Author: Katie Entigar

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Cashing in on citizenship privilege

Sunday, May 6th was Mother’s Day. One of the movements that has drawn my attention and respect is the movement to bail out poor Black mothers from jail, where they stay for weeks, months or longer simply because they cannot make pay the cash bail set for them. This year was the third year that “Black Mama’s Bail Out Day” took place, occurring as a week of events to draw public attention to this injustice. Importantly, activists use a broader definition of “mother” which moves away from the bio-normative concept of care-giving. According to Arissa Hall, project director of National Bail Out collective:

We’re talking about more than just birth mothers: caregivers, queer mamas, and the people responsible for taking care of our families and communities.

Keeping over 500,000 of the caregivers in White, middle- and upper-class communities in jail would be unthinkable. Yet in the case of Black communities, particularly those who are poor, this appears inevitable under the rubric of infectious late-stage capitalism (which is also a racial[ized] capitalism), where Brown and Black bodies are regulated, violated, and consumed.

In a Democracy Now! interview with Mary Hooks, co-director of Southerners On New Ground (SONG), Amy Goodman asked Hooks about the contributions that wealthy donors, including celebrities like Kim Kardashian, make to activist projects like Black Mama’s Bail Out Day. Hooks rightly refocused the lens on the work of longtime committed contributors at the local level, but gave a nod to Kardashian:

…[A] shoutout to Kim for continuing to cash in her white privilege to do what must be done for the sake of other folks’ liberation. Efforts like that should continue to happen, and we should see other entertainers and celebrities get up under grassroots movements and the work that’s being led by black women, queer and trans people to free our people.

This phrase, “cashing in on one’s privilege,” struck me as I reflected on my work in immigrant rights activism with New Sanctuary Coalition. Those of us who are U.S.-born have powerful advantages in this society. Our citizenship privilege is that of people who have the right to reside in a place without fear of being sent far away, the right to live without constant anxiety that our doors will be knocked down and our children dragged out in front of us, the right to labor protections, the right to speak out against injustices enacted against us.

We need to cash in on this privilege of citizenship, see the power that we have and advance against the forces of White supremacy and nationalist violence alongside our undocumented neighbors. Sure, you can catch me out on the contradiction between my critique of capitalism and my use of a market-y metaphor, but the point stands. Those of us with the power, the privilege, have to get the lead out.

Hip hop(-as-)pedagogy

I recently saw a posting for a workshop on hip hop pedagogy at my university, which I unfortunately won’t be able to attend. I’m not familiar with hip hop pedagogy—which is why I’m disappointed I can’t make it—but I like the idea of connecting hip hop as an expressive political force with education and social justice. The New School in New York has a good listing for a course entitled Hip Hop Pedagogy & Practice for this semester as an example of what this form of pedagogy could mean as an educational tool and a framework for social change.

A fledgling thought comes to mind: can hip hop simply be pedagogy? Can it be teaching and learning toward human development, in and of itself? I’m obsessed with a couple of choreographers working in L.A., particularly Kyle Hanagami, who created the dance seen in this video:

I’ve written about hip hop dance and choreography before, and it’s fitting to me to urge on the relatively new 2019 where the battle for justice exhausts and unites us to summon up our strength, our vision for a better future and our raw truth. When you watch these people dance, they are creating themselves as they chose to be. They are youth of color, they are queer, they are whitebread-long-limbed, they are short-dark-spectacular. Female-bodied people show forceful reckoning with their bodies and laws of attraction, and male-bodied people snake and slither. You are, quite simply, your own owned body and self in hip hop dance. It is yours, and you are its, every syllable, every next beat, becoming and being. You bring yourself forward and come back to yourself. You sweat, you strut, you smile, you stare. You’re a kid, you’re grown…and your fellow dancers all cheer and watch and wait.

It is an engagement with your potential in your community, on your own terms…and what is pedagogy, what is education, if not that?

Doing more than just “getting by” in 2019

It’s the end of January and the beginning of the semester. This is a month late in writing, but I feel like the vibe of it still rings true as classes start up and hopes for learning and growth gain root for students and teachers.


