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Tyler Reinhard on Twitter: "how come no one is saying that school itself is a bad idea?"
"how come no one is saying that school itself is a bad idea?

learning — obviously — is something that occurs throughout life and intersects with creative and communal activity and cannot be confined.

there is no reason schools should resemble factories or prisons (as they do now) or startups. schools must instead be community centers.

most importantly, schools cannot be standardized to move with the labor markets. it’s impossible and foolish and destroys entire generations

when maria montessori drafted a model for a fusion of the scientific method and pedagogy she was optimizing for agrarian industrialism

we’ve barely improved on her ideas, and have yet to embrace her approach: build a community that extended thought beyond the industrial era.

we’ve moved beyond the industrial era, and our communities have too. we need communities that extend thought beyond the digital age

learning (like labor) will no longer be constrained by geography. accordingly, schools are a liability for both learners and teachers.

not to say we shouldn’t build social spaces for learning — we should! but those spaces need to be products of communities, not economies.

i dropped out of high school. best decision i ever made. i’ve spoken at length about how important teachers were both in and out of class.

instead of worrying about the state education leadership, we should be worried about whether our kids will even have communities to learn in

i outlined my opposition to schools over a year ago and @rogre collected my thoughts here: https://storify.com/rogre/the-lessons-between-the-lessons [Also collected here: https://pinboard.in/u:robertogreco/b:802b607fc713 ]"
tylerreinhard  education  schools  unschooling  community  communitycenters  learning  howwelearn  geography  marimontessori  montessori  pedagogy  standardization  labor  industrialism 
february 2017 by robertogreco
Meet Moxie Marlinspike, the Anarchist Bringing Encryption to All of Us | WIRED
"Marlinspike isn’t particularly interested in a debate, either; his mind was made up long ago, during years as an anarchist living on the fringes of society. “From very early in my life I’ve had this idea that the cops can do whatever they want, that they’re not on your team,” Marlinspike told me. “That they’re an armed, racist gang.”

Marlinspike views encryption as a preventative measure against a slide toward Orwellian fascism that makes protest and civil disobedience impossible, a threat he traces as far back as J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI wiretapping and blackmailing of Martin Luther King Jr. “Moxie is compelled by the troublemakers of history and their stories,” says Tyler Rein­hard, a designer who worked on Signal. “He sees encryption tools not as taking on the state directly but making sure that there’s still room for people to have those stories.”

ASK MARLINSPIKE TO tell his own story, and—no surprise for a privacy zealot—he’ll often answer with diversions, mono­syllables, and guarded smiles. But anyone who’s crossed paths with him seems to have an outsize anecdote: how he once biked across San Francisco carrying a 40-foot-tall sailboat mast. The time he decided to teach himself to pilot a hot-air balloon, bought a used one from Craigslist, and spent a month on crutches after crashing it in the desert. One friend swears he’s seen Marlinspike play high-stakes rock-paper-scissors dozens of times—with bets of hundreds of dollars or many hours of his time on the line—and has never seen him lose.

But before Marlinspike was a subcultural contender for “most interesting man in the world,” he was a kid growing up with a different and far less interesting name on his birth certificate, somewhere in a region of central Georgia that he describes as “one big strip mall.” His parents—who called him Moxie as a nickname—separated early on. He lived mostly with his mother, a secretary and paralegal at a string of companies. Any other family details, like his real name, are among the personal subjects he prefers not to comment on.

Marlinspike hated the curiosity-killing drudgery of school. But he had the idea to try programming videogames on an Apple II in the school library. The computer had a Basic interpreter but no hard drive or even a floppy disk to save his code. Instead, he’d retype simple programs again and again from scratch with every reboot, copying in commands from manuals to make shapes fill the screen. Browsing the computer section of a local bookstore, the preteen Marlin­spike found a copy of 2600 magazine, the catechism of the ’90s hacker scene. After his mother bought a cheap desk­top computer with a modem, he used it to trawl bulletin board services, root friends’ computers to make messages appear on their screens, and run a “war-dialer” program overnight, reaching out to distant servers at random.

To a bored middle schooler, it was all a revelation. “You look around and things don’t feel right, but you’ve never been anywhere else and you don’t know what you’re missing,” Marlin­spike says. “The Internet felt like a secret world hidden within this one.”

