How Big Is Your Prison?

I’ve long been fascinated with Foucault’s theoretical application of Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon, the model prison in which a centrally positioned tower allows for the constant surveillance of those who are incarcerated. As technology continues to develop, the methods of surveillance are endless, ranging from red-light cameras on roads to internally installed webcams on computers. (Side note: If you’re not already doing so, please consider covering up that webcam.)

The central premise of Foucault’s analysis is that panopticism is indeed endless in its ability to regulate our behavior and to discipline those whose conduct fails to conform to the rules of the dominant power structures. In the digital age, even a home can become a space for surveillance, and those who are unhoused encounter social regulation of every aspect of their existence, from where and how they sleep to where they are allowed to perform natural bodily functions.  The criminalization of essential aspects of human survival is one of the many ways that the state attempts to control and coerce individuals into conforming with societal norms.

But what happens psychologically when we become aware of the potential for constant surveillance? Foucault concluded that we begin to regulate ourselves, even when we are moving about supposedly freely in the world. With or without anyone being present in that metaphorical prison tower, we become our own prison guards.

This model of panopticism focuses on turning our gaze inward to ourselves. At the same time, though, the way that we see the world can also shift. Technology has allowed for the creation of bigger and bigger prisons, with probation being perhaps the most common manifestation of a prison without walls. Probationers must check in regularly with a supervisor who monitors employment and educational activities, substances that are ingested into the body, and travel beyond the boundaries of the probationer’s state of residency. Ankle bracelets and other forms of home incarceration can be imposed for even stricter surveillance. Even those who have not been convicted of a crime, including those accused but not convicted of low-level non-violent misdemeanors, can face intense supervision and restrictions on their liberty through pretrial services programs that are run by public or privately-owned probation departments.

The trauma and anxiety caused by this ever-expanding prison industrial complex can make anywhere feel like a prison cell. The question that keeps surfacing in my mind is: “How big is your prison?” As long as we live in a society where surveillance mechanisms are pervasive and ever-present, freedom will remain an out-of-reach aspiration that we are reaching toward, rather than a reality.

With this in mind, I have created a series of photographs that superimpose prison bars onto scenic landscapes. These first photographs were captured at various locations in Colorado, and subsequent photos will feature places that I have traveled around the world. My hope is that those who view these photos will start to examine the ways in which we all impose (or don’t impose) prison bars upon ourselves, and ultimately, to start to release ourselves from the self-created prisons.

As this is a work-in-progress, I would love to hear feedback from you and to create a dialogue around this project. My standard “rules of conduct” apply here, as always, regarding how we address each other: respect, humility, compassion, and inclusiveness. In other words, this is not a space for racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, classist, ableist, etc., remarks. Oh, and as a small disclaimer, I’m not a professional photographer, so the quality of these photos will vary. I felt that it was important to use my own photos nonetheless, not only because I want to respect others’ creative and intellectual property, but also because this project represents my own personal perspective, for whatever that is worth.

Flatirons from Chautauqua park in Boulder, Colorado

This first photo was taken at Chautauqua park, of the iconic Flatirons that define the landscape in Boulder, Colorado. Foucault noted: “The ideal point of penality today would be an indefinite discipline: an interrogation without end, an investigation that would be extended without limit to a meticulous and ever more analytical observation, a judgement that would at the same time be the constitution of a file that was never closed, the calculated leniency of a penalty that would be interlaced with the ruthless curiosity of an examination, a procedure that would be at the same time the permanent measure of a gap in relation to an inaccessible norm and the asymptotic movement that strives to meet in infinity.”

Rocky Mountain National Park

The Rocky Mountain National Park offers a contrast between snowcapped mountains and forest greenery during the transitional seasons.

San Juan Mountains

This was taken during a hike in the San Juan Mountains of southern Colorado.

Maroon Bells

I created this HDR image of the Maroon Bells near Aspen and Snowmass during a photography workshop that I took a couple of summers ago.

Near Lyons, Colorado

This photo was taken near Lyons as the leaves were turning colors on a crisp fall day.

Boulder Creek

The most experimental photo of this initial series was taken along Boulder Creek, also on a fall day. I’m not sure how convincing it is to position the bars so close to the creek, but the juxtaposition challenges me to stretch my imagination. An observation from Foucault seems fitting for this final photo: “Hence the major effect of the Panopticon: to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power. So to arrange things that the surveillance is permanent in its effects, even if it is discontinuous in its action; that the perfection of power should tend to render its actual exercise unnecessary; that this architectural apparatus should be a machine for creating and sustaining a power relation independent of the person who exercises it; in short, that the inmates should be caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers.”

