Reflections on family, an ongoing project

This is a topic that, for potentially narcissistic reasons, has held my attention for several years. As I explored further into the annals of my family history, I discovered many interesting people. The more I read, the clearer it became that my legacy was in many ways the legacy of South Carolina. Governors, poor white farmers, slaveholders, fierce populists, soldiers, etc.

One day, I hope to properly research this and have a better constructed argument. For now, all I have are pieces of family history.

In this, my first post to this blog, I wanted to explore the life of my great-great-great grandfather, George Dionysius Tillman. My father's mother was a Tillman, and the great-granddaughter of George. They grew up on the coast of SC, right around where George was born as well [Monck's Corner, Clarks Hill]. Below is a picture of George.


In doing research, I have always found that he is better known as the older brother of Benjamin "Pitchfork" Tillman, a notorious character, 84th Governor of SC, House of Representatives, and also a founder of Clemson University and Winthrop. He is known for fiercely fighting the Reconstruction-era government and any subsequent federal interference with a Democratic military of sorts called the "Red Shirts." [Parallel to current Thai situation noted.] He was a farmer and idealized the agrarian way of life, speaking the language of the "common man" during his speeches. A quote to describe his other views is as follows: "I have three daughters," he once told Congress, "but so help me God, I had rather find either one of them killed by a tiger or a bear and gather up her bones and bury them, conscious that she had died in the purity of her maidenhood, than to have her crawl to me and tell me the horrid story that she had been robbed of the jewel of her womanhood by a black fiend." Photo below.


So, while reading an excerpt from Ben Tillman's biography, I came across this passage about George and my great-great-great-great grandfather, Ben Tillman, Sr. (From the book Ben Tillman and the Reconstruction of White Supremacy, by Stephen Kantrowitz):

The violent careers of Ben Tillman's older brothers suggested yet another fissure among white men in this society — the tension between slaveholders' rhetoric of white male equality and their well-learned habit of violently asserting their authority against all challenges....In the 1850s, as Ben Tillman gained a formal education at the hands of country schoolmasters, he also learned from the dramas of white male violence that pervaded his society.

His father had left a mixed legacy to Tillman's older brothers, and they in turn instructed their youngest sibling in the rules governing violence among white men. The elder Benjamin Tillman, fond of drinking and gambling, was among a group of nine men convicted for "riot, assault & battery" by an Edgefield jury in 1841. He subsequently sought to cultivate the virtues of restraint, becoming a member of a local temperance society. But his "rehabilitation" would have been swift in any case: physical conflicts such as brawling and assault were common, and county juries included many men who had recently been disciplined by those same bodies....

Benjamin Tillman's sons understood from an early age that no slight or suggestion of insincerity would pass unanswered. Their obsession with "honor" — their refusal to let another person question their words, deeds, or appearances — took its urgency from the exigencies of slaveholding.

Benjamin Tillman feared that his teenage son George, having spent a year as an overseer, had learned the lessons of plantation management and white manhood too well. In an 1844 letter to prospective schoolmaster Iveson Brookes, Tillman noted that George might become involved in social "collisions." The teenager's "disposition is such not to submit to imposition or insult by any," he explained.

To "submit," of course, was to act like a slave, not an independent, honorable man, so the father was perhaps boasting as well as warning. But a young man had to learn how to handle his honor. A carefully nuanced negotiation, mediated by mutual acquaintances, might restore social equilibrium; this, and not a potentially deadly duel, was the goal of the "affair of honor." One way or another, however, white men had to maintain both individual images (and self-images) of indomitability and a collective solidarity that transcended their individual squabbles.

Although George became a lawyer and state legislator, his "disposition" eventually proved to be just as dangerous as his father had feared. In July 1856, at a gaming table in an Edgefield hotel, Tillman demanded his winnings on a bet of $10. A local white artisan, J. H. Christian, supported the dealer's contention that Tillman had bet only $5. Tillman called Christian "a damned liar." Christian replied in kind, whereupon Tillman pulled out a pistol and shot his gainsayer dead.

This was not a legitimate expression of white male mastery. As one witness opined, "[T]here was nothing said sufficient to provoke the murder, but if there was it was Tilman [sic] who gave it." The Edgefield grand jury indicted Tillman for murder, whereupon he fled, joining William Walker's campaign to create a slaveholding republic in Nicaragua.

It was two years before George returned to Edgefield to face justice, but neither his crime nor his flight rendered him anathema to polite society. Convicted of manslaughter, he served his two-year sentence under lenient conditions; he practiced law from within his jail cell, and before his term was over, he had been elected to the state senate. To be sure, he had murdered a respectable white mechanic — "an independent and an honest man," according to the Edgefield Advertiser — but his act was hardly unique.

The same hotel where he killed Christian had been the scene of another murder of one white man by another only six months before. Furthermore, Tillman's was a crime of passion. Had he committed a different sort of murder — had he, for instance, plotted to murder his wife and then blamed a slave for the crime, as a white Edgefield man had done earlier in 1856 — he might have earned the death sentence. George's crime, by contrast, was palliated by its close connection to qualities that his society valued in its leaders — self-assertion and the capacity for explosive violence. After Serving his sentence, he was welcomed into the highest levels of his community's civic life.

He returned just in time to save the family household from the ruin of improper governance. In his absence, John (the next oldest son) had run roughshod over the family's feelings and finances. Ben, the youngest, remembered John as a bully, "naturally tyrannical in his disposition," who "lorded over my mother and the other children to his heart's content." John also speculated in slaves, amassing a $20,000 debt that took his mother several years to pay off.

