Looking Back at Shosholoza

This reflection was originally written for the Winter 2016 issue of Kaleidoscope. Tandiwe recently recorded a virtual version of Shosholoza with members of the 2020 African Chorus.

This past August, at the insistence of my fellow reunion classmates from 1989 and 1990, I took to the stage to lead the Blue Moon Cafe audience in singing Shosholoza. This was already an unusual format for the Blue Moon Cafe because typically the audience is entertained by the performer and not asked to be part of the performance. When asked to do this, I initially declined for several reasons, least of which was that I had not sung in that kind of forum since the early 1990s and so much time had elapsed since I last sang Shosholoza. Eventually, I was encouraged sufficiently, and in my introduction, I spoke about arriving at UWC-USA in 1988 and how I relied on the power of song to integrate into my new community.

Until I arrived at UWC-USA, I was immersed in a community characterized by struggle, defiance, and the quest for freedom. My parents went into exile for the second or third time shortly before my birth, so exile was the only life I knew. Song was an important source of inspiration during the struggle, and I learned to draw courage and strength from the songs we sang.

I remember first introducing the song Shosholoza to my classmates. It was during orientation at Philmont Scout Camp in Northern New Mexico, and as was customary for the final evening, each national group performed a piece. As we planned for the evening, I suggested a song—and particularly one that focused attention on the untenable plight of South Africa under the rule of apartheid. We practiced the song as we hiked in the mountains, so that by the time we performed it, we had developed a familiarity with the words and melody.

The song Shosholoza originates from the mines of South Africa. Rich in mineral resources, mining in South Africa was an economic pillar on which apartheid thrived. It was able to do so because black laborers—cheaply imported from nonurban centers—worked in the mines for low wages under substandard conditions. Miners were often separated from their families for extended periods. The song is about the train that comes from a particular destination—stimela esi puma e South Africa—the train that originates from South Africa.

So what did it mean to us to sing Shosholoza in 1987 and then 27 years later in 2015? Most important, as I started the song, I slipped into a familiar feeling of empowerment and being part of a larger purpose and community. The simple call and response construct of the song, along with the power of the lyrics and harmony, empowered us then and now by evoking a true sense of harmony, unity, and common aspiration for the betterment of our respective societies. The experience was inspiring and comforting. I was amazed that the younger classes after my class joined in to sing with a familiarity that suggests the song was passed on from year to year at UWC-USA. In that moment, Shosholoza united us across generations.

Graduation Speech – 2020

UWC-USA students organized a quick graduation ceremony even as they were packing to leave campus early during the coronavirus pandemic. They asked Melinda Russial, who directs the arts and culture programs at UWC-USA, to share some thoughts.

So, I’ve been thinking about ceremony. The word traces back through Old French, Medieval Latin, Old Latin, and probably Etruscan, to convey “sacredness,” “awe,” and “reverent rites,” with a sense of the ancient. Solemn, ancient rites require preparation…usually… We’re rushing this one a bit, but isn’t that one of our defining skills at UWC-USA? Wait until three days, three hours, or three minutes before something is due, cry a little (or a lot), throw up our hands and say, “this will never work, I’m quitting, I can’t even,” and then pull out one of the most magical and compelling pieces of creation that humanity has ever seen? I’ve seen you do this, over and over again. And so, our Last Minute Graduation Ceremony follows suit, in all of the glory and splendor of the UWC-USA way: exceptional, at the last minute, because we didn’t have any other choice. 

I want to honor the fact that we are rushing this, that we are losing ceremonies this year, so many ceremonies, ceremonies that you were all anticipating pouring your life and love and spirit into. Nothing about this is easy. (I mean, Ben probably doesn’t mind that nobody had a chance to steal a chicken, but I can’t think of a single other silver lining here. So it goes. … … And don’t steal a chicken tonight, now that I’ve said it. I will have to do some trauma counseling for that chicken, and I really don’t need chicken poop on my red chair, on top of everything else.)  

This graduation, albeit a little rushed, is the bookend to your arrival, one or two summers ago. Each year, you roll in on those white-and-blue buses, boasting complicated, nuanced relationships with your home cultures that maybe you only began to know in that moment, hoping to transcend stereotypes, with all of the unbridled passion for a better world that we encourage and celebrate … until you direct it towards curfew violations. When you get off the bus, your new roommate almost knocks you down while smothering you with enthusiastic hugs (hopefully after asking for consent!), you’re not sure if it’s ok to flush toilet paper (and if you’re from Japan, you’re really, really disappointed that the toilets don’t have any of the right buttons, either), you can’t pronounce anyone’s names, and all of a sudden, you’re eating dehydrated legumes or superoats that a second-year leader showed you how to cook on some rickety camp stove contraption, sleeping in a tent in the woods, which definitely confuses some of your families. If English isn’t your first language, and maybe even if it is, you have a headache at the end of the day for at least three months. Eventually, it all starts to feel, confusingly, normal, and sometimes even annoying. You’re offended that the town bus got cancelled for that event you weren’t even going to, you’re not sure if you’ve managed to accidentally insult all the cultures on campus yet, but you’re pretty close and you don’t even know how it happened; you can’t believe you didn’t get that sick day, you’re so tired, you’ve been trying to live up to the standards of world-shaking perfection that you brought with you, and then you discovered that, somehow, even your perfectionism isn’t good enough! (For the record, you are good enough. You are more than good enough. When I grow up, I want to be like you.)

Idealism and despair surface at intervals, as you grapple with those same self-improving and world-improving standards within yourselves and for your community. Sometimes it feels too hard. But last week at the Cultural Showcase I watched students from five continents dance Macedonian and Bulgarian traditional dances together; you drew parallels across distant mythologies, you mingled past, present, and future, time, and place across multiple art forms, you honored your cultures and challenged them simultaneously. You called for a better world. For a brief two-and-a-half hours last weekend, I watched as you merged your discrete phenomena of life with each other, in our little microcosm, as you do every day here in your classrooms, your hiking trails, your dorm bathrooms; it is anything but normal. You all come trooping out of your individual histories, collide into each other, and create new worlds inside your friendships and your shared experiences. 

