No human being is illegal

I am incensed by people in the US, and other countries, who claim undocumented -illegal- immigrants are simply criminals, that no good can come from them. In my family, what's considered criminal is exactly that kind of thinking. The hero of this story is rather remarkable. Would you give up your chance at a better life to help a stranger?

Salaam.

Un-domesticatable

I can't be that person. I'm listening to what sounds like bickering, but could just as soon be pillow talk in this culture. Off the phone, the young woman with the professional job disappeared. He called. He was hungry. He was coming home. That was that and she, after her own long day, sprang into action to have his meal on the table when he arrived.

A friend, trained in the intimidatingly named neuro-linguistic programing, told me recently that there really is no "cannot". We all have choices. Usually those things we claim we cannot do are simply our excuse for choosing not to and then following through. She mentioned this to me when I told her that at this point I cannot return to live in the US.

"You could," she stated simply. "You would find a way to make it work if you had to, but you choose not to."

It's a powerful thought, when you take that idea and examine your life, all those times you said "I can't". And, I believe she's right. Most of us are just making excuses, backing down in fear, telling outright lies to ourselves and others. I've resolved to try and expel it from my vocabulary.

But, it's not possible with this. I absolutely cannot be that person. Not that girl. Not that woman. I tried, have tried, but then haven't all women all their lives. The whole world expects dinner on the table in a way. Be quiet; don't laugh so loud; just put a little color on your lips; loose a few pounds; sit still; don't go too far; don't stand so tall; don't forget to ask him first.
It is physically, spiritually, impossible for me to be that woman. I admit, I didn't try very hard. I wouldn't even know how to begin, nor can really I comprehend why one would.

I do not want to be domesticated. Suburbs make my chest tighten reflexively, anxiously. I will not clean your house, cook your dinner, iron your laundry, fetch you things. I will go out without you and come home without you. I will ask you opinion, but never your permission. To domesticate me is to break me, and that would kill me, at least something vital in me.

I've met plenty of men who claim they love this about me, about women, when you are dating. Then those strengths, literally, become the source of arguments and resentments once you move in together, start to make more money than him, or get married.

So, I think in this my friend is wrong. I cannot be this person. I can be, am, many things. This is a choice, one that is not always easy to bear. Ask any woman who has made it.

Salaam.

Türkiye Finallerde

Turkey just beat Bosnia to secure a spot in the Euro 2008 Finals. The Norway game was more exciting simply because I was down in the crowds on Istiklal. A roar rolled up the street through the crowds at one point that night when Turkey scored and you couldn't help but feel you were a part of something. We all applauded, knowing what the sound meant.

Watching it on our little TV isn't quite the same, but I can hear the fireworks going of over at Sami Yen Stadium. The chorus of car horns is just warming up along Cumhurriyet. Off to bed...

Salaam.

Bad parenting

Listening to: Traffic on Cumhurriyet outside my window, India Arie, Woody Guthrie, Over the Rhine
Reading: Ha, funny. Someday...

I've been a woefully negligent parent with the blog lately. Care and feeding of Tales stopped altogether due to time (too little), energies (again, lacking), and stress (abundant). The main source of stress was actually not my CELTA course, but rather the throbbing headache that was working for a sub-standard language school. That has been dealt with and life has returned to bloom, somewhat.

I promise more is forthcoming, including an activity I dreamed up for a free-teaching session today where I had intermediate students copying masterpiece paintings. Yes, I've put them to work making forgeries. O.k., no, but we did have a good time once they got over the idea that they had to get the painting "right". They got valuable listening and speaking practice in an unusual and fun way. I came up with a great lesson that could be spun off in a many directions while satisfying my creative soul. I'll write more about it later.

I am also experimenting on two friends, both of whom more than earned the title by not running away when the word experiment was uttered in regards to them, about the use of original music in teaching English. I did mention to one of them, however, that if I ever mention the word experiment in relation to cooking he should turn on his heals and run.

