The Power to Name: Recapturing the Heritage of a Small Rural African-American Community.

Robert Blundo and Deborah Brunson [Authors]

“It is the telling of our history that enables political self-recovery”

bell hooks

“How will you know it’s us without our past”

John Steinbeck

“We are only asing to give us our memories back”

Member, Artesia Alumuni Association

Introduction

Mr. Johns wanted his visiting granddaughter to see the community in which he and earlier generations of African-American families had been born and had lived out their lives. He drove his granddaughter through the countryside and small towns as he told her stories of his past. They traveled as far as Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, the resort town only 60 miles away from the home of several generations of their family. Mr. Johns told her about the times when Myrtle Beach had been closed to African-American families. He then drove her north to Atlantic Beach to show her the only beach open to African-American families during his childhood. As their tour continued, his last stop was at the old segregated school, Artesia High School in Columbus County, North Carolina, where he and others in the black community had graduated. As they got out and he started telling his granddaughter of all that the school had meant to the community and himself, his granddaughter interrupted him, saying:

“But this is not Artesia High School granddaddy, its Hallsboro.”

“The name of the school had been changed,”

Mr. Johns reports as he conveys the incident. “I wish that I could

describe to you the feeling that came over me at that time. All the

things we had left behind as graduating classes were gone. The

legacy of all those students and parents was all gone. The name

was gone as well as the structures and trophies and projects classes

had given to the school. It was all wiped away, like we never existed. I think that is the cruelest, ... as if we had not been there.”

Mr Johns had recently returned to his family home in rural southeastern North Carolina following his retirement, as had some of his elder neighbors. Each had left home following high school for northern cities to find further education and better work, but had returned home to enjoy familiar spaces, couched in powerful memories. Carol Stacks (1996) observed that “the resolve to return home is not primarily an economic decision but rather a powerful blend of motives [including] a sense of mission to redeem a lost community…or simply a breathing space…they [African-Americans] have come home,…and set about appropriating local time and memory and blood and symbols for intimate community purposes of their own” (p. xv).

For Mr. Johns, the incident with his grandchild was the start of an effort to reinstate the name of the segregated high school that had come to represent a way of life and a history of survival for a community of people. Itabari Nejeri comments in her autobiography, “Every Good-bye Ain’t Gone,” that “nobody really knows us [the black community]…so institutionalized is the ignorance of our history, our culture, our everyday existence that, often, we do not know ourselves” (hooks, 1992, p. 172). This paper will examine the meaning and significance of a school’s name for Black residents of a small rural community in the South. By means of ethnographic interviews with members of the Artisia High School Alumni and written records of the region’s social history, the story of this community which existed throughout the time of segregation will be told in terms of the importance of language, words, memory, space and material design as they come together as signifier in the lives of these residents. What has emerged in this situated experience of African-American families attempting to regain, in their words, “their heritage,” provides an opportunity to look closely at the ongoing phenomena that provide insights into the ways human beings act on their world to create meaning in their lives. In this particular case, the issues reflect the ideology of oppression and power in controlling the signifiers of a whole community of people.

Brief History of Artesia and Artesia High School

Those African-American families that had lived in the area for several decades called the place of their community “Jackson’s Crossroads” but their segregated elementary school was to be given the name of Artesia by the county school board.

At the start of the 1900s, North Carolina’s Columbus County black schools were officially designated by number, not by name. The black elementary school for the African-American community was known as school #38. In 1915, the school’s name was changed to Artesia Elementary after the new community created in the area by a wealthy developer from Wilmington, North Carolina, Mr. Hugh McRae. Mr. McRae, who was following a national trend at the start of the last century, established small farming communities in the southeastern region of North Carolina to promote scientific farming techniques and to develop the Jeffersonian notion of the independent, self-sufficient farm family (Ainsley, 1987). He was also known for his dislike of poor white and black subsistence farmers who inhabited the area. The developer “wanted to settle his colonies with European immigrants who were familiar with intensive farming methods, and who, in his opinion, would be more industrious, frugal, intelligent, and orderly than the Southern white and Negro tenant farmers” (Ansley, 1987, p.45, referenced MacRae, 1908 and MacRae, 1916).

