Burlington, VT
I’m sitting in my friend’s classroom in Vermont. Her German students have just gone home for the day, and she’s in a faculty meeting. While I wait for her, I’m contemplating the differences between her school and mine. This student population in rural Vermont is so much more familiar to me than the one I teach in Brooklyn. I immediately recognize these kids: the pretty girls, the jocks, the nerds, the freaks, the farm kids, the funny Asian or black kid using exaggerated humor to distract from his obvious minority status.
Today I was a guest in the AP Government class, and both the teacher and the kids had copious questions about the Middle East and the Arab Spring. They knew about current events, they’d been following Occupy Wall Street, they had a sense of world geography. Many of them have travelled abroad. They think critically as easily as they breathe. Several stayed after class to ask more questions, thank me for coming, and shake my hand on their way to lunch.
Of course, I don’t expect this of my students in Brooklyn, for many reasons. I know that the demands of poverty and gangs bleed away the time they might otherwise use to follow current events. I know that the homes here in Vermont mostly have two parents with college degrees, steady jobs, and the time and knowledge to help their kids with homework and get them excited about learning. And, of course, teaching an AP class and teaching Special Education are worlds apart. The reasons I had for going into the latter rather than the former still stand; I don’t want to teach “smart” kids full time. Their tendency for laziness is ten times more frustrating to me than helping students with disabilities overcome their obstacles.
At the same time, though, it’s a reminder that not all schools are like where I'm teaching now. There are schools without metal detectors, where students are trusted to go the library without a pass to work on a project, where students do class activities because they’re having fun and not because it’s graded, where seats don’t need to be assigned because the kids respect each other in the classroom. There are no security guards, and the kids aren’t afraid of their administrators. This is a school without bells, where kids wait for the teacher to dismiss them. An 80-minute period here flies by like nothing, when a 50 minute period where I teach can be torture to fill from bell to bell with work that students will take seriously.
The city of New York pays for my certification and Masters degree for a reason: because it's damned hard to teach where they're asking us to teach! It's also a population in desperate need of really good teachers. But someday, when I've put in my years here, I look forward to teaching in a small rural high school with kids I recognize from my own high school experience.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
One Year Ago....
Brooklyn, NY, USA
A year ago tomorrow, I was sitting on the other side of the Hudson, in Wes and Lindsay's Manhattan apartment, glued to my Facebook feed and Al-Jazeera's live blog of events unfolding in Cairo, just blocks from my apartment. Should I return to Egypt, or be worried about things falling apart there? I'm just a couple miles from where I was then, but so much has happened in that year, and I'm in such an unbelievably different place now than I was then.
Who could have guessed then how much I would grow to love Egypt in the months that followed? A year ago, I still hated Cairo, still compared it to Amman and found it lacking in almost every way. A year ago, I didn't have the confidence to follow what was happening in Egypt on Al-Jazeera Arabic, which now seems, if not easy, at least manageable! I have, in the intervening year, written dozens of pages of academic papers in Arabic on topics as diverse as politics, rhetoric and Islamic philosophy. A year ago, I couldn't have imagined that I would date one of the original January 25th protestors, or be following his every journalistic dispatch from Tahrir Square with such interest and trepidation.
And why was I even in NYC a year ago? I was here to interview for the New York City Teaching Fellows ... a successful interview! But I had no idea then what I was getting myself into. I thought, intrepid international traveler and multi-cultural adventurer that I am, that teaching in NYC, in my native language, in a school system very similar to the one I grew up in, would come easily to me after teaching English in Peace Corps Jordan and Arabic to Somali refugees. I could never have imagined the challenges that awaited me here in the Five Boroughs, nor how much I would long some days for the simple excitement of tear gas and "isqat an-nidham"!
So tonight, as crowds are gathering on Tahrir Square in Cairo's pre-dawn hours, I can only marvel at where I've been, and how I wish I were celebrating with the Egyptians right now!
