Can you spell T-R-A-N-S-P-H-O-B-I-A ?

~ NBCnews.com

Implicit Bias

I'm attending an online webinar this week on Immigrant Student Success: Models and Tools for K-12 and Adult Educators, offered by the Immigrant Learning Center in Malden, MA. In preparation for tomorrow's session, we're asked to watch a video about implicit bias on the New York Times POV channel. It's a simple and straightforward examination of the subconscious biases we all have, their effects, and how to address them. There are 6 short episodes which play automatically one after the other.  

My parents raised us to recognize our implicit biases about race, religion, and class, but that doesn't make mine any less real. And beyond race, religion, and class, I have learned biases about age, weight, education, ability/disability, clothing, and dental health, to mention just a few.

You can take an online test, created by Project Implicit, to reveal your implicit biases. There are 14 topics to choose from—I did two: religion, and weight. Not surprisingly, I scored a “slight" bias for Christianity over Judaism and Islam, and a “moderate" bias for thin people over fat ones. The tests are basic indicators, not in-depth examinations, so my weight bias didn't show up to be as strong as I know it really is (stemming from my own inculcated sense of shame about my bodyweight). But it's certainly worth the time to explore.

Imagine being a refugee

During the Vietnamese refugee crisis in the late 1970s, my sisters and I created a simulation game (which were big at that time and should be revived) about being a refugee entering the U.S.  We had everyone at an all-church weekend retreat play the part of a refugee, with a few people acting as officials at various stations.  All of the forms were printed in Greek, which no one but my oldest sister, a Greek scholar, knew well enough to read.

Each refugee entered a large room with different stations.  They had to proceed through each station, completing forms in order to move on to the next station.  Some officials were helpful, others not.  By the end, the refugees were all exhausted and frustrated, many of them wanting to simply give up.

Today I read an article describing the challenges immigrants face when they first arrive, and it took me right back to that simulation.  Imaging trying to fill out medical forms that are complicated even for us when you don't know the language and are coming from a country with completely different procedures!  How about dealing with an emergency situation—an accident, a fire, a heart attack?  And the school system if you have children?

This article describes many of these situations and provides resources for teachers to help new immigrants traverse this incomprehensible terrain.  But it's not just for teachers—everyone can learn something about how to help newcomers navigate our social systems and cultural expectations.  Filing taxes, making appointments, getting through layers of options on an answering service, dealing with the police (don't run, keep your hands visible, know your address and phone number).  Simply getting through a day here is overwhelming when you're a newcomer.  Be ready to help every step of the way.  Every one of us can welcome the stranger in concrete ways, however seemingly small.  It's not small to them.

A Voice for Refugees: Developing Essential Language Skills, by Sarah C. Kassas

Buddha Inside the Light

The core of every core, the kernel of every kernel,

an almond! held in itself, deepening in sweetness:

all of this, everything, right up to the stars,

is the meat around your stone.  Accept my bow.

Oh, yes, you feel it, how the weights on you are gone!

Your husk has reached into what has no end,

and that is where the great saps are brewing now.

On the outside a warmth is helping,

for high, high above, your own suns are growing

immense and they glow as they wheel around.

Yet something has already started to live

in you that will live longer than the suns.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke (transl., Robert Bly)

A tiger in the city

I took the day off of teacher-training intensity and wandered around with James (after waking up at noon).  We met up with one of my cohort, Daria, and ate crêpes and then went across the street to a coffee shop where I had one of those great French teeth-eating espressos.  And then it was on to our favorite English-language used bookstore down the street, S W Welch, which Daria had never been to but fell in love with on the spot.  We bought a number of books to upsize our downsized book collection at home.  We're incorrigible.

