Superlatives

Usually I don’t think superlatives are useful. Words like “the best” or “the worst” often remind me to ask myself: was it really THE best?

And so over a month later that I left my Chilean family, my three and half month stint learning Spanish, living in earthquakes and aftershocks, learning about a neoliberal education system and a system of “educación profunda” (meaningful education), becoming friends with other U.S. students, and learning more about who I am and what I want to do in this world…I feel that it is not only appropriate to use a number of superlatives to describe the experience but to thank the people who were part of making it what it was: an incredibly enriching, thoughtful, funny, scary, meaningful, challenging, frustrating, peaceful, gentle, beautiful, overwhelming experience. In many ways it was the best study abroad program I went on (okay, so I’ve only gone on one…but I think you get my point).

I had the perfect host family. Not that other people in my program didn’t have incredible host families, but my host family was the perfect family for me. It’s hard to imagine reflecting about all of this knowing that Ale, Pablo, and I developed the relationship we did. So much of who I am, is what I say. And I know I did not say everything perfectly for them to understand what I want to say. But they were unbelievably patient. I remember when she wanted to know more of my “coming out” story and I said, “Can I just say this in the present tense?” She said, “You tell me how ever you’d like to” And when we’d be having a conversation or a debate or an argument (or as they’d say—“Emma you’re just being so stubborn)…they’d make sure I got to say what I wanted to say. If they didn’t understand me, they’d ask me to start over and if I’d get frustrated with myself (which I often did) they wouldn’t let me quit—they’d make me keep trying.

They cared about what I was learning. They wanted me to show them pictures from the different excursions. They read (not just read…Ale edited, asked me questions, told me when a section wasn’t good) my ISP so many times I couldn’t keep track. They wanted to know what I thought about the education system, how I would “teach”differently. I remember coming back from my first school visit (way back in March). Ale could tell that I was frustrated by what I saw. She listened to me list what I didn’t like. Then she asked me, “What would you do, how would you do it?” And she let me walk around her bedroom imitating how I would teach, mixed in with some words and full sentences.

And we laughed. A whole lot. Often it related to food. Some weekends, especially on Sundays when Pablo didn’t have work, we’d all sleep in really late into the morning and then get up and eat a feast. We’d each take turns getting things from the cupboards and refrigerator to have everything out there---and then we could decide what to eat. Pastries were really important to us. One day during my ISP month (May), I visited the school where Ale teaches. On the way back we stopped off at the pastry store where Ale and Pablo got their wedding cake. I said I’d treat her and buy some pastries (three—one for each of us—we’d share all of them). Long story short, Pablo never got one of them. I think Pablo eventually forgave me.And we danced. played cards and more cards. went to family gatherings. protests and candle vigils. talked. and cried. They opened their lives to me. I felt part of their family and their extended family and close friends shared their lives with me.

And in turn they became part of my family. I am forever grateful for the warm, caring, gentle people Ale and Pablo are to me, to each other, and to the world. We are all lucky to have them in this beautiful world. So were they really THE best?

For who they were to me during the experience, for who they are to me now, and for the family of three we became: most definitely yes.

What’s your ISP?

For the past two months that’s been the question of this program. Everyone wanted to know how we were going to spend our final month…what we were going to study…and where were we going to study.

SIT is unlike many study abroad programs because classes aren’t taken at one specific university, instead we had lots of academic excursions and had seminars with academics, teachers, organizers, and students, and the final month of the program each student is required to complete a research project (or because this program focuses on education you could also do a practicum). So ISP stands for Independent Study Project…and we can choose to do this ISP in any of the place we’ve been on the program (so Valparaiso, Temuco, Buenos Aires or Santiago).

I choose to come back to Santiago and study: what does “progressive” education look like in Santiago and where is popular education taking place. I am sure that the education I saw in Santiago during the first month wasn’t the only education students are receiving (read “They are out of control.”).