A year ago tomorrow, I was sitting on the other side of the Hudson, in Wes and Lindsay's Manhattan apartment, glued to my Facebook feed and Al-Jazeera's live blog of events unfolding in Cairo, just blocks from my apartment. Should I return to Egypt, or be worried about things falling apart there? I'm just a couple miles from where I was then, but so much has happened in that year, and I'm in such an unbelievably different place now than I was then.
Who could have guessed then how much I would grow to love Egypt in the months that followed? A year ago, I still hated Cairo, still compared it to Amman and found it lacking in almost every way. A year ago, I didn't have the confidence to follow what was happening in Egypt on Al-Jazeera Arabic, which now seems, if not easy, at least manageable! I have, in the intervening year, written dozens of pages of academic papers in Arabic on topics as diverse as politics, rhetoric and Islamic philosophy. A year ago, I couldn't have imagined that I would date one of the original January 25th protestors, or be following his every journalistic dispatch from Tahrir Square with such interest and trepidation.
And why was I even in NYC a year ago? I was here to interview for the New York City Teaching Fellows ... a successful interview! But I had no idea then what I was getting myself into. I thought, intrepid international traveler and multi-cultural adventurer that I am, that teaching in NYC, in my native language, in a school system very similar to the one I grew up in, would come easily to me after teaching English in Peace Corps Jordan and Arabic to Somali refugees. I could never have imagined the challenges that awaited me here in the Five Boroughs, nor how much I would long some days for the simple excitement of tear gas and "isqat an-nidham"!
So tonight, as crowds are gathering on Tahrir Square in Cairo's pre-dawn hours, I can only marvel at where I've been, and how I wish I were celebrating with the Egyptians right now!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Winter Waves
Cape Elizabeth, Maine, USA
Mom and Dad have this regular circuit they like to make with guests, a circuit of the homes of the rich (think Pebble Beach, California, with colder weather!) and the rocky beaches of Cape Elizabeth, south of Portland, Maine. Not only do they take guests, but they also go themselves to practice the delicate art of wave photography.
They've been telling me about it for more than a year, and I was even doing a little wave photography of my own in Egypt. It's a challenge to get the sense of scale, the feeling of movement, and frame it all in an interesting way. But the waves I was trying to capture on the Red Sea and the North Coast had none of the scale and excitement of the ocean swell on the Maine coast.
Not only was the swell bigger, but there was a strong wind blowing offshore. As the waves broke into the wind, the spray would curl back over the froth in a plume. It was incredible, and good quality fun with the folks! Clearly, Dad thought so, too!
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| From Winter Waves |
They've been telling me about it for more than a year, and I was even doing a little wave photography of my own in Egypt. It's a challenge to get the sense of scale, the feeling of movement, and frame it all in an interesting way. But the waves I was trying to capture on the Red Sea and the North Coast had none of the scale and excitement of the ocean swell on the Maine coast.
Not only was the swell bigger, but there was a strong wind blowing offshore. As the waves broke into the wind, the spray would curl back over the froth in a plume. It was incredible, and good quality fun with the folks! Clearly, Dad thought so, too!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmas In Maine
South Bridgton, Maine, USA
After 3 years of "celebrating" Christmas in the Middle East, I managed to make it home to my parents' house, the family home in Maine. With Grandma and Grandpa living across the road and Nana, Auntie Di and my cousin Pete up from Massachusetts, it was a full house for our annual waffles-with-raspberry-sauce-and-whipped-cream Christmas brunch.
In the afternoon, Auntie Viv and George showed up from giving Christmas Sunday services up north, and there were more gifts to open. More importantly, Auntie Viv had brought half of Christmas dinner with her, and it was soon time to sit down for more food and merriment.
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| From Christmas Eve, Christmas Day |
In the afternoon, Auntie Viv and George showed up from giving Christmas Sunday services up north, and there were more gifts to open. More importantly, Auntie Viv had brought half of Christmas dinner with her, and it was soon time to sit down for more food and merriment.
