old friend

Yesterday, I made a cup of chai. This sounds trivial to you. But it isn't. That was the first cup of chai that I have made for myself since being at school this year.

Drinking chai is a part of who I am. Chai made itself a part of my soul in Africa. You can laugh, but when I make chai, its me reconnecting with my heart. Drinking chai makes me think about things that are bigger than I am. And this year, I have been way too selfish.

This year has been a struggle. I dropped a class, turned in 3 papers almost a month late, and have been playing catch-up all fall. This is not andra. But I can't really tell you who it is...

overwhelmed by issues

Cabrini Green Legal Aid: one of the best ideas for Chicago. It is not just about the legal, it is about the transformation. As a former social work major, I love the idea that it is not just about handling the crisis. I would be really curious to see what would happen if they had more funding and manpower: I guess that would be the constant issue for service oriented organizations thought.

Museum of Modern Art: challenge on the wall. I have to say that my favorite exhibit was the one promoting social change, or rather expressing injustice: William Kentridge. He is a South African and this particular exhibit was about the issues of apartheid. The art shows apartheid as a sickness is a man's body. The different images are x-rays, doctors working on him, and images of pain. Another social issue to contemplate.

El Norte: the Guatemalan struggle to the U.S. The movie shows a beautiful homeplace where the natives are forced out. Rosa and Enrique make it to LA despite the rats and start over there. They are making it, but barely. Enrique loses his job when Immigration comes to get him, and Rosa gets sick from the rats. It is this terribly tragic story of what it means to come here. And after watching it, I have to wonder if being here is worth it. I mean, we discriminate against them, treat them terribly, and don't pay them enough. Sometimes, we send them back. Another vicious cycle. Why is it that we cannot figure out these issues?

division

Friday is for Islam what Sunday is for Christianity: the world stops for about an hour for worship. Today was the first time that I had ever set foot in a mosque: I was so curious. As a woman, I was fully anticipating sitting behind a curtain for the entire service. Instead, our group was aloud to sit in the back of the main area. I had the chance to watch everything. When we first arrived, attendance seemed very low. By the time everything ended, it was SRO. I was surprised to see many of the men in traditional dress, and even more surprised to see that some of them had their children with them. One in particular was struggling to pay attention. As the service went on, and his dad was knelt down in prayer, the little boy jumped onto his father piggy-back style. I was fully expecting a sharp reprimand, or punishment of some sort. Instead, the dad lovingly embraced his son and then continued to pray. Good dad.

After the service, we joined a group of high-schoolers for an "informational session." Oh my. It started off rather well with Mary Ali giving us as much info as we could possibly take in. And then the questions started. How frustrating. The other group was Christian as well, but their intentions were not so good. The questions became very offensive quickly. Sitting in the back row, it seemed hopeless. No matter how many good questions were asked, they drowned in the sea of attacks. People do no convert in arguments. I dare say that Jesus is not honored when we try to shove Christianity down someone's throat. I am not saying that I agree with the Islamic faith. I am just saying that fighting hurts so much more than it helps. No wonder the division is so strong.

the ingrained system

After watching The Namesake this morning, I thought that I was ready for this afternoon's appointment at the Indo-American Heritage Center. The movie was well made and a beautiful portrayal of what it is to be an Indian. . . Well, an 'advantaged' Indian that is. During our meeting, the 28 year old Indian woman who now lives on Lakeshore Drive was saying that one of the hardest parts of immigration was having to do everything for yourself. We all kind of looked at each other as she went on to say that in India, maids clean the house. And one maids job can be on a better level than another: for example washing clothing over scrubbing toilets. She attributed it to cheaper labor, but she also said that our parents had fooled us into thinking that we had to do everything. Though it was funny, it also made me think. She is here right now, along with her friend, because their husband's jobs allow them to be in America, at least for a short while. But this is not a "we were in oppression and are struggling to make our way in the world" story. She spoke of the fact that Indians who come to the US are not trying to escape, but rather gaining status. This all sounds well and good. . . Until you realize how well the caste system is engraved in their minds. I doubt that we would hear the same story from her maids who are still living in India. Thus it all sounds good, until I realize that this woman is someone from my generation and is advocating the idea that some people are better than others.

lawndale

This morning I woke up with last night on my mind. I hate that the color of my skin commands attention. I hate that it makes a difference.