We are changed by these collaborations and occasional collisions, and the world will be transformed in tandem as we carry those interactions within us and through us. As I was struggling for the right words last night while considering how to best to summarize this indefinable, and indefatigable, community, I thought I might borrow a bit from Rumi:

Think of how phenomena come trooping / out of the desert of non-existence / into this materiality. … 

This place of phenomena is a wide exchange / of highways, with everything going all sorts / of different ways // We seem to be sitting still, / but we are actually moving, and the fantasies / of phenomena are sliding through us / like ideas through curtains. // They go to the well / of deep love inside each of us. They fill their jars there, and they leave. /// There is a source they come from, / and a fountain inside here. // Be generous. / Be grateful. Confess when you’re not. /// ……./ Who am I, standing in the midst of this thought-traffic? [from “The Long String,” Coleman Barks translation]

For me, this question of “Who am I?” in this miasma of cultural collision has been forced wide open, shattered and pieced back together again, repeatedly, by all of you. Last summer, and a bit this winter, I had the honor of visiting several of your home countries, and I was surprised by how quickly the teacher-student role was reversed. İrem saved me from oncoming traffic in İstanbul once. Raneem spent an hour cajoling and directing a cranky taxi driver over the phone, trying to get me from Madaba to Amman without maps or GPS, since I somehow managed to get a ride with the only taxi driver in Jordan who doesn’t believe in either of those things. Keita and Hiyona showed me how to navigate the Tokyo subway. During these trips, students became my caretakers, an interesting and instantaneous shift in role that reminded me how important our practices of seeking student insight and leadership really are as we craft the specifics of this vision together. I saw the other side of the independence, risk, courage, and hope that you all carry within you as you take the plunge into this beautiful and impossible vision that we share. This work belongs to you, and you have been, from the beginning, my teachers; learning from you has been an honor and a privilege that is so overpowering as to seem unreal at times. 

In the weeks and months ahead, as you begin to define this experience for yourselves, and what it means as you move beyond this little bubble, you might also find the memory of these experiences overpowering. Rilke, another of my favorite poets, has some suggestions for you, in his poem, “Turning Point”:

For there is a boundary to looking. / And the world that is looked at so deeply / wants to flourish in love. // Work of the eyes is done, now / go and do heart-work / on all the images imprisoned within you; for you / overpowered them: but even now you don’t know them.

The time we’ve had together here is overpowering. You’ve raised protests, small and large, from agora articles to vagina monologues to climate strikes. You’ve offended and you’ve been offended. You’ve pushed against every boundary placed around you, and even many that you had defined for yourselves. You’ve loved each other more deeply than you ever thought possible. You’ve been frustrated that, as a generation taught to be everything, you can’t do more, and you have to do too much. 

This movement, the United World College movement, was created during the Cold War, when the white knight was talking backwards and the doomsday clock was two minutes to midnight, and teenagers were maybe the last best hope for a peaceful future. The global landscape, whether in the immediacy of this novel coronavirus, or in the more permanent possibility of climate catastrophe, is seeking your wisdom and your courage once again.

As you go forward to do that work in whatever ways you find meaning and possibility and hope, please remember that this is always your community, and it is what it is because of you. We are here to support you, and to share in your challenges and your successes, wherever you are. We know that you will show us what it means to live in this world with integrity, conviction, compassion, empathy, and care; we know you will, because you already have.

Work of the eyes is done, now / go and do heart-work / on all the images imprisoned within you. 

Three Things I’ve Learned About Intercultural Learning Communities

I spent 25 years at St. John’s College which is an international community of learners. I came to UWC-USA which is a VERY international community of learners. We have students every year from over 90 countries, 125 languages are spoken on our high school campus, and the cafeteria at the United Nations could hardly feature more nationalities than ours.

The transition from higher education to secondary had few major surprises – a school year has highs and lows no matter where the school is and what its focus may be.

But I did learn – or relearn – three things about intercultural learning communities:

  1. We don’t always speak the same language, even when we use the same words. A student caught me on the stairs on my first day on campus. He politely approached me and addressed me in plain English. “Hello. I’m Abdo from Iraq and I have a question: How did you come into power?” I was taken aback and had no idea what he meant. I heard him. I understood the words. But I had no idea what he meant. 
  2. Questions matter as much as answers for creating dialogue, but only if we are listening. A question opens a space. And a more surprising question opens a bigger space. Abdo from Iraq asked me about power and surprised me. I started thinking about the kinds of power I have, the kinds of power others perceive me to have, what power means to a young man from Iraq, what power means to a woman from New Mexico. Tough questions cause us to reflect on things we think we know.
  3. Intercultural understanding isn’t just about understanding the other, it is about coming to know ourselves in new ways. This means that we have to get to know what is “other” about ourselves from the standpoint of those in our community. When we encourage students to consider applying to UWC-USA, we highlight the possibility of getting to know students and teachers from other countries because that’s a fun adventure – like a grand trip abroad. We don’t highlight the equally important self-discovery required of true intercultural understanding because self-discovery is less fun – like a visit to a psychologist. Yet our alumni consistently speak of personal and social growth that is only possible from mutual respect and understanding along with taking some long, hard looks at oneself. For students and faculty at UWC, we want to encourage intercultural understanding that takes into account relations of power and privilege and different perceptions of how equity is enacted in educational settings. 

Of course I’ve learned more than three things since coming to UWC-USA. But these three are the most important ones to date and form the core of my message to new students as they arrive on campus each year.