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, December 18, 2011
My Space
Brooklyn, NY, USA
Last weekend, I went out and bought photo collage frames to fill with photos of friends and family, Thursday I finally bought the brads, and yesterday I got out the hammer and made space on my walls for my collages. So, I thought it was time to give you all a glimpse of my little Brooklyn home. And I do mean little!
This is our kitchen, and it's the only common space in our apartment! Not that I'm complaining. It's really quite perfect for Olga and I, and we hang out quite a bit in our little kitchen, but if we were ever to have company over, much less want to have a gathering of any sort, I'm not sure where we'd put people! In my office?
I was trying, with these bookshelves, to divide my bedroom into a sleeping space and a working space. In Egypt, I used my bed as a chair to sit at my desk, and that blurring of the lines between work and sleep was not always especially productive. This is somewhat of an improvement.
And that's pretty much the whole sha-bang!
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| From Brooklyn Abode |
This is our kitchen, and it's the only common space in our apartment! Not that I'm complaining. It's really quite perfect for Olga and I, and we hang out quite a bit in our little kitchen, but if we were ever to have company over, much less want to have a gathering of any sort, I'm not sure where we'd put people! In my office?
I was trying, with these bookshelves, to divide my bedroom into a sleeping space and a working space. In Egypt, I used my bed as a chair to sit at my desk, and that blurring of the lines between work and sleep was not always especially productive. This is somewhat of an improvement.
And that's pretty much the whole sha-bang!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Together At Last
somewhere in Massachusetts, USA
On the bus to Boston, I added it up in my head.
So, this year, more than ever, I am thankful for family and our traditions of good food and lots of it!
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| From Thanksgiving 2011 |
- Last year at Thanksgiving, I was celebrating with the CASAween at Sarah, Rachel and Erin's house.
- The year before that, 2009, I celebrated both Thanksgiving and Eid in Mshairfeh, Jordan, with Wijdan's family.
- The year before that, 2008, I was in Amman, Jordan, and I don't even remember who I celebrated with.
- The Thanksgiving before that, 2007, Carter took me home to his family for Thanksgiving in Anderson, Indiana.
- The year before that, 2006, it was an Italian potluck Thanksgiving with my blogger buddy Chris and a multi-national group of friends from the Dept. of Near Eastern Languages and Cultures at Indiana University, including 2 Palestinians, a Turk and a Filipino.
- The year before that, 2005, was when fellow Peace Corps Volunteer Lynn and I attempted to dine on Thomasina, the toughest little turkey in all of Jordan!
- I believe the year before that, 2004, found me at the Thanksgiving table of Peace Corps Jordan Director Darcy Neill in Amman, Jordan, with some 50 or so other Peace Corps people.
So, this year, more than ever, I am thankful for family and our traditions of good food and lots of it!
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Kids Say....
Brooklyn, NY, USA
Today, my student K says, "Miss Converse, can I come to your wedding?"
"Who says I'm getting married?" I reply.
"Well, of course you're getting married! We know you have a boyfriend!" she says, with that sassy slide of the head my students do so well.
"What would make you think that?" I asked, smiling inside because it's patently not true.
"Well, you always dress so nicely!" she says.
"That's called professional," I reply.
"No, that's not professional," she insists. "You dress that way cuz you're going on dates after school!"
So thank you, K. Now I know what's wrong with my personal life. I don't have a boyfriend because I dress too well. Perhaps if I dressed more like a slob, men would think I was actually single...?
Today, my student K says, "Miss Converse, can I come to your wedding?"
"Who says I'm getting married?" I reply.
"Well, of course you're getting married! We know you have a boyfriend!" she says, with that sassy slide of the head my students do so well.
"What would make you think that?" I asked, smiling inside because it's patently not true.
"Well, you always dress so nicely!" she says.
"That's called professional," I reply.
"No, that's not professional," she insists. "You dress that way cuz you're going on dates after school!"
So thank you, K. Now I know what's wrong with my personal life. I don't have a boyfriend because I dress too well. Perhaps if I dressed more like a slob, men would think I was actually single...?
Saturday, October 8, 2011
America's Tahrir Moment? Well....
