Intersec[shun]ality

My Jackson Scholar mentor once told me that the way to take my disparate set of experiences and craft a narrative as a researcher is to always "bring it back to myself." Whether we are explicit about it or not, our work always has pieces of who we are within it. When I take on research projects, I'm seldom thinking about whether or not it will speak to the narrative that I am trying to weave together for the CV I hope to someday  🎤drop on a potential employer's desk. Instead, I mostly just try to follow what feels interesting, what I'm passionate about and, I suppose, subconsciously remain hopeful that my heap of instinctive decisions will later amount to a coherent story that depicts some ~accurate version of me.

However, when it came time for me to pitch myself at conferences or in grant applications, I had to dig deep to find that story. In an effort to take my mentor's advice, I looked at each of the projects I've been involved in to make sense of what part of them spoke to my identity. It is in this way that I identified the two strands of research I now distinguish as my focal areas: educational leadership for development in Africa and immigrant/non-immigrant education in the US. Both of these areas speak to the junction of privileged and oppressed cultural boundaries. (To "bring it back to myself", I'm an Ethiopian and a non-immigrant getting an education in the US.)

Of course, most PhD candidates don't quite operate this way and, as I'm learning now, it's with good reason.

I'm four years into my program and I'm finding myself grappling with things I thought I had figured out a long time ago. My dissertation is on transnational educational leadership within iNGOs working in Ethiopia. As I (literally) pedal through my interview data, slugging along the transcription of colorful conversations with my generous informants in iNGO offices in Ethiopia,  I am reminded of my internal conflict during my fieldwork: a conflict between my membership to the world of Ethiopians and my membership to the world of African diaspora/[non]immigrants in the US.

My study sites were extremely welcoming climates for me and quickly felt like home; however, there were many moments that were sure reminders of the distance that my [physical] return to my home country had not been able to diminish. I remember that one time they introduced me in a classroom as "the American-educated PhD candidate." I can tell from the pride in their voice that they mean to heighten the excitement around my presence but it also almost always served to break the sense of belonging that had been building in me, by othering me. My entire data collection process was riddled by the divergence of my perceptions of my place in Ethiopia from how Ethiopia felt about me.

Photo Credit: ww2.kqed.org

Lately, I've been caught between yet another pair of distinct worlds--one which tokenizes my participation in the race and immigration discourse as an African woman and the other which deems my diasporic sensibilities as not being African enough. A man once told me that African immigrants [should be] concerned with the plight of Africans and not the plight of Black people. His inability to reconcile the two worlds was truly staggering. There are so many moments like this that have forced me to take a stand on issues I hadn't previously thought deeply about. I'm suspended between worlds that see me as either Black, [non]immigrant, African, or Ethiopian, separately--unable to accept that an allegiance to one is not an abandonment of the other. While the world(s) stay(s) busy trying to tell me who I am, I'm grasping for pieces of myself that are familiar to me. I can't fit into any of the categories my conversations box me into.

A few days ago, my advisor reminded me that my lack of full access to any world has in some sense provided me with unique access to many worlds. Anthropologists refer to this as insider/outsider status. The idea is that by having one foot in two worlds, we're able to gain perspective of each without taking any nuances for granted in either. Insider status may give us full access to a world but can make us so close to things in that world that we become blind to that which we take for granted; whereas outsider status may mean having no access to another's world but can also provide the distance needed to recognize what is taken for granted by members of that world.

But how do we get inside or outside of a world? What determines membership to worlds like Black, [non]Immigrant, or African? Is there a common understanding by each member as to what this is? Or does each individual understand their membership differently? I'm leaning towards the latter. Take the world of "women" for example. You may argue that there is a biological requirement for membership into this world but the term "woman" may mean different things to each of us who identify as such. So I wonder then, if I can use this as a starting point to find comfort in my intersec[shun]ality.

Society will assert whether we are insiders or outsiders of any given world but perhaps the truth is that we each comprise of our own.

