Yay!  A publication.

Lots of you know that I write pretty regularly for scholarly outlets.  I don’t mention that stuff often here, but word just came in from the Teachers College Register (TCR) of Columbia University that a very cool commentary just went live on the TCR webpage for this week.  It’s title — PARTNERSHIP WITH NATIVE AMERICAN COMMUNITIES:  CAN HIGHER EDUCATION SHOW UP?  It’s only free for a week, then TCR charges for access, so check it out and let us know what you think!

As background, here’s where the article came from.  Over the past eight years I’ve had the opportunity to work closely with Roy H. Sampsel (Wyandotte/Choctaw – pictured above right) and other Native American Tribal Leaders.  A primary focus for the work Roy and I have done has been the development and delivery of a graduate-level curriculum based in contemporary and traditional indigenous ways of knowing, especially as these ways of knowing are immediately relevant to education and counseling practices in the U.S.  While this work with Roy and the many Tribal Leaders who advise and guide the curriculum has provided significant personal pleasure (like building friendships and watching students gain insights in ways immediately relevant to teaching and counseling), it has also given me a unique and rigorous opportunity to walk all this talk surrounding the growing word salad of terms like social justice, diversity, multicultural competence….

Building and sustaining these kinds of partnerships has big appeal to both partners but is anything but easy.  As we moved into our eighth year of collaboration, Roy and I decided to take a more systematic look back over out work together and to give a go at writing about our experiences for scholarly journals.  Specifically, we wanted to write about the challenges and opportunities of forming respectful working relationships between our country’s decidedly dominant-culture institutions of higher education and the Tribal Nations and peoples indigenous to this land.  One of our mutual colleagues, Antone Minthorn (Cayuse – pictured above left), the former Chairman of the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Reservation (CTUIR), speaks with studied confidence of the “renaissance in Indian Country.”  Former Chairman Minthorn’s comment reflects the cultural and economic resilience of Indigenous communities as their collective intelligence and effort remains rooted in ancestral ways of knowing, seeing and being.  While this kind of descriptor can feed into romantic notions nonNatives carry about Native American culture, there has been little romance in the onslaught of challenges Native American people have withstood and continue to endure.  Building Native/nonNative partnerships that actually support the resilience Antone Minthorne sees is the opportunity and challenge Roy and I have been engaging.  Our experience, we hope, can be instructive.

A longer manuscript is out for editorial consideration by an American Psychological Association journal, but the TCR requested that we craft a shorter version and here it is!  http://www.tcrecord.org/  Check the second column just under the photo and there we’ll be.

Please give a read and let us know what you think.

Last Saturday, Portland Oregon had a clustering of human processions.  Every year this time the Rose Festival hits its climax with the Grand Floral Parade — the second largest floral parade in the nation next to Pasadena’s Rose Parade on January 1.  Typical to Oregon’s modesty and as true to its chutzpah, the Rose Festival was established a mere 17 years after the first parade in Pasadena way back in the first decade of the 20th century.  Then came Saturday morning, when 106 years later and thanks to the primary sponsorship of the Grand Ronde Tribe, 500,000 or so souls gathered once again to witness the display.  Band after band, sister city delegations from around the world — Zimbabwe, China, Mexico, Korea, Taiwan, Italy, Israel,  Japan — 17 floats with every surface covered only with plant material (like artichokes and brussel sprouts to make the thick green skin of a giant alligator).  There were bedecked civic groups of all kinds, contingents both flashy and dignified from groups like  Rancho Tres Potrillos Mariachi Band and Dancers, the Indonesian Community, Lee’s Association Lion and Dragon Dancers, the Macleay Pipe Band, the Vietnamese Community of Oregon and the Orgullo Morelense Cemiac Dance Group.  The whole event was breathtaking as ever, but as it turned out it wasn’t the only pageant of the day.

One of the things I do in my work is to serve as a reviewer for scholarly manuscripts that social science researchers submit to academic journals – vying for one of the coveted publication spots so necessary for advancing in higher education professions.

Hmmm.

Well first, let’s go back and take a look at that sentence.  The one I just wrote and you just read.

Its message could easily invoke a yawn.  That’s how compelling academic writing is to everyone but academics (and more academics than you might imagine, if they were really telling the truth, would also say of the genre – BORING–).  At the same time, a more charitable reading could lead to curiosity about the review process for this pretty narrow reach of thinking and writing.  It can be cool to consider how the research authority quoted in news media are crafted and selected.

