the world

Occupied

When I first began my doctoral journey, and had just moved to Minnesota, I was fortunate enough to be introduced to Krista Kennedy, who was, at the time, ABD in the Writing Studies Department at the University of Minnesota (she is now an Assistant Professor at Syracuse University).

I had moved across the country, nearly 2000 miles away from anyone I knew, and had left behind a life that I knew well, one in which I worked full-time and went to school full-time, to embrace a different type of life. It was expected that I would have a full-time academic career, but leave my full-time work career behind, at least for the foreseeable future. It was, to say the least, culture shock. I didn’t know what to do with myself because I didn’t understand how to work successfully without working constantly and, to put it mildly, in a suffering way. What I mean by that is that I had come to understand success as a grueling, difficult path that required me to suffer in order to progress.

Why Krista mattered so much to me at that time (and I still consider her a cherished mentor) is because she suggested that I read Those Winter Sundays, edited by Kathleen A. Welsch. It is a book about female academics who come from working class families. She said it would help me put things in to perspective, to understand that I wasn’t alone, and that this did not have to be a struggle (a lesson I still haven’t learned, by the way – I am, even this semester, teaching 3 classes while working on my dissertation).

Fast forward to this October (2011). I was at a conference in Arizona, where I’m from, and was able to visit with family. During a family outing, we found ourselves in a lower-economic area of Phoenix and were looking for a place to get something to drink. My brother pulled into a 7-11, but some of us were reluctant to get out of the car because there were many people standing around looking like they might ask for money. My brother said to us, “That could be us.” My brother, an assistant professor of education at a university, reminded us that we weren’t far from those very people, and that at a point in our lives, we were homeless.

I came home, thinking about this. Thinking about being poor and destitute and disenfranchised. We were the working class poor at one point in our lives. There were times when we, as a family, and sometimes individually, did not have a home — or the place we called home was the back room of a business, the makeshift cots in a van, a sleeping bag in the back of a station wagon, or a very small motorhome parked outside of a business. I’m not there now, but I often feel as if I’m only a step away from being there again. And as I pondered this for the next few weeks, a friend suggested that I may wear that as a guard against being privileged, against being amongst those who are privileged.

That brought me back to the book that Krista had suggested a few years prior. In the foreword, Janet Zandy writes

Class differences are measured by the absence of the right clothes, the best early medical and dental care, and, perhaps more importantly, the intangible psychological lift of the privileged, of growing up economically secure with space and time for play instead of constant work, where one explores options rather than settles for what is available. Class status and circumstances shape, perhaps determine, choice.
(viii)

I needed a moment to catch my breath. I had been struggling with trying to understand the Occupy movement. It seemed, to me, to be a lot of privileged people making a stand. I didn’t see my people out there. And why would I? They couldn’t be there. They are at work, struggling to make ends meet. They don’t have the option to go there. They don’t have the choice.

Throughout this occupation of parks and campuses across the country, I’ve tried to connect with this movement. I’ve tried to understand it, to make sense of it. And still, I struggle. Maybe that is because I don’t see the choices available, even to this day. Maybe it’s because I do still feel underprivileged in many ways (although, I know I’m not — I have an education that many people dream about, a roof over my head, and food in my kitchen). What all of this makes me wonder is if I’m the one who is occupied; am I occupied by a past that has become such an integral part of me that I only see a life of few choices? Or has it always been that those who need change the most are the least able to make it happen?

in memoriam

I didn’t know about the shootings until quite late yesterday. I get to work at 6:30 in the morning and from that time on, I’m listening to podcasts, downloaded audiobooks, or music. I don’t get radio reception in my office and I rarely listened to streamed radio reports — typically they are about the war and that has worn me out.

I was in a meeting and one of my colleagues was showing how to use a tool on our tablet pc’s (we were doing a training with a faculty member). He pulled up CNN and cut the photo out of the page and pasted it on a document (it’s a cool little tool). I watched him do it, not paying attention to the photo he cut out. Heck, the faculty member had brought in her 5-month old baby and I was too busy loving on him.

As we sat there, I looked at the photo. It didn’t dawn on me until thirty minutes later that this was something real. “Did this happen today?” I asked. “This morning,” was the reply.

Oh.

I just stared at the numbers. Thirty-three dead in a university shooting.

I was sitting in a university office. I’m a university student and employee. My first choice for my doctoral program is a university in North Carolina. It was all getting too close to home.

