Punching Holes in the Darkness: One Woman’s Journey Toward Leading in a Global Society

My object in living is to unite 

My avocation and my vocation 

As my two eyes make one in sight. 

Only where love and need are one, 

And the work is play for mortal stakes, 

Is the deed ever really done 

For Heaven and the future's sakes. 

Two Tramps in Mud-Time, Robert Frost

Beginnings 

Education gives individuals possibilities. From the time I was a young child, this was the message that my mother and father relentlessly repeated. It is therefore no surprise that I view them as my first teachers—the ones who instilled in me the fervent and passionate drive to become educated and to become an educator. Somewhere in the mists of my early years of teaching and my first administrative position in the Kindergarten through twelfth grade educational system, I came to recognize with growing clarity that being a teacher meant being above all a learner, and that being a school leader meant being a teacher of teachers. John Dewey said that it is not enough for a man [or woman] to be good, but that he or she must be good for something. I saw that it was my work to see the gifts in others—both children and colleagues—and to help them discover these gifts and to use them wisely. I experienced George Eliot’s words in very real ways: “What do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?” This, then, is the fundamental purpose of education, the goal of teaching, and my work as a teacher, scholar, and educational leader. 

The Early Years 

Wonders happen if we can succeed in passing through the harshest danger; 

but only in a bright and purely granted achievement can we realize the wonder. 

Rainer Maria Rilke 

In the graduate work that preceded my first year of teaching, I basked in the erudition of William Blake and John Donne. On entering my first urban high school following commencement, I learned that my students not only disliked poetry, but that they could neither read nor write. At lunch they would riot in the parking lot, but remarkably return to class when the bell rang. Carlos showed me his knife wound. Sonia chatted about her pregnancy. I reflected on Donne: “Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, For thou art not so…” How was it that my students could not see his relevance to their own lives? 

My teaching life in those early years resembled in great measure the halls of hell as I tried valiantly to make meaning of a profession that left me empty—and, in the words of Parker Palmer—embroiled in a fearful way of knowing. Not only were my students alienated from our school and from me, but my colleagues to a great degree reflected fear, anger, and a bone-aching weariness with the work at hand. One teacher, our union representative, saw it as her duty to file as many grievances alleging contractual violations against our principal as possible each week. By the end of my second year of teaching, baskets of essays in hand, I sat exhausted and demoralized in our faculty room. I remarked to one of the history teachers, “Joe, I just don’t know if I can keep doing this.” His response remains memorable. He looked up from his newspaper and replied, “Elizabeth, you’re young. Get out while you can.” Thus was the extent of my mentoring. I quit teaching and found a position as an editor. 

Winter Becomes Spring

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: 

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place 

With beauty's treasure… 

William Shakespeare 

It was Larry Ratto who raised me from the ashes. Several months into my new position, I received a telephone call from a principal of yet another urban high school. I had heard of his school. It was in the barrio. The trains sped by behind the stadium. “I would like to talk with you about our fabulous school, Elizabeth. My teachers work together and develop curriculum that is cutting edge. They participate in the most current of professional development. Why, yes, it is true the students struggle with reading and writing, but you will love this place,” Larry shared. It was perhaps the best sales job I had had in my life, but on visiting Sunset High School and finding the principal’s vision of his school spellbinding, I accepted the position on the spot. Reilly, E. C., Punching Holes in the Darkness 4 

The school was indeed a place where both students and staff thrived. It was a place such as Robert Bellah described in Community Properly Understood. He wrote, “Community is not about silent consensus; it is a form of intelligent, reflective life, in which there is indeed consensus, but where the consensus can be challenged and changed—often gradually, sometimes radically—over time.” From the moment I drove across the railroad tracks those many years ago to this day, I have never again questioned what it is that is my life’s work. 

The Bountiful Harvest

Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can’t strike them all by ourselves. 

