We had already hiked through about four miles of mud, hunched our backs and pushed our knees up numerous steeply-inclined hills, and stopped to have a quick lunch of apples and peanuts at a picnic bench that had a look-out over the sprawling valleys of rolling hills and pleasantly-nestled villages when Honza yelled, "Jamie! Jamie! Honem! Podivej!" Everyone of us in our line of meandering hikers bolted in a full-on run to where Honza, who was about 30 feet in front us, was standing--book bags swinging from side to side and hands flailing about in an attempt to maintain a sense of balance on the quickly-eroding road. I saw it first, as I was right behind Honza, and couldn't quite make out what it was. It was black, like an oily black, but I saw spots of a very sharp, almost banana-bright yellow. The creature seemed to be in a hurry and was obviously frightened of the giants, one who was standing above it and the others who were running in thunderous fashion towards it. The little body was clumsily making its get-away over the sticks, rocks and leaves that made up the road; attempting to steer clear of Honza's thirteen-sized boot that he incontinently kept placing right in front of its nose, impeding its path. Its head would swing the left and its tail would whip around in the opposite direction, grabbing the back legs and pulling them along with it; it's whole body looked like a contorted 'S' each time it would take a step. I got up closer and from behind the boot, I could make it out: it was a SALAMANDER! And not just any salamander, a tiger salamander, and he (or she) was dressed in beautiful spots of yellow and had grown to a fairly large size. Aside from the fact that I hadn't seen one of these little amphibians in more than two years, I was more pleased to see one here in the Czech Republic, as they are extremely rare. Everyone got in close and stared, each one of us trying to see the smallest detail of its face and eyes. Does it live along this path? Can it see very well? Is it poisonous? Is it true that they look as if they wear a perpetual smile? Many of us wanted to touch it and hold it, or take it back with us and put it in our pocket. For me, personally, I would have been content to have found more--a family perhaps! As it crawled off the side of the road and into the moist leaves that had lain there since the fall, we all said our good-byes to the tiger salamander and returned back onto the path to continue inching up the little blue lines on my map. And, as I reflected on the experience a little later, I was surprised to realize that almost exactly two years ago on this blog I wrote about the fact that there 'will be no more tiger salamanders to hold' once I'm in the Czech Republic--making reference to one of my jobs at Camp Willson--and I was happy to see how wrong I had been.
---
The final scene in the movie Big Fish is very powerful me. I don't know if many of you have watched the film, but it is a dying scene. It's sad and beautiful and completely poetic. Yeah, its a happy ending of course, as a son finally connecting with his father who he has been at odds with for nearly ten years, comes back to his father's death bed to listen and tell stories, together, again, one last time--but aside from the fact that it could have easily been warped into a cheesy, feel-good kind of ending, it stays above that fray--at least for me. His son begins to recount and tell a tall-tale of what his father’s funeral will look like. It's awash in adventure, women, a car chase, rebelling, running through the woods and being carried in the arms of his loved ones. And, after the action has ended, his son begins to depict how they both are slowly making their way to the river bank, and as they get closer to the water's edge, people from his father's life begin to reveal themselves from behind the trees to say one last farewell. Hundreds of them. The tale his son tells is a culmination of a life lived well, even though not always truthfully or perfectly, but one that was imaginative.
Recently--in fact, yesterday--I felt this way. Jamie and I planned one final presentation in the church, where we were going to talk about our 'cultural shocks' about the Czech Republic. Yet, we both didn't just want to make this presentation about the comparison of life between the U.S. and the Czech Republic, even though there was a good amount of that too; no, we wanted to say good-bye to many of the Czechs who've come to accept us as their own. We knew that this might be one of the last times we would be able to see them all in one place, as time is running up. However, we were unsure of who would come. I had some people in mind who I knew I wanted to be there, but I really didn't know: it could have been five to forty-six people. So, as the time ticked down to 6 o'clock and only three people had arrived, I was a little bit nervous.
I started to speak first at about 6:00pm. The translator that night was Vlada Hancil, the man who patiently taught me and gave me a foundation in Czech language; laughing at my grammatical mistakes and feeding me wine and whiskey as we went along. The presentation started slow, and soft as both Vlada and I tried to judge each other: how fast would I need to talk? Does Vlada understand everything I'm saying? Should I listen to his Czech to make sure he's translated it correctly? At about five minutes after I started into the introduction, the door opened up, loudly, and two of my students walked in. Petra, who has blond hair and is no older than me and her boyfriend, who lived and studied in England for the past six years. both of them last year, upon meeting me, proclaimed their dislike for Americans, but have since then come to enjoy the class and have recently invited me for beer with them in the pub to 'shoot the breeze' and develop a closer relationship. Being slightly frustrated at the intrusion into my introduction, I carried right along, with Vlada at my side, when, once again, the door was pushed open and another man walked in; this time, it was Vlada Gracias, the local glass artist who has become one of my closest friends in Policka. It doesn’t matter that he is 56 and I am only 24; we talk about life, we run together on Tuesday mornings, I visit him in his studio and look at his work, he talks to me about his marriage and just recently, he personally made Jamie and I our very own glass coffee mug set. He took his seat in the far back corner of the room.
Jamie began to speak after me, and she started off a little bit nervous and slow. I looked around the room, as I sat at the computer and controlled the PowerPoint. Renata Blandova was sitting next to me, and her daughter Martina, who is only 6 years old, was with her. They came with their grandpa and Martina sat on his lap. I know them all very well, and I remember the times I got to spend with Renata's family almost every Saturday when Jiri and I would go 'lifting' for about thirty minutes and then inevitably head down stairs for about two hours of beer drinking and socializing with Renata and Jamie. I remember that Renata always wanted to prepare us dinner, and she would vicariously ask through Jamie what my favorite meals where, so she could try her stab at them. I didn't know she did that for nearly two years, until only three months ago. Now I know why I thought Renata had the best kitchen in all of Policka.
As Jamie began to speak about the sweets of Policka, I shot a glance to right-hand side of the room and saw "Pani Novotna" sitting amongst the crowd. She is a widow who lives all alone except for her seven cats, which she talks about every Sunday. The first time she came up to me in the church, I didn't understand what she was saying, but now, I'd say that were friends from afar. Every Sunday morning I ask her, "Pani Novotna, jak se maji tvoje kocatky?" And she replies, "Jsou dobry, ale pocasi je hnusne. Nemam kitky na zahrade." It's a beautiful exchange. I remember one time when Pani Novotna came into my office carrying the rest of the wine from the communion table. It was just me and her. She wanted to get rid of the wine, however, there was still quite a lot left in the jug. She took out two classes and filled them to the top. We toasted each other and gulped down the sour, red wine, and when she smiled, I could see that her teeth had a purple tint to them.