By his teens, Marlinspike was working after school for a German software company, writing developer tools. After graduating high school—barely—he headed to Silicon Valley in 1999. “I thought it would be like a William Gibson novel,” he says. “Instead it was just office parks and highways.” Jobless and homeless, he spent his first nights in San Francisco sleeping in Alamo Square Park beside his desktop computer.

Eventually, Marlinspike found a programming job at BEA-owned Web­Logic. But almost as soon as he’d broken in to the tech industry, he wanted out, bored by the routine of spending 40 hours a week in front of a keyboard. “I thought, ‘I’m supposed to do this every day for the rest of my life?’” he recalls. “I got interested in experimenting with a way to live that didn’t involve working.”

For the next few years, Marlinspike settled into a Bay Area scene that was, if not cyberpunk, at least punk. He started squatting in abandoned buildings with friends, eventually moving into an old postal service warehouse. He began bumming rides to political protests around the country and uploading free audio books to the web of himself reading anarchist theorists like Emma Goldman.

He took up hitchhiking, then he upgraded his wanderlust to hopping freight trains. And in 2003 he spontaneously decided to learn to sail. He spent a few hundred dollars—all the money he had—on a beat-up 27-foot Catalina and rashly set out alone from San Francisco’s harbor for Mexico, teaching himself by trial and error along the way. The next year, Marlin­spike filmed his own DIY sailing documentary, called Hold Fast. It follows his journey with three friends as they navigate a rehabilitated, leaky sloop called the Pestilence from Florida to the Bahamas, finally ditching the boat in the Dominican Republic.

Even today, Marlinspike describes those reckless adven­tures in the itinerant underground as a kind of peak in his life. “Looking back, I and everyone I knew was looking for that secret world hidden in this one,” he says, repeating the same phrase he’d used to describe the early Internet. “I think we were already there.”

If anything can explain Marlinspike’s impulse for privacy, it may be that time spent off society’s grid: a set of experi­ences that have driven him to protect a less observed way of life. “I think he likes the idea that there is an unknown,” says Trevor Perrin, a security engineer who helped Marlinspike design Signal’s core protocol. “That the world is not a completely surveilled thing.”"



"Beneath its ultrasimple interface, Moxie Marlinspike’s crypto protocol hides a Rube Goldberg machine of automated moving parts. Here’s how it works.

1. When Alice installs an app that uses Marlinspike’s protocol, it generates pairs of numeric sequences known as keys. With each pair, one sequence, known as a public key, will be sent to the app’s server and shared with her contacts. The other, called a private key, is stored on Alice’s phone and is never shared with anyone. The first pair of keys serves as an identity for Alice and never changes. Subsequent pairs will be generated with each message or voice call, and these temporary keys won’t be saved.

2. When Alice contacts her friend Bob, the app combines their public and private keys—both their identity keys and the temporary ones generated for a new message or voice call—to create a secret shared key. The shared key is then used to encrypt and decrypt their messages or calls.

3. The secret shared key changes with each message or call, and old shared keys aren’t stored. That means an eavesdropper who is recording their messages can’t decrypt their older communications even if that spy hacks one of their devices. (Alice and Bob should also periodically delete their message history.)

4. To make sure she’s communicating with Bob and not an impostor, Alice can check Bob’s fingerprint, a shortened version of his public identity key. If that key changes, either because someone is impersonating Bob in a so-called man-in-the-middle attack or simply because he ­reinstalled the app, Alice’s app will display a warning."
moxiemarlinspike  encryption  privacy  security  2016  2600  surveillance  whatsapp  signal  messaging  anarchists  anarchism  openwhispersystems  tylerreinhard  emmagoldman  unschooling  education  learning  autodidacts  internet  web  online  work  economics  life  living  lawenforcement 
august 2016 by robertogreco
Tyler Reinhard on the Lessons Between the Lessons (with tweets) · rogre · Storify
[Update 7 Feb 2017: Additional related thoughts from Tyler Reinhard and reference to this collection here: https://pinboard.in/u:robertogreco/b:54a9852bd341 ]