His depredations extended beyond the household: at least three times between 1854 and 1860, he was indicted for riot or assault. In 1858, found guilty in two separate cases, he served ten weeks in jail and was fined $80. Even a convicted miscreant could claim gentlemanly status; that year, John also initiated an ominous exchange of letters with a neighbor, asking him to clarify whether or not he had "characterized my conduct as inconsistent with that of a gentleman."

To Ben Tillman, looking back a half-century later, the contrast between George and John was far more stark than their comparably violent careers would suggest. Indeed, he offered George and John as models of legitimate and illegitimate authority, the one "a second father to us all," the other "wild and dissipated."

The final confrontation he remembered between them made the contrast clear. When George returned to Edgefield in 1858 and confronted John about his misdeeds, John drew a pistol. George, Ben recalled, "tore his shirt open and said `shoot, you dam' coward. You are afraid to shoot, for no brave man ever treats widows and orphans as you have done.' After waiting a minute with his bared bosom, he turned and walked up stairs, and John slunk off." John's undisciplined and irresponsible power — potentially the ruin of the Tillmans' fortunes — had been overcome by George's proper understanding of patriarchal responsibilities, which included sound financial practices, proper treatment of dependents, and (not least) physical courage.

Christian's loved ones might not have seen George's virtues in the same light, but to ten-year-old Ben, they had embodied proper white manhood. John, by contrast, followed his ruinous course to his own destruction. While under indictment for assault with intent to kill, John was himself murdered in May 1860.
-----------------------------------------
I read a preface in a book about Edgefield, SC in the nineteenth century that read “The Bible taught black and white Southerners long ago what historians are now asserting: that the family is a crucial determinant of human behavior.”

I am left to ponder what it means to be a loving, open-minded, and progressive white Southern Christian woman in the 21st century at peace with those who have come before me. Hopefully, more to come on this.

And, because I love this picture...

Septima Clark teaching reading, writing, voter registration, and social revolution at a "Citizenship School," in the South Carolina Sea Islands under the asupices of first Highlander and then SCLC (date of photo unknown). Standing in the background is Citizenship School teacher and dedicated organizer Bernice Robinson.

[This website has great photos to check out and is worth a look http://www.crmvet.org/images/imgeyes.htm. It is where the above photo came from.]

Article by Paul Loeb on Rosa Parks

I encourage all to read the following article on the "mythology of social change."

We learn much from how we present our heroes. A few years ago, on Martin Luther King. Day, I was interviewed on CNN. So was Rosa Parks, by phone from Los Angeles. "We're very honored to have her," said the host. "Rosa Parks was the woman who wouldn't go to the back of the bus. She wouldn't get up and give her seat in the white section to a white person. That set in motion the year - long bus boycott in Montgomery. It earned Rosa Parks the title of 'mother of the Civil Rights movement.'"
I was excited to hear Parks's voice and to be part of the same show. Then it occurred to me that the host's description --the story's standard rendition -- stripped the Montgomery boycott of all its context.



Before refusing to give up her bus seat, Parks had spent twelve years helping lead the local NAACP chapter, along with union activist E.D. Nixon, from the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, teachers from the local Negro college, and a variety of ordinary members of Montgomery's African American community. The summer before, Parks had attended a ten - day training session at Tennessee's labor and civil rights organizing school, the Highlander Center, where she'd met an older generation of civil rights activists and discussed the recent Supreme Court decision banning "separate - but - equal" schools.


[With Martin Luther King, Jr and Myles Horton, among others at Highlander]

During this period of involvement and education, Parks had become familiar with previous challenges to segregation: Another Montgomery bus boycott, fifty years earlier, successfully eased some restrictions; a bus boycott in Baton Rouge won limited gains two years before Parks was arrested; and the previous spring, a young Montgomery woman had also refused to move to the back of the bus, causing the NAACP to consider a legal challenge until it turned out that she was unmarried and pregnant, and therefore a poor symbol for a campaign. In short, Parks didn't make a spur - of - the - moment decision.

Rosa Parks didn't single - handedly give birth to the civil rights efforts, but she was part of an existing movement for change, at a time when success was far from certain. This in no way diminishes the power and historical importance of her refusal to give up her seat. But it does remind us that this tremendously consequential act might never have taken place without all the humble and frustrating work that she and others did earlier on. And that her initial step of getting involved was just as courageous and critical as her choice on the bus that all of us have heard about.

People like Parks shape our models of social commitment. Yet the conventional retelling of her story creates a standard so impossible to meet, it may actually make it harder for us to get involved. This portrayal suggests that social activists come out of nowhere, to suddenly take dramatic stands. It implies that we act with the greatest impact when we act alone, or at least when we act alone initially. It reinforces a notion that anyone who takes a committed public stand, or at least an effective one, has to be a larger - than - life figure -- someone with more time, energy, courage, vision, or knowledge than any normal person could ever possess. This belief pervades our society, in part because the media tends not to represent historical change as the work of ordinary human beings, which it almost always is.

Once we enshrine our heroes on pedestals, it becomes hard for mere mortals to measure up in our eyes. However individuals speak out, we're tempted to dismiss their motives, knowledge, and tactics as insufficiently grand or heroic. We fault them for not being in command of every fact and figure, or being able to answer every question put to them. We fault ourselves as well, for not knowing every detail, or for harboring uncertainties and doubts. We find it hard to imagine that ordinary human beings with ordinary flaws might make a critical difference in worthy social causes.

Yet those who act have their own imperfections, and ample reasons to hold back. "I think it does us all a disservice," says a young African - American activist in Atlanta named Sonya Tinsley, "when people who work for social change are presented as saints -- so much more noble than the rest of us. We get a false sense that from the moment they were born they were called to act, never had doubts, were bathed in a circle of light. But I'm much more inspired learning how people succeeded despite their failings and uncertainties. It's a much less intimidating image. It makes me feel like I have a shot at changing things too."