Arriving at Lawndale, I once again realized that I was in the minority. But it was different. This morning, I was welcome. Everyone was welcome. Energy was in the air: it was a time to be refreshed. A time for God's people to join together and embrace what church should be. Lavaughn was a grad student at Moody who spoke about self-denial for Christ. I think that I am just amazed by the grace with which life is handled. By the way their church operates, I would never have guessed how difficult their lives are. They were authentically beautiful people. They understand what hardship is; it does not scare them. Maybe it is the struggles of their lives that have taught them that love is worth the fight.

wrong color

The Unity festival was very interesting: much more African that I had imagined. And I mean African in the sense that many of the booths were selling items from Africa. The school marching band was present. . . and everything else was just getting started. Denice from the alderman's office was thrilled to see us, which really made the experience.

Between festivals, we ate hot dogs. . . on the street! Yes, a true Chicago experience down by Maxwell St.

Fiesta del Sol was a complete surprise: it is the city version of the county fair. The rides were the ones that I had grown up loving. That rickety, nauseating style to be followed by great fair food.

However, it was going to The House that really made the day. We thought we were going to a hip-hop service in Lawndale; instead we saw the community from the inside-out. Andrea and I accompanied Tiffany to the corner of 16th and Ridgeway to ask the community what they thought of the church and Jesus. It was meant to be a time for honesty and excellent listening opportunities. Surprisingly, people like the church. They think that it is a good place and they love Jesus. The only negative comment was that the church is filled with fake people (which is true). However, it was the interaction with the Chicago Police that left the biggest impression. Two cops pulled over and hopped out of their car to talk to us. One hit on Andrea, and the other said that Jesus was a rabbi. After thoroughly checking out what was happening, they asked how long we would be staying. Tiffany told them not long, and they said "say it to the camera" speaking of the security camera hanging from the lamp post across the street. After they got in the car , they looked at Tiffany and said "you take care of those girls." To which she replied, "who is gonna take care of me?" You see, Tiffany is black. Andrea and I are white. And it made a difference tonight. White people do not belong on 16th St. After the cops rolled away, Tiffany went on to explain that the color of our skin was the reason they had stopped in the first place. We talked about injustice. We talked about not belonging (every person from the area that we talked to told us to be safe). Tonight, we were the wrong color.

american colony

Puerto Rico: the forgotten island. I say this because the average American often forgets that PR even exists... let alone the issues of independence. While in Humboldt Park this afternoon, I began to think about the forgotten people. The people that we give no dignity. All they want is to go home. So they don't invest here: this is a temporary situation until they can retire to PR. If we gave them a reason to stay, somehow, I think it might change the mindset. Until then, they will rent houses rather than owning. We give them no desire to build community here. Sounds a lot like the place we visited earlier today.

This morning we visited Centro Comunitario Juan Diego: a refuge of sorts for the people who we leave out. They can't speak for themselves here because we don't let them. We don't give them the resources to learn, then we throw paperwork at them (that they cannot read), and to top it off, we treat them like crap, like second-rate people because they are not living the way we would prefer. Ridiculous.

As we listened to Rosa, we learned about the significance of one Auto Zone moving into the neighborhood. Is it convenient? Yes. Do they have everything you could ever need for a car on-hand? Yes. Did they hurt the community? For sure. When Auto Zone moved in, taxes increased. When they were successful, a mechanic across the street went out of business. These seem like such simple, no waves kind of facts. But lives are affected. I don't know how to express the hurt on the community more effectively. Not to mention the fear: the more chains that move into the neighborhood, the higher taxes go. The higher the taxes, the less people can afford homes. This goes directly back to the fact that the people in the neighborhood often cannot read English: that means that they cannot fill out the forms to save their homes! This is a big deal. Big. And their alderman does not care. I rest my case for the injustice of this world.

the church

La Villita: a church in the neighborhood. We got to meet with the senior pastor, and as I loved what he had to say, I decided that quotes would be appropriate. Especially since the last posts have been a bit too rant-ish.

Quotes form Victor:
on the neighborhood...
"Right now is not a good time to be a Latino"
on young people...
"You guys are the bomb, but you give up too easy because you're used to having things instantaneously."
on immigrants...
"The illegal immigrants are taking maybe 3-5% of the good jobs. Do you want to pick strawberries for $.70 a bucket? Ok then. Think about the hypocrisy: don't come! but if you do... we will have some sort of job waiting for you."
on church...
"The least important thing we do all week is our service on Sunday."
on community...
"Engaging the neighbors is what matters: share life."