Stress and the Holidays

The holidays can be a really stressful time for a number of reasons. Shorter days with less sunlight, plus colder temperatures, beckon us to spend more time indoors in hibernation mode. Some people (including myself) experience Seasonal Affective Disorder as a result of the reduced exposure to natural light. Farm crops tend to be less abundant, as the land enters into a cycle of restoration and preparation for the spring.

Yet, in the midst of nature’s attempts for us to slow down, our busy lifestyles encourage us to hurry up and rush to the next holiday gathering, school event, or year-end work deadline. When my mother was still around (before her illness), she found the December holiday season to be the busiest time of the year due to school choir concerts, Christmas services at church, and parties (including ones where she was hired to provide music).

When I was in school, on top of all those other activities, I also had to turn in term papers, take final exams, and perform for music juries. I considered myself lucky when I managed not to become sick with a cold or other seasonal illness during this time of the year.

Then there were the expectations that I buy or make gifts for family and friends, as well as send out holiday greeting cards. Between the parties and the shopping, I usually ended up feeling frazzled by the time that I reached New Year’s Eve. Over time, I found that I preferred to spend New Year’s Eve at home, just to have a break from all of the activity. Yes, I’m an introvert.

Amidst all of this stress, it might be difficult to remember to practice self-care and enjoy some quiet time. Or perhaps worse, there can be a frustration when we want to take that time for ourselves but feel like we can’t.

This year, I’m taking a completely different approach. I’ll be spending the holidays in a meditative retreat. Rather than rushing from event to event, I’m going to slow down in a way that my mind and body craves. I’m curious to see what this experience teaches me and what emerges from the process of rebelling against the societal pressure to speed up right when nature is encouraging us to slow down.

Not everyone has the luxury of retreating from the holiday busy-ness, though. In fact, work, school, and family obligations can make this nearly impossible. There are still some basic things we can do to take care of ourselves during the holiday season, while going on with our otherwise busy lives.

Here are some tips to survive and thrive during this season:

1. Working out or getting some kind of daily movement activity can keep us from putting on holiday pounds.
2. Eating nutritionally balanced meals can give us energy and keep us functioning at our peak.
3. Getting adequate sleep can help fight off seasonal colds.
4. Saying no, rather than agreeing to participate in every single social obligation, can give us a sense of empowerment when it feels like we have no control over what’s happening in our lives.
5. Choosing not to engage in lengthy political debates with relatives who have different viewpoints can keep us from getting angry or frustrated when we could instead be enjoying time with family.
6. Practicing yoga can increase our flexibility when our bodies might be otherwise hunched over at a desk working on end-of-year deadlines.
7. Writing in a gratitude journal can remind us of the many things that we’re thankful for.
8. Making art or music can nurture our creative passions when we’re feeling stifled.
9. Setting aside time for loved ones can help us to reconnect when we’re feeling isolated.
10. Cutting back on gift-giving can reduce financial stress, resist the hyper-consumerism of our culture, and help the environment, too.
11. Taking 15 minutes a day to meditate can clear our heads and keep us grounded when we’re feeling overwhelmed by a rush of activity. For me personally, this is my most important self-care practice during stressful times.

Even if you can’t do all of these things, perhaps it would be helpful to choose just three of them to focus on during this season. And if nothing else, closing one’s eyes and taking three deep breaths can be a centering practice to bring us back into the present moment when the mind is racing with thoughts about everything that needs to get done.

If all else fails, I remind myself that whatever I’m experiencing will eventually pass, or at least change. A few moments of focused breathing is usually enough to make a difference in my mood, and when I’m at my best, I find that I can actually appreciate the holiday stress.

Vocabulary that fires together wires together

There’s a neurological concept called Hebb’s Law that’s basically summarized as “neurons that fire together wire together.”  This principle explains why it is that, when we hear an old song on the radio, we might immediately be flooded with memories and emotions that remind us of our first loves, best friends from high school, or educational topics that we learned in childhood. All sorts of associations can surface when we encounter something from our past, even if it’s been years since we’ve thought about those past remembrances.

I find that the same is true with languages. I studied French in high school, college, and grad school, and I’ve also picked up a few other languages through friends and travels. I can speak at least a few phrases (if not more) in Spanish, German, Thai, Khmer (the language spoken in Cambodia), Ewe (an indigenous language in Ghana), Czech, Italian, and Japanese.

