are still a few bodies to fill the seats; as long as the church can claim a semblance of relevance to the community; as long as some of us on the outside loom as potential critics of the direction, heart and stewardship of those black men charged with leading the church, very few are likely to ever come looking for us.
I could be wrong. My criticism might be too harsh. But it is no harsher than my pain.
And so I have taken some solace in the words of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., who, more than 40 years ago in his "Letter From a Birmingham Jail," wrote that the church was in danger of being "dismissed as an irrelevant social club." "In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church," he lamented. "But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church."
So do I.
And come Sunday mornings, especially on Sunday mornings, I miss the rev of the organ. I miss the spiritual song drifting through the sanctuary. I miss the sight of the gray-haired church mothers in their Sunday regalia and their warm embrace after service. I miss the sound of a spirit-filled choir whose song can be a salve to a hurting soul. I miss the beauty of worship, of lifting my hands in the awesome wonder of fellowship with my sisters and brothers in Christ gathered in the house of God with my family.
"Imani, have you said bye to Daddy?" my wife called to our daughter.
"I already did," she answered.
Actually, we hadn't said goodbye. A few minutes earlier, I had called her upstairs and given her a dollar for Sunday offering and hugged her tight, unable to address her question about why Daddy doesn't go to church anymore.
Perhaps I will explain one day. Or perhaps I won't have to.
John Fountain, a journalism professor at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, was a reporter at the Washington Post from 1995 to 2000. He is the author of True Vine: A Young Black Man's Journey of Faith, Hope and Clarity (Public Affairs). E-mail: author@Johnwfountain.com
Copyright © The Sun-Times Company
All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Despite state effort, poor districts can't gain ground on rich
chicagotribune.com
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-0508010154aug01,1,2183094.story?coll=chi-newslocal-hed
Spending gap grows for schools
Despite state effort, poor districts can't gain ground on rich
By Diane Rado and Darnell Little
Tribune staff reporters
August 1, 2005
The gap in pupil spending between the richest and the poorest school districts in Illinois grew even wider last year, despite Gov. Rod Blagojevich's push to funnel hundreds of millions of dollars more in state aid to less-affluent schools.
The difference between the highest- and lowest-spending districts was $19,361 per pupil in 2003-04, about $4,000 higher than the year before and the biggest school-spending gap in a decade, a Tribune analysis of state financial data shows.
Local property taxes continued to make up the bulk of school resources, with richer communities pouring more money into their schools. That dwarfed an influx of state aid to poorer schools.
In a state criticized nationally for a school system of haves and have nots, the newest spending figures have given tax-reform advocates new impetus to push for wholesale change in the way Illinois pays for schools.
"The state cannot allow us to keep having wider and wider gaps between wealthy and poor districts," said Sharon Voliva, a school board member and chairman of the Better Funding for Better Schools Coalition, which supports raising statewide taxes and reducing reliance on local property taxes.
Solutions for closing the gap have remained elusive, with politicians, including Blagojevich, unwilling to raise the state income tax or consider more controversial measures, such as limiting spending by affluent districts. A bill that would have raised state income taxes and helped pay a portion of local property owners' school tax bills died in the spring legislative session.
Meanwhile, spending disparities play out in classrooms every day.
Cook County's Northbrook Grade School District 27 is so flush with cash that it spends $15,308 per pupil, pays teachers an average salary of about $64,000 and can afford school repair projects without borrowing a dime.
Twenty miles to the south, the struggling Bellwood elementary district in west Cook spends $6,828 per pupil and pays teachers about $44,000 on average. Leaky roofs and moldy carpets aren't repaired, and 20 special-education teacher jobs remain vacant, even though the new school year is fast approaching.
"Money makes a difference because then you are able to attract the better teachers," said Bellwood interim Supt. Willie Mack, whose students are mostly minority and poor.
At the two extremes, the tiny Rondout elementary district in Lake County spent $23,799 per pupil in 2003-04, compared with $4,438 spent by Central School District 51, a grade school district in Tazewell County in the middle of the state.
A broader look at school districts showed the top 10 percent of districts spent an average of $12,898 per pupil, compared with $5,862 for the bottom 10 percent--virtually unchanged from the year before.
The state's contribution to public education--about 30 percent of all school revenue--also remained unchanged, despite a $400.9 million increase in state aid in 2003-04.
About $300 million of that amount went to raising the "foundation level," the base guaranteed per-pupil aid, by $250, the largest increase since 2000. Because of the way Illinois distributes school money, less-affluent districts benefit more than wealthy districts when the foundation level increases.
