Moms and Dads, Husbands and Wives, Feminazis and Womanizers

Something that Condoleezza Rice said in her Q&A session Thursday has been on my mente. A sociology posed the question as to whether the emergence of a female president is an immanent reality for the United States. She used some logical evidence to back up her view and announced that she thinks it is only a matter of time. She went on to say that even if people are not vocalizing the question "Can a woman be Commander in Chief just as well as a man?" that it is certainly something Americans are turning over in the back of their minds. "And the answer is, "Yes!" At this point, about 20 girls in the audience hollered in appreciation, myself included. It was a moment both comical and precious. I am sad to say that after this comment, I made the prediction that at the end of the question, men would not applaud with the same enthusiasm as they did with other questions. Realizing my narrow-minded attitude, I quickly took shame and tossed the thought aside. What disturbed me even more though was when I looked around the audience and noticed that my prediction was, sadly, correct. There was an obvious decline in clapping compared to other questions.

And why did this bother me? Yes, because I, myself, am a woman and feel that that means that people do not think I can do some things as well as a ma just because God gave me different body parts. BUT I also began thinking about men and what we as Americans, Mormons, human beings expect that men cannot do as well as women. I think the issue goes both ways. I think having a career is great along with the intellectual stimulation and sense of helping others that comes with it. I also think staying home and raising children is one of the most nobel and precious things a person can aspire to do. And, I think that unequally distributing these 2 duties between a husband and wife is not fair to either spouse. I'm not a mom. I don't know what it is like to have the love of a mother, but I do imagine that seeing my child for the first time is love at first sight. Likewise, I would assume that it is the same for a father. So, why should I get to stay home with the child and make my husband work all the time? Correct me if I'm wrong, men, but with all societal roles and expectations aside, wouldn't you like to stay at home and be a dad like the women get to do?

I have, thus, decided, that equal right between gender is much more than a women's issue: it is a children's issue. I want my husband to be a parent just as much as I am. Not just because I think that is a stressful load on either of us, but I want my children to have a father figure around as much as a mother one. I don't think that a working woman is necessarily any less nurturing or a stay-at-home dad is any less providing. I just want my children to see that there needs to be a balance between work and family not just between spouses, but for an individual, as well. I don't want them to feel limited in their dreams and desires just because of gender roles. I want them to see their father as more than someone who provides and protects. I want them to see him as a man who is deeply devoted to his children. I want to be a mom who does more than tirelessly love and care for her children, and as a woman who contributes to society and her fellow man with the degrees and job she worked hard for.

And at the end of the day, all I really want is for me and my family to be happy. Some women stay home full time while their spouses work full time, and that works wonderfully for them. I have a friend whose father was the stay-at-home parent and whose mom was the full time worker. Her father is one of the kindest men I know, and he is very happy to have spent so many happy years of his life raising his son and 4 daughters. And there are others who find a way to divide the time more equally between spouses and lead very fulfilling lives. I suppose what I am trying to say is that there is no right or wrong formula for society, only for individuals, and I hope that we can recognize that there is no concrete formula for how "gender" duties should be divided. I realize this is a deeply touchy and controversial subject, but I'd be interested in all thoughts and opinions on the subject.

Peace and Blessings!

Nat

Motivation and Fear of the Desconocido

I feel like a particular theme has been haunting my life lately. I don't mean that in a creepy way, but I say that because I really do feel like it has been present in all of my most precious conversations with friends and family in the past week. It is what I have worried about regarding possible future careers and the topic that penetrated my memory the most when Condoleezza Rice came and spoke at school on Tuesday: La Motivación. So what do I do when my world is saturated by a single thought? I blog about it.

I would like to start by saying that my little brother is awesome. Really, and here is why:

Since my first semester of college, I knew I wanted to teach ESL. I really like learning languages, and I wanted to do something that both fulfilled my desire to pursue a language-based career and help people who genuinely needed help. Teaching English as a Second language! Of course! When I was little I went with my aunt to one of her ESL classes and was amazed how these people from different countries all went in speaking a dozen different languages and came out speaking English. Magic. I called up a local non-profit in Nashville that I had volunteered for and set up a schedule to volunteer helping teach ESL and citizenship classes on Tuesday nights the next semester. Unfortunately, I had to change schools the next semester and the opportunity was lost when I was in a much smaller town without a car, and for the next few semesters I did not do much to keep the dream alive.