The thing that amuses me is that sometimes these phrases emerge randomly, out of nowhere and there are certain phrases that I associate with one particular language over the others. In a few instances, there are idiomatic expressions that I automatically think of in foreign languages before they come to me in English.

Recently, I was in a situation where I had to engage in a conversation with someone who doesn’t speak a word of English. While I spend most of my time thinking in English…and I’m aware of how my brain operates when it comes to other languages…I was still amazed at how quickly my “foreign” vocabulary came back to me.

Words that hadn’t crossed through my conscious mind in years suddenly popped into my head, and some words that I’d never even encountered managed to come out of my mouth. I was able to get through a technically complex conversation much better than I had anticipated, which really shouldn’t have surprised me, given that I’ve done this numerous times over the years.

This got me to thinking about how languages work in our heads. It’s similar to how my fingers remember how to play scales, arpeggios, and chord progressions on my flute or the piano, even when I haven’t really practiced these instruments in months. My fingers seem to go into autopilot and play things without me consciously thinking about what to do.

Just like language (which some people would argue includes the “language of music”), our brains have the capacity to come up with all sorts of associations without us making the conscious effort to cultivate those connections. This can include memories from childhood that have long since disappeared into the crevices of ancient memory.

While many of these associations can be beneficial, sometimes our mind’s ability to “connect the dots” can cause internal conflict or pain. Anyone who has ever heard a song that reminds them of a painful breakup or romantic rejection can relate to this.

We don’t always notice when our minds are making these connections, though. An example that I often use for illustration is the way my own brain responds when it hears loud, sudden noises. As an infant, I had a traumatic experience when a 4th of July performance of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture (complete with booming canons to replicate battlefield explosions–check out the link for a recording) occurred on the same day that I fell onto the pavement and injured myself. As a result, for most of my life, I would be startled whenever I encountered an abruptly loud sound, even though my training as a musician had encouraged me to embrace those sounds. Just the sound of a balloon popping was enough to make me jump.

Meditation can help us to change our neurological wiring because, through that practice, we’re able to calm the fight-or-flight center before attempting to rewrite the narratives that hold us back.

So if there’s a particular belief or old story that is getting in the way of our ability to move forward, we can start to uncouple the associations that have been built up in our brains, including those unconscious connections. Hebb’s Law can be a beneficial thing, in the case of language recollection and communication.

But when we’re trapped under the weight of traumatic memories (such as my early childhood trauma due to the loud noise that I encountered at a 4th of July festival), it’s possible to rewire our brains so that the neurons that were previously firing together will no longer wire together.

Meanwhile, I’ll try to keep my language neurons firing and wiring in such a way that my French vocabulary sticks together, somewhat compartmentalized from my Spanish vocabulary. The alternative (which has happened on occasion) is that I start out in one language and then transition into another language. Given the strange looks that I’ve received when that happens, I try to keep the blending of languages to a minimum.

Perspective

Yesterday I went on a hike on one of my favorite trails. I hadn’t been on it much lately, as I had been enjoying the discovery of other trails before winter sets in. But right now, I’m simply trying to ensure that I get in some daily movement as part of a self-care regimen during a personally difficult time.

I’m guessing that I’ve hiked this particular trail at least 50 times—if not twice that number—since I moved to Colorado. I love the convenience of it being within the city limits, free of charge, and the fact that the trail has enough of an incline that it actually feels like a workout. Plus, the scenery is stunning.

It’s actually a system of trails, so I’m able to vary my route each time that I go up there. This is part of why I can hike there several times a week and still feel like it’s a different experience each time.

Because I hadn’t been up there in a few weeks, I was able to marvel at how the trail had changed since my last visit. At this time of year, pine needles are scattered on the ground, and the occasional deciduous trees are mostly barren. Loose gravel is more common now that the first snowfall has occurred, which reminds me to pay attention to where my feet land.

Even when I trek up there multiple times during a given week, I still find that my relationship to the environment shifts based on circumstances. Some days, I’m in a rush and just want to get in a quick bit of exercise. Other times, I linger as I take in the breathtaking scenery, perhaps even climbing up on the slick reddish rocks that abruptly jut out of the foothills. If I have more flexibility in my day, I might even sit on one of those rocks and meditate for a while.

As I was hiking today, I contemplated how my hikes are kind of like my meditations, even when I’m not sitting still with my eyes closed. I have a number of visualization tools that I draw on in meditation, but I don’t use all of them every single day.