I've got some nascent ideas kicking me in the ribs that I want to put up on the blog. For now, I need to get my lesson plan ready for Friday. It's a reading lesson about Ikea, which will be highly amusing to my friends in Atlanta after our endless trips to their blue & yellow behemoth to resolve shelving issues. In addition, I need to get back to spending my Thursdays at the MoMA in Tophane. You can find me in the library at 10am, researching the collection and blissing out amidst the creative energy. And then there's all that research into economics and the major business sectors for the possible writing job...

Salaam.
And gobble gobble to all the family gathering this week in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Sorry you couldn't be here.

Feminism is....

For those of you who aren't sure about the other F-word, or, better yet, think you are...I stumbled upon this wonderful post by Mandolin at Alas, a blog via Feministing and it absolutely made my day, if not my year. Please be sure to follow some of the links in the post and read the comments at the bottom of the post, as there are some excellent ones. No, I do not mean my comment!

Salaam.

PS: Happy (belated) Birthday, Golaniya!

Poem for a friend

For Strong Women

by Marge Piercy

A strong woman is a woman who is straining.
A strong woman is a woman standing
on tiptoe and lifting a barbell
while trying to sing Boris Godunov.
A strong woman is a woman at work
cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
and while she shovels, she talks about
how she doesn't mind crying, it opens
the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up
develops the stomach muscles, and
she goes on shoveling with tears
in her nose.

A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,
why aren't you feminine, why aren't
you soft, why aren't you quiet, why
aren't you dead?

A strong woman is a woman determined
to do something others are determined
not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
to butt her way through a steel wall.
Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
to be made say, hurry, you're so strong.

A strong woman is a woman bleeding
inside. A strong woman is a woman making
herself strong every morning while her teeth
loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
a tooth, midwives used to say, and now
every battle a scar. A strong woman
is a mass of scar tissue that aches
when it rains and wounds that bleed
when you bump them and memories that get up
in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

A strong woman is a woman who craves love
like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
A strong woman is a woman who loves
strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong
in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

What comforts her is others loving
her equally for the strength and for the weakness
from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
Only water of connection remains,
flowing through us. Strong is what we make
each other. Until we are all strong together,
a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

I take something from this poem every time I read it. It remains as powerful today as the first time I read it, which was a happy accident. I don't own it and share it, not for profit, but for my friends who are strong women and do not know it. - A.Q.

Turkish Media Presence in Germany

I found this article from the Sunday NYTimes rather interesting. Off to teach at the moment...

Finally, Some (Potentially) Good News

According to the New York Times, the Syrian government will allow U.S. officials into the country to begin interviewing Iraqi refugees for the purpose of resettling some in the United States. The U.S. government continues to lag far behind its stated goal of admitting 12,000 into the country this year. The decision by the Syrian government follows their recent decision to close their borders to Iraqis fleeing the violence in their country, requiring visas for Iraqis wishing to enter the country. The decision closed the final border that remained open to Iraqis fleeing by land.

I certainly hope this is a sign the U.S. is finally taking resettlement seriously. Some have said the reluctance on the part of the U.S. to begin large scale resettlement is political, that doing so would admit the failure of the war. Others say the government is reluctant to admit large numbers of foreign born Muslims. Whatever the reason, the people who need help the most have been left to risk their lives fleeing unimaginable violence and immense difficulties if they were lucky to make it across the border. Perhaps now, some Iraqis will have a chance at a stable, peaceful future. However, with roughly 1.5 million Iraqis now in Syria, admitting 12,000 a year is only scratching the surface of the problem. The U.S. will have to give more money to fund the Syrian and Jordanian education systems, now groaning under the stress of generously allowing Iraqi children into the schools. The healthcare sector is also in dire need of assistance. It's up to the U.S. to prove it is serious about taking care of its responsibilities.

Salaam.

Two on women's health

Dr. Susan Wicklund's story is important, showing us that the issue is not as easy as the stark partisans on both sides want us to believe. I especially applaud her take on restrictions and the idea of protecting women from themselves, which I agree are about control, not protection. I look forward to reading her book.