Sonya had recently attended a talk given by one of Martin Luther King's Morehouse professors, in which he mentioned how much King had struggled when he first came to college, getting only a 'C', for example, in his first philosophy course. "I found that very inspiring, when I heard it," Sonya said, "given all that King achieved. It made me feel that just about anything was possible."

Our culture's misreading of the Rosa Parks story speaks to a more general collective amnesia, where we forget the examples that might most inspire our courage and conscience. Apart from obvious times of military conflict, most of us know next to nothing of the many battles ordinary men and women fought to preserve freedom, expand the sphere of democracy, and create a more just society. Of the abolitionist and civil rights movements, we at best recall a few key leaders -- and often misread their actual stories. We know even less about the turn - of - the - century populists who challenged entrenched economic interests and fought for a "cooperative commonwealth." Who these days can describe the union movements that ended 80_hour work weeks at near - starvation wages? Who knows the origin of the social security system?

How did the women's suffrage movement spread to hundreds of communities, and gather enough strength to prevail?

As memories of these events disappear, we lose the knowledge of mechanisms that grassroots social movements have used successfully in the past to shift public sentiment and challenge entrenched institutional power. Equally lost are the means by which their participants managed to keep on and eventually prevail in circumstances at least as harsh as those we face today. As novelist Milan Kundera writes, "The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting."

Think again about the different ways one can frame Rosa Parks's historic action. In the prevailing myth, Parks decides to act almost on a whim, in isolation. She's a virgin to politics, a holy innocent. The lesson seems to be that if any of us suddenly got the urge to do something equally heroic, that would be great. Of course most of us don't, so we wait our entire lives to find the ideal moment.

Parks's real story conveys a far more empowering moral. She begins with seemingly modest steps. She goes to a meeting, and then another. Hesitant at first, she gains confidence as she speaks out. She keeps on despite a profoundly uncertain context, as she and others act as best they can to challenge deeply entrenched injustices, with little certainty of results. Had she and others given up after her tenth or eleventh year of commitment, we might never have heard of Montgomery.

Parks's journey suggests that change is the product of deliberate, incremental action, whereby we join together to try to shape a better world. Sometimes our struggles will fail, as did many earlier efforts of Parks, her peers, and her predecessors. Other times they may bear modest fruits. And at times they will trigger a miraculous outpouring of courage and heart -- as happened with her arrest and all that followed. For only when we act despite all our uncertainties and doubts do we have the chance to shape history.
From: http://housingforall.org/real_rosa_parks.htm, by Paul Loeb



[With Septima Clark at Highlander]

Just for fun

Looking at a radish.

This is making me laugh so hard right now.

http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com/page/1

25 days until Christmas!!

The storm before the calm

It is official: CIEE has entered final project time, which means the past few days have been a whirlwind of meetings, planning trips across Isaan, making sure students/p'facs/staff are all on the same page, and that everyone has a plan. Whew!

For me, it is a bit anti-climatic right now. Allison is off to Rasi Salai w/ students (see water unit post) to work with their learning center, Sam is headed to Na Nong Bong to support Thai university students and our students while they lead a joint campaign in local schools against gold mining, and Lukas is off to Yasothorn with two students while they do consumer surveys in conjunction with Kutchum Hospital and the Green Farmer's Market.

WOW, that's a lot, right? Our 10 students, together for the whole semester, and now spread across Isaan with very different projects and schedules. Everyone is coming back on Dec 4 for a check-in, and then it's off again!

Now, you might be asking... how am I writing a blog post during all this craziness?

Well, I am actually working on two projects, but neither of them will get going until more like Dec 5. The projects I'll be working on are as follows:

Baw Kaew with two students: The villagers in the protest village located in Chaiyaphum province have been charged, among other things such as trespassing, with causing global warming. (See previous post about Baw Kaew for more info). The government claims that the villagers are causing global warming because when they plant things and move the soil, it releases gases into the air. Aside from being completely laughable, these charges carry a hefty fine. Apparently the government ripping out the forest and planting soil depleting eucalyptus trees is nothing compared to these farming protesters. Thus, the students are going to work on constructing a 3 pg summary of what is happening and research a legal argument in support of the Baw Kaew villagers.

Civil/Political Rights: The program did a series of human rights reports 2 years ago that looked at Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (ESCR) and evaluated several communities in Isaan to see how these rights were being affected by government and global policy. These two UN Declarations, CP and ESC, have both been signed onto by Thailand. While the program has focused more on ESCR in the past, we are now looking at more CPR, especially in light of the contentious political situation in Thailand and the Emergency Decree which is still in effect in some places. Myself and three other students will research and compile info, write something, and put together a detailed pass-on for next semester. The goal is a series of CPR reports that can serve as a mechanism to unite several of the communities already working together as a part of P'Kovit's law internship program. This program means that law school grads are placed in communities and educate villagers about their legal rights.

SO, both of these projects are "B", meaning they are no one's primary projects ("A"). At the moment, I am spending my time reading UN Declarations, Thai Constitutions (there have been quite a lot), General Comments on CPR/ESCR, and previous Human Rights reports. Pretty exciting stuff!

And hopefully, in the next few days, I can post the 2010 CIEE epic talent show in which many odd things happened, along with the students' videos from Thai class. Maybe no one else will think they're funny... but I was weeping with laughter by the end. They did such a good job! :) But I will have to translate them, hahahaha, which is almost as funny.

Also just discovered Girl Talk... I know, I'm probably way behind the trends. But it is perfect work music, and a nice change from my usual iTunes mix.
http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1zmLda/mashupbreakdown.com/

LAST, but not least.... LESS than a month until I get to see these fabulous people!!! [If you got left off... oops, I probably still love you. And we should try to take a pic together while I'm home, how about that?]

