The Black Rose and the Development of Racism

When I was a child, my mother would read this story everyday. It was a story from Abdul Baha’s time in America. He travelled there when he was in his last days of his life in the early 1900’s. Bear in mind, here was a man from Iran completely different , wearing long flowing coats and turbans telling people this story.

Here is the story :

On this day, looking out the window, Reverend Ives was astonished to see a group of some thirty “noisy, not too well dressed… urchins[children], but spruce and clean, enter the house.” He followed them upstairs where ‘Abdu’l- Bahá greeted them, one by one, with smiles and laughter. The last one was a dark colored boy and when the Master saw him, His face lit up with a heavenly smile, and He exclaimed: “Here is a black rose!” Everyone present was impressed with a feeling of wonder, which increased when ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, distributing a handful of chocolates to each child with a kind word, picked up a particularly dark chocolate and “without a word, but with a humorously piercing glance that swept the group, laid the chocolate against the black cheek. ‘Abdu’l- Bahá’s face was radiant… and that radiance seems to fill the room.” The children looked with real wonder at the boy as if they had never seen him before. “As for the boy, himself… his eyes fastened with an adoring, blissful look upon the Master…For the moment he was transformed. The reality of his being had been brought to the surface and the angel he really was revealed.”

It must have impacted me because as a child and when I grew up I always thought Black to be the most beautiful and regal colour in the world. I was quite simply in awe of it. In El Salvador everyone was brown skinned, but very rarely did I see anyone of that specific colour or race ( I was to learn much later how even a slight tinge in another direction makes you Black or White, regardless of culture in the United States)

It shocked and made me cry when people said racist things because they knew nothing about Black culture. I couldn’t understand how someone could say those things. and it cut me to the bone. As a junior youth I was particularily sensitive to those comments.
i felt like it was cutting into a beautiful rose and I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand it. It was odd when someone at school in 8th grade told me that the only thing Black people were good at was basketball. I almost got into a fist fight over the stereotype. It was odd because the boy who told me this had dark skin, and technically would be discriminated just as much in the United States.

Growing up, a lot of times I would stand out from the crowd. People would point and stare. I would get followed a lot. I was always the only one in the crowd, people knew i was foreign. However, I got used to it. I felt like I was this white speck in a sea of blue. When I went to very rural areas people would stare at me even more and asked if I got red in the sun. When my hair grew darker they said I wasn’t American enough- although at this point I had ceased being American long ago.

And I dreamed of having black friends, they seemed so beautiful and ethereal. When I finally went to college I made sure I was in the multicultural dorm. I was surprised to find that it wasn’t so simple. Everyone I met was completely different, depending on where they grew up.
It was odd, but in college I didn’t stand out. No one stared. But they did ask stupid questions about where I grew up. I didn’t find I had the patience for it. My friendships came suddenly and easily. It came unpexectedly. I met Byalinah and Juliet and Myra in the college lounge , just sitting there and they suddenly just invited me. I felt like I won the lottery, that I was joining I world I never knew before. And I found it fascinating.
My next door neighbors were completely different perspective. Rachel and Farrah had grown up in Haiti, and like me had a different perspective than those who grew up in the United States.
Farrah however was wary of me. She said all white people were the same. She grouped me because of my race and ceased to know who I was.She didn’t trust me until halfway through our freshman year when someone committed a hate crime. We were in the bathroom and she told me ” My sister this is so sad”. I felt I couldn’t move or breathe. In a quiet moment, she finally offered her trust…and did away with some prejudices.

A switch changed in my way of thinking. I realized that my fascination with the beauty of this culture made me cease to see people as well, people. Yes, colour did determine a lot of things but who they were transcended this.

In college, even in classes people were obsessed with people being labelled as something or the other. A good amount of time was spent talking about how we are different, the prejudices, the injustices. I became aware of these things and became very angry about all the ism’s in the world.