Following our fabulous meeting with Victor(a genius in the church loving community) it was time for some pizza! Lou Malneti's was the place of choice... and not just any franchise. We went to the Lawndale branch. This store is the 10th in the local chain, and all proceeds go to Lawndale Community Development. Plus, it is a place for the men of the Hope House (a drug rehabilitation program) to gain experience. Can you say awesome system?

In other words, today was encouraging for the most part, which was just what the doctor ordered.

Side note: we also drove by the lot where MLK Jr's house once stood. Mayor Daley had it bulldozed. Seriously? Somehow, I just feel like that was a childish move. Regardless, Daley gets the bad rap in history for the day.

longing for africa

It was about time for some soulfood: time for comfort food, a warm atmosphere, and good conversation. Dixie's was perfect. It was the eclectic collection of shared lives. And we needed it after spending time in all of these communities, especially the morning in Bronzeville.

Bronzeville is such a split community, like so many others. The line of rich and poor is so distinct and uncrossable. Some of these homes are mansions, owned by the rich and famous African Americans. The rest of these homes sit next to vacant lots or abandoned houses. Some of these people are still struggling to make it through the day. Others are deciding what exotic vacation sounds best for this year. It just seems funny that for people who are united in a struggle against the racism of everyday would not be willing to help each other out. It seems as if black people have the hardest racial fight in the world... But once they have made it, it seems like they assimilate to white privilege as well.

Not that this changes anything, but I am sick of white privilege. I am sick of division based on skin color. I am literally sick to think of the ways that we as people, are willing to perpetuate the poor examples of history, every single day. Enough.

'The indomitable spell of Africa lingers a lifetime" says the caption about the Africa Speaks exhibits in the DuSable Museum. I cannot agree more. After spending three weeks in Nairobi, Kenya a couple of years ago, I still think there is something that is intangibly beautiful about Africa. It is incomparable to anywhere else, and that is not just about the scenery.

At that same museum, I discovered another piece of my own ignorance: the beginning of Islam in America. In school, we never learned about any Muslims immigrating. Never. In fact, I think that I had just assumed that no one of Islamic faith came over until the late 1900s. I know, silly me. Thus it was so interesting to look at how a few people brought it with them, but also how it went unrecognized. That is, until people became more vocal about their opinions and rights... and the news started covering it. Regardless, something new to explore.

To follow my above rant, the museum just continued to say that we have never understood equal rights in an equal way. These African Americans are fellow citizens, but we did not think the deserved any rights. Yet, we had no problem with letting them die in our wars.


Who was this land made for after all?

czech please

The morning began with a trip to the Czech Museum:yet another cultural surprise. I had no idea how culture would be represented: how intriguing to see the commonalities shared with the Ukranians. This is seen especially in the pysanky eggs and in the textiles. People used to spend time and effort: on creating. This is what people did before tv and internet, etc. Where did the mass amounts of creativity go? Why have we become so satisfied with clothing, homes, and lives that are utilitarian? And when did that become the rage? Or maybe the best question is why.

So the least cultural... or maybe the most... time of the day was seeing the Dark Knight at Imax. I say that it might be the most simply because it was the most culturally-revealing time of the day. We spent two and a half hours watching a movie about the various forms of evil. We have become dark as a society... encouraging each villain to be more twisted and complex than the last. As a psych major, I was watching Heath Ledger: I wanted to know whether or not the speculations proved out. Honestly, his psyche was so consistently traumatized for the entire movie, that I was more caught in the Two-Face situation. Essentially, the story of Batman just proves that life will make you bitter or life will make you better, but you must choose.

The finale to a great day: riding the ferris wheel at Navy Pier. This sounds so silly... But I had to go for it. I am semi-scared of heights. Most times I have no issue... until I have to look down. Of course, I did not tell Andrea this until we were almost at the top and I was starting to be freaked out... But, as is normal, everything was just fine. We had a great ride, and the scenery was ridiculously cool. Navy Pier is definitely one of the more cheesy areas of Chicago, but it just works. A little cheese never hurt anyone.

the art of it...