One of the several communities MacRae established was Artesia, which was named for the area’s artesian wells. Streets were constructed and lots were cleared and designated for various community uses. Each of the new immigrant farm families was given ten acres to clear and to plant starwberries for exporation to Northern cities. Families originating from Poland and the Netherlands were brought to Artesia around 1910, but the colony did not last very long. Members of the original group left the area to find better jobs and opportunities during the First World War.

The African-American families who had lived there for generations and remained, attended the segregated elementary school, Artesia. One resident remembers their elementary school:

We had to help bring in the wood for the potbelly

stoves in the classrooms. We had no indoor plumbing

and no electricity. As a matter of fact, most people’s

home had no electricity or indoor plumbing at that

time.

Students who completed the elementary school were required to take buses to the Negro High School in Whiteville, the county seat, or to the Farmers Union High School in what is now Clarkston, if they wished to finish their secondary education.

One of the most significant moments for the Black community was the news that they were to have a new high school for grades 10 through 12. The new building was to be a brick extension attached to the elementary and middle school. Artesia High School was completed and the first classes attended in the fall of 1950. When asked to describe their memories of the significance of the high school at the time, one member of the black community commented:

Up to that time, we had attended only the black elementary

school and middle school in our community. There was a white

high school in the community but we could not attend. Some of

us would walk right by the white high school going to get our

bus. When we went to the black high school, we had to ride

sometimes two busses to the old Negro High School

at the county seat, Whiteville. The busses were old, second

hand ones that the whites had used before. Our textbooks were

used and old too. Our elementary school was the center of our community. Our parents were all involved. We had pride in our

school. Then they started to build the new high school for us.

I watched them build it; it was just across the street from me.

I saw it every day and my heart was bubbling over. I knew I was

going someplace [with my life]. We were going to have our high school.

Artesia High School graduated its first senior class in June of 1951. At the start of the first year, there were 315 students enrolled and by 1956 there was a student body of 643. The high school became an important symbol for the community. Community members were proud of having their own school. It brought together extended family members (cousins, aunts and uncles) from surrounding towns together through attendance and participation in the school activities. It also represented an opportunity for students to develop as African-Americans, according to the descriptions of the alumni:

The teachers and the parents believed in us. They worked

together to give us something with which to identify. We

studied African-American history. We learned about Marcus

Garvey and other the African-American men and women.

We were instilled with pride about ourselves and our school.

We could not play the white schools in sports but we were

the basketball champions of the black schools in the region.

It was an important time for us.

Desegregation: All Black Schools have their Names Changed

During the summer of 1969 Artesia High School, one of the centers of the African-American community was changed in terms of name and function to Hallsboro Elementary School. Desegregation had consolidated the separate school systems in the state. The local school board in Columbus County made the decision to remove the names of all the black schools in the county and consolidated them with white schools, retaining only the white school names.

It was through enacting this policy that the symbolic student and community identity of Artesia High were erased. The alumni narratives report that most if not all of the artifacts that were gifts from the earlier graduating classes were removed from the school. Moreover, physical structures such as columns on the front entrance that had been added by the African-American community were likewise eliminated through this action.

One member of the alumni group recalled that the students of the 1969 graduating class found out about the proposed change in the name and they went to the sole black school board member to protest the action. They were charged with “starting a ruckus” in school and their parents were informed of their “behavior.” Nothing more was ever said at that time by the community as far as can be determined. There is no official county school board record or minutes of any school board meeting or debate that might have taken place explaining or providing an official rationale or explanation for making the changes. Recent reports of conversations with an individual who had been a member of the school board at that time suggested that this person was not aware of any discussions nor of the decision being made by the school board. It was done “very quietly.”

It is interesting to note that Columbus County was only one of two county governments in the state to alter the names of black schools. The other (Robeson County) also changed the names of all its black schools at about the same time. Interestingly, the Robeson County School Board reversed its decision in 1976. When a member of that board was asked why they had reversed the decision, it is reported that they stated that ‘it was the right thing to do’ (Anderson, 1997, p.3).

Taking Up the Challenge: Reclaiming a Place and a Name

As a result of the incident with his granddaughter, Mr. Johns initiated an inquiry to discover when and how the name had been changed. Finding no answers, he began a movement to engage the community in a dialogue about the changes and the idea of reinstating the names of the old segregated African-American schools. A group of alumni banded together to inform and coordinate a community effort to restore the former names of four previously African-American segregated elementary schools as well as their high school, Artesia High.