"one of the greatest teachers i ever had told my mom i was struggling to stay engaged so she was going to triple my workload … it worked

she probably saved my life … she’s a cashier at a department store now

in 11th grade, i was such a problem for my teacher that the principal moved me to independent study in her third grade class

she probably saved my life too

the reason schools are so terrible in this country is because we don’t treat the women who run them with any respect

i think the reason i hated school so much was because i had to watch all these powerful women helping me slowly be broken by the state

i was really lucky to have a lot of really great teachers – almost exclusively women, but they were all visibly and chronically depressed

their constant advocacy *despite* their depression was perhaps the greatest lesson … and what ultimately motivated me to drop out of school

the best english teacher i ever had gave me a C minus and inspired me to become a writer

the best social studies teacher i ever had told me i would end up in prison for my beliefs, and inspired me to become a publisher

the best math teacher i ever had gave me extra homework on september 11 2001 in case we were being invaded

the best art teacher i ever had kicked me out of class for laughing at someones painting

the best science teacher i ever had taught me how to track animals and people through the woods

my mom raised me herself, we were in poverty the whole time, and enrolled me the first publicly funded Montessori school in the country

and when i told her i wanted to drop out, she supported me …

where do all these strong constantly generous women come from

how do they endure this world?

perhaps most importantly – what can we ever do to say thank you

all of the strong women in my life who have taught me how to be a good person have also inspired me to continue living through depression

never forget that helping people see beauty and knowledge in the chaos of the world could save their life

and never forget about the people who have taken the time to show that to you

we end up holding up education as the “way out of poverty” for marginalized people of color, but we miss what is important about school

they say “go to school” as if to say “you’re going to need some skills you won’t learn at home"

but for me, a black kid in a mostly white working class rural town, school was the place where i learned how hopeless the world really was

and was taught by the women of that town how to cope with it, and push on.

all the “job skills” i developed came from my outright opposition to that hopeless world

the wisdom to identify my interest in how other people handled powerlessness and depression as a site of lifelong learning came from school.

i wrote about why i think holding school up as a means of emancipation for people of color is a bad idea: http://maskmag.com/1IPzzQp

i want to encourage the parts of early education that matter: preparing children for a grueling life of darkness by teaching them empathy

not just by instruction, but by immersion …. i empathized with my teachers, and the monumental (largely hopeless) task they took on

the fact that teachers have to sneak massive life lessons between the lines of boring teach-the-test bullshit is a powerful metaphor

because if school prepares us for work, it means that work *doesn’t matter*, but what happens at work *does*.

from that curriculum, we can see economics, politics, social issues, and technology from a totally different position

not as productive machines, but as cages.

where relationships *have to form*

how we treat the people in our lives matters more than what we do with our lives, and it doesn’t matter if you do your homework

ok i’m done. thanks for listening."
tylerreinhard  education  society  marginalization  2015  empathy  learning  howwelearn  howweteach  depression  teachers  work  labor  engagement  women  gender  advocacy  poverty  resilience  hope  beauty  knowledge  hopelessness  opposition  jobskills  wisdom  emancipation  life  living  lifelessons  whatmatters  economics  politics  socialissyes  technology  cages  relationships  kindness  homework 
december 2015 by robertogreco
Mask: To Be Young, Disaffected, and Black
"It’s been one year since the murder of Mike Brown in the suburban Midwest drew a fault line across the US. So much has been written on the subject, that I’ll spare you the retrospection and simply say that the militant uprising in Ferguson, MO following Mike’s killing represents a kind of historical milestone. Ferguson stands as the point in time after which all discussion about racialized extrajudicial police murder must also include a certain sympathy for the insurrection that will inevitably erupt.

A year later, I’m troubled by Mike’s ghost. Specifically, the specter of his figure in a graduation gown. For most white Americans in my peer groups, college was a kind of grand farce. A place they went. A concession to their parents for which they are deeply indebted. I can count on one hand the number of educated white people my age that I know who currently have a job that their undergraduate degree enabled. The education system and its financial structure are indisputably and profoundly broken. Yet, most of the discourse around racial inequality still holds education as the “way out” of the cycle of poverty for poor people of color. That’s what I was told, anyway. Post-secondary education is seen as a kind of missing ingredient in the “elevation” of communities of color, and a metric for how likely a person of color is to escape the hell of precarious service labor in a nation that measures economic recovery in Dunkin’ Donuts jobs.

This double-standard is fascinating. It’s as if Mike Brown’s murder was more tragic because he was robbed of the rare opportunity of escape, even though that escape was college, a farce under any other circumstance. “But he was about to escape!” We are not allowed even the apparition of escape.