Then there’s the length of that opening sentence.  Together with the language … well, it’s not the most stuffy phrasing, but there are a lot of words.  Of course clarity is always good, but what is clear varies depending on who’s attention the writer wants to get.  That alone – the consideration of the audience the writer wants to engage – is a subject fraught with implications of power, privilege and access.

OK, so yesterday I completed a review of one of those academic manuscripts.  The biggest problem with the document was its super-crazy-convoluted narrative.  At the close of my two pages of single-spaced comments (we academics like to be credited for our efforts…), I actually wrote this:

Beartooth Highway

The past few days have, for me, been filled again with Montana.  Specifically the valleys just northeast of the Beartooth/Absaroka range of the Rockies.  Yesterday our country gave an entire day to a remembrance many of us make far more often during the year in honor of the people who have given their lives in service to this country.  On that day I stood in the Lamar Valley of Yellowstone, the country’s first National Park.  I caw Bison with brand new calves — hours, days, at most a few weeks old.  I saw evidence of Prong Horn, Moose and Wolves.  I saw Ravens and Magpies all held in a verdant stretch of valley I forget is possible beyond fantasy, until I’m here.  That’s when I remember that along with the individuals and families, the communities and cities of our nation, those who have given their lives to serve us — whether on these lands or in other countries, whether military or civilian — have also been acting to protect, defend and ensure the well being of the land upon which we live.

I knew gratitude in every step yesterday– with every mile, with all its breath and effort for moving my oh-so-fortunate body through this land we prize in its wildness.  Walking this land beneath its wide, bright sky I remembered again that the wilderness of our country is vital to the heart of who we are as a nation.  Today and likely every day for a good while – I will remember this particular magnificence and I will know my boundless gratitude to all who have served across the history of our country and across the vast sweep of time before the dawn of the United States to protect and care for it.

 

On Friday I had the opportunity to speak briefly with a small group of friends and colleagues about social justice.  It was a time that qualifies for sure as a moment in the story of my life.  And the particular narrative of that time is transition – big transition – so big that I’m not yet prepared to write about it here.  Odd, since this is the place I write and write about Change – and about Listening.  Feels like listening is what I’m doing, still forming my understanding the change right here in my face (and heart and under my feet).  Stay tuned for more – and not to worry, despite having its agony this change is giving good indication that it is a strong one.

So, focusing instead on this phrase:  Social Justice.  I’ve written a lot in past years on how I’m concerned that we don’t really know what we’re saying when we speak those words.  Coming up on this talk, I felt no less unsure of what the phrase really means, but I do know it’s popular and gets lots of use.  So, for the first time it occurred to me to ask a question on facebook and see what people said.  My question, “Quick survey — What do you say are the barriers to social justice.”  Here’s what I got.  Pretty powerful ideas, seems to me.

WL, white female chef, Oregon –

That’s supposed to be a quick question? LOL!

MC, white female, me, Oregon – 

Yep, because it’s facebook … give it a shot, W!

WL — LOL okay here goes – Greed, hate, and our stupid lizard brains seem to the root of our problem.

MD, white male business professional, Texas –
Selfishness, displayed through an utter lack of empathy.

MC – Thanks, M — So would a modicum of empathy work? Does empathy matter if it’s felt but not enacted in socially recognized ways? I’m wondering how the barrier might be removed. …

MD – This is a deep well, so it may be a while before you hear the splash…I am an adherent, to some extent, of a social theory that defines liberalism and conservatism as a function of the comparative value or care we have for family versus strangers. Taken to an extreme, the trigger for social justice would be more sensitive for those where a member of their clan (family) is perceived as a victim than it would be for a stranger. The bigger the “clan,” the more likely that a critical mass would perceive outrage and be moved to action. Therefore, the ability to foster empathy by pointing out commonalities would be most likely to foster the outrage when social justice is lacking. When the issue moves past clan to those who have a more universal sense of empathy, things change. I think history illustrates this consistently. And this is me shooting from the hip, but I am certain there are more scholarly takes that make me look like an idiot.

BM, white female professor, Texas – 

People….

PCF, white female lawyer, Texas –

Fear.

MC – Thanks M — and maybe on the scholarship — but having been in school since age 3, seems to me those perspectives can perpetuate barriers – in largest part because they are so far from daily living. Seems you’ve seen what you’re writing about.