Yi Peng & Loi Krathong Festival

Tonight is the Buddhist festival to celebrate the full moon. The festival is meant as a time for tham bun, or making merit and is believed to originate in an ancient practice of paying respect to the spirit of the waters. Hundreds of lanterns are launched into the sky and across the water, floating like stars next to the full moon.

I tried to take photos, but none would come out. [Photo stolen from Wikipedia]

Thus, the beauty is confined to my feeble words....

My Loi Krathong poem, composed in five minutes by the downtown lake:

Underneath our bright Moon
We launch thousands of prayers
To our Lord, prayers for love and
luck in life.
Floating fiery jellyfish in an ocean of hope
Outshine all the stars, moving slowly
Across the Sky
Falling to Earth, once the Fires
Are spent.

Looking back at Unit 4

I realized I didn't really update on Unit 4 (or Unit 5, which the students return from today). So, to do a quick recap...

Unit 4 focused on water development projects such as dams and weirs (for more info on what a weir is, go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weir). These projects were funded by multi-national corporations to bring energy to Thailand. However, as with most projects, there is a significant give and take with power production.

For starters, the government conducted many of these projects (going back 21 yrs) without the consent or knowledge of the local community. Even if they had told them, the government had no idea the kind of effects these projects would have. The flood zones they demarcated for dam construction often turn out to be grossly inaccurate, leading to catastrophe for the local residents.

The government and its entities such as RID (Royal Irrigation Department) and EGAT (Electricity) also lied about what they were trying to do. Look at the wikipedia picture of a weir, seen here.


Now look at what the Thai government called a weir.


There's a shocking difference.

Now, the communities are left with flooding that destroys their crops, increasingly salty land due to the large salt deposits under the soil that are being leached up due to prolonged floods, loss of huge fish populations because they can't migrate upstream anymore, flooding of the wetlands (which they call their "supermarket" due to its biodiversity), among other problems.

While the numbers might show that these folks are economically better off with more energy, what it doesn't account for is the fact that before the dam they didn't need money. They had everything they needed from the river and the wetlands.

Now they have money but no food. And less and less money because their economic means of subsistence are also being stolen by large scale development.



There was a great quote in a documentary we watched with the students called "Flow." The quote said that the World Bank knows how to spend a billion dollars in one place, but doesn't know how to spend less money in millions of different places.

BUT, on a happier note, we also had the opportunity to see some of the river rituals of the Isaan (NE Thailand) people. In order to celebrate the spirits who protect the land and the river, once a year people dress up in their colorful best and sing, dance, and generally get wasted. Meh Pa, whom I stayed with, told me that the spirits like lao kao (rice whiskey), cigarettes, betel nut (crazy stuff, check it out here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paan), and other substances so the participants in the dances will use all of these so the spirits who possess them can enjoy it as well, for a time.




I talked to a yai (grandmother) for 30 minutes in Isaan (not Thai, it is a language closer to Lao) and she explained the whole ceremony, telling me that often foreigners (farang) come here and don't understand what it going on. At least, that's all I understood. Not only is my Isaan far worse than my Thai, she was chewing betel nut (see above) and drinking, making her speech more slurred. Then my new bff handed me what I thought was tea... after a big gulp, NOPE! It was herbal lao kao. Yum, nothing like moonshine at 9:30am.

Needless to say, this was one of the most fascinating experiences of my life. Every part of it was so interesting... and confusing. Things like this hardly phase me anymore though, probably a sign of my nearly 6 months in Thailand.

Many other things happened on Unit 4, but this was my favorite memory. Oh, and Paw Somkiat (a leader within the Assembly of the Poor and Pak Mun dam protests for the past 21 yrs, see here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assembly_of_the_Poor)

We were able to spend the morning with Paw Somkiat on his porch, talking about everything from the 21 yr struggle of Pak Mun villagers to the challenges faced by upstate South Carolina residents! We talked about Glendale, which was great.

But, my favorite moment with him was perhaps when Sam was teaching him card tricks. Something about us doing magic tricks with a man former Prime Minister Thaksin yelled at on TV.... surreal, and beautiful.




---------------------------

The students return today from their very last unit (mining, mostly copper and gold), and are actually doing their last exchange as I type. It is so strange that we are already moving into final project time, and the wind-down of the semester. Sigh.

The things I forget to mention

An older photo of me during monsoon season. Now it is extremely dry and never rains.

The street in front of our house.


Today I was driving to work on the motorsai, weaving around carts laden with food where stray dogs wait expectantly for something to fall off in the village. It isn't uncommon for us to dodge a baby chicken (or several) on our street. Thai highways are perpetually under construction, and today was no different. They tore up one of the entrances to our village, so I knew to take the other way. The dust from the work gets into your eyes, making glasses or a visor a must while driving. Cars speed by on my right (Thais drive on the other side of the road) and occasionally a motorsai creeps up the wrong side of the highway. These are usual sights on my daily commute.

I decided to take the back way since the Khon Kaen University entrance has been undergoing a baffling road diversion plan where they are pulling up trees to put ... something in the road. Besides, the back way takes me off the highway faster and is therefore much quieter. After turning across the Mittraphrap (Friendship Highway), I could immediately breath easier. There was a rice paddy on my left, and a huge forest temple preceding it. A short drive forward revealed another taller temple, its walls decorated with snakes and Buddhist symbols.

The stores on either side of me, as I continued my journey, had large banners across their doorways with advertisements in Thai for soy milk and skin whitening cream. For much of my journey, I noticed the motorsai was driving strangely, slipping around more than it should. A stop by the forest temple revealed that I had a flat tire.