If I’m in a rush, I might simply sit for a few minutes and run through a number of tools that I’ve learned, or I might focus on a single one. When I have more time, I’ll sit for quite a while to see what emerges.

Although I use these tools regularly, I still find that the experience with a given tool varies over time. It’s not the same exact experience every day, just as my mood, energy level, and daily routine can fluctuate.

Back to the hiking trail … I stood in one spot and took several photos today with my phone. It’s interesting how a single frame can vary based on where I put the focus.

In the first picture, the sky is fairly accurately portrayed as a deep blue, but the rocks look too dark. The second picture is more representative of the reddish rock coloration, but the sky is way too overexposed.

This third image is a closer depiction of the actual landscape as seen through my eyes, but still not exact. I find it fascinating how, even when we’re standing still and looking straight ahead, our perspective can change based on the filter through which we’re gazing.

The same is true with a sitting meditation practice. Each experience is different, and that’s part of what makes the process so powerful. I love that my relationship to my meditation practice changes over time. Just as the changing seasons impact my external environment, my inner world has its own shifts and transitions. I’m grateful for those shifts, even in the midst of life’s challenges.

Self-Care for Activists, Community Leaders, and Volunteers

I’ve been involved in community-building work for most of my adult life, but it took me a while to realize the importance of developing a consistent self-care practice. Those of us who work with non-profits, activist groups, and community organizations can have a tendency to place more value on others than on ourselves.

I feel very strongly in the worth of every single human being, even on my most frustrating days. Yet, why is it so difficult at times to treat myself with the same care and compassion with which I treat others? Perhaps a part of the problem is due to the societal expectations that we should place ourselves last.

I’m not going to argue that we should prioritize our own selves in such a way that we cause harm or neglect to others, but I do believe that we could collectively do a better job with self-care in these arenas. I internalized this during the years of my mother’s terminal illness, when she lived with me and I served as her main caregiver. I realized that I could not possibly care for her unless I also took care of my own well-being, as even a common cold had the potential to put her safety at risk.

At that time, I justified that my self-care routine was necessary because someone I loved was dependent on my ability to care for her. In hindsight, I wish that I had been able to see my own inherent self-worth as part of the scenario, but back then, I felt that my health was important mainly in relation to how it contributed to the well-being of others. 

I have since accepted that my self-worth is not dependent on my accomplishments or my ability to help others. Along with this acceptance, I now focus on self-compassion in the ways that I care for myself.

Some of the obvious ways that I care for myself include eating nourishing food, exercising regularly, and getting adequate sleep when possible. Another component of my self-care routine involves a regular meditation practice. I have found that meditation helps to reduce my stress, which enhances my overall health, and I’m less reactive in how I relate with others. 

I want to be clear that, when discussing the benefits of meditation, it’s important to be careful not to use it in a way that shames others. There are some health issues that cannot simply be “cured” with meditation (or other practices such as yoga), and a meditation teacher is not a replacement for a physician. That being said, there are many instances where meditation can reduce the impacts of stress-related health problems, including heart disease.

It’s for this reason that I’ll be teaching a meditation session as part of a Community Care Day program that we’re launching at Flatirons Political Art in north Boulder.

The meditation component of the Community Care Day will involve one or two guided meditations, plus time to discuss how the brain neurologically wires to stress as well as higher-order cognitive thinking. We’ll also talk about ways in which a meditation practice can be supported through other aspects of our daily lives.

In addition to self-care, I’m increasingly aware of the need to cultivate community support. In a panel discussion at the recent Front Range Bioneers conference, every single speaker emphasized the importance of relationships for the development of sustainable communities. Because we live in shared spaces, we must nurture relationships with the friends and family who live around (and with) us.

The Community Care Day will provide a space for us to celebrate each other by caring for ourselves and each other. We’ll begin in the late morning with Qigong, led by Jessica Van Antwerp. Then we’ll share in a potluck lunch before moving into the meditation session. The day will end with a co-creative activity there in the art studio.

Please join us even if you’re unable to be present the entire day. We’re gathering at 11am, and we’ll be finished by 4pm. We are asking that everyone bring a potluck dish or $10 to contribute to the food, but we won’t turn anyone away due to an inability to contribute financially.

If we’re going to bring about the changes we’d like to see in this world, we need to design communities that nurture ourselves and each other. I believe that self-care practices are important because each of us matters on this planet. The added benefit is that caring for oneself allows for us to do more for others. And most specifically, stress-reduction in activist, non-profit, and community-engagement environments is crucial to staying grounded for long-term sustainability in the midst of high-stakes advocacy.

