Lesvos, Day 1 - Text (Travel)

We arrived on the island yesterday. I've chosen to give up calling it Lesbos in favor of the Greek version because I came here with a woman (Julie) and once you've felt the gravity of the situation here, all jokes are off. We flew in from Athens into a rather rinky dink airport. Our rental car is rather rinky dink as well. We needed the help of a strapping young German to get our behemoth suitcases to fit in the backseat. They are so large not because we a couple of clotheshorses, but, wishful thinking, we brought toys, books, mylar blankets, etc. for refugees in need. Arriving at the airport, one is struck by two things immediately - the water is choppy and Turkey appears so close. The temptation would be there to cross if the swells were not so high. The people we spoke to said people weren't crossing today in these condidtions, yet driving from the airport to our hotel, the site of piles of used lifejackets is striking. There are also bits of shiny broken mylar blankets being taken by the wind. Our hotel, a converted home, is pleasant enough, but far removed from town. We drove into town to get a sense of it. I was struck by the beautiful old style architecture. Driving is a bit of a bear, as natives appear to have little patience for slow pokes who don't know their was around. When they are not behind the wheel, the Greeks are a patient, warm people as far as I can tell. As an ESL teacher, I sometimes take for granted the lingua franca of my native tongue which is not always the case, but I'm also quick to recognize someone who only has a few words in English. I now know how my ESL students feel. I need to point and nod and otherwise let my body do the talking. Thankfully, many people do speak English. As we drove along the beautiful harbor, we drove past an enormous luxury liner cruise ship. I can't help but be struck by the irony. Here is a big boat, capable of transporting (very) large numbers of people safely and comfortably, but no, that would be to obvious?! Instead, let's have them too many to a small, rubber boat in the cold risking their lives to pass this "channel." By not bringing them over, we are forcing them to risk their lives. Which they will do. Who are they? Refugees fleeing countries torn apart by war, war that the west is in large part responsible for. They want a better life for themselves and their families. Wouldn't you? Here in Europe, you actually see a lot of coverage of the Refugee Crisis. Other than Germany, the EU does not appear to be bending over backwards to help. Greece's coastguard and other officials are helping as the small boats make it to shore. Greece is the EU ticket to other destinations in Europe, most often Germany (This is my understanding). Speaking of Germany and Germans, last night while driving, we came upon a row of tents along the side of the road and a group of young people working out of the back of a truck. Weilding large knives, they were cutting up carrots, onions, cauliflower, tomatoes, etc. and tossing them into crates which then were put in a barrel-sized pot and stirred. Julie was bursting to help and asked what she could do and was directed to the woman in charge. Meanwhile, I spoke to some of the group who were mostly women. The ones I spoke to said they were from Poland and Germany. One of the Polish women said she had been volunteering in the Balkans until they stopped accepting refugees. Now this seemed to be the place she felt she could be of use. Their English was all perfect (I say this only because I'm an ESL teacher and have become cued to look for English levels). The one German woman I spoke at any length with seemed to have some humor about her which was welcome to me, still I got a bit choked up (with pride) when talking about how Germany has really stepped up in this situation. Julie returned with the apparent leader/supervisor of the group known as No Border Kitchen whose primary concern about us was whether or not we were religious fanatics and to be sure we were in support of feminism. We easily balked at any fanaticism. I even said something like, "I've left Christmas in the U.S." I didn't know quite how to respond to the feminism inquiry without throwing out a joke like, "When in Lesbos..." Don't worry, I didn't. I so wanted to get a photo of them chopping up huge piles of veggies with their huge knives and stirring their huge caldron. Maybe mistakenly, I asked if I could. The one German woman who had appeared so easy going, asked, "For whom would the picture be?" I replied ambitiously, "The world." She scoffed and pointed to that woman in charge and said I had better ask her. I didn't and didn't take the picture. Julie and I parted from the place and she told me that they were having a meeting the next morning to discuss things and that we could come, but the woman said we might be bored and we might rather come at noon to help. I could see how for this group everything has to go through committee where a sort of democracy is portrayed. As much as I'd like to be a part of democracy in the birthplace of democracy, with our days here feeling like they are leaving us already, I am eager to be told to get to work by a dictator type, feminist or not.

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"Math is hard!"

I remember years ago hearing about a Barbie Doll that spoke when you pushed a button or pulled a chord. One of the phrases in her repertoire was, "Math is hard!" Frankly, it made me laugh. My father, an engineer, was determined that his two daughters be engineers. He would review our math homework with us every night. Sometimes we would wind up in tears as he would say, "No, your answer to #4 is wrong. Do it again. And show every step." Finally, he would mark which step we went wrong and we would find our way to the correct answer. Math was hard, but it was all worth it. I started out as an engineering major in college. Strangely, I now teach English (ESL) though I've always done better on the math portion of standardized tests. My sister is a Civil Engineer.

On Racism - Text

Racism is a tricky thing. I once had a class (part of my teaching ESL training) in cultural diversity. My teacher held the position that racism is about power. His position was that white people hold the power in America (in particular white males), therefore, only they could be racist. At first I resisted this notion having had negativity thrown at me from black people and thinking I was the victim of racism. But then I got to thinking about it - about the history of the U.S. and how black people were first slaves and later "freed," but freed into what? It wasn't like a freed slave could then run for president. There have been so many obstacles to overcome. The hill to climb has been so high. I was so pleased to have the opportunity to vote for Obama (twice) whom I respect so much. But think, he wasn't descended from slaves. His mother was white. He was given opportunities that most black people aren't. I don't say this to downplay his achievements. However, I want to say that the structure of society is racist so long as there is a disproportionate number of white people as high ranking government officials and CEOs of companies and doctors and lawyers, etc and a disproportionate number of black people in prison and unemployed, etc. I'm not saying there are any easy answers to these imbalances, but that we need to be aware of them and our history to better understand what "racism" really means.

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I am ...

Father's New Land - Text (Family)

My father grew up in Germany. He did OK in school, but in order to be accepted to college, there was a single test he had to pass. He was so nervous about the test that when it came time to take it, he blanked and did terribly. That was it. He had no chance to further his education. His aunt had married a Jewish man in the 1930s and Germany was not friendly to Jews at that time (to say the least). This aunt and uncle (Ilsa and Hans) moved to California. Hans liked to tinker with things in his garage. He invented something which he called The Shopsmith which was a kind of all-in-one woodworking device from which one could make their own furniture. Around this time, American soldiers were coming home from the war and with idle hands were eager to build things using The Shopsmith. My father's aunt and uncle became millionaires. Meanwhile, in Germany, times were tough. There was little food and infrastructure. By the late 1950s, things were improving, but not for my father who had flunked his final exam. His prospects in Germany were not good. He was invited by his wealthy aunt and uncle to come and stay with them. Uncle Hans told him that there were community colleges that welcomed everyone. My father packed his bags and left for the sunshine state. The first class he enrolled in was 'English for Foreigners.' He had a great time meeting new people and learning the language. Soon he was able to pursue his passion of studying Electrical Engineering. After receiving his Bachelor's degree in Electrical Engineering at UC Berkeley, he went on to get a Master's degree in Computer Science. This was back when computers were so big they took up a whole room. He then worked in the burgeoning computer industry and raised a family just outside of Silicon Valley. My father's English is excellent today though he still has a slight accent. When he leaves me a voicemail he says, "Zis is your fazzer." I have to smile - like I wouldn't know that it's him?

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