The Ukrainian Catholic church just was incredible. The art was so well maintained and detailed... gorgeous. It was not the first time that we had visited a catholic church on this trip so far though. It all started in Little Italy with Our Lady of Pompeii Shrine. Walking in the doors of a building that beautiful is breath-taking. It reminds me of how many people have sought sanctuary in the pews. This is completely different from being in a protestant-evangelical church: the awe is lacking in most churches. These spaces were somehow hallowed. It almost makes it easier to praise immediately because the space points to the grandeur of God.

I often wonder if the plainness that has become evangelical church is entirely correct. I firmly believe that God can be worshiped anywhere... And I don't believe that a specific setting is necessary... But what if God lives to spend time in beautiful places with us? What if we underestimate how much God appreciates beauty and art?

Do I agree completely in a theological sense with the Catholic church's teachings? No... But I do get why they would want to worship in a place like that.

Shokolad: the most divine food I have had. Apricot filled crepes with whipped cream, chocolate, and powdered sugar on top. All this followed by a custard tart heaping with fresh raspberries and a dark chocolate drizzle. Love.

free day

Today was the day to see what I wanted to see most: the insides of my eyelids... and Bucktown of course! So, Andrea, LA, Liza and I headed out.... We started by having lunch at the Silver Cloud (decent American style food) and then begins the shopping. Really, for me, it was all about the inspiration. Like going to the Cynthia Rowley store: I cannot afford that.... but it does give me great ideas. Every artistic person needs launching pads... and stores like this are mine.

My favorite part of the day: standing in line at a store called Climate. I was there to buy the beautiful laptop bag that I found: pockets everywhere! But the best part was coming inside to find a bored 3 year old and her dad waiting in line. Sounds strange right? But there were also the little rubber monster fingerpuppets within reach. This obviously means that within seconds the little girl and I are playing with the monsters, and figuring out what sounds they make. Needless to say, dad is relieved, and makes the purchase in peace, all the while, i am enjoying the company of his daughter. I would love to spend the rest of my life working with little kids. They are beyond awesome.

Nina was the next major store on the list: a modern space filled with the most beautiful of yarns. It may sounds silly, but I love seeing this kind of place. I met Nina: this store is her imagination brought to life. Thus, several skeins were purchased, and the entire visit was delightful.

Essentially, the day was great... and then came dinner. Ha.

Cosi was the destination of choice: flatbread sandwiches sounded perfect. It was all fine and good until we arrived, ordered, and waited for an hour. They had forgotten our sandwiches... Oh yes. It was a busy night... And they ran out of bread. Thus, an hour and a half after ordering, sandwiches arrived, money was refunded and a delicious meal was enjoyed. The story was quite hilarious though...

winning

Irish-American Museum: Admittedly, I was the most interested in the lace. Limerick lace is an Irish specialty that I had not gotten to view closely in previous encounters. The most intriguing bit of information related to the social classes and lace. Apparently the girls who made the lace were often quite poor, but also very skilled. However, the intricacy of the lace a woman wore spoke of her affluence, and a girl wearing something too complex for her social standing could be killed over the infraction. Just a bit intense.

Speaking of intricate work, The Ukranian National Museum was filled with beautiful pieces. Pysanka, to write, is the art seen on eggs. However, it is not made for the art, or to beautify life. Rather the eggs are made to remind the Ukranian people of their values. They are completely symbolic. Moving on to their clothing: it was completely handmade. Everything was either woven, sewn, embroidered, or beaded. Thus, even though everything was made to symbolize, it was magnificent fiber art in and of itself.

Tonight was the Guatemalan documentary. I think our entire group burst into laughter when the guitar player started to talk about Woody Guthrie. Who could have guessed?! As the film played, I kept thinking about the ways that history continues to repeat. What keeps us from solving this issues well? War is over, but the issues are not resolved. Genocide happened. And yet, we know about current genocide in to other countries, but we aren't stepping in. Why? Why aren't we helping these people get back on their feet? Are these all lessons that the Guatemalans' must learn on their own?

So I wonder, will we ever learn? Will we ever love? As Mitch Albom says, "Life is a series of pulls back and forth. Which side wins? Love wins. Love always wins."

a walk around the block

Meeting with the Chief of Staff for an Uptown Alderman was not what I had anticipated. Denice is passionate about her community to say the least.

Development without Displacement was her main mantra. She means it for everyone: shop owners and residents alike. Right now, Target is moving in, along with senior housing, some family units, and mixed income housing. But with a little shifting, everyone still their shop, and now it has better advertising access to the El. CHA is not popular here. Families are being pushed out due to the gentrification, and as the face of the neighborhood changes, someone gets left out. The amount of housing that is being replaced is not comparable to what was there before. Some are fighting it, others are just leaving. For the fighters, the co-op is the new way to go. All the tenants of a building pool their money in order to purchase their building from the landlord. Denice says that this is a sustainable way to handle the issue, but I still wonder about the long-term.