Although $400 million sounds big, it got lost in the larger picture of school funding: A total of $19.3 billion went into schools from federal, state and local sources in 2003-04. Of that figure, 62 percent came from local sources, mainly property taxes.
Those local revenues rose by $842.9 million, almost 8 percent more than the year before and the highest annual increase in a decade. Education officials attributed the increase to school tax referendum items and property reassessments that brought in more taxes, among other reasons.
Elliot Regenstein, the governor's director of education reform, said local communities likely felt pressured to raise more money because state aid to education dropped in 2002-03, the budget year before Blagojevich took office. The decrease in state aid was about $106 million that year, state finance data show.
Blagojevich will continue to focus on increasing the base per-pupil state aid, Regenstein said.
"We are making a serious and sustained effort to improve the conditions of those schools most in need in state funding," he said.
But some educators, lawmakers and tax-reform advocates say Blagojevich's efforts, though well intentioned, won't solve the problem of inequitable school spending in Illinois.
"What we're seeing, really, is minor infusions [of state aid]. The only way to make up for tremendous gaps is tremendous infusions," said Ralph Martire, executive director of the Chicago-based Center for Tax and Budget Accountability, a leader in school finance reform efforts.
State Sen. Miguel del Valle (D-Chicago), co-chairman of a Senate committee that has been examining school tax reform, said total equity--equal funding among school districts--is no longer his goal, given political realities.
Politicians are loath to bring down top-spending districts or force rich districts to share their wealth.
Litigation nationwide, too, has shifted from equity to adequacy--ensuring that all children receive at least the level of education guaranteed by their state constitutions.
"I gave up speaking about equity," del Valle said. "What I talk about is adequacy instead of equity, and I think that's our goal."
Still, Illinois lags far behind a foundation level of $6,405 per student that a school spending advisory board recommended this spring. The foundation amount is $5,164 for the upcoming school year.
The situation becomes murky because research has shown that more money isn't always necessary or even strongly linked to higher scores on achievement tests.
In the lowest-spending district, Central School District 51 in Tazewell County, for example, about 80 percent of students passed state tests in reading, math and other subjects in 2004, well above the state average of 62.4 percent.
Supt. Kirk Hines acknowledged that the district has few low-income or special-education students, who usually demand more resources.
And unlike more affluent districts, Central 51 doesn't offer an art program or foreign language programs in elementary or junior high. The average teacher salary last year was about $39,000. There was no school librarian until about two years ago--the district relied on parent volunteers--and there is no school nurse.
Hines said he also serves as business manager and transportation director to save on administrative costs. This summer, he's even getting licensed to drive a school bus, so he can be a back-up driver when necessary.
In affluent Northbrook District 27, students have a full instrumental music program, and children can get small group lessons in several instruments. There are art classes twice a week and foreign language classes in middle school.
Class sizes remain small--18 to 20 students--and the district has invested in teacher training by increasing the number of professional development days and assigning staff to work full-time on teacher training. In 2004, 88 percent of the district's students passed state tests.
Supt. David Kroeze said the community has committed itself to supporting its schools and his and other affluent districts shouldn't be hurt if Illinois changes its school finance system.
"The answer is not in redistributing property tax dollars from one part of the state to another," he said.
However, "I think that we do need more money in education, and it should go to districts that do not have sufficient funds to operate," Kroeze said.
But research also has shown that disadvantaged students need and can benefit from higher spending, including extra tutoring and small class sizes.
In Bellwood District 88 in west Cook County, 54 percent of students are low-income and the vast majority of children are black or Hispanic. Only 45.5 percent of students passed state tests last year.
And although interim Supt. Mack praises his teachers and staff, he said he doesn't have money to compete for the best reading, math and special-education specialists that his students need.
The inequities in school spending have gone on for years in Illinois, Mack said, and all the discussions have yet to produce a solution.
In the meantime, he said, "we do the best we can."
- - -
Spending gap widens between school districts
Disparities in pupil spending across Illinois are getting worse, with the gap between the highest and lowest-spending districts increasing by 26 percent between 2002-03 and 2003-04, the largest increase in a decade.
ILLINOIS SCHOOL DISTRICTS' SPENDING
Spending per pupil (1994-2004)
Highest spender: $23,799
Rondout School District 72, Lake County
Lowest spender: $4,438
Central School District 51, Tazewell County
HOW ILLINOIS PAYS FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS
By percent of total
Local communities pick up most of the tab for schools through property taxes, and wealthy communities can afford to spend more than poor ones on their schoolchildren.