What books did I buy, you ask?  Two David Guterson novels (East of the Mountains, and The Other), a book Daria recommended (the curious incident of the dog in the night-time), and a book on Chinese astrology by Master Zhongxian Wu (The 12 Chinese Animals).  I find Chinese astrology much more compelling than Greek with its elemental system based on water, fire, earth, metal, and wood.  I spent quite a bit of time working with it at one point in my life and gained a greater understanding of myself through delving into those mysteries.  Whether I “believe in” it or not is beside the point.  It is a millenias-old tradition that carries the weight of time and provides another way in to the human search for meaning.  As a mystic, I believe in anything that speaks to the depth of experience here on earth.  If you're wondering, I'm a Water Tiger.

And then James and I walked around a little more in the Mile End neighborhood and I took a few photos.  My first time out with my camera this visit.  I have been totally consumed with lesson planning for the past week, and will be again next week.  It was great to have a break, and the weather was gorgeous.  A blessed day.

3 down...

...5 to go!  I'm almost halfway through my teaching practicum for the CELTA certificate.  It's more work than I've had to do in decades, but so far I'm surviving.  And performing sufficiently well.  I will definitely be a better teacher of English to non-native speakers when I'm done with this course.  And I'll have some more good friends, to boot!  Our team of 4 teachers (we're divided into 3 teams for the duration of the practicum) is becoming a support system, catching each other when we begin to fall and cheering us on when we're rising to the challenge.  Even one colleague I couldn't connect with at first moved with me today to a new level of understanding and empathy.  If you give someone (and yourself) long enough, you'll break through the barriers and find common ground.  One of the real strengths of this sort of endeavor is being forced to work with someone you might otherwise never have chosen to know.  And finding out how much you can like each other.

Onward and upward!

Sign of Our Times

The number of times the words "faith" and "self" have been used in written works in English from 1800 to 2008 (the most recent year available).  [Google Books Ngram]
 

My brain on CELTA

Coming apart like a two-bit suitcase…

Why

I've been getting more and more stressed out by the thought of my upcoming practicum, as well as by the whole idea of having to teach this stuff.  This morning at church when I looked at the RefuJesus icon that James has placed in the center of the chancel, larger-than-life-size, I recalled the real reason I'm doing this.  It's not a performance thing.

"RefuJesus" - David Hayward (www.nakedpastor.com)

It's not all up to me.  I've got help.

Rebuilding

Wall at 9/11 construction site, January 2005

Did You See the Sky

Did you see the sky through me
tonight, carbon blues and clouds like ropes
of wool behind a fringe of branches,
great combs of black stilling in their sap,
stiffening with winter. I like to imagine
love can pull your essence like red thread
through the cold needle of my life now
without you. I was just driving home
from the grocery store and looking up
over the roofs, I remembered once when
I was overthrowing my thoughts
for doubts you said, I know how to love you
because I hitchhiked, and it was never the same sky twice.
Now, I hear you say, this music is like wind
moving through itself to wind, intricate
as the chimes of light splintering into
everything while glowing more whole.
It is nothing like those dusty chords
on your radio, each an ego
of forced air, heavy with the smells
of onions, mushrooms, sage and rain.
Drink it in, you say, those corded clouds
and throaty vocals. You will miss all this
when you become the changing.

 ~ Rachel Jamison Webster (©2015)

This song's for anybody

At My Best — Machine Gun Kelly, feat. Hailee Steinfeld

Original photo by Dianne de Mott

I wrote this song as a message for help

On behalf of anybody finding theyself
I wrote this letter to numb your pain
'Cause everyday I wake up I'm feeling the same
I got issues just like you got issues
I been hurt I seen the scar tissue
If I show you would you run away
Do I gotta hide 'em for you to wanna stay
Do I even need you, should I leave you
Do I gotta be you, just to please you
Do I say I'm all good, when I bleed you
Through my heart, quit tearing mine apart

I shout, I swear, I get angry, I get scared
I fall, I break, I mess up, I make mistakes
But if you can't take me at my worst
You don't deserve me at my best

Got to keep it going, got to keep my head up, uh
Got to keep it going, got to keep my head up, uh
Got to keep it going, got to keep my head up 'cause life is about