Jamie continued in her speech and my eyes drifted over to where Kaja, Premek, Martin and Bara were seated. They all graduated this year (except for Bara), and have invited me to numerous parties with their friends. With Kaja, I remember that she was the one who told me that her mother was a dentist and would be able to fix the gaping cavity I had in one of my back molars; she came and translated for my first visit. Now, we are friends and I've been to her house for dinner--her mom makes the best potato salad. Premek is a close friend of mine, and I remember that he is actually our official landlord: Jamie and I live in his deceased grandfather's apartment, so Premek is actually the rightful owner of the place. It doesn't matter thought, he isn't very tough, especially when he is the one bringing the bottle of wine to our house party. Martin and Bara are a couple who've been together almost three years now. They both are quiet people, but love to invite Jamie and I over for barbeques. I remember the first time Jamie and I hung out with Martin and Bara, we ended up taking pictures in their yard holding a bazooka, landmine and a large bomb.
When it was my turn to speak, I abruptly looked down at the front row and saw the Janeceks. I know that Ivo is the local editor of the Policka newspaper, and he teaches people how to properly fire walk. My best memory from the Janeceks was when Jamie and I went over there for dinner and Eva, the mom/wife, prepared the best potato dumplings and roasted duck I've ever had in my life.
I steered the presentation to its final conclusion and I knew that it was going to be good. I wanted to make a final statement on who the Czech people were, and I wanted to tell them what my answer would be if people back in the United States asked me that question. But, as I got to the last side, I could see in the back of the room Vlasta and Mila Plecharcek. They could tell by the tone of my voice that I was wrapping up the presentation. I could see tears begin to form in her eyes, but not of sadness; her face looked extremely content and happy. Mila leaned his head against the wall as I began to tell them all that in the Czech Republic, people are people. Sometimes, you will find those who have 'big' ambitions and dreams, and some who have 'little' ambitions and dreams; sometimes you will meet people who will be friendly, and sometimes people who will be not so friendly; sometimes you will meet people who will open up to you and reveal their inner-most thoughts, and sometimes you will meet people who are closed and reserved. Consequently, it's hard to say who the 'Czech people ARE.' I ended the presentation by saying that whoever asks me who the Czechs are, the best answer would be to show them pictures of the friends we've made here. And with that, the slideshow ended with a barrage of about fifteen photographs. And, as I looked about the room, I saw Lydia, Vlada's wife, crying; I saw Otakar Kleparnik laughing; I saw Honza Stanek leaning on his knees and squinting his eyes; and I saw Honza and Anna Dus smiling. The room was filled that day; over forty people showed up, and they came not to hear about culture, but they also came to say good-bye. Na sheldanou mili pratele. A mozne jeden den uvidime znova.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Art exhibition
It's May 20th, and a half year ago I thought our life in Policka would be a little less full of activities by now since we would be preparing to return to the states, however this is not the case. Ofcourse isn't a bad thing, because we have friends who want to spend time with us, and activites in the church, however seems like our days are going by even faster than before.
There is one upcoming event that I am both looking forward to and anxious about: an art exhibition in the local theater, Tyluv Dum, which will display my paintings. I have mixed feeling about this because I really don't know what to expect. Will people like my painting? Will I have enought to fill the huge room? Wow, it's cool that my first exhibition will be international! Are my paintings good enough to be up on display? These are just some of the thoughts that cross my mind as I prepare.
The craziest thing is I nevered expected that I would have an exhibition of my work...ever. So it was quite the surprise when Jeremy came home one night after going out with some of the men in the church and told me that Petr, Jiri, Jan and him descided that I was going to have an exhibition in Tyluv dum in June. What exactully do I do at that point? I can't tell them I don't want to, because seceretly I'm excited about the idea. That was in January.
I have two and a half weeks before I will set up the exhibition, and the closer I get the more nervous I am about the quality and quantity of my work...but at the same time I know that the people who are going to come are my friends, and it will be nice to share my paintings with them. Heck, if there is a large space in the room that I can't fill with painting we'll just put a table infront of it and serve wine, no worries.
There is one upcoming event that I am both looking forward to and anxious about: an art exhibition in the local theater, Tyluv Dum, which will display my paintings. I have mixed feeling about this because I really don't know what to expect. Will people like my painting? Will I have enought to fill the huge room? Wow, it's cool that my first exhibition will be international! Are my paintings good enough to be up on display? These are just some of the thoughts that cross my mind as I prepare.
The craziest thing is I nevered expected that I would have an exhibition of my work...ever. So it was quite the surprise when Jeremy came home one night after going out with some of the men in the church and told me that Petr, Jiri, Jan and him descided that I was going to have an exhibition in Tyluv dum in June. What exactully do I do at that point? I can't tell them I don't want to, because seceretly I'm excited about the idea. That was in January.
I have two and a half weeks before I will set up the exhibition, and the closer I get the more nervous I am about the quality and quantity of my work...but at the same time I know that the people who are going to come are my friends, and it will be nice to share my paintings with them. Heck, if there is a large space in the room that I can't fill with painting we'll just put a table infront of it and serve wine, no worries.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Life between the cultures
I've been writing on this blog for over two years now, and I've noticed one large development in my writing since the first posts in May of 2008: the absence of 'God' language. In reflecting upon this a little further, I feel that the fact that I no longer write things like, "I'm so blessed." "I am the vessel through which Jesus proclaims his love for the Czech people." Or, the heavily clichéd, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” is because it's utterly and completely cultural on so many levels. We Americans have the stereotype of always wanting and needing a 'Happy Ending', so that all stories or avenues of thought, we often glaze over with rosy pictures of fluttering butterflies, peppermint candies and large smiles. And, to tell you the truth, 'God talk' in this sense has become, at least for me, another manifestation of 'Happy Americana': it seems that by putting the 'God' stamp at the end of every single thought or situation that one lives through or wrestles with, is a fairly simple--and righteous--way of saying, "I don't really know what's going on, and, frankly, it could be bad--but, it'll be all good with...JESUS!"
My goal in this post is not to make those of you back home who do write with 'God' on your mind feel guilty about it, because, in reality, if I hadn't been able to come into contact with another cultural expectation of how Christians are suppose to act in real life, I would still, probably, be writing with 'God talk' at the end; the situation is this: if everyone around me is talking about God in a very tangible, up-front way, then I too will speak about God in that way; if everyone around me is quiet in their faith, and does not speak about God openly on the street, then I too will not speak about God so 'openly'. It's a form of cultural adaptation. I need to do it to survive. The only problem is, is where does this leave me in my relation back to my home culture, the culture where it is completely acceptable, and in many cases, necessary--at least if you are a Christian--to speak with "God", "Jesus" or 'God Bless you' on the tongue?
No, this is a question not just about how I will adjust back to American Christianity again, but it is a question of’re-entry', of 'reverse culture shock'.
To tell you the truth, I'll probably never go back to speaking about God in the 'evangelical-I-want-to-change-the-world-and-God-is-my-avenue-through-it-so-I-want-all-of-you-to-know-about-it' way. Personally, I do find it to be on many levels a very immature response to feelings, emotions, reflections and situations that can't just be thrown under the, "I'll be fine, God is with me" talk. What if the situation is not so good? What if I really do dislike that person? What if I really am becoming consumed by envy, jealousy, greed and disregard? What if it does seem that the situation is under no one's control and only looks like it will get worse and worse? What if I really feel alone? What if--ugh, God forbid--I actually can't do it...? Ironically, before I beat myself up about the fact that I'm taking God out of my daily life, I'd like to remind myself of the fact that 'God talk' doesn't actually bring us closer to realizing the relationship between our personal faith and our outward works; to the contrary, its a veneer of relevancy that shields ourselves from true, active engagement of our faith.
