With two friends tonight, I attended the Asian American dinner at Metropolitan State University. It was poorly attended, possibly because this evening was so warm; how could someone avoid being lured for a walk around the lake or preparing a garden? But, though the room lacked full seating, my senator, Mee Moua filled it with warmth, electricity, fire, and emotion. I never tire of hearing Senator Moua speak.
Tonight, though, her words were filled with a passion and a message that were delivered with an edge that I had not heard before. The theme of the evening was 'Change and Transformation'. Giving her speech a context, she told of the animosity she and her family faced when they first moved to the U.S. - beer bottles and ash tray contents thrown at them, teaching her mother that the middle finger, presented in one's face, is not a friendly greeting. Mee shared her determination to work hard and succeed in life rather than let anger rule her or allow others misuse their power [in ignorance or stupidity].
Too often being identified as 'the Hmong senator' instead of the Senator of Senate District 67, Senator Mee daily, in personal life and in her professional life, is too often the object of another's prejudice or scorn because she is Hmong, Asian, or simply 'differentthan'. "Change alone is not enough." Anyone could philosophize about change and transformation or does change lead to transformation. Mee's message got down to PICK A SIDE! Saying you're 'independent' is not action enough...choose a party, any party. Work for it; work for what you believe in; stand on what you believe in.
Tying into the prejudices she has experienced and continues to experience, Senator Moua indicated she'd rather an openly prejudiced person open his/her baggage in front of her than be the behind the back bigot. Senator Moua urged the rapt audience to accept that people be honest with themselves in that we all possess biases and prejudices. It's part of true human nature; part of what a human being is.
This speech in itself was so refreshing - after all the 'anti-racism' workshops that are offered where people later say they were afraid to share how they feel or what they feel. As one faciliator said about such poorly done workshops, either people leave feeling they have wrenched the power from the other group and feel they have the upper hand, or they feel they have been raked over burning coals and demeaned. And no, it's not always 'black and white' in who identifies with what group. Ultimately, no one leaves with dignity intact. Anti-racism workshops can be so much better....and, I would like to see more workshops on classism, also.
Finally, with Mee's charge, to 'choose a side and not just 'let it happen', she's lifted and encouraged me when I needed it. I went into the dinner event feeling somewhat wiped out and used up. I take to heart the observation that there is always someone who [in position of greater authority or power] wants to wipe out someone else. I find that sometimes it's not wiping me out, but treating me as if I'm invisible or 'less than'. At times I feel as if I want to be one of the people who hides inside and denies or pretends that the drug deals, vandalism and disrespect isn't out on the streets. Though over and over I find that I can't give up, Senator Moua gave me the boost I needed.
Senate District 67 is very fortunate to claim her as our Senator. I am very fortunate to call her a friend. I am deeply grateful that Senator Moua continues with fortitude, dignity, integrity and as the dynamite legislator she is.
sh 4/17/2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Rock the Metro!!
If anyone who reads this has a Metro LSI, here's a question - does your ignition sometimes lock up so that you can't turn the key to start the car? Does rocking the car to and fro help? This has happened to me a number of times. A friend had said, with great assurance, that if I 'shake' the car I can trick its sensor, which will then allow the key to turn. It works! I don't think it really matters whether it is back and forth or up and down.
After no problem for several months, I've had to rock the car three times in four days. One day late last fall, I was in the Blair Arcade (Common Good Books) parking lot rocking my Metro. Two well dressed young men came near the car and one said he wondered what the car rocking was. I quickly explained the sensor and then asked if they wouldn't mind rocking the car from the front as my efforts weren't making any difference.
They gave it a couple hefty rocks and voila! it started right up. I have found that it's easier to rock the car facing down hill rather than up hill ( I position myself with my left foot on the street to give leverage, and my right hand on the key to keep turning it while rocking).
After no problem for several months, I've had to rock the car three times in four days. One day late last fall, I was in the Blair Arcade (Common Good Books) parking lot rocking my Metro. Two well dressed young men came near the car and one said he wondered what the car rocking was. I quickly explained the sensor and then asked if they wouldn't mind rocking the car from the front as my efforts weren't making any difference.