And then, something horrible happened: I began to doubt myself. Yes, I used to want to help immigrants integrate into and function in society. I wanted to work with them and hear their stories and learn about their cultures and why they came to the United States. But, me? A teacher? Was I up for that? Did I want to carry such a huge responsibility to help people learn something well? What if they didn't want to learn? Was I up for motivating them? Ironically, this is one of the reasons that I was so eager about teaching ESL. Those who took my class would be taking it because they really wanted and needed it. I felt that it would be exciting to teach, because students would be eager to learn. They NEED to know English. However, as a difficult year unfolded, I doubted my ability to do what I wanted to do, because I just figured I was not a motivating person. BUT that nasty mentality all changed a couple weeks ago with this awesome brother who you should be jealous of.

Taking my regular Sunday nap, I was awakened by a text from my little brother who was dealing with some people with one of those horribly sad prejudices that are the result of ignorance, ethnocentricity, and fear of the unknown. Not sure if he should talk some sense into these individuals, make a scene, or just ignore it, he texted me, and I felt all warm and fuzzy inside, happy my brother thought to come to me with some issue/question/advice-seeking/sympathy. My response to the situation was to do what would most sustainably put the others to shame: educate himself (strike 1 for the monkey on my back trying to keep me from being a teacher). Read the news, ask those from other countries about their culture and political freedoms, investigate the workings of your own government, learn another language. I, a Linguistics major but most and foremost a sister, am proud to say that he has taken to learning Portuguese and reading NPR and has already heroically showed off his knowledge of Brazilian politics in his high school econ class as a result. HE even sent ME some really cool language learning website that he has been using. Rock on, Luke. Rock on.

And it is people like Luke that give me hope. If people can find the motivation within themselves to pursue real knowledge and do what they want, then maybe some day we will have peace and equality in this world. What I only recently realized, is that maybe I had something to do with him taking this path. Perhaps my diplomatic approach to his touchy situation was a contributing reason as to why he made a couple awesome decisions. I texted him, "Why not [learn about Brazil, learn Portuguese, educate yourself]! Just think of all the cool things that people do that you wish you did and actually go do them! Because you can! You just have to have faith in yourself and be determined." And his next texted warmed my heart: "You know what? I'm going to learn Portuguese. I really am." Maybe, I motivated him. Maybe I can be motivational. Maybe I can be a teacher.

As I began to ponder if this power was manifesting itself in a one-time-only instance or if I possessed some kind of ability to actually get people to do things that are good for them, I began to further ponder whether teaching was for me as I began a class on teaching literacy. And you know what I have discovered? I am afraid to do things that I haven't done before. You know what else I learned? The more I learn, the less afraid I am of the unknown. I read a chapter on teaching literacy methods and realized how complex and time-consuming it is to be a teacher and make lesson plans. To give each student the attention that they need personally. And something amazing happened: I wasn't discouraged the realization of the workload. I was inspired. You see, I though that teaching was just a talent. Period. Indeed, I think some are blessed with better teaching capabilities than others, but seeing that a good teacher is someone who works hard and not necessarily someone who just inherently knows how to teach made me think that maybe I could still teach English as a Second Language. Maybe getting to know and love my students would be all the motivation I would need to work hard to cater to their needs and make class fun and rewarding. Maybe the desire to see my students succeed would be enough to make me try harder to find books that they would like to read. To plan games that would facilitate learning. To vary my lesson plan. Maybe, I could be a hard and caring worker, and therefore be a good teacher. Strike 2, monkey.

Then, something great happened on Thursday: Condoleezza Rice spoke at school. I want to marry her. Ok, just kidding, not really, but I want to be her, for sure. Ok, also just kidding, I just want to be motivated to find my happiness in helping others and making myself happy like I believe she does. She spoke of the inequality gap in the United States that, despite our nation's relative prosperity, is quite high. I began thinking of Teach For America, and how I had been pondering if I wanted to join the corps when I graduated to teach in a high needs school for 2 years. It was that or join the Peace Corps or go to graduate school for Peace-Conflict Resolution. And then something amazing happened. I learned that I was clairvoyant. She began talking about our need for higher standards for our children and teachers. That every child needs an adult who will advocate for them, and that our k-12 education system is our nation's greatest thread to society. AND THEN she began talking about Teach For America. At this point, the monkey on my back fled as I began jumping up and down inside, shaking with excitement to make a difference in the world.

Yes, I am a hippie. In fact, I think my favorite quote from Dr. Rice that day was, "And now, it [peace] almost seems inevitable, doesn't it?" But, I see no reason why those providing social services and humanitarian work should not be ridiculously idealistic and optimistic. Why shouldn't we be bouncing up and down with excitement to teach, to help, to reach out, but a better question is can we afford not to?

I think we can all learn something by digging a little deeper and doing what is hard for us. What is scary for us. Because, by doing so, we destroy inhibitions, and by destroying inhibitions, we destroy the forces that impede us from reaching some higher purpose in life. And by not reaching those purposes, we are less equipped to use our power [knowledge] to help others do the same. I think I can be motivational. NAY! I know I can be motivational! I have done it before, and I can do it again. And now, I have a written blog to come back to when I am doubting myself. If you read this, don't forget to remind those who are fired up about something NOW that they can still accomplish great things TOMORROW. Sometimes, we forget, and sometimes we need to be reminded. And sometimes, you can be the reason that someone does not give up.

A little Pablo Neruda to remind us that our worth is immeasurable

This semester, I've been struggling with the fact that I'm not a genius. No, not that I ever thought I was, but perhaps because I used to think that my worth was based on how much knowledge my cerebro could hold and how well I could apply it. I know, I know, that's dumb (irónico, ¿no?), but let's just say high school one semester (1,600 students), Lipscomb the next (< 3,000 students), Harding after that (< 4,000 students), and finally BYU (30,000 students) was a difficult series of transitions. I was one of the few girls in my foreign languages classes and everyone else had 2 years language experience in another country (a complete turn around from life outside of Provo). Before classes even started, for the first time, I was intimidated by my classmates (also, ALL the boys were on average 2-4 years older than me). I didn't meet a single male my age (20) my entire first year at BYU. 4 of my roommates were from Utah, and the 5th one had almost her entire family in the state. I made really cool friends, eventually, and I began adjusting to the idea that I wouldn't be moving after 3 months, but I also began this ridiculously self-destructive practice of believing that it mattered that my GPA (after a couple BYU semesters) wasn't as high as it used to be. I used to pride myself on grades, which isn't bad, but it's not good if you can't recognize other things that you are good at. And so, you can imagine how it felt when my computer crashed during finals week last week.

So, I'm not a genius. But I'm still smart. I've changed religions. But I still have faith. I'm not fluent in Spanish, but people can understand me and I can understand them. I can't dance very well, but I still have fun trying. And, I'm not the best. At anything, actually. But I'm good at a lot of things. And, so when I took a break from writing my 41 pages of final papers the last 2 weeks of this semester, this Pablo Neruda poem was just what I needed. I would like to invite anyone to read it any time they feel that their worth is dependent upon some kind of measurable success, because really, our worth is immeasurable. Book (or whatever it is you have become a slave to), when I close you, I open life.*


Ode to the Book by Pablo Neruda

When I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.
Copper ignots
slide down sand-pits
to Tocopilla.
Night time.
Among the islands
our ocean
throbs with fish,
touches the feet, the thighs,
the chalk ribs
of my country.
The whole of night
clings to its shores, by dawn
it wakes up singing
as if it had excited a guitar.

The ocean's surge is calling.
The wind
calls me
and Rodriguez calls,
and Jose Antonio--
I got a telegram
from the "Mine" Union
and the one I love
(whose name I won't let out)
expects me in Bucalemu.

No book has been able
to wrap me in paper,
to fill me up
with typography,
with heavenly imprints
or was ever able
to bind my eyes,
I come out of books to people orchards
with the hoarse family of my song,
to work the burning metals
or to eat smoked beef
by mountain firesides.
I love adventurous
books,
books of forest or snow,
depth or sky
but hate
the spider book
in which thought
has laid poisonous wires
to trap the juvenile
and circling fly.
Book, let me go.
I won't go clothed
in volumes,
I don't come out
of collected works,
my poems
have not eaten poems--
they devour
exciting happenings,
feed on rough weather,
and dig their food
out of earth and men.
I'm on my way
with dust in my shoes
free of mythology:
send books back to their shelves,
I'm going down into the streets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.