Ah, check this out

Life is about making mistakes
It's also about trying to be great
Do not let failure scare you away
I know you fed up, you fall, get up
It's all in us, I can speak about 'cause I did it (true)
Ladies and gentlemen, here's the exhibit
It's my life, look a little closer you could see the highlight
Gold ain't always golden but I told 'em
Look at all the years I've been waiting for a moment
Shed a lot of tears just to smile in the morning
Tell me, could you love me, tell me could you love me
Tell me, could you love me if I told you why

I shout, I swear, I get angry, I get scared
I fall, I break, I mess up, I make mistakes
But if you can't take me at my worst
You don't deserve me at my best

This song's for anybody, yeah
Who feels like I did
Never the cool kid
This song's for anybody
Who fought their way through
Always remain true
This song's for anybody
The ones who trying to get it
The ones who dreaming and live it
This song's for anybody
This song, this song, this song, this song, this song, this song

I shout, I swear, I get angry, I get scared
I fall, I break, I mess up, I make mistakes
But if you can't take me at my worst
You don't deserve me at my best

Got to keep it going, got to keep my head up, uh
Got to keep it going, got to keep my head up, uh
Got to keep it going, got to keep my head up 'cause life is about

Not on the evening news

He was not badly disfigured, compared to some,

But even a little stream of blood where death is

Will whimper across a forest floor,

Run through that whole forest shouting.

 ~ William Meredith, excerpt from "Notes for an Elegy" (1944)

Graffitti, Pittsfield MA (2008) 

Through the way where hope is guiding...

Jesu, joy of man’s desiring,

Holy wisdom, love most bright;
Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring
Soar to uncreated light.

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,
With the fire of life impassioned,
Striving still to truth unknown,
Soaring, dying round Thy throne.

Through the way where hope is guiding,
Hark, what peaceful music rings;
Where the flock, in Thee confiding,
Drink of joy from deathless springs.

Theirs is beauty’s fairest pleasure;
Theirs is wisdom’s holiest treasure.
Thou dost ever lead Thine own
In the love of joys unknown.

~ lyrics by Martin Janus (1661), music by Jo­hann Schop (1590-1664); ar­r. by J. S. Bach (1723)

Fully Human in Inhumane Times

I fell off writing here because I reached a point where I could no longer live on news reports alone.  My soul needed a different way to be in these dangerous times.  Plus, anyone who is likely to read this blog has probably already seen all the reports and opinion articles I have, so there's no point in simply passing them along again here.

What I realized I need now is art.  Poetry, music, beauty.  Not as a distraction from the reality around us, but as a way to be in it that isn't soul-destroying.  A way to be fully human in inhumane times.

A couple of days after coming to that realization, a book jumped off the shelf of a bookstore into my hands:  Poetry of Witness:  The Tradition in English, 1500–2001, edited by Carolyn Forché and Duncan Wu.  It's a heavy tome, with some 600 pages of poetry.  And a brilliant introduction by Wu and Forché.

Duncan Wu:

For poetry of witness, as Forché defines it, … has always been the means by which the imagination has articulated its response to war, imprisonment, oppression, and enslavement.  … [O]f all genres, poetry is best suited to the task.  We refer to its ability to accommodate the sublime, the ineffable, that of which we cannot speak. (p. 3)

And Carolyn Forché:

In the poetry of witness, the poem makes present to us the experience of the other, the poem is the experience, rather than a symbolic representation.  When we read the poem as witness, we are marked by it and become ourselves witnesses to what it has made present before us.  Language incises the page, wounding it with testimonial presence, and the reader is marked by encounter with that presence.  Witness begets witness.  The text we read becomes a living archive.  (p. 26)

Instead of filling this blog with news articles and op-ed pieces and pictures of horror, I'm going to fill it with poetry, and photos and music that might not relate directly to the poems but are a moment of beauty in themselves.