Also, I noticed this news regarding oral contraceptives. While nobody is saying anyone should toss their pills, it is interesting to note that nobody is quite sure what's what with a pill millions of women take daily.

Salaam.

Keith Olberman Speaks for Me

Former acting Assistant U.S. Attorney General Daniel Levin joins Sgt. Joseph M. Darby in my pantheon of heroes.

Victory for the L.A. 8

More on victory in NYT (01/11).

I was thrilled to receive an email from my friend Michel Shehadeh this morning that all charges against he and Khader Hamide have been dropped be the Board of Immigration Appeals, after only 20 years, four trips to the US Court of Appeals, one visit to the Supreme Court, and countless other appearances before the BIA. Read David Cole's 2003 piece from The Nation, 9/11 and the L.A. 8, for a little context. For more information regarding this latest and long overdue victory, read the joint press release from the Center for Constitutional Rights, National Lawyers Guild, and ACLU of Southern California here:

CHARGES DROPPED IN 20-YEAR OLD DEPORTATION CASE AGAINST
PALESTINIAN ACTIVISTS

Long court battle ends with victory for immigrants

LOS ANGELES – The 20-year effort to deport two men over their alleged political
support of Palestinian self-determination officially came to an end today when the
nation’s highest administrative body overseeing immigration cases dismissed all charges
against Khader Hamide and Michel Shehadeh, members of a group of Palestinian student
activists arrested in January 1987, who became known as the LA8.

The action by the Board of Immigration Appeals (BIA) closes one of the nation’s
longest-running and most controversial deportation cases, one that tested whether
immigrants have the same First Amendment rights as citizens.

Hamide and Shehadeh expressed both relief and happiness that the case is finally over but
also anger over what they believed to be a politically motivated, baseless prosecution.
“My family and I feel a tremendous amount of relief today,” said Hamide. “After 20
years, the nightmare is finally over. I feel vindicated at long last. This is a victory not
only for us, but for the First Amendment of the Constitution and for the rights of all
immigrants.”

Shehadeh agreed. “I am extremely happy but do have mixed emotions,” Shehadeh added. “The government was wrong for twenty one years. They robbed us, and our families, of the
best and most productive years of our lives. We are now free to continue living our lives,
acting on our beliefs; raising our families, supporting our communities, loving our
country, defending justice and the Constitution, and prospering as good citizens."

The case against the pair began in January, 1987, when the government arrested them and
six others, who collectively came to be known as the LA 8, placed them in maximum
security prison, and accused them of having ties to a faction of the Palestine Liberation
Organization. The government alleged that Hamide and Shehadeh distributed
newspapers, held demonstrations and organized humanitarian aid fundraisers for
Palestinians, and that because these actions supported the PLO faction, they should be
deported.

The men were initially charged with being associated with a Communist
organization, but when a court declared those charges unconstitutional, the government
filed new charges of material support for a terrorist group. The case went before the US
Court of Appeals four times, the Supreme Court once, and the Board of Immigration
Appeals multiple times.

The BIA dismissed the case at the request of the government, which agreed in a
settlement to drop all charges and not to seek removal of either of the men in the future
based on any of the political activities or associations at issue in the case. Hamide and
Shehadeh agreed not to apply for citizenship for three years, and to have several judicial
orders in the case vacated as moot.

Attorneys for the two hailed the government’s decision to drop the case as a victory the
First Amendment rights of all immigrants and a vindication of their clients’ actions.
“This is a monumental victory for all immigrants who want to be able to express their
political views and support the lawful activities of organizations in their home countries
fighting for social or political change,” said Marc Van Der Hout, of the National Lawyers
Guild. “Hamide and Shehadeh did nothing more than advocate for Palestinians’ right to
a homeland and support charitable causes and other legal activities in the Occupied
Territories. That should never have been cause for deportation charges in the first place.
The government’s attempt to deport them all these years marks another shameful period
in our government’s history of targeting certain groups of immigrants for their political
beliefs and activities.”