*I would strongly recommend the original Spanish version to those capable of reading it. It's in the second person, which I think makes it more powerful.

People Who Don't Look Like Me

I had an interesting conversation with a friend. After a quick, and probably unnecessary, spiel about differing opinions within my family about immigration and political reform, I was confronted with an uncomfortable question. For the sake of not getting awkwardly personal, I would like to pose the question to all readers (if there actually are any of you): How do our friends and family react to interracial relationships? I answered honestly and sadly that I don't think my family and I are on the same page. I couldn't decide which was sadder: having to say that people are prejudiced or knowing that others really believe there are benefits to a kind of subtle segregation between those who look like us and those who don't. I love that I live in a country where so many cultures are represented. I think interracial marriages are every bit as wonderful and loving as non-interracial ones. But the question was not about what I think: It was about how my social network feels.

Initially, I found this to be a valid question. A question of curiosity. Afterall, how one's family feels about certain circumstances would have some kind of effect on their life, right? But the more I thought about it, the less I liked the question. At the risk of sounding selfish or overly idealistic, or, horror of horrors, cliche, I would like to say that I don't give a darn. Yes, I am a product of my culture. I have been influenced by my community's, parents', and religion's beliefs. Perhaps I will never realize the extent to which I have been affected by these institutions. BUT I also have agency. I can make my own choices, and I don't have to subscribe to the beliefs of anyone or anything I disagree with. I'll date and marry who I want, because I know what I believe, and I know what I think is right. At the end of the day, I have to answer for my choices and my actions, not the opinions of someone else.

That being said, I would like to take a quick look at a problem that, I believe, is adding to the prejudism that needs to be overcome. Too often we say, "it's not going to matter in the next life, in 10 years, or even tomorrow." I have a better motto: "It doesn't matter." Period. That means now. If I were to tell my child (which I don't have one, yet, don't worry) that in Heaven it doesn't matter what color our skin is, and I leave it at that, what am I teaching? That the hardships and ethnocentric beliefs of the present are a harmless temporal reality? No! The fact is, the way things are today is not necessarily the way things should be. "The way things are" needs to be changed, and I can't change that if I resign to appeasing my social network for the sake of appeasing them. I'm sorry social network, but I will love and be as close to people who don't look like me as I want. I will be friends with immigrants, legal or illegal. I will hold hands with a boy that I like whether his native language is English or not. I will marry who I marry because I love them for the person they are and not their ethnic makeup.

To all those of you who tire of this subtle discrimination, I advise you to say something, because it matters today.

Natalie's Manifesto for a New World Order

I had an EXCELLENT day today, I would just like to start out by saying. I felt alive while I was getting ready for classes, I was ON TIME for class, a girl I don't know stopped me and said she loved my coat, my historo-comparative linguistics professor coined the term The Schultheis Theory of Samoan Internal Reconstruction when the class spent 20 minutes unsuccessfully trying to disprove it, I saw a fantastic movie that received a standing ovation at Sundance (Under the Same Moon) followed by a Q and A with the film's writer and executive producer, I went to an international dance FOR WORK, and I decorated a Christmas tree. So, if my entry seems to be a bit gone with the wind, it's only because happiness is radiating out of me, which is probably why I was so motivated to write this in the first place.

Ok, so, after the Q and A, I took a break and sat in the Cougar Eat with my notebook and decided to do some much needed doodling. The doodling turned into listing, and the listing turned into a pros and cons list. Should I do the Peace Corps or Teach For America when I graduate? While I am interested in these programs because I do believe they are worthwhile ways to serve a community and because I believe I would enjoy them, I found myself writing in both columns, "law school prep." I stopped. Wait, do I wanna go to law school? "WHAT AM I DOING?"