So I’m planning to use Freire and others theorists who write about the importance of a tangible meaningful education…as the foundation to my essay…and then for three weeks I’ll visit a bunch of schools or institutions..observe classes and interview lots of people. One public school that is based in a community of resistance and organizing. A semiprivate school that my host mom works at. Another charter-like school who’s mission statement is “educar para la paz” (educate for the peace). A private school that the “elite” liberals sent their kids to. A Montessori or Waldorf school to have a “theory” based school. And some non-traditional forms of education…organizations that implements the ideals of Paulo Freire, an anarchist organization and a community communication station (TV, Radio, Documentary film making) that teaches young people how to use these mediums.

That’s what I’ll be doing for the next month. Sweet way to get college-credit.

Education for a More Just Society

Argentina’s Ministry of Education’s slogan is: una educación de calidad para una sociedad más justa…a quality education for a more just society. For the last two weeks, the program took all of us to Buenos Aires, Argentina to conclude the “structured” academic part of the program (for the next month each student conducts his or her own independent study project). It was incredible to be able to see another Latin American country’s philosophy of education, yet another country that had experienced a dictatorship during the 70s and 80s, and another country with varying degrees of neoliberalism and globalization.

(Here’s one of their centers of torture during their dictatorship that we visited).

My general conclusion: Argentina is a much more creative country. Generalizations aren’t usually useful and in reality I don’t know that much about the complexities, intricacies or details of Chile’s or Argentina’s education system (and I think our director is a bit bias…he likes Argentina’s education system more so we got to see the “good stuff” in Argentina, while Chile’s program focused on the problems of its system).

Argentina has its issues. From 1976-1983 it had brutal dictator where more than 30,000 people “disappeared” (yes, the U.S. helped finance this one too). Neoliberalist policies started under the “liberal”government after the dictatorship (unlike in Chile where neoliberalism started during the 70s). Argentina has over 12 million students in school—50% of the schools in Buenos Aires are private. 18.5% of young people between 13 and 17 years old do not attend school. It has a huge issue with students repeating grades. Three out of every 10 adolescents are living in poverty.

But Argentina has been creative with its solutions to these issues and in many ways has been resistant to a neoliberal take over of its education---education is still very much a human right.

Argentina talks about the dictatorship. In Chile, schools use the language “military leader” to describe the dictatorship (and students don’t really learn much about this time…history seems to skip this period). Many Chileans are still supportive of the force Pinochet used and changes he made. But it’s not like that in Argentina.

In Argentina schools are named after teachers who disappeared during this time.

One school we visited was named Cancho Carranza. Ironically most of the students in the school are immigrants…but immigrants from countries like Paraguay, who also had their share of brutal dictators and disappeared persons.

Schools also have plaques of the names of students and teachers who were murdered during the dictatorship. The plaque at a different school reads: To our co-works: Alejandro and Martin and all of the former students who were detained, disappeared, and assassinated during the terrorism of the state. Present! For memory, truth, and justice.

And students learn. all students learn too. My host mom was a first grade teacher and she told me that during the Day of Memory, she reads books that were banned during the dictatorship. Students learn about the Madres (de la Plaza de Mayo) who began to march every Thursday at the Plaza de Mayo (Plaza in front of the Government building) asking the government “where are our children?” Murals in schools have images of the mothers protesting and their famous scarves they wear on their heads…the scarves are actually the diapers of their disappeared children.

We had the opportunity to talk with one of the mothers, Juanita (she’s 96 years old) and participate in their weekly Thursday march. The Madres de La Plaza de Mayo is an incredible organization that continues to fight for justice in Argentina. The mothers have started a university, built preschools that emphasize the UN’s Rights of a Child, published tons of books, and they’ve created a following….I don’t think I’ve ever attended a protest/march where tourists come to watch and take photos.

 And we also saw schools that are rethinking what’s an education. One school was trying to deal with students who are dropping out and/or repeating certain grades. So the community of these students came together to discuss what could be done…a school was created in a printing factory…they added a community radio…the school is part of the community center. Another day we went to school that is dealing with issues of adolescent mothers and fathers. This school was started as the result of many requests from the community. They wanted a school that would let them continue to attend school…and have a place for their children. So there’s a center for the students’ babies and the teachers' children as well. They also have an emphasis on practical education—students after 2 years decide to study more intensely communication or cooking.