In my Junior year i didn’t have anywhere to live. Standing in line I asked for dorms in Southwest. A woman looked at me warily and whispered ” The only thing we have is a room in the black floor “. First off, she said it in such a racist way that I felt compelled to combat her ignorance and defiantly I accepted.
Thus, I became the white girl in the 22nd floor. Everyone looked at me in such a hostile way, and no one really talked to me. The floor was a program specifically geared towards celebrating black culture.
No one had much interest in socializing with me, and many made fun of me behind my back. Granted there was other problems , mainly with who I was who clashed with my roomate. ( Who was a little bit crazy, she did take a knife out on me when she was drunk…) . I was a tad miserable, but I wasn’t going to leave. While I tried to blend in, it was really hard because no matter what I did they just sort of pushed me away. Except for christopher and greg, who were nice to me I spent a good portion just sticking with my other friends. At this point I wasn’t really interested in making too many close friends as I already had a good amount of friends but at times their comments hurt me. It was almost that if they let me in It would ruin an argument of some kind.
I think I might have been able to break though if I had spent more time in the dorms, or if I didn’t have such a hard time with my roomate. However, the floor assumed I didn’t have any friends and were shocked when we went to the Hasa Ball and I knew most of the people there. I didn’t feel sad when i left the floor, especially when everyone protested because I was given a single despite the fact that I was white. I chose to leave because I didn’t have any connection with anyone, and it was fruitless to keep trying.

In college there was so much segregation. Where people seated in the Campus Center reflected their culture, interest and studies. I tended to weave in and out of groups, trying to know anything and anyone. I couldn’t understand it : You had this unique opportunity to know so many cultures and backgrounds and why not take it?

It wasn’t until I went to Cuba that I saw a difference. It was then I ceased to differentiate in my mind who was different, who was discriminated who was this or that. A cuban man said ” We are one people. It does not matter if I am black and he is cuban, we are all cuban”. I believed then, My mindset switched.
I realized how in my good intentions I had separated people and not realized that no one could possibly live up to my insane expectations. Black, white, brown, everyone made mistakes. But individuals were individuals.
All of the people I met were amazing but they became different and beautiful and unique. College prepared me to be patient when sometimes people are cautious towards me. When I met the indigenous girls in Ecuador, and they did not speak to me I tried to be patient. They became my sisters, and I realized that it took time to trust me.

I have been so blessed to know people from all parts of the world and have become a better person for it. I want my children to have the same experience. But whoever they choose to be friends with I want them to see that beautiful soul inside and not what they are supposed to be according to society.

We shouldn’t constantly point out what makes us different. Ending racism happens in quiet ways. Getting used to seeing people in different settings , from different races people start to eliminate the ” otherness” they had harbored. When my friend came to have lunch at my grandparents and they invited her in gladly, this was a quiet moment. This came from people who had said they would never let anyone in their house who was black, and there they were saying she was nice and great person. We begin to break down our walls when we see that despite everything, we all bleed. We all cry. We are all mothers and fathers. And we are only human after all.
And as we know ” If you do not prick us, do we not bleed?”

The incredible misadventures of a lost traveller

While travelling I have to probably have the worst things people can have while travellig : Bad luck, extreme forgetfulness and a knack for getting into the most extreme situations. Over the years, I have reacted badly over these misadventures. In fact, you could say really badly. But the fact is, mostly I try to stay calm because I have an incredible belief that eventually, it will all work out.

So phase one : Denial. I lost my bus, my family gave me the wrong ticket, and I am in the middle of London… It’s ok, it isn’t really lost , I can probably bargain my way out of…

The taxi driver has is getting me lost...how can he not know where victoria station is? How could I have end up here and my bus is leaving in twenty minutes? How am I going to get into Holland?

Phase two : Bargaining. Trying desperatly do get my ticket for that day, trying to coax the taxi to get me there from amsterdam, trying to find a way back form whence I came.... ( It usually only works when I reach)

Phase three : Blubbering mess. Cry at airport stand/taxi/bus/dark corner I must get plane/train/bus/taxi. Cry some more. Look like insane cat lady from films. People take pity and give me money/ride/phone/marriage proposal.

Phase four : The kindness of strangers. Strangers get me directions/calm me down/ offer a helping hand. Get to destination just in time, or find another viable solution.
Most people engage in funny small talk but tend to avoid me after encounter.
Phase five : Relief. The misadventures are over...for now. Relax and sing and read book. Repeat like favourite shampoo until mass hysteria comes again.
Total time of adventures : An extra ten hours/day/week.

Labelled To The Wall

Ever since I was small I was expected to be something or other. Lately,because I speak English with an American accent I am expected to be American. I get the same question over and over : So if you grew up in El Salvador why do you have an American accent? I can’t really give a concise answer. And if you listen closely you will find that there is something slightly off with how I speak. There are times when I will speak in ” Literal English” , or I will write Spanish in a ” gringa” way. I am afraid I am a victim of spanglish.

The true ” Spanglish” user will do it without thinking. Lo mas probable es que they weave in and out of the conversation sin que se den cuenta that they are actually doing it. It is what comes most natural to them. When they can’t find the words, they can simply dive into the pool of ” others” which best fits their mood.