But, back to the cultural stuff:
From living over seas, there are two main ways in which people change: first, is contact with the newly-found culture; the second is the putting into context of the home culture. Both of these experiences are challenging in their own right. In the beginning of any one's international travel/residence, one has to adapt and find a comfortable medium between their new culture and their old one: language, life style, habits, social customs, weather, animals and natural surroundings have to become comfortable; one has to find a way to make all that is 'new and disorienting', 'familiar and understandable'. This period, at least for me, lasted about one year, with many ups and Downs in between. Consequently, this second year has been full of instances where I've known that my life in Policka is comfortable--I wouldn't say easy, just comfortable. Subtly, due to the constant bombardment of the foreign culture and the pressure to adapt, mindsets and opinions begin to change--I would say that this phenomenon is always happening under the surface, but goes unnoticed with all the 'practical' adjusting that needs to be done. Subsequently, after about 14 months of residence, one realizes that they are no longer the same both in habit, but more importantly, in thought. The problem with this, however, is when the residence in the foreign culture comes to an end, and one must embark back home. For me, it's coming, and I know it's going to be difficult.
The Czech Republic is a far cry from living for an extended period of time in a place like Malawi, or Cambodia, where both the lifestyle and historical/cultural traditions are completely separated from that of Western Civilization--the standard of living also plays into this. But, for me, there still is a palpable feeling of, "I'm not really that 'American' any more." And, it's true. Many people think that the return home will be much 'easier' than the adaptation that was inherent in learning a new culture's ways and language, but I know that that won't be the case, because my thoughts and opinions, which are firmly rooted in the cultural context of my life in the Czech Republic, will now make me a little more than foreign back in my home culture: the English language will be everywhere, the pace of life and work will change, food options and meal times will not be as regular as in the CZ, socially acceptable practices like having alcohol during lunch break will not be so 'okay', habits of mine will have to change, and attitudes will be hard to get a handle on.
Not to mention the fact that I will be sad that I'm physically separated from my friends back in Policka...
I know that some of you might be thinking, "Well, what concrete things is he talking about?" "What kind of person will he be, and how have his opinions really differed from mine?" And, I don't have answers for you, because we can't have a conversation face-to-face about it. But, I would like to list off for you a few of the life-style habits I've developed while living in the Czech Republic that I hope I would be able to maintain when I'm back in the United States:
1. Recycling: I found it really hard to believe how much waste we actually do create in the United States. Here in Europe, they really do a much better job of being conscious about the environment (maybe it's because their land mass is that much smaller, so when they throw away EVERYTHING, they actually see the trash dump on a more regular occasion). I mean, here is a list of the things that Jamie and I recycle every week: tea bags, paper, yogurt containers, milk cartons, mouthwash bottles, wine bottles, beer bottles, and composting. It was really strange for me when we were back in the United States and I just wadded everything up, plastic and all, and threw it into the can.
2. Public Transportation/bikes: I haven't driven a car in almost two years. I love the feeling. When I need to get somewhere, I either get on my bike and ride (sometimes quite a long distance), or I'm patient and I wait for the bus of the train to take me there. I've found out that this really does save me stress and money. And, I don't use tons of gas. I remember being back home in the US this past summer, and after nearly three weeks of driving, I turned over to Jamie and I told her, "I can't live this lifestyle anymore." And, it's true. Why do we need to drive to work when it is only 5 miles away? Why do we need to drive around town, when we can just as easily all fit into one car? Why do we need to personally take our car to Philly, when there is the seldom-used train connection? Not to mention, it's better for your health to ride your bike or walk, than to sit on your butt.
3. I would like to socialize over beer and wine more often. I think the traditional, American stereotype of people who like beer and wine as being alcoholics is completely ridiculous. For me, there are few more intimate places to get into a good, in depth conversation with someone than in a winery or in a nice, cozy pub.
4. Learn another Language: the reality of life in Europe is that language must be dealt with. Europeans learn them. They talk about them. They love them. I mean, we live fairly close to Quebec, so why not try to learn Quebecois? Or, why not learn Spanish? After all, nearly 15 percent of our population speaks that as a first language.
5. Cook at home: most Czechs have all their meals in the house, and, while it is easier for them to do so, because their work life is not as hectic, I still think that we Americans should get back to our roots and make some genuine American Apple Pie, or steak. It would really cut down on our obesity crisis, and we would know EXACTLY what we're putting into your salad, or our chicken pot pie.
6. Plant my own garden: it's amazing, but every little inch of space the Czechs have, they plant a garden, where they grown their own vegetables. Not only is the food better and fresher, a garden also gets you outside and exercising in the sun. I'd like to take a stab at it.
My goal in this post is not to make those of you back home who do write with 'God' on your mind feel guilty about it, because, in reality, if I hadn't been able to come into contact with another cultural expectation of how Christians are suppose to act in real life, I would still, probably, be writing with 'God talk' at the end; the situation is this: if everyone around me is talking about God in a very tangible, up-front way, then I too will speak about God in that way; if everyone around me is quiet in their faith, and does not speak about God openly on the street, then I too will not speak about God so 'openly'. It's a form of cultural adaptation. I need to do it to survive. The only problem is, is where does this leave me in my relation back to my home culture, the culture where it is completely acceptable, and in many cases, necessary--at least if you are a Christian--to speak with "God", "Jesus" or 'God Bless you' on the tongue?
No, this is a question not just about how I will adjust back to American Christianity again, but it is a question of’re-entry', of 'reverse culture shock'.
To tell you the truth, I'll probably never go back to speaking about God in the 'evangelical-I-want-to-change-the-world-and-God-is-my-avenue-through-it-so-I-want-all-of-you-to-know-about-it' way. Personally, I do find it to be on many levels a very immature response to feelings, emotions, reflections and situations that can't just be thrown under the, "I'll be fine, God is with me" talk. What if the situation is not so good? What if I really do dislike that person? What if I really am becoming consumed by envy, jealousy, greed and disregard? What if it does seem that the situation is under no one's control and only looks like it will get worse and worse? What if I really feel alone? What if--ugh, God forbid--I actually can't do it...? Ironically, before I beat myself up about the fact that I'm taking God out of my daily life, I'd like to remind myself of the fact that 'God talk' doesn't actually bring us closer to realizing the relationship between our personal faith and our outward works; to the contrary, its a veneer of relevancy that shields ourselves from true, active engagement of our faith.