Gentrification is a big deal. The people with the money continue to have more places to go. The marginalized become more so. CHA is supporting this, thinking that self-sufficiency will emerge in people as they are living around people with wealth. It is not that easy. Poverty is a cycle, and one does not simply wake up outside its' power one morning.

On the good side, crime is down. Denice says there is no crime. I tend to think that there is little crime. We're still human.

If Uptown is really the place that Denice proclaims it to be, it is a community that has hope for the future. And that is rare no matter where you are in the world.

Art Institute: love. I love admiring art for hours. I am planning on a more extensive trip to the AI later... time for a sketchbook, pencils, and inspiration.

love your neighbor...

Racism and the struggles within and without are hitting hard. This morning we drove through Austin: the place of the quickest white-flight in Chicago.

It started with a trip to Paul's house. The neighborhood was beautiful: well kept, like stepping back in time. I could just tell that the appearance of the neighborhood had not changed significantly over time: the homes had been cared for. At the grade school, we talked about busing: it was not easy. It was like the pictures. And it does not stop there.

In the next neighborhood, the Whites left within 6 years because they could not handle diversity. And the racial lines still stand. Will we ever get this right? What happened to loving our neighbors?

Time for a little relief: Greektown! We ate lunch at a beautiful Greek restaurant where I had Tangia: pork medallions in lemon sauce with fries... It was pretty good, and I felt good about trying something new. But really, the best part was being somewhere happy. The people loved their heritage and serving the food of their culture. They are successful, and the joy of an earned reward was evident.

Hellenik museum: Iconography. Art in this tradition is filled with effort. The steps are long, and somewhat tedious. But the most interesting part is the painting. (This is true of the Polish-Mexican Catholic Church as well.) First, gold leaf is applied to the entire surface. Then a yolk-emulsion is applied, and finally paint. The beauty is that the gild shows through the paint, creating a light from the inside-out effect. The theological implications are awesome, and the art has stood the test of time based upon all the layers of work.

University Village: Barbara's Bookstore. A treasure! OK, so I may have a slight addiction to reading/bookshops, but it doesn't hurt to feed the monster every once in a while.

the harsh reality of privilege

Today started with a tour of a small Polish community and ended with a trip to Bucktown. Walking around the Polish community was so interesting because I was the one that did not belong. In America, I did not speak the common language. I did not know how to describe what kind of pastry I would like. But at the same time, it was so great to walk in to a gift shop and buy a great card without English on it, without really communicating verbally.

Polish buffet: prepare to be stuffed. The food was great, and the cheese blintz was phenomenal.

Polish museum: We were there to learn about the history of the Polish and their immigration; instead a current conversation overshadowed the museum. We were sitting listening along with a group of Master's students. The speaker asks for questions/comments, and a black woman speaks up about the segregation of Chicago. In her eyes, the amount of segregation in the city is overwhelming compared to other places that she had lived. She said that she hated the artificial restrictions, and not being able to live in certain places due to racial boundaries. As soon as she finished speaking, a white woman on the other side of the room (interesting visual division), and says that she loves going to visit the ethnic neighborhoods.

All at once, the white woman had reconfirmed the racism that the black woman has always dealt with. You could see it in her eyes: after that, she completely shut down. The white woman expressed the privilege she has always had. It is lovely to her to go "visit" the neighborhoods, but she has not had to feel the separation and the coldness of being the 'wrong' color for a certain area.

Bucktown: the place to be... for 1.79 million, that is. This is not lake-shore property... This is in the city, on a side street. Welcome to the cost of cool.

chicago history museum

Chicago History Museum: The beautified version of history. Everything is finished, modified in the museum. The dioramas are beautiful: the Chicago Fire of 1871 is art. The history is made of skyscrapers, fashion, design, and brief descriptions of the tragic times. I think the most interesting part was the tension between the rich and the poor. The fabulous parts of Chicago, the buildings and people that people still associate with the city, are great achievements. But, this place, with all of its great attributes, is still a place where the big man wins. The government has the power and some group will always be marginalized. But this is not museum material. No, the closest a museum gets to the marginalized is to say that life was difficult. Immigration is seen as a struggle, but reading the caption at the museum is not like reading The Jungle. And racism is made to seem like a problem of the past. All in all, the museum is quality, but I am beginning to be cynical.

lake-shore or beach? grass or sand?

Chinese Christian Union Church: We walked in expecting something different. Something Chinese. Something out of our ordinary vision of church. We were surprised. This morning, we went to a Christian church. And what we expected was not logical. With every other ethnic group that has come to Chicago, some amount of assimilation has occurred. Why would this be different within the church?

Shortly after arriving, I realized that my normal grid of thinking for an evangelical Christian church was appropriate for the situation. However, after reverting to my grid, I regretted it. Suddenly, the pastor's theology and the way that he undercut his own teaching were bothersome. I became very frustrated with the information that he was teaching his congregation. As my frustration level grew, I also started picking at the idea that he was the only white pastor. The pastor teaching the English service was very American, and the way he talked made it seem as if he saw himself as a missionary to the Chinese people. I wished that the Chinese had not felt the pressure to assimilate.

Assimilation vs. integration has been a thought of tension since arriving in Chicago. Why is it that everyone wants to be American? i don't think we have it all right yet, so I question why everyone wants to join us. Most of all, I think that I am just extremely idealistic.

Won Kow: Chicken Almond Ding. Enough said.

The Festival: Wow! People were everywhere, and almost all of them were looking for some sort of good deal. I had no idea of how many 'knock-off' type booths would be on the street at once. In fact, the crowd seemed so shopping oriented that the dragon dancing was like a distraction, rather than a main event.

The dragon costume was great: neon fabric with many sequins and plenty of glitter. I've always been curious to see what the dragons are made from, and now I know that they are re-creatable. I am really curious about the materials used in China to make the costumes...

Our day was 'officially' done, so a few of us decided to head for the lake-shore. I thought that the cultural part of the day was over. Ha. First we saw the grassy area on the lake, and then we started heading for the beach. I had no idea that the line between the grass and the sand was more than physical. The urban chic people were all on the grassy side, seemingly almost too good for the beach. The beach was filled with people of Hispanic and African-American descent. It was like going from one ethnic neighborhood to another... but the members of each were not to cross. Segregation is not simply a residential area issue.

day 3: little italy, garden apts, jane, and "this land"

Little Italy: a place of which to be proud. I say this because on the neighborhood tour today, struggle and triumph were the main themes. But as I am on this trip as a university student, as the Italian tour guide has his Master's, the Italians have made it here. America expresses its' gratitude through the many thriving Italian restaurants, on a daily basis. This is a part of my ancestry that I am proud to own. However, the idea that in order to succeed, someone else must be crushed, is still hurtful. The cycle never ends, and it takes away from the meaning of the success.

Architecture: the Chicago way. Before this trip I had not understood the reasoning for the "Garden Apt." It is all about the ground water, level of the water mains, etc. Originally, it was a mistake, but now it defines a part of Chicago's style. Armed with this knowledge, my respect for the newer buildings has been raised. That being said, I mean the buildings that are built to resemble the floors of the existing homes.


Jane Addams: the beginning of social work? Seeing the remaining parts of the Hull House earlier today was awesome. They stand as a testament to who she was, and radical thoughts that started the settlement house revolution of America. This is one woman who had vision. One of the most interesting ideas is that she did not accept sponsorship, not because she didn't want to, but rather due to the demands of the potential sponsors. Hull House was secular because Addams wanted true freedom in order to experiment. As I think about Shane Claiborne's The Simple Way, I cannot help but compare... and question. Was the Hull House's success related to its' lack of affiliation? Is Shane the Christian version of Jane? Did the secular state of the Hull House prevent further disenfranchisement with the church for its constituents? Is public housing a better answer to poverty than settlement houses? How do you maintain an organization like the Hull House? Most of all, could people still come together like that today?

Following the trend of seeking true democracy, tonight we went to see the play 'Woody Guthrie's American Song.' The story of his life unfolds to reveal his questions about government and its' people. His son, "This Land is Our Land" is sung by millions in grade school... but without the last verse. The last verse speaks about the ways that we treat others who are not as "American" as we are. Considering the afternoon visit to the Hull House, my mind continues to consider who belongs here. The people represented in the play were white, which challenges the perception of discrimination based only on skin color. The songs of the musical told the story of people trying to find work, consistently out of place, and always treated like the lowest of the low. This speaks so clearly on so many levels. We are caught in this individualistic culture that insists on pushing someone down. For every step forward that has been made, there are still so many issues to be handled.