They gave it a couple hefty rocks and voila! it started right up. I have found that it's easier to rock the car facing down hill rather than up hill ( I position myself with my left foot on the street to give leverage, and my right hand on the key to keep turning it while rocking).
Friday, April 10, 2009
Women's Friendships and Art Collaborative
I left work and couldn't decide what I needed. Ten minutes sitting in the car and I took off for a glass of tea and to read a book. I knew I didn't want to go home yet, as there is so much abnormal activity in a nearby property; I just didn't want to have to see it and it's wearing on me. Halfway to my destination a friend, K, called and said she needed to get out, could we meet? I was so glad that our timing worked to get together. We spent the next three hours on my porch, in conversation of different depths. I treasure this friendship and the direction K's conversation and thinking takes me. And, the beginning of 'porch sitting season' is off to a good start. One of my housemates, J, passed through on her way from work and out to a party, but taking time to join our conversation and plans for a women's art collaborative.
K and I have our work in a local exhibit right now, and it does uplift me to exhibit my work. Now, putting such a collaborative in motion, means I need to start warping one of my looms and/or working on some drawings. It'll be much easier to get some photos matted and wrapped for the short term. This incentive is what I need for the larger scale work and for inspiration in even getting started.
K and I have our work in a local exhibit right now, and it does uplift me to exhibit my work. Now, putting such a collaborative in motion, means I need to start warping one of my looms and/or working on some drawings. It'll be much easier to get some photos matted and wrapped for the short term. This incentive is what I need for the larger scale work and for inspiration in even getting started.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Smells and Images: life's references
I was receiving and processing journals at work today and found a couple of surprises when I opened the latest issue of 'Minnesota History'. First, the magazine, (my cat is ALL over my keyboard and hand right now - driving me crazy!) perhaps the binding glue, smelled like newly done drywall or paint. It was a flat white smell.
Then, while flipping through it, there was an article about returning WW vets. One photo showed a 'village' of quonset huts. For about a year when I was five or six years old, my family lived in a quonset hut on a farm near Union Grove, Wisconsin. Seeing that photo brought back memories: my father was working in Chicago and came home occasionally. He was a bartender and musician (played the trumpet and had his Bill Sage's Dixieland Jazz Band). My mother and we children, I think three at the time. The quonset was one large space with rather open door space between rooms. I don't remember actual doors, except doors to the outside, one at each end.
Some memories that come immediately to mind: my brother, a year older, was in second grade and I was in first, in a one room school - two in his class, and only me in mine. Parent/Teacher meetings were like parties - the neighbor would take us in his Buick, I think, one of those bulky cars, so round and curvey in its shape. Adults would ride in the seats and we kids would be piled in the trunk with the trunk lid propped open with a large pole or stick! People would take pies or cakes and so a cakewalk to raise money for the school.
We were totally dependent on neighbors for rides to town, so we did a lot of scrounging. My mother was one of the most creative people I've ever known. For my birthday, she peeled silver paper from cigarette and gum wrappers. Then she glued the thin, small sheets onto a cigar box and then 'engraved' my initials onto the lid. I still remember how I treasured it; it may well have been sterling for the joy I felt.
We had a dog named Duke at the time. He was a tiger-striped boxer that would chase chickens every chance he could. My mother used to complain that 'Duke was at it again and got loose from his chain' and we had to eat a chicken he chased and killed. Turns out that my mother would actually let the dog loose at night so he would bring a chicken home! Dad wasn't the best about sending money home, and though my mother did what jobs she could get in the rural area, they were mostly jobs like forking corn from the wagons to the corn crib. The vision of her doing that is as clear as watching her clean the feathers from the chicken in a big tub of water over an outdoor fire...or using a washboard in that same manner, to do our laundry. She was an amazing woman in many ways.
During our time there was the only time I every remember seeing my mother and father embrace and kiss. Obviously, with two more children, it had to have happened at least one more time! My father had come up for a visit and he had brought a band member with him. I remember two things about the visit - seeing the drummer passed out at the table with his face in his plate of partially finished food, and seeing my parents embrace.