Often I am asked if I dream in a certain language. Again, I can’t answer that it is greatly dependent on who I am speaking to at the time. I often change with the culture I am with as well. When I am in a spanish speaking environment I am more detailed oriented, sensitive and caring. In an English environment I tend to be more logical and detached. It’s a strange way of adapting to the culture you are in.

However, I am constantly asked to choose sides. I am asked to say I am one or the other. When in reality it’s so jumbled together, it can often be like a girl looking into a big messy globs of paint which is constantly dribbled into a the well… it is always changing colours.
It got me thinking…why do we have to be defined by who or where we live? Certainly culture is part of us, but the more I travel and live the more I realize how truly we have more in common than we think. There is no ” Other” , we all love , we all grieve… There are always mothers who worry over their sons, men who care for their wives, there are always things that cause us pain.

Yet we forget that while we feel the same we might not express them in the same way. This is why it is so important that we try to empathize with others instead of trying to make them like our own jagged reflection. I remember in college some latino girls would get so insulted that I grew up in Latin America. They would move their hips in defiance and look at me up and down and tell me I was ” pretending”.

I find that sort of thinking sad. This is why I love London. The moment you cross the threshold in the station you are surrounded by every country in the world, and yet they are all Londoners. They are part of this intrinsic quilt of life , and do not feel compelled to conform to any particular label. Perhaps this is the best wisdom of all . We are all part of ” We” but we are also an ” I”, a beautiful individual in the world.

Cutting Out Labels

If you were to eliminate your labels who would you become?

Cinderella in Chains

When I was in my senior year in High School I had to do my thesis for my IB diploma. Being an intense girl, I decided to do about the ” Halved Soul”. Basically , by going through fairy tale mythology , I saw how women were taught the fallacy of believing that they are not complete unless they are ” saved’ by a Prince. The women are always poor, helpless who cannot do anything until they find that one person who can give them what they want. They are unable to take destiny in their own hands. I went on to argue that the Prince was merely a Jungian symbol of our souls. We were projecting our spiritual needs on someone else who would never possibly be able to fulfill them.
I write this now because, even though intellectually I wrote those things, I still was doing the opposite in my everyday life. I was in love with a boy who could never commit to me and I used it as an escape from my parent’s divorce. Whenever I got lost or in despair, the first thing I felt I had to do was call a boy to save me. I chose not to say the answer to the questions, because whenever I did men tended to not come close.
I still fell victim to what society expected of me. And the thing is, you can blame paternalism, sexism, whatever you want to call it. But I think it has more to do with what women do to each other. When we have an accomplishment , we tend to tear each other down. We are taught that we have to compete in a Man’s world. We are taught that we have to compete for the men, the glory , the careers. Instead of valuing our sisterhood , society unconsciously dictates that we have to compare ourselves to each other.
Men are simpler. If they hate a guy , they say it. If they like a girl they will try to pursue her. We are such complicated beasts, forever wallowing in our own emotions, in our own insecurities. And ultimately it boils down to the fact that we are taught to externalize our own happiness. We are taught that no matter what we do in our lives, we won’t be worthy. So many women tell me they don’t feel accomplished because they are not fulfilling the whole ” package”. If they are married with kids , they tell me they don’t like the way their jobs are headed. If they are single they feel lonely.
Let’s rid ourselves of these expectations. Let’s stop thinking about ” Others” and focus on ourselves. Let’s begin to stop worrying about how little we are appreciated and start to appreciate ourselves. We need to stop this from dictating our lives, because those chains are the ones that we can’t take off.
When I was in college I had a dream that I was walking with Abdul Baha along a green forest. There was some girls in the corner who began to tease me and were very hateful towards me because I was with Him. In the dream the girl who was the worst had dark hair. When I looked at her face I realized that it was myself! Then Abdul Baha grabbed my hand and looked at me with such love and pointed to the universe and it was so immense and amazing, that what was behind us became tinier and tinier as if to say ” None of this matters…”
And it doesn’t ladies. We need to take control of our own lives and realize that it is the only thing we can control. Yes, sometimes it is hard out there. Yes, we are overloaded with expectations : A tough workplace, an unequal world, men who fail to commit, philandering husbands, demanding children…. But we also have ourselves, we are women filled with all these complex emotions. We are capable of becoming so much! Let’s look on to those examples of those heroic women : Do you think Zaynab hesitated or compared herself when she set herself out for battle? Do you think Mona was thinking who was better in the prison?
No! Of course not! So let’s stop the madness now!

Rant out >

Smell Of Dew

Today the first actual sense of spring was felt. I felt it in my toes, the air was fresher and the little flowers were peeking out from newly green shrubs. It was truly amazing to see people being to smile, shed their winter coats and walking around in the parks again.