Agen[she]

The traditional/historic role of a woman in many societies (think: "the second sex") has often been solely conceptualized as that of a victim. Even the most progressive people I know only ever speak to the ways in which women have been unfairly treated in the home and the workplace both within and without marriage. I certainly don't wish to discount the various ways in which women were and still are victims (along with--and to a greater extent--many other gender identities). Instead, I'm trying to establish that we often take on deficit views of these, indeed marginalized, groups. It is almost a sense of pity that we feel perhaps partly because we are clouded by our discontent that is understandably roused by the injustice.

For me, these (albeit unintentional) condescending perspectives are not far removed from the very ones that oppress women to begin with. Many have discussed the ways in which women fought back--in fact, much is recorded on the stories of countless women who were responsible for revolutionary changes of a global magnitude (think: Wangari Maathai). Still, there are too few conversations about the ways in which women's strength to endure (and not just to fight back) is critically analyzed as an exercise of power in and of itself. I worry that in not having these conversations, we are instead conflating agency and resistance.

Can agency, instead, manifest itself as tolerance?

While some research has explored the trauma that stays with women from societies that box us into these traditional roles, not enough explores how we also possess power and creatively exploit it. This capacity may not rectify the circumstances of the oppressed but an appreciation of it allows society to move away from deficit perceptions of women who, in actuality, wield much power.

The resilience to endure oppression should not be used to excuse oppressive social or cultural practices but it should be appreciated as agency. As such, the contributions of women to society should not only be measured by the success of those who resisted but also those that found another way to fight.


"There are two ways to spread light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -Edith Wharton        

int[rover]sion

There are brief moments of clarity in my clouds of mere existence. Most of the time I am uneasily staggering in the direction dictated by whatever wind is blowing hardest: deadlines, chores, people in need of attention. Once in a long while the winds fall silent, creating a brief moment without instructions as to where I should be or what I should be doing. It is in that fleeting span of time, I find, I'm most lucid.

I can see her at her clearest. She's no pretty sight but she is very familiar. And while she respects the powers of the winds, she is happiest when they do not blow. She is happiest not alone, but in the silences that punctuate her moments-with-company.

Story Sorting

I used to enthusiastically flounder my way through many conversations about The Godfather. I often said something like, "Al Pacino is a great actor" or, "It's a classic" or the awkward, "What scene was that? It's been so long, I don't remember the details". A couple of years ago, I decided to "refresh" my memory and watch it "again". To my shame, I realized that I had never seen it! I had just taken part in so many conversations about it, that I had convinced myself of my watching it as a child. Instead, I couldn't recognize a single scene. Needless to say, I was completely blown away by it.

Photo Credit: dailypaul.com

My favorite scene has to be after Michael returns from hiding and he's trying to win Kay back. He relates Kay's concerns about his family's business to that of any system involving power:

Michael: My father is no different than any powerful man, any man with power, like a president or senator.   

Kay: Do you know how naive you sound, Michael? Presidents and senators don't have men killed. 

Michael: Oh. Who's being naive, Kay?

There's this underlying ethical conflict that is carried through-out the movie. It deconstructs your ideas about good and bad by developing Michael's character to the point where you start to relate to him. At the end of the movie [spoiler alert], you'll find yourself fond of a new Don that just had the heads of all the other families killed, and ordered for his brother in law to be choked to death only to lie to his wife about it. It speaks both to how well the story was told and how complicated human nature really is.

While movies (and to a similar extent, books) are categorized by genre, I've found that it can be just as useful to categorize them by how they're told--as opposed to what they're telling. Consider my storytelling approach typologies:

• Storytelling Using a Moral: This is probably where a lot of the movies that reach the box office would fit in. These movies focus on very simple and basic concepts like "good guy always wins" or "forgiveness is good" or "family is important". There's a moral or lesson in the story. Stories in this category also tend to be (while not always) very easy to follow and have nothing too complex in how they play out. Tyler Perry movies are a quintessential example.
• Storytelling Using a Character: Some stories work primarily on character development. It's not so much that they don't have a "moral of the story" but it's more that it's not the ultimate focus. The Godfather is a perfect example. A lot of time is spent on showing the various elements to Michael Corleone's personality and motives. At the end of it, we don't have a clear idea of what we've learned but we're blown away nonetheless.
• Storytelling Using a Philosophy: My brother helped me coin this one. These are stories that unfold to explore a concept. They don't have a strong focus on a lesson or a character. A great example is Cloud Atlas. I would also argue that The Matrix would fit well in this category too. Similar to the first two categories, it doesn't mean these stories are clear of any lessons or character developments but that its not the core of what they're about.