It’s easy to distance these things when they don’t have any affiliation to us. High school shootings are tragic but I don’t have a connection to them. I’m not a high school student nor am I a parent of one. I didn’t know anyone who worked in the World Trade Center. I don’t even know many people in NYC. I didn’t know anyone in the airline flights, either, and they weren’t originating or flying to cities where I knew many people. I have two cousins in the armed services but they aren’t near Iraq.

So I distance myself. I do it because if I didn’t, my heart would hurt constantly and I would be overwhelmed by the tragedies that surround us each and every day.

The Virginia Tech shootings were closer to home though. The shooter was an English student. I am often that student in a classroom. Some of my favorite people are professors who have been mentors and friends. Some of my best friends are colleagues who are all over campus as well. This one was close to home even though it was across the country.

It’s so close to the end of the semester and I started wondering if there are people bordering on the edge right now. I know I feel that way at times. It’s overwhelming. Multiple papers that are the culmination of my graduate career and the balance of things hanging on those papers drives me forward to complete everything. But it is so much. It would be easy to be distraught over all of this (and, as one colleague said, post-modernism can certainly push you over the edge). We pour our lives into it. My schooling is one of the most important parts of my life — the only thing more important to me is my family and Dakota (who is family). That’s it.

My heart goes out to those who were touched intimately by this tragedy. I hope, for their sakes, they can make some sense out of it and be able to survive the after effects.

profiled


photo by me

My Vegas trip was full of profiling. I really believe this to be true.

As I approached Hoover Dam, at the border between Arizona and Nevada, I had to pull over with all of the other cars. We went through this little check point.

The guys waved my car through. However, they pulled over a truck full of dark-haired men and had them out of the car and opening up the covered backend area so they could see what was in there.

The thing is, though, that I have darkly-tinted windows and a closed trunk on my car. Who is to say I wouldn’t have something in there? I didn’t, of course, but who’s to say I wouldn’t.

As I drove up to the Bellagio to go to the Ansel Adams exhibit, there were security guards stopping cars to look inside.

They waved me through. However, they had stopped the car before me and had them open their trunk.

While I didn’t get to see the people in the car before mine, I had the distinct feeling that we were being profiled.

It happened again on my way back across the Hoover Dam.

This was disturbing to me. I felt like there was serious discrimination going on during this trip. It made me wonder how it would be to look different or to be male.

How would I feel about being pulled over for how I looked?

I’d be hurt. I’d be upset.

I wouldn’t show it (because who knows what they’d do if I did that) but I think I would still feel that way.

struggle




photo by me

Yesterday, in response to my entry about peace, Jennifer wrote:

I’m just wondering if you differentiate between an aggressive agenda to obliterate a country (Iran’s stated intent to destroy Israel) from defending oneself and one’s allies against such an agenda?

I thought about it all night. I didn’t want to give a glib answer and be done with it. Her thoughtful question warranted a thoughtful response.

I thought about how Nelson Mandela and deClerq were able to avoid bloodshed when apartheid was abolished and how they moved in a peaceful way to create a new nation. I thought about how the leaders of the nation next door to them, Zimbabwe, did exactly the opposite and began killing whites and burning them out of homes when the new government took over. I thought about Gandhi’s walks for peace. I thought about the Civil Rights’ struggle here in the US. I thought about the student standing in front of the tanks in Tiananmen Square.

And I know it’s possible to do things in a peaceful manner. It is a struggle but it is possible. It takes courage to do that. Few people have that kind of courage.

Then, this morning, I heard on the news that the Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad made comments about the United States and said that this nation is a “hollow superpower” that is “tainted with the blood of nations”. And that sealed it for me.

We need to stop for a moment. WE may think that we are “doing good” by going in to other nations and taking out oppressive factions. However, how do those people view us? Sure, we all see on the news the people who held up their purple thumbs after the election. We didn’t see, however, the people who boycotted the vote. We don’t hear from the people who aren’t happy with our occupation of their country.

And make no mistake, we are occupying countries.

We are not some benevolent giant who is merely protecting our interests and the interests of our allies. Iraq had nothing to do with that whatsoever. They weren’t threatening our security. Neither was Afghanistan. But there we are, occupying their nations.

In terms of Iran, so far peaceful heads have reigned. Germany led the way for Iran to be brought to the UN Security Council for their nuclear activities. Iran vows that the nuclear actions they are taking are positive and will not be used for bombs. And that is why we must take steps that are peaceful. Not just jump in with a gun and say, “Hey, I don’t believe you!”

