Unlearning 9/11

Six years ago, I drove to work with the image of devastation, panic and death on my mind. I was trying to come to terms with something horrific that occurred 3000 miles away. As always in September, I was meeting my new families and enrolling children, and I had a meeting with a father from Ethiopia. who was enrolling his son, Ahmed. I did not even think about the implications of the fact that he was probably Muslim.

After gathering my papers I went into the classroom were he was waiting for me. I was still a little rattled, but determined to get through the day in as normal a way as possible. He was a tall thin man with large dark brown eyes, light brown skin and close shaved hair. He stood and shook my hand and looked sincerely into my eyes and said, “I did not know if I should come. If you would be here.”

“Oh yes, you mean what happened in New York,” I stammered a little as his situation began to sink in.
“Yes,” and he sat and looked closely into my face as if trying to read something written in tiny writing, “What do you think of it?”

He spoke with a heavy accent, but his words were clear.

“I think it was a terrible thing, and I really don’t understand it yet,” I answered.

“I am very sad and afraid that people will see my son and think about that now,” as he said this his eyes glittered with tears and he took a deep breath.

I do not remember what I said, but I enrolled his child and talked with him about his fears of reprisals. I was amazed. Here was a man who understood the implications of being a Muslim immigrant in that fearful climate, and still came out of the safety of his home to make sure his son got into school.

I have worked with many Muslim families and had Muslim co-workers since then. They are all unique, from many countries, and have different ways of practicing their beliefs, but all of them, when they speak of what happened on 9/11/01 express their horror and shock that people that share their religion behaved in such a way.

Now I know there are Muslims who are fanatics and blow things up, but I think that fanatics can be found in all religions. The Muslim people I have known, worked with, taught and learned with, danced with, and ate with were peaceful and loved their children and families. They welcomed me into their homes and told me their stories, hopes and fears. Some where angry with American culture and its affect on their family, and we talked about the value of their beliefs and value of mine. It was always about how we could value each other and live in a community of respect.

What happened on 9/11/01 cost many lives, but it cost some much more because people overreacted and gave into fear. And that fear made monsters out millions of people for many Americans. I know better and will ever count my experiences with Muslim families as rich and warm and above all filled with mutual respect.

Posted in change, conversations, developing relationships, Family, Teaching and Learning, Telling Stories, thinking in words, working world | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cannibal Coop Community: It can work.

In Texas, 12 species of normally cannibalistic spiders have banded together to create a 200 foot web over a pond rife with mosquitoes. They are sharing anchor lines and showing signs of prosperity. Entomologists have rushed to study this outrageous behavior. So much cooperation in a state known for its rampant individualism. And, 12 different species! we, humans, seem to have trouble getting along and we are all one species.
If spiders can live together, it seems a social species like us could do a little better. I guess if we all had what we needed it would work. Spiders have simpler needs and desires.

The spiders around here are covering every gap with webs. You can’t walk without running into them early in the morning. There are no cooperatives yet. Just the usual neighbor eat neighbor communities, but I am keeping an eye out for deviant behavior.

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The Color of White Paper

“And the end of all our explorings will be to arrive where we started and know it for the first time.”     T. S. Elliot

I found this today and thought of the end of a David Byrne film “True Stories” I think it was called. As he is driving out of a small Texas town he talks over the image of his car speeding along a two lane highway in the middle of vast fields of wheat and corn. He talks about how when you come back from tavelling even things as simple as the color of white paper look new.
Maybe I am thinking this way because I have not been out of this county in almost a year. I need to find a way to get a new perspective without leaving. Maybe I will go see what color my white paper is.

Posted in Other peoples words, paying attention, scenes on screens, thinking in words, Voices in the Chorus, whereever you go there you are | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Garden Shadows

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Today was a perfect late summer day, warm but not hot. The creek in the back is just the barest trickle. A fine day to mow the lawn and pile the dry dead branches painted with moss and pale lichen. I went out to very back and found branches blown down in the winter wildness. They had been buried in snow and frozen and now are crisp and rotten. I took pictures of my rock garden and the peonies all shadowy and bright.

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Dreamtime in France

“When I got back to bed, my brain was in turmoil, and before sinking into sleep, I thought in a confused way—there is reality and there are dreams; and there is another reality as well.
The vague, ill-defined belief that something else exists alongside the acknowledged, above-board reality of everyday life, inhabited me for many years; and I am not sure that even today I have not still some remnants of it left. It had nothing in common with tales of fairies, ghouls or witches, nor even with Hoffman’s or Hans Andersen’s stories. No, I think it was more a kind of unskillful desire to give life more thickness—a desire that later on religion was better able to satisfy; and also a sort of propensity to imagine a clandestine side to things. After my father’s death, for instance, big boy as I was, I took it into my head, that he was not really dead, or at any rate—how can I put this kind of apprehension?—that he was only dead to our visible, diurnal life, but that at night he used to come secretly while I was asleep and visit my mother. In the daytime, my suspicions wavered, but at night just before going to sleep, I felt them grow more vivid and more certain. I did not try to unravel the mystery; I felt I should put an abrupt stop to anything I might try to discover; no doubt, I was still too young, thought I, and then my mother was too much in the habit of saying about too many things, “You will understand it when you are older”—but on certain nights, as I dropped off to sleep, I really had the feeling that I was making way—giving up my place.”

Andre Gide from “If It Die”



Posted in change, developing relationships, Dreamtime, Other peoples words, philosophy, thinking in words, visions from the dark side, Voices in the Chorus | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment