As the ambassador for Montgomery, I awoke early on our last day to finish working out details for our day and then found out that our bus would not be bringing us to the city of civil rights and Civil War history after all, due to a broken bearing. We waited on our bus for another charter bus to come pick us up from the side of the road in the middle of Florida. It was sad to say goodbye to Reuben, our bus driver and friend for the past 40 days, as we boarded the next bus that would take us to Nashville.
The abrupt ending to our journey brought mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was more than ready to see my friends and family, most of whom I had never gone 6 weeks without seeing. I was a tiny bit relieved to avoid one last stressful day of being ambassador, though I was also disappointed to miss a city that I had spent quite a bit of time researching and planning that seems so rich in history. Leaving the 11 people that I had spent 6 weeks with and had come to love was also bittersweet. I was ready for my own bed, but I would miss my cozy bunk. I was ready for a little bit of time to myself but I would miss always being around such great, fun people 24/7. Now that it is almost 2 weeks after we have returned home (yes, I’m a bit behind on my blogging… J) I still have bittersweet feelings. I am about to move into a new house and start a new semester with interesting classes. I have a lot to be excited about, but I catch myself all the time missing the thrill of traveling and seeing new things and being constantly intellectually challenged by those on the trip. This trip was, as Rashina put it, “beautiful, overwhelming and exhausting.” I'm still processing a lot of things that we saw and learned, and trying to figure out how to fit those things into my ideas about this nation.
I look forward to the next time I can travel around our crazy, confusing, wonderful and exciting country to see all of the many things that this first journey missed. I look forward to seeing Ken, Rashina, Chris, Elisabeth, Jenni, Cory, Pierce and Shirah soon at school. If Heather and Emily don’t come back to walk for graduation, then I insist on seeing them sometime within the next year. I’m excited to sign up for a class with Andi, who I did not know before this trip, whenever she comes back from her sabbatical. I look forward to continuing trying to expand my understanding of our country, its people, and what my role is as an American citizen. And I will always have incredible memories from this beautiful, overwhelming and exhausting experience.
Thank you for reading. I hope you found something here that opened your eyes or piqued your interest. Best wishes,
Emma
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
St. Augustine
For our first stop in St. Augustine, we went to the first Spanish fort in America. Being at that place and knowing that this was where the settlement of our country began (settlement, not discovery of our country- we seem to forget that minor detail that there were plenty of people inhabiting this land who definitely already knew "America" was here), was really interesting. It looked and felt ancient and filled with history, and yet at the same time, I couldn’t help remembering that even as old as that feels, our country is so much newer than most other nations, that we are still such a young country, and wonder how that affects our identity and telling of history.
We then went to the site of the first Spanish mission in America, Mission Nombre de Dios. Here we saw two interesting examples of one of the national debates of “Who is a Person” as outlined in Howard Fineman’s book “The Thirteen American Arguments.” In this chapter of his book, Fineman points to the debate over abortion as one of the key issues in examining who is considered a person. In the church graveyard of this Mission, there is a gravestone decorated with pacifiers for all of the babies that have been aborted since Roe v. Wade. Not that the Catholic church has ever been ambiguous about its stance on abortion, but I was still shocked to see this- they are so sure of the personhood of fetuses, they have actually erected a symbolic grave as if there would actually be something buried there.
The other, more disturbing example of the debate over who is a person is more subtly demonstrated in the representation of history of the relationship between the Native Americans who lived in Florida at the time of the Spanish arrival and the priests who evangelized to them. We saw in the display case in the gift shop a model of the Spanish arriving and dedicating the land to God. A small figure of a soldier is holding up a cross that is surrounded by rays of light. A couple of other soldiers stand around, in awe of the cross. Then there are multiple figures of Native American men dressed in loincloths, bowing down to the cross. Also in this gift shop is a charming little children’s story (note sarcasm) about the one Native American saint, who is a little girl who abandoned her family to go live with and work for the nearby Catholic community, after her mother dies suddenly from this strange disease called smallpox- wonder how that happened?? The book vilifies her other relatives for not wanting to allow her to go serve these Catholic priests and ends with praising this young girl, who died of an unnamed illness at age 20, for being brave enough to defy her people and leave to faithfully serve God’s servants. (Another highlight of this story is the description of this little girl’s appearance as her having, no joke, “dull red skin.”) So what does this communicate? That even in today’s children’s stories being provided in this tourist spot, we are saying these Native Americans are only worth anything, only considered people worthy of rights and dignity, when they bend to the Spanish Catholic culture and faith. What is told at this mission is a pretty little tale of conversion- missing from the story is the cost of this process.
We went to lunch at a hip little vegetarian place and then spent a pleasant afternoon on the beach, where the group all hung out for quite awhile, as it began to sink in that we didn’t have much time left to spend together. We showered at beautiful Flagler University and then enjoyed dinner in Old St. Augustine, a part of town that is full of restaurants and gift shops but still looks very Spanish, old and quaint. St. Augustine was another city that I had no idea what to expect from, but I feel like it would be worth a trip back to see beyond just the beach and the historic sites we saw to see what the city itself is really like.
We then went to the site of the first Spanish mission in America, Mission Nombre de Dios. Here we saw two interesting examples of one of the national debates of “Who is a Person” as outlined in Howard Fineman’s book “The Thirteen American Arguments.” In this chapter of his book, Fineman points to the debate over abortion as one of the key issues in examining who is considered a person. In the church graveyard of this Mission, there is a gravestone decorated with pacifiers for all of the babies that have been aborted since Roe v. Wade. Not that the Catholic church has ever been ambiguous about its stance on abortion, but I was still shocked to see this- they are so sure of the personhood of fetuses, they have actually erected a symbolic grave as if there would actually be something buried there.
The other, more disturbing example of the debate over who is a person is more subtly demonstrated in the representation of history of the relationship between the Native Americans who lived in Florida at the time of the Spanish arrival and the priests who evangelized to them. We saw in the display case in the gift shop a model of the Spanish arriving and dedicating the land to God. A small figure of a soldier is holding up a cross that is surrounded by rays of light. A couple of other soldiers stand around, in awe of the cross. Then there are multiple figures of Native American men dressed in loincloths, bowing down to the cross. Also in this gift shop is a charming little children’s story (note sarcasm) about the one Native American saint, who is a little girl who abandoned her family to go live with and work for the nearby Catholic community, after her mother dies suddenly from this strange disease called smallpox- wonder how that happened?? The book vilifies her other relatives for not wanting to allow her to go serve these Catholic priests and ends with praising this young girl, who died of an unnamed illness at age 20, for being brave enough to defy her people and leave to faithfully serve God’s servants. (Another highlight of this story is the description of this little girl’s appearance as her having, no joke, “dull red skin.”) So what does this communicate? That even in today’s children’s stories being provided in this tourist spot, we are saying these Native Americans are only worth anything, only considered people worthy of rights and dignity, when they bend to the Spanish Catholic culture and faith. What is told at this mission is a pretty little tale of conversion- missing from the story is the cost of this process.
We went to lunch at a hip little vegetarian place and then spent a pleasant afternoon on the beach, where the group all hung out for quite awhile, as it began to sink in that we didn’t have much time left to spend together. We showered at beautiful Flagler University and then enjoyed dinner in Old St. Augustine, a part of town that is full of restaurants and gift shops but still looks very Spanish, old and quaint. St. Augustine was another city that I had no idea what to expect from, but I feel like it would be worth a trip back to see beyond just the beach and the historic sites we saw to see what the city itself is really like.
Charleston
My first impression of Charleston was that it was beautiful but I wasn’t sure I’d survive a whole day in the oppressively hot humid weather. Our first stop was at Drayton Hall, the oldest preserved, not restored, plantation in the country. We received a very thorough explanation of everything in the house and the history of the families who lived there, from a sweet elderly lady who served as our tour guide and was obviously very passionate about her work. 
For lunch, we had some incredible food at a Gullah restaurant. For most of us, the only connection we had to the culture of the Gullah people of South Carolina was a children’s show called “Gullah Gullah Island”. The Gullah culture developed because all of the enslaved people that were brought to work on the Charleston plantations were from the same areas in West Africa. We were excited to learn more and experience the cuisine of this culture. One of the managers of the restaurant, a kind and funny woman named Keisha, had reserved a back room for us to view a video about traditional Gullah crafts while we ate from the buffet of traditional Gullah food. The food was amazing- I’ve enjoyed expanding my culinary horizons on this trip to include lots of organic, fresh vegetarian-friendly food, but at this point, any food that was cooked in greasy goodness and resembled down-home southern cooking was more than welcome. The best way I can think of to describe Gullah food is that it is similar to soul food but with an emphasis on seafood. We all filled our plates with foods like seafood casserole, collard greens, fish head soup, biscuits, and homemade candied yams. Keisha told us that they believe in making everything themselves, that all of their fruits or vegetables are homegrown and all the stews and sauces and such are made fresh daily. She told us that Gullah food was composed of foods that the slaves on plantations were able to scavenge from the fields and find in the waters of the area. I suppose I had never thought about how different kinds of food cultures can be determined by class. In the film “People Like Us” that we viewed as a part of the sociology class for this trip, one segment discusses how lower classes tend to embrace and strongly identify with the kind of food they are used to, the kind of food they can afford- like plain white bread- rather than food that is more expensive but might be better for them- like organic whole-wheat bread. Food becomes an important identifying factor for certain cultures and experiencing a meal of traditional cultural food enables an outsider to understand the history behind the culture a bit better.
After lunch, we went to a market downtown that used to be a market where slaves were sold and now serves as a mostly outdoor craft market. We took showers at the beautiful College of Charleston and then had a delicious seafood dinner with Pierce’s family. Dinner ended with a lovely surprise of cupcakes decorated with our trip’s logo that we all enjoyed with the Greenbergs. At this point it is Day 38 of our journey and we are all feeling the toll of it. We returned to the bus exhausted and drove on to what would be our last stop, St. Augustine.
Later in the day, we talked to an African-American woman who said one of her cousins recently got married on one of the older plantations in the area and some family members were appalled, and didn’t want to go. I thought that was so interesting, because it is hard to know how to feel about such beautiful land with such an ugly history. On the one hand, I can see how this woman’s family feels about never wanting to hold a celebration on the land that had seen such suffering for their ancestors. On the other hand, I can also see how it could be seen as a celebration of how far our country has come that this young woman is able to have that choice at all, and to make her peace with a place like that.