In short, today was a time to think about my family tree, what it is to be American, and why community is so difficult...

lingonberries, social activism and buckets

The day starts with a trip to Ann Sather's Swedish Restaurant: time for oatmeal mixed with granola and lingonberries on the side. I love this food because I love this culture. It is warm in that home-y sense. No wonder that Swedes are such happy people.

The Swedish-American museum was striking, but not in the typical way. I walked in thinking that the exhibits would be a story of struggle and eventual triumph. Instead the captions for the scenes reflected the idea that Sweden's drought of 1866-68 influenced much of the immigration and transitioning to America was not a major struggle. Previously I had thought that immigration was always difficult, and the newest group was always at the bottom of the pack. Contrary to that line of thought, the information at the museum seemingly proclaimed that the Swedish slid into the lower-middle class almost immediately. The single women were hired to clean houses, because they were known for "honesty and hard work." With many other immigrant groups, it took years and years to climb the ladder to the point of having a good reputation with the wealthy. I was so surprised by the idea that they didn't have to fight for their lives in the same way. Was it their attitude that separated them? What made the difference? Or, was the museum trying to make history more favorable than reality?

Moving on, by which I mean taking the bus for 71 blocks, I love watching social interactions on public transportation. It brings out the best manners, the "character" kind of people, and sometimes the worst attitudes. For example, people are so polite: making room for others, saying 'excuse me', etc. But then you have the men who insist on reciting monologues, so desperate for the attention of fellow passengers, that they are willing to humiliate themselves repeatedly. Or there is the girl in the back of the bus loudly proclaiming her feelings about a conflict with a former friend. No matter what, people will always be unique, interesting, and timeworthy.

The bus took us to Pilsen: the Mexican community of Chicago. First stop: the National Museum of Mexican Art. The exhibits on history were great: factual with creations made of intricate details. However it was the Immigration exhibit that demanded attention. It was all about social activism: the way that we treat immigrants and illegal aliens compared to the founding of our country. I know about this issue from a political stance: some see banishing as the answer, others say that education and citizenship are the way to handle it. The art today spoke out about the personal side of the issue. One artist's collection was a series of pictures of immigrants dressed in superhero's outfits, and the caption told the stories of the money that these people send home from every one of their paychecks. Are they heros? To their families, I'm sure the answer is yes. To the average American? Well, I doubt that they would fit that category on a typical day in a typical American's thought processes. Then again, who is the typical American? Is the answer different standing in Chicago versus Spring Arbor? Which means that the art was successful: it was stretching.

Following the museum was an authentic Mexican meal... and a trip to Millenium Park. We were there to hear a Mexican band, but things never work out the way that they are planned. Thus it rained, motivation was lost, and after a few songs, we left. The band was not bad: they just were not totally focused on playing after the rain. So as we started walking, we saw (or first heard), three guys sitting on boxes, playing 5-gallon buckets with actual drumsticks. And we were blown away. Simplicity wins again.

chicago day one

Byron's Hot Dogs: Chicago Style is the way to go! Previous to this morning, I had no idea that hot dogs could be anything other than basic. But, in Chicago, you pile a salad on the hot dog and have an experience. Ok, so this may seem uneventful for some... but it was a good way to start the trip.

Moving on... a little more orientation, and then, more food!

Leona's! An Italian masterpiece: authentic five-cheese lasagna. It is still funny to be with the group in this type of setting because conversation stalls frequently. We don't know each other yet. We are not accustomed to each other... But I doubt this will last.

And continuing the food theme: grocery shopping! A short trip to the Jewel-Osco revealed higher prices, and teamwork for the girls. While the boys were busy buying cereal and eggs, the girls were grabbing all the ingredients for previously planned meals. However, being a new team, we still needed time to communicate in the store, and finished right after the guys, despite the organization.

And to finish the night perfectly, Laura had made us all cookies and brought them, with milk to the apartments. Friends are great.

the name

Alright, first things first. Credit for the name of the blog goes to Andy Sikora: he was talking about chapter 3 as a part of the Ephesians Project... and it is the perfect fit.

ridiculous: beyond expectations, surprising, awesome

hope: contagious belief, trust in someone bigger, faith in potential