Driving slowly down the road, I didn't worry too much about it. The only things more common than 7-11s in Thailand are motorsai repair shops. Sure enough, a few hundred yards down the road I saw several sitting out front of a shop with all sorts of products. I pulled in and pointed to the offending tire, and they smiled, brought me a chair, and proceeded to replace the inner part of the tire. I think each of our motorsais has had a new one of these several times over.

90 baht later and I was back on the road, turning left at the odd looking idol figure. Another left turn took me on a road where all the bars are, empty and strange looking in the daylight. My favorite Vietnamese breakfast place with the delicious meat filled rolls is on the right. Rickety wooden tables sit out front, surrounded by stools that don't match and university students grabbing a quick breakfast.

The sun is bright, the sky is clear, and the air is dusty. Car exhaust fumes follow me everywhere I drive, sometimes causing me to pull my shirt over my face to block the cascade of black smoke. Dogs, children, and construction workers are everywhere. The work day is hard to nail down because everyone seems to live above their shops.

I rev up the engine, take a right (which feels like a left because of the other side of the road business) and head towards the CIEE office. Motorsais weave around the random speed bumps and cracks in the pavement which hit you so hard you can feel it in your internal organs.

Pulling into the office, I found it largely deserted on this Tuesday. With the students all on unit in Loei province, staff has taken the week off.

I parked next to all the others and came into the office, pulling out my laptop to check emails.

And make coffee.

Update on my day-to-day...

The last post I put up was more of what I am thinking about these days... so I thought I'd give a quick summary of what I'm doing day to day.

We just finished up Unit 3 a few days ago. It was a whirlwind, with the students and 2 p'facs (not me) headed to Bangkok for an International Human Rights Conference. It seems they really enjoyed it, although it was still at its core an academic conference.

After they returned, there were many things to do before they left on a 4 day break (this is the longest break all semester--there will be one more post- unit 4.) It went by so fast and then... we had 2 days off! It was wonderful and I had the opportunity to do some serious soul searching. This included forcing myself to let go of the past, regardless of how painful, sitting on the porch and having an experience of God and the sublime so lovely it made me cry, and an afternoon eating brownies at Kiwi Cafe.

All in all, a very mentally restorative and productive time. In a few days, the students will return and we'll be into Unit 4. Sam and I will be the p'facs on unit. This means we will work with the student group and travel to Rasi Salai, Pak Mun, and Hua Na dams and stay for around a week. If you'd like to read more about the communities we'll be visiting, please check out the student produced Human Rights reports: http://engagetheworld.wik.is/Issue_Resources/Human_Rights/ESC_Rights/Campaigns/ESCR_Mobilization_Project

I will be flying back into Charlotte on Dec 23-- looking forward to seeing everyone soon!!! :) Much love!

The "Right" Education

As I was skimming the news today, I came across this article: http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/10/19/arizona.ethnic.studies.lawsuit/index.html?hpt=T2

It also reminded me of another debate going on with the Texas Board of Education, who is inserting their conservative political beliefs into the history and social studies curriculum. http://www.truth-out.org/in-texas-social-studies-textbooks-get-a-conservative-makeover59750

I am continually struck by the the impact of a person's education on their future. I don't just mean whether they drop out or not, but how the school system teaches people how to think. Or doesn't.

One example that has become quite obvious to me lately is here in Thailand. The education system is primarily based on rote memorization with very little critical analysis. In fact, my generation here in Thailand demonstrates, on average, a nearly total lack of analysis. There is a blank acceptance of authority and a total disregard for the current situation here. Many of the Uni students I speak with have only the versions of history they were taught, which (in my opinion, of course) are quite biased.

This systematic overhaul of the education system has created a generation that is adverse to conflict and doesn't read or discuss politics. Here is a much longer analysis than I can provide: http://papayainthailand.blogspot.com/2008/07/dismal-state-of-thai-education-one.html [Although I do have some problems with it, I think it largely captures what I have observed and heard so far.]

Seeing the long term affects of a poor education influenced by politics makes me very nervous about stories such as AZ or TX.

Simple wording can change history, and can change the way we interpret and understand ourselves as a nation and people. After all, the reason there is a class required of all history majors at Wofford called "historiography" is so that the students might have an understanding of how historians have grown in their analysis.

I was taught how to think, how to solve problems. I was also taught to question my superiors.

With the recent moves by Arizona to suppress what is a historically verifiable account of Southwestern history, it sounds more like politics than education. Because, let's face it everyone:

If you're white in America, IT IS BECAUSE YOUR ANCESTORS WERE IMMIGRANTS. And there was probably a time they weren't so popular. And let's not forget those people called the Native Americans who were here before us. We invaded their country with trails of tears and blankets covered in smallpox.

And that part of the USA did once belong to Mexico. And yes, our founding fathers were probably more Deist than Christian.

I absolutely do not believe that America was founded to be a Christian country, and any movement towards teaching our children that plays into xenophobic attacks against diversity of thought in America. This does not mean that Christianity hasn't had a huge part in the history of the US.

Why do we have to leave out parts of our history in order to keep our youth from "promot[ing] the overthrow of the United States government ... promote resentment toward a race or class of people ... (or) advocate ethnic solidarity instead of treatment of pupils as individuals."?

If we have to lie to students so that they won't be angry at white religious conservatives, then perhaps we should turn that critical eye back on ourselves. Let's ask a different question:

Why would education about American history potentially make students hate white people? Maybe it's because white people haven't always been that nice to others.

So, instead of sweeping that under the rug [Arizona and Texas], why don't we try something really crazy? Teach everyone how to think, teach them to love learning. Teach them things that challenge them, that make them uncomfortable. Hiding things only makes them more appealing anyway.

Be honest about the past, and then open it up for discussion. After all, anyone who claims to know the "truth" is probably overconfident anyway. Education is one of the most important things in your life-- fight for it to be the best, outside of politics or dogma!!!!