For lunch, we had some incredible food at a Gullah restaurant. For most of us, the only connection we had to the culture of the Gullah people of South Carolina was a children’s show called “Gullah Gullah Island”. The Gullah culture developed because all of the enslaved people that were brought to work on the Charleston plantations were from the same areas in West Africa. We were excited to learn more and experience the cuisine of this culture. One of the managers of the restaurant, a kind and funny woman named Keisha, had reserved a back room for us to view a video about traditional Gullah crafts while we ate from the buffet of traditional Gullah food. The food was amazing- I’ve enjoyed expanding my culinary horizons on this trip to include lots of organic, fresh vegetarian-friendly food, but at this point, any food that was cooked in greasy goodness and resembled down-home southern cooking was more than welcome. The best way I can think of to describe Gullah food is that it is similar to soul food but with an emphasis on seafood. We all filled our plates with foods like seafood casserole, collard greens, fish head soup, biscuits, and homemade candied yams. Keisha told us that they believe in making everything themselves, that all of their fruits or vegetables are homegrown and all the stews and sauces and such are made fresh daily. She told us that Gullah food was composed of foods that the slaves on plantations were able to scavenge from the fields and find in the waters of the area. I suppose I had never thought about how different kinds of food cultures can be determined by class. In the film “People Like Us” that we viewed as a part of the sociology class for this trip, one segment discusses how lower classes tend to embrace and strongly identify with the kind of food they are used to, the kind of food they can afford- like plain white bread- rather than food that is more expensive but might be better for them- like organic whole-wheat bread. Food becomes an important identifying factor for certain cultures and experiencing a meal of traditional cultural food enables an outsider to understand the history behind the culture a bit better.
After lunch, we went to a market downtown that used to be a market where slaves were sold and now serves as a mostly outdoor craft market. We took showers at the beautiful College of Charleston and then had a delicious seafood dinner with Pierce’s family. Dinner ended with a lovely surprise of cupcakes decorated with our trip’s logo that we all enjoyed with the Greenbergs. At this point it is Day 38 of our journey and we are all feeling the toll of it. We returned to the bus exhausted and drove on to what would be our last stop, St. Augustine.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Washington D.C.- part of Day 2 and Day 3
As it was nearing the end of our second day, a few of us hung out on the Mall at sunset. We had been really busy in D.C. until that point and I knew that we would not be down here again tomorrow, our last day in D.C., so this was my last chance to go see the memorials. I’d never been to D.C. and I knew I couldn’t leave without seeing the Lincoln Memorial. I convinced Elisabeth and Rashina to tag along with me and we set out right at dusk. We saw the Washington Monument and were a little confused as to what it was really trying to say. How exactly was this a tribute to Washington? It’s impressive, but I’m not sure I really get it. Then we walked down to the WWII memorial, which is absolutely beautiful at night. I loved this memorial- I thought it did a beautiful job of commemorating our role in the war and the soldiers that our country lost. We started the trek towards the Lincoln Memorial.
When we got there, I was in awe- there have been many instances on this trip that I have found something to be less impressive in real life that I had been expecting, but this was not one of them. The statue of Lincoln, and the entire classical temple surrounding it, was much bigger than I’d been expecting. I wandered over to the side to read Lincoln’s second inaugural address and then over to the Gettysburg address. I didn’t expect it at all, but I had chills and was holding back tears. They are truly beautiful speeches that so eloquently yet simply capture the tragedy of the Civil War and its consequences. And to imagine someone murdering this epic figure that had written these words- I cannot fathom it. Though as Sarah Vowell says in Assassination Vacation, once you understand more about the volatile years of the Civil War, one shouldn’t be surprised that Lincoln didn’t finish his second term but rather be grateful that he made it through his first.
So as Rashina and I are standing there reading these monumental words, we are distracted by the antics of some teenagers walking past us, practically yelling and joking around with each other. As I start to pay attention to others around us, I was shocked and disgusted by the general atmosphere. People of all ages were checking their cell phones, laughing and yelling, taking goofy pictures in front of the statue- this kind of behavior in a place that is a memorial, a memorial for someone who died, a memorial for one of the greatest figures in our nation’s history who was murdered and commemorated here. We had to leave because both of us were about to lose it. This was a perfect example of how our country proclaims patriotism but it is often a false and empty patriotism. Obviously, not everyone at the memorial was behaving in such an appalling manner, but the fact that we had to leave because it was too noisy to talk shows something indeed about the level of respect many had for the place. We claim Lincoln as one of the greatest presidents ever and a symbol of hope, courage and equality…and then in the subway station, we see a figure of the white Lincoln statue in an ad for Busch Gardens where he is wearing a scuba mask and suntan lotion on his nose. Are we going to revere him or mock him? Let’s make up our minds.
However, escaping from the Lincoln Memorial to the Vietnam Veterans memorial didn’t offer any more restoration of our faith in the American people’s reverence. As we walked along Maya Lin’s beautiful memorial wall reading the names of the thousands and thousand of soldiers that died in Vietnam, we listened to the people behind us jabber on about a friend’s wedding plans and even as one of them exclaimed “whoa, that’s a funny name,” in reference to a soldier’s name. It honestly made me a little sick to my stomach, seeing the complete lack of respect for this memorial that remembers people with friends, family and lives who gave all that up to fight a war for their country. We left feeling discouraged and angry. As we were walking home though, we ended up stopping to talk to a security guard and had an amazing hour-long conversation with him, just on the side of the road, about what it means to him to be an American, and his thoughts about America today. Another amazing, memorable chance encounter that will stay with me for a long time.
Our third and final day in D.C. was more on the relaxing side. We went to Alexandria for the town’s 260th birthday celebration, only to be rained out before the festivities really began. We enjoyed walking around the “old town” area though, to see how this town combines its identities of an old historic place with the needs of its trendy, upper-tax-bracket residents. After we returned to our bus, a few of us went out to explore D.C. nightlife. More on that later as well. All in all, I thought we had a great, busy stay in our nation’s capital and I look forward to returning there to see what else D.C. has to offer because I feel like we barely scratched the surface.
When we got there, I was in awe- there have been many instances on this trip that I have found something to be less impressive in real life that I had been expecting, but this was not one of them. The statue of Lincoln, and the entire classical temple surrounding it, was much bigger than I’d been expecting. I wandered over to the side to read Lincoln’s second inaugural address and then over to the Gettysburg address. I didn’t expect it at all, but I had chills and was holding back tears. They are truly beautiful speeches that so eloquently yet simply capture the tragedy of the Civil War and its consequences. And to imagine someone murdering this epic figure that had written these words- I cannot fathom it. Though as Sarah Vowell says in Assassination Vacation, once you understand more about the volatile years of the Civil War, one shouldn’t be surprised that Lincoln didn’t finish his second term but rather be grateful that he made it through his first.
So as Rashina and I are standing there reading these monumental words, we are distracted by the antics of some teenagers walking past us, practically yelling and joking around with each other. As I start to pay attention to others around us, I was shocked and disgusted by the general atmosphere. People of all ages were checking their cell phones, laughing and yelling, taking goofy pictures in front of the statue- this kind of behavior in a place that is a memorial, a memorial for someone who died, a memorial for one of the greatest figures in our nation’s history who was murdered and commemorated here. We had to leave because both of us were about to lose it. This was a perfect example of how our country proclaims patriotism but it is often a false and empty patriotism. Obviously, not everyone at the memorial was behaving in such an appalling manner, but the fact that we had to leave because it was too noisy to talk shows something indeed about the level of respect many had for the place. We claim Lincoln as one of the greatest presidents ever and a symbol of hope, courage and equality…and then in the subway station, we see a figure of the white Lincoln statue in an ad for Busch Gardens where he is wearing a scuba mask and suntan lotion on his nose. Are we going to revere him or mock him? Let’s make up our minds.
However, escaping from the Lincoln Memorial to the Vietnam Veterans memorial didn’t offer any more restoration of our faith in the American people’s reverence. As we walked along Maya Lin’s beautiful memorial wall reading the names of the thousands and thousand of soldiers that died in Vietnam, we listened to the people behind us jabber on about a friend’s wedding plans and even as one of them exclaimed “whoa, that’s a funny name,” in reference to a soldier’s name. It honestly made me a little sick to my stomach, seeing the complete lack of respect for this memorial that remembers people with friends, family and lives who gave all that up to fight a war for their country. We left feeling discouraged and angry. As we were walking home though, we ended up stopping to talk to a security guard and had an amazing hour-long conversation with him, just on the side of the road, about what it means to him to be an American, and his thoughts about America today. Another amazing, memorable chance encounter that will stay with me for a long time.
Our third and final day in D.C. was more on the relaxing side. We went to Alexandria for the town’s 260th birthday celebration, only to be rained out before the festivities really began. We enjoyed walking around the “old town” area though, to see how this town combines its identities of an old historic place with the needs of its trendy, upper-tax-bracket residents. After we returned to our bus, a few of us went out to explore D.C. nightlife. More on that later as well. All in all, I thought we had a great, busy stay in our nation’s capital and I look forward to returning there to see what else D.C. has to offer because I feel like we barely scratched the surface.
Washington D.C.- Day 1 and part of Day 2
As the ambassador for D.C., I had begun to wonder what I had gotten myself into- taking responsibility for what is advertised as the center of American government and history. On top of that, I wanted to try and get a taste for what the actual identity of D.C. itself was as well as balancing the national history aspect of the city.
Our first stop was a visit with Representative Jim Cooper, the congressman for the district that Belmont is in. I had expected, having made this appointment months ago, that we would have at least half an hour to speak with Cooper, but unfortunately he had literally only 3 minutes to give us after we introduced ourselves. Though the visit was short-lived, I’m glad we got a somewhat behind-the-scenes look at political life in D.C.
At lunch, Rashina, Chris, Elisabeth, Shirah and I had an incredible experience meeting someone new, someone that I will remember as one of the best memories from this trip. I will elaborate on this encounter at a later date.
In the afternoon, we visited the Library of Congress and walked around the Mall a bit. At the Library of Congress, I was confused by some of their exhibits. On the one hand, some of their exhibits seemed to represent a thorough telling of history, the good, the bad and the ugly (though a lot more of the former than the two latter). But then in the same exhibit about the founding of our country, there was a plaque that insisted that America was founded on the principle that all people were created equal, no matter what race. I’m not sure how they justify this blatant misrepresentation of truth, but I was surprised to see such a bold, untrue statement in there.
Something that we all agreed on about the general feel of D.C., especially the fact that all the museums are easily accessible, free and open to the public, is that it held the right role for our nation’s capital. It allows the public easy access to knowledge and education about our history and there is little to no infringement of businesses or fast food places around the Mall area.
Early on our second day in D.C., we had a scheduled tour of the Capitol. I was under the impression that we would be getting a private tour, but alas, we were herded like sheep through the crowded public tour- listening with headphones to our live guide standing in front of us. All in all, I found it to be a beautiful, impressive building that was not particularly visitor-friendly at all.
For lunch, we took the train up to the U Street Corridor, which is a traditionally African-American neighborhood known as one of the birthplaces of jazz, and ate at the famous Ben’s Chili Bowl. This is a place that served as neutral middle-ground after riots ensued following the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I thought it was delicious and worth the wait in line that was out the door when we got there.
After lunch, we met up with a reporter for the Washington Post who interviewed a few of us for the Travel section, which was really exciting. We then visited the Holocaust Museum (which unfortunately, had sold out of tickets to the permanent exhibit for the day by the time we got there) where we able to see some really interesting temporary exhibits. Most of the group then headed over to the Smithsonian Museum of American History.
I felt that this museum was extremely important to visit on a trip examining American identity, because the Smithsonians are held up as the standard for history museums. So a museum in our nation’s capital telling the history of our country- I couldn’t pass this up. Unfortunately I was only able to stay for a couple of hours, but I found everything I saw absolutely fascinating. One of my favorite exhibits, which I thought was very well done, was about the American presidency.