 

The other day, I was at the Quest Integrative Health Center in Portland.  I was co-facilitating a discussion on the neurobiology of happiness based on the work of researcher and clinician, Rick Hanson.   I’ve written about Quest Center before in this blog (EX:C blogs November 26, 2012; December 10, 2012) and have to say it’s great to be volunteering my time as part of this monthly neuroscience series.

The group gathered numbered between twenty and thirty.  At least half of the people there are on the Oregon Health Plan.  That means their incomes are limited enough to qualify for the health support program in this state.  Maybe a few less than half of the people in the room live with HIV/AIDS.  I mention these two demographics in particular because they have defined a significant part of the service population of the Quest Center since it was established in the 80’s.

There’s another reasons to make note of the people who were drawn to the community discussion.  Stereotype and socialization would not predict that a conversation on neuroscience would be of interest to people with limited financial resources.  This assumption arises mostly from biased attributions associated with income level.

We’ll leave that for a minute, but come back later. 

So, one of the features of being human is having a body.  You may have noticed.  Related to that is necessity, both climactic and social, of finding ways to cover, to clothe.  The practical act of clothing keeps people from freezing in winter and can provide a bit of cooling in the heat of summer.  The social act if covering the body may most joyously take on artistry with adornment being a way of celebrating one’s life-form in the company of others.  Everyone adorned in her or his own way — everyone enjoying the art of individual expression.

Enter competitiveness — descriptive comparison gone mean like the difference in “your body is long and straight and yours is curvy” and “your body is beautiful and yours isn’t.”   Going mean supports and is perpetuated by competitive economic interests that benefit from consumers who will pay to feel better about the way they’ve come deeply to believe they aren’t enough.  The fashion, diet, and exercise industries flourish in this contortion of of meaning and value with regard to human bodies.  The more we-the-people find ourselves falling short physically, the better capitalized are those particular economic units.  I can imagine the argument, but I doubt I’ll ever buy the reasoning that economic well being trumps physical, mental and spiritual health.

Over recent months, I’ve had the opportunity to work with two young scholars on an article that considers the identity development of kids in schools next to the national hue and cry attached to the word, “obesity.”  As we get closer to finishing and submitting our work, I’ll likely revisit some of our conclusions here in a bit more detail.  For today, I’d just like to call out fat phobia and any other kind of body-shape fanaticism as major distractions from the dignity and worth of all people.

The photo for this week says it well.  Short – sweet – to the point:  Listen to people in bodies, and if you’re one of them, love the body you’re in.

It’s been said and said, but the chances are so remote that stardust would combine to make you or anyone that a whole load of awe is in order.  Sure you want to take good care of the body carrying this one wild and precious life.  Do that.  And on the way, don’t wait another moment to join the spirit of the author of this photo.  No matter what anyone says about what’s beautiful, you are.  That’s just the way it is.  But don’t believe me — you see if there’s really any reason not to know that your beauty and worth are truer than true.

Wear what feels good.

Have some fun.

Listen to people.  Listen to yourself.

Today a journalist contacted me.  She’s writing a story on women and Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) and wanted to know two things — what I know of the history of mental health care for women over the past 40 years, and what I know about ECT.

The truth is I cannot claim any expertise with regard to ECT.  But I have listened to women in recent years who have considered or experienced the therapy.

In response to her more general question, I did find some thoughts about women and mental health.   It seems to me that the most recent waves of feminism and the increasingly public presence of women (in particular in mental health professions) have had some positive effect on women’s mental health overall.  For example, outside formal systems of mental health service, the informal ways women have of supporting one another have changed over the years.  We’ve gained skill and nuance around self help and peer support from movements like the consciousness raising of the 70′s when women would gather in small groups to support each other.  In these groups, women were talking with each other about the personal and political aspects of being women, about who each of them were and what they wanted with and in their lives.  Of course, the women who had time and motivation for these talks were those of relative privilege — women with access to money, education, time.  And while, certainly, we are not done when it comes to addressing gender or socio-economic injustice, consciousness raising and its more formal representation in Women’s Studies, in the research and scholarship of women on women in the years since and in the impact of all of this on mental health practice has improved women’s mental health (and related activism) globally.

Earth Day.  Two days after 4/20.  A week since the Boston Marathon Explosion.  Ten days since the Senate voted against background checks for gun purchases.