The first meetings with the school board took place in January 1996. Several newspaper accounts reflected the resistance encountered from school board members, present school faculty, white and Native American parents of children attending the Hallsboro elementary school and the other former African-American segregated schools. The African-American alumni felt sad and were disappointed about the opposition. One member of the alumni group expressed that “we are only asking to give us our memories back” (“The Region”, 1997 p. ). Another alumnus commented that the “school board members and most whites in the county don’t understand why returning the names to the schools is so important for blacks. They say the schools are not just for black students anymore” (Hill, 1997a, p.4A).

As a consequence of several meetings with the school board over a span of several years (1996-1999) and continued efforts to obtain support, the school board decided to add the name of Artesia to the Hallsboro elementary school, the former Artesia High School. The new name proposed would be Hallsboro-Artesia Elementary. None of the other previously segregated African-American schools in the county were changed back to their original names. The initial core of alumni is continuing the effort to restore the name “Artesia” for the African-American community. Some members went on to raise funds to erect an historical marker at Hallsboro-Artesia Elementary commemorating the original Artesia High School, which now stands in front of the building along side the road. Even with these successes, many are still unsatisfied and believe that they have been denied an important link to their community’s history and its significance to members of that community.

The Significance of a Place and a Name: Collective Memory

Space as well as its material form “cannot be dealt with as if it were merely a passive, abstract arena on which things happen” (Keith & Pile, 1993, p. 1). Godkin (1980) asserts, “places in a person’s world are more than entities which provide the physical stage for life’s drama. Some are profound centers of meanings and symbols of experience. As such, they lie at the core of human existence” (p.73). Places act as mnemonic devices around which social histories and personal memories are constructed and recalled (Attfield, 2000; Cattell and Climo, 2002). These memories are the “foundation of self and society [and] without memory, the world would cease to exist in any meaningful way” (Cattell and Climo, 2002). Artesia High School existed as a central context for social and cultural continuity within this community of segregated rural black families and its “loss” in terms of memory denies the very existence of these families (Brundgae, 2000).

Artesia High School existed for 19 years, compared with the nearly 30-year history of its descendant, Hallsboro Elementary School. Considering the discrepancy in the historical time line, one might ponder the powerful connection that Artesia alumni share with their alma mater. The Artesia experience for the alumni, faculty, and parents represents the core of an existence fraught with oppression and vigilance (Godkin,1980). Artesia High School represented and, through memory, still represents to generations of Black families, a significant center for community and individual identity in the context of a hostile and oppressive white world. The school, in its most important sense, acted as a refuge for young children and their families to find strength, encouragement and support for who they were as young Black men and women. As one member of the alumni stated, “Those teachers made you proud of who you were.”

Artesia High School as a sense of place existed within the day to day experiences of life within a locality. Its significance was always in the background of the daily activities and represented the “intersections of nature, culture, history, and ideology” of the lives of a community of people (Lippard, 1997, p. 7). Lucy Lippard (1997) understands place to be the “latitudinal and longitudinal within the map of a person’s life. It is temporal and spatial. Personal and political. A layered location replete with human histories and memories, place has width and depth. It is about connections. What surrounds it, what formed it, what happened here, what will happen here” (p. 7). For this African-American community, Artesia High School was such a place and more. More in the sense that it not only represented the identity of a group of people but represented the identity of their oppressors and as such, the dialectical construction of each other. It was and is both personal and political.

The Politics of History and Collective Memory

The assertion of the old “Negro High School “ name, Artesia High School, represents public history and collective memory from the perspective of the “other,” disenfranchised members of a society. Removal of the name and the subsequent efforts to thwart its reassertion represents the “power of historical representation” held by the dominant white community, both then and now (Rhea, 1997, p. 2). Acknowledgement that the elimination of the name and its significance to the African-American community was an act of racism and oppression was something the white community could not bring itself to do and in its failure to do so again expressed the racism and oppression still present within the community. bell hooks (1992) reflects on the intensity and meaning of this issue when she states:

In contemporary society, white and black people alike believe

that racism no longer exists. This erasure, however mythic,

diffuses the representation of whiteness as terror in the black

imagination. It allows for assimilation and forgetfulness. …

Black people still feel the terror, still associated with whiteness,

but are rarely able to articulate the varied ways we are terrorized

because it is easy to silence by accusations of reverse racism or by

suggesting that black folks who talk about the ways we are terrorized by whites are merely evoking victimization to demand special treatment. (P. 176).

