 |

 |
baranoouji | |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
I teach, even though too many faces wear me out like the handling of coins jingling, jangling, endlessly exchanging. I say "Repeat!" until the end of the night when my voice gets garbled with residue from an endlessly wielded eraser. When you ask me why, my dust-choked voice can only drift off in vagueness. "Because," I say. "It keeps me busy." While my mind thinks back to the times when I met self-declared Americans staid and fat with entitlement loud with opinions they declared knowledge endlessly declaiming about wetbacks and chinks and dotheads and hajis and Filipina maids. "They don't speakee Engrish!" they shout, munching on another donut bought from Krispy Kreme. (The local franchise? Owned by Cambodians.) They brag about the time they spilled coffee one early morning, on an Indian man ("Damn Apu!") who works to keep the 7-11 "always open." Why? "Because he got a federal loan." They must notice my eyes slanting angrily because they issue bribes of reassurances. "You're not like them, you're one of us!" "You pay your taxes, you speak English!" "You're always so polite!" (Inscrutable, like a doll, yes I know.) Push comes to shove, and the American dream has turned into the American trough. We have turned (with an enchantress' wand) into pink-snouted pigs endlessly swilling. Bring us your inexpensive goods, your services, but the huddled masses need to stay there. In some faraway Shangri-La of kiddie labor and quaint indigenous lifestyles for our table of National Geographics and native candlesticks. (Animals in our respective zoos.) I teach, even though it's never enough. The students are overworked and too-tired. They catch a string of buses, they walk across eight-lane highways to our class. Sometimes I wonder if I managed to do it right. (They deserve better than what we have to give.) I don't want the consolation prize of being a "good minority" or "integrated." Give me the label that I want -- myself. (Rough draft. Covered by CCC, I think.) (Yeah, it's a free country. You're free to sit on your ass, but if you're going to complain about something, I better not see you on said ass.) Disposition: grr! at! idiocy! Wax Cylinder: WMUC indie rock
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |

 |
 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
|

 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Not quite the token native speaker, but there were certainly more foreign scientists than not. NIH is a very interesting environment to work at from a multiculturalism perspective, it was also an interesting place to work from a computer perspective, which interested me far more. ;-)
In the particular lab I worked in (LNLC, you can find it if you search long enough, but there is not much interesting on the web), I worked with (over the course of 3 years there was some turn over) 2 people from France, 2 from Russia, 2 from China, 1 from Japan, 1 from India, 1 from Greece, who had learned English in GB (and had a decided British accent), 1 British person, 2 unknown oriental person (I am *guessing* non-american based on accent, but 1 left a month or two after I started, so I am unsure where he was from, and the other came just as I was leaving, and I never asked), and 1 person from Chechoslovakia (spelling). Add into the mix 10 Americans (mixed races here also, but less interesting linguistically, 8 was the peak Americans, general population did not drop below 15 at any given time). You also came into daily contact with people from other labs, I spent most of the time on the 3rd floor of "building 49" (I don't know the name, no one used it, everyone just used the various building numbers), which we shared with two Human Genome labs. So overall, it went from about half to something below half Americans. I was however the one of only two in the lab not a neuroscientist, and thus not participating in the fairly high level of jargon. (Do you know what a "dendrite" is? I have a *vague* idea of it now. ;-)) Given that I got to set up, maintain, and fix their computers, conversations with me tended to hit areas of language not in general use in the lab. With one of the Chinese scientists, who was actually taking ESL classes because he could read English, but not really speak it, I learned the importance of simple diagrams and stick drawings of computer concepts to get ideas across.
This has gone on more than long enough, I am no doubt boring everyone reading the comments here to death, much less our host.
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|

 |
|
|  |
 |


 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Us. You. Them. Hrumph.
There is no group free from division, no region that does not have contempt and discrimination, no language that does not define through opposition. But do not think I am defending anyone, especially Americans. (Though I do find it a small positive that ethnicity-based violence is less common than it used to be. Kind of.)
The only thing I will defend is Krispy Kreme. Would you consider replacing it with KFC, a corporation I find much more insidious?
And there are so many people to help, so many lessons to teach, so many clinics to man, so many rights to fight for. It's easy to get overwhelmed and caught up in the rhetoric of humanity, in the big, billowing We should's. The best we can do, I think, is what you are doing. One step, one class, one student at a time.
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|

 |
|

 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
I suspect I sounded confrontational as well, though that is not what I intended. My sincerest apologies! What I was harumphing over was really the way terms of differentiation are often used as weapons or lines in the sand. By calling someone them, it is easier to ignore so many humanizing details, while us seems to create the sociolinguistic equivalent of the Greco-Roman tortoise formation ( testudo, though some say phalanx). --Interestingly enough, phalanx was later used in the 1930s by Italian facists.-- I have so much to say about KFC--I think I'm working on a post about it, but I'm still much too angry to recollect in tranquility. See the clip that horrified me: http://www.kentuckyfriedcruelty.com/anderson-vid.asp
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|

 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Ah, chickens! First, I have to say that I am still omnivorous. Here's some interesting stuff though: I remember when someone linked to a website that advertised Bright Coop's chicken catcher and it made internet news. (See the video.) Of course, there was an outcry -- nothing screams "heartless dystopia" quite like chickens being grabbed by a vacuum en masse. Vegetarians cried in their blogs. Right-wingers exulted in forums at the sight of comical efficiency. Here's the kicker: the vacuum is the best bet for humans and chickens. Chickens don't get traumatized by the handling process, and humans don't get desensitized and cruel in handling chickens. (Note: I am a huge fan of Temple Grandin, and her work in providing a pleasant environment for animals. She puts out great publications on the subject.) On a more surreal note: the chicken gun.-E.
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|  |
 |

|
 |
|
 |