To begin:

Oh sacred hunger of ambitious minds

And important desire of men to reign,

Whom neither dread of God, that devils binds,

Nor laws of men, that commonweals contain,

Nor bands of nature, that wild beasts restrain,

Can keep from outrage and from doing wrong,

Where they may hope a kingdom to obtain.

No faith so firm, no trust can be so strong,

No love so lasting then, that may endure long.

~ Sir Edmund Spenser, excerpt from The Faerie Queene  (c. 1596)

 

In the words of Isaiah...

"The Unconquered Man," Khatyn Memorial,
sculptor S. Selikhanov

Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of injustice,
    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
    and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
    and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
    and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
    the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.

Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
    you shall cry for help, and God will say,

Here I am.

If you remove the yoke from among you,
    the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,

if you offer your food to the hungry
    and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
    and your gloom be like the noonday.

(Isaiah 58:6-10)

I'm a WASP/I'm an Immigrant

My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-…? grandfather on my mother's side immigrated to Massachusetts in 1621 from Suffolk, England.  He helped found Ipswich, MA, before the United States existed.  His descendants served in the American Revolution—I could join the DAR if I wanted to— and later descendants served in the Union Army during the Civil War.

My father's immigrant ancestors were Huguenots who immigrated to the New York area in the 1720s to escape persecution as Protestants in Catholic France.  Some of them probably served in the American Revolution and Civil War, too.  So I'm about as WASPy as they come.

And yet, I'm a descendant of immigrants.  Any white American is here because of immigration, whether their ancestors came over on the Mayflower or in one of the later waves of peoples from Europe escaping famine, poverty, or religious and/or political persecution.  I don't care how long your clan has been here, you are still the offspring of immigrants.  And your immigrant forebears may well have experienced discrimination, even bigoted violence, when they first arrived.

The President, who has just signed an executive order stopping refugees and Muslims from crossing our border, is himself descended from much more recent immigrants than I am.  His father's family arrived from Germany in 1885; his mother came from Scotland in 1930 and didn't become a U.S. citizen until 1942, just four years before Donald was born.

When the first of the Trump clan, Friederich, immigrated to the U.S. in 1885, Germans were considered “aliens” who should be denied their rights.

Nativist politicians called for restricting the rights of aliens (who live and work legally in the country but are not citizens) and foreign-born citizens, especially with respect to voting and holding political office. … German Americans probably became the targets of the nativists because of their large numbers. With a different language, customs, and in some cases, a different set of religious or political beliefs, Germans were viewed by some as foreign and therefore dangerous. Many German Americans were Catholics, another target of the Know-Nothings [party], who claimed that the pope was conspiring to get political control in the United States. Some Americans, too, were beginning to feel the intense competition from German American tradesmen and merchants.  ("German Immigration," U.S. History in Context)

Sound familiar? The President and his supporters need a serious history lesson.  In the words of Marcus Tulius Cicero (106-43 BCE):

Not to know what has been transacted in former times is to be always a child. If no use is made of the labors of past ages, the world must remain always in the infancy of knowledge. 

Refugee vetting process

Our small city of Pittsfield, MA, has committed to welcoming refugee families for resettlement.  Like everywhere across our nation (and Canada, based on comments I have received on my Facebook page, Angels Unaware, dedicated to raising funds for helping refugees resettle here), people have questions about the safety of letting people from "terrorist" countries enter the US.

Children in Istanbul (2011)

Pittsfield's local paper, the Berkshire Eagle, published an article yesterday explaining in full the vetting process that each refugee goes through before being accepted into the US.  It takes up to two years to complete the process, a process more rigorous than anyone else entering the country has to go through.  I hope you'll read this article so that your fears can be laid to rest.  We have more to fear from our President than we do from refugees.

How will refugees settling in Pittsfield be vetted?