Like Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel 

Under Larry Ratto’s mentorship I blossomed. He saw in me leadership potential and groomed me to become a school administrator. By my late twenties I had held two important administrative roles and continued my professional learning so that by my mid-thirties I enrolled in a doctoral program with the eventual goal of becoming a university professor. While as a young teacher I recognized the influence I could have on my students, as I gained experience, I realized that my work could benefit far more children if I were to work with their teachers and administrators. Perhaps there was a touch of masochism in me, for I learned early on that children were cupcakes when compared to the challenges of teaching adult learners. Tongue firmly planted in cheek, I would chide the educators I worked with by telling them that we acted like the age we taught. Although the work was daunting and the needs of urban educators vast, I sought environments that pushed me intellectually and challenged me to imagine, in the words of Ben and Roz Zander, the art of possibility. 

It was also during those early years that I adopted the habit of appointing other educators as mentors. In the beginning I was more subtle in seeking the guidance of others; over time, however, I gained boldness and when I recognized an individual I knew could teach me, I would announce, “You are my mentor. You don’t get a vote.” I simply could not imagine moving forward without the counsel of others more skillful, wise, creative, and heart-filled. Frequently these individuals were my supervisors in the school systems where I served, and because my own early administrative career was punctuated with more certificates, credentials, and degrees, many mentors were my university professors. Others that had immeasurable impact have a legacy of educational endeavors across the globe. Doctors Arthur Costa, Robert Garmston, Robert Hanson, Annie Herda, Linda Lambert, George Perrazo, Jodie Servatius, Harvey Silver, and Richard Strong are most notable as my teachers and guides. They each still whisper in my ear more than I can say. 

My doctoral work in the late 1980s coincided with the collapse of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) and I chose to pursue my dissertation research in Moscow. I had first visited the USSR during the height of the Cold War—the Leonid Brezhnev era—and I came to recognize at the age of twenty the difference between an ideology and its people. With Mikhail Gorbachev as the General Secretary of the Communist Party beginning in 1985 and the “Evil Empire” on the fateful march toward collapse, the USSR made the nightly news in the United States. The bread lines caught the world’s attention, but I asked myself, “What of education? Who is telling the story of what it will take to transform a society steeped in Communist ideology into a democracy?” 

Tackling the Soviet bureaucracy was no easy feat, but those early years of glasnost and perestroika—of openness and change—gave birth to educator exchange programs with the West. Through my work with education and technology, I traveled to Russia and presented at a conference in Troisk, a scientific community previously closed to Westerners. Staying for two weeks with a Russian physicist and his family, I shared with them my research proposal and gained their support. Even in the midst of the most significant social change of the 20th century, the Russians were my selfless and gracious teachers. 

Spending weeks or more at a time in Moscow, traveling to outlying republics, and returning to the United States in between resulted in a gulf of cultural dissonance for me. A reporter from a major San Francisco newspaper interviewed me and queried, “I can see what you have to offer them, but whatever do you gain from this?” On one visit to St. Petersburg with several of my Russian friends, I met a group of American tourists visiting the Hermitage. In learning that I lived in Moscow for extended periods, one woman asked, “How do you stand the food?” I was appalled at my fellow countrymen’s lack of sensitivity toward and understanding of other cultures. Over the coming year with precious few basic necessities for themselves, my Russian friends fed me, clothed me, housed me, chauffeured me to interviews and conferences, and treated me as an honored member of their families. I could not help but to be humbled and transformed by the kindness of strangers. 

Although I remained in school leadership in the Kindergarten through twelfth grade educational setting for the final decade of the 20th century, the dream of becoming a university professor held fast. What I did not understand, however, was that the transition would require a transformation from being a consumer of educational practice to an elucidator of theory and practice. The glass ceiling was thick, indeed, and seemingly impenetrable. Undaunted, I taught any graduate course in education I could talk my way into, frequently taking on obligations that paid little in the short run but provided invaluable experience and curriculum vitae appeal. 

By the turn of the 21st century I had found my way into a full time appointment in higher education. One institution that greatly valued scholarship provided an environment conducive to reawakening the academic that had lain dormant for nearly a decade. Other institutions valued superior teaching as a professor. I had the opportunity, then, to refine my work with adults in graduate level education. More than that, I began serving as an advisor to students during the arduous journey of dissertation work. Several of my colleagues served as unofficial mentors during these early years of higher education induction, teaching me to navigate each aspect of the academy’s triptych: teaching, scholarship, and service. Within seven years of entering higher education, I was appointed as a full, tenured professor. With the title come obligations: to mentor, to challenge, to inspire, and to nurture. I embrace them fully. 