Welcome Dinner 2019 – Attention

UWC-USA’s president, Victoria Mora, spoke at the 2019 Welcome Dinner about the power of our attention:

Tonight we feel the joy that comes with a commitment to diversity and intercultural understanding. We share the belief that there can be no peace or long term sustainability without this commitment. In our joy and belief, it’s easy to forget the challenges facing many of the countries represented by these colorful flags. So many are experiencing a rise in the kind of isolationist thinking we may have thought to be a thing of the past. This was on full display in the last few weeks during the G7 summit in France, where the leaders of Britain, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, and the United States could not come up with the joint communique that traditionally establishes points of agreed commitment. The impact of isolationist thinking isn’t just political. It’s personal to all of us. This was on full display in the tension between Brazil’s nation-centric response to the fires in the Amazon and the world outcry to protect “the lungs of the planet.” And of course the great migration of human beings displaced by climate change, conflict and violence, isn’t being played out only on the border of this country with Mexico, but on many borders where immigrants are being turned away in the name of national interests and national identity.

By calling up these examples, I don’t mean to pick on any one country or set of countries. I also don’t believe for one minute that all forms of nationalism are bad. Witness the pride expressed by our second years carrying their national flags. But the trends shown in the examples I have chosen are real. Many governments have decided it’s time to return to putting country first, even at the expense of the planet and its people.
As citizens of our countries, we aren’t doing so well either. Not only are we living in a highly polarized environment, we’re likely contributing to it. We are polarized by our politics, our positions in the so-called culture wars, and where we fall on the ever-widening economic divide. We are more likely to talk only to those who agree with us, or who share our social and economic circumstances, than we are to reach across our differences toward mutual understanding and respect. We hold tight to ideological beliefs, and we are complacent about the disconnect between our thoughts and our actions. We say things to one another on social media we would never say face to face. We vilify those who disagree with us, or who don’t understand us right away.

Please forgive me for sharing these unpleasant, even unwelcome, facts on an evening meant for celebration. I do so only because I believe that things could be otherwise. WE could be otherwise. And we all have the power to make this happen. This power starts with something we all possess. It’s something we have regardless of where we come from, how much money we have, or who we know. It’s something we have regardless of how high or low our test scores are, how many and which passports we carry, who we love, or whether we are believers. It’s something we have regardless of our place within a family, or an organization, or the community of nations. This power we all have brings with it endless possibilities for hope or despair, creation or destruction.

The power I’m talking about is our power of attention, and where we place it. We’re living in an age when our great power, our attention, is under threat. There’s a constant deluge of information and entertainment popping up on the screens we’ve forgotten how to live without. We’re pulled in countless directions by seemingly endless challenges that present no easy answers. It’s difficult to know where to focus. Yet each one of us has the power to choose where we put our attention. Now more than ever, it’s important to remember this. And so I ask: What are we paying attention to? What am I paying attention to? What are you paying attention to? And how might our struggling countries, our planet and its people, be better or worse based on where we put our attention?

Let me give three examples of the positive impact that attention can make:
A young woman enjoys a community event, but notices the amount of waste produced with paper and plastic products used for the event. In other words, she pays attention not only to the celebration, but to the waste produced there. What does she do with her attention? She focuses it on a solution. She makes a call to action to all of the attendees in the following year, asking them to bring their own dishes to the event. A large number of those who receive her call pay attention to it. They bring their dishes. And guess what? A fraction of the waste is produced at the community event. The young woman’s attention has been turned into action, and that action has made a difference in the life of a community.

Or consider several young men who notice a disconnect between what a community says about celebrating difference and how it actually behaves. They pay attention to that disconnect and realize that, in too many cases, only those who agree with the majority feel free to speak up, to share opinions. The young men turn their attention to a solution, and most importantly, to their own power to bring that solution forward. They decide to host a series of conversations that encourage respectful debate on controversial issues. The young men’s attention has been turned into action, and that action has made a difference in the life of a community.
Several young people realize that they have fallen into the trap of “us and them” thinking with the faculty and administration of their school. They pay attention to that trap, including their place in perpetuating it. They decide that one way out of it is to reach out to those on the other side of the “us and them” dynamic they have noticed. They offer observations from their point of view, calling attention to things that matter to them. And they go beyond that. They pay attention to potential solutions that will require partnership. Those on the receiving end pay attention, too. They could focus only on what they agree with, or refuse to pay any attention at all. Instead they focus on the difference in perspective and what it teaches them. They agree to partnership. Everyone’s attention has been turned into action, and that action has made a difference in the life of a community.

Now for those who are citizens of this microcosm of the world that we call UWC-USA, you’ve probably recognized that the individuals I’m talking about are part of this very community. I didn’t mention their names, and that was intentional. The point isn’t who I’m talking about, but where they have focused their attention–and ours. And of course, I didn’t have to focus on the young people in our community. So many of our employees
and volunteers step up every day because they’re paying attention and putting that attention into action.

My point in choosing these examples was only to show the power of attention. The power of noticing something and then doing something about it. This is the only way that change happens, though change can take many legitimate forms. It’s also the only way that important traditions are carried forward, like tonight’s Welcome Ceremony and parade of flags. Our attention can set in motion actions that disrupt or that preserve. Actions that make our communities and environment more or less sustainable and resilient. Actions that make space for others or exclude them. Actions that hold ourselves and our leaders to account or that mimic the polarization that prevents us from working together in service of a better future. The point is that attention is a power each of us possesses, and how we use it can make a difference in our own lives and in the lives of our communities.
My wish for all of us here tonight is that we learn to take seriously, and to value, our power of attention. That we take seriously, and value, the precious resource that it is in a world filled with distractions that isolate us from one another and prevent us from discovering our common interests and commitments. If we can fully embrace our power of attention, place it at the center of our personal responsibility and engagement with one another and our various environments, we can be the difference we want to see in our countries, on our planet, and in solidarity with all people–maybe especially those who are different from us and who wave the colors of a different flag.

FallWelcomeCeremony_2019

Teddy Warria’s “I am from” Poem

Teddy Warria’s “I am from” poem lifts us to the vantage point of Sankofa, a mythical bird with her feet planted forward and her head turned backwards. The name comes from the Akan tribe in Ghana, translated from Twi as it is not taboo to fetch what is at risk of being left behind” and implying a quest for knowledge utilizing the wisdom of the past. The UWC-USA Bartos Institute honored Teddy with a fellowship in 2018-2019, and he has honored our institution with his knowledge of history and the gifts of his friendship, writing and enduring partnership. His understanding of the importance of unity, collaboration, vision and shared opportunity has shaped our approach to working with youth at UWC-USA and beyond. Like Teddy, his poem is specific, full of gratitude, and steeped in culture. He invites us to contemplate a life lived beyond one’s own years and birthplace, giving gratitude to ancestors and transcending borders. 