Edward Soja’s (19 ) conceptualization of space expands to include issues of power and ideology, “We must be insistently aware of how space can be made to hide consequences from us, how relations of power and discipline are inscribed into the apparently innocent spatiality of social life, how human geographies become filled with politics and ideology” (p.6). Likewise, Massey (1994) notes that the “spacial organization of society…is integral to the production of the social….It is fully implicated in both history and politices “ (p. 4).

The power of names and naming has major consequence for what gets attended to, who determines how space, events, objects and people are indexed, and under what circumstances individuals and groups are heard by others. These points of discourse, juxtaposed against ideology are outlined by Foucault (1972, 1970) through the notion of “discursive formation” which he described as:

A set of relations that unite discursive practices during a

certain time frame. These practices are shaped by rules

and norms within a culture concerning what will be talked

about, what institutions will control the form and content of

the discourse (e.g., medicine, the arts, banking), whose

voices are heard and “legitimated” by the prevailing ideology,

and the physical location from which those voices should

emanate (e.g. Street corner, lecture hall, or satellite link).

Finally, rules determine who is allowed to generate knowledge

through the formulation of concepts and theories.

Although Foucault’s work explores the impact of discourse through the spoken and printed word upon social systems, he does not place the human actor in the center of discursive practices. Rather, he perceives that individuals are affected by the discursive formation. As Foss, et al. (1985) explained “In fact, Foucault not only rejects the constitutive or foundational role of the subject, but he reverses the relation envisioned in phenomenology and argues that the subject receives whatever powers and position it has from the discursive practices (p.200). What group decides what is remembered and who structures the “collective” memory or history has controlled the discursive practice that determines what power and position members of a community might have. By renaming a significant center of a community, Artesia High School, and then refusing to change this action, the dominate white interests of the larger community prevailed in denying, in some ways, the authenticity of the lives of these African-American citizens, as well as their children and grandchildren.

Historically, we have seen discursive practices expressed in the centrality of naming as both an expression and a reinforcement of existing ideology through the slave trade of this country. Those African captives who survived the horrors of the middle passage were placed on the auction block, sold and stripped of their original language, of kinship relations as families were split up and sold to different buyers, and finally divested of their birth names by the purchaser.

Both the discourse and the material form of the slave market in North America reflects the power of discourse, as well as physical structures and spaces to enact the prevailing ideology in a social system, as expressed by Foucault (1972, 1970) and Gottdiener (1995). It was a function of the slave market to provide a repertoire of accepted behavior for all actors in the system, and the system efficiently, albeit brutally accomplished this goal. In this context of slavery, the African is the “Other”: different, set apart from the dominant community. In the prevailing ideology of the time, the only way that the African could be reconciled with the majority was through domination, subjugation, and control. This conception of the “Other” is the recurring theme of the African experience in North America. Throughout the time of Jim Crow and to the present day, variations on this theme have dominated the relations between white privilege and the African-American experience.

The very existence of the segregated schools represented the “material expression of ideology” and hegemony of the white power structure (Gottdiener, 1995, p. ). The segregated schools and their location in relation to “white only” spaces such as water fountains and schools, encompasses what Gottdiener (1995) has described as the “negotiation of our everyday environments [by] reading the indexicality of material design” (p.74). For the African-American families, this negotiation took place in an everyday environment in which existed the segregated high school and its location in relation to “white only” space and the demarcation of space as “whites only” with limited access by African-Americans.

Spatiality and material forms expressed the context of the repressive ideology and power of the dominant white society. Space and material forms signified separation and degradation as an expression of white hegemony in the segregated South. Yet, at the same time, the separate spaces and material places were multidimensional signifiers that evoked for the African-American community a sense of a specific place that represented their survival and achievements. The “places of segregation” were recreated as spaces of safety and recognition of their own worth and wisdom. With desegregation, many signs of this heritage of community and survival were erased. As a member of the alumni group explained in a newspaper interview, “In 1969 desegregation removed all remnants of Blackness from the process, and the name changes erased the achievements of the alumni and all the heritage and all that history with no reasoning or explanation” (Anderson, p.3).