Local State Federal
1994 66.1% 28.1% 5.9% $11.1 billion
1996 66.7% 27.3% 6.0% $12.3 billion
1998 65.3% 28.4% 6.4% $13.9 billion
2000 62.1% 30.9% 7.1% $16.3 billion
2002 61.4% 31.2% 7.3% $17.5 billion
2004 62.0% 30.0% 8.0% $19.3 billion
Note: Go to the Illinois State Board of Education's ILEARN website to view a district's spending.
Source: Illinois State Board of Education
Chicago Tribune
- See microfilm for complete graphic.
----------
drado@tribune.com
dlittle@tribune.com
Copyright © 2005, Chicago Tribune
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-0508010154aug01,1,2183094.story?coll=chi-newslocal-hed
Spending gap grows for schools
Despite state effort, poor districts can't gain ground on rich
By Diane Rado and Darnell Little
Tribune staff reporters
August 1, 2005
The gap in pupil spending between the richest and the poorest school districts in Illinois grew even wider last year, despite Gov. Rod Blagojevich's push to funnel hundreds of millions of dollars more in state aid to less-affluent schools.
The difference between the highest- and lowest-spending districts was $19,361 per pupil in 2003-04, about $4,000 higher than the year before and the biggest school-spending gap in a decade, a Tribune analysis of state financial data shows.
Local property taxes continued to make up the bulk of school resources, with richer communities pouring more money into their schools. That dwarfed an influx of state aid to poorer schools.
In a state criticized nationally for a school system of haves and have nots, the newest spending figures have given tax-reform advocates new impetus to push for wholesale change in the way Illinois pays for schools.
"The state cannot allow us to keep having wider and wider gaps between wealthy and poor districts," said Sharon Voliva, a school board member and chairman of the Better Funding for Better Schools Coalition, which supports raising statewide taxes and reducing reliance on local property taxes.
Solutions for closing the gap have remained elusive, with politicians, including Blagojevich, unwilling to raise the state income tax or consider more controversial measures, such as limiting spending by affluent districts. A bill that would have raised state income taxes and helped pay a portion of local property owners' school tax bills died in the spring legislative session.
Meanwhile, spending disparities play out in classrooms every day.
Cook County's Northbrook Grade School District 27 is so flush with cash that it spends $15,308 per pupil, pays teachers an average salary of about $64,000 and can afford school repair projects without borrowing a dime.
Twenty miles to the south, the struggling Bellwood elementary district in west Cook spends $6,828 per pupil and pays teachers about $44,000 on average. Leaky roofs and moldy carpets aren't repaired, and 20 special-education teacher jobs remain vacant, even though the new school year is fast approaching.
"Money makes a difference because then you are able to attract the better teachers," said Bellwood interim Supt. Willie Mack, whose students are mostly minority and poor.
At the two extremes, the tiny Rondout elementary district in Lake County spent $23,799 per pupil in 2003-04, compared with $4,438 spent by Central School District 51, a grade school district in Tazewell County in the middle of the state.
A broader look at school districts showed the top 10 percent of districts spent an average of $12,898 per pupil, compared with $5,862 for the bottom 10 percent--virtually unchanged from the year before.
The state's contribution to public education--about 30 percent of all school revenue--also remained unchanged, despite a $400.9 million increase in state aid in 2003-04.
About $300 million of that amount went to raising the "foundation level," the base guaranteed per-pupil aid, by $250, the largest increase since 2000. Because of the way Illinois distributes school money, less-affluent districts benefit more than wealthy districts when the foundation level increases.
Although $400 million sounds big, it got lost in the larger picture of school funding: A total of $19.3 billion went into schools from federal, state and local sources in 2003-04. Of that figure, 62 percent came from local sources, mainly property taxes.
Those local revenues rose by $842.9 million, almost 8 percent more than the year before and the highest annual increase in a decade. Education officials attributed the increase to school tax referendum items and property reassessments that brought in more taxes, among other reasons.
Elliot Regenstein, the governor's director of education reform, said local communities likely felt pressured to raise more money because state aid to education dropped in 2002-03, the budget year before Blagojevich took office. The decrease in state aid was about $106 million that year, state finance data show.
Blagojevich will continue to focus on increasing the base per-pupil state aid, Regenstein said.