Manhattan, New York, USA
I woke up this morning to a call from my cousin Hannah. She's helping to organize an Occupy Worcester movement, and wanted to know if I could translate their flier into Arabic for her. (No problem!) I told her it was exciting to see people out in the streets, even if I wasn't sure what they were protesting for, exactly. "I don't think it's as important what they're for," she said, "as that they're out there practicing direct democracy."
Perhaps that's why I dragged my feet this morning. The very idea of protesting for the sake of having a protest seemed so hollow to me, especially after my experiences of the last year with the Egyptian revolution. Before the April 6 and Khaled Said youth movements ever stepped out into the streets of Cairo, they had a definite plan of what they wanted and how they would get it. They studied with Velvet Revolutionary Vaclav Havel in the Czech Republic, and spent months deciding on their demands, their tactics, their slogans, even what they would chant in the streets was scripted in advance.
So when I got down to Zuccotti Park this afternoon, I was not impressed. After standing on Tahrir Square, shoulder to shoulder with several million Egyptians chanting "The regime must fall" and "Christian and Muslim, hand in hand," I guess my standards are unreasonably high. For me, though, the few hundred hippies, college students and veterans I saw with their cardboard boxes and dreadlocks were not as impressive as they'd been made out to be on the news.
If you add up all the protestors across the country, from Boston and Worcester to Oakland and San Fransisco, you probably have a substantial number. There's credence, too, to the stories I've heard on NPR comparing the Occupy Wall Street movement to the Tea Party. They're probably comparable in size and coherence given the number of months they've been protesting ... it's just that Occupy Wall Street made it into the national headlines within weeks of starting, and the Tea Party took months to garner national attention.
But who do they represent? Who are the 99%? I've spoken to a number of activists who work with impoverished communities of color in New York City and elsewhere, and they all voice the same frustration: The people of color who are really suffering from the failing economy are not able to "occupy Wall Street," can hardly even follow it on the news, because they're working three part-time, under-the-table jobs just to cobble together a meal every day. The people who are in Zuccotti Park may be unemployed, underemployed or frustrated with their circumstances, but they come from circumstances that allow them the luxury of coming to Zuccotti Park. This isn't Egypt, where the entire economy screeched to a halt because even the bodega owners and French fry friers were leaving their jobs to rally on Tahrir Square.
I am pleased to see the unions rallying to the cry. I saw striking Verizon workers in Zuccotti Park, and while they are fortunate to have the luxury to even be on strike, the issues that they're striking for are so similar to the Occupy Wall Street complaints that they have real legitimacy in my eyes. I was delighted that the United Federation of Teachers marched with Occupy Wall Street, because so many of our students and their parents are among the truly disenfranchised ... but here's my beef with them: Why would the UFT march on a Tuesday morning? I would have gladly marched with them, but ... I had to be at school, teaching!
So, yes, Hannah, it's important to practice direct democracy. And yes, to that guy at Occupy Boston who had the sign reading, "It's not that we're disorganized, it's just that America has so many problems!" But if this movement is going to have a real impact, it needs an agenda, a message, a unifying purpose. Within 3 days of occupying Tahrir Square, the Egyptian protestors had a list of 11 core demands, despite being a leaderless movement. That doesn't mean that Egyptians only have 11 complaints about the way Mubarak and the National Democratic Party ran their country into the ground ... it just means they had a platform for their first steps. Where are Occupy Wall Street's core demands?
I woke up this morning to a call from my cousin Hannah. She's helping to organize an Occupy Worcester movement, and wanted to know if I could translate their flier into Arabic for her. (No problem!) I told her it was exciting to see people out in the streets, even if I wasn't sure what they were protesting for, exactly. "I don't think it's as important what they're for," she said, "as that they're out there practicing direct democracy."