Socio-semiotics takes in the “articulation between the material context of daily life and the signifying practices within a social culture” and asserts that social mechanisms “reign in meaning”(Gottdeiner, 1995, pp. 24-25). For Gottdeiner (1995) identity is dependent and circumscribed by material and physical context:

Identity depends a great deal on origins, including those

of family, religion, race, and ethnicity. These origins are

dependent on certain material contexts, principally location

and a cultural milieu that contains localized artifacts. Disruptive

events deriving from either the relative fate of personal history

or global forces affect greatly the resources that connect any

individual to his/her origins, including the material objects of

cultural heritage which embody specific signifying practices.”

Artesia represented the hopes of an African-American community in the midst of an apartheid society. Its physical presence was both the result and an expression of this apartheid ideology and yet it represented an opportunity to celebrate the African-American community and its heritage. It was a place one step away from the white domination of thought and ideas. It was a place where black heroes could be celebrated and black students could believe in themselves. It was a place away from what bell hooks (1992) has called the “white control of the black gaze” where “to look directly [at whites] was an assertion of subjectivity, and equality” (p. 168). As such, it can be argued that the removal of “all signs” of the African-American community through the dismantling of Artesia High School and places like it represented to some in the African-American community a second diaspora. The first diaspora forcibly removed African-American ancestors from ancestral lands, culture, religion, and people, while this second experience forcibly removed elements of this Black community’s distinctiveness as a people and a culture in the name of desegregation and assimilation. What was once valued within the African-American Artesia community was devalued and marginalized by the prevailing oppressive white authority.

Gottdeiner (1995) suggests that socio-semiotics provides a possible rationale for these events. The dominate power structure in the white community was compelled to alter the school as a material form representing and reinforcing an African-American community and identity as separate, different, and equal in value. The ideology called for the school’s reconfiguration as a material form consistent with the conceptualization of “school” and community as experienced by whites. In doing so, the white community continued its marginalization of African-Americans and their institutions.

The argument against the restoration of the old segregated African-American High School name by the present white and Native-American community members rested in part on the notion of “color blindness” for some and outright racism by others. The white and Native-American community protested that after all these years, why reassert the “dead” issues of race back into the schools and our community? The requests of the African-American almuni reasserted the issues of race that was being denied by the community.

The arguments made by the white majority during these meetings were situated within the context of a mythical and “romanticized vision of the plantation South…among both northern and southern whites, displacing memories of the injustice of slavery [in what was to become an] historical vision that became dominate in American—that is, nonblack—memory” (Rhea,1997,p. 95). Frederick Douglass spoke to the issue of forgetting in the name of reconciliation in 1888. He stated, “Well the nation may forget, it may shut its eyes to the past, and frown upon any who may do otherwise, but the colored people of this country are bound to keep this past in lively memory till justice shall be done” (Blight, 1989, p. 224). Over one hundred years later, in a small rural southern community, the issue was once again being addressed by a small group of African-Americans. They were confronted with the dominant tradition of a now romanticized War Between the States with its plethora of community monuments to war “heroes” and statues honoring the confederate cause, as well as confederate battle flags on cars and trucks. As slavery had been left out of the official history of reconciliation, Jim Crow laws and segregation were ignored and denied in the present “history” constructed and maintained by the white majority. Rhea (1997) has described this division as a country “divided into two different communities of memory. Blacks [holding] on to their memories of past injustices and triumphs, while whites [embrace] a vision which flattered whites, partly by excluding consideration of the black experience” (p. 96).

Over the course of the next one hundred and thirty years following the Civil War, the hegemony of the white society rewrote the history of black and white relations as expressed in such popular culture phenomena as the films Birth of a Nation (1915) and Gone With The Wind (1939). The foreword to the film, Gone With The Wind, demonstrates the reworking of the past:

There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields called

the Old South. Here in this pretty world, Gallantry took

its last bow. Here was the last ever to be seen of Knights

and their Ladies Fair, of Master and Slave. Look for it in

books, for it is no more than a dream remembered,

a Civilization gone with the wind…(filmsite.org, 7/31/2002, p. 3)

Nina Silber (1993) notes that this rewriting of history “transformed the system of slavery into a happy and mutually beneficial arrangement which offered enjoyment and contentment to all of its participants” (p. 4). Keeping the oppression and subjugation of African-Americans in the forefront of remembrance fell to a few spokesman.