These days, I’m thinking about the way in which people ring in the new year with the hope of doing better, doing more than “just getting by.” The song “Get By” by rapper and activist Talib Kweli crossed my Spotify Recommended for You playlist and rang just as powerful and fresh as it was ten years ago. Kweli’s video is shot in New York, mostly in Brooklyn, where he was raised by a mother who was a professor at Medgar Evers College of CUNY (point of pride here; the video also has shots of subway stop for City College, where I teach). It is a tribute to the amazing neighborhoods, families, community of New York. It made me think about where we all are today, where we’ll find ourselves in the coming year together. Will we be…

…just “getting by” economically? As a grad student who has spent seven of the last eight years being broke and hoping for gold, it can feel like there’s no end in sight.

…just “getting by” politically? We’re doing much more than this, but there are no signs of stopping the Trump bus as it careens around knocking down protections for and connections between us, both of which we need to keep fighting for to stay alive and stay strong. This line from the song:

I let them know we missin’ you, the love is unconditional
Even when the condition is critical, when the livin is miserable
Your position is pivotal, I ain’t bullshittin’ you
Now, why would I lie? Just to get by?

And will we be just “getting by” socially? We crave each other, yet these little screens—like the one I’m writing this on—and so many other distractions entrance us and pull us away from looking at each other curiously and being open to what might be possible for others and for us. How do we resist the script that sets us up to consume, to collaborate in our own lack of focus, our own limitations and isolation and exhaustion?

We commute to computers
Spirits stay mute while you eagles spread rumors
We survivalists, turned to consumers
To get by…just to get by

And are we just “getting by” spiritually? What are we counting on? What are we praying for? What gods can we count on?

Some people get breast enhancements and penis enlargers
Saturday sinners Sunday morning at the feet of the Father
They need somethin’ to rely on, we get high on all types of drug
When, all you really need is love
To get by…just to get by
Just to get by, just to get by

More fighting left to do. More stories to tell, more songs to sing.

Not all immigrants are “nice”: Critiquing the “good immigrant” trope

2019 has begun with pain, exhaustion, and uncertainty for many people in the United States, and hope has been hard-won and tenuous. I volunteer with New Sanctuary Coalition, whose executive director, Ravi Ragbir, was forced to attend an ICE check-in this morning, one of many techniques that the government has been using to intimidate immigrant rights activists and their allies. The conviction of No More Deaths activists in the Arizona desert of littering on a federally protected wildlife reserve is a reminder that the Antigone defense, alluded to by the judge, would not hold up in the case of these activists, who were seeking to help migrants survive their treacherous voyage across burning, lifeless sands. Much like Antigone, their appeal to a higher law was to fall on deaf ears; that anyone would take a similarly terrible risk to discover a better life for their family than that waiting in their home country is likewise an appeal to reason that makes little dent in the steely facade of White nationalists.

Photo: Meghan Dhaliwal / New York Times

Given that such spitting, spiteful condemnation of migrants’ stories is the norm from many xenophobic camps here, many in the immigrant rights movement find themselves gathering up humanizing details about their interactions with migrants at the U.S. border, which galvanizes sympathy among those geographically far away with progressive values. I believe this is meaningful, and yet I want to bring forward a concern that may be overlooked in polarized times: the slippery slope of using the “good immigrant” trope.

In an op-ed in Truth-Out entitled “Transcending Language Barriers to Connect With Asylum Seekers,” the author, an activist who has helped transport migrants from Central America as they seek asylum in the United States, relates his recent experiences at the border. The personal story is emotive and powerful, sharing how he and his colleagues supported migrant families—called “friends” in the immigrant rights activist community—on their long and arduous journeys into a strange new place. But a couple of the statements the author made gave me pause:

Our friends are among the most capable and determined people I’ve ever met…

I’ve played with their young children, held them as they’ve cried, exchanged hugs with them and heard their heartbreaking stories. I’ve bought them meals, given them clothing and I’ve come to love each of them…

