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Battle Against Teaching Evolution in Texas Begins

Continued from page 1

Published on March 19, 2008 at 10:04am

It is no surprise that this fight—which during the last 150 years has been waged in courtrooms across the country—would now come to Texas. From the beginning, Texas has played an important role in the creationist movement. The infamous creationist textbook, Of Pandas and People, was published by the Richardson-based Foundation for Thought and Ethics (which seeks to advance a biblical worldview in the classroom), and the first meetings of the intelligent design movement were held here. In fact, the strategy of the intelligent design movement, sometimes called "the wedge," was first outlined at a conference at Southern Methodist University in 1992.

In recent years the state has become a gathering place for the leading proponents of young-Earth creationism, which holds to a fundamentalist view of how the world was created. Last year, the Institute for Creation Research, which teaches that evolution is no more scientific than Biblical creationism, relocated from San Diego to Dallas because California would no longer offer accreditation for its degrees. Texas has proved a much more welcoming environment. In July, Governor Rick Perry appointed a devout young-Earth creationist named Don McLeroy to head the State Board of Education, and in November, the state's director of science education for public schools was forced to resign because she would not take a neutral position on the teaching of evolution.

Board members such as McLeroy share Maddox's fundamentalist view of the Earth's origins. McLeroy says he does not want to do away with the teaching of evolution (although he considers the theory "far-fetched") but he does think schools should "teach the controversy" surrounding the theory, although mainstream science holds that there isn't any more controversy about the theory of evolution than there is about the theory of gravity, and that remaining questions about evolution are simply opportunities for additional research.

The decision the state board makes on the science curriculum this November will determine what every public school student in Texas learns about science for the next 10 years. And that's not all. Because Texas buys more textbooks than every other state except California and publishers would rather not create separate editions for smaller states, the books ordered here will end up in classrooms across the country.

"If Texas falls, this is the beginning of a giant move backward in science education," says Chris Comer, the former science director who resigned in November. "What really disturbs me most of all is how the average citizen doesn't really care. The entire education system is about to be subverted, because this isn't just about science. This is about a group of people who are trying to dictate what should be taught in every subject, not according to research or facts, but according to their own whims and personal beliefs."

For both sides in this issue, the battle isn't just about education. For people like Kathy Miller, president of the Texas Freedom Network, it's about what kind of image Texas projects to the rest of the world and what kind of leaders we are producing for tomorrow.

"We can get them ready for the century they're living in, for the jobs that are being created right here in Texas, or we can give them a 19th-century education that puts them at a disadvantage to kids in every other state in this country and around the world."

The religious right frames the issue in a similar way. For them, teaching evolution is just a small part of a larger problem in society. The way they see it, America has become increasingly godless and materialistic. To hear them tell it, they are simply trying to return America to what it once was.

————

To understand the creationist movement, and the main arguments its adherents have against evolution, there is perhaps no better place to start than the Creation Evidence Museum in Glen Rose.

The museum sits on the banks of the Paluxy, a slow-moving river in Somervell County that winds through rolling hills, thickets of mesquite and juniper and low-rising limestone walls before pouring into the Brazos River. The museum, which occupies a peach-colored trailer, is run by Carl Baugh, who claims to have found fossil evidence in the river that man and dinosaurs walked together. A few weeks ago, I drove out to Glen Rose to pay Baugh a visit.

When I arrived, a Baptist church group was sitting in the museum's main room watching a video in which Baugh explained the creationist theory. In the video, Baugh wore a red Mr. Rogers-style cardigan and carried himself with the earnest swagger of a televangelist. He had soft, almond-colored eyes, a gray pompadour haircut and a voice that was at once soothing and commanding. In another life, he could have anchored an evening news program or served as a stand-in for Dick Clark on American Bandstand.

I paid my $2 and looked around the museum, which was crowded with slabs of fossilized dinosaur footprints, tropical-looking plants and a fish tank holding a balloon-sized piranha. My gaze stopped at a black-and-white picture behind the cash register of what appeared to be a giant man at some kind of carnival or fair. It looked like something out of Ripley's Believe It or Not.

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