Then, while flipping through it, there was an article about returning WW vets. One photo showed a 'village' of quonset huts. For about a year when I was five or six years old, my family lived in a quonset hut on a farm near Union Grove, Wisconsin. Seeing that photo brought back memories: my father was working in Chicago and came home occasionally. He was a bartender and musician (played the trumpet and had his Bill Sage's Dixieland Jazz Band). My mother and we children, I think three at the time. The quonset was one large space with rather open door space between rooms. I don't remember actual doors, except doors to the outside, one at each end.
Some memories that come immediately to mind: my brother, a year older, was in second grade and I was in first, in a one room school - two in his class, and only me in mine. Parent/Teacher meetings were like parties - the neighbor would take us in his Buick, I think, one of those bulky cars, so round and curvey in its shape. Adults would ride in the seats and we kids would be piled in the trunk with the trunk lid propped open with a large pole or stick! People would take pies or cakes and so a cakewalk to raise money for the school.
We were totally dependent on neighbors for rides to town, so we did a lot of scrounging. My mother was one of the most creative people I've ever known. For my birthday, she peeled silver paper from cigarette and gum wrappers. Then she glued the thin, small sheets onto a cigar box and then 'engraved' my initials onto the lid. I still remember how I treasured it; it may well have been sterling for the joy I felt.
We had a dog named Duke at the time. He was a tiger-striped boxer that would chase chickens every chance he could. My mother used to complain that 'Duke was at it again and got loose from his chain' and we had to eat a chicken he chased and killed. Turns out that my mother would actually let the dog loose at night so he would bring a chicken home! Dad wasn't the best about sending money home, and though my mother did what jobs she could get in the rural area, they were mostly jobs like forking corn from the wagons to the corn crib. The vision of her doing that is as clear as watching her clean the feathers from the chicken in a big tub of water over an outdoor fire...or using a washboard in that same manner, to do our laundry. She was an amazing woman in many ways.
During our time there was the only time I every remember seeing my mother and father embrace and kiss. Obviously, with two more children, it had to have happened at least one more time! My father had come up for a visit and he had brought a band member with him. I remember two things about the visit - seeing the drummer passed out at the table with his face in his plate of partially finished food, and seeing my parents embrace.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
After a better sleep
I'm finding little material on violence, excessive noise, etc. as a health issue, but it is increasing. Of course, to label such activities as affecting our health, means that the enforcement (city codes, laws, regulations) need to change their framework of what have, until now, been viewed as infractions of law. It also means we get serious about the holistic approach in connecting and involving ALL the family, the immediate neighborhood, health and code enforcement agencies, schools...it means tearing aside the layers of bureaucracy that separates the individual from the power-to-do/$$ at the top.
It means that the people take charge of their neighborhoods and build relationships and awareness of their neighbors and how what we do and how we live affects everyone. It means letting people know that when they act disrespectfully, we care and expect any negative behavior to change. It means that we expect those who who have been elected or appointed to oversee a higher quality of life for us, do their jobs.
It means that, since most of our elected or appointed public servants don't live with these affronts of excessive noise, of guns fired, of heavy vehicle traffic through a residential neighborhood, that we need to keep reminding them that we deserve better than this. There can be no hiding behind the curtains or the other extreme of running out and yelling at and threatening the kids because their very presence, number and color intimidate a resident. Responsibility, conversation, assessment of self, action of civility, critical thinking, compassion, the list is endless, but anger and thinking only of self is not the answer. (4/7/09)
It means that the people take charge of their neighborhoods and build relationships and awareness of their neighbors and how what we do and how we live affects everyone. It means letting people know that when they act disrespectfully, we care and expect any negative behavior to change. It means that we expect those who who have been elected or appointed to oversee a higher quality of life for us, do their jobs.