Like genres, there could be great overlap here but there's always one approach that will outshine the others. Many action movies tend to have elements of romance and/or drama, for instance, but they are labeled as action movies because that is the more prominent element. In some cases, romance might even be what is driving the action but we are still in agreement that the movie belongs in the Action aisle. In much the same way, the story telling approach is easy to detect because one--a moral, a character, or a philosophy--always stands out more. 

Putting Pride in its Place

For some time now, I've been looking for ways to deal with my pride. Of course, there have been many instances that I've considered it a quality; however, it would be foolish not to acknowledge its darker elements. Those of you that are of Christian faith, may even recognize it from the list of seven cardinal sins; but I'll refrain from approaching the topic from this angle. You may all have your own reasons as to why you would like to be more proud and less prideful. Mine stem from what I know it's keeping me from becoming. I know I have a lot of potential but, I'm also well aware that there are things in my nature that prevent me from realizing this potential. Pride happens to be one of the many.

I decided to compile bits and pieces of advice from role models in my life and lessons from personal experiences... resulting in a manageable, acrostic list :) of [mostly mental] exercises that I use to try and keep myself in check. I'm sharing this as a way to continue to keep that up (and perhaps to solicit some comfort in the hope that I'm not alone).

Here is what I have so far: 

1. Proclaim: Denial is not just a river in Ethiopia (N.B. this too, is geographically accurate). Accept what must change. Ask people closest to you to describe your pride (candor is of the essence), and make sure to get examples of situations that would illustrate their assessment. This will help make their comments more convincing to you. Personally, I struggled with this Catch-22: I was too proud to admit that I'm proud. In the end, I found that I needed to hear it from several people before I could learn to accept my truth. This is an easier step than a public proclamation... like a blog post, for instance :)
2. Recognize: Pride is sneaky and manifests itself in many different ways (both negative and positive). Make sure you understand what about your pride is negative and how it manifests itself for you. For example, someone with low self-esteem can be too proud to admit that they need help feeling better about themselves. For most of us, we need to dig a little deeper to really understand what's going on. And those of us that live behind countless layers, need the help of someone that knows us really well and loves us anyway, to help us with the digging. 
3. Invalidate: Take a step back. Often times, pride stems from an inaccurate perception of reality. Expose it for what it is. Invalidate its source.  
• Example 1: What should have been a mere "pat on the back" may grow into a superior perception of self. I mean, can we really take complete ownership of our successes? Or is it more principled to accept that many other things (outside of our control) had to be in place for us to achieve what we did? If I'm losing you on this one, I suggest you read "Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell. Sure we all vary in aptitude, discipline, talent… and the list goes on. I'm not suggesting that you shouldn't feel a sense of pride from your accomplishments; instead I'm saying don't allow yourself to become hubristic. For me, taking a step back always does the trick. Gain sight of your true place in the universe: "Yes, I worked hard to acquire my promotion; but that pivotal proposal would not have been approved had my colleague not helped me meet the deadline". This, to me, is an example of what differentiates pride in its positive form from pride in its negative one.
• Example 2: Sometimes this superior sense of self gets us to act in a less intuitive way. For some of us, being prideful means that we feel we are too good to make mistakes. So in the instances that we do, we are too proud to admit it. This too, is an example of having a superior sense of self. Take a step back. Think of someone that you feel is like you: too good to make mistakes. This is usually someone you idolize, or think of as a role model. Then, make time to speak with them about the errors they've made in their lives (trust me, they will have many). And you'd be surprised how much people are willing to share. Convince yourself that they too are capable of making mistakes; that being a good person, or being a successful one doesn't mean being free of mistakes or imperfections. It means striving in spite of them. Relate this back to how you think of yourself. You are no less of a person for having imperfections; instead, you are better off for having accepted them.
4. Devote: Find a way to always keep this bigger picture in mind. Devote some time to a regimen: It could be prayer, it could be yoga, it could be exercise (mental or physical), or a morning routine that allows you to quieten your mind. Use this time to remind yourself of your goal, regularly. In undergrad, a counselor once told me to (literally) paint a picture of my goals and hang it up in my room. Every morning I would wake up and it would be the first thing I see. I made the Dean's List that semester.
5. Evaluate: Go back to your loved ones that helped you identify and understand your pride to begin with. Talk to them about how you could have handled things better. Have them help you recognize when you're going down that path again. I'm not here yet but I'll let you know how this goes.