The Journey Continues

open your heart: 

i'll give you a treasure 

of tiniest world 

a piece of forever 

e. e. cummings 

In a story attributed to author Robert Louis Stevenson, as a child his family lived on a hillside overlooking a small town in 19th century Scotland. Robert was intrigued by the work of the old lamplighters who went about with a ladder and a torch, lighting the street lights after dusk. One evening, as Robert stood watching with fascination, his nanny asked him, "Robert, what in the world are you looking at out there?" With great excitement he exclaimed, "Look at that man! He's punching holes in the darkness!" 

I believe it is our task, our moral imperative in our time on earth to punch holes in the darkness—in the darkness of ignorance, of hate, of deprivation, of suffering, and of injustice. I echo what Martin Luther King said on receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, "I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsam and jetsam in the river of life, unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality." It always begins for me with the places in my heart that whisper, “Here is what you must do in this world, Elizabeth, to make it different, to make it better.” Times of reflection permit the voices from within to speak to me and the voices from without to challenge me to consider new paths, as well as to confirm current directions my life is taking. If I approach my work with my heart open to possibilities, then even if many things seem confusing in the moment, over time, clarity emerges and I have a way to step forward with greater boldness. 

I work with leaders. They may be leaders in the private sector, in government, in education, or in non-governmental organizations. Some find their way into my university classroom and others I work with, boots on the ground, in their countries. If I had to identify what I hope the time we spend together would result in, it would be that when we part, we do so with greater passion for the work that we do: that regardless of our particular positions, we recognize that leadership is what we do, not what we talk about, and that we part more greatly inspired to serve others. It is my hope that we each understand that we have an obligation to serve and to help in raising up future leaders. 

Finally, I want individuals to possess a larger view of the world—a burden, if you will—to recognize that what time we have on this planet is our opportunity to heal this world. In holding this world view, we should recognize as Mark Gerzon says, that we can hold integral vision—that ability to see many aspects of a circumstance—and that we can hold both the local concerns of our organizations, our own cultures and traditions, and country simultaneously with a global view of our world. We recognize in this expanded view that what happens today in countries thirteen or more time zones from us affects our lives. 

Opening our hearts…listening to the inner voices and the outer voices…allowing the muse of inspiration to touch us…feeling the passion to make a difference both locally and globally…and stepping forward with boldness, not alone, but with a community of like-minded colleagues…this is what the messages of my work are. 

Mother Theresa, whose service to the poor has touched me since childhood, particularly inspired me as I began my work in India in the first decade of the 21st century. She wrote, “I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.” If my students and I are each that pencil, we are sending not one love letter, but a sheaf of love letters to a world so greatly in need of our care. 

The years of endeavor that have brought me to places and spaces in my profession that have afforded me the opportunity to use the thermals as the birds do in flight and on many occasions to soar with others seemingly effortlessly. At other points in my profession, I have stood on treacherous precipices and viewed great darkness. The particulars of these occasions are less relevant that the lessons learned. Whether I stand in the presence of greatness as I have had the privilege so many times or in the presence of individuals who would poison another human being, an effort, or a community, I strive to learn from each individual that comes my way. As Rumi said, “Read the book of your life which has been given you. A voice comes to your soul saying, ‘Lift your foot; cross over; move into emptiness of question and answer and question…’” We may not always like nor agree with the questions and the answers, and we may not even see clearly what those questions are at times, but we have the opportunity to learn. We need only cross over and be open. This is a choice, moment by moment. 

The message of my parents, those first teachers, endures: education gives individuals possibilities. As a young immigrant, it raised my mother from the ravages of poverty to a life in which she meaningfully contributed her gifts as a philanthropist. Education led my father from the fields where he harvested crops from the time he could walk to a prestigious appointment as a jurist. This is my message as an educator to my students, to my colleagues, and to those with whom I work in our global society. “You are a gift to the world. I will help you find your gifts so that you may contribute to its healing.”