But, back to the cultural stuff:
From living over seas, there are two main ways in which people change: first, is contact with the newly-found culture; the second is the putting into context of the home culture. Both of these experiences are challenging in their own right. In the beginning of any one's international travel/residence, one has to adapt and find a comfortable medium between their new culture and their old one: language, life style, habits, social customs, weather, animals and natural surroundings have to become comfortable; one has to find a way to make all that is 'new and disorienting', 'familiar and understandable'. This period, at least for me, lasted about one year, with many ups and Downs in between. Consequently, this second year has been full of instances where I've known that my life in Policka is comfortable--I wouldn't say easy, just comfortable. Subtly, due to the constant bombardment of the foreign culture and the pressure to adapt, mindsets and opinions begin to change--I would say that this phenomenon is always happening under the surface, but goes unnoticed with all the 'practical' adjusting that needs to be done. Subsequently, after about 14 months of residence, one realizes that they are no longer the same both in habit, but more importantly, in thought. The problem with this, however, is when the residence in the foreign culture comes to an end, and one must embark back home. For me, it's coming, and I know it's going to be difficult.
The Czech Republic is a far cry from living for an extended period of time in a place like Malawi, or Cambodia, where both the lifestyle and historical/cultural traditions are completely separated from that of Western Civilization--the standard of living also plays into this. But, for me, there still is a palpable feeling of, "I'm not really that 'American' any more." And, it's true. Many people think that the return home will be much 'easier' than the adaptation that was inherent in learning a new culture's ways and language, but I know that that won't be the case, because my thoughts and opinions, which are firmly rooted in the cultural context of my life in the Czech Republic, will now make me a little more than foreign back in my home culture: the English language will be everywhere, the pace of life and work will change, food options and meal times will not be as regular as in the CZ, socially acceptable practices like having alcohol during lunch break will not be so 'okay', habits of mine will have to change, and attitudes will be hard to get a handle on.
Not to mention the fact that I will be sad that I'm physically separated from my friends back in Policka...
I know that some of you might be thinking, "Well, what concrete things is he talking about?" "What kind of person will he be, and how have his opinions really differed from mine?" And, I don't have answers for you, because we can't have a conversation face-to-face about it. But, I would like to list off for you a few of the life-style habits I've developed while living in the Czech Republic that I hope I would be able to maintain when I'm back in the United States:
1. Recycling: I found it really hard to believe how much waste we actually do create in the United States. Here in Europe, they really do a much better job of being conscious about the environment (maybe it's because their land mass is that much smaller, so when they throw away EVERYTHING, they actually see the trash dump on a more regular occasion). I mean, here is a list of the things that Jamie and I recycle every week: tea bags, paper, yogurt containers, milk cartons, mouthwash bottles, wine bottles, beer bottles, and composting. It was really strange for me when we were back in the United States and I just wadded everything up, plastic and all, and threw it into the can.
2. Public Transportation/bikes: I haven't driven a car in almost two years. I love the feeling. When I need to get somewhere, I either get on my bike and ride (sometimes quite a long distance), or I'm patient and I wait for the bus of the train to take me there. I've found out that this really does save me stress and money. And, I don't use tons of gas. I remember being back home in the US this past summer, and after nearly three weeks of driving, I turned over to Jamie and I told her, "I can't live this lifestyle anymore." And, it's true. Why do we need to drive to work when it is only 5 miles away? Why do we need to drive around town, when we can just as easily all fit into one car? Why do we need to personally take our car to Philly, when there is the seldom-used train connection? Not to mention, it's better for your health to ride your bike or walk, than to sit on your butt.
3. I would like to socialize over beer and wine more often. I think the traditional, American stereotype of people who like beer and wine as being alcoholics is completely ridiculous. For me, there are few more intimate places to get into a good, in depth conversation with someone than in a winery or in a nice, cozy pub.
4. Learn another Language: the reality of life in Europe is that language must be dealt with. Europeans learn them. They talk about them. They love them. I mean, we live fairly close to Quebec, so why not try to learn Quebecois? Or, why not learn Spanish? After all, nearly 15 percent of our population speaks that as a first language.
5. Cook at home: most Czechs have all their meals in the house, and, while it is easier for them to do so, because their work life is not as hectic, I still think that we Americans should get back to our roots and make some genuine American Apple Pie, or steak. It would really cut down on our obesity crisis, and we would know EXACTLY what we're putting into your salad, or our chicken pot pie.
6. Plant my own garden: it's amazing, but every little inch of space the Czechs have, they plant a garden, where they grown their own vegetables. Not only is the food better and fresher, a garden also gets you outside and exercising in the sun. I'd like to take a stab at it.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Future plans
Two years ago when Jamie and I first agreed to come to Policka, we did so without really thinking about the two years after the CZ. Where would we go? What would we do? Would we go back to school? Would we stay longer in Europe? All of these questions rattled around in our head, unanswered. And, that was good. Yet, as this year came and the months quickly ticked off the calendar, Jamie and I were faced with the decision-making process again, and those same old questions came up. Except, this time, they had to be answered.
The definition of an adventure is quite a funny thing, in that all people have one. Usually, especially if you are young, the adventure that you dream up or concoct in your mind is quite exotic and unique: I want to move to Africa and cure aids; I’m going to hike through Asia; I’m going to ride on a helicopter through the Outback. Everything, every adventure, has to be grand and ‘international’ in flavor. Personally, for me, I had it. I wanted it to be that way. Consequently, the prospect of returning back to the United States was always up in the clouds, above my head, offering me a ‘foreboding’ reminder that the ‘wanderlust’ life will eventually come to a decisive end. I fought it—especially in September.
When Jamie and I both started job hunting, we often started as far away from Western, PA as we could. I know that I personally applied to three positions in Wyoming (of all places), one in Montana and one in Colorado. I though to myself, “well, if I’m going back to American, I might as well go someplace new. I’m still in the mood for exotic nature, which I think I can find…out WEST.” But, all the options fell through.
One day in February, I was perusing the internet on the AmeriCorps website and came across some job openings in Erie, Pennsylvania. I was very hesitant at first, as that was really the LAST place I would want to return to. But, I read the job descriptions of all the positions and each one of them offered something very interesting and worth-while: work with refugees, environmental education, college counseling, etc. I decided to apply. About two weeks later I had an interview. And, during the interview, the woman who was asking the questions, inquired as to whether I had a wife. “Yes” I answered, “She is looking to get into Environmental Education work.” “Really!?” replied the woman. “That’s funny, because we’re looking for a candidate for our open position who would be able to teach and work with an environmental group.” “Do you think your wife would be interested?” And, that’s how it started.
Less than a week later, Jamie had an interview, and then a second. A month later, she was offered a job with the Group “EarthForce.” I, on the other hand, had to wait a little bit longer. Ironically, they seemed more ‘gung-ho’ about Jamie than myself, and I was the original one who had applied!! But, by and by I finally did get my second interview and was offered a position with the group, “Urban Erie Development Corporation.”
To give you a very quick summary of what our lives next year will look like, I would like to tell you what the organizations do. EarthForce is an independent group that is nationally funded and run, however, is broken up into regional chapters: Jamie will be working for the Allegheny-Erie chapter. What EarthForce does (and no, it is not the crazy, eco-terrorist group, ‘EarthFirst!’) is they encourage environmental stewardship and community service among high school and middle school students. Jamie’s responsibility will be teaching and also ‘infrastructure building.’ This means that she will be the direct liaison for the group between the communities; she will have to find volunteers, encourage community involvement with EarthForce, give presentations to Universities and enjoy life on Presquile Isle.