In contrast to these manifestations of the rewriting of black and white history, Dubois (1993) expressed his deep disturbance at this effort toward forgetfulness on the part of the making of social history. He pointedly stated in The Souls of Black Folk (1903) that “the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second sight in this American world—a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelations of the other world. It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others” (p. 8-9). James Baldwin warned of this again some sixty years later in his book The Fire Next Time (1963). He stated that “The details and symbols of your life have been deliberately constructed to make you believe what white people say about you” (p. ).

Glenn Loury (1997) describes this dilemma faced by African-Americans today in terms of historical remembrance when he notes, “The descendants of slaves face a profound problem of authenticity in historical matters. Their ancestors were stripped of language and custom [and] were forced to construct a moral universe virtually out of nothing” (p.2). The issue at present is, for Glenn Loury and others, the challenge to the notion that anything associated with what is “Afrocentric” or even African-American experiences is suspect of not being scholarly , “objective,” or in the case of Artesia, “American.” This emphasis is often constructed by the white dominated society as “political” acts, as if history as written were not. The commemoration of the Battle of Gettysburg each July is a political act as is any other collective historical remembrance. In the context of this small rural community, the “political” issue was whose version of history should be remembered or maybe forgotten.

In a now famous passage from a speech in 1883, Frederick Douglass assured the audience that to remember was not intended to “visit upon the children the sins of their fathers, but to remember the causes, the incidents, and the results of the rebellion” (Blight, 2001, p.317). Frederick Douglass was referring to the legacy of “freedom, citizenship, suffrage, and dignity” that the Civil War represented to African-Americans (Blight, 1990, p.29). David Blight (1990) notes that “historical memory of any transforming or controversial event emerges from cultural and political competition, from the choice to confront the past and to debate and manipulate its meaning” (p. 30). The alumni of the old Artesia High School were engaged in just such an effort to challenge the memory the white community had constructed that excluded the dignity and achievements of an oppressed people living among them.

Conclusion: Preserving a Legacy

Artesia High School, the segregated high school of a small African-American community, represented a life of struggle, survival, success, community, family, support, achievement, and with this a strong sense of pride. This life was created within and between the confluence of a black and white dialectic that, in part, these African-American citizens of Artesia worked to recognize for themselves and for all others to remember. It was the collective experience that was at the heart of the attempt to reinstate the name of the old segregated high school. It is the collective remembering of a “shared past and the commemoration of events” that they sought after (Radely, 1990, p. 52). Alan Radely (1990) argues that “remembering is something which occurs in a world of things, as well as words, and that artifacts [buildings] play a central role in the memories of individuals and cultures” (p. 57). It is important to the future of both the black and the white community in that “remembering together” or pooling of remembrances “extends beyond the sum of the participants’ individual perspectives: it becomes the basis of future reminiscence” (Middleton & Edwards, 1990, p.7).

In its most personal aspect, the reclaiming of the remembrance of the old segregated Artesia High School had to do with a very human desire to be remembered and to share their legacy with future generations. “We are what we remember ourselves to be. We cannot dissociate the remembering of personal past from our present self-identity. Indeed, such remembering brings about this identity” (Casey, E.S., 1987, p.290).

The result of this undertaking has been a victory of sorts for some and not for others. As a consequence of these efforts, the name “Artesia” has been added to the name of the present Hallsboro Elementary School. Presently the elementary school is officially Hallsboro-Artesia Elementary School. The members of the African-American Alumni association raised funds and have placed a large road side marker in front of the school. It reads:

Artesia School

On this site operated:

Artesia Elementary School (1909-1950)

Artesia High School (1950-1969)

Hallsboro Elementary School (1969-1997)

Hallsboro-Atesia Elementary (1997- )

Principals of Artesia High School Were:

Grayer Powell (1950- 1958)

LeGrade Summersett (1958-1969)

Each generation at Artesia, a school in Hallsboro, North Carolina, has had the tenacity and valor to strengthen its bonds and respond in extraordinary ways to the challenges of the times.

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