“We are overjoyed for our clients, who have spent twenty years fighting for the right to
stay in this country and speak and associate freely,” said David Cole, a professor at
Georgetown University Law School and volunteer attorney for the Center for
Constitutional rights. “And we commend the administration for recognizing that federal
anti-terrorism resources can be far better spent on other endeavors.”

The tipping point came in January 2007, when Immigration Judge Bruce J. Einhorn
dismissed the case finding that the government’s refusal to turn over evidence favorable
to the men violated the pair’s right to due process. The government’s refusal to comply
with his disclosure order, Einhorn wrote, is “a festering wound on the body of
respondents and an embarrassment to the rule of law.”

The case originally involved seven Palestinians and a Kenyan, the wife of Khader
Hamide. Late last year, Aiad Barakat, one of the eight, was sworn in as a U.S. citizen in
Los Angeles after federal judge Stephen Wilson rejected the government’s contentions
that he should be denied citizenship for his political associations. All of the others have
either been granted permanent residency or are on track to becoming permanent
residents.

“We are gratified that the government has decided to terminate this case and to spend its
resources on genuine threats to our national security,” said Ahilan T. Arulanantham, staff
attorney with the ACLU of Southern California. “Hamide and Shehadeh are law-abiding
immigrants who have lived here for more than a quarter century each and done nothing
wrong. We are glad that they will be able to live out the rest of their lives in peace in the
country they have called home.”

Van Der Hout and Cole have been representing the immigrants since the case began in
1987 along with Leonard Weinglass of Chicago Seven fame and investigator Phyllis
Bennis of the National Lawyers’ Guild.
###

Salaam wa mabrouk ya Michel.

I went to a marathon and a demonstration broke out...or maybe it was the other way around...

Make no mistake, Aicha Qandisha does not run marathons. At least not this year. And having only recently arrived in Istanbul I've not yet tapped into timely, reliable news of what's happening in the city. Add to this the fact that I've been ill the last few days. Saturday afternoon I laid down to rest and read after teaching only to fall asleep and not wake up until 7am Sunday, a clear sign you're not well. I was awakened from a slightly feverish haze by a persistent seagull that had parked itself in such a position beneath my window as to maximize the volume of its call, which sounded a bit like "Hey!" I was able to ignore the bird for awhile and doze on, but gave up around 7 when a helicopter decided to hover atop our building. This aroused my curiosity enough to get me out of bed.

I shuffled into the living room and leaned out the window to try to grasp why my much-needed sleep was under siege by all things airborne this morning. To my surprise I turned my head towards Cumhurriyet Avenue in time to see a pack of runners in full competition kits - brightly colored techno-fabric short-shorts and tank-tops, entry numbers, and faces of pure intensity and seriousness - run by the opening of our little sokak. The rotors on the helicopter whined on while more clusters of runners trotted by. Today, I realized, is the annual bi-continental Eurasia marathon.

Still feeling a bit ill and looking a more than a bit worse for wear, I decided to stay in and not join the one police officer at the end of our street, whose main purpose seemed to be keeping two young boys from running into the midst of the larger packs and causing mischief. Having watched some of the IMG marathon while in Atlanta, I noted there seem to be differences in how the average person views such an event. The packs were occasionally joined by bystanders returning from morning errands. Stray runners dodged pedestrians who took advantage of the shutdown of the normally busy thoroughfare. As the lead packs moved by, I began to see the real heroes in marathoning, those everyday folks who for countless personal reasons decided to test themselves this way. Sleek running kits gave way to jogging and exercise clothes, which then gave way to whatever people thought would be a good idea to run 23 miles in. Not all of their choices looked like good ones to me, but I was second guessing from my living room with a mug of tea in my hand. The lines between runner and pedestrian were extremely blurry at this point. The crowds on the route included walkers, people with strollers, women in long jilbab coats, parents running with young children trotting along, people with full shopping bags. It was near impossible to tell who was running this and who just happened to be caught up in it. I turned on the tv, but the coverage on TRT had shifted to the lead pack, moving quickly through a part of town I couldn't identify from the overhead shot.