Bullying is right. We are bullies. We want the world to believe and act as we do.

And that’s just not possible.

peace




photo by me

“I firmly believe that free societies are peaceful societies, and I believe every person desires to be free.”
~ President George W. Bush ~

Today is a fitting day to think about peace. Coretta Scott King, wife to the venerable Martin Luther King, Jr., passed away in her sleep. It is the end of an era in the United States.

We live in a time when peace is not being respected or treated as something that we want to aspire to, no matter what rhetoric is being thrown about by politicians.

“I don’t see how you can be a partner in peace if you advocate the destruction of a country as part of your platform. And I know you can’t be a partner in peace if you have a — if your party has got an armed wing.”
~ President George W. Bush ~

Our highest officials advocate peace but we, too, have an armed wing and in the light of Afghanistan and Iraq, I cannot but think that the citizens of those nations may see us as promoting the destruction of their nations.

What could have been different if we had taken more time to affirm the lack of WMDs? What could have happened if we had had more patience? What could have happened if oil and revenge hadn’t been at the center of a war that is not necessary (as if any war is really necessary)? We will never know. Those opportunities were never given a chance to grow to fruition. It was so much easier to send in troops and take a country by force.

The bombings continue. Civilians are being killed in the streets. Just two weeks ago intelligence thought the number 2 al-Quaeda man was in a village and it was bombed, killing dozens of innocent people but missing him (and he laughs at the United States about this, according to al-Jazeera).

It’s time to stop. It’s time to focus on non-violent means of solving our issues.

What will our children learn from our leaders rushing in to fight fights instead of approaching situations with non-violence in mind? Will they, too, learn that picking up a stick, a knife, or a gun will solve the fight?

“But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
~ William Butler Yeats ~


winning




photo by me

I’ve been thinking about this topic for a while and a conversation that I had last night pushed me in the direction of writing it. While the conversation touched on this, the people involved were not in the same situation and didn’t want to hurt anyone or cause any grief.

I’m not one of those people who thinks that competition is bad. I’m not one of those people who thinks that we should give ribbons to everyone and declare everyone a winner.

I think that healthy competition is good for us. It motivates us. It prompts us to do better, to push ourselves, to invest in something that matters.

But I’m also a little leery when people say they win at an argument or that they have come out on top and it leaves someone else feeling bad or hurt or angry.

I wonder what the point is then. Why would you want to win if you’ve hurt someone else? In the long run does it make you feel better? Does it make you a better person? Does it make you more humane? Probably not.

I like to win as much as the next person. In fact, I have this stupid computer game that I play sometimes for fun. It is impossible to win. I have tried it a million different ways but the way it is set up, I don’t think it’s winnable. So when it comes to the end of the game and I haven’t won, it tells me that I’m a loser. It states, unequivocably, “Loser!” How rude, I tell it each time. You don’t have to laugh at me just because I can’t conquer you.

Winning. We have to win the war on terrorism, drugs, illegal immigration. It’s mandated.

Our society has become about winning. The person who makes the most money says, “I win!” What do you win? 80 hour work weeks? Time away from your family and friends? The pleasure of a missing out on a walk through the forest with your trusted pet?

When we win a war, do we really win? And what happens to those who lose? I can’t help but think of Bosnia and all of the people who still suffer there. Or Afghanistan. Or any number of other places. We won. Yahoo.

It doesn’t make me feel like a winner. I feel like we dropped the ball somewhere and let our fellow mankind down.

We didn’t win. We lost something precious.

And I think we need to think about that. When we say, “I win” what does it mean? Have we let someone down along the way to attain that? Have we hurt someone?

Is conquering things really that important?

sensory surplus




photo by me

I’m currently taking a course in grad school that is an introduction to multimedia design. It’s not what most people envision though. It’s a rhetorical study of visual communications. Why are certain images used? What do they evoke when they are used? What kind of audience response is desired when a specific image is used?

We are tying this in to the concept of peace. How is peace portrayed in visual communications and do images have the same effects on everyone?

Last night I was reading about peace and the visual impact of images. Simon sends me an e-mail about the Canadian elections. We start talking about the new Prime Minister, Harper, and how he has some ultra-conservatives on his team. We talk about what that could mean for Canada.