Our friends are gentle, loving, compassionate, kind and unbelievably strong…

I have no doubt that the author has had transformative experiences helping people get to safety. I don’t doubt his conviction or his commitment to this great work as a witness and a neighbor. Yet I have to wonder whether it becomes necessary for some to justify their work by drawing upon the image of the “good immigrant” to ensure that others who might be unsure about the values or future activities of these newcomers won’t look askance. When I refer to the “good immigrant” trope—which appears in education as well as other contexts where immigrants and U.S.-born people interact—I mean the way in which immigrants are characterized as “blameless,” “hardworking,” “gentle” [one of the words the author used], and otherwise nonthreatening…in large part because doing so sets them up to receive care, to be recipients of humanitarian aid. Again, I don’t mean to call into question the great good of such missions as a whole, but using such language nonetheless characterizes migrants as quiescent, happy to receive our help without any particular contributions as to how it take place.

What about the immigrant who was kind of rude, who didn’t respond, who was crass or odd? I wrote a blog post in 2017 entitled “Immigrants can be funny,” with the intention of signaling the fact that in the construction of the “good immigrant” in public discourse, individuals and their unique quirks and sharp edges are left out. We need to remember that yes, migrants are united in need, but they are not passive, apolitical versions of human beings with hands outstretched. Maybe they are “fierce,” like the author said, but maybe they’re also irritable, exhausted of dealing with savioristic White people, and taking up a position of quiet in the face of no other option. Maybe they’re people you would never otherwise want to talk to, if you lived in the same community. And maybe seeing them in the full range of human options is in fact even more radical than some of the embedded “good immigrant” narratives we tell each other in our activist work.

Learning to be silent and stand by: accompaniment training to support our immigrant friends

The word friends was included without quotes in the title of this post because the unadorned word properly reflects the core values of community, solidarity, advocacy, and recognition of humanity expressed at an accompaniment training held at New Sanctuary Coalition, an interfaith/nonfaith group fighting for immigrant rights, in midtown Manhattan this past Monday. Accompaniment as defined by the presenters is a form of “advocacy for others without confrontation,” a way community members can stand in solidarity with immigrants who are facing different kinds of hearings and check-ins with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

Something I loved about the presentation was the emphasis on seeing this form of advocacy not as a savioristic enterprise – volunteers are not there to “save” or “speak for” the immigrants who are going through these difficult experiences. Attempting to do so is a means by which to silence, to pave over the extraordinary efforts that are already taking place in immigrant communities, where the battle has been taken up by families, houses of worship, schools, and other centers of strength and communion in the fight for the right to live with dignity. We are simply standing with them, with our friends and neighbors. According to the presenters, judges in the New York City immigration court system have said that the presence of accompaniment volunteers is “critical” to the decision-making process regarding whether an immigrant defendant will, for example, be issued a bond or given more time to find an attorney if they don’t have one. Essentially, the paradox emerges that judges are more likely to be fair if they see that an immigrant defendant is surrounded by community members, e.g., volunteers, especially older White women, like many of those in attendance with me tonight.


Source: Reuters / Kyle Grillot

I will be signing up to participate in various accompaniment days. We can’t take pictures inside the courthouses and of course cannot speak of specifics of the experience. That won’t matter, and in a way, the dignity involved in not trying to speak or get attention or command authority, which those of us with power in this country by nature of our skin or bank accounts or language or status unconsciously assume as a birthright, will be beautiful. I’ll be standing alongside my friends and neighbors, using my Spanish when I can, my Whiteness and my privilege as a grad student with a flexible schedule, and my anger, sorrow, and energy to do my part in helping save our entire community.

Crying us a river: the New York Times’ lament of the poor education of detained migrant children

The expression “cry someone a river” according to Wiktionary has two definitions:

  1. (idiomatic, often sarcastic) To weep profusely or excessively in the presence of another person.
  2. (idiomatic, usually sarcastic, by extension) To try to obtain the sympathy of another person by complaining or sniveling.