Secrets and politics have never been known to unite people-- so why would they in this case?
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Some pictures to placate those who don't like the writing. :) Haha, old and new. Things in Thailand are going quite well, more info to come. We're on a break right now and then we'll head into Unit 4-- water! Dams, dredging, all that.

Is it about consumerism?

Gosh, has it really been almost a month since I last wrote?! That is so crazy to me, it feels like just the other day.

This is probably because I, along with fellow p'fac Lukas, have been in charge of Unit 2--Urban issues. This has been bigger ordeal than anticipated, from drastic schedule changes at the last minute to the rainy weather just ruining some of our best laid plans.

However, through it all, we are coming out on the other side with a greater understanding and a stronger group of students, I think.

This has involved reading and discussing articles on urbanization in the third world, particularly the Nigerian city of Lagos, as a case study. It has also involved discussions on what it means to be "free", why slums exist, and how people can be empowered to affect change within their communities. After seeing an example of this in the agricultural unit 1 (farmers making the shift to organic), this unit turned much of that upside down.

We started out our home stay experience with a 2 day trip to Kam Baan Noi, a community that was built around the landfill Khon Kaen uses for its waste. In a curious parallel, Khon Kaen sells all of its trash to this landfill which is actually under the jurisdiction of another "district."

For those of you who might not be aware, South Carolina is paid by its neighboring states to store garbage in its landfills. For more info about SC landfills, check here: http://www.scdhec.gov/environment/lwm/recycle/pubs/msw_landfills.pdf

The take away from this unit: find out where your trash goes. Look past the can or the curb, and GO CHECK IT OUT. What you find may or may not shock you. If anyone in Khon Kaen took this same challenge, they would undoubtedly be shocked.



I will preface the following by saying that I have become fairly desensitized to most things these days. Whether it is organizing communities in the rural South to entering a foreign country and going to the slums, it takes a lot to make me step back and say "Holy s***."

I had a moment of that while touring the landfill and living with the community of Kam Baan Noi.

As you can see, the following picture is one of a blood vial. This medical waste is properly disposed of by placing it in pink bags that are then sorted differently and burned to prevent dangerous transmission or contact. However, at the landfill, this was absolutely not followed.


I saw small children, the age of my little cousins, playing with the vials of blood like marbles as they lay strewn across the ground near their parents' workplace. I saw syringes and catheters pulled out of the ground while folks without the proper boots and equipment worked to make a living around them.

With this image fresh in mind, we went in and had an exchange with the villagers. While it takes a lot to make me cry, I was brought to tears when I heard the women of the community describe how their children were bullied in school because their parents work in the landfill. I saw the pain in her eyes as she was asked why she continued to work as a scavenger, despite the dangers: "Because I can't leave my children to work in the city, and I have to provide for them so they can get an education and get a better job than me." While doing this, while working 24 hrs a day, her child is bullied and teased in the one place that might serve as a respite from the rigors of daily life in the landfill.

I found this shocking and devastating, not because it was new information.

I remember being in school and seeing the kids who came to school with old clothes, who smelled bad or didn't fit in. I remember rarely standing up for my peers because of the fear of social rejection I also reckoned with.

We all remember those moments when we had the opportunity to speak up, to say "No" when someone was being bullied or treated poorly because of circumstances outside of their control.

As a child, I didn't understand words like "globalization" and "rural to urban migration." I wouldn't have been able to say why some of my classmates were poor, while others were rich.

Thus, as I quite literally stood on a 40 ft high mountain of trash, I couldn't help but to see this as the end result of consumerism and the globalization of the American ideal of "stuff." The villagers explained that 20 or so years ago, the trash they received and worked with was mostly banana leaves. What changed??

7-11 came, for starters. Chains began popping up all over Thailand. Where did many of these come from?

The United States of America.

Whether or not you agree with capitalism, one must recognize its impact on the rest of the world. America took those TV dinners from the 1950s and sent them across the world in the name of "progress" and "development."

Suddenly money became more important than natural resources and things that can't be measured, such as familial bonds and friendships.

The breakdown of the American community has led to individual pursuit of wealth at the expense of our fellow man. I mean, seriously-- why do we need more money? To buy more stuff? To pay the mortgage? When did money become an end in itself, rather than a means to an end?

One need look no further than your local landfill to see the end result of the cycle we are all a part of. What made me so sad in Thailand was to see the end of American influence on the region. You can say I'm wrong, that's fine.

But then let's talk about why some kids don't get to grow up with a reasonable degree of safety and security. Why health concerns of the poor are put beneath the economic gains of the growing middle class. Why is the pressure on the poor heaviest in economic downturns?

As a friend of mine said, "The poor built the city. The poor clean the city, keep it safe."

But instead of valuing them (not idealizing, which is a different subject entirely), we as humans allow some of our brothers and sisters to be left behind.

Some of you might be thinking "Jeez, you sure are beating a dead horse with the whole 'value of humans' point."

And maybe I am. But when I see it as something that is still ignored, I can't help but continue to ask WHY??

Where did dignity, respect, and love get left behind in the human pursuit of progress? What does progress mean, if it means that some people are left out?

This is not a problem only in Thailand. There were protests in the Upstate of SC because of a proposed landfill. A former president of Wofford College became involved.

We are all a part of the reason why villagers in Kam Baan Noi scavenge. We are all part of the reason landfills are necessary.

If you are a capitalist, then you must reckon with each part of the system. I strongly believe that one cannot be a freedom-loving capitalist and ignore consumerism, landfills, and the effects on disadvantaged communities. Many of our American communities are rotting from neglect and willful ignorance. Yes, I do believe that our ignorance is a choice.