I can see Jesus in your eyes

I’ve been thinking a lot about something a disabled homeless elder said to me today in the course of our half-hour conversation on a busy downtown sidewalk: “I can see Jesus in your eyes.”

I posted the statement on Facebook in spite of my hesitation, as I don’t want my interactions to come across as “Hey, look at me and how great I am,” nor am I soliciting compliments or accolades. The reason I decided to post his comment was because I felt he needed to be heard.

But as I contemplate his kind words, I want to break down what he said because I think there are several important sub-themes in that short sentence.

1) “I can see.” He is conscious of his surroundings. He is paying attention. His disability does not render him completely unaware of what is happening around him. In his particular case, his vision is functioning, but even if he had been speaking metaphorically, the point is that he notices people.

2) “I can see Jesus.” In the context of our broader conversation, what I heard was that this man has faith that his circumstances will get better, and he hasn’t given up on life. As a severely burned amputee with chronic related health problems, his daily struggles are sometimes overwhelming.

Some branches of Christianity might treat his declaration of faith as an evangelical victory—as if his life here on planet earth is merely a long-suffering prologue—but I didn’t experience his statement as being focused on doctrine-specific rules of “how to get into heaven.” Rather, I sensed that he felt a connection to something larger than himself that could sustain him during particularly difficult times.

3) “I can see Jesus in your eyes.” There have been times when I’ve encountered people who seem to view Christianity as some sort of game to see who can “convert” the most “unbelievers.” Sometimes this takes the form of long testimonials describing journeys of darkness into salvation. Perhaps more often, attempts at conversion involve telling others what they should believe and what they should (and should not) do in order to be saved from eternal damnation.

But religious doctrine aside, I experience “seeing Jesus in others” when I meet people who are kind and generous to those who are typically judged, condemned, out-cast, or marginalized. Those kindhearted souls aren’t always religious devotees (and, in fact, there have been times when I’ve encountered self-professed religious devotees who are also incredibly cruel, judgmental, and hypocritical).

Just as Jesus challenged those who valued doctrinal rules over compassion, we’re called to follow that example by being generous and welcoming of those who have been socially rejected. I don’t see this as some sort of sacrifice or noble gesture on my part because, quite honestly, those who have been condemned or scapegoated by society tend to be the people I most easily connect with, perhaps because I also know what it feels like to be treated cruelly. Furthermore, I believe this type of compassion transcends any specific religion and can be an aspiration for us all.

4) “I can see … your eyes.” Moving back to a simpler observation, this man reminded me that he could see me seeing him. Have you ever felt too uncomfortable to look someone directly in the eye? Imagine what it is like to be out on a street corner, holding a sign that asks for money, and know that people don’t want to look at you. I’ll go into this in greater depth in a follow-up blog, but for now, the point is that even people who are used to being ignored can still be aware of the fact that they are indeed being ignored.

Just because we turn and look the other way to avoid seeing something (or someone) that makes us uncomfortable, that doesn’t mean our actions go unnoticed. And when we do take the time to look someone in the eye, that other person might actually notice. The mutual recognition of visibility can be a reassurance that, yes, our presence on this planet does indeed have meaning.

Judge not?

People are sometimes surprised when I say that I am incredibly judgmental. I probably don’t come across that way very often because I have worked very hard to integrate this aspect of my personality, rather than repress it and pretend that it doesn’t exist. I’m not sure if I’ll ever reach a point where my judgmental tendencies completely go away, but what I try to do is be aware of when I am looking at things from a place of judgment.

If I notice myself veering in that direction, I sit with it as if I am sitting with a friend and having a conversation. I ask myself what it is that bothers me, and then I try to see the situation from the other person’s point of view. I find that I’m less reactive and less likely to hold onto that initial impulse. I am able to release it more easily and move into a space of compassion and perhaps even a deeper understanding of the other person’s experience.

This morning I was thinking about how I’m more likely to be judgmental when I’m tired and when I’m in stressful situations. I was frustrated with a driver who was hovering between two lanes at a stoplight, to the point that I couldn’t get into the left turn lane. My initial thought: “What is wrong with this person? Doesn’t anyone know how to drive anymore?”

Then I thought about the times when I haven’t been the world’s greatest driver, and I reminded myself that others have probably had similar thoughts about me at some point or another. As I breathed more deeply, I imagined what types of distractions might be occupying the driver’s mind. Maybe she had just heard some bad news, or perhaps she was also tired and busy.

Ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know why she was blocking me. All I needed to do was focus on my own driving and personal safety, and let go of whatever anger and judgment I was holding inside of me. With the next exhale, I let it go, and I restored my sense of personal eace in the world.

I’ve found this practice to be incredibly beneficial in relating to others, and it’s also helped me to be less critical of myself. When I was younger, I hated my tendency to judge others, but as I’ve started to make peace with it, I find that I am more patient, compassionate, and willing to extend grace to others than I would be otherwise.

Because I regularly practice shifting from judgment to compassion in fleeting everyday situations, I’m also able to be less reactive when someone does something that hurts me or someone I love (to varying degrees of success, for sure). If I pretended like this part of myself (what is referred to as “the shadow” in Jungian terms) didn’t exist, I’d have a more difficult time moving beyond those impulses. Maybe that’s the real lesson after all…

How far would you go?

If your child were in immediate danger, how far would you go to protect your child from that danger? Would you risk your own life? Would you be willing to break the law?

I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard people say that they would respond with violence (legally or illegally) if someone tried to hurt their children. There are even t-shirts and bumper stickers marketed toward this demographic, including this slogan: “Guns don’t kill people. Dads with pretty daughters do.”

There is usually some truth behind humorous statements, and while I’m not an advocate of violence, I can understand the emotions that would motivate such a view. Parents want to whatever they can to protect their children. It’s painful to witness a child being hurt (even if the hurt is due to cruel words), or to live in the aftermath of destruction.

To shift gears, how far would you go to protect someone else’s children? Would you risk your own life? Would you be willing to break the law?

Perhaps the answers to these questions are dependent on whose children I’m talking about. Would you go further to intervene if the kids were nieces or nephews? Or your best friend’s children? Or the students in your classroom at school? Or your next door neighbor?

What if the child was someone you didn’t know? Would that make a difference? Where would you draw the line for when to intervene versus when to walk away? Is there a point when you would say “Not my problem”?

This is a moral decision that we’re being asked to make at this very moment, as children are crossing the border into the U.S. to escape rape, gun violence, and even death.

Church leaders are standing up and advocating on behalf of these children, even when it means going to jail, as is the case with a United Methodist bishop and a Roman Catholic nun who were among those arrested during a protest rally outside of the White House today.

There are those who quickly say “Not my problem.” They push the moral dilemma aside, arguing that it’s up to other countries to address the violence that’s endangering children (while ignoring the role that the U.S. has played in creating a huge demand for illegal drugs, with drug cartels contributing significantly to the violence that children are trying to escape…although even that has been twisted into false accusations that cartels are using children to smuggle drugs across the border and create “future terrorists”…I’ve even had people tell me that I’m “ignorant” and “misinformed” because I don’t buy into the paranoia).

As I’m sitting here typing this blog post, my stomach is in knots, and I’m fighting back tears. I try so hard to understand other people’s motivations, but no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot understand the callousness of those who believe that we should send these children back into dangerous environments. The best that I can conclude is that fear of the unknown must be a major underlying factor of these angry reactions.

I’m looking at a photograph posted by the Dallas Morning News, and all I see is hatred. Yesterday it was pointed out that the expression on these women’s faces is eerily similar to the expressions on the faces of those who protested the desegregation of schools in the 1950s.

Before you continue reading, please take a moment to click on the links to these photos. I’m not posting the pictures directly here because they are copyrighted, but I do think it’s important to see the images.

Protest in Dallas
School desegregation protest
School desegregation protest 2

I’ve heard the argument that there are no parallels between desegregation and our immigration situation, but such an argument fails to acknowledge that the current situation is indeed a moral crisis, just as segregation was.

“But they’re breaking the law. It’s not fair.” (I’ve heard this said by people who have a known history of disregarding “inconvenient” laws, such as traffic speed limits and blood alcohol levels that were established to minimize the risk of fatal car accidents.)

“We can’t afford to…” (Would these same people sacrifice their own children’s physical safety due to financial limitations?)

Beyond the obvious inconsistency of those who point a finger at others while not admitting to their own history of breaking laws and their expectations that double standards be applied when for their own personal benefit, I’d like to return to the questions that I posed at the beginning of this post:

If your child were in immediate danger, how far would you go to protect your child from that danger? Would you risk your own life? Would you be willing to break the law?