Why We March

On my way to the sister march in Pittsfield, MA
in my hand-crocheted Pink Pussy Hat

UNITY PRINCIPLES

of the 

Women's March on Washington

January 21, 2017

We believe that Women’s Rights are Human Rights and Human Rights are Women’s Rights. We must create a society in which women - including Black women, Native women, poor women, immigrant women, disabled women, Muslim women, lesbian queer and trans women - are free and able to care for and nurture their families, however they are formed, in safe and healthy environments free from structural impediments. 

ENDING VIOLENCE

Women deserve to live full and healthy lives, free of all forms of violence against our bodies. We believe in accountability and justice in cases of police brutality and ending racial profiling and targeting of communities of color. It is our moral imperative to dismantle the gender and racial inequities within the criminal justice system.

REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS

We believe in Reproductive Freedom. We do not accept any federal, state or local rollbacks, cuts or restrictions on our ability to access quality reproductive healthcare services, birth control, HIV/AIDS care and prevention, or medically accurate sexuality education. This means open access to safe, legal, affordable abortion and birth control for all people, regardless of income, location or education. 

LGBTQIA RIGHTS

We firmly declare that LGBTQIA Rights are Human Rights and that it is our obligation to uplift, expand and protect the rights of our gay, lesbian, bi, queer, trans or gender non-conforming brothers, sisters and siblings. We must have the power to control our bodies and be free from gender norms, expectations and stereotypes.

WORKER’S RIGHTS

We believe in an economy powered by transparency, accountability, security and equity. All women should be paid equitably, with access to affordable childcare, sick days, healthcare, paid family leave, and healthy work environments. All workers – including domestic and farm workers, undocumented and migrant workers - must have the right to organize and fight for a living minimum wage.

CIVIL RIGHTS

We believe Civil Rights are our birthright, including voting rights, freedom to worship without fear of intimidation or harassment, freedom of speech, and protections for all citizens regardless of race, gender, age or disability. We believe it is time for an all-inclusive Equal Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.  

DISABILITY RIGHTS

We believe that all women’s issues are issues faced by women with disabilities and Deaf women. As mothers, sisters, daughters, and contributing members of this great nation, we seek to break barriers to access, inclusion, independence, and the full enjoyment of citizenship at home and around the world. We strive to be fully included in and contribute to all aspects of American life, economy, and culture.

IMMIGRANT RIGHTS

Rooted in the promise of America’s call for huddled masses yearning to breathe free, we believe in immigrant and refugee rights regardless of status or country of origin.  We believe migration is a human right and that no human being is illegal.

ENVIRONMENTAL JUSTICE

We believe that every person and every community in our nation has the right to clean water, clean air, and access to and enjoyment of public lands. We believe that our environment and our climate must be protected, and that our land and natural resources cannot be exploited for corporate gain or greed—especially at the risk of public safety and health.

At the sister march in Pittsfield

The course begins

It's somehow fitting that my CELTA course began as our country heads toward the inauguration of Donald Trump as President.  A xenophobic misogynist racist fearmonger who is ready to slash and burn all the civil and human rights progress the US has made over the past decades.  My goal to help refugees learn English has become much more political than when I began this journey.  Riskier, too.  So I am more determined than ever to make it happen!

My Skype headshot

This morning I had my first Skype conversation with a classmate, Tom, to come up with a lead-in that will engage the learners in that day's lesson right away and offer them a context for the things they will be practicing.  I was a bit nervous, as always, to meet someone new, but as often happens I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation and look forward to getting to know Tom better.  He's a New Liberal—Canada's Socialist party—from St. John, New Brunswick, a city that James and I loved when we visited a few years ago.  He was surprised I'd even heard of New Brunswick, let alone love it there!

Being a student again after 30 years off is definitely challenging.  Getting my brain to focus closely on texts and tasks, and retain the information, takes way more effort at 54 than it did at 24.  But I'm really glad I chose the most rigorous certificate program I could afford because it's clear I'm going to learn a lot and be able to teach well when I'm done.  That's worth all the brainstrain of getting there.