Pedantic as it may sound, if it weren’t for the Earth, none of these other things would have a place to happen. When it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter how it sounds – it’s simply so.  Without Earth, marijuana would not grow, humans would not have places to be born, to die, to run marathons, to kill or to avoid leadership toward reducing the killing.  Without the Earth, I would not have this keyboard and screen and venue known as a blog.  There would be no such thing as the word blog – a term still grating to me in its clunkiness.  Couldn’t we have come up with something more elegant?  Even the verb to google has a modicum of aesthetic value.

But back to the original line of inquiry: The situation of every celebration and horror, every clock tick and turn of season, every breath in, every pulse beat in the context of this planet and its atmosphere.  Then there’s the globes’s situation itself — its placement relative to the sun so intricately precise it can generate the environment that sustains our living.

Today the sun is out in Portland, wisteria is beginning to bloom.  Today much of the Midwestern United States is flooded and newly fallen feet of snow are beginning to melt in Montana.  Poetry is being written in Colorado and Hawaii, in New Hampshire and in the margins of a weekly newspaper in Montgomery.  And Elders in rural Alaska are gathered at tables beading, sewing animal hides, and talking again about how a few weeks ago they had gathered in the same room to visit with friends in Ohio over Skype. 

This photo and related article just showed up on Facebook.  The article was about all the ways women should, according to rapist themselves, avoid assault by doing their hair, forgoing attention to cell phones, choosing clothes that are not easily ripped, etc.  Absent in this advice is any mention of high heels.

I’ve been unhappy about high heels for as long as I’ve been aware of fashion fluctuations for female feet.  From the beginning I’ve associated my unhappiness with the phrase, “As long as she can’t run.”

Now, before you get the impression I’m extending the rape-avoidance list let me clarify a bit.  I enthusiastically endorse the sentiment that women ought to be free to adorn themselves as they choose, so long as there’s no harm done — and regarding harm, I’m talking actual detriment not mere “distraction,” “temptation,” “jealousy,” “fashionist offense,” and not anything linked with hijab or other head covering.

I also agree with the obvious wisdom (of the self-evident, common sense DUH! variety) in focusing the primary social message thusly:

DON’T RAPE. 

Rape is never about what a woman is wearing or otherwise doing – EVER. 

This week’s blog is a montage.  My qualification to put these images together here with my ideas about what I’ve seen and experienced of the Student Alliance Project arises only from the generosity with which the young adults of this thriving community organization have informed and befriended me as an ally.

Last night I attended a celebration.  There were hundreds of people in a room that barely held them, sitting at circular tables, standing in every other spare space as the young adults of the Student Alliance Project (SAP) offered a review of some of their successes including the formation of their non-profit, Momentum Alliance in which are housed both SAP and the Leveraging Momentum initiatives. The youth and their supporters were celebrating particularly the recent passage in the Oregon Legislature of a bill guaranteeing in-state college and university tuition to undocumented youth (see the celebratory photo above and the EX:C blog, Liberating Leadership, February 10, 2013).

All of this from the non-profit organization conceived and managed by executive boards composed 85% of youth between 17 and 25, 75% of whom are people of color.  This youth-led council is actively developing alliances, reducing isolation and prejudice, designing innovative projects and creating a dynamic regional network of young leaders working for social justice.

It is Easter morning.  A black cat walks across a bright green stretch of lawn each step a caress as silken and clear as the the early morning air that holds it all.

I’ve driven 1800 miles in the past week.  Even though that’s a thing I’m known to do, the particular kind of presence demanded by the road continues to offer surprises that, upon my return, make the miracles like cat paws across an Easter lawn more visible than before.  Probably the surprises guaranteed by the road represent only the slightest amplification of the very nature of life anyway — particularly given the journey each lifetime must be.  Still, explicit journeys like the one I just took — road time to a place unknown and road time back again —  teach about living with life’s uncertainty.  Agreeing to venture forth with a destination in mind requires a lifting of denial’s usual veils in order to step more aware into uncertainty’s certainty.  It’s a kind of intimacy with life itself and, perhaps more daringly, with the particular pulse of being I’ve come to know as me.  All in all, paying the attention that a road trip costs is one of the finest bargains to be had, most essentially in the proof I find on the road that moving into the unknown reliably reveals the mystery of what’s next.

…30 hours later…

So, that’s where I got stuck.  At the mention of mystery my capacity to extemporize in this genre known as ‘blog’ came to an abrupt halt.  I went for a walk.  Yesterday morning’s weather was truly exceptional — Easter, Cesar Chavez’s birthday, the last day of March 2013 with its once-in-a-lifetime 5 Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.