If you can look these folks in the eye and explain to them why they are poor, then I will believe that you are a capitalist. If you cannot do that, then I strongly encourage you to reevaluate your perspective. [And no, I am no Communist.]

I simply want to push everyone to follow their value system to its logical end point. The soy milk I drink everyday here has an impact on someone else, as I found yesterday.

FOLLOW YOUR VALUES and see who you find. See who you speak with.

It might surprise you.

Sept 19

Today was, 4 years ago, a significant turning point in the modern history of Thailand.

On Sept 19, 2006, the Thai military along with others led a coup that toppled the democratically elected government of Thaksin Shinawatra. As one commentator writes, "one must understand that he is widely considered the most popular Prime Minister in Thailand’s political history. His Thai Rak Thai party (TRT) came to power in 2001. It was the first time in Thailand’s history that one political party won more than 50% of the house, enabling it to set up a majority government. This party won the election partly because of its aggressive election campaign which focused on issues such as low cost universal health care and low cost loan. These issues were and are of great importance to the rural citizens of Thailand which overwhelmingly voted for the Thai Rak Thai party."

This coup set in motion many of the events that are occurring today, including the bloody May protests in Thailand. The coup was remembered today in Thailand, but only in provinces that are no longer under the emergency decree (meaning no more than 5 people can congregate together). Khon Kaen, as one of those still under emergency rule, did not have much happening.

The only thing I noticed was an increased police presence. They drove around on their motorsais, checked out bars, and just generally stood around. In other parts of Thailand, the day was used as a way to remember those lost during the May protest.

Red Shirts turned out in Chiang Mai and Bangkok to lay wreaths in honor of the dead. I stole the following image from a great blog, New Mandala, of Red Shirts peacefully out in Bangkok.



Regardless of what did or didn't happen today, it is clear that the original conflict points have not been addressed, and are not currently being addressed by the government. It will be interesting to see what happens in the year to come.

Otherwise, all is well here in Khon Kaen. The students leave for their Unit 1 trip to Yasothorn tomorrow, along with Allison and Alvin. Sam, Lukas, and I will stay here in Khon Kaen. I might even get a full day of vacation!! I'm not even sure what to do with such a thing..... :)

What we're up to

For more details on the creatures that live around our house, check out my fellow p'fac/brother/housemate's blog. His name is Lukas. http://thereisfuninmypocket.blogspot.com/2010/09/my-new-roommates.html That's my foot by the centipede, by the way. So that's a size 10 foot by that horrible creature.

Lukas's entry here gives a better idea of our semester schedule: http://thereisfuninmypocket.blogspot.com/2010/08/and-days-roll-on.html

Allison's entry on the shift to full-time crazy work mode that has made me use my friend's blog instead of writing my own: http://allisoninthailand.wordpress.com/2010/09/10/thank-you-i-had-no-idea/

And, some photos of everybody over the past few weeks: http://allisoninthailand.wordpress.com/2010/09/10/pictures/

Lastly, Alvin cheated like me and linked other blogs... but he does give an idea of why we've been so busy-- http://alvinabroad.wordpress.com/2010/09/11/students-arrive-crunch-time/

:) Hope all is well back home! Miss everyone!!

A Wooden Frog, or something more.

It's been awhile since my last post. As you might have guessed, life has been a little hectic since the arrival of 10 new CIEE students. Since then, I have been engrossed in 20 hr work days, spent planning and facilitating a number of sessions. We've had our good and bad moments, and plenty of learning moments. However, for this entry, I wanted to reflect on something that has been on my mind in recent days.

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Let's start with a wooden frog.

While on a boat going down the river in Bangkok 2.5 months ago, I met a woman who was part of a floating market of sorts. This meant that, in her boat, she had a number of trinkets, both handmade and factory produced. At this point, my Thai was pretty shaky. Despite this, we managed to have a fairly productive little conversation, which ended with me buying a wooden frog from her. This was a product I could have gotten a number of different places, but I chose to buy it from her because I had spoken with her. She was even kind enough to consent to a photo.


Now, what we have here is a direct relationship between buyer and seller. I bought a product from a woman. I, as a human, used my spending power to engage directly with her, another human.

Ok, now let's make this a little bigger.

I can buy the same frog at a place much like WalMart.

I, as a human, can engage with a corporate giant such as WalMart in order to purchase the same product. It is probably easier on me, in the end, because I am also purchase that lovely scarf I've been wanting and some peanut butter.

At WalMart, I also speak with a person. In fact, I can speak with 10 different sellers. However, all of these sellers are separate from the production of the items in my cart. None of them actually made it, and none of them have a vested interest in making sure that I enjoy my experience or products. Their individuality has become a part of something bigger and less human.

When I say a company's name, do you think of a logo or a person? When I say McDonald's, does your mind conjure images of a golden arch or of a person named Ellen?

Presumably, it is the first. Labels are used to obscure individual identity in this case. This seems to be pretty clear, whatever your objections or thoughts on the matter.

Still on the same page? Stick with me.

Now, we're going with a different story-- imagine your childhood. When you were afraid of the monster in the closet, where did you look for comfort? If you were privileged enough to have loving parents like I was, it was your parents. Or perhaps it was some other person.

Regardless, the point is that you looked to a person you knew well to comfort and reassure you.

What if that threat was veiled? What if the threat to your mental security was the dark? All children seem to be scared of the dark in some way. Why?

It is unknown. Much like death, there is no way to make an emotional connection to the dark. It is impossible, because as soon as you try to understand it by turning on the lights, the dark disappears.

Ok! Now let's connect these two streams of thought:
1. Labels obscure the identities of individuals and dehumanize them.
2. The unknown is frightening, and people seek comfort in human relationships.

With these two understandings, we'll move into the practical and out of the theoretical.