Some 25 years ago, UWC-USA was the recipient of a generous gift from the Bartos family, endowing an institute to equip students with the skills to transform conflicts. Over the years, students and teachers at UWC distilled a number of principles of the constructive engagement of conflict: 

Strive for self-awareness

Listen humbly and deeply

Communicate courageously

Practice power of thoughtful apologies

Get curious about difference

Embrace complexity of multiple truths

Pursue solutions collaboratively

Express gratitude

In order to build self-awareness and create connections among one another, each year students are invited to write an “I am from” — or “Yo soy de” poem. This exercise yields personal insight and creates a medium for sharing our stories with one another. Teddy took the assignment to heart. 

In schools around the world, students and educators are working to understand one another’s histories, unpack meaning, and listen well. Poetry is a powerful tool for truth telling, and for repair. For many, education has been — and continues to be — a colonizing endeavor, not a liberating one. UWC asks how education can be a force for peace and sustainability. It is urgent that we answer creatively. Teddy’s poem is an example of how understanding our individual and collective past can ground us in our aspirations for the future. 

Schools can advance intergenerational understanding, and help communities reckon with economic and racial segregation. Poetry is a start, and we can also model the work of truth and reconciliation. In communities fraught by civil conflict, Truth and Reconciliation Commissions have operated as community schools and shown us the path toward liberation from past injustices. Study the past to understand the present; identify and investigate patterns of events; engage directly impacted people, and honor and learn from their experiences; create shared recommendations and propose agreements to repair relations; present to authentic audiences, and hold decision makers accountable, asking for public commitments and acknowledging the power of the community to transform the future together. The “I am from” poem is a personal beginning, an exercise in freeing ourselves on the page so that we can work with others toward the self-expression that gives greater understanding and freedom. Write yours and share it with us and let us know how your poem serves as a beginning for healing in your community. 

“I am From”

                  PART I: NYITHIND LUO – IN PRAISE OF THE CHILDREN OF LUO[1]

I am from fishermen, bone-fixers, tailors, and craftsmen.

I am water. I am sun. I am wind. I am an African.

From omena[2], tilapia, sweet potatoes, and ondelo[3].

I am Kamnua[4] Village in Kisumu, the home of fireflies and K’Warria[5], and BuruBuru[6] I Estate House No. 150 in Nairobi – the place of cool waters in Maasai[7].

Unassuming, vibrant, vibrant and lovers of life are the Warrias.

I am from smooth Aloe vera[8]

Full of cacti and plenty of natural healing properties;

I am from snake plants[9] that gives plenty of oxgen in a room at night; and from the legendary snake Omieri[10] in Nyakach.

I am from mango and tamarind juice;

I am from Joka’Warria[11] and sunny sunflowers –

Bold, bright, and resolute.

From Wilfridah Atieno “Minai” Ombodo and George Edward “Eddy” Lovell Aoko Warria  — simply Mama and Baba, to whom we ran to as we welcomed them in the evenings with the simple words, “Baba Ichololo[12], Mama Ichololo.

I am a child of my mother, and a son of my father.

Also, I am from: Leonidah Ombodo from Asembo Bay[13] and Seme K’Obita[14] and Rosalina Ajwang’ Warria of Nyakach K’Oguta[15] and Nyakach K’Adiang’a[16], Bedina from K’Atito[17] in Nyakach[18], Sophia “NyaSukuma”[19] from Mwanza, Tanzania, and “Nyakonguru”[20] –  all my grandmothers.

They taught me the ancient ways of the Luo[21] through our oral tradition of story telling around a smoke-filled traditional Luo kitchen with a three-stone firewood cooking stove as water boiled on earthen pots.

I am from Migosi[22] Francis Okomo-Okello[23] Owagi[24] William “Baba” Odhiambo Okello[25] of Nyangera Village who gave me “A History of the Luo-Speaking People of Eastern Africa” that gave me knowledge and insights of the Luo of old and who finds home at Got Ramogi – Chuny Piny!

I am from Migosi Francis Okomo-Okello Owagi William “Baba” Odhiambo Okello of Nyangera Village[26] who gave me “A History of the Luo-Speaking People of Eastern Africa”[27] –  it gave me knowledge and insights of the Luo of old and he finds home at Got Ramogi – Chuny Piny![28]

I am a latter-day son of Maria Soccoro Nunez[29], Karen “Mrs. De” DeBartolo[30], Elizabeth Mary “Namangale” Awori Okelo[31], Nardos Bekele-Thomas[32], Prof. Paul Chabeda[33],

and Prof. Adebisi Babatunde Thomas[34] – a 21st Century Pan-Africanist from the Yoruba[35] people in Nigeria[36] resting in the fields at the Holy Trinity Church[37] in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.*

I am from intellectuals, farmers, and business people;

From TedWach – literally meaning cook words or say something in Luo.

Genius, Magic, and intuition define me.

I am from the Luo-Speaking People of Eastern Africa, and a latter-day Christian and Global Citizen.

I am a dedicated member of the United World College[38] Movement as a Bartos Fellow[39] at the United World College-USA, and through it I have become an accidental Native American – the true Guardians of Mother Earth in New Mexico true!*

I am an African who speaks Sheng, the urban patois, originally a mélange of English and Swahili. In recent times it has metarmophised to a combination of English, Kiswahili and the native languages – popularly spoken in the streets and slums of Nairobi.*

I am from Kisumu, the home of the Equator, and from the mighty Nile River – all the way from ancient Egypt through Khartoum, Bahr-el-Ghazal[40] and into the banks of Lake Victoria in Western Kenya, via Uganda.*

I am Wuod Luo[41] from Kisumu[42] who responds willingly to the beats of Kisumu Ber[43], Wamiel[44], Lo[45] by Suzanna Owiyo[46], and Benga[47] songs from Daniel Owino “D.O” Misiani, a Kiseru man from Shirati inTanzania.