*****

I was one of those kids who got good test scores but never did my homework. In secondary school, I tested into the advanced classes, but then got Ds. I can’t remember a single instance of handing in a piece of homework. It’s not that I hated school per se, I just didn’t see the point. I grew up in rural Middle America as a working class black kid in a mostly white town – we’re talking 95% white. I had a very dim view of what I could do with my life.

Eleven Augusts ago, I was sixteen and I spent all of my money on a one-way bus ticket to an international anarchist gathering in Iowa farmland. Stepping out of my little world, leaving behind the abjection of white conservative modesty and “well-meaning” racialized social constructions. What I experienced there changed my life forever. I returned home with plans to drop out of high school and drop out of whatever I was fated to become.

By the next January, I had left high school. I had left my hometown to publish radical literature (on newspaper in those days) in a larger adjacent city. I taught myself to design, to prepare files for offset printing, to distribute literature on the internet. I organized a nationwide tour of small nowhere towns like mine, to search for other kids like myself. The following summer, I was a seventeen-year-old anarchist criminal, eating from the garbage, fleeing the police, going on adventures with people I had just met. Meeting people all across the country who, like me, had decided to drop out in one form or another.

I spent the next ten years designing radical literature and producing websites to the same ends. Building community spaces, breaking little laws, orchestrating tensions. I was living from odd-job to odd-job, not really thinking about my career or education as contiguous or even existent. Yet, the whole experience left me with what I now realize is the most valuable piece of knowledge in life: You can teach yourself how to do anything that can be done.

That was the ethic of the DIY culture of the late 90s and early 2000s. It was a culture of thousands of kids – we organized show spaces, produced our own books and newspapers, maintained deep networks from city to city such that any wide-eyed young person could enter into it and travel from place to place, and find a couch, or guest bed, or boat to sleep on. These were the days before AirBnB, before “Do I know anyone in Boston?” Facebook posts. It was a dropout culture that has since scattered: disintegrated into young urban professionalism, entered into the seclusion of high political critique, or settled into lumpen criminality.

I count myself among the disintegrated. The skills I built during that era of my life happen to correspond with real jobs, real career opportunities. I’m a designer and developer, but more so I’m self-taught with a decade of experience, which these days is ironically much more valuable than a design or computer science degree. I can find work that interests and challenges me, and I can get paid. I have friends with master’s degrees who serve drinks, and when I think back on how much skepticism I got from loved ones for dropping out of high school and living the life that I did, it’s honestly bizarre.

*****

If I learned anything between chugging gallons of dumpster-dived carrot juice and stealing electricity from lamp-poles, it’s that dropping out prepares you to survive coming economic crises in ways you can’t even anticipate. Sure, I thought I was preparing for an imminent ecological collapse and can therefore make my own rope, compost, and weapons – but it also taught me how to build websites and distribute information quickly. That latter thing has proven to be more useful to me than guerrilla gardening was, and points to a more insidious reality about the “margins”. Namely, that being marginalized taught me more skills for surviving in the new economy than the education system could.

When the flames were finally extinguished at the QT convenience store in Ferguson a year ago, participants in the riots, neighbors, criminals, the criminalized, looters, church moms ... all came together in its wreckage to play music and celebrate the first true victory against police occupation of the era. The fantasy of every anarchist dropout for the last decade happened there on the streets of West Florissant.

I no longer agree that one can ever really “drop out” of society, nor that dedicating oneself to trying to is without its problematics. But I do know that attending that shady anarchist gathering when I was 16 saved my life, and dropping out of high school opened my world to a new possibility of life in opposition to authoritarian power. DIY anarchist punk can’t do that today, but something can. And should.

This is the Dropout Issue, where we tap our pencils, anxious for the bell to ring. We’ll take a close look at different dropout movements, personal accounts of student rebellions large and small. We’ll throw a side-eyed glance at economic assimilation, but glare equally suspiciously at those who think a new world is possible. Our elders will suggest that we “keep our doors open” and we will completely ignore that advice. Thanks for your patience with this late issue, the dog ate our homework."
tylerreinhard  youth  dropouts  education  race  us  society  anarchism  anarchy  economics  diy  ethics  work  labor  careers  unschooling  deschooling  culture  resilience  survival  margins  marginalization  disaffection  ferguson  highered  highereducation  poverty  class 
december 2015 by robertogreco

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