It talked about how the current president is the center of our common political culture and is often seen as a heroic figure, at least to some. The president serves as a nation’s moral compass and a reflection of the national mood. One interesting part of the display spoke about how products have used presidential images in advertising because putting a picture of a president on your product communicates progress, optimism and achievement. Something that I had never considered about the unique role of an American president compared to other democratic leaders is that because America is viewed as a nation of immigrants with ties to countries all around the world, maintaining good diplomatic ties is even more important for our country. Another part of the exhibit talked about how seemingly trivial events that the president takes part in, like parades, visiting school classrooms and lighting the White House Christmas tree all serve the purpose of connecting him (/her) to the American people.
I thought it was really interesting that the only presidents profiled in this exhibit were those who were recent, assassinated, died in office, or involved in scandal. Some of the names on the presidency timeline I barely even recognized, much less could I tell you what they did while in office. Sarah Vowell in her book Assassination Vacation talks about that in reference to McKinley and Garfield- even though they were assassinated, so they received an exhibit in this museum, people hardly know a thing about what they accomplished while they were in office and their deaths are often overlooked in light of the assassinations of more charismatic presidents, like Lincoln or Kennedy. The role of an American president is much more complex than we often realize, which is what this exhibit really pointed out. Even those presidents who might not have accomplished anything great or memorable in office ought to deserve some credit- at least a place in our history lessons- for being elected and holding office at all.
Our first stop was a visit with Representative Jim Cooper, the congressman for the district that Belmont is in. I had expected, having made this appointment months ago, that we would have at least half an hour to speak with Cooper, but unfortunately he had literally only 3 minutes to give us after we introduced ourselves. Though the visit was short-lived, I’m glad we got a somewhat behind-the-scenes look at political life in D.C.
At lunch, Rashina, Chris, Elisabeth, Shirah and I had an incredible experience meeting someone new, someone that I will remember as one of the best memories from this trip. I will elaborate on this encounter at a later date.
In the afternoon, we visited the Library of Congress and walked around the Mall a bit. At the Library of Congress, I was confused by some of their exhibits. On the one hand, some of their exhibits seemed to represent a thorough telling of history, the good, the bad and the ugly (though a lot more of the former than the two latter). But then in the same exhibit about the founding of our country, there was a plaque that insisted that America was founded on the principle that all people were created equal, no matter what race. I’m not sure how they justify this blatant misrepresentation of truth, but I was surprised to see such a bold, untrue statement in there.
Something that we all agreed on about the general feel of D.C., especially the fact that all the museums are easily accessible, free and open to the public, is that it held the right role for our nation’s capital. It allows the public easy access to knowledge and education about our history and there is little to no infringement of businesses or fast food places around the Mall area.
Early on our second day in D.C., we had a scheduled tour of the Capitol. I was under the impression that we would be getting a private tour, but alas, we were herded like sheep through the crowded public tour- listening with headphones to our live guide standing in front of us. All in all, I found it to be a beautiful, impressive building that was not particularly visitor-friendly at all.
For lunch, we took the train up to the U Street Corridor, which is a traditionally African-American neighborhood known as one of the birthplaces of jazz, and ate at the famous Ben’s Chili Bowl. This is a place that served as neutral middle-ground after riots ensued following the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I thought it was delicious and worth the wait in line that was out the door when we got there.
After lunch, we met up with a reporter for the Washington Post who interviewed a few of us for the Travel section, which was really exciting. We then visited the Holocaust Museum (which unfortunately, had sold out of tickets to the permanent exhibit for the day by the time we got there) where we able to see some really interesting temporary exhibits. Most of the group then headed over to the Smithsonian Museum of American History.
I felt that this museum was extremely important to visit on a trip examining American identity, because the Smithsonians are held up as the standard for history museums. So a museum in our nation’s capital telling the history of our country- I couldn’t pass this up. Unfortunately I was only able to stay for a couple of hours, but I found everything I saw absolutely fascinating. One of my favorite exhibits, which I thought was very well done, was about the American presidency.
It talked about how the current president is the center of our common political culture and is often seen as a heroic figure, at least to some. The president serves as a nation’s moral compass and a reflection of the national mood. One interesting part of the display spoke about how products have used presidential images in advertising because putting a picture of a president on your product communicates progress, optimism and achievement. Something that I had never considered about the unique role of an American president compared to other democratic leaders is that because America is viewed as a nation of immigrants with ties to countries all around the world, maintaining good diplomatic ties is even more important for our country. Another part of the exhibit talked about how seemingly trivial events that the president takes part in, like parades, visiting school classrooms and lighting the White House Christmas tree all serve the purpose of connecting him (/her) to the American people.
I thought it was really interesting that the only presidents profiled in this exhibit were those who were recent, assassinated, died in office, or involved in scandal. Some of the names on the presidency timeline I barely even recognized, much less could I tell you what they did while in office. Sarah Vowell in her book Assassination Vacation talks about that in reference to McKinley and Garfield- even though they were assassinated, so they received an exhibit in this museum, people hardly know a thing about what they accomplished while they were in office and their deaths are often overlooked in light of the assassinations of more charismatic presidents, like Lincoln or Kennedy. The role of an American president is much more complex than we often realize, which is what this exhibit really pointed out. Even those presidents who might not have accomplished anything great or memorable in office ought to deserve some credit- at least a place in our history lessons- for being elected and holding office at all.
Our Philadelphia Story
Our first stop was the Liberty Bell, where we met up with two different reporters doing stories on our trip. I had no idea how important of a symbol the Liberty Bell was, or how it used to be (and still is to some degree) considered a “site of pilgrimage.” In the Revolutionary War, the colonists even sunk the bell in a river to prevent the British from defiling this precious sign of freedom. Abolitionists in the 1830s adopted the bell as their symbol; it was used a symbol to encourage reunification after the Civil War; the women’s suffrage movement and the civil rights movement used it to symbolize their efforts fighting for equal rights and freedom for all.
As I was reading the exhibits about how the Liberty Bell has been adopted as a symbol for these different causes, I witnessed another example of how sometimes history’s important stories go unheard. I saw a group of young African-American girls that appeared to be in a camp group run over to where I was standing, between the women’s rights exhibit and the civil rights exhibit. They excitedly asked their counselor to take their picture with the large of photo of Martin Luther King, Jr. and ran off, never having given a second look to the women’s suffrage exhibit with the picture of Susan B. Anthony, even though as young African-American girls, both of those histories are important for them. It made me think of how certain parts of our history are given more credit- I know I learned about Dr. King and Rosa Parks probably every year of my education, but I think women’s suffrage was maybe one day’s lesson plan in 8th grade. I still don’t know that I’d recognize a picture of Susan B. Anthony or any of the other suffragists outside of a labeled museum exhibit.
Seeing the Liberty Bell made me think of what the word liberty means. Liberty is defined as “autonomy; immunity from arbitrary exercise of authority; political independence.” One of the phrases from the preamble to our Constitution is to “secure the blessings of liberty…”. That is one of the tasks adopted by “we the people” in writing the Constitution. What exactly does this mean? I would say that we have seen examples of people trying to preserve the blessings of liberty in several places: the exhibits about Central High School, the Navajo government offices when they spoke of trying to make their own rules for the education of their children, the Alamo where we heard about a few soldiers’ fight for independence, in Boston along the Freedom Trail, and in the answers of people across the country when we asked them what it means to be American and they responded that it means to be free to decide how our government is run and to have the right to live your life the way you choose as long as you are not causing harm to others. Then again, we heard lots of people expressing concern that the current administration is infringing on personal liberty and will continue to do so. I suppose depending on who you ask, you will get different definitions of the balance between governmental services and personal liberty. But judging by the people we spoke with at the museum displaying the bell, the Liberty Bell continues to stand as a symbol for those in the past who fought for America’s independence and a beacon of hope that our country will continue to be a nation that values that.
We had lunch at the Reading Market, which had a bunch of different ethnic food vendors and also several shops selling Amish wares. I had my first official Philly cheese steak and it was delicious. We walked around the city and saw Love Park and the beautiful old city hall, where we had a class discussion. Then we traveled to North Philadelphia, the Kensington neighborhood area, to meet with the leaders and participants of a Christian organization called Mission Year, which enables college-age people to live in impoverished communities, like North Philly, and do volunteer work within the community. It was really interesting to hear their perspectives on this other part of the city that most visitors rarely venture into. They welcomed us into their home office, had dinner with us and spent several hours talking with us about the time they had spent in Philadelphia. We all had a really nice time and returned late to the bus to head towards our next stop- the nation’s capital.
As I was reading the exhibits about how the Liberty Bell has been adopted as a symbol for these different causes, I witnessed another example of how sometimes history’s important stories go unheard. I saw a group of young African-American girls that appeared to be in a camp group run over to where I was standing, between the women’s rights exhibit and the civil rights exhibit. They excitedly asked their counselor to take their picture with the large of photo of Martin Luther King, Jr. and ran off, never having given a second look to the women’s suffrage exhibit with the picture of Susan B. Anthony, even though as young African-American girls, both of those histories are important for them. It made me think of how certain parts of our history are given more credit- I know I learned about Dr. King and Rosa Parks probably every year of my education, but I think women’s suffrage was maybe one day’s lesson plan in 8th grade. I still don’t know that I’d recognize a picture of Susan B. Anthony or any of the other suffragists outside of a labeled museum exhibit.
Seeing the Liberty Bell made me think of what the word liberty means. Liberty is defined as “autonomy; immunity from arbitrary exercise of authority; political independence.” One of the phrases from the preamble to our Constitution is to “secure the blessings of liberty…”. That is one of the tasks adopted by “we the people” in writing the Constitution. What exactly does this mean? I would say that we have seen examples of people trying to preserve the blessings of liberty in several places: the exhibits about Central High School, the Navajo government offices when they spoke of trying to make their own rules for the education of their children, the Alamo where we heard about a few soldiers’ fight for independence, in Boston along the Freedom Trail, and in the answers of people across the country when we asked them what it means to be American and they responded that it means to be free to decide how our government is run and to have the right to live your life the way you choose as long as you are not causing harm to others. Then again, we heard lots of people expressing concern that the current administration is infringing on personal liberty and will continue to do so. I suppose depending on who you ask, you will get different definitions of the balance between governmental services and personal liberty. But judging by the people we spoke with at the museum displaying the bell, the Liberty Bell continues to stand as a symbol for those in the past who fought for America’s independence and a beacon of hope that our country will continue to be a nation that values that.
We had lunch at the Reading Market, which had a bunch of different ethnic food vendors and also several shops selling Amish wares. I had my first official Philly cheese steak and it was delicious. We walked around the city and saw Love Park and the beautiful old city hall, where we had a class discussion. Then we traveled to North Philadelphia, the Kensington neighborhood area, to meet with the leaders and participants of a Christian organization called Mission Year, which enables college-age people to live in impoverished communities, like North Philly, and do volunteer work within the community. It was really interesting to hear their perspectives on this other part of the city that most visitors rarely venture into. They welcomed us into their home office, had dinner with us and spent several hours talking with us about the time they had spent in Philadelphia. We all had a really nice time and returned late to the bus to head towards our next stop- the nation’s capital.
New York, New York
“I want to wake up in a city that doesn’t sleep…”- which is exactly what we did, or rather, we woke up in New Jersey, a bus ride away from the city that never sleeps. Our three days were action-packed, so I’ll have to pick out just a couple of highlights.
Day 1
Our first stop in New York was the quintessential American tourist destination- the Statue of Liberty. Then we took the ferry from the island where the statue is to Ellis Island. This was one of my very favorite activities we took part in. Plenty of historical tourist destinations try to recreate some version of the idea that you can “feel” the history of the place, and most times I think it’s just wishful thinking, but with Ellis Island, it was different. I don’t know about the rest of our group, but I did have this eerie feeling the entire time we were there, thinking about how this place determined the destiny of so many of today’s American citizens, including my own. I had ancestors come through Ellis Island from Germany in the late 1700s- had they not been allowed into America, I would not be here. My favorite part of this museum was a photo exhibit from the time that Ellis Island stood empty from 1954 to sometime in the late 1980s when it began to be restored as a museum. The photos that some photographers who simply came exploring this empty building on their own during the 30 year vacancy are so eerie in a way I can’t quite explain. The idea that this building witnessed over 12 million immigrants coming through, some of them being welcomed into the country and some of them being turned away for unknowingly possessing some “undesirable” characteristic as determined by our government, and then it was simply abandoned, left to rot- the pictures of relics left behind, the little signs in a desolate building that once it was a bustling center of hopes and dreams…I wish I could have been one of the people to come before it was restored and see that for myself.
Day 1
Our first stop in New York was the quintessential American tourist destination- the Statue of Liberty. Then we took the ferry from the island where the statue is to Ellis Island. This was one of my very favorite activities we took part in. Plenty of historical tourist destinations try to recreate some version of the idea that you can “feel” the history of the place, and most times I think it’s just wishful thinking, but with Ellis Island, it was different. I don’t know about the rest of our group, but I did have this eerie feeling the entire time we were there, thinking about how this place determined the destiny of so many of today’s American citizens, including my own. I had ancestors come through Ellis Island from Germany in the late 1700s- had they not been allowed into America, I would not be here. My favorite part of this museum was a photo exhibit from the time that Ellis Island stood empty from 1954 to sometime in the late 1980s when it began to be restored as a museum. The photos that some photographers who simply came exploring this empty building on their own during the 30 year vacancy are so eerie in a way I can’t quite explain. The idea that this building witnessed over 12 million immigrants coming through, some of them being welcomed into the country and some of them being turned away for unknowingly possessing some “undesirable” characteristic as determined by our government, and then it was simply abandoned, left to rot- the pictures of relics left behind, the little signs in a desolate building that once it was a bustling center of hopes and dreams…I wish I could have been one of the people to come before it was restored and see that for myself.
We got on the ferry to go back to the city and split into groups. My group went to hang out in Central Park, which was swarming with people enjoying the beautiful weather. We spent a couple of hours here, but my favorite part was when we stumbled across a skating dance party. There were probably 75-100 people of all different ages, races, shapes and sizes all roller-skating and dancing together to music blasting out of speakers someone had set up. This struck me as one of the perks of living in a big city- when would you ever see something like this in the suburbs or small towns? We ate dinner at a Jewish deli and headed back towards our bus, taking a quick detour to Times Square.
In Times Square, we stopped to talk to a few interesting characters, including some young teen girls that were holding signs saying they were giving out free hugs and a young Russian girl dressed as the statue of liberty. However, my favorite conversation of the night was with a Colombian man probably in his early ‘30s who I am pretty sure was gay. He had asked us to take a picture of his friend and him in front of the classic Times Square background, and then laughingly asked someone else to take a picture with all of him and us. He was so excited to be in New York, and we started to ask him what it meant to be an American. He told us that he was going to be an official citizen very soon, he had been taking classes to pass the citizenship test and he couldn’t wait to be able to call himself an American. He talked about how in Colombia he was not accepted for who he was (which I am guessing means that his lifestyle as a homosexual wasn’t accepted, but I don’t know for sure) but then he came to America and there are so many different kinds of people here, especially in cities and that he felt like in America he could be whoever he wanted to be. He came right out and said that he already felt like an American and he was prouder than we were, having lived here all of our lives, because he knew how hard life could be somewhere else and here he felt accepted for the first time. All of us agreed after talking to this excited patriotic almost-citizen that it made us feel proud of our country, that no matter what issues people might have in specific regions of the county with discrimination, it seemed that as a whole America is viewed as a place where you can live the life you want.
Day 2
Our second volunteer project for our trip was working in a furniture store for the recently homeless in Brooklyn. We all had fun as we sat together on the warehouse floor trying to assemble various types of furniture, and afterwards we ate lunch at a great little New York style pizza joint down the road. We explored on our own for a while in the afternoon, and a few of us ended up going to a comedy club at night, which was really fun.
Day 3
I started and ended our day with feeling starkly out of place. Our day began with a group lunch at this upscale trendy sushi restaurant in Greenwich Village. At first, I thought the fact that there was no sign for this restaurant (we only found it because we looked in the window of this basement and noticed it was a restaurant) was a sign that it would be really authentic, a place just for locals. Now I think the lack of advertising may have been more a mark of exclusivity. The waitress was smug when I asked about something on the menu I didn’t recognize and I unknowingly paid $10 for a mere 4 pieces of sushi. Oh well. After our pricey lunch, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which absolutely blew me away. I have to go back to New York and spend all day there sometime. Rashina, Elisabeth and I got coffee and sat in this little shaded church courtyard for quite awhile, enjoying a respite from the busy city atmosphere. We had dinner in a little diner that was reminiscent of the diner in Seinfeld, along with an adorably grumpy old waiter. Then Chris met up with us and we all took the subway forever away to the Bronx, where we went to a community salsa concert in the local park. It was extremely difficult to find our way there- guess why? The Bronx isn’t on the city maps that are provided in the subway. What does this say to visitors about one of the poorest areas in the city? Anyway, we arrived at the salsa show to find out, not surprisingly, that we stuck out. On our way back to the subway, we heard some interesting commentary about how we stuck out from some of the locals. We took the train from the Bronx to Grand Central Station, and that ride was interesting to say the least. As we went from stop to stop, you could see the social demographics changing in a number of ways. As we were leaving the Bronx, a young man who may have been homeless came through our train asking for money and food, saying that he was hungry and just wanted a little help. A few people offered up a couple of dollars and he thanked them and proceeded on through other parts of the train. By the time he came back through, we were further into the heart of the city and there were new people on our car. We watched as he came through and repeated his plea. The lady with her Saks 5th Avenue bag uncomfortably averted her eyes. Another lady listened to his request for food, proceeds to pull out a granola bar from her purse…. and eat it herself, in front of him.
We hung out in Grand Central Station for a bit, observing how even here we looked out of place among the rush of busy young professionals in their suits, even though it was about 8 at night. We returned to the bus with a new perspective on the many faces of New York City.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Boston- Day 2 and 3
Day 2
We continued on the Freedom Trail for a bit longer today. We stopped for lunch in Little Italy, where Heather and I stumbled upon this great little authentic Italian place (authentic Italian in Little Italy…go figure…. we were still excited though) where we enjoyed some good conversation with other patrons and our waiter and delicous food, though the portion size was a bit more than I could handle.
We took the subway to Harvard, where we explored the campus for a little while. While it was fairly nice, I have to admit I was a little unimpressed by this legendary Ivy league, though I did get irrationally excited when we saw the gigantic library. The whole area around Harvard was interesting to explore. Boston is a city that definitely embraces its academic identity.
Day 3
Our third day in Boston was the 4th of July. We split up- half of the group went to reserve a spot for viewing the fireworks by Boston Harbor and half of the group went to hear the Declaration of Independence read from the balcony from which it was read over 200 years for the first time it was read aloud in Boston to the public. There was a huge crowd there and a military band marched through and played traditional patriotic songs. While standing there, we spoke for quite a while with a couple; the man was from Italy and the woman was from Texas. They had some really unique insights about what it meant to be an American in this day and age. The man spoke to us about how Americans seem to all have this idea that they have much more freedom than citizens of other countries, though not many Americans can really expound on this idea. We have found this to be true in asking people around the country about what it means to be an American – there seems to be the instinctive response to say that we have “more freedoms” than any other nation but other than rattling off a couple of 1st amendment rights, few people can really back this statement up.
Hearing the Declaration read from this balcony where so many years ago, people heard this revolutionary document read for the first time, I couldn’t help but get chills. The cliché “patriotic” feeling doesn’t come around that often for me, but this experience provided it as I really listened to the list of offenses committed by the British monarchy against the first citizens of the American colonies. Of course, the document provides a few reality checks too- referring to the natives of this land called America as "savages" and reminding myself of the complications behind the stated but not upheld "all men are created equal". But it also gave me a chance to appreciate how radical this document was – to tell one of the most powerful men in the world, the King of England, that they would no longer stand being treated as citizens without basic rights and demanded the ability to govern themselves, despite being a very new nation.
From there, a couple of us followed the parade after the reading of the Declaration to Faneuil Hall where we heard the mayor of Boston speak, as well as a feel-good “achieved the American dream” speech from a graduating high school student who had come to America from poverty in Kenya and now plans, in his words, to become a doctor so he can work to cure AIDS, cancer and help children in poverty. High aspirations, huh? We then went to the spot near the harbor where the rest of the group had staked out a prime spot for watching the fireworks.
We continued on the Freedom Trail for a bit longer today. We stopped for lunch in Little Italy, where Heather and I stumbled upon this great little authentic Italian place (authentic Italian in Little Italy…go figure…. we were still excited though) where we enjoyed some good conversation with other patrons and our waiter and delicous food, though the portion size was a bit more than I could handle.
We took the subway to Harvard, where we explored the campus for a little while. While it was fairly nice, I have to admit I was a little unimpressed by this legendary Ivy league, though I did get irrationally excited when we saw the gigantic library. The whole area around Harvard was interesting to explore. Boston is a city that definitely embraces its academic identity.
Day 3
Our third day in Boston was the 4th of July. We split up- half of the group went to reserve a spot for viewing the fireworks by Boston Harbor and half of the group went to hear the Declaration of Independence read from the balcony from which it was read over 200 years for the first time it was read aloud in Boston to the public. There was a huge crowd there and a military band marched through and played traditional patriotic songs. While standing there, we spoke for quite a while with a couple; the man was from Italy and the woman was from Texas. They had some really unique insights about what it meant to be an American in this day and age. The man spoke to us about how Americans seem to all have this idea that they have much more freedom than citizens of other countries, though not many Americans can really expound on this idea. We have found this to be true in asking people around the country about what it means to be an American – there seems to be the instinctive response to say that we have “more freedoms” than any other nation but other than rattling off a couple of 1st amendment rights, few people can really back this statement up.
Hearing the Declaration read from this balcony where so many years ago, people heard this revolutionary document read for the first time, I couldn’t help but get chills. The cliché “patriotic” feeling doesn’t come around that often for me, but this experience provided it as I really listened to the list of offenses committed by the British monarchy against the first citizens of the American colonies. Of course, the document provides a few reality checks too- referring to the natives of this land called America as "savages" and reminding myself of the complications behind the stated but not upheld "all men are created equal". But it also gave me a chance to appreciate how radical this document was – to tell one of the most powerful men in the world, the King of England, that they would no longer stand being treated as citizens without basic rights and demanded the ability to govern themselves, despite being a very new nation.
From there, a couple of us followed the parade after the reading of the Declaration to Faneuil Hall where we heard the mayor of Boston speak, as well as a feel-good “achieved the American dream” speech from a graduating high school student who had come to America from poverty in Kenya and now plans, in his words, to become a doctor so he can work to cure AIDS, cancer and help children in poverty. High aspirations, huh? We then went to the spot near the harbor where the rest of the group had staked out a prime spot for watching the fireworks.
We spent the whole afternoon hanging out with each other and talking to the kind people around us, enjoying the beautiful weather, the good music and each other's company. The fireworks show was actually worth the wait, I thought. The trek back to the bus in the midst of a crowd of thousands and thousands wasn’t quite as enjoyable and we were all more grateful than usual to return to our bus, where we began our drive on to the Big Apple.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Boston- Day 1
(Day 25 of the trip)
Day 1
Our adventures in Boston were complicated by the complexities of trying to maneuver public transportation from where we were staying, which was about half an hour away from downtown Boston. A few of us had lunch at an excellent little Italian place near where our bus was parked, which we heard about from going next door to the mechanic’s shop and asking the guys there where they would recommend for lunch. That’s been one of my favorite parts of the trip- learning to become comfortable to approach people to ask things like where we should eat or how to get somewhere. I feel like we started off our trip relying mostly on ourselves and our plans- we’d eat at places that we’d read online were good restaurants and if we were lost, we’d consult the GPS. At this point in our journey, we’ve figured out that it often yields more fun and rewarding experiences to talk to the people in these cities, that most of them are more than willing to help you out if you need it. Definitely one of the lessons I am bringing back to Nashville with me. 
Once we made it to the city, we began our walk on the Freedom Trail, which takes you through the heart of the city to historically significant stops like the old city hall, old churches and plenty of graveyards. I enjoyed this quite a bit- you really can feel the history behind Boston and I thought the Freedom Trail did a good job of explaining that history behind each stop.
In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote about citizens’ duty to dissent. One clear example we saw of this concept was in Boston, at the Institute of Contemporary Art. The main exhibit was an extensive collection of the work of Shepard Fairey, a contemporary artist and graphic designer whose work you may recognize from the 2008 presidential election when his “HOPE” poster featuring Obama gained widespread fame. I found his work to be extremely impressive and thought provoking. His work was mostly of a political nature, containing lots of messages against war and capitalist greed and challenged viewers to really consider what they were seeing in his art by mimicking the style of older propaganda. According to the information posted about Fairey in the museum, he believes that public space is the largest democratic media and therefore many of pieces have been plastered across many different cities in the forms of poster and bumper stickers.
Some of the more memorable phrases from his various artworks:
- A poster that looked like a dollar bill proclaimed in the tiny print around the border of the dollar “capitalism without discretion is an ugly religion” and “this ransom note is worth exactly what you are willing to give in order to get it”
- A poster that read “freedom of the press is guaranteed for those who own one”
- A work called “Uncle Scam” which was a play on the traditional “I Want You” recruitment posters that read “Do As He Says, Not As He Does” which speaks to the disconnect between what America proclaims are its ideals and what the reality of America is
The art exhibit was one of the highlights of the trip for me because it challenged me and exceeded my expectations- we’ve been to a number of museums along the way and while I always enjoy seeing them, I don’t always feel as though I’ll remember much about the exhibits later. I will definitely remember Shepard Fairey’s work. We ended our day with a surprise party on the bus for Andi’s birthday, which was probably one of the most fun nights we have had as a group. All in all, it was a great first day in Boston.
Day 1
Our adventures in Boston were complicated by the complexities of trying to maneuver public transportation from where we were staying, which was about half an hour away from downtown Boston. A few of us had lunch at an excellent little Italian place near where our bus was parked, which we heard about from going next door to the mechanic’s shop and asking the guys there where they would recommend for lunch. That’s been one of my favorite parts of the trip- learning to become comfortable to approach people to ask things like where we should eat or how to get somewhere. I feel like we started off our trip relying mostly on ourselves and our plans- we’d eat at places that we’d read online were good restaurants and if we were lost, we’d consult the GPS. At this point in our journey, we’ve figured out that it often yields more fun and rewarding experiences to talk to the people in these cities, that most of them are more than willing to help you out if you need it. Definitely one of the lessons I am bringing back to Nashville with me.
Once we made it to the city, we began our walk on the Freedom Trail, which takes you through the heart of the city to historically significant stops like the old city hall, old churches and plenty of graveyards. I enjoyed this quite a bit- you really can feel the history behind Boston and I thought the Freedom Trail did a good job of explaining that history behind each stop.
In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote about citizens’ duty to dissent. One clear example we saw of this concept was in Boston, at the Institute of Contemporary Art. The main exhibit was an extensive collection of the work of Shepard Fairey, a contemporary artist and graphic designer whose work you may recognize from the 2008 presidential election when his “HOPE” poster featuring Obama gained widespread fame. I found his work to be extremely impressive and thought provoking. His work was mostly of a political nature, containing lots of messages against war and capitalist greed and challenged viewers to really consider what they were seeing in his art by mimicking the style of older propaganda. According to the information posted about Fairey in the museum, he believes that public space is the largest democratic media and therefore many of pieces have been plastered across many different cities in the forms of poster and bumper stickers.
Some of the more memorable phrases from his various artworks:
- A poster that looked like a dollar bill proclaimed in the tiny print around the border of the dollar “capitalism without discretion is an ugly religion” and “this ransom note is worth exactly what you are willing to give in order to get it”
- A poster that read “freedom of the press is guaranteed for those who own one”
- A work called “Uncle Scam” which was a play on the traditional “I Want You” recruitment posters that read “Do As He Says, Not As He Does” which speaks to the disconnect between what America proclaims are its ideals and what the reality of America is
The art exhibit was one of the highlights of the trip for me because it challenged me and exceeded my expectations- we’ve been to a number of museums along the way and while I always enjoy seeing them, I don’t always feel as though I’ll remember much about the exhibits later. I will definitely remember Shepard Fairey’s work. We ended our day with a surprise party on the bus for Andi’s birthday, which was probably one of the most fun nights we have had as a group. All in all, it was a great first day in Boston.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Look Out, Cleveland
Day 23
The only preconceived notions I had about Cleveland were pretty much formed by a Youtube video the group had become fond of, called the “Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video”, which pokes fun at the city’s lack of any outstanding characteristics. In fact, when we talked to the one person from Cleveland we spent a good deal of time with on this day (a Clevelandian? Clevelandite?), our guide at the House of Blues, she mentioned that Cleveland is always kind of the butt of jokes around the country. What a strange claim to fame for a town…
The first thing on our schedule was a tour of the famous music venue and restaurant House of Blues. We got a chance to see some of the venue’s extensive folk art collection, which was really interesting. I enjoyed getting to speak with our guide at the House of Blues, especially about her feelings about being an American and what it means to her, because I felt like she expressed the way I also feel about being an American. She spoke about how there are lots of things about our country that she is not crazy about and she doesn’t usually feeling patriotic in the traditional sense but that she does love America because it is her home and this is what she knows, its where she was raised, so of course she is going to love it. America is my home, the only one I’ve ever known, and I think had I been raised by a loving family in any country in the world, I would feel some sort of love for and loyalty to it. We have seen a diverse assortment of regions, people and identities along the way on this trip and I have been considering how much I love most of them- so there are so many things about the reality, not just the ideal, of America that I really do appreciate. And I love the idea of America. But as far as feeling “proud to be an American” or things of that nature…I’m not sure I really identify with those feelings, or even fully understand what it means. Because for the most part, I think I would find things to love and be proud of in any country that I lived in.
Our next stop in Cleveland was the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame. As an avid music fan, I found everything in this museum absolutely fascinating and could have stayed there for hours. One theme that this museum certainly calls to mind is the relationship that Americans have with pop culture and especially celebrities. For those who we have deemed beautiful or talented or strange enough to capture our national attention, there is no end to how far some will go to venerate them. From a whole section of the museum dedicated to costumes and props from David Bowie concerts to the exhibit of childhood scribblings of Jim Morrison, it is obvious the obscure relics of the famous fascinate people.
Something I’ve noticed on our travels is how knowledge of celebrities (and the media that makes it possible) is a uniting factor in America. We have been able to witness an excellent example of this by being on the road at the time of Michael Jackson’s death. We were in the van in Minneapolis when we first heard the news on the radio. By the time we went to dinner at the international market, there was a small crowd gathered around one of the TVs in the eating area, all discussing the star’s death. We continued to hear about Michael Jackson at almost every other stop along the road: they incorporated tasteless jokes about it at a comedy show in NY, our bus driver shared the latest news about the story, and in every city we saw all sorts of memorabilia being sold and worn. Consumption of popular culture and fascination with celebrity has been demonstrated as a unifying factor all along our journey, from Graceland to the Clinton Presidential Library to Mount Rushmore to Michael Jackson.
We ended our day with a show at the venue where we had toured earlier in the day, and saw The Roots at the House of Blues. It was an incredible show and served as a much-needed time to relax and have fun together. We came home exhausted and ready to see the famous Niagra Falls in Buffalo the next day.
The only preconceived notions I had about Cleveland were pretty much formed by a Youtube video the group had become fond of, called the “Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video”, which pokes fun at the city’s lack of any outstanding characteristics. In fact, when we talked to the one person from Cleveland we spent a good deal of time with on this day (a Clevelandian? Clevelandite?), our guide at the House of Blues, she mentioned that Cleveland is always kind of the butt of jokes around the country. What a strange claim to fame for a town…
The first thing on our schedule was a tour of the famous music venue and restaurant House of Blues. We got a chance to see some of the venue’s extensive folk art collection, which was really interesting. I enjoyed getting to speak with our guide at the House of Blues, especially about her feelings about being an American and what it means to her, because I felt like she expressed the way I also feel about being an American. She spoke about how there are lots of things about our country that she is not crazy about and she doesn’t usually feeling patriotic in the traditional sense but that she does love America because it is her home and this is what she knows, its where she was raised, so of course she is going to love it. America is my home, the only one I’ve ever known, and I think had I been raised by a loving family in any country in the world, I would feel some sort of love for and loyalty to it. We have seen a diverse assortment of regions, people and identities along the way on this trip and I have been considering how much I love most of them- so there are so many things about the reality, not just the ideal, of America that I really do appreciate. And I love the idea of America. But as far as feeling “proud to be an American” or things of that nature…I’m not sure I really identify with those feelings, or even fully understand what it means. Because for the most part, I think I would find things to love and be proud of in any country that I lived in.
Our next stop in Cleveland was the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame. As an avid music fan, I found everything in this museum absolutely fascinating and could have stayed there for hours. One theme that this museum certainly calls to mind is the relationship that Americans have with pop culture and especially celebrities. For those who we have deemed beautiful or talented or strange enough to capture our national attention, there is no end to how far some will go to venerate them. From a whole section of the museum dedicated to costumes and props from David Bowie concerts to the exhibit of childhood scribblings of Jim Morrison, it is obvious the obscure relics of the famous fascinate people.