Urban Erie Development Corporation, on the other hand, is a non-profit organization that specializes in community development in poverty-stricken areas. Their program is holistic in that they have programs that address the economic, social, educational and practical problems that come with being poor. My main responsibility will be working with youth through an after-school program, helping start up a community garden project with the large refugee population in Erie, and writing grants.
We both look forward to our new jobs and are confident that we will gain a lot of experience from them. We are working with AmeriCorps, which means that we are also being offered many incentives for our service: money for graduate school, a one year non-competitive status for any government job (National Park Jobs, anyone!?), and training for work and life in an NGO (Non-Government Organization).
The decision-making process was long, and I must admit, sometimes difficult, and we still don’t really have the answers to a concrete future path. Our two years in the Czech Republic have been a blessing in that it has opened our eyes to many different perspectives and experiences. We both feel confident going back to the United States, with the knowledge that we can succeed in difficult situations and that we can always adapt. We’ve grown in our work in the church, and have accepted it as our own. We no longer worry about what was done before, or what kind of opinion the community of Policka will have of us. We know that we’ve had a positive impact on both this church, and the community. We’ve also learned that failing is a part of succeeding, and that you have to have ‘tough skin’ sometimes when working for change (be it the perception of Christians in the Czech Republic, or working for change within the inner city of Erie). It has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience in the fullest of senses.
So, I guess I can go back to the beginning to tie this in. When we first left for the Czech Republic, Jamie and I were searching for an adventure, I guess. We wanted to learn, see and experience ‘something’ new. And, now, as I reflect and ponder on the life that awaits both Jamie and me in Erie, I can rest in the fact that my definition of adventure has been altered: it no longer has to be ‘big’ or ‘glamorous’. Each day we wake up with opportunities to challenge our perspective, or to see a place, or a person, or an experience in new light. Of course, this is much easier to come by if every single day you’re constantly bombarded with a different culture and language; it is a completely different story, when were stuck in the normal town, or in the comfortable life of where we grew up. Yet, like I said, each day you can search for something new—an adventure perhaps.
In this newsletter I also wrote about my joy at being able to plant a tree in Policka, and how the imagery of ‘roots’ grappling into the soil was powerful for me as I prepare for my departure. And, really, it’s the same with my preparation to go back to Pennsylvania; I’ll be happy to water the roots that are firmly planted in my own home, native soil.
Oh, yeah, it’ll also be nice to play baseball and see friends again. But, you already know that, right?
The definition of an adventure is quite a funny thing, in that all people have one. Usually, especially if you are young, the adventure that you dream up or concoct in your mind is quite exotic and unique: I want to move to Africa and cure aids; I’m going to hike through Asia; I’m going to ride on a helicopter through the Outback. Everything, every adventure, has to be grand and ‘international’ in flavor. Personally, for me, I had it. I wanted it to be that way. Consequently, the prospect of returning back to the United States was always up in the clouds, above my head, offering me a ‘foreboding’ reminder that the ‘wanderlust’ life will eventually come to a decisive end. I fought it—especially in September.
When Jamie and I both started job hunting, we often started as far away from Western, PA as we could. I know that I personally applied to three positions in Wyoming (of all places), one in Montana and one in Colorado. I though to myself, “well, if I’m going back to American, I might as well go someplace new. I’m still in the mood for exotic nature, which I think I can find…out WEST.” But, all the options fell through.
One day in February, I was perusing the internet on the AmeriCorps website and came across some job openings in Erie, Pennsylvania. I was very hesitant at first, as that was really the LAST place I would want to return to. But, I read the job descriptions of all the positions and each one of them offered something very interesting and worth-while: work with refugees, environmental education, college counseling, etc. I decided to apply. About two weeks later I had an interview. And, during the interview, the woman who was asking the questions, inquired as to whether I had a wife. “Yes” I answered, “She is looking to get into Environmental Education work.” “Really!?” replied the woman. “That’s funny, because we’re looking for a candidate for our open position who would be able to teach and work with an environmental group.” “Do you think your wife would be interested?” And, that’s how it started.
Less than a week later, Jamie had an interview, and then a second. A month later, she was offered a job with the Group “EarthForce.” I, on the other hand, had to wait a little bit longer. Ironically, they seemed more ‘gung-ho’ about Jamie than myself, and I was the original one who had applied!! But, by and by I finally did get my second interview and was offered a position with the group, “Urban Erie Development Corporation.”
To give you a very quick summary of what our lives next year will look like, I would like to tell you what the organizations do. EarthForce is an independent group that is nationally funded and run, however, is broken up into regional chapters: Jamie will be working for the Allegheny-Erie chapter. What EarthForce does (and no, it is not the crazy, eco-terrorist group, ‘EarthFirst!’) is they encourage environmental stewardship and community service among high school and middle school students. Jamie’s responsibility will be teaching and also ‘infrastructure building.’ This means that she will be the direct liaison for the group between the communities; she will have to find volunteers, encourage community involvement with EarthForce, give presentations to Universities and enjoy life on Presquile Isle.
Urban Erie Development Corporation, on the other hand, is a non-profit organization that specializes in community development in poverty-stricken areas. Their program is holistic in that they have programs that address the economic, social, educational and practical problems that come with being poor. My main responsibility will be working with youth through an after-school program, helping start up a community garden project with the large refugee population in Erie, and writing grants.
We both look forward to our new jobs and are confident that we will gain a lot of experience from them. We are working with AmeriCorps, which means that we are also being offered many incentives for our service: money for graduate school, a one year non-competitive status for any government job (National Park Jobs, anyone!?), and training for work and life in an NGO (Non-Government Organization).
The decision-making process was long, and I must admit, sometimes difficult, and we still don’t really have the answers to a concrete future path. Our two years in the Czech Republic have been a blessing in that it has opened our eyes to many different perspectives and experiences. We both feel confident going back to the United States, with the knowledge that we can succeed in difficult situations and that we can always adapt. We’ve grown in our work in the church, and have accepted it as our own. We no longer worry about what was done before, or what kind of opinion the community of Policka will have of us. We know that we’ve had a positive impact on both this church, and the community. We’ve also learned that failing is a part of succeeding, and that you have to have ‘tough skin’ sometimes when working for change (be it the perception of Christians in the Czech Republic, or working for change within the inner city of Erie). It has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience in the fullest of senses.
So, I guess I can go back to the beginning to tie this in. When we first left for the Czech Republic, Jamie and I were searching for an adventure, I guess. We wanted to learn, see and experience ‘something’ new. And, now, as I reflect and ponder on the life that awaits both Jamie and me in Erie, I can rest in the fact that my definition of adventure has been altered: it no longer has to be ‘big’ or ‘glamorous’. Each day we wake up with opportunities to challenge our perspective, or to see a place, or a person, or an experience in new light. Of course, this is much easier to come by if every single day you’re constantly bombarded with a different culture and language; it is a completely different story, when were stuck in the normal town, or in the comfortable life of where we grew up. Yet, like I said, each day you can search for something new—an adventure perhaps.