I’ll focus on the first definition. The New York Times published an article on July 6th entitled “In a Migrant Shelter Classroom, ‘It’s Always Like the First Day of School.'” The article discusses the ongoing challenges in the education of migrant youth being held in detention centers for days and weeks at a time, mostly from the perspective of their teachers and those who visit to monitor for human rights compliance and violations. According to the article, the teachers who attend to the education of these children are working with limited curriculum (educational programming), resources, and training (some are not certified to teach), and they lament this. The author of the article likewise laments this state of affairs, citing a troubling example of a human rights worker who visited one of these detention facilities:

At Berks County Residential Center, an ICE facility in Pennsylvania, there are two classrooms, one for children aged 2 to 11 and another for children 12 to 18, according to Eleanor Acer, of the nonprofit Human Rights First. Ms. Acer, who has visited the center several times, said that the wide age span left the older children in each group bored, and that much of the instruction was done through computers and worksheets.

She added that some teachers were unable to communicate effectively in Spanish, and that classes cycle through the curriculum every two weeks, meaning students who stay longer repeat the same material.

“The impression is that they are not really taught much of anything,” Ms. Acer said.

This of course is a terrible situation. The odds are stacked against the teachers and, much more importantly, the students in these classrooms, who have been struggling with trauma, abuse, stress, inappropriate medication with psychiatric drugs, and, of course, a senseless and inhuman incarceration experience that does not see any immediate resolution, in spite of a federal judge’s order that children be reunited with their parents (which apparently isn’t even possible for some children, whom the Trump administration has lost track of). All of us in education shake our heads at such insurmountable odds, at the injustice, at the loss of opportunity to learn and grow of these children, of the potential damage this may cause them in future educational contexts and, by implication, in future opportunities after school.


Source: https://www.telesurtv.net/english/news/We-Protect-ICE-Trump-Tells-Rallying-Crowd-as-Thousands-of-Migrant-Children-Await-Reunification-20180708-0007.html

But here’s the thing: Those of us who work with immigrant youth in public schools, particularly in large urban centers like New York City, see a version of this same story in our public school system every damn day. It is an ongoing injustice that we do not have the resources (including classroom space, materials, support staff, etc.), the sort of dynamic, flexible curriculum that can support and include all of our diverse learners, including newcomers (recently arrived immigrant students) and students who are categorized as SLIFE (students with limited or interrupted formal education), or the consistent training and support that teachers working in our cities’ public schools require to educate fairly, justly, and appropriately.

The Times mentions that HHS requires that the schooling provided for detained migrant children “[take] into account their ‘linguistic ability’ as well as ‘cultural diversity and sensitivity.'” For god’s sake: Our education system doesn’t do this now. We do not support our Brown or Black or immigrant students in public schools now, preferring to focus on individualizing, psychology-based strategies like mindfulness and resilience/grit which make children responsible for “resolving” their challenges while ignoring the structural issues that non-White, lower-income children experience like poverty, unstable housing, disproportionate policing and punishments in and out of schools, and other issues derived from systemic racism, xenophobia, and marginalization. We do not recognize that the slashes our country’s leaders have made to the education budget at the federal level and policy mandates that maintain our myopic, maniacal focus on testing punish our public schools, their teachers, and our students, all the while justifying moves to privatize and militarize. The following quote rings so hollow when we consider the state of affairs most children of color, immigrant children, and poor children experience in the day-to-day now in our public schools:

“You can only imagine the children surrounding them, how that impacts their education.”

Cry me a river. Yes, these migrant children are facing bald myriad injustices, but the reality is that their situation, lamentable though it absolutely is, is an extreme version of the same story of heartlessness, blindness, exclusion, and marginalization that millions of children in U.S. public schools face right now. We who are U.S.-born, and especially those of us who are White, should recognize that while these are not crocodile tears per se, the professing of ignorance will not do.

I’ve made my point, but I have to mention the last kick in the pants that shows up in the paternalistic final quote included in the article, taken from Ms. Baez, one of the teachers who work with the young people:

“The kids are very responsive, very glad to be in school learning and very eager to learn English.”

Well, what the hell else would they do? These children are prisoners. They are desperate for stability, for human contact, for stimulation, for any hope that correct and obedient behavior will get them out. And we can’t forget that our public outcries for this to stop, forceful and beautiful though they are, have many more lives awaiting their calls for justice.