Realizing my pros and cons list had been tainted, I started a fresh piece of paper and wrote what it is that I want to do. I self-indulgently entitled it My Manifesto:

My Manifesto

I want to help the world hurt a little less! Is that ok? I used to think this was ideal. Then I buried myself in literature last year that told me I would be naïve to make any statement remotely resembling Mother Teresa-y aspirations. So:

1. What's so wrong with being subject to such naivete to believe I can make the world a better place?

2. I'm not trying to be Mother Teresa.

3. So what if I was? Don't we need a few more people like her?

K, side-tracked, but the point, I believe, is to have lofty goals with a simple way of achieving them. So, I would like to propose a new world order to help the world hurt a little less by way of something I gained over the course of the last year and a half: empowerment. I was thinking about it a month or 2 ago, and I was trying to decide at what point I became resolute to come to BYU. Surely it would have been easier to just stay put (albeit, about 10x more expensive). That being said, I did not choose to switch to my 3rd school for a 3rd semester in a row to save money. I had always assumed I would graduate from college with an insane amount of debt, as most of my friends and family will, so it never occurred to me to seek a way to save more money, as embarrassing as this confession is. I didn't do it because BYU is a better school (although it most definitely is for someone with my academic interests). I just wanted to graduate and get on with life while I was at my second school, so why would I want to transfer AGAIN? Perhaps the most controversial reason that some may assume I came to BYU was for religious reasons. While these were undoubtedly tied, they are not what compelled me to make such great changes. I already had a great relationship with Jesus, so I did not look to coming to BYU as a way to be more religious, per se. So, now that I've said all the reasons why I didN'T come out to BYU, I think it's time to say why it is that I made the choice to change everything:

I wanted to do what I wanted to do.

Perhaps a bit vague, but let me explain. I was being helped through college, but the money I was receiving was a kind of tied aid. I could not worship where I wanted. I could not talk to certain friends if I wanted the money to keep coming in. Essentially, my source of payment for college was dependent upon my obedience to something that I morally objected to. I was not happy. I was not capable of making my own decisions. I was completely and totally dependent and mute should I continue subjecting to these terms. The opportunity to come to BYU was one in which I rejected the tied aid and became resolute to make my own future on my own terms. And I am doing that now. And I am happy now. The answer to why I did not continue to comply with my source's requirements is simply this: The lives we choose are better than the lives we settle for.

I propose that it is by independence and empowerment that the world will hurt a little less, just as I have been able to grow and become independent when I cut my own leash. I want to teach people that they don't have to accept a life that they do not wish for themselves simply because "that's the way things are." I want to see people doing what they want and what they know is right. I believe that only in a world where people do what they want can we hope to see a world that there people can find what they need on their own.

Made In (insert 3rd world country here)

Still trying to write every day. This will be a challenge. I was trying to think of something interesting to write about, but instead decided to put up my clothes that I had left lying on the floor in my room. As I picked them up, I remembered talking about globalization in my sociology of development class and thought it would be fun to check where all of my clothes were made from. I told myself I would stop when I found something that said "Made in the U.S.A." None of my jeans. I kept going. I found one fitted shirt. By this point, though, I was determined to check it all. Shoes, socks, underwear, bras, leggings, shorts, dresses, pants, shirts, belts, hats, coats, jackets, shin guards, gloves, and scarves. In addition to the one shirt, I found a leather belt, a pair of soccer shorts, and a short-sleeved jacket that were made in the U.S.A. I'm sure my roommate thinks I'm a bit touched.

Not surprisingly, most of my clothes were made in developing nations, with the exception of a vast amount of Chinese-made products. Many items were from Bangladesh, Indonesia, Vietnam, Macau, Mexico, Guatemala, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Taiwan, Nicaragua, and Lesotho. Almost all of my T-shirts were made in El Salvador and Honduras.

Why?

Why is nothing we wear in the U.S. actually made here, and why is it all made in developing countries? I'm going to go out on a limb and say that American companies are outsourcing and exploiting the peoples of other nations for cheap labor. I see no worth in this. We get cheaper goods, but is it worth the price that we make someone else pay? Is it worth it to exploit workers for 12 hours a day just to that I can buy my low-priced t-shirts and running shoes? From what I can gather so far, it isn't.