Many of the runners wore the Turkish flag in one form or another. There were lots of capes, flags tied about necks, trailing gently and the wearer moved along. Some carried the flag on the pole, which I imagine gets rather annoying after several kilometers, even for the most dedicated Turkophile. Some turned the flags into headscarves, tied them to hats, or simply wore flag tshirts. Most people on the sidelines, people going about their business of the day, didn't seem to notice.

Then I started hearing the chanting, which seemed odd in an endurance race. Leaning out the window again I saw a group of marchers, in the midst of the runners and walkers, chanting their slogans of national pride and carrying a giant Turkish flag. The anniversary of the founding of the Republic is Monday, so the last few days have been full of marches. My teaching was interrupted yesterday by first, a procession of marching bands up Istiklal and then a huge procession of boy and girl scouts, who were adorable in their excitement at being part of the festivities. So the marathon/independence day march has been the highlight of today. I suspect, hope, all those running, walking, or crawling the marathon have passed. Groups of marchers continue to make their way towards Taksim. Again, it's hard to tell who is who.

The stragglers have me inspired to try this next year. I'm just not sure if I'll be marching or running.

Salaam.

A Not So Lazy Sunday

Twelve Turkish soldiers were killed in a PKK ambush early Sunday. My apartment is just off Cumhurriyet Caddesi, a major street leading to Taksim Square, the location of most protests and demonstrations. I spent most of today at home working and throughout the afternoon small groups of demonstrators passed bearing Turkish flags of all sizes, chanting and waving a hand signal for wolf that looks conspicuously like the gesture waved at many a heavy metal concert. Most of them were heading in the direction of Taksim, but every now and then we'd hear them coming and stick our heads out the window to watch them march by the opening of our street. The larger groups were usually followed by one or two police minivans, inching lazily along, lights flashing, and inaudible commands sounding from their loudspeakers.

On the news early this evening we watched footage of crowds gathering in Taksim and marching down Istiklal Caddesi. There were images of women weeping, young men tussling with police trying to hold them back, and jailed-PKK leader Abdullah Ocalan being burned in effigy. Eventually this evening the demonstrators headed home and we watched one final group, this time larger and better organized, surge up the road clapping and chanting accompanied by a chorus of car horns. The horns have continued, rising and falling throughout the evening.

In addition to this, yesterday the vote was held to approve changes to the constitution, including election of the president by the public versus by parliament. The referendum passed by a majority. Coverage of the vote, as important as it is, was rivaled by the furor over the killing of the soldiers. There have been constant news flashes, reports from the soldiers hometowns showing mothers and fathers collapsing in grief, and a great deal of footage of Turkish military maneuvers near the border. It's almost midnight and no decision about crossing into Iraq has been announced. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Salaam. Iyi geceler. (Good night)

Saturday night on Istiklal

Wabbits

I've decided to let the rabbits handle all my major decisions in life.Sure you can have someone read your fortunes from tea leaves or coffee grounds, but I've decided to put my faith in another source of divination - rabbits.

Walk down Istiklal Caddesi and you will see a few old men here and there, tucked in niches that create eddies in the crowds, standing beside tiny tables bearing some sort of box with small scraps of paper sprouting from it and three rabbits. Yes, real, live fuzzy bunnies. My understanding is you pay the man and he lets the bunnies have a go at picking through the scraps of paper, which are similar to the ones found in Chinese fortune cookies, only hand-written. The bunnies pluck the papers and the man hands you your fortune. I believe they may also be used like a Magic 8 ball, to help answer pressing questions and resolve life's many dilemmas. I've included two photos here from the internet.



I will take photos of my advisory council when I stop in for a consult sometime soon. In the meantime know that I will refer all questions from here on out to my three colleagues: Floppsy, Moppsy, and Cottontail. One Turkish friend referred to them as "Turkish life coaches". I'm not sure what my two dear friends in the U.S. who are life coaches will think of this. I just hope they don't find themselves outsourced to the rabbits in this new global economy. But, who knows how much better a world we might have if our leaders consulted the bunnies before making major policy decisions.

Salaam.