In this newsletter I also wrote about my joy at being able to plant a tree in Policka, and how the imagery of ‘roots’ grappling into the soil was powerful for me as I prepare for my departure. And, really, it’s the same with my preparation to go back to Pennsylvania; I’ll be happy to water the roots that are firmly planted in my own home, native soil.
Oh, yeah, it’ll also be nice to play baseball and see friends again. But, you already know that, right?
Jamie told me my titles are boring, so here's a not-so-boring title.
For the past month, my head has been only in the past-- not my own past, but the historical one. For my birthday I received a book from two of my close friends in the church entitled, Neni Spravedlnost na Zemi(There is No Justice on Earth), which is the personal account of a Czech, Jewish man who was taken as a prisoner during WWII and sent to not one, but five concentration camps, all of which he miraculously lived through. The book has been quite a joy to get through for many reasons, one of which is that he covers a topic that I've always thought about, but never had answers to: What did the Holocaust survivors do when they returned home? I've been really taken back by how he humanizes the whole situation. Often times, when thinking about history, I tend to think of it on a grand scale, which paints the people and the events, in relation to me, as greater than they actually were--you could say that I make history inaccessible for myself. Yet, through this book, I've grown to see the holocaust, humanized--as much as it can be--through the experiences that the writer recounts. Here are some of the more interesting and thought-provoking incidences that I've come across: he says that most of the Jews who were sent to the concentration camps, while they hated the Germans, were not revengeful when the war was over; when the Jews who had survived returned home, they often found out that their homes were occupied by other families (sometimes old neighbors) and many of their personal possessions had been stolen or hidden, never to be found again; while walking on the street, a month after he had been liberated from the last concentration camp, Sauchsenhausen, he couldn't remember the names of old acquaintances and many of them , in turn, couldn't recognize him due to this emaciated, near-death state; many holocaust survivors still held out hope that their families would return after the war, as many of them were separated into to completely different camps, so their respective destinies were unknown to each other; in the death camps enemies were everywhere, even the other prisoners; one of the hardest social aspects to adjust to while being back was relations towards the opposite sex (in his case, woman),as he couldn't draw a clear distinction between pity and love and empathy and lies. Also, he speaks about how immediately upon his return back into normal, civilian life, many people around him looked up to him as a man who has 'experiences' in life and carries 'a big stick', which left him always in the awkward position of having to try to explain to those who looked up to him, that in fact he had NO real-life experience, and he was completely out of sync with how to react and live on an acceptable, social and relational level; all he knew was death, burning, robbery, deceit and the tenacity it takes to survive in hell.
---
Jan approached me about two months ago with a proposal to help him translate a historical book from the United States, from Czech into English. The book is entitled Pamatnik (Memorial), and is a collection of local histories compiled at the turn of the century by Czech pastors who wanted to write a comprehensive history of every single Czech congregation in America. Aside from the fact that the writing is nauseatingly pretentious (why is it that people need to make themselves LOOK intelligent), and that many of the founding stories are all the same, families move to America--they are poor--they want God--they found a church--have some troubles, get a pastor--find God--Hallelujah, the book itself has been a really fun way for me to get a glimpse into the rough-and-tumble lives of American settlers of the early Midwest. It's hard for us to imagine how much life has changed since then, but here a few of the more interesting tidbits of 'daily-grind' type stuff: The pastors often had to commute more than 60 miles to their congregations, on foot; churches cost less than 500 dollars to build; many original inhabitants of South Dakota lived in houses called 'Soddys', named after the material they were made out of; pastors in Texas had to flee to Mexico during the American Civil War (I'm sure they were glad the Mexicans weren't like Arizonans); the boom and bust cycle of the early plain states is unbelievable--a town could be built within a few days thanks to only a railroad station; and, one pastor got lost on his way to church in Illinois for over six days due in large part because he couldn't see over the tall grass.
Sometimes I find it really quite silly when we Americans claim our ancestry when we effectively know nothing of the language, the culture or the history of the people, yet, this book does remind me that at one point, no too long ago, a majority of the people in places like Wahoo, Nebraska or Silver Lake, South Dakota, were speaking Czech not English, and referred to their neighbors as Germans, Swedish, Dutch and Slovaks, not 'Americans'. I find it quite sad that much of this cultural heterogeneity has been lost only within the last 100 years.
---
Having spoken about the history of Czechs on the plains, I feel that it would be interesting for you to know Jamie and I (mainly Jamie) have been delving into some research about Slovaks in Pittsburgh--mainly through my dad's side of the family. She has a great advantage over most people, in that she can understand and read a little Slovak, so she can peruse not just through English-language websites about ancestry, but Slovak-language one's as well. She has done a pretty impressive job, and I won't post too much about it here, because I know that she wants to be the one to tell you more. She has managed to make contact with a relative of mine who is still living in Slovakia--we've been emailing her for the past two months and plan on visiting her in June (we write in Czech, she writes in Slovak)-- she's found information on my great grandfather, the boat he arrived in New York on, the date of his arrival and information about his parents and grandparents. She's contacted some of my 'relatives' who are living in the United States, and she's been partnering in research with a Slovak man who is helping us piece some of this story together. We'll keep you updated on the 'developments'.
---
Just this past weekend, Jamie and I went on a camping trip with one of our youth group members, Filip. On Saturday night, we all decided to take a break from the path and find a small pub where we could have a few cokes and a beer (me). We were successful in our endeavoring and found quite a comfortable-looking place about two blocks away from where our tents were located. After about 40 minutes of sitting in the medieval-themed bar, Filip's face turned, as he wore an expression of disgust and worry-- the normal talkative Filip wouldn't let out more than a few words at a time and his eyes were continuously scanning the room. Looking at me, Filip with a very stiff expression said, "These songs their playing in here are racist." "Really!?" I said. "Sing to me the lyrics, slowly." Hesitantly he began to articulate, "Bila Sila!", "Bila Sila!", "Bila Sila!" There was more to the refrain, but I can't really recall it right now, all you need to know is that 'Bila Sila' is directly translated into 'White Power' in English. I couldn't believe it. Here we were, in the 21st century, sitting in a pub in the heart-land of Bohemia, a country that has seen its fair share of violence and war, listening to the same dribble that came from the mouths of the KKK, and the same ideological foundation that the Nazis built their racist-terrorizing machine upon; this whole experience did not coalesce so well with my recent reflections about what I had been reading from Neni Spravedlnost na Zemi. All three of use left the pub in a hurry, and as we exited, the manager came up to us to get our money. He was very kind and he told us to come back again some day, but I couldn't get my mind off of the fact that this business supports violence, racism, killing and blind hate, yet they all looked and were, genuinely kind. And it was then that I realized that I really do have an advantage just by the fact that I have white skin; I can never imagine what it would be like to be a person of color in that place. How terrible and lonely would I feel? How rude, violent and aggressive would the patrons be? Who would be against me? I can't know. I never will know.
