Tag: archived (Page 7 of 8)

This piece was originally published on Medium on 14 October 2017.

Coming to Cambridge for my PhD has been a slightly harder transition than when I left for Edinburgh for my Masters four years ago. When I left for Scotland I was experiencing a sense of intellectual wanderlust; I loved where I had grown up but I also felt that I had outgrown it. This time, however, I’ve left my home for a longer time after learning to grow into the gifts that my community had to offer. It’s one thing to grow up knowing abstractly that you come from a good place, it is quite another to see that place for what it is, to understand it’s intricacies and the care and time that individuals give to make it what it is; not flawless, but striving. Not perfect, but genuinely caring. Not a simple idyllic, but with depths to plumb and more to offer than can be scratched from the surface of a postcard-picturesque sunset. Suddenly, when you not only know what you’ve left behind, but understand why it is so much a part of you, it becomes hard to remember why you left no matter what the bright opportunity you are meant to be running towards might be.

But what has made the transition easier – both times actually – is finding an integral part of my community elsewhere, through Rotarians in both Scotland and England. When you are moving somewhere new, it is nice to know that there are people there with a genuine interest in taking care of you – and that it isn’t lip service either. Even before I landed, my host club, the Rotary Club of Cambridge-South had gone above and beyond to help me navigate the university’s convoluted bureaucracy and make sure that I would actually have a place to live when I arrived. And after months of hearing, “this is not our problem” from other places, it was such a relief, though certainly not a surprise. My home club, the Rotary Club of Madison, CT and my home District, RI District 7980, have shown me time and again that people are willing to do whatever it takes to someone, not because of what they will receive, but because of what they can do for someone else, simply because they can. I am so grateful to have been made a part of this community, twice now, and know first-hand how my life has been shaped because someone in Rotary thought I was worth supporting. And if it feels rare to be so embraced and so supported by a community when you are a stranger and an outsider, I hope that whatever little I do in this world, I can share that feeling of being accepted and worth helping, when I have to the chance to do so, for someone else. Helping is one of the most genuine forms of showing care that there is; how lucky am I to be so cared for.

A global community dedicated to service in this world seems like an abstract dream. Can people genuinely just want to help others to the best of their abilities anymore? In my experience, yes. And the Scholars Welcome Dinner held by Rotary International District 1080 served to confirm that experience, across generations. Eleven scholars from five countries, all working on different topics but with the same goal in mind were able to come together and further show that diverse people with diverse experiences can learn from each other to push towards a common end. I am very excited to see what this cohort can do — even from just preliminary plans to coordinate Rotary Peace Project training locally, and take those skills back to our own communities. It doesn’t take a lot to make it happen either. Just a little bit of time, a little bit of connecting the threads. It is a lot like a jigsaw puzzle with no key in some respects. Not a single one of us has the answer, or even a full grasp of the picture. But we can each do a part, and benefit from the others’ perspectives.

This piece was originally published on Medium on 13 September 2017.

I leave my home of over twenty years in less than two weeks to start a new adventure. Or continue the old adventure. I’m not sure which is correct yet. But between the logistics of planning a three year move for an intensive degree and saying goodbye to a place I have only grown to love more in the last year, I also have the chance to see something I worked on for months at the newspaper come to fruition in a way I didn’t think possible.

Back in May, while working on a historical piece, I noticed that there were glaring holes in the narrative small-town Connecticut tells about its history. Despite the fact that their names cover the landscape, indigenous people are often absent from the colonial narrative. Despite the fact that trade based on their use in industry across the globe is what made New England financially strong during the colonial period, slaves, too, are notably absent. So I started working on a piece using local experts on the history of slavery in Connecticut, and why it is important to look at this history to better understand some of what we face, socially, today. It was finally finished, and published, at the end of August.

Digging into this topic turned up far more questions than answers and easily about ten times the information than I could write about in that article — local papers only have so much room. But while I ponder what to do with the rest of it, and where to go from there, I get to host a panel discussion with my sources at a local museum before I leave. As a journalist, it is a wonderful way to end a chapter. But as I frame what this event will be, and what will be discussed, it is forcing me to interrogate what and why I write, and why story and history are so important to me.

History is a collection of facts that continues to grow, that we weave into a story to help us explain who we are and where we are from. What we choose to remember helps us decide, as individuals and as a larger society, who we will become. And that is something that we are grappling with on many levels right now — who are our towns, our states? What does it mean to be an American, or even, human — and who gets to call themselves either of these things without someone else thinking that they have the right to question its validity.

When we cut out parts of our history, whether it is intentional or not, we erase people. We refuse to see them as part of that fabric of the past, and so it becomes easier to tell ourselves that they are not us, but something other. They are not us, and so they are not ours to protect and respect, to treat as part of the country we inhabit today. We give ourselves permission to ignore the events that lead to social disenfranchisement in the present, and to make excuses for our complicity.

Acknowledging complicity has been a major underlying thread of this narrative. Something I learned as a facilitator is that we cannot start to have conversations about how to solve problems without first considering the ways in which we ourselves might be compounding or contributing to the problems. If I’m playing a game to facilitate leadership training, and I’m not listening to what my peers are saying — or not saying––then I am part of the problem. I cannot reasonably be angry that a) things are not working or b) that the problem seems to only get worse. This remains applicable when dealing with larger problems as well. Part of what we are seeing right now is different groups of people who are disenfranchised in different ways by the way our society is constructed, saying “help, you are hurting me,” and getting all sorts of reasons why they are wrong or why someone else, who doesn’t live those experiences, doesn’t think that their pain is valid. It is a form of silencing, and in the context of all the ways we have silenced people through history, it is no small, excusable thing.