I am a JaK’adian’ga[48] who enjoys listening to Geoffrey Oriema’s – The River;

And Ayub Ogada’s[49]Kothbiro[50], En Mana Kuoyo[51], and Wa WINJIGO Ero[52].

I am Nyatiti[53]. I am Orutu[54]. I am Bul[55]. I am a drumbeat.

I am a Luo, from the Luo Nation, who followed the mighty River Nile, where we derive the name of our Tribe, into the present-day Kenya as the Joka-Jok[56] cluster. We are a supremely self-confident people, who gave the United States of America its 44th President, Barack Obama.*

Rech, apoth, mito, boo, atipa, osuga, kuon bel and dek are indigenous foods that have built my cells and DNA for centuries and make my bones strong, my mind alert, and on the path of being diabetes-free!

I am Tedros[57] as affectionately called by my Habesha Mother who is Oromo;

I am Almaz – The Black Diamond, as lovingly called by a Habesha Queen.

I am Ethiopian®[58] – The Newest Spirit of Africa!

I have the Star of David as whispered to me by a Nilotic Tugen[59] Girl from Mogotio in Baringo, The Great Rift Valley.

I am the one who spoke to the soul of Caity Mpishi, who sang to me Amazing Grace like

God’s own aeolian harp. She taught me the we are all cast from the same clay, and that I too belong to the American mainstream at a time I thought I was not. Her Faith guided her to the principle of Umoja[60].*

She was open to the world, and was able to bridge the greatest distance between her heart and mind.  I am the autodidact she introduced to Achille Mbembe’s “On the Postcolony”, Khalil Gibran’s “The Prophet” and Wangari Maathai’s “Unbowed”.

I am the African she introduced to Lady Blacksmith Mambazo in a Live concert in Boston and over 600 songs and Sufi poetry. I am because she was.*

From the patriarch Warria Aoko JaNyakach of Sawo Clan in Nyabondo Got Mesa[61] in Nyanza, where I find my roots.

The Clinical Pyschologist, Dr. R. Ajwang’ Warria of University of Witswatersrand “Wits” in South Africa, the immaculate and willing dancer, Gordon Aoko Warria, our last born the novelist, Elizabeth. I am grateful to my Caregiver from the time I was a toddler, Caroline Akinyi, who twice with her tremendous care and love has brought me from the brink of death.

I am the ever-present uncle to Mathematician and Artist, Alexandra Lydia Khamoji,

Bryden Adhiambo Owuor, Leah Awuor Owuor, Tracy Atiang’ Marita “Little Mermaid” “Cookies” Birigi Warria, Joel Odhiambo Warria, Malcolm Ochieng’, Nina Amani Odhiambo, Kevin George Warria, Ryan Francis Warria, Ahero, Kwe, and Hawi, among others.

I am the grandfather of Maria.*

We are the Warrias all over the world:

Switzerland, USA, South Africa, Austria, Germany, UAE, and Kenya.

They all form my inner core and I live with them and for them, always.

I am the 10th of 17 children from a polygamous East African Family.

I am a Connector, A Weaver of humankind,

a Child of Nyasaye Nyakalaga[62],

a Lamb with the heart of an indomitable Lion.

I am the pupil who Mrs. Katua taught to sing Shosholoza

in 3rd grade at BuruBuru I Primary School at the height of apartheid

in South Africa,

and in solidarity with our suffering South African brothers and sisters.*

I am the young student who the late (Rtd.) Major General James Ombaki of the Kenya Army entrusted to lead a pack of 2,000 select kids from all over Kenya to write with their bodies, 10 Years of Nyayo Era, at Nyayo Stadium to mark a decade of the rule of President

Daniel Arap Moi.

I am the student at Lenana School who Mrs. Fridah Caroline Wamanga introduced to environmental justice, cultural exchange programmes and maps.

I am the meek student who Bi. Salome Kuvuna Maneno taught “Mashetani”[63]

and Lahaja Ya Mvita[64] under a tamarind tree at Lenana School by choice.

I am the student Mrs. Sarah Juma mentored and passed her nuggets of wisdom and reason to.

I am the English language student who Ms. Dorah Kitala taught to speak the King’s English to the Queen’s taste.

Eloquence, Excellence, and Nobility she imparted on her curious and alert students.*

I am a keen student of Dr. Laura L. Graves of South Plains College[65] who taught me the history of the contiguous United States of America and mentored me in understanding the “The Power of Servant Leadership: A Journey into the Nature of Legitimate Power & Greatness” by Robert K. Greenleaf and Journey to the East / “Die Morgenlandfahrt” by Herman Hesse as she likened me to Leo – the unassuming and quientessential servant leader in the novel, without whom the Journey to the East was not going to be possible.

I am a latter-day student of Prof. Larry Diamond and Prof. Francis Fukuyama of Stanford[66].

They taught me and shared their books: “The Spirit of Democracy: The Struggle To Build Free Societies Throughout The World” and “Identity: Contemporary Identity Politics and the Struggle for Recognition”.*

I am the son of the soil, who speaks with the melodic voice of the Hopi[67] Indians.

We are the Africans. We are the Africans we have been waiting for!*

I am one of NYITHIND LUO[68] who slept at Gwinnett House[69], and in Button Gwinnett’s[70] bedroom in Georgia.

I am the son of the soil who saw his first image of a white woman carrying a heavy load on her head.

I am the first Wuod Luo to be in the land of The Guale Indians[71].

I am a beneficiary of Fredrick Douglas[72] – Prophet of Freedom.

The visit and time for reflections was made possible by the bonds of friendship to a namesake, DSS, and most importantly because Naomi got to know me on board a flight to Aspen.