I don't know about you but, I take great pleasure in chucking my to-do lists when I'm done with them. There's nothing like the feeling of crossing something off a to-do list. Unfortunately, this just isn't that kind of list. It's the kind that you may never really cross off because, you'll find that you need to revisit each item regularly. At least, that's been true for me thus far.

Sorted Society

We live in a world bombarded with lines of division. Separating ourselves by the color of our skin, the nature of our hair, our sexual orientation, political affiliations, religious views or positions on specific issues, we tirelessly look for ways we can distinguish ourselves from one another. We group ourselves based on mere proximity and draw national boundaries from which an obvious need for a dialogue on power arises - fertile grounds for more division. Within our nations we draw lines to define our ethnic differences. Then we fixate on these boundaries until we forget that we really have more commonalities than we do differences.

Is it necessary? I don't know. Nor am I in any position to speculate. But I wonder about the possible implications. In a world so hungry to divide, are we allowing these divisions to define us? Are we allowing these divisions to oversimplify who we are?

In one of the research courses I took in my final year of graduate school, our instructor had us write down a word that we felt defined us. One of the most interesting things I noticed was that we all looked to things like religion, nationality, careers, etc to define ourselves - myself included. But were we looking at who we are, or who we know the world sees us as? And which is more important? If someone is asking me to use a single word to describe myself, and I say "Ethiopian", am I merely trying to find a word that I feel will be easiest for my enquiring friend to understand? Of course the answer is accurate. I am indeed from Ethiopia; however, why not relate better to my humanity than our societal divisions? Looking back, I would have rather used a word like, "sensitive" (which is also true by the way). 

The next time you begin to engage a stranger in conversation, take notice of the things your mind first picks up on. Our minds are wired to categorize the person by the groups we understand make up our society: race, nationality, profession... The mind works fast to make the connections between what we're seeing and what we know.

When we strip away the walls that have compartmentalized our society, we are left with a much more complicated truth about our humanity. While these social divisions may very well be important to us, is the simplification of our humanity to these groups taking away from our human experience?

Choice vs Chance

Let's put all romantic sentiments aside for a quick moment… and believe me, there are very few people that would struggle with this more than yours truly. I have rose colored corneas - it's my blessing and my curse.

As I enter the phase in my life where societal expectations point towards finding a partner, I have a natural tendency to approach the subject as I would any project: Conduct some background research, construct a hypothesis, test with an experiment, analyze results, and draw conclusions on whether the hypothesis held true or not. I'm kidding. Well, kind of. I'm having some trouble formulating a testable hypothesis so if it leaves you more inclined to continue reading, just pretend I was kidding.

I've been struggling with this notion that love is an overpowering force that we don't choose to feel but rather, are compelled to blindly follow. I mean, I even have friends that have bought into this idea of a "meant-to-be", a "soulmate", someone that the forces of the universe are working to have us meet, fall in love with, and spend a life time with. It's a beautiful idea, really… but - if you ask me - it belongs compressed behind a 40 inch plasma display, between a catchy title and a lengthy list of credits. On this side of the screen, I've come to suspect that reality functions a bit differently. 

What if love is merely a choice? What if what makes a marriage work has less to do with love but, is instead more dependent on the commitment of the parties involved. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said, "it is not your love that sustains the marriage, but [...] the marriage that sustains your love". Could it be possible, that we can really live happily with almost anyone, provided they are equally committed?

