Buts and Sharks
A lesson I have learned in the past week: Any sentence following the phrase, "I hate to say this but..." is likely going to illicit a stink face reaction. "I hate to say this" belongs to that family of phrases that also house, "No offense, but..." and "I know I shouldn't say this but..." That 'but' exhausts itself as a segue between a half-hearted, quarter-assed pre-emptive apology and unpleasant opinion.
Unfortunately, any of us have been who lived through junior high have been on the receiving end of that particular brand of nastiness. One would hope that knowing it doesn't feel good to hear it directed at yourself would expand on that thought to assume it shouldn't be directed at others either. Doesn't the golden rule that was parroted at you from ages 2-18 cover that in some capacity?
For a bit of context, less than a week ago, I began to share my plan to move to Lesvos to volunteer at Ritsona with my community. I work with preschoolers now, and part of being a responsible early childhood educator is giving ample space for transition whenever possible, so I have begun to tell the parents of the children I teach. I must say, the families I work with are wonderful. Truly kind and warm families that make my work a joyful place of play and learning. Since posting my GoFundMe last Thursday, I have been truly overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends, coworkers, and family as well as inundated with messages of support and love. Thinking about it for more than a second brings a fat tear to the corner of my eye.
Unfortunately, one off beat comment can really sour all those warm, gooey feelings. I was sharing my plans with a few families whose children I had coached for a few years - even before I went to grad school. Again, on the whole, they were excited for me and offered their own forms of support. One parent, however, said with a laugh, "I probably shouldn't say this but, aren't you worried about getting blown up?"
I'll let that one marinate for a second. (and before you ask, yes he was)
It happened to me again this afternoon when I visited my doctor to get medical clearance for my volunteer position. After explaining why I was coming in for a physical, my GP first was very curious as to why I would volunteer to do something like this. Which I must admit, struck me as odd. I did not think it would be a stretch for the imagination to think why I would want to go lend my efforts to a situation that needs as many compassionate hands as possible. But fine, I can understand that it seems like a large step outside my comfort zone to someone who doesn't know me. Then my GP emphasized that I should be update any vaccines to protect myself and the people in the camp. After all the appropriate appointments were scheduled and paperwork was signed, he sighed, looked and me and said, "You know, it is so great that you are going to put your education to use over there. I hate to say it, but wherever there seem to be a lot of muslims, they have a lot of problems with ...." and he continued to share the standard ant-immigrant, anti-muslim narrative. According to my GP, these refugees have too many children, they don't respect women, they are this generalization and that stereotype.
It seems unnecessarily cruel to put this narrative onto people who have already been through war, loss, and migration. In her poem titled, "Home", British Somali poet Warsan Shire has said it better than I ever could, writing:
My GP did make another observation - he mentioned that people only seem to care about the refugee crisis when there is a horrific viral image in our newsfeeds. What struck me as so strange about this observation was the dissonance between this extent of empathy and the dismissal of Muslim refugees as ignorant and backwards. As of now, I don't have any conclusions that haven't already been said by people better equipped to draw much needed lessons out of this stunted kind of thinking. Rather, I'm treating this post as a sort of journal entry to consider my role in all of this. When an offhand, "It's sad to say but..." is thrown my way on the assumption that I will sympathize with the way the speaker thinks, will I take the necessary step to thoughtfully and firmly disagree. I'd always like to think that I would, so I guess this is an invitation to hold myself accountable.
Unfortunately, any of us have been who lived through junior high have been on the receiving end of that particular brand of nastiness. One would hope that knowing it doesn't feel good to hear it directed at yourself would expand on that thought to assume it shouldn't be directed at others either. Doesn't the golden rule that was parroted at you from ages 2-18 cover that in some capacity?
For a bit of context, less than a week ago, I began to share my plan to move to Lesvos to volunteer at Ritsona with my community. I work with preschoolers now, and part of being a responsible early childhood educator is giving ample space for transition whenever possible, so I have begun to tell the parents of the children I teach. I must say, the families I work with are wonderful. Truly kind and warm families that make my work a joyful place of play and learning. Since posting my GoFundMe last Thursday, I have been truly overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends, coworkers, and family as well as inundated with messages of support and love. Thinking about it for more than a second brings a fat tear to the corner of my eye.
Unfortunately, one off beat comment can really sour all those warm, gooey feelings. I was sharing my plans with a few families whose children I had coached for a few years - even before I went to grad school. Again, on the whole, they were excited for me and offered their own forms of support. One parent, however, said with a laugh, "I probably shouldn't say this but, aren't you worried about getting blown up?"
I'll let that one marinate for a second. (and before you ask, yes he was)
It happened to me again this afternoon when I visited my doctor to get medical clearance for my volunteer position. After explaining why I was coming in for a physical, my GP first was very curious as to why I would volunteer to do something like this. Which I must admit, struck me as odd. I did not think it would be a stretch for the imagination to think why I would want to go lend my efforts to a situation that needs as many compassionate hands as possible. But fine, I can understand that it seems like a large step outside my comfort zone to someone who doesn't know me. Then my GP emphasized that I should be update any vaccines to protect myself and the people in the camp. After all the appropriate appointments were scheduled and paperwork was signed, he sighed, looked and me and said, "You know, it is so great that you are going to put your education to use over there. I hate to say it, but wherever there seem to be a lot of muslims, they have a lot of problems with ...." and he continued to share the standard ant-immigrant, anti-muslim narrative. According to my GP, these refugees have too many children, they don't respect women, they are this generalization and that stereotype.
It seems unnecessarily cruel to put this narrative onto people who have already been through war, loss, and migration. In her poem titled, "Home", British Somali poet Warsan Shire has said it better than I ever could, writing:
My GP did make another observation - he mentioned that people only seem to care about the refugee crisis when there is a horrific viral image in our newsfeeds. What struck me as so strange about this observation was the dissonance between this extent of empathy and the dismissal of Muslim refugees as ignorant and backwards. As of now, I don't have any conclusions that haven't already been said by people better equipped to draw much needed lessons out of this stunted kind of thinking. Rather, I'm treating this post as a sort of journal entry to consider my role in all of this. When an offhand, "It's sad to say but..." is thrown my way on the assumption that I will sympathize with the way the speaker thinks, will I take the necessary step to thoughtfully and firmly disagree. I'd always like to think that I would, so I guess this is an invitation to hold myself accountable.
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