Perhaps that's why I dragged my feet this morning. The very idea of protesting for the sake of having a protest seemed so hollow to me, especially after my experiences of the last year with the Egyptian revolution. Before the April 6 and Khaled Said youth movements ever stepped out into the streets of Cairo, they had a definite plan of what they wanted and how they would get it. They studied with Velvet Revolutionary Vaclav Havel in the Czech Republic, and spent months deciding on their demands, their tactics, their slogans, even what they would chant in the streets was scripted in advance.
So when I got down to Zuccotti Park this afternoon, I was not impressed. After standing on Tahrir Square, shoulder to shoulder with several million Egyptians chanting "The regime must fall" and "Christian and Muslim, hand in hand," I guess my standards are unreasonably high. For me, though, the few hundred hippies, college students and veterans I saw with their cardboard boxes and dreadlocks were not as impressive as they'd been made out to be on the news.
If you add up all the protestors across the country, from Boston and Worcester to Oakland and San Fransisco, you probably have a substantial number. There's credence, too, to the stories I've heard on NPR comparing the Occupy Wall Street movement to the Tea Party. They're probably comparable in size and coherence given the number of months they've been protesting ... it's just that Occupy Wall Street made it into the national headlines within weeks of starting, and the Tea Party took months to garner national attention.
But who do they represent? Who are the 99%? I've spoken to a number of activists who work with impoverished communities of color in New York City and elsewhere, and they all voice the same frustration: The people of color who are really suffering from the failing economy are not able to "occupy Wall Street," can hardly even follow it on the news, because they're working three part-time, under-the-table jobs just to cobble together a meal every day. The people who are in Zuccotti Park may be unemployed, underemployed or frustrated with their circumstances, but they come from circumstances that allow them the luxury of coming to Zuccotti Park. This isn't Egypt, where the entire economy screeched to a halt because even the bodega owners and French fry friers were leaving their jobs to rally on Tahrir Square.
I am pleased to see the unions rallying to the cry. I saw striking Verizon workers in Zuccotti Park, and while they are fortunate to have the luxury to even be on strike, the issues that they're striking for are so similar to the Occupy Wall Street complaints that they have real legitimacy in my eyes. I was delighted that the United Federation of Teachers marched with Occupy Wall Street, because so many of our students and their parents are among the truly disenfranchised ... but here's my beef with them: Why would the UFT march on a Tuesday morning? I would have gladly marched with them, but ... I had to be at school, teaching!
So, yes, Hannah, it's important to practice direct democracy. And yes, to that guy at Occupy Boston who had the sign reading, "It's not that we're disorganized, it's just that America has so many problems!" But if this movement is going to have a real impact, it needs an agenda, a message, a unifying purpose. Within 3 days of occupying Tahrir Square, the Egyptian protestors had a list of 11 core demands, despite being a leaderless movement. That doesn't mean that Egyptians only have 11 complaints about the way Mubarak and the National Democratic Party ran their country into the ground ... it just means they had a platform for their first steps. Where are Occupy Wall Street's core demands?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Changed Everything
I woke up early this morning with the thought, "This is the Sunday I'm finally going to make it to All Souls UU Church and make some friends in NYC who aren't teachers." Then, I remembered that today was September 11th, and decided I didn't really want to get out of bed after all, let alone leave the house and have to face New York City in full mourning.
Maybe it's because I wasn't in New York on that day, wasn't even in the United States.
Maybe it's because of all the time I've spent in the Middle East since then and the collateral damage I've born witness to in that time.
Maybe it's because of all the harassment and difficulty my Muslim and "brown" friends across the country and the world have suffered in the interim.
Or maybe it's just because I was raised to be such a radical humanist.
I'm so tired of America putting on this big parade about how unfortunate we were to be attacked on 9/11. We've been attacked ONCE in SIXTY-FIVE years by foreign adversaries. How many nations around the world can say that? Or as my friend Ginny noted on Facebook today:
But I really struggle with the self-indulgence of people in Florida and California and Kansas and everywhere in between who think their lives have been irrevocably marked by what happened in New York, DC and Pennsylvania. Did the bombing of Sarajevo change the world? Did the fall of Mogadishu change the world? Did the massacre on the Pearl Circle change the world? Did the blockade of Gaza change the world? And these are just the tragedies of the last 65 years that I can recall off the cuff. How many hundreds more are there that we never even heard about? It seems so arrogant to think 9/11 is so much more important.