And memory isn’t just something of the dictatorship. This was a mural we saw in the courtyard of the school for adolescent mothers and fathers. It’s a mural dedicated to Esteben, a young man who was a student at this school when he was shot to death. I think Argentina, a country that calls the specific dictatorship during the 70s and 80s as the “recent military dictatorship,” (because it has had five or six dictatorships in its 200 year history…it needs to specify which dictatorship is which)…recognizes that it needs to have a system of education that teaches how to create a more just society because the future of Argentina needs to look different than its past.

A Time for Celebration

On Monday my brother will graduate from Oakland University. While I can’t physical be there…I am definitely there in spirit, proud that he’s graduating after having such a profound and significant college experience…full of college classes, microwavable popcorn, packaged oreos, lawsuits and victories, tons of smiles, exams and presentations, and whole lot of community building and community re-imagining.

As I travel and learn about education in another country, I carry Micah’s story with me because I know that inclusion is not just a “U.S.” thing or something that only “certain kids with certain issues” should be exposed to…inclusion is about rethinking success, rethinking testing, rethinking what schooling is all about…and this is something that should be (and in some place is) happening all around the world.

(Below is a blog I wrote for an organization, Special Quest, that advocates for inclusive practices in early-childhood settings. They are doing a series on Micah’s journey and the people who were impacted by this…check it out at: http://specialquest.org/inclusion/category/micahs-story/)

Growing up with my older brother, Micah, was not always easy—I mean how many siblings actually get along with their brother or sister all the time! We sure didn’t. Sometimes I wished he wasn’t my brother. And other times, we had a blast together—playing basketball, debating politics, watching funny movies. Having a brother with the label—intellectual disability—meant that our relationship was also different. At times I was embarrassed that my brother didn’t seem like my other friends’ siblings. Other times, I was worried about what his future would look like and I felt that other siblings didn’t have to worry about these types of issues.

However, Micah’s drive for an inclusive education meant that I grew to love and value Micah for Micah, for who he is. Inclusion became fundamentally important for the me as well as Micah. Inclusion meant that a community was being created around Micah. When I was in first grade, I saw Micah at recess with his peers—laughing and playing. Throughout my middle school experience, I saw Micah involved in peer groups. That meant that on some weekends, he’d leave home for overnight excursions with his friends. In high school, my older brother encouraged me to go to school dances and ultimately, the prom. He knew how important prom was for his high school experience and he wanted me to have that same “good time”. When I went off to college, I told my new college peers that my brother went to college too. I didn’t always have to explain the advocacy side of him; he could also just be my older brother who was studying at the university. Inclusion normalized his disability. The tangible results of inclusion meant that I could see others value Micah, I could see Micah participating in everyday activities, and in turn I could value Micah.

Now a junior at Mount Holyoke College, I am studying the intersection of disability and education issues. When I graduate I will have my teaching certificate in Early-Childhood Education. It is important that I teach in an inclusive classroom—so that the siblings in my classroom will see other individuals with disabilities participating, engaging with their peers, and ultimately being respected. My hope is that, they too, will be able to learn to appreciate their brother or sister with disabilities.

Most recently I helped Micah move into his dorm room. This was a powerful moment for me.

May all siblings of a brother or sister with a disability be able to help their sibling move out of their home into a home that they choose. May they be able to feel mixed emotions of over-protectiveness and excitement. May they be able to talk to each other in a new way because now they both live away from home. May the sibling (without disabilities) who has felt embarrassed, pushed to the side, heard too many phone calls about a meeting for their sibling, ever felt alone, ever felt uncertain about the role they may play in their brother or sister’s future, ever felt frustrated at the way the rest of the world looks at their brother or sister—may they too experience something so great as I did when I helped my so-called “atypical” “retarded” “can’t do anything” “will never speak” “just put him in an institution” … yes, my creative, courageous, witty, powerful, brilliant, intelligent, loving, conscientious, funny, older brother move into a dorm, so he, too, can be once again be just my brother.