Something I’ve noticed on our travels is how knowledge of celebrities (and the media that makes it possible) is a uniting factor in America. We have been able to witness an excellent example of this by being on the road at the time of Michael Jackson’s death. We were in the van in Minneapolis when we first heard the news on the radio. By the time we went to dinner at the international market, there was a small crowd gathered around one of the TVs in the eating area, all discussing the star’s death. We continued to hear about Michael Jackson at almost every other stop along the road: they incorporated tasteless jokes about it at a comedy show in NY, our bus driver shared the latest news about the story, and in every city we saw all sorts of memorabilia being sold and worn. Consumption of popular culture and fascination with celebrity has been demonstrated as a unifying factor all along our journey, from Graceland to the Clinton Presidential Library to Mount Rushmore to Michael Jackson.
We ended our day with a show at the venue where we had toured earlier in the day, and saw The Roots at the House of Blues. It was an incredible show and served as a much-needed time to relax and have fun together. We came home exhausted and ready to see the famous Niagra Falls in Buffalo the next day.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Detroit, Lift Up Your Weary Head
Sufjan Stevens sings about Detroit (in his song of the same name as the blog title) – “Once a great place…Now a prison. From the trembling walls, it’s a great idea.”
This was an alarmingly accurate depiction of the city we found. We saw building after building after building with every single window broken out, just sitting there and decaying. We had all been cracking jokes before visiting this city about hoping that it hadn’t closed down before we got there, partly because we wanted to tease Professor Spring who had grown up in the area and was excited to show us around a city he was so familiar with. However, none of us were laughing as the utter desolation of a once-booming industrial city really sank in. These abandoned buildings were more than eyesores- they represented the uprooting of peoples’ lives and the death of a once-vibrant industry. This city was the very heart of American car culture- a truly great idea that brought great wealth to the nation and the city. Now certain parts are nearing ghost-town status.
Our first stop in Detroit was the Henry Ford Museum. Never having even heard of this museum, I was expecting an auto museum. I was more than pleasantly surprised to find one of the most impressive history museums I’ve ever encountered, which we did not have nearly enough time to fully explore and was a bright and shiny contrast to the rest of the city we saw. Our guide, Greg, was incredibly helpful and informative, showing our group around the museum and Greenfield Village, which is a piece of land they have set up to represent different time periods of American history. For example, the village features a working farm as it would have been like in the 1800s, the reconstructed courthouse where Lincoln practiced law, churches from the 1920s, old town halls, an original slave cabin from the South and many other structures. It was really interesting, especially seeing a typical home of a Southern African-American family during the Depression compared to the slave cabin of 50 years earlier- they were practically the same size.
As we were leaving the museum, we received a nice surprise from Prof. Spring’s family- his uncle brought us care packages with products made in Michigan put together by Ken’s aunt. Yet another example of the warm hospitality we have encountered all along this trip, and this trend continued throughout our day- every place we went, we encountered friends, family and strangers who were kind and helpful, reaffirming that hope is not lost for cities that are struggling financially- they are still filled with good people.
We had an overwhelming and delicious meal at the Polish Village Café in Detroit, courtesy of Professor Spring’s best friend’s family. This lunch was definitely some of the best food we found on the trip- it couldn’t have been anymore authentic and still be on American soil. The restaurant was dark and cozy, and as another customer said while waiting in the bathroom line with me, still has a very “old world” feel to it- you can peek in the kitchen and see mounds and mounds of homemade fresh pierogis.
After eating far too much, we hopped in the van and rushed off to see the Heidelberg Project. This was definitely one of the coolest experiences of the trip, in my opinion. Heidelberg Street is in a part of Detroit that, like many parts of the city, has numerous houses that have simply been abandoned, often with some of the previous owner’s belongings left behind. However a group of artists have reclaimed some of the houses and yards and decorated them with items that have been left behind. Many of the art installations make provocative political statements, using only items found in these houses or around the community. A couple of the most powerful pieces included a house covered in forgotten stuffed animals, which really spoke to the tragedy of the abandoned lives that once thrived in this city, and a shrine to alcohol, built mostly out of pieces of broken beer and liquor bottles, speaking about our cultural worship of this drug that has destroyed so many lives, especially for people living in poverty.
Next on our agenda was a meeting with the mayor and some town council members of the town of Rossford, the town where Professor Spring grew up. We visited Rossford because we had in our itinerary big cities and national parks, but no real glimpse of small town America, which is often what we idealize as being the traditional American life. Rossford is a town with a population of 6,400 and only became an official city when its population reached 5,000 in 1971. Its economy was completely based on the auto industry because of the local glass factory, which employed most of the adults in Rossford and is still the largest employer. Most of the families there are descended from Polish, Ukrainian, Czechoslovakian and German immigrants who came in the early 1900s to work in auto plants. The economic downturn has brought a 12% decrease in employment for the town of Rossford, and it will likely continue to decline unless they can adapt their local economy to account for the failing auto industry and technology compensating for paid workers in plants.
I really enjoyed getting to hear the mayor’s and council members’ perspectives on their town. They all stressed the importance of community and tight family units as the lifeblood of Rossford. It was especially interesting to hear Leonard Michaels, one of the council members and a professor at Owens College in Toledo. He was from Russia and he says that in Russia, it would have been quite unusual for an ethnic minority to be elected to a public office, but for him as a Russian in an American town full of other ethnicities, it had been no problem and that that was one of the great things about America. All in all, we heard a lovely account of life in small town America as told by people that wouldn’t choose to live anywhere else. Considering the way the economy is changing though, I sincerely hope towns like Rossford can continue to preserve the quality of life they have enjoyed thus far as a result of their hard work and community dedication.
Our day ended with a dinner at a Lebanese restaurant in Toledo with Mark Folk, director of the Greater Toledo Arts Commission and a past schoolmate of Professor Spring’s. He spoke with our group about using the arts to revitalize a city’s economy and at the same time develop the talents of younger generations to gear them towards a creative economy rather than the fading industrial economies of the past. It was a really interesting perspective to hear.
His answer to our ever-present question of what it means to be an American was similar to others’ responses, but it got me thinking in a way that the previous responses hadn’t. He said that America was a land of opportunity and that for the most part, what Americans had in common was the chance to “make it;” even for those who never achieve much economic success, compared to most other countries, our citizens were fairly well-off in terms of having their survival needs met. So, is economic success all that truly unites us as Americans? We have certainly heard this “land of opportunity” story plenty of times; it is a solid part of the American identity that we proclaim and sell to people all over the world. But does it really just boil down to the fact that what we have in common is relative wealth compared to the rest of the world? So what unites those of other nationalities? What about other nationalities in America; for example, is there a unifying factor amongst Polish-Americans, Chinese-Americans, Irish-Americans, etc.? Something that I have been thinking about on this trip a lot is the idea of a constant struggle in our country between strong family ties and individualism. Thinking about these Americans that also have been raised with another ethnic identity, I feel that often you hear that their specific culture is more focused on family than “mainstream American culture.”
Many people bring up this issue of family versus individualism when we ask them about what it means to be an American and what the American identity is, and we have received a diverse sample of similar and contradicting answers. I spoke in Minneapolis to a couple visiting America from Colombia and they both had pleasant things to say about America, except for the fact that family was much lower down on the priority list for Americans compared to Colombian culture, where family means everything. They used this idea to explain why they would never want to live in America. Then we visit Rossford, where we hear that family means everything in a small town and they would never want to live in a big city because it is harder to raise a family there. I think of our visit with Matt Burchett and his wife Holly in San Antonio, talking of how family is such a big part of Texan culture and they moved back to Texas from Nashville in order to be closer to their families. I think of the priest we spoke to in Chicago, who said that he wanted to raise his family in Chicago rather than New York City because Chicago had more of a neighborhood, family-friendly feel. Then we have gotten so many responses to our question of what it means to be American where people answered that in America, you have the freedom to be who you want to be and do pretty much whatever you want, within the confines of the law. These answers speak to an individualistic spirit of America, where familial obligation does indeed take a backseat to “finding out who you are.” I think America does try to proclaim both of these identities and mixed messages, in that you should be your own person but you are also expected to embrace familial obligations if you are going to be a “good American.”
This was an alarmingly accurate depiction of the city we found. We saw building after building after building with every single window broken out, just sitting there and decaying. We had all been cracking jokes before visiting this city about hoping that it hadn’t closed down before we got there, partly because we wanted to tease Professor Spring who had grown up in the area and was excited to show us around a city he was so familiar with. However, none of us were laughing as the utter desolation of a once-booming industrial city really sank in. These abandoned buildings were more than eyesores- they represented the uprooting of peoples’ lives and the death of a once-vibrant industry. This city was the very heart of American car culture- a truly great idea that brought great wealth to the nation and the city. Now certain parts are nearing ghost-town status.
Our first stop in Detroit was the Henry Ford Museum. Never having even heard of this museum, I was expecting an auto museum. I was more than pleasantly surprised to find one of the most impressive history museums I’ve ever encountered, which we did not have nearly enough time to fully explore and was a bright and shiny contrast to the rest of the city we saw. Our guide, Greg, was incredibly helpful and informative, showing our group around the museum and Greenfield Village, which is a piece of land they have set up to represent different time periods of American history. For example, the village features a working farm as it would have been like in the 1800s, the reconstructed courthouse where Lincoln practiced law, churches from the 1920s, old town halls, an original slave cabin from the South and many other structures. It was really interesting, especially seeing a typical home of a Southern African-American family during the Depression compared to the slave cabin of 50 years earlier- they were practically the same size.
As we were leaving the museum, we received a nice surprise from Prof. Spring’s family- his uncle brought us care packages with products made in Michigan put together by Ken’s aunt. Yet another example of the warm hospitality we have encountered all along this trip, and this trend continued throughout our day- every place we went, we encountered friends, family and strangers who were kind and helpful, reaffirming that hope is not lost for cities that are struggling financially- they are still filled with good people.
We had an overwhelming and delicious meal at the Polish Village Café in Detroit, courtesy of Professor Spring’s best friend’s family. This lunch was definitely some of the best food we found on the trip- it couldn’t have been anymore authentic and still be on American soil. The restaurant was dark and cozy, and as another customer said while waiting in the bathroom line with me, still has a very “old world” feel to it- you can peek in the kitchen and see mounds and mounds of homemade fresh pierogis.
After eating far too much, we hopped in the van and rushed off to see the Heidelberg Project. This was definitely one of the coolest experiences of the trip, in my opinion. Heidelberg Street is in a part of Detroit that, like many parts of the city, has numerous houses that have simply been abandoned, often with some of the previous owner’s belongings left behind. However a group of artists have reclaimed some of the houses and yards and decorated them with items that have been left behind. Many of the art installations make provocative political statements, using only items found in these houses or around the community. A couple of the most powerful pieces included a house covered in forgotten stuffed animals, which really spoke to the tragedy of the abandoned lives that once thrived in this city, and a shrine to alcohol, built mostly out of pieces of broken beer and liquor bottles, speaking about our cultural worship of this drug that has destroyed so many lives, especially for people living in poverty.