If labels dehumanize individuals and people are afraid of that which they can't connect with emotionally, what does this mean for our world today?

One has to look no further than the recent debate about freedom of religion.

The threat, just like darkness to a child: Islam.
The safety, comfort: Nationalism. We are Americans.

And just like that, we have followed the same model of childhood fears and placed ourselves in direct contrast to something. After all, who is "Islam?" Is Islam a person that we can get to know?

No, it is a label that generalizes the experience of millions in order for one person to be able to understand it. Conversely, the label of "American" serves to do much the same. Can you have dinner with "America?" Or is it the sum of many, many parts?

Thus, why are these two labels placed in such opposition to each other? There is fear and discomfort that results from a lack of understanding, a lack of human connection.

But, when we don't analyze our positions and think only in terms of polar opposites, we risk extremism. People are pulled to one label or the other, instead of recognizing the human voices that lie all across the spectrum.

Through this process, reason and good judgement is marginalized. Newspapers like to report good stories, TV reinforces the extremes rather than the moderate middle.

Maybe I lost you at the word "Islam." Ok, let's plug in a number of other words.

Catholics.
Jews.
Irish.
Communists.
African-Americans.
Japanese-Americans.
Mexicans.

It seems to me that, no matter what word you put in, the paradigm remains the same. Why does America, a land that was founded by European immigrants who displaced and decimated the native population, have such an intense fear of the outsider? And why does the same thing keep happening?

Depending on which decade you choose to look at, it is just a different group that is being attacked and marginalized.

Perhaps you say that this is only the work of extremists, that everyday Americans weren't responsible for some of the attacks on immigrant or "other" populations.

By their complacent attitude, I would argue that moderate Americans are just as responsible for the injustices committed around them because they did nothing to stop it.

We don't need to look much farther than our own backyards for examples of labels obscuring the humanity and dignity of an individual.

Xenophobia motivated by fear and insecurity always rises in times in crisis. The economy isn't doing great, we all know this.

But during this time of upheaval and financial insecurity, the real question for us as Americans is: What happened, and keeps happening, to our great capacity for love and empathy?

If I had chosen to buy that wooden frog at WalMart, I would have missed the opportunity to have a conversation with one of my fellow human beings. I may never see her again, but for that one moment, I had a connection that spanned from South Carolina all the way to Thailand. It wasn't shipped across the ocean and packaged in China-- it was a normal, simple, and short conversation centered around a wooden frog.
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After reading through my thoughts and perhaps being disappointed there weren't more photos or Thailand specifics, here are some photos to placate you until I write again.



[Photo from a taxi cab, of the government reconciliation campaign signs that line Bangkok's streets]

This is a little embarrassing, but oh well...

Here is a poem that I wrote a few months ago and that I thought still summed up many of my recent reflections and thoughts. To preface this, know that I don't usually put poems I write out there because it makes me feel quite vulnerable (moreso than revealing blog entries, haha). But oh well, this year is all about embracing discomfort, right? So here goes nothing.


To be (the fundamental verb):

I start from my feet
My father’s feet, long and thin
The second toe almost bigger than the big toe
Bony but strong, standing on the earth
And feeling the roots of my home, the ones who came before me
Roots that go deep into the Piedmont, Midlands, and coastal soil, formed by the
Mill villages, farms, and cities
The feet of my mother’s family that worked the land and then
The mills
The feet of my father’s family that worked the land and then
The city.

Legs, long
Bones underneath long and strong connected to the feet from my father, the bones
That give me my height in the world from my father and grandmother
The muscles, fat, and skin from my mother’s side to give them their size
Flesh to fill out the bones.

Skin so pale that you can see the veins through which the blood
Flows , a mix of folks both known and unknown
The hair so thin and pale it’s barely visible unless you’re up close.

Hips, wide from my mother
Aunts, grandmother, great-grandmother

My stomach with the moles on it that I used to trace
Belly button that looks like a pinched bean
Source of teenage angst and fear of looking fat
Always hidden under t-shirts

Breasts, small and firm but still there, showing themselves
In long, spring dresses that flow all the way down to my feet, over my legs
Loose around my stomach and my mother’s hips

Strong shoulders built of bones from my father,
Going into arms so long that I got detention in high school for wearing shorts
Shorter than my arms
Wrists that are small and thin into hands that are small and thin

Hands that hold cigarettes and love
Covered in the same pale skin of all those before me.

Fingers that are pulled, scarred, and now type

Arms that lift and wrap around my back
The most elusive part of me, strong with ribs built of bone built of generations

Up to the neck, long but not too long.

The face that is connected to all that the body, bones, and feet feel

The structure given to me by my father, Tillman grandmother
Bunch mouth and nose from my father,
Lips my parents called “Princess lips” to make me smile
Eyes to see those around me from my Gray mother, eyes from
Poor white farmers, workers, eyes that married up and moved to the city
Eyes that watched a husband die, a love

Ears from both to hear hushed voices and things that go unsaid

Hair that falls into my face and sometimes covers all of this
Fine and blonde and straight until puberty hit
Now wavy, thick, and dark blonde

Bones from my father, flesh from my mother. Roots that reach deep into the soil
Soul of a state.

Inside a brain, always racing and stopping and churning and moving the limbs and the future around inside. The brain that keeps to itself and likes to keep its secrets hidden well behind the mouth, lips, and eyes.

Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth that have seen and brought to the brain things that the other parts of me never saw, never entertained.

I that move thoughts and plans through my nerves, from my hair to my feet.

I couldn't help but add this, too...

Many thanks my mom's fiance, Bob, for sending along a few photos from the receiving of friends yesterday. I couldn't resist posting this one as well, because to me it represents the joy that comes with life & friendship, even when in the midst of grief and loss.


Aunt Evelyn, Ama, and friends