---
The past few weeks at work in the church have been really odd in the fact that I know I'm practically done; I'm yearning for the day of rest where I can say, "Job well done, Jeremy." "You've accomplished a lot." I know that it is near, and the spring time doesn’t help. With each passing day that leaves on the trees get greener and fuller, I'm reminded of how fleeting my last two months will be, and I'm content in that fact. I don't want to come to work every single day and focus only on my job; I want to spend time with friends; I want to make time to take walks outside; I want to research about apartments in Erie; I want to plan my first two weeks back in America; I want to engage myself in the life that is to come--all of this, of course, is while I'm sitting in the office. When I'm on the street, or out socializing with my friends, the feeling is quite the opposite: It's as if I'm never leaving Policka and I'll be able to cultivate and grown in my relationships for many years to come. However, the sad reality is that I must also prepare myself to leave my social life--the friends, the parties, the concerts, the nights in the pub, the gym--fairly shortly. It's just a bummer that that is much more difficult to do.
Relationships mean so much more than responsibilities at this point.
---
Jan approached me about two months ago with a proposal to help him translate a historical book from the United States, from Czech into English. The book is entitled Pamatnik (Memorial), and is a collection of local histories compiled at the turn of the century by Czech pastors who wanted to write a comprehensive history of every single Czech congregation in America. Aside from the fact that the writing is nauseatingly pretentious (why is it that people need to make themselves LOOK intelligent), and that many of the founding stories are all the same, families move to America--they are poor--they want God--they found a church--have some troubles, get a pastor--find God--Hallelujah, the book itself has been a really fun way for me to get a glimpse into the rough-and-tumble lives of American settlers of the early Midwest. It's hard for us to imagine how much life has changed since then, but here a few of the more interesting tidbits of 'daily-grind' type stuff: The pastors often had to commute more than 60 miles to their congregations, on foot; churches cost less than 500 dollars to build; many original inhabitants of South Dakota lived in houses called 'Soddys', named after the material they were made out of; pastors in Texas had to flee to Mexico during the American Civil War (I'm sure they were glad the Mexicans weren't like Arizonans); the boom and bust cycle of the early plain states is unbelievable--a town could be built within a few days thanks to only a railroad station; and, one pastor got lost on his way to church in Illinois for over six days due in large part because he couldn't see over the tall grass.
Sometimes I find it really quite silly when we Americans claim our ancestry when we effectively know nothing of the language, the culture or the history of the people, yet, this book does remind me that at one point, no too long ago, a majority of the people in places like Wahoo, Nebraska or Silver Lake, South Dakota, were speaking Czech not English, and referred to their neighbors as Germans, Swedish, Dutch and Slovaks, not 'Americans'. I find it quite sad that much of this cultural heterogeneity has been lost only within the last 100 years.
---
Having spoken about the history of Czechs on the plains, I feel that it would be interesting for you to know Jamie and I (mainly Jamie) have been delving into some research about Slovaks in Pittsburgh--mainly through my dad's side of the family. She has a great advantage over most people, in that she can understand and read a little Slovak, so she can peruse not just through English-language websites about ancestry, but Slovak-language one's as well. She has done a pretty impressive job, and I won't post too much about it here, because I know that she wants to be the one to tell you more. She has managed to make contact with a relative of mine who is still living in Slovakia--we've been emailing her for the past two months and plan on visiting her in June (we write in Czech, she writes in Slovak)-- she's found information on my great grandfather, the boat he arrived in New York on, the date of his arrival and information about his parents and grandparents. She's contacted some of my 'relatives' who are living in the United States, and she's been partnering in research with a Slovak man who is helping us piece some of this story together. We'll keep you updated on the 'developments'.
---
Just this past weekend, Jamie and I went on a camping trip with one of our youth group members, Filip. On Saturday night, we all decided to take a break from the path and find a small pub where we could have a few cokes and a beer (me). We were successful in our endeavoring and found quite a comfortable-looking place about two blocks away from where our tents were located. After about 40 minutes of sitting in the medieval-themed bar, Filip's face turned, as he wore an expression of disgust and worry-- the normal talkative Filip wouldn't let out more than a few words at a time and his eyes were continuously scanning the room. Looking at me, Filip with a very stiff expression said, "These songs their playing in here are racist." "Really!?" I said. "Sing to me the lyrics, slowly." Hesitantly he began to articulate, "Bila Sila!", "Bila Sila!", "Bila Sila!" There was more to the refrain, but I can't really recall it right now, all you need to know is that 'Bila Sila' is directly translated into 'White Power' in English. I couldn't believe it. Here we were, in the 21st century, sitting in a pub in the heart-land of Bohemia, a country that has seen its fair share of violence and war, listening to the same dribble that came from the mouths of the KKK, and the same ideological foundation that the Nazis built their racist-terrorizing machine upon; this whole experience did not coalesce so well with my recent reflections about what I had been reading from Neni Spravedlnost na Zemi. All three of use left the pub in a hurry, and as we exited, the manager came up to us to get our money. He was very kind and he told us to come back again some day, but I couldn't get my mind off of the fact that this business supports violence, racism, killing and blind hate, yet they all looked and were, genuinely kind. And it was then that I realized that I really do have an advantage just by the fact that I have white skin; I can never imagine what it would be like to be a person of color in that place. How terrible and lonely would I feel? How rude, violent and aggressive would the patrons be? Who would be against me? I can't know. I never will know.
---
The past few weeks at work in the church have been really odd in the fact that I know I'm practically done; I'm yearning for the day of rest where I can say, "Job well done, Jeremy." "You've accomplished a lot." I know that it is near, and the spring time doesn’t help. With each passing day that leaves on the trees get greener and fuller, I'm reminded of how fleeting my last two months will be, and I'm content in that fact. I don't want to come to work every single day and focus only on my job; I want to spend time with friends; I want to make time to take walks outside; I want to research about apartments in Erie; I want to plan my first two weeks back in America; I want to engage myself in the life that is to come--all of this, of course, is while I'm sitting in the office. When I'm on the street, or out socializing with my friends, the feeling is quite the opposite: It's as if I'm never leaving Policka and I'll be able to cultivate and grown in my relationships for many years to come. However, the sad reality is that I must also prepare myself to leave my social life--the friends, the parties, the concerts, the nights in the pub, the gym--fairly shortly. It's just a bummer that that is much more difficult to do.
Relationships mean so much more than responsibilities at this point.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Foggy post about a difficult subject.
In the dank, chilly alleyways that dot Policka, the Vietnamese can be found selling their wares-- usually a mixture of cheaply-made clothing, slippers and plastic sunglasses. They work constantly. Everyday they are the first ones on the street in the morning and the last ones to roll up their awnings and make their way home when dusk has arrived. Throughout the day they stand and speak to one another in Vietnamese, or they are busy dusting their wares. I've never spoken with them before, except for the one time when Jamie wanted to buy a small case for her camera. The Vietnamese women asked me what I was looking for and when I spoke back to her in heavily-accented Czech, she gave me a curt smile, which was barely noticeable. For a split second, I looked at her and realized we had an emotional connection: Neither of us were native.