Next on our agenda was a meeting with the mayor and some town council members of the town of Rossford, the town where Professor Spring grew up. We visited Rossford because we had in our itinerary big cities and national parks, but no real glimpse of small town America, which is often what we idealize as being the traditional American life. Rossford is a town with a population of 6,400 and only became an official city when its population reached 5,000 in 1971. Its economy was completely based on the auto industry because of the local glass factory, which employed most of the adults in Rossford and is still the largest employer. Most of the families there are descended from Polish, Ukrainian, Czechoslovakian and German immigrants who came in the early 1900s to work in auto plants. The economic downturn has brought a 12% decrease in employment for the town of Rossford, and it will likely continue to decline unless they can adapt their local economy to account for the failing auto industry and technology compensating for paid workers in plants.
I really enjoyed getting to hear the mayor’s and council members’ perspectives on their town. They all stressed the importance of community and tight family units as the lifeblood of Rossford. It was especially interesting to hear Leonard Michaels, one of the council members and a professor at Owens College in Toledo. He was from Russia and he says that in Russia, it would have been quite unusual for an ethnic minority to be elected to a public office, but for him as a Russian in an American town full of other ethnicities, it had been no problem and that that was one of the great things about America. All in all, we heard a lovely account of life in small town America as told by people that wouldn’t choose to live anywhere else. Considering the way the economy is changing though, I sincerely hope towns like Rossford can continue to preserve the quality of life they have enjoyed thus far as a result of their hard work and community dedication.
Our day ended with a dinner at a Lebanese restaurant in Toledo with Mark Folk, director of the Greater Toledo Arts Commission and a past schoolmate of Professor Spring’s. He spoke with our group about using the arts to revitalize a city’s economy and at the same time develop the talents of younger generations to gear them towards a creative economy rather than the fading industrial economies of the past. It was a really interesting perspective to hear.
His answer to our ever-present question of what it means to be an American was similar to others’ responses, but it got me thinking in a way that the previous responses hadn’t. He said that America was a land of opportunity and that for the most part, what Americans had in common was the chance to “make it;” even for those who never achieve much economic success, compared to most other countries, our citizens were fairly well-off in terms of having their survival needs met. So, is economic success all that truly unites us as Americans? We have certainly heard this “land of opportunity” story plenty of times; it is a solid part of the American identity that we proclaim and sell to people all over the world. But does it really just boil down to the fact that what we have in common is relative wealth compared to the rest of the world? So what unites those of other nationalities? What about other nationalities in America; for example, is there a unifying factor amongst Polish-Americans, Chinese-Americans, Irish-Americans, etc.? Something that I have been thinking about on this trip a lot is the idea of a constant struggle in our country between strong family ties and individualism. Thinking about these Americans that also have been raised with another ethnic identity, I feel that often you hear that their specific culture is more focused on family than “mainstream American culture.”
Many people bring up this issue of family versus individualism when we ask them about what it means to be an American and what the American identity is, and we have received a diverse sample of similar and contradicting answers. I spoke in Minneapolis to a couple visiting America from Colombia and they both had pleasant things to say about America, except for the fact that family was much lower down on the priority list for Americans compared to Colombian culture, where family means everything. They used this idea to explain why they would never want to live in America. Then we visit Rossford, where we hear that family means everything in a small town and they would never want to live in a big city because it is harder to raise a family there. I think of our visit with Matt Burchett and his wife Holly in San Antonio, talking of how family is such a big part of Texan culture and they moved back to Texas from Nashville in order to be closer to their families. I think of the priest we spoke to in Chicago, who said that he wanted to raise his family in Chicago rather than New York City because Chicago had more of a neighborhood, family-friendly feel. Then we have gotten so many responses to our question of what it means to be American where people answered that in America, you have the freedom to be who you want to be and do pretty much whatever you want, within the confines of the law. These answers speak to an individualistic spirit of America, where familial obligation does indeed take a backseat to “finding out who you are.” I think America does try to proclaim both of these identities and mixed messages, in that you should be your own person but you are also expected to embrace familial obligations if you are going to be a “good American.”
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
I'm Coming Home, Via Chicago
(Note -- Just in general, there is so much to say and so little time and energy for blogging. I may be skipping a city or combining some of them here and there to save time and devote more effort to cities where I feel i have valuable things to write about. We are all trying to keep up, but after packing our days with as many experiences as we can to take advantage of the amazing opportunities this trip offers, it’s hard to find the energy to put all the many thoughts we want to convey to readers into a concise piece of writing- I apologize for being so very behind. I recently figured out the whole picture-adding thing, and have updated many past posts with pictures, if you care to take a look. I will continue to do so as I have available time and add pics to new posts as well when I can. Thanks for reading.)
Day 1
The Windy City…too much heat, not enough wind, at least while we were there. We began our first day with a much-needed shower from the University of Chicago, and then headed to Taste of Chicago, the food festival that features all kinds of local vendors in Grant Park. A little over-priced in my opinion, but I did get to sample a great variety of Chicago cuisine, including a gyro, fresh garlic shrimp, and Ellie's strawberry cheesecake. We were all dazzled by the Art Institute of Chicago and at nightfall, visited one of Chicago’s (and America’s) most famous landmarks- the Sears Tower. This building stands as a monument to American ingenuity and power, our ability to be the biggest and brightest. As you ride up in the elevator, you can watch on a television screen the mounting number of feet in the air you are climbing and which other height landmarks of the world you are surpassing…. there you go past the Eiffel Tower…the Pyramids…. the Statue of Liberty, etc. It does offer one heck of a view from the top, though. A few of us hung out afterwards with some of Heather’s friends that came to town to visit her and had a lovely time seeing a glimpse of Chicago nightlife (and maneuvering our way through Chicago’s late night public transportation).
Day 2
Our second day of Chicago introduced us to the many diverse communities of Chicago, past the tourist hotspots and onto the real life of the city. We started off in Chinatown, where we saw the neighborhood school painted with murals encouraging community and an appreciation for diversity, alongside a very homogenous shopping district of Chinese stores. We made our way to Wicker Park, which is an area of Chicago that has been simultaneously “revitalized” and gentrified in the past few years. We walked through this neighborhood and saw posh boutiques, specialty bead shops, fancy organic cafes, even trendy dental clinics…everything was very “bo-bo” (both bourgeoisie and bohemian- the idea that now wealthier classes of people think it’s trendy to be earthy, natural and organic all the while paying exorbitant prices for the status that comes with living your life in such a manner, etc.). It was so very interesting to see this because, according to Dr. Spring, this area just a few years ago was a rough part of town, a place you wouldn’t really want to walk around alone for long. And in fact, if you venture too far from the Wicker Park area, you do find a very abrupt shift into impoverished and desolate neighborhoods.
From Wicker Park, a few of us ventured off towards the Ukrainian part of town and stopped in to see a beautiful Russian Orthodox Church. Again, one of my favorite parts of this trip is the enormously diverse group of people we have the pleasure of encountering and hearing so many viewpoints about America, from people that I wouldn’t necessarily take time to speak with back home in my everyday life. We spoke with a member of the congregation of this church for quite awhile and then eventually one of the priests joined our conversation as well. They had some fascinating things to say about their religion, the history of it in Chicago and what it means to them to be American.
Then we came across one of my favorite scenes of the entire trip, because it was like finding home in a place that up until that point had seemed strange and different from what I was used to. We were wandering around neighborhood streets near Wicker Park and stumbled across a block party in full swing. Kids were playing in sprinklers and adults were lounging in lawn chairs in the blocked-off streets. A band composed of cute 12 year olds were rocking out, with one of the dads as the lead singer; they had a crowd full of adoring family and friends who danced along to their goofy covers, including a pretty impressive version of a Talking Heads tune. This was true community in a big city, which I had not expected to find. I felt a pang of homesickness for my own neighborhood, family (including MY cute 12 year olds- I miss my brothers!) and friends (some of whom often play their own version of the Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer"). We stood around and talked to some of the neighbors, who were very friendly and welcoming. I noticed on the fliers for this party that we had missed out earlier on the visit from the canine unit of the local police department and a fire truck tour from the fire department for the kids…I thought it was so neat that even in a city as seemingly big and somewhat intimidating as Chicago, there are still places where even the “bureaucracy” is involved in the everyday lives of its citizens in such a personal way. However, Andi, as socially-aware as ever, brought us back to reality when she pointed out that in the neighborhood just a few short blocks away, where it is still the rough part of town that Wicker Park used to be, there are so many kids that are not able to grow up in such a warm and nurturing community.
We ended our day with a delicious dinner at one of Chicago’s famous deep-dish pizza places, Giordano’s. I was only able to manage one piece of the giant pie, but it was delicious. Something the Russian Orthodox priest said to us about why he loves Chicago more than New York, where he is originally from, really stuck with me. He says that Chicago is like a bunch of little neighborhoods all sharing one larger space, whereas you get that “big city” feel from almost all parts of New York. I did get the sense in Chicago of clearly defined neighborhood identities, so it will be interesting to compare that with New York, I think. From Chinatown to the neighborhoods around the University of Chicago to Michigan Avenue to Wicker Park, I feel like we were able to see a lot of what this city has to offer. I really enjoyed our Chicago adventures and can’t wait to visit again to see even more.
Day 1
The Windy City…too much heat, not enough wind, at least while we were there. We began our first day with a much-needed shower from the University of Chicago, and then headed to Taste of Chicago, the food festival that features all kinds of local vendors in Grant Park. A little over-priced in my opinion, but I did get to sample a great variety of Chicago cuisine, including a gyro, fresh garlic shrimp, and Ellie's strawberry cheesecake. We were all dazzled by the Art Institute of Chicago and at nightfall, visited one of Chicago’s (and America’s) most famous landmarks- the Sears Tower. This building stands as a monument to American ingenuity and power, our ability to be the biggest and brightest. As you ride up in the elevator, you can watch on a television screen the mounting number of feet in the air you are climbing and which other height landmarks of the world you are surpassing…. there you go past the Eiffel Tower…the Pyramids…. the Statue of Liberty, etc. It does offer one heck of a view from the top, though. A few of us hung out afterwards with some of Heather’s friends that came to town to visit her and had a lovely time seeing a glimpse of Chicago nightlife (and maneuvering our way through Chicago’s late night public transportation).
Day 2
Our second day of Chicago introduced us to the many diverse communities of Chicago, past the tourist hotspots and onto the real life of the city. We started off in Chinatown, where we saw the neighborhood school painted with murals encouraging community and an appreciation for diversity, alongside a very homogenous shopping district of Chinese stores. We made our way to Wicker Park, which is an area of Chicago that has been simultaneously “revitalized” and gentrified in the past few years. We walked through this neighborhood and saw posh boutiques, specialty bead shops, fancy organic cafes, even trendy dental clinics…everything was very “bo-bo” (both bourgeoisie and bohemian- the idea that now wealthier classes of people think it’s trendy to be earthy, natural and organic all the while paying exorbitant prices for the status that comes with living your life in such a manner, etc.). It was so very interesting to see this because, according to Dr. Spring, this area just a few years ago was a rough part of town, a place you wouldn’t really want to walk around alone for long. And in fact, if you venture too far from the Wicker Park area, you do find a very abrupt shift into impoverished and desolate neighborhoods.