I can't help but think back to my own culture. While the city of Addis Ababa has transformed itself to mimic the Western way of wedding (with the addition of half a ton of raw beef, a spice rack unsuited for the sensitive palette, and 8-10 times the guest list...), the traditional Ethiopian union is more a product of familial arrangements. The understanding is that marriage is a partnership based on respect and commonalities. Contrary to popular belief, many couples that were married in this way, do find happiness. There was a study conducted by California State University on 58 Indian-American married couples in the USA (28 of which were arranged marriages) that I read about on the Chicago Tribune last year. The study involved a series of questionnaires and concluded that there are no significant differences in the level of satisfaction experienced across the two groups. While the external validity of the study can certainly be challenged, it still begs the question: are we looking for the rare chance at romance when happiness is walking past us in its many forms?

If romance is not a prerequisite to a happy marriage, why all the hype?

I often talk to couples closest to me about how they decided to marry the partner that they married. An overwhelming number refer to factors that were out of their control; such as, timing, or pregnancy, or immigration papers. While this may speak more to the crowd of people I have around me than it does the institution of marriage itself, I can't help but notice that in waiting for romance, many people fall into marriages they never planned to end up in. So not only is romance overrated and more unlikely but, in waiting for it to happen, life's tides may take you into a different direction than you planned anyway!

My question is this: If our needs are really more basic than we understand them to be, why not just find a respectful and committed partner now? Why wait for romance to "happen" to us? 

Summoning Spring at the S. St Seaport

The Upper New York Bay and the Long Island Sound shake hands beneath a myriad of 19th century architecture. Beautiful brick buildings watch as Fulton Street cuts between them and ends its journey at New York City's breathtaking tidal strait. The East River echoes the hustle and bustle of downtown Manhattan, yet is not consumed by it. Instead, it remains majestic even as it reflects the monstrous concrete erections of the Financial District. My best friend and I fell silent on the old wooden terrace overlooking the waves that gracefully took the stage... and we began to listen.

The East River tells a story; the waves ripple through New York City, parting it with conviction... carrying intellectual profundity to anyone that cared to listen:

There's such immense power in perspective. Our minds are always so pre-occupied by our day-to-day lives that we begin to give the petty ups and downs more weight than they deserve. We begin to give ourselves more weight than we deserve. This is especially true in a city like New York. It may be hard to absorb all of New York but it's very easy to be absorbed by even fragments of it. 

The East River teaches a lesson of stillness, of reflection, and of perspective. It provides a mental distance, giving way to slivers of objectivity. The city stops for no one, so sometimes we must instead be the ones to stop...

The Diaspora's Dilemma

Cultural identity is such an odd concept. It's fluid, it's ambiguous, it changes with time, it's often very subjective, and we seldom know exactly what we mean when we throw it around. In fact, these characteristics probably apply just the same to culture and identity, separately. While I doubt this entry will throw light on any of this, humor me for a second as there may be an interesting thought in here somewhere if you look close enough.

Through the 'tossing's and 'turning's of living and maturing, it becomes increasingly easier to lose this sense of cultural identity - or at least to feel like we have. We are stretched thin between pillars of roles, responsibilities, institutions, professions... whatever we allow to define us (be it completely or in part). For diaspora communities, our suspension across these pillars is coupled with the influence of our new environment. Those of us that stay long enough might even be more influenced by it than by whatever former dwelling we called home. As a member of a diaspora community myself, I've struggled to understand how to disentangle and reconcile this webbing of cultural identities. I'm not sure that I've achieved this entirely, but I'm certainly getting closer.

In my humble opinion, there are three general kinds of diaspora that exist on a spectrum of cultural immersion:

1. Diaspora in a bubble: Diaspora that exist completely oblivious to their new surrounding community
2. Diaspora in a melting pot: Diaspora who effectively let go of their old attachments and allow their new surrounding (or portions of it) to create their identity
3. Diaspora in a mixing salad: Diaspora who maintain their old attachments while entertaining the experience of their new community

Often times when we lose ourselves, we either a) search for and cling on to what we were, b) quickly acquire an identity from something/someone in close proximity, or c) keep one foot rooted in our past while using the other to test new waters. I think a case could be made for the benefits of each of the three (depending on the person and situation) so I wouldn't necessarily deem any one avenue superior to another... nor do I see any need to. It's not about where you are on the spectrum, but rather about finding a sense of cultural identity that you are happy with.