The threat of blindness: the problems with merging education and labor

Something that has gotten little attention in the news lately is the fact that under discussion is the merging of the U.S. Department of Labor and the Department of Education at the federal level, a conversation that was apparently inspired by businesswoman and First Daughter Ivanka Trump. The fact that this momentous change is under consideration is understandably obscured by current news about the separation of asylum-seeking migrant parents and their children at the Mexican-U.S. border, which results in illegal incarceration, trauma, and the destruction of family units. Important to our thinking is the consciousness that this seemingly recent stage of of politics which is drawing our attention (and, perhaps, morbidly creating an opportunity for broad, ecumenical, supra-political unity on what amounts to violence and abuse) is in reality part of a much longer history of dehumanization of immigrants coming to this country seeking work, succor, or opportunity.

According to CNN, the proposed merger is part of a major government overhaul, which Secretary of Education Betsy Devos claims to be a means by which to “reduce the federal footprint in education and to make the federal government more efficient and effective.” As Devos has argued publicly since her appointment in early 2017, states and individual municipalities should have control over what happens in their schools, overlooking the fact that the federal government continues to exert influence through funding policies as well as constitutional protections of student’s civil rights, including protection against discrimination (see here, herehere , and here for more information about this ongoing tension).


By Lexicon, Vikrum [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

White House budget director Mick Mulvaney stated that this merger “makes tremendous sense. Because what are [these departments] both doing? They’re doing the same thing. They’re trying to get people ready for the workforce. Sometimes it’s education. Sometimes it’s vocational training.” Essentially, Mulvaney is articulating a shift that has been taking place in educational thinking in our country over the last several decades, a progression which included Ronald Reagan’s pledge in 1981 to eliminate the Department of Education in a time when “big government” received increasing criticism. Reagan’s pledge, unfulfilled though it remained, referenced his and other conservatives’ ongoing push to make education a process of job training, a position illustrated in his public speeches in the 1960s in which he argued that “taxpayers shouldn’t be subsidizing intellectual curiosity.” (That Reagan was a mediocre student and didn’t seem to care about his own schooling is perhaps a separate conversation.)

Two questions to address are these: how are we defining schooling, and how are we defining education? What is the purpose? Yes, schooling prepares us to emerge into and participate in the adult world, but this is so much more than work. True, we have moved through different eras of educational approach and philosophy, ranging from Taylorism (a.k.a. industrial education or a factory model of education) to John Dewey’s view of education as a laboratory for democratic thought and exploration. We have employed schooling to serve political as well as economic purposes, as a buttress against perceived threats of nuclear war and a preemptive strike against losing our place as a world superpower. There has never been a single unified vision of what schools should do,  how teachers should teach, or how children best learn. I would suggest that healthy and impassioned debate about this should continue on as long as schools exist.

Instead, I hold and hope that education itself – not schooling, that embattled and ever-changing space where children adopt ways of thinking that adults approve of (yes, this is a radical stance, but not necessarily a leftist one!) – can survive the neoliberal, market-friendly restructuring that threatens from the highest office. Education is the means by which we encounter – note, not “become” – our thinking selves, our feeling and knowing selves. We explore abilities, take chances, find heroes, start fires, and trip and swing and, damn it, learn. Grow. I take a radical view in stating that I believe that education takes place in many places and spaces: at home, in religious centers, with siblings and grandparents, on playgrounds, when we travel, when we suffer loss. Schools may purport to act as a locus for such experiences, which urge excitement of the mind into spaces of new becomings, but it is education itself that accompanies all of us as we become our human selves and grow into possibilities.

These possibilities may include ways of participating in work, but they also include ways of participating in society as democratic subjects and human beings living together in a shared political community. If we reduce education to job training, they we lose the opportunity to explore and understand so much about our reality. We begin to accept our current state of affairs as what is “right,” “normal,” and “unavoidable.” We begin to lose sight of the fact that this time is only one of many shimmering off the back of collective humanity. And in a time of great pain, anger, fear, and abandonment, we cannot afford to go blind.

“Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”: Mr. Rogers, the separation of immigrant families, and the complicated notion of “love”

Last night I watched Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, a biopic about the life and work of Fred Rogers, a Presbyterian minister and TV personality known to people of my generation as the host of PBS show Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. Rogers donned his iconic cardigan sweaters and talked to the audience through the camera in every episode, welcoming children into his world of puppets, imagination, music, and conversation about being a kid and being human. Along with Sesame Street, this was my earliest memory of television, and, after remembering this experience through the movie last night, a precious one.


Screenshot from Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Focus Films, 2018)

I didn’t realize how intentional the work of Fred Rogers was, in terms of his commitments to children and their development, as well as to helping them understand a confusing, sometimes cruel world, as well as their feelings and reactions to it. Rogers believed that children should feel as though they were special just as they are, and that a neighborhood, as he framed his show and its unifying theme, should be a place where you feel welcome, and safe, and accepted. This posture was affectionately termed “radical” by some of the team that supported his work, and indeed it continues to be today. Indeed, in public schools, we define “specialness” according to test results, conformist behavior, and eyes-on-the-prize thinking which make the experience of being a young learner a question of educational management rather than exploration, contestation, and becoming oneself at one’s own pace. Some of these tensions have existed in schooling for generations (see critiques here, here, and here), to be sure, but the pervasion – perversion? – of neoliberal values in our schools has changed education in the United States fundamentally, if not irrevocably.

Rogers, who died in 2003, held the unshakeable perspective that children should be guided by adults in approaching the world in safety, reassured that the grown-ups would take care of them, and that each the way each person, young or old, experienced this world was valuable and important. A beautiful quote from Rogers is as follows:

Love is at the root of everything, all learning, all parenting, all relationships. Love or the lack of it.

A beautiful and moving idea, one which the filmmakers suggest was rooted in Rogers’ faith. It was with this ethos in mind that he explored topics related to the Vietnam War, racism and segregation, the assassination of Robert Kennedy, and, much more recently, 9/11. 

Interestingly, Rogers was a lifelong Republican, which makes me wonder how he might respond to our current cultural and political environment. While a living expression of the deep power of care and commitment to one’s fellow human, he was, like all of us, a limited individual with his own experiences and commitments upon which he built his world. This made me wonder how he might address, or even think about, the recent stories that have emerged in the news about immigrant parents being separated from their children at the U.S.-Mexico border, which Attorney General Jeff Sessions defended using a now-critiqued citation of the Bible. Rogers might well have spoken out against this blatant cruelty, trauma, and violence being inflicted on families and children, some of whom are toddlers, and called upon the U.S. government to consider the lasting impacts these actions would have on the young people who are taken from their parents, put in detention, and relocated to foster families or relatives’ care. Yet I also wonder: would Rogers’ political conservatism generated complication and controversy for him?

To be clear, I’m not suggesting that Rogers would have thought these terrible events excusable or even tolerable. I suspect he would have been appalled. Yet I can’t help but suspect that this would be complicated for him, like all of us. Would he, like many of the members of our society today, feel even slightly differently were these U.S.-born children, especially White, English-speaking children?

My point is this: Even if a person believes that they are doing good in the world, their political alliances and the narratives that support them condition their way of enacting this good. It is, ironically, this reason that supports the rise of the testing regime in this country as a means to avoid leaving any child behind. The creators and users of these tests truly believe they are helping our children. And the nativists and White chauvinists in power today truly feel that they are protecting their country. We can love, and we all should do our best to do so as inspired by Fred Rogers’ life and work, but we also must remember that to love does not mean to love blindly, universally, or without tradeoffs. 

By Rhododendrites [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

The gravitational forces of public institutions: community-building for more just policing in New York

Being a student in one of the two largest public university systems in the country is an amazing experience. CUNY is powerfully connected to its complicated history with New York City, and there are few people who are not proud to study or teach there (or both, as many of our graduates continue on as professors at one of our campuses across the five boroughs). This history is activated in our collective actions as we stand alongside immigrant rights activists in downtown Manhattan, fellow demonstrating students fighting for the right to unionize, our masters students whose tuitions may rise in top-down decisions from school leadership, and many others.