I’ve traveled far and wide, not to mention interacted extensively here at home with people from all over the world, and I can say with certainty that parents are the same everywhere: they want to protect their children. They will do whatever they can to ensure their children’s safety and security. If a child is being raped, terrorized by gang violence, or otherwise threatened, parents are going to intervene. That’s what parents sign up for when they have children.

My conclusion is not due to some sort of ignorance or naïveté on my part. I’m not getting my information radio and TV talk show commentators who react from the safety of their corporate offices and security alarmed mansions, without ever having engaged in conversations with parents around the world. I’m speaking from over two decades of first-hand global travel-based knowledge.

I can assure you that these are very real situations. Last year, I listened in the hall outside of a Congressional hearing in D.C. to a child being interviewed by a TV news station, recounting the trauma of living in constant fear, with tears streaming down her face. After the interview was over, I asked her if I could give her a hug. We stood there hugging, and all I could think about was that I wanted to do what I could to make her life safer and more innocent, the same way that I would try to do for every single child I’ve ever encountered.

The question becomes: what are we going to do? 

We have several options:

1) Do what we can to help protect these children;

2) Dismiss the problem and pretend that these children are not actually in danger;

3) Even worse: blame these children for the situation they’re in, or try to rationalize fears and lack of empathy by accusing the children of smuggling drugs or being terrorists;

4) Say “It’s not my problem” and knowingly send children back into violent situations.

What would you do if it were your own child, or someone you loved?

When will we finally be willing to extend love and show compassion for every single person in this world, as we’re called to do?

Silly Break

I’m way behind on blogging. Travel stuff on the way, and also part two of Poverty and the Doctrine of Shame. In the meantime, here is a silly break…a change of pace from the super-serious things I’ve been writing about lately.

As a child, I hated the color of my hair. It’s not fire-engine red, but reddish enough to where my hair was the source of endless teasing in a small town where my hair color was unusual. And given that I didn’t grow up near Dublin (the only place I’ve ever visited where I actually blended in), red hair wasn’t exactly common.

Oh how I hated my hair. And yes, my fashion style hasn’t changed much over the years. I own a strikingly similar shirt now.

I also had a particularly vivid imagination throughout my childhood. Still do, in fact. At one point when I was feeling particularly self-conscious about my hair, I concocted a plan to rid myself of the redheaded curse. OK, so my original plan was to dye my hair black, but my mom vetoed my request. For some strange reason, she didn’t think that an 8-year old should go to such extremes, and her unconditional love for me made it impossible for her to understand why I hated my hair so much.

Then I came up with an even better plan. One that didn’t involve chemicals. (Or so I thought.) I’m not sure exactly how I came up with this idea, but I decided that I wanted to shave my head. But no, my vision wasn’t as simple as me walking around with no hair. I wanted to replace my hair with a whipped cream wig. For some reason, I seem to remember a book that included a picture of a man wearing a very full (and rather ridiculous-looking) shaving cream beard. My imagination ran with the concept….

Not quite a shaving cream beard, but close…

The conversation went something like this.

Me: “I hate my hair. I want to shave it all off.”
Mom: “No, Cynthia, you can’t shave your head.”
Me: “Why not?”
Mom: “You’re not old enough to use a razor.”
Me: “You could do it.”
Mom: “I would have to shave it every few days, and we don’t have time for that.”
Me: “But I want to shave my head!!!!!”
Mom: “No.”
Me: “I could wear a whipped cream wig.”
Mom: “What?”
Me: “Instead of hair. I could have a wig. But made of whipped cream.”
Mom: “It would melt and run down your face.”
Me: “No, because I could eat it and carry Reddi-Whip with me to put more on.”
Mom: “Cynthia, we can’t afford Reddi-Whip. And we certainly can’t afford to buy a can a day.”
Me: “But it would be so much better than my hair.”
Mom: “If you think you get made fun of for your hair now, you would be picked on even more if you wore whipped cream on my head.”
Me: “Everyone likes whipped cream.”
Mom: “Not when it’s melting all over you in the hot Texas sun.”
Me: “Pleeeeaaaaassssseeeeee?????”
Mom: “No. You’ll thank me for this when you’re older.”

I’m already wearing a cat costume. Why not add a whipped cream wig?

In hindsight, I guess that I can indeed thank her for not allowing me to fulfill all my childhood fantasies. Because, yeah, I would have looked rather silly wearing a whipped-cream wig. Probably…

P.S. I made the mistake of doing a Google search for “whipped cream wig” in hopes of finding an image to include in this blog post. Now I wish that my mom could have had a little talk with Katy Perry before she made her “California Gurls” video. Yikes! For a more whimsical picture (but I’m not posting it on this page because I assume it’s copyrighted), try this one.