Emma Sang in Public

(Okay…so really I sang with a group…but I knew that title would get your attention)

What song would you sing if you were in a different country and this host country asked you to do a “performance?”

The Star Spangled Banner…

….Pledge of Allegiance….any song from a Disney movie….

We were sitting in a bus arguing over which song to sing for our “performance” that would follow a performance that the students were going to put on for us. The students, many of whom we were living with for a week, and whose families are Mapuche (an indigenous group mostly found on the southern side of the South America--some people call this place Chile) go to the Escuela Municipal de Chapod--the local school for the community—Chapod (It’s about 9 hours by bus south of Santiago).

Since the Spanish arrived to Chile the 1500s…the Mapuche have been fighting to keep their land, their way of life, and their culture. For the past week we had the opportunity to live with a Mapuche family, learn their language, Mapudungun, and eat the incredible food that comes from their (very large) backyard.

So as the group sat on the bus…I couldn’t help but think that the song we choose is very symbolic. What would it look like if us…these US students…sang the US national anthem…the song the US coined as “official” after the US had murdered, moved and manipulated the indigenous people who were living in North America before the US arrived?

What would it look like if we choose a Disney song or the infamous Hannah Montana song, Party in the USA (I think…), (the character almost every child in Chile knows of)? What would it look like to choose a song that represents the neo-liberalism and globalization that is destroying the Mapuche culture (so that we watch TV with my host family here during dinner…and my host sister, knows of Hannah Montana and phrases in English, but barely knows the Mapuche language)?

So we all battle it out for a bit…and eventually choose this song: (this is from one of our many practice rounds on the bus)

This Land Is Your Land

….we even had a talk about the third verse that is often forgotten….and when we introduced the song to the school where we were “performing” we compared Woody Guthrie to Victor Jara. Talk about solidarity and bridge building.

It didn’t make the globalization go away. It didn’t make all the kids magically speak the language their grandparents speak fluently. It didn’t return them to the Rukas (the places the Mapuche used to use as homes). It didn’t bring the majority of the Mapuche back to the land (50% live in Chile’s major cities).

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But it did allow for an exchange of resistance. It allowed for both words—the Chapod world and the SIT/US word—to show that we’re working towards a different and a more just world…where we can sing songs and share parts of our cultures that make us proud to be human beings.

“They are out of control.”

It’s the phrase I hear often when we all gather to talk about our experiences at the schools. Right now we’re taking a course, Field Study Seminar, which among other things gives us the opportunity to “observe” one school over 6 different observation periods (all in the morning). We all observed different municipal (public) school in Santiago…some of us observed high school and others elementary schools (which includes k-8th grade).

I observed at an elementary school, mostly k-3rd grade classroom rooms (since that’s the age I’m hoping to work with). The school has a large population of students from Ecuador, Argentina, Peru. I’m frustrated with the monotony of the class. From first to third grade the students sit in rows, copy down the assignment on the board, complete the assignment, wait for everyone to finish it…and then repeat.

They have a break almost every hour and they literally run out of the classroom. Some stay in the hallways, others go to the courtyard. There are usually two adults in the center of the courtyard. Occasionally they blow their whistle and tell some kid to stop doing something, but mostly the kids are own their own. The teachers go to the staff room and drink tea and chat. It’s fascinating to watch what happens when “no one” is looking. They are constantly fighting…but I have yet to see someone get seriously hurt or cry. Both parties seem to smile as they bother the other person. I think this free time, really gives them the opportunity to release their energy from being cooped up in a classroom for the past hour. And since no one seems to “get in trouble” during this time…they do what they want to be doing---yelling, screaming, bothering their friend by poking him continuously---they’re being kids. I like watching that.  And I’m pretty sure that these kids aren’t “out of control.” I think they actually know exactly what they are doing…they are playing. Different from the U.S. where behavior is constantly being watched and “disciplined”…so as to make our “out of controlled” kids “controlled.”

I don’t think they release all of their energy during this break (but I’m not sure if a 10 year should be completely calm after 10 minutes of running around). So they enter back into their classrooms to return to their work.