It has been a long winter. But it also makes you feel anew, this feeling of spring. I can understand how some people literally worship the spring. There are symbolic reasons for it. It makes me think in Baha’u'llah’s quote that says ” If it not for the cold how would the Fire of Thy word prevail oh Light of the Worlds?” It comes from the fire tablet.

In El Salvador we have the sun for most of the year. It never gets really cold. We take the sun for granted. The sun is there when we wake up, and it is there for us to say goodbye at night. The dawn always comes to greet us at 6 o’clock.

It is always, always predictable. However, that’s why it isn’t extraordinary. We think , hey it’s just the sun. We see it everyday, so no one would go outside and walk in the park with an amazed look on their face. We never see the rebirth of the sun in the flowers and smell it in the dew that falls on the newborn petals. We don’t kiss it goodbye on the red tinted leaves or lament it when we see the withered trees.

The winter is long, and cold and miserable. It seeps in our bones. The sun seems like a distant dream that we must have known long ago. We try to brighten up with small things, like putting up christmas lights, using posh clothes and drinking hot chocolate. But it is not the sun.

So when we had a glorious day like this we cannot help but feel overjoyed. The sun is extraordinary.

This is why, the world will not appreciate the light of God without going through turmoil and chaos. If we had light everyday we would not fully appreciate it’s glory. We would not strive for it everyday, and we would not learn. What is sad is that the world is in such darkness we have lost hope. We think that there really isn’t a way to go back from it. We have forgotten to hope. But guess what? Springtime is coming. And if you look closely you can see the newborn buds peeking out from the fresh earth.

Suitcases Filled With Holes

The problem with moving is you are always somewhere else. You always have one foot where you are and another in mid air ready to move forward. You can pretty much think of home as a bunch of selected places.

But for the first time in my life, I lack an anchor. When my mother rented out the house in El Salvador, I was left feeling like my navigational SAT Nav went a bit wonky. I always knew I could go home, no matter if I was in an indigenous Radio in Ecuador, studying in below freezing temperatures in Ecuador or whatever else was happening. There was always home to go back to. But now, I don’t have that anymore.

Trying to get my bearings has been a long and painful process. It’s odd going through all the seasons of the year without knowing I would go back to the tropical sun. The problem is, being in between, sometimes you are never satisfied with anything. People back home tell me, it must be amazing to live in Europe.

But what people don’t realize is that you can get used to anything. After the novelty wears off, you are still the same person and sometimes you deal with the same tests. Here are a couple great things about living in Europe :

Getting on a train and not worrying about getting mugged
Walking at night and not worrying about getting mugged
Unlimited amount of books that are available
Parks and lakes
Cheap flight tickets
Cheap hotels
The ability to meet people , all the time
All kinds of bottles!
Warm hot bubble baths!
Pampered cats and dogs!
No stomache problems !
The cute British accent
The wonderful architecture
No one ever bothers you or is in your life

Here are some things that go old after awhile :
The trains and underground- incredibly slow ( and expensive)
The cold – it just doesn’t stop
People fussing over dogs
The cold – and I am not talking about the weather
Formality and bureacracy

Here are some things I miss about Latin America :
Knowing people forever and knowing that you can call them and they know how to comfort you
The predictability of things
The warmth of people
The sun basking on my face
The hard and tumultous rain which always gives way to the smell of wet earth

However there are things that drive me up the wall :
The fact that everyone is in your life, all the time and forever. Amen. ( Case in point : Your news will always be known even before you get to announce it yourself. I found out my friend had a baby the minute she had it and it was through her cousin’s mother’s sister’s friend).
The warmth of the climate
The predictability
The mugging and the violence!
The bugs!

My point is, everything, afterawhile will get old. Life is just not exciting all the time. You will feel lonely, unhappy , sad in any situation. The best thing is to make the most of what you have and live intensely. If you are moving to somewhere else the worst thing you can do is compare. The place you are living will never ever live up to that comparison. As time passes, you begin to think of your homeland in rose tinted , puffy lalala contexts. You think it can do no wrong. I have seen many a person get out of the plane to El Salvador, their hearts raised with hope just to realize that their house isn’t as big as they remembered, people who used to be their friends don’t have time or remember them and it is far hotter and harder to live there than they thought.