It means that, since most of our elected or appointed public servants don't live with these affronts of excessive noise, of guns fired, of heavy vehicle traffic through a residential neighborhood, that we need to keep reminding them that we deserve better than this. There can be no hiding behind the curtains or the other extreme of running out and yelling at and threatening the kids because their very presence, number and color intimidate a resident. Responsibility, conversation, assessment of self, action of civility, critical thinking, compassion, the list is endless, but anger and thinking only of self is not the answer. (4/7/09)
Monday, April 6, 2009
Violence as a health issue
I stayed up last night until 2:30am. An acquaintance makes videos about neighbors and (wow! sorry for the digression, but I just looked up to the sky; an awesome full moon is positioned against the still light blue sky) how disturbances affect their lives. He looks at the violence as psychological, emotional, mental and physical health issues instead of law-related. Disturbances include excessive noise such as car stereos, over-populated and/or noisy houses, littering, public urination, vandalism, etc.
The reason I couldn't get to sleep - agitation about something that appears going on in my neighborhood. I've called the authorities, but even while I know they are checking it out and that it takes time, it's unsettling and annoying to see the continued activity. We've had drug houses here in the past (not saying this is a drug house, but I'm realizing over the last years how, when we live with this stuff, how absurd and inane it is that we become desensitized and treat it as an everyday occurence.
For instance: On Saturday I called the police and said I wanted to talk with an officer and be assured that something was being done or I would make a tremendous nuisance of myself with people connected with this activity. I don't want to do that, because what it essentially does, is simply move a 'problem' from one block to another. I don't believe that's an suitable answer.
After seeing a black and white pass my house three times without stopping, and I had not received a call-back, I went outside to pick up litter as I wrote down car makes and license plates. I glanced up the block and saw two or three squads blocking the next intersection. A friend was outside and we chatted, while another three squads blocked the intersection to the south of us, half a block. Later, I thought, all these squads blocking someone and here we are chatting as if it's nothing.
I also realized how hyper-vigilant I've become to sounds of different cars and which ones park where - and do the blink headlight on and then off, wait a few seconds and repeat. I even have photos of what appears to be a drug exchange (taken from my livingroom window). We recognize cars used by several drug dealing scum and know the street names of several. I even know the given names of some and am sorely tempted to greet them with these names (which they don't like).
There is something to changing the frame of how we look at these occurences. Perhaps it offers nothing more than a fresh look. And that's all right. I hope, though, that it changes how we take action against these activities and perhaps WHO takes action. If it's a health issue, wouldn't that superbly broaden the circle of people who could make change and have been effective in other areas?
The reason I couldn't get to sleep - agitation about something that appears going on in my neighborhood. I've called the authorities, but even while I know they are checking it out and that it takes time, it's unsettling and annoying to see the continued activity. We've had drug houses here in the past (not saying this is a drug house, but I'm realizing over the last years how, when we live with this stuff, how absurd and inane it is that we become desensitized and treat it as an everyday occurence.
For instance: On Saturday I called the police and said I wanted to talk with an officer and be assured that something was being done or I would make a tremendous nuisance of myself with people connected with this activity. I don't want to do that, because what it essentially does, is simply move a 'problem' from one block to another. I don't believe that's an suitable answer.
After seeing a black and white pass my house three times without stopping, and I had not received a call-back, I went outside to pick up litter as I wrote down car makes and license plates. I glanced up the block and saw two or three squads blocking the next intersection. A friend was outside and we chatted, while another three squads blocked the intersection to the south of us, half a block. Later, I thought, all these squads blocking someone and here we are chatting as if it's nothing.
I also realized how hyper-vigilant I've become to sounds of different cars and which ones park where - and do the blink headlight on and then off, wait a few seconds and repeat. I even have photos of what appears to be a drug exchange (taken from my livingroom window). We recognize cars used by several drug dealing scum and know the street names of several. I even know the given names of some and am sorely tempted to greet them with these names (which they don't like).
There is something to changing the frame of how we look at these occurences. Perhaps it offers nothing more than a fresh look. And that's all right. I hope, though, that it changes how we take action against these activities and perhaps WHO takes action. If it's a health issue, wouldn't that superbly broaden the circle of people who could make change and have been effective in other areas?
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