The tides of the world change, and so too must the stories we tell about ourselves. So too must the ways in which we look at our history, or else we will never grow. A more comprehensive view of history, with more voices represented only helps us, though there are those who are working very hard to convince people otherwise, that the bubble should not be burst because it would ruin the idyllic vision that has persisted. And this is what really drove me to pursue that story from May to August, to want to continue to find ways to interrogate the history I grew up learning; the bubble has to burst. Whether as a journalist or an academic, or something in between part of my job is to interrogate these things, and put it on the record. An article, a panel, these are small things, but it is the way I can stand witness.

So maybe this panel, this piece of closure will be nothing, and maybe no one will show up. Or maybe there are enough questions about why we are doing this at all that people will want to come and learn more. But there are things that have to start to be said in the most idyllic communities, and this is one place to start. So, if you are around the CT River Museum on Sept. 18 at 5:30 p.m., I hope you’ll join us. And otherwise, I’m sure I will be checking back in here as the adventure continues.

This post was originally published on Medium on 20 July 2017.

Sometimes news that seems small in the grand scheme of things is actually indicative of much deeper problems and shifts in society, which is something I had the chance to address in this piece, published at Roar.

I was inspired to pitch this while in a blind rage the day after a friend passed the news on to me that in a sort-of add-insult-to-injury-and-call-it-privitisation way, it would now cost a fee to email UK Immigration for questions regarding the application process. (Prior to this year, phone calls had an associated fee, but emails were free.) I actually never planned on writing it myself, thinking that I would share the news in a few groups of travel writers and fellow international students, and someone else might find a way into the story, take an angle on it. I didn’t want to rock the boat — I’m going to start applying for my own UK visa again soon, and it was bear-enough of a process the first time around before the added NHS costs. But the more I thought about it, and the more it was buried further under the surreal news cycle we all live within, the more I had to say something.

Now for some, as I wrote, this is just a matter of costs, a way to enforce a policy of austerity by reducing government spending in some way. But things that cannot be ignored — which I was only able to touch lightly on in the piece but which motivated it nonetheless — is that there is a distinct implicit bias revealed about how we decide who belongs where, and we can dig into that by considering the following question: Who is an immigrant, and who is an expat.

If we look up the definition in Merriam-Webster, an “expat” is defined as “an expatriate person,” and “expatriate” is defined as “to withdraw (oneself) from residence in or allegiance to one’s native country” or “to leave one’s native country to live elsewhere.” “Immigrant” is defined as “One that immigrates such as a person who comes to a country to take up permanent residence,” and “immigrate” is defined as “to enter and usually become established; especially: to come into a country of which one is not a native for permanent residence.” But, as discussed here, here, and here, the ways in which we choose when to use which term is a matter of semantics, and also, social constructions tied to colonialism regarding race and ethnicity. The summary: when we say “expat” we are often reserving that term for white westerners, and it is a bias that we don’t question, but we should.

The world continues to globalize. Education is supposed to be the great equalizer in the contemporary world. However, it is not lost upon me as an American student/graduate student that the value of my education is not the education itself, but what the debt subsidizes in turn through both higher fees at home and abroad, and fewer available funding options. When this adds up over ten years of higher education, combined with the perception of academia, the true value society places on education becomes clear. Contrary to what those who determine what school fees should be seem to believe, I am not landed gentry from the Regency period with nothing else to do with my time or wealth. Contrary to popular memes regarding academics, I did not choose to pursue a PhD because I can’t do anything else. I did not choose this path to hide from reality in ivory towers, as some think academics do. And in truth, I think that those academics who choose to do that, especially in this generation, are few and far in between.

I chose this because I am driven to solve problems. I’m not here on a whim, nor because I simply enjoy throwing myself at brick walls, but because the hopefully-to-be-peer-group who evaluated not only the quality of my work to date but my potential to contribute in a meaningful way to a specific field decided that, with a bit more training, I might have something useful to contribute. And then, as high as the bar is, and as much as it keeps shifting ever higher, I still know that my privileges shield me in this endeavor as much as they do in other parts of my life. The idiocy I face comes in the form of unwanted touching and comments because I look “exotic,” or with “striking features,” not because the world has been able to categorize me on sight and determine me threatening. There is surprise that I speak “normally,” confusion about where my name — and therefore my people — might be from. But I’m from a solidly middle class part of Connecticut; socio-economics and the way I am read by others because I tick the boxes of “American,” “from New England,” “educated,” and most importantly, “undefinable” means that I will always be the expat, not the immigrant. In most ways, I am almost always the “right” kind of people; institutionalized racism is not something that affects me, or creates extra barriers for me, as it does for many others.

Yet, it is because I straddle these hurdles, I feel compelled to write about them, and call attention to them. Because I know that if circumstances had been different, if I hadn’t been raised in New England, if I hadn’t been able to be sponsored for grants by a respected international organization, the next step on my way to Cambridge would not be an annoyance and a financial puzzle, but a financial impossibility. The weight of an un-lived other life begins to feel like a responsibility to speak when able. I don’t know how to fix the problems that drive immigration, the problems plaguing global economies, or the unrest that seems to be growing in this world. But I do know that commodifying global movement and education, while piling on cultural biases that continue to promote discrimination isn’t going to solve anything. Hopefully, if we can start naming that which is implied in these kinds of policies, we can better open up conversations about finding real solutions.

Also, don’t forget to head over to www.roarfeminist.org and check out the original piece “The UK Just Built a More Effective Border Wall Than Trump Could Ever Dream of.”