But, of course, it's not arrogant. It's fact. 9/11 did change the world, starting a chain reaction of a magnitude we never could have imagined, which resulted directly or indirectly in massive deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq, civil war in Yemen, liberation in North Africa, increased oppression in Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, increased Kurdish autonomy, God-only-knows in Iran....
And maybe that's what makes me angry most of all ... that we have such overwhelming power to impose our judgements, our grief and our consequences on the rest of the world.
Maybe it's because I wasn't in New York on that day, wasn't even in the United States.
Maybe it's because of all the time I've spent in the Middle East since then and the collateral damage I've born witness to in that time.
Maybe it's because of all the harassment and difficulty my Muslim and "brown" friends across the country and the world have suffered in the interim.
Or maybe it's just because I was raised to be such a radical humanist.
I'm so tired of America putting on this big parade about how unfortunate we were to be attacked on 9/11. We've been attacked ONCE in SIXTY-FIVE years by foreign adversaries. How many nations around the world can say that? Or as my friend Ginny noted on Facebook today:
It's not that I begrudge the families of the dead their mourning, their anger, their remembrance. They suffered. I would never deny them acknowledgement of that.9/11 death toll = 2,819.US casualties in the wars that followed = 6,686.non-US casualties in the wars that followed = 148,000.
But I really struggle with the self-indulgence of people in Florida and California and Kansas and everywhere in between who think their lives have been irrevocably marked by what happened in New York, DC and Pennsylvania. Did the bombing of Sarajevo change the world? Did the fall of Mogadishu change the world? Did the massacre on the Pearl Circle change the world? Did the blockade of Gaza change the world? And these are just the tragedies of the last 65 years that I can recall off the cuff. How many hundreds more are there that we never even heard about? It seems so arrogant to think 9/11 is so much more important.
But, of course, it's not arrogant. It's fact. 9/11 did change the world, starting a chain reaction of a magnitude we never could have imagined, which resulted directly or indirectly in massive deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq, civil war in Yemen, liberation in North Africa, increased oppression in Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, increased Kurdish autonomy, God-only-knows in Iran....
And maybe that's what makes me angry most of all ... that we have such overwhelming power to impose our judgements, our grief and our consequences on the rest of the world.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
You're Not American
Manhattan, NY, USA
This morning, on my way back from a Pakistani wedding reception in New Jersey last night that was a delightfully glittering, delicious affair, I was doing my best to navigate through weekends on the subway. There are so many cancellations and track changes that it can be very hard to maneuver. I'm beginning to get the hang of it, but the poor Israeli tourist I met was having a much more difficult time working it out.
So there I was, trying with little success to get him to his cousin's house in Queens. "Where are you from?" he asks. "You're not American."
I protest that I am.
"But you have an accent that's not American," he insists.
"Oh, well, I've been living in Egypt and Jordan for the last few years," I offer.
He starts backing quickly away from me. "I'm your neighbor, but I speak Hebrew, not Arabic!" he calls back down the corridor at me.
I think that's the first time a complete and total stranger has ever been afraid of me!
This morning, on my way back from a Pakistani wedding reception in New Jersey last night that was a delightfully glittering, delicious affair, I was doing my best to navigate through weekends on the subway. There are so many cancellations and track changes that it can be very hard to maneuver. I'm beginning to get the hang of it, but the poor Israeli tourist I met was having a much more difficult time working it out.
So there I was, trying with little success to get him to his cousin's house in Queens. "Where are you from?" he asks. "You're not American."
I protest that I am.
"But you have an accent that's not American," he insists.
"Oh, well, I've been living in Egypt and Jordan for the last few years," I offer.
He starts backing quickly away from me. "I'm your neighbor, but I speak Hebrew, not Arabic!" he calls back down the corridor at me.
I think that's the first time a complete and total stranger has ever been afraid of me!
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