From Wicker Park, a few of us ventured off towards the Ukrainian part of town and stopped in to see a beautiful Russian Orthodox Church. Again, one of my favorite parts of this trip is the enormously diverse group of people we have the pleasure of encountering and hearing so many viewpoints about America, from people that I wouldn’t necessarily take time to speak with back home in my everyday life. We spoke with a member of the congregation of this church for quite awhile and then eventually one of the priests joined our conversation as well. They had some fascinating things to say about their religion, the history of it in Chicago and what it means to them to be American.
Then we came across one of my favorite scenes of the entire trip, because it was like finding home in a place that up until that point had seemed strange and different from what I was used to. We were wandering around neighborhood streets near Wicker Park and stumbled across a block party in full swing. Kids were playing in sprinklers and adults were lounging in lawn chairs in the blocked-off streets. A band composed of cute 12 year olds were rocking out, with one of the dads as the lead singer; they had a crowd full of adoring family and friends who danced along to their goofy covers, including a pretty impressive version of a Talking Heads tune. This was true community in a big city, which I had not expected to find. I felt a pang of homesickness for my own neighborhood, family (including MY cute 12 year olds- I miss my brothers!) and friends (some of whom often play their own version of the Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer"). We stood around and talked to some of the neighbors, who were very friendly and welcoming. I noticed on the fliers for this party that we had missed out earlier on the visit from the canine unit of the local police department and a fire truck tour from the fire department for the kids…I thought it was so neat that even in a city as seemingly big and somewhat intimidating as Chicago, there are still places where even the “bureaucracy” is involved in the everyday lives of its citizens in such a personal way. However, Andi, as socially-aware as ever, brought us back to reality when she pointed out that in the neighborhood just a few short blocks away, where it is still the rough part of town that Wicker Park used to be, there are so many kids that are not able to grow up in such a warm and nurturing community.
We ended our day with a delicious dinner at one of Chicago’s famous deep-dish pizza places, Giordano’s. I was only able to manage one piece of the giant pie, but it was delicious. Something the Russian Orthodox priest said to us about why he loves Chicago more than New York, where he is originally from, really stuck with me. He says that Chicago is like a bunch of little neighborhoods all sharing one larger space, whereas you get that “big city” feel from almost all parts of New York. I did get the sense in Chicago of clearly defined neighborhood identities, so it will be interesting to compare that with New York, I think. From Chinatown to the neighborhoods around the University of Chicago to Michigan Avenue to Wicker Park, I feel like we were able to see a lot of what this city has to offer. I really enjoyed our Chicago adventures and can’t wait to visit again to see even more.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Pine Ridge Reservation
Day 19 (continued)
After our visit to Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse, we drove the long drive to the Pine Ridge Native American Reservation. I found out that the Badlands are not bad, but in fact very beautiful. We visited the Red Cloud Indian School’s Heritage Center and did not have nearly enough time to experience the beautiful art gallery. I liked that the art gallery not only displayed art in the traditional Native style or art that offered political commentary about reservation life, but all sorts of art made by Native American artists- it acknowledges that Native American artists don’t have to just create things that speak about their culture or past to be valued as artists.
However, some of the art that did have a political commentary was really powerful. Something that caught my eye was a collage of chat-room conversations talking about gangs on the reservation, which I think is a problem that is rarely discussed. It spoke about the hopelessness of reservation life, the prevalence of alcoholism and drug use, the feelings of being forgotten by the rest of America and a need for finding family among gang members when blood family members have been lost to tragedies like alcoholism, domestic violence and poverty. The conversations recorded on the collage also spoke about the true tragedy of how Lakota culture is dying with the elders of the tribe because of the many years that their stories were suppressed through American institutions, both in the way that we record “American” history and the way that Native American culture was treated as taboo in the boarding schools that Lakota children were required to attend.
The gallery had a classroom the museum had recreated to look like one of the boarding school rooms and they had a timeline explaining government policies that affected Native American children. One of the points on the timeline was in 1889, when the commissioner of Indian Affairs ordered all instructors of Indian children to inculcate patriotism in Indian students by emphasizing American heroes, duties and privileges of American citizens, reverence for the American flag, patriotic songs and observance of national holidays. I thought this was so interesting in understanding both how our own senses of patriotism are instilled from a very young age and how we use these tools of patriotism to stamp out traditional cultural pride of both immigrants and native peoples.
After our visit to the heritage center, we drove and drove and drove to find the site of Wounded Knee. The contrast of Pine Ridge to the Navajo reservation was stark. On the part of the Navajo reservation we saw, there were several small older houses grouped together in little communities in the middle of lots of land. It was poverty but not quite as lonely and desolate as the poverty we saw driving through Pine Ridge. Here we saw crumbling trailers often standing alone in the middle of fields decorated with the skeletons of old cars. Very few houses that even looked livable and even fewer communities of these houses. Honestly, I have been to impoverished neighborhoods across the United States and I have never seen anything like this in our country. Hopelessness felt like a tangible weight as I imagined growing up in such conditions, despite the incredibly beautiful landscape that played a backdrop to these sad homes.
Unfortunately, the story only gets worse. We got lost multiple times, never seeing any kind of sign pointing us to this important historic site. Finally, we stumbled across it. We saw a hand-painted sign with graffiti on it explaining the significance of the massacre and a small tent set up with two people sitting in lawn chairs behind a table labeled “Visitor Information.” No real visitor center, no gift shop, no anything, really. We proceeded to the gravesite where we saw a mass grave for 140 Native Americans killed at the massacre of Wounded Knee. A few other graves had been lovingly tended to, but for the most part, the entire graveyard was unkempt and overgrown. Headstones were crumbling and litter was everywhere. Especially comparing it to the stately Civil War-era graveyards I was familiar with, coming from the South, the state of this graveyard was heartbreaking and outrageous. How could the site of a historic massacre against a marginalized people be commemorated in such a way? Money talks, even after death.
Viewing this devastating poverty in light of the extravagance of the Crazy Horse Memorial turns my stomach a little. Think of all the money that is being spent to blow up a mountain to carve the world’s largest statue, when the descendants of Crazy Horse himself are living in such conditions, when his very culture is slowly dying out.
As my blog about the Navajos said, I believe that our responsibility as students who have witnessed things like this is to share our stories- their stories- with others and bring awareness to issues that most people simply are never exposed to. Read about Wounded Knee and about the people who died there. Read about the history of the Lakota Oglala people and what their lives are like today. To give you a brief glimpse, here are some current statistics from a brochure from the Red Cloud Indian School about life on the reservation at Pine Ridge:
Unemployment- 73-85%
Per capita income- $6,143
Children living in poverty- 69%
Life Expectancy- Males- 55, Females- 60 (U.S. average- Males 75, Female- 80)
Alcoholism- 4 million cans of beer a year are sold 1 mile from the borders of the DRY reservation
Infant mortality- 2.6 times higher than national average
Suicide rate- 72% higher than national average
After our visit to Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse, we drove the long drive to the Pine Ridge Native American Reservation. I found out that the Badlands are not bad, but in fact very beautiful. We visited the Red Cloud Indian School’s Heritage Center and did not have nearly enough time to experience the beautiful art gallery. I liked that the art gallery not only displayed art in the traditional Native style or art that offered political commentary about reservation life, but all sorts of art made by Native American artists- it acknowledges that Native American artists don’t have to just create things that speak about their culture or past to be valued as artists.
However, some of the art that did have a political commentary was really powerful. Something that caught my eye was a collage of chat-room conversations talking about gangs on the reservation, which I think is a problem that is rarely discussed. It spoke about the hopelessness of reservation life, the prevalence of alcoholism and drug use, the feelings of being forgotten by the rest of America and a need for finding family among gang members when blood family members have been lost to tragedies like alcoholism, domestic violence and poverty. The conversations recorded on the collage also spoke about the true tragedy of how Lakota culture is dying with the elders of the tribe because of the many years that their stories were suppressed through American institutions, both in the way that we record “American” history and the way that Native American culture was treated as taboo in the boarding schools that Lakota children were required to attend.
The gallery had a classroom the museum had recreated to look like one of the boarding school rooms and they had a timeline explaining government policies that affected Native American children. One of the points on the timeline was in 1889, when the commissioner of Indian Affairs ordered all instructors of Indian children to inculcate patriotism in Indian students by emphasizing American heroes, duties and privileges of American citizens, reverence for the American flag, patriotic songs and observance of national holidays. I thought this was so interesting in understanding both how our own senses of patriotism are instilled from a very young age and how we use these tools of patriotism to stamp out traditional cultural pride of both immigrants and native peoples.
After our visit to the heritage center, we drove and drove and drove to find the site of Wounded Knee. The contrast of Pine Ridge to the Navajo reservation was stark. On the part of the Navajo reservation we saw, there were several small older houses grouped together in little communities in the middle of lots of land. It was poverty but not quite as lonely and desolate as the poverty we saw driving through Pine Ridge. Here we saw crumbling trailers often standing alone in the middle of fields decorated with the skeletons of old cars. Very few houses that even looked livable and even fewer communities of these houses. Honestly, I have been to impoverished neighborhoods across the United States and I have never seen anything like this in our country. Hopelessness felt like a tangible weight as I imagined growing up in such conditions, despite the incredibly beautiful landscape that played a backdrop to these sad homes.
Unfortunately, the story only gets worse. We got lost multiple times, never seeing any kind of sign pointing us to this important historic site. Finally, we stumbled across it. We saw a hand-painted sign with graffiti on it explaining the significance of the massacre and a small tent set up with two people sitting in lawn chairs behind a table labeled “Visitor Information.” No real visitor center, no gift shop, no anything, really. We proceeded to the gravesite where we saw a mass grave for 140 Native Americans killed at the massacre of Wounded Knee. A few other graves had been lovingly tended to, but for the most part, the entire graveyard was unkempt and overgrown. Headstones were crumbling and litter was everywhere. Especially comparing it to the stately Civil War-era graveyards I was familiar with, coming from the South, the state of this graveyard was heartbreaking and outrageous. How could the site of a historic massacre against a marginalized people be commemorated in such a way? Money talks, even after death.
Viewing this devastating poverty in light of the extravagance of the Crazy Horse Memorial turns my stomach a little. Think of all the money that is being spent to blow up a mountain to carve the world’s largest statue, when the descendants of Crazy Horse himself are living in such conditions, when his very culture is slowly dying out.
As my blog about the Navajos said, I believe that our responsibility as students who have witnessed things like this is to share our stories- their stories- with others and bring awareness to issues that most people simply are never exposed to. Read about Wounded Knee and about the people who died there. Read about the history of the Lakota Oglala people and what their lives are like today. To give you a brief glimpse, here are some current statistics from a brochure from the Red Cloud Indian School about life on the reservation at Pine Ridge:
Unemployment- 73-85%
Per capita income- $6,143
Children living in poverty- 69%
Life Expectancy- Males- 55, Females- 60 (U.S. average- Males 75, Female- 80)
Alcoholism- 4 million cans of beer a year are sold 1 mile from the borders of the DRY reservation
Infant mortality- 2.6 times higher than national average
Suicide rate- 72% higher than national average
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