I have heard many say say that these factories give people jobs that they wouldn't have otherwise. I spoke to a man who, when I argued that clothing made by a machine instead of hand woven goods exemplifies a loss of culture, asked me, "But what is culture? None of us have culture. We're globalizing and we're all the same." When I opened my mouth to argue, he told me, "Jesus never said, 'Be ye diverse.'"

Toucher. Toucher, mon amie. I never did read a scripture containing those words from The Savior. But, did He not teach us to treat one another equally? Are we not all children of the same divine heritage? Or, at the very least, are we not all human? Why is it okay for a Bangladeshi woman to work 12 hours a day in a sweatshop hemming the skirt I will buy in a JC Penny, but for a man to do the same job in the United States is inhumane? Do we have the same standards for someone without an American birth certificate? I asked this man if he thought these kind of jobs benefitted these countries. He told me yes, because they would have nothing else to do if we didn't bring them jobs. Hmm. I find this hard to believe. Would they not find something else to do? Some other way to create jobs? Personally, I don't feel like American factories in the developing world are really making much of a difference to their economies.

Knowing and Seeing

Today I walked out of a movie. I've never done that before. I went to see Voces Inocentes (Innocent Voices) at the international cinema on campus. It's a true story about the director or producer or writer (can't remember) during the El Salvadoran Civil War. It seemed like a good idea, since for one of my classes I am reading a book on collective action amongst campesinos in said war. The movie was violent, but not gory. There was bad language, but it was in Spanish so it did not affect me quite as much as hearing it in my native tongue. It was heart-wrenching, but no more than a few of the more emotional war films I have seen. What caused me to walk out occurred with less than 20 minutes left. 4 boys, ages 10-12, had been captured by the national military for being a part of the guerilla resistance. They were marched down the river and forced to kneel down with their hands behind their heads. A soldier put his gun to the back of the first child's head, but when he pulled the trigger, the camera stayed on the child's face. Before I knew where I was, I was standing outside of the theater, light-headed and slightly stunned.

I did not get up and walk out of the movie cursing under my breath about bad taste. I was not offended. I do not even feel that it was a conscious decision I made to leave. My body just knew to grab my backpack and walk away while my brain tried to process the swollen influx of emotion that I had seen on the child's face as he opened his mouth to sob but never had the time to release the sound. Why couldn't I handle it? Except for my professor and his family who left when one of the 12-year-old friends of the protagonist who had been recruited was cursing them and threatening them with his gun, I was the only one who did not have the will to stay in my seat.

I have heard it said that some things are so horrible that you can't help but look at them. Stare. I think I understand that principal. I think that sometimes, though, things are 10 times worse, and you know that if you keep watching you will lose a part of your innocence or at least composure. I couldn't look anymore, because part of me didn't want for this story to be true. That's a lie. All of me wanted it to be untrue. I knew that over 75,000 of a nation of 5 million died. I knew that all boys were kidnapped at age 12 to join the national military. I knew that U.S. military personnel trained the national military. I knew that it was hell on Earth. I had just never seen it.

Seeing is different from knowing. Knowing is a list of facts. Knowing does not require empathy. Knowing allows us to create our own mental image of the situation. Knowing allows us to imagine the details to fit what is easiest for us to grasp. Seeing allows no such freedoms. Seeing is a direct transfer of a true image to my brain for internalization. Seeing is not flexible. Seeing questions my will to seek and accept truth. Seeing dares me to look and not act.

The El Salvadoran Civil War is over. I cannot use what I saw in Voces Inocentes to blog about the injustices that the campesinos are facing there. So what good are these haunting images in my mind? A tragedy that exists in our world today is that these movies are produced after the nations regain order. What genocides are being committed that I don't know about? Who needs our help now, and not 15 years from now when we are watching the traumatic experiences of the director on a big screen? Why make these films when the time is past? What did the director intend for me to be inspired to do?

There are several nations with child soldiers today. There is a drug war raging just a nation away. There is an AIDS epidemic ravaging life in Sub-Saharan Africa. There are girls being kidnapped and forced into sexual slavery in Southeast Asia. There are people taunting homosexuals so viciously in the United States that victims are ending their own lives. Is the face of a child entering into mortality enough to stop the world in its tracks. What have we done to the world we were given? Can we bring it back to the way it should be?

I came, I saw, now what?