Immigration is all in the news--both in the US and Europe--for numerous reasons. Just this past week there was a special edition newspaper that came out that had four pages of articles covering the immigrant's experience in the Czech Republic. Many of the young people interviewed were of Asian or Russian decent, as these are two of the largest groups of immigrants that are flooding into the Czech Republic. And Czech people don't trust them. They believe that all Russians and Ukrainians are thieves and mobsters and they are convinced that if more Asians come the Czech republic will lose its traditional cultural identity. (What was interesting for me was the fact that no Americans were interviewed for the piece, even though Americans make up one of the largest immigrant communities in the Czech Republic. It shows me that even though I'm not native, I'm much easier to assimilate (or ignore) due to the fact that I actually look like a Czech. Many of the 'new' Czechs who were interviewed were pretty animate in saying that the Czech Republic as a society is unjustly scared of anybody foreign. In the news, most reporting about foreigners comes from a negative perspective. There are overwhelming instances where crime was the only news worth covering in the immigrant communities: "Foreign-born Vietnamese Man Rapes Czech Girl."
I would say that each country has al limit on how many immigrants they can assimilate. This comes into play much more often in Europe than in the United States due to the fact that European nations sare constantly in a battle to preserve their language and "Kultur." For Americans this might seem like one never-ending pissing contest in childish proclamations of which country has the best cheese, or what it means to be a Frenchman, but here these battles take on national importance. Consequently, when there is an influx of foreign-born workers in some of these small, culturally-homogenous European nations (like the Czech Republic), the first reaction on the part of the natives is not positive. Instead, there is a palpable feeling of distrust and even animosity to the newcomer, especially the ones who threaten to change both the genetic and the architectural make-up of the nation (Africans and those Muslims with their very Arabic-looking mosques). There are plenty of examples from the public/civic sphere of European life where this societal fear has manifested itself into some pretty crazy laws (from my very politically-correct, American perspective). Switzerland’s law to ban the building of minarets; France's revocation of citizenship if a woman chooses to wear a burka; or, the Czech Republic's attempt at eradicating Mongols by offering them 500 Euro to go back home. Even in my own personal life I've come across very dangerous sentiments from Europeans speaking about immigration. When I asked my friends from Holland why they moved to the Czech Republic, they answered,"Because back in the Netherlands everyone is black now. Here things are different." I think the "things are different" phrase simply means that people are STILL white in Policka.
And yet, as I read the articles and heard about the stories and experiences from some of the immigrants, I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with them--which if I thought about it on a deeper level is quite silly and a little romantic. I don't speak any Asian language, my skin-tone is that of a northern European, my eyes are blue, my native language is indo-European, and my second language is Czech. I am way more Czech than I am Mongolian, Russian, Vietnamese, African or Brazilian. I'm a Christian, not a Buddhist, and I eat more mashed potatoes than curry (sadly). But I felt as if I could understand them and relate to their struggles of feeling unwanted and never being able to throw-off the label of being 'not Czech'. Why?
I think we as people should never underestimate the unity that arises between people that feel they are unwanted. As I go back to America, I feel that I will be more cognizant of the fact that there are groups of Americans who at some point in their history (and today) have been unwanted by the mass culture at the time: Afro-Americans, Asians, Muslims, and most importantly for today, Hispanics. We as a nation have great potential in the fact that we are such a mixed place. Sadly, we will never be able to tap into it if we keep falling into the trap of cultural protectionism. All that will do is alienate pockets of our population.
And yes, I'm thinking about Arizona....
Immigration is all in the news--both in the US and Europe--for numerous reasons. Just this past week there was a special edition newspaper that came out that had four pages of articles covering the immigrant's experience in the Czech Republic. Many of the young people interviewed were of Asian or Russian decent, as these are two of the largest groups of immigrants that are flooding into the Czech Republic. And Czech people don't trust them. They believe that all Russians and Ukrainians are thieves and mobsters and they are convinced that if more Asians come the Czech republic will lose its traditional cultural identity. (What was interesting for me was the fact that no Americans were interviewed for the piece, even though Americans make up one of the largest immigrant communities in the Czech Republic. It shows me that even though I'm not native, I'm much easier to assimilate (or ignore) due to the fact that I actually look like a Czech. Many of the 'new' Czechs who were interviewed were pretty animate in saying that the Czech Republic as a society is unjustly scared of anybody foreign. In the news, most reporting about foreigners comes from a negative perspective. There are overwhelming instances where crime was the only news worth covering in the immigrant communities: "Foreign-born Vietnamese Man Rapes Czech Girl."
I would say that each country has al limit on how many immigrants they can assimilate. This comes into play much more often in Europe than in the United States due to the fact that European nations sare constantly in a battle to preserve their language and "Kultur." For Americans this might seem like one never-ending pissing contest in childish proclamations of which country has the best cheese, or what it means to be a Frenchman, but here these battles take on national importance. Consequently, when there is an influx of foreign-born workers in some of these small, culturally-homogenous European nations (like the Czech Republic), the first reaction on the part of the natives is not positive. Instead, there is a palpable feeling of distrust and even animosity to the newcomer, especially the ones who threaten to change both the genetic and the architectural make-up of the nation (Africans and those Muslims with their very Arabic-looking mosques). There are plenty of examples from the public/civic sphere of European life where this societal fear has manifested itself into some pretty crazy laws (from my very politically-correct, American perspective). Switzerland’s law to ban the building of minarets; France's revocation of citizenship if a woman chooses to wear a burka; or, the Czech Republic's attempt at eradicating Mongols by offering them 500 Euro to go back home. Even in my own personal life I've come across very dangerous sentiments from Europeans speaking about immigration. When I asked my friends from Holland why they moved to the Czech Republic, they answered,"Because back in the Netherlands everyone is black now. Here things are different." I think the "things are different" phrase simply means that people are STILL white in Policka.
And yet, as I read the articles and heard about the stories and experiences from some of the immigrants, I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with them--which if I thought about it on a deeper level is quite silly and a little romantic. I don't speak any Asian language, my skin-tone is that of a northern European, my eyes are blue, my native language is indo-European, and my second language is Czech. I am way more Czech than I am Mongolian, Russian, Vietnamese, African or Brazilian. I'm a Christian, not a Buddhist, and I eat more mashed potatoes than curry (sadly). But I felt as if I could understand them and relate to their struggles of feeling unwanted and never being able to throw-off the label of being 'not Czech'. Why?
I think we as people should never underestimate the unity that arises between people that feel they are unwanted. As I go back to America, I feel that I will be more cognizant of the fact that there are groups of Americans who at some point in their history (and today) have been unwanted by the mass culture at the time: Afro-Americans, Asians, Muslims, and most importantly for today, Hispanics. We as a nation have great potential in the fact that we are such a mixed place. Sadly, we will never be able to tap into it if we keep falling into the trap of cultural protectionism. All that will do is alienate pockets of our population.
And yes, I'm thinking about Arizona....
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