They practice pseudo inclusion here. Students with all types of abilities (with many exceptions…I have yet to see students with intellectual disabilities…I’m not sure where they hide these kids in Chile) are put in the same classroom. They are all given the same assignment to do. The ones that finish it first…well, finish it first and wait. The ones that don’t finish it…well, don’t finish it. All of the kids often get out of their seats…talk to a friend…start poking their neighbor until their neighbor starts poking them…or organize their fellow peers backpacks (I like watching this kid the most)…eventually some part of the work/assignment is completed and the teacher calls for their attention. I have rarely heard a teacher yell here.

The classrooms here challenge me to think about what type of classroom I’d like to help create. We are taught that order, silence, discipline is good…and chaos, loud noises…movement is bad. What if it was the other way around? What if we expected classrooms to have lots of noise…what if it was okay to run in the hallways…what if it was okay to interrupt your teacher…what if the students, as a class, decided when they wanted recess or when they wanted to have math class outside…what if every time a kid poked another kid, the teacher didn’t yell at the poker…the teacher instead just watched them figure it out (and if it lead to more poking…that’d be okay too)…what if kids could walk around during class…

I don’t think these kids…the kids I’ve been observing are “out of control.” I think they are just challenging all of us to think of a new way to look at education.

Ice Cream

Ice Cream is my comfort food (that and pizza with ranch dressing…). But it seems as if it is also the national dessert of Chile.

I really like ice cream (helado in Spanish). Everyone knows that when they hang out with my family (the birth one), we’re probably going to eat ice cream. And it’s a big deal for us to eat ice cream. Even if we eat it a lot…I still get excited each time I eat it. It’s that good.

…Which is why I’ve dedicated an entire blog to this topic alone.

I expected to eat ice cream while in Chile, but I didn’t expect to be surrounded by the like-minded so frequently. The ice cream here is good, really good and it’s cheap, which means I get to eat it more often…that equals a happy kid. And everyone eats it. I’m not sure if it is just because it’s so hot all the time…or if it’s a cultural thing. They sell ice cream on the bus. After school, it seems as if everyone is walking home with an ice cream in their hand. One time I got on the bus with my host parents, and everyone was eating ice cream (no joke).

The ice cream here is much lighter---it’s not gelato, but it looks like it. I like when I get to eat ice cream by the scoop. But the ice cream in the individual packages aren’t bad either. I really like this raspberry mix with vanilla ice cream covered in chocolate.

When my host mom found out that I had an obsession with ice cream and learned that I had ice cream (by the scoop) at one of her favorite places—our relationship was solidified. I had to do an interview for one of my classes and we made a “deal” that I could interview her if I bought her ice cream…I liked the deal because I got ice cream too.

A week ago I told Ale that I was going to buy some ice cream for us to eat after dinner. Our relationship and routine is more natural and we’re understanding each other more—so this conversation wasn’t difficult to have. She told me what flavor she likes.

So after I went to an internet cafe, I went to the store to pick up ice cream. There were so many choices—but I picked up the one with fruit, because Ale had explained how she has had bad experiences with non-fruit flavors. I checked out, paid the cashier, and walked home ice cream in hand.

When I walked in, I immediately showed Ale the ice cream I had bought—she didn’t seem as enthusiastic as I did---and I was a bit confused. A family friend’s daughter was over for dinner. We had dinner and then I got the ice cream out.

Brought the bowls, spoons, and container of ice cream to the table. As I dished the ice cream out I began to understand why Ale’s reaction wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. As they tasted the ice cream, Ale and her family friend waited for me to try it…YUCK! It was horrible. I said it tasted like water with artificial fruit flavor..it was a weird texture of ice. Basically, I had bought the cheapest and worst brand of ice cream. (She might look happy here eating it…but she most definitely was not.)

The ice cream might have been bad…but we all laughed so much. And it’s definitely the common story for Ale share with others.

Oh well…at least I’ve found the good places to buy ice cream and now I know what not to buy at the grocery story.

Bread and Roses

(This blog finishes up the blog entry “Give us a sample…”")

Our last stop for the day was Parque por la Paz—Villa Grimaldi (Park for Peace—Villa Grimaldi).