Requiem for a Dog

Holly Beard came into the world in 1998, although it would be another year-and-a-half before she would meet her human “forever mommy” Cynthia. She quickly endeared herself to others, becoming the first dog ever allowed to sleep inside the home of Cynthia’s maternal grandmother.

Holly wearing her Halloween-themed “boo bandana” (one of the very few items of clothing she would cooperate with)

OK, so in reality, after a long night of Holly yelping in the indoor back porch, the conversation actually went something like this:

“Cynthia, where does Holly usually sleep?”
“At the foot of my bed. I know…I tried to get her to sleep in the bathroom or on the floor, but she whined all night and I didn’t want to wake up the neighbors.”
“Well, why don’t we just let her do that from now on.”

Occasionally she would get dressed up, but not for long. Here she is displaying her confusion about an unexpected Texas snowstorm in March.

Holly, ever the iconoclast, proceeded to challenge every established rule of social decorum, and became a constant companion to her mommy, both at home and on the road. Alas, one place Holly was not welcome: Chuck E. Cheese. A sweet then 3-year-old named Iris struggled to understand why Holly was not allowed to attend her birthday party, as Holly was every bit as much of a friend as the other guests.

Holly’s adventuresome spirit sometimes landed her in predicaments, such as the time that she sprained her leg while jumping up onto the couch. Even while in a bandage, she threw her mommy for a loop by hopping up a flight of stairs and then intentionally entering a neighbor’s apartment. She always considered the entire building to be her extended home, and the neighbors usually obliged.

A bandaged leg couldn’t slow her down

Although she had the appearance of a luxurious Yorkshire terrier, Holly was a rather scrappy little dog. She wasn’t a fan of costumes, bows, or froufrou haircuts (in spite of being subjected to them every once in a while for charity fundraisers). Her typical scrappy look occasionally led others to eye her with suspicion, including the running joke that she was merely an oversized rat. Joking aside, Holly’s energetic presence could intimidate the fiercest of creatures, and goats in particular would take great pains to avoid Holly’s licks of affection (aka, kisses). Even a Great Dane named Lady was known to hide out of reach whenever Holly visited.

She never intended any harm, and in spite of her breed’s rodent hunting nature, she rarely had the desire to eat anything without explicit permission. One incident with chocolate was enough to discourage her from exotic cuisine. She preferred her fancy dog treats, sometimes burying them with air, like an invisibility cloak. She didn’t quite understand how her mommy could find these buried treasures, and would then move the treats to more remote locations where it might take several months for them to be discovered.

In November of 2007, Holly embarked upon her most important job as caretaker and guardian of Cynthia’s mother Linda. Holly had always loved Linda and would stand by the front door staring at the lower corner whenever she heard Linda’s name, assuming that a visit was imminent. When Linda became disabled, Holly took the responsibility of guard dog very seriously and would cuddle up in the at-home hospital bed with her special friend. When Linda passed away in 2011, Holly cried for several hours after watching the medical equipment be hauled away. Even the two rescue kittens who boarded with Holly for the next month couldn’t console her. Life had changed, and not for the better.

Holly slowed down in her later years, and eventually she stopped trying to lick every creature in sight (cats, ducklings, turtles, goats, even a deer…and in a rather gruesome episode, a dead mouse whom Holly attempted to resuscitate). Her lightning-speed games of chase (or, as she preferred, “I see you, and I’m going to get you!”) were replaced by increasingly long naps.

She accepted with grace that she could no longer jump on furniture or go on lengthy walks and jogs, and when her cataracts prevented her from seeing clearly, she seemed content with the fact that she would occasionally bump into things. Her declining ability to hear didn’t bother her too much, as she was less likely to be disturbed by sudden sounds that had in the past caused her to bark. As her hair thinned, she welcomed the warmth of her doggie Snuggie, and she contentedly curled up next to her mommy during the major ice storm that arrived a few short weeks before she passed.

Holly was preceded in death by her beloved Linda, as well as two of Cynthia’s grandparents and a cherished aunt. She also lamented the loss of Grandpa’s dog Trixie, even though Trixie never quite knew what to make of Holly. She leaves behind her mommy Cynthia, aunt Sheryl, doggie cousin Penelope, and a huge number of friends whom she loved dearly. Dr. Wuensche also held a special place in her heart for all the loving care he provided over the 13-1/2 years as her veterinarian.