I am the global citizen who was reading 491 Days: Prisoner Number 1323 / 69 – the story of our heroine, uMama Winnie Madikizela-Mandela.

Much later Naomi Swinton[73] gifted me 1491: New Revelations of the Americas before Columbus, whose knowledge and insights will help me to create a bridge to heal an act of history.*

Responding to Earth’s Call;

I am growing a forest – Mottainai[74] Amani[75] Park in honor of environmentalist, Wangari Muta Maathai, at Palos Nature Conservancy[76] in Kibos, Kisumu, and supporting causes that ban single-use plastic and restoring Lake Victoria, the third largest fresh water lake in the world teeming with Tilapia and Nile Perch.*

Responding to Africa’s Call;

I started Africa Cancer Foundation together with Prof. Peter Anyang’ Nyong’o, now Governor of Kisumu, and Dorothy Nyong’o – both of Kisumu Ber. Parents of Lupita Amondi Nyong’o of Seme – land of all NyaSemes, my mother’s home!

Responding to Mandela’s Call;

I am growing leaders by building #100Mandelas – A Flagship Project of Africa Rising, an organization that uses education, technology, film and media to empower voices and inspire a new state of mind in young people in Africa and all over the world!*

Responding to Humanity’s Call;

I am supporting Dr. Richard Leakey to build NGAREN[77]: The Museum of Humankind in Turkana – The Cradle of Humankind.*

Responding to Creativity’s Call;

I am raising young entrepreneurs through A Prosperous Africa – A Platform for equipping African entrepreneurs with inspiration, resources, know-how, and opportunities that they need to set up succeed in their startups.*

I am the Japuonj[78] with his own Siwindhe[79]

who mentored and coached Eston Kimani to get into MIT and stay in MIT and to found Africa’s Talking in the dorm room,

I am the Japuonj who mentored and coached

Gerald Pambo-Awich to join Bard College, Goldman Sachs, and Harvard Business School,

I am the Japuong who mentored and coached Dr. Kemunto Mokaya of Ms. Jacinta Akatsa’s Precious Blood Secondary School Riruta to join Yale University and Yale School of Medicine, among many other mentees.

I am the one who cracked the Code of MIT, without a bribe, and opened the doors of Wall Street wide open for Kenyans.*

I am the one who mentored Marlon Ingaywa Kidiiga and Graham Ingokho Muhanga to greatness.

I am the one who believes in the grassroots mentoring efforts of Rev. Dr. Julius Weche of AKAD.*

I am the younger brother of Joseph William Okelo and together we make the Sons of Nyakach – JoLuo thiring’inyi[80], mor Nyakach pacho[81].

I am the youngest brother of Simon Njoe of Geneva.

I am owagi Rosemary Okello who champions data-driven Africa and the preservation of grandmother stories as the seat of wisdom in Africa.

I am the spiritual son of Arlano Funderburk of Levelland, Texas, who is an Imitator of Christ.

I am the friend of Dr. Sherman Hope of Brownfield, Texas, who not only healed with his hands, but from his soul.

I am the big brother of Joshua William Nunez who properly introduced me to these United States of America together with Brett Zook.

I am the one Rose and Dorothy Muya of Timeless Tours and Travel took in at an hour of need, and together we changed the world.

I am a collaborator of Martin Mbaya and together we are bridging West and East Africa through ABTEI.*

I am a pan-Africanist because Eunice Ajambo introduced me to Africa 2.0.

Together with Mamadou Kwidjin Toure, Founder of Africa 2.0[82], we gathered Africa’s Tribe One and authored the Africa 2.0 Manifesto.

President Uhuru Kenyatta of Kenya and Jeff Koinange respectfully call me 2.0.*

I am a child of Ali A. Mufuruki of Africa Leadership Initiative (ALI) East Africa. Through Ali, I became a kid brother to Rehema Kasule who is my Lever for Change!*

I am a pan-Africanist because Fred Swaniker invited me to co-author the unique African Leadership Academy’s (ALA)[83] curriculum: Leadership, Entrepreneurship, and African Studies (LEA).*

As the ancestors increase in number,

I remember an intrepid ancestor, Binyavanga Wainaina[84] of Lenana School[85], who confidently called me Teddy is a warrior, and a good one.

His Pilgrimages project[86] to authentic African stories and voices, we must continue and complete in this life as Sojourners.

As a good ancestor he left us with Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor[87] and Chimamanda Adichie to guide us.*

I am Teddy Warria, the African Warrior, as first called by Rt. Hon. Raila Amolo Odinga, author of “The Quest For Nationhood: Roadmap To Our Future – How Kenya Can Recover Lost Ground And Achieve Prosperity For All”[88].

He called me so during the 50th anniversary celebrations of the African Union (AU) in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

I am the African Warrior who is championing the African Continental Free Trade Agreement (AfCFTA), Agenda 2063, and the integration of Africa.*

Nkosi sikelel’ iAfrika[89].

The Chinese call me BoLe[90], and Japanese Sensei[91].

The Indians at PayTM[92] call me Baisap[93].

Jack Ma[94] calls me The Artist, and Dr. Mukhisa Kituyi[95] Jathurwa![96]

Ndaba Mandela[97] calls me my brother as he plays for me Sizzla’s – Solid as a Rock!

Music and dancing make me at peace with myself and my ancestors, the rhythm connects me to them in an infinite continuum.

I am beauty, love, and justice.

At this moment, I am blessed by the ancestors to lead the dance between the lions and the dragons in the African Savannah, and to bridge the gap between African Americans, Africans, and Americas from the land of the Zia and Ute[98] – New Mexico and Colorado – The Mountain States.*

I am Umoja,

meaning oneness or unity in Swahili.

I was born to bring people together and to bring balance to the world.

Rit Nying’a Nyathina[99].*

Copyright © 2019 Teddy Warria, Kharis Weller, Carlos Rayos at Silverton Public Schools, Siverton, USA.

UWC-USA Project Week – A Project of the Bartos Institute, UWC-USA

www.uwc-usa.org

Notes:

[1] Nyithin Luo means the children of Luo.