It’s also the Auschwitz of Chile.

It was one of the main torture centers and headquarters for the DINA (Secret Police) during the Pinochet era.

Before this, it belonged to a wealthy liberal family. It had a restaurant. A pool. A beautiful rose garden. It became a place where liberals would meet to talk about making Chile a more just country.

The wealthy family’s daughter was captured by the DINA. In return for their daughter, the family handed over the property to Pinochet.

It was in use from 1974-1978. Almost 4,000 people were brought through here. Almost 300 people were killed here or “disappeared.”

At this point in the day, I’m not really talking much. I just don’t know what to say at this point. 

We start the tour. To be honest, I’m not really sure how much of the tour I heard. The guide spoke fast and there were a lot of words in Spanish that I did not know. I was able to ask some of the SIT staff some questions to clarify things.

First we saw a model of the place. DINA bulldozed much of the land after they closed the place down in 1978 to destroy their evidence.

Next to some of the model homes…there were sketches of what the “inside” of this particular building looked like. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the pictures of the Holocaust, where bodies are huddling close together.

Then we went to the gate that remains lock. Symbolically showing “nunca más” (never again).

Out from the gate is a beautiful mosaic image (sort of looks like the roots of a tree).

Some of the tiles are from the original buildings where the individuals were kept during their time a Villa Grimaldi. The blue and green tiles on the edge mirror the shape of tears.

And we kept going…

There are plaques to show where the male and female holding cells where. The guide talked about the importance of solidarity…the importance of singing, story telling, togetherness during these moments. How these “prisoners" would maintain that—even with the screams of those being tortured coming from the room next door. 

They had a replica of one of the rooms to give a sense of the size. Rossana, a SIT staff member, said, 4 people stayed in here and each person would take turns sleeping on the ground for a bit at a time.

We went to the wall where the names of those who died here are listed. There are black spaces under each year Grimaldi was open for any more bodies they still find or for those bodies they are not able to put a name to. When this was designed they wanted to make it more accessible. Unlike the other Memorial, individuals are touch this wall. Take the steps down and feel each name on the wall.

Then we entered the Rose Garden. During the years of operation, “prisoners” would imagine the smell of roses that used to exist when the family owned the property. The gargen is a memorial to the 30+ women who were killed here. Each bed of flowers has the name of one of the women who died here. There are four unnamed beds where the names of the four other women who died is unknown.

 

Then we moved to the once water tower. During the take-over it was the torture chamber—the one where someone would enter and not leave. There are only a few who survived this—the shocking, the water dunking. Most of the people tortured excessively in this building and then thrown into the ocean.

And then there was a pool.

It served many purposes. When the Red Cross came, DINA had the detainees hide in here so the Red Cross could inspect. Some guards used the pool for recreational activities. And a few times it was used for the children of the DINA members. They played in the pool while individuals were screaming as they were tortured. Those being tortured can remember hearing the voices of those playing in the pool.

The center of the park where a majority of the torturing happened is turned into a mosaic design.

The tour ended soon after. We saw the DINA “headquarters” which was turned into a museum to showcase a few individuals who died here. A number of memorials to the political organizations that were sought out during the dictatorship. 

And then it ended.

I’m surprised I didn’t leave feeling discouraged. I left in awe of the people who work to create a better world. Of the people who know, in their gut of guts, that what they are writing or singing or performing or sharing or saying is what needs to be done. I’m in awe of the people who continue to do that—knowing that this is possible. That torture and death and leaving it all is possible. But these people keep going.

Just as those in Grimaldi would close their eyes and imagine the smell of roses, these people, too, are fighting for the bread and roses for all people. The right to put food and roses on the table. And working so that never again…is never again…in Rwanda, Chile, in Iraq, in U.S. Prisons, in the Middle East, in Darfur…never again.

And may I continue to build a world where when I travel…I am not visiting memorial after memorial dedicated to governments that tortured their people with the help of my government, where I am not witness U.S. capitalism infiltrate their economy.

Instead I witness their culture. I speak to their people who speak their language. I eat their food from their country. And I learn their history. Not my history in their country. I learn their history.