"We are making a serious and sustained effort to improve the conditions of those schools most in need in state funding," he said.
But some educators, lawmakers and tax-reform advocates say Blagojevich's efforts, though well intentioned, won't solve the problem of inequitable school spending in Illinois.
"What we're seeing, really, is minor infusions [of state aid]. The only way to make up for tremendous gaps is tremendous infusions," said Ralph Martire, executive director of the Chicago-based Center for Tax and Budget Accountability, a leader in school finance reform efforts.
State Sen. Miguel del Valle (D-Chicago), co-chairman of a Senate committee that has been examining school tax reform, said total equity--equal funding among school districts--is no longer his goal, given political realities.
Politicians are loath to bring down top-spending districts or force rich districts to share their wealth.
Litigation nationwide, too, has shifted from equity to adequacy--ensuring that all children receive at least the level of education guaranteed by their state constitutions.
"I gave up speaking about equity," del Valle said. "What I talk about is adequacy instead of equity, and I think that's our goal."
Still, Illinois lags far behind a foundation level of $6,405 per student that a school spending advisory board recommended this spring. The foundation amount is $5,164 for the upcoming school year.
The situation becomes murky because research has shown that more money isn't always necessary or even strongly linked to higher scores on achievement tests.
In the lowest-spending district, Central School District 51 in Tazewell County, for example, about 80 percent of students passed state tests in reading, math and other subjects in 2004, well above the state average of 62.4 percent.
Supt. Kirk Hines acknowledged that the district has few low-income or special-education students, who usually demand more resources.
And unlike more affluent districts, Central 51 doesn't offer an art program or foreign language programs in elementary or junior high. The average teacher salary last year was about $39,000. There was no school librarian until about two years ago--the district relied on parent volunteers--and there is no school nurse.
Hines said he also serves as business manager and transportation director to save on administrative costs. This summer, he's even getting licensed to drive a school bus, so he can be a back-up driver when necessary.
In affluent Northbrook District 27, students have a full instrumental music program, and children can get small group lessons in several instruments. There are art classes twice a week and foreign language classes in middle school.
Class sizes remain small--18 to 20 students--and the district has invested in teacher training by increasing the number of professional development days and assigning staff to work full-time on teacher training. In 2004, 88 percent of the district's students passed state tests.
Supt. David Kroeze said the community has committed itself to supporting its schools and his and other affluent districts shouldn't be hurt if Illinois changes its school finance system.
"The answer is not in redistributing property tax dollars from one part of the state to another," he said.
However, "I think that we do need more money in education, and it should go to districts that do not have sufficient funds to operate," Kroeze said.
But research also has shown that disadvantaged students need and can benefit from higher spending, including extra tutoring and small class sizes.
In Bellwood District 88 in west Cook County, 54 percent of students are low-income and the vast majority of children are black or Hispanic. Only 45.5 percent of students passed state tests last year.
And although interim Supt. Mack praises his teachers and staff, he said he doesn't have money to compete for the best reading, math and special-education specialists that his students need.
The inequities in school spending have gone on for years in Illinois, Mack said, and all the discussions have yet to produce a solution.
In the meantime, he said, "we do the best we can."
- - -
Spending gap widens between school districts
Disparities in pupil spending across Illinois are getting worse, with the gap between the highest and lowest-spending districts increasing by 26 percent between 2002-03 and 2003-04, the largest increase in a decade.
ILLINOIS SCHOOL DISTRICTS' SPENDING
Spending per pupil (1994-2004)
Highest spender: $23,799
Rondout School District 72, Lake County
Lowest spender: $4,438
Central School District 51, Tazewell County
HOW ILLINOIS PAYS FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS
By percent of total
Local communities pick up most of the tab for schools through property taxes, and wealthy communities can afford to spend more than poor ones on their schoolchildren.
Local State Federal
1994 66.1% 28.1% 5.9% $11.1 billion
1996 66.7% 27.3% 6.0% $12.3 billion
1998 65.3% 28.4% 6.4% $13.9 billion
2000 62.1% 30.9% 7.1% $16.3 billion
2002 61.4% 31.2% 7.3% $17.5 billion
2004 62.0% 30.0% 8.0% $19.3 billion
Note: Go to the Illinois State Board of Education's ILEARN website to view a district's spending.
Source: Illinois State Board of Education
Chicago Tribune
- See microfilm for complete graphic.
----------
drado@tribune.com
dlittle@tribune.com
Copyright © 2005, Chicago Tribune