Because of the books I had been reading just prior to that, my thoughts are on the world at large and how one country’s elections can have an impact on the world at large. And I say this to him:

I’ve been reading the books on peace tonight for my class. I think my head is in that place where I want to believe in the goodness of people and our desire to do right by others all over the world.

Pollyanna-ish, I know.

I think that your election just reminds me that it’s a struggle to have leaders who aren’t all about money or power or control. And is that even possible? Isn’t the whole meaning of being a leader about power and control?

I don’t know.

And then I start thinking about the images that flicker by nightly on the news. We see images of genocide in Darfur. We see killings in the Congo. We see people suffering from natural disasters in Pakistan, Nicaragua, and Indonesia. We see people being stoned, shot, and hung.

And my heart hurts. I feel like there is nothing I can do – it’s just too much.

But those people who have power, they can do so much more. And do they? Do they care about the woman in the Sudan who is hungry and giving everything she has to her child so that he can grow up to fight a battle that he doesn’t need to fight? Do they care about the child in Afghanistan who sees the surplus holdings of the warlords and knows that is the only way to survive?

Do they care?

Do we care?

Or is it all just a little too much? Do we bury our heads in the sand and hope that tomorrow will be a better day?

And if we can make a difference, just by speaking out, helping out when we can, will we? Can we?

I want to believe that I’m a good person and that I would do what I can to make a difference in the lives of others. Even if it is that person one state over who is in despair and tired and lonely and hungry and just needs to know someone cares.

I do. I care.

And if I can do more, I will.

That’s my promise for this new year.

looking in




photo by me

Yesterday I bought my plane tickets to Vancouver. To say I’m excited is an understatement. I fell in love with that city. It is beautiful in ways that are impossible to describe.

I can’t tell you how it feels to stand on a landing and watch a storm come in and envelope the city. I can’t explain the peace of riding a very crowded express bus along the highway but between the towering trees of Stanley Park.

I can’t begin to convey how much the melding of ocean and mountains touches me.

Vancouver takes my breath away.

But mostly, it’s the people I visit, the people I meet along the way. They are what make the trips especially joyful.

I’m an interloper on this beautiful city. I’m not an inhabitant of the city nor even the country. I’m being allowed in by the good graces of the people of Canada.

And I appreciate that more than they can ever know.

a small world




photo by me

One of the things that I’m finding as my photography gets out there more is that the world is a very small place. It may seem huge when we want to travel or when someone we care about is thousands of miles away but it really is a small place.

And as special as we think our one little place in the world may be, there are more similarities between it and other places than we may realize.

In the last few weeks I have had comments from people in Australia and Scotland tell me that my photography reminds them of their homes. My little place in Flagstaff reminds someone of Australia or Scotland.

Now, since Scotland is one of my all-time favorite places to visit, it makes me take a moment and think about it. Do I live somewhere that is as beautiful as a place I wish to be? Do I take my surroundings for granted? Do I miss out on the subtle nuances of this town and what joys it may hold for a traveler?

I’m sure I do.

I know it’s beautiful. I try to capture that in my photography. But I never realize just how beautiful it is here until someone says that they wish they could be here or that this is one of their favorite places in the world.

And when someone comments that a photograph reminds them of home, that’s a huge compliment. So many things are connected to the idea of “home.”

If I’m able to bring home to a few people, that is a wonderful feeling.

if wishes were fishes




photo by me

I have love affairs with cities. Some of the most beautiful cities in the world have been at the center of my fantasies: San Francisco, Edinburgh, and Vancouver. I have even had a love affair with London with its amazing museums and rich history. I could lose myself in those winding streets and emerge, after dusk, happy and satisfied, filled on the delights of the city.

My current love affair is Vancouver. I long to see her again, to taste the salt air on my lips, to breath in the pine-scented breeze.

I didn’t get to see enough on the three trips I took in the last year. It wasn’t nearly enough.

I want to taste, smell, hear, feel, and see more.

I long to walk along the streets and pop in somewhere for fresh sushi.

I want to wander around the library until I find that perfect place to sit and read and watch and listen.

I want to walk along the shore and hear the tide roll in.

I’m craving it.

While my love affairs are most definitely one-sided, they are love affairs. I miss the cities that I fall in love with. I wish to be with them.

The thing about cities, though, is that they never fail me. They continue on, enticing me, never disappointing because I have seen their flaws, their dirty laundry and their scars and I still love them.

Oh, Vancouver…