Last week, I encountered two examples of how public institutions of higher education generate the centripetal forces that pull people from our communities together to fight for a common cause, like gentrification, unfair housing policy,  our city’s role as a sanctuary, and, like these two examples, the policing of Black and Brown communities which has terrorized families, perpetuated fear and anxiety, and resulted in the senseless death of far too many people. The first was a station set up on 5th Avenue with an information booth and colorful signs draped down its sides. It had been set up by the New York Civil Liberties Union.When I asked what was happening, one of the organizers told me that the signs were actually stickers that people could pull off and attach to a postcard that would then be mailed to the mayor’s office to articulate the community’s concerns about policing in New York and how it could be changed in the name of a more just system. Below is the flier the NYCLU provided with the same images:

 

I made my choices, added my postcard to the pile, and thanked the organizers doing this great visible-izing work in an area where they knew they’d get good support: CUNY students, professors, staff, and community members.

The second example of these amazing community forces flowing through CUNY showed up in a flier I found inside our building, one of hundreds that paper our hallways and bulletin boards:

A plain-language discussion of how gentrification and institutional racism are reinforced by police profiling of communities of color, the flier offers real solutions, resources, and contact information for all of us to become a part of community-based change by building relationships between residents, joining cop-watch teams, seeking mediation, and getting information on how to provide first aid.

These texts are living, continuing a dialogue in which we speak truth to power and give care to each other. So proud to be a part of this place.

Solitude and “co-being”: connecting Russian and Rilke in becoming a scholar

In the fourth year of doing a PhD, different people come up into, and against, different feelings. Some become more invigorated, generating an ever-so-slight fullness of smile, a growing sense of purpose, of voice. Others seem bogged down, sagging under the weight of hours staring at one’s silly words, uncertain that anything will ever come of all of this fuss and pennilessness. Still others — many of us, myself included — traverse the space between these two poles, sometimes full up with both feelings and plenty more besides (like loneliness, acid reflux, 3rd-grader-ish pride, shoulder pain, delight at being in limbo and relatively unaccountable, unresolved desire for unspoken engagements, and so on). It’s an ambiguous, profound, alien time, much like childhood, in that no one can really track where you’re headed, as you stumble and clamor and climb up trees and over hills.

I attended a student working group with my advisor and several other of her advisees tonight. One of the group members presented his work, terrific research on social workers and the tension between their values and the structural and political realities that constrain and delimit ethical engagement with their practice. During the talk, the presenter offered the Russian word sobytie, which he translated to mean “event,” and connected it to the work of Mikhail Bakhtin, philosopher of language and literary critic. Our advisor, who is from the former Soviet Union, offered more information about the word, stating that its literal meaning is “event,” yet it can be broken down into the elements so, meaning “co-,” and bytie, meaning “being,” and that “co-being” in Russian means that one’s existence is a shared ongoing experience. She explained that there are many Russian words like this, which begin with the prefix so, thus embedding the idea that communalism is a fundamental part of being human. An illuminating example of the fact that language can contain so much history, so much social vision, in a single word.

As a PhD student, it often feels that our “co-being” is diminished, as we tell our friends and family (and ourselves) that we’ll have to talk later because this paper is due or a presentation is impending. We are lonely, but we know it’s a loneliness that is relatively temporary (only 5-8 years or so) and in fact is required to discover the trees and hills we want to climb. I also think, though, that there is something transformative about this solitary life. It is a life of learning, and one where the companionship that bubbles up along the way features sharing of brilliant, thrilling dialogues and the hardest questions you’ve ever faced. Bohemian-Austrian Romantic Rainer Maria Rilke encapsulates this beautifully:

I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.


By Unknown – http://www.zeno.org/Literatur/M/Rilke,+Rainer+Maria, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7279454

This is a comforting notion. It’s a bit extreme, I’ll admit — there are people I care very much about who are not on a quest to chart unseen worlds or pen unwritten words — but I like the idea of companionship in the tender, sometime darkly-lit explorations we do as doctoral students. It makes the mental calluses, the hiccuping sleep, the yawning uncertainty of the future, seem a bit more tolerable. It reminds us that exploring is a good way to make a life.


Source: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/monkeymind/2007/10/rilkes-ninth-elegy.html (artist unknown)