[2] A fish type called Sardines

[3] Luo popcon roasted over jiko – traditional stove

[4] Name of Teddy Warria’s Village in Kisumu, Western Kenya

[5] The home of Warria

[6] Premier housing estate developed by the Commonwealth Development Agency. The word Buru Buru is derived from the bird “Bul Bul”

[7] The indigenous owners of Nairobi

[8] A naturally occurring medicinal plant full of cacti and naturally occurring products

[9] Sansevieria trifasciata

[10] A mythological name for a mighty python snake

[11] The people of Warria

[12] A welcoming sound when one is coming; both parties run to each other in welcome

[13] A bay in Lake Victoria, in East Africa

[14] Location in Kisumu County, Western Kenya

[15] This is in upper Nyakach, part of a constituency in Kisumu, Western Kenya

[16] This is in lower Nyakach, part of a constitutency in Kisumu, Western Kenya

[17] This is in lower Nyakach, part of a constitutency in Kisumu, Western Kenya

[18] This is part of a constituency in Kisumu

[19] She is from the Sukuma tribe of Tanzania, East Africa.

[20] The sweet lady

[21] A river lake Nilotic tribe found in Eastern Africa

[22] This means “mister”

[23] Chairman of TPS Eastern Africa and ABSA Bank, formerly Barclays Bank

[24] Luo word meaning, “the brother of”

[25] Founded the student airlifts to Russia, USSR and the former Eastern Bloc countries

[26] A village in Got Ramogi, Siaya County, Western Kenya.

[27] Copyright 2009 by Bethwell A. Ogot. Published in Kenya by Anyange Press Ltd., Kisumu

[28] Means the epicenter of the earth

[29] She is from Levelland, Texas and Chihuahua,  Mexico, USA

[30] From Middleburg Village, Schorie County, New York, USA.

[31] From Samia, Busia County, Western Kenya. Founder of Makini Schools and Kenya Women Finance Trusts, Kenya

[32]  From Oromia, Ethiopia; currently serving as the UN Resident Coordinator, South Africa.

[33] Former UNEP Biodiversity Chief and Tom Mboya Airlifts student beneficiary

[34] Founder of ABTEI; Adebesi Babatunde Thomas Entrepreneurship Institute, Strathmore Business School, Nairobi, Kenya

[35] A tribe in Nigeria, Western Africa.

[36] The largest economy in Africa, and the most populous nation in Africa

[37] Ethiopian Orhodox church in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

[38] A network of 18 high schools spanning the globe whose mission is to use education as a force to unite people, nations and cultures.

[39] A fellow of the Bartos Institute, United World Colleges, USA.

[40] Confluence of the Blue and White Nile rivers in Sudan, Africa

[41] Meaning the son of Luo

[42]City whose name means, “a place for barter trade”

[43] Meaning “Kisumu is nice or good”

[44] Meaning we are dancing, or Let’s dance

[45] Meaning, Soil

[46] A talented Luo traditional singer of Nyatiti (harp and guitar)

[47] A genre of songs created by the luo with percussion…….. …..

[48] Meaning I am a man from Kadianga

[49] He was a gifted instrumentalist who played with musicians Peter Gabriel and Paul Simon

[50] Meaning “The rain is coming”

[51] Meaning “it is just sand”

[52] Meaning, “We are listening to you”

[53] An 8 stringed harp, musical instument

[54] A one stringed instrument, similar to a violin

[55] Drum

[56] The last cluster of Luos to arrive in Kenya during the migration

[57] An Amharic name, meaning “Divine Gift”

[58] The Ethiopian national airline carrier, also a metaphor for the New African.

[59] Highland Nilotic people from the Rift Valley area of Kenya.

[60] Meaning “oneness or unity” in the Kiswahili language

[61] Plateau in Nyakach, Western Kenya

[62] God Almighty in Luo language

[63] Ibrahim Hussein’s “Mashetani” book. A Kiswahili set book for high school

[64] Dialect of the Mvita people of the Kenyan Coastal region

[65] Junior College in Levelland College, West Texas, USA

[66] Stanford Univesity in California, USA

[67] A native Indian tribe in the United States of America

[68] The children of Luo

[69] A private home in St. Catherine’s Island in Georgia, USA

[70] One of the signatories of the US declaration of independence, “The US constitution and other writings”, copyright 2017 Cantebury Classics, p49

[71] Native Indians of St. Catherine’s Island, Georgia, USA

[72] A friend of Abraham Lincoln who helped abolish slavery in the United States of America

[73] Director of the Bartos Institute at UWC-USA, Montezuma, New Mexico, USA

[74] Japanese for reuse, reduce, recycle, meaning “no waste”

[75] Meaning Peace in Kiswahili language

[76] Private nature conservancy in Kibos, Kisumu, Western Kenya

[77] The place of beginnings in the Turkana language, Northern Kenya.

[78] Luo word for “Teacher”

[79] A classroom, not necessarily of brick and mortar

[80] Meaning the authentic Luo

[81] The joy of the people of Nyakach, the home.

[82] Africa 2.0 international, available online at www.africa2point0.org

[83] Premier school in Africa developing young leaders for Africa

[84] Author of “How not to be an African” and a human rights activist

[85] Leading national school in Kenya, founded in 1949 with the motto, “Nothing but the best”

[86] TBA

[87] The author of the book, “Dust, Dragon Sea Fly” and Cain Prize winner

[88] Copyright Raila Odinga 2017, published by Mountain Top Publishers Ltd.