No place is magical. What we have to see is ” How much of the bad can I deal with”…because to be honest, that was one of the main reasons for going to all those conferences was to see a place where I can truly say ” Hey I can stay for a long period of time”…. To Be Continued…

Twisted Metal and Mangled Stars Light The Universe

I just came back from an amazing conference in Germany. There was five thousand people gathered from everywhere in Central Europe. It’s the third conference I have been to this month, and I think I have seen 10,000 Bahais on account of it. What makes all of this relevant is not the fact that so many people came together as to the reason why they came together.

The world is now in a turmoil. Things are breaking apart. If you look at the news, you see children murdering their parents, the economy as at an all time low and there are wars everywhere. Life is dreary and it sucks. Here’s the thing, we think it’s obvious and we think there are no solutions out there for it.

We have become like the frogs who have become used to the boiling water. But the truth is, we can’t continue on this way. There has to be a solution, and it won’t come in fancy goverment policies, or new trade agreements , or any ” Other”. It has to come from us. Bahai’s believe that we all have to come together to work for peace, for harmony, for justice. Baha’u'llah gave us permanent solutions from the ground up. The solution lies in caring for everyone as brothers and sisters, for wanting things to change and for feeling that there is a solution for all of it.
Baha’u'llah wrote hundreds of texts but this was not just in word alone. He himself was imprisioned for all of his life for those beliefs. So have hundreds of Bahais around the world. There has been 41 conferences around the world, 41 joyous conferences planning specific steps towards a positive change in the community around them. And all of them have indicated painful sacrifice. A boy from India sleeps in a restaurant and walks for three days to get to the conference , poor Believers in the Congo trek miles in a war torn country to get there, the bankrupt believers in Iceland toil through to get to London, Indigenous populations in Quito arrive after having been in a mangled bus crash

For every victory there is a crisis , for every sacrifice there is a reward. Some people call it crazy, ideal and stupid. All of this for what? The answer is for love of humanity and wanting to change . They don’t ask for money, or fame or any reward. All they ask is for you to open your hearts and want a change as well. For us to throw our differences of ” us” and ” them” and just to spill forth , mangled stars lighting the universe.

Next week, the most heroic example of sacrifice shall be seen. Seven Bahais in Iran, the leaders of the Bahai community in that region are to be tried for being ” traitors ” , the hate for them simply because they wanted to serve and be Bahais. The injustice has to be stopped. And these lonely seven, in the dark cells in a remote prison of Iran withthe smell of dampness and silence permeating the room, I hope they know that the 80,000 Bahais who have come to these conferences remember them and are fruits of their selfless sacrifice.

As we watch baloons flying into the air over the temple in Germany with small notes for them, may they continue to be in our hearts, and our prayers.

Here are some of the stupidest questions TCK’s get asked when going ” Home”.

” Do they have roads in X country?”

“  Does everyone live in the jungle?”

” Do people eat with their hands:”

” It’s really dangerous there, isn’t it?” ( this is made in a rhetorical obvious tone)

” How can you stand the heat there”

And, when going back to X country you are faced with several questions such as :

” How come your not blonde and blue eyed like all other americans?”

” It’s o.k. you have a lot of money anyways, I mean all Americans have money.”.

Ignorance is something that pervades every corner of the earth. We are given images of how countries are based on superstitions, taboos and limited view of the media. Case in point  : At times mainstream media tends to show the worst parts of a ” Third world” country , the dirtiest, most garbage ridden part.  And americans tend to e portrayed as having an idealized , rich and worry free life : The American Dream

All of these are lies of course based purely on our own misguided misconceptions. TCK kids have the advantage that they are always the outsider, and find themselves constantly defending other countries, places and people.

At times we tend to bite our tongues and smile through, finding that easier than having to deal with the questions and answers people pose .  Combating ignorance has nothing to do with where you live but how you view the world.

The normalcy of being different

Pies gastados

Corazon de gitana

Maleta llena de hoyos

The weirdest thing about having a third culture kid itch is that you are never truly home anywhere. BUt aside from that, unconcsciously you tend to seek out things that are different.  When I first came to El Salvador during the war having blonde hair and white skin I always stood out.  People always stared. When I was out in the country side giving Bahai children class someone asked me if I got red in the sun.
This has since changed , as tourism is now more common in the country. Yet when I arrived to college in the United States , I found it strange not to be ” different” anymore .  Yet the problem was that  inside I really was different. When I talked to people in freshman orientation about El Salvador people looked at me with repulsion like i was too strange for them.

So i sought out friends who would understand me, where I was different, where people sought me out as such. It felt strange but home at the same time. My friends never asked stupid questions about where I lived, they didnt lecture me on how dangerous a country seemed, they just accepted me for who I was. And that is hard to find, and that is what I call home for me.