[89] Meaning, “God bless Africa”

[90] Meaning one who discovers people of great talent

[91] Meaning “master”

[92] Pay Through Mobile, a digital money transfer company in India

[93] Meaning “Friend”

[94] The co-founder and Executive Chairman of the Ali Baba Group

[95] Secretary General of UNCTAD; United Nations Conference on Trade and Development

[96]Meaning “our countryman”

[97] The author of “Going to the Mountain: lessons from my grandfather Nelson Mandela” and co-founder of Africa Rising

[98] Native Indians in the mountain states of the United States of America

[99] Meaning, “Please protect my name and legacy, my son”

A Transformative Education

For the past four years, I’ve worked with schools and school districts across the U.S. to help them improve schools in urban settings. As I’ve worked with traditional public high schools, I’ve wondered how they compared to UWCs. I am not a UWC alumna, but I met many UWC alumni in college who spoke about how “transformative” their UWC experience had been; few alumni who I met from other high schools would describe their high school experiences as “transformative.” I decided to visit UWC-USA to learn more about what makes the UWC experience “transformative” for students and think about the take-aways for more traditional high school settings in which I work. There were two particular aspects of the UWC experience that stood out to me.

FREEDOM. On the first evening of my visit, a student took me to a cafe in the Castle after we had dinner together, and we conversed for a few hours about UWC, international education systems, and the Montezuma community. Another time, a student took me to the Dwan Light Sanctuary after her last trial exam, and we spent the afternoon discussing various educational models we’d studied and the pros and cons of each.

In most U.S. high schools, students are not given such freedom to schedule their time; rather, parents or school administrators can dictate students’ schedules inside and outside of class time. Although we know students will need to be able to manage their own time once they are in college, we tend to think that they may not be ready for that level of responsibility before they turn 18. UWC proves that high school students can learn to manage their own time if they are given the freedom to do so.

DIALOGUE. Students who I spoke to on campus consistently cited the nature of dialogue with their peers as a defining difference between UWC and their high schools back home. UWC students were uniquely interested in engaging in dialogue that pulled from students’ cross-national experiences and enabled them to think about their global impact and personal identity. I witnessed this in a history classroom where the teacher asked students to comment on world events based on their experiences in their home countries. I also saw this in the dining hall where students spoke over lunch about the extent to which they identified with the nation represented on their passport.

In many U.S. high schools, students are reluctant to engage in authentic conversation about their similarities and differences, afraid that their differences will not be accepted. The quality of dialogue I encountered at UWC proved to me that students can more meaningfully engage in dialogue about their differences and can learn from the exchange once they move past an initial reluctance.

I came to UWC-USA expecting to find a specific academic framework that could perhaps be applied in other settings. Indeed, students seem to enjoy the International Baccalaureate curriculum, and several said that the unique Experiential Education program provided their best educational experiences on and off campus. But I found that what differentiated the UWC experience from more traditional high schools was a foundational trust in students to manage their time in pursuit of their goals and to engage with each other in meaningful ways.

 

 

Walk the Walk

“WALK THE WALK”

Rashna Ginwalla ’95

Knowing is not enough; we must apply
Willing is not enough; we must do

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I became a surgeon because I get to marvel every day at the miracle of our corporeal existence, and I can get paid for it! Human ingenuity and random chance ensure that I will never be out of a job. I can combine my two loves of operating and of traveling into a means to satisfy my obligations to my fellow men and women.

Having traveled some and seen the way most of the world’s population receives medical and surgical care, there is a desperate need for multidisciplinary and trans-disciplinary human capital to address all the various social determinants of health. “Health” or “wellness” is not the sole purview of the medical field: Lawyers who expose the subjugation of disenfranchised people and who restore their human rights; doctors, nurses, and the whole cadre of the health-care delivery workforce who actually deliver care and treat the sick; public health workers who set and raise standards of sanitation, hygiene, vaccinations, and other population-based measures for prevention to improve health; engineers who design innovative means of resource delivery, sanitation, resource-appropriate technology; financiers who create systems that prevent illness from destroying a family’s savings and opportunity—every profession has a role to play and, I would argue, an obligation to do so. And ALL have a moral obligation for témoignage, or “to bear witness” on behalf of the marginalized.

Working in the fragmented and administratively burdened health system of the United States, I find it easy to often lose sight of the big picture, to see the value of the life experiences I have had, and to apply them to my work. Almost twenty years after graduating from UWC-USA, I find myself looking back to the person I was then, drawing on the hope I found there and on the strength of the friendships I made that persist even today. That led me to work for Médecins sans Frontières (MSF, or Doctors Without Borders), which remains the single most intense experience of my professional life and the one that defines the direction of my life’s work. It is an organization that truly knows how to “walk the walk,” to deliver what others only talk about, and to speak out when others will not. I would urge everyone to take stock and ask of oneself, “What have I done to make the world a better place today?”

The future will demand from us all additional commitments to each other and will challenge our ability to implement our words into action and deliver rather that circuitously meet, speak, or write dead-ended resolutions. While times have indeed changed since I left Montezuma in 1995 and the increasingly public sphere within which we are all forced to function has indeed fundamentally altered the way we communicate as a species, the basic needs of human beings everywhere have not changed. We all need clean water, nutritious food, and shelter from the elements. But we also all need dignity, respect, recognition of our existence, protection from violence, and social interaction. The strength to “walk the walk” lies within each of us, and if we are to look back at 2017 as the year in which our global conscience was awakened, we must all ACT, each and every day.

 

 

 

Really Going Green

It has become quite cliché for UWC graduates to talk about how their two years as a student were the most formative in their lives. And yet, I also want to make this claim. I went to UWC Mahindra in India from 1998 to 2000.

While I don’t want to encourage rule-breaking among current students necessarily, these adventures were an important part of my Mahindra experience. The chance to get a close-up glimpse of life—both human and otherwise—in rural India was a great opportunity for me. Nature had always played a very important role in my life. I had spent much of my childhood just walking through the woods of my native Bavaria in Germany. By placing me in rural India, in a place with fabulous biodiversity, stark inequality but also dramatic economic growth, UWC prompted me to think more globally about the challenges we face as a species on a finite planet.

After working at the Centre for Alternative Technology in Wales as a lecturer and consultant on renewable energy, I have returned to the UWC fold as sustainability coordinator at UWC Robert Bosch College in Freiburg, Germany. On paper, the role of sustainability in UWC has changed massively since my student days—after all, “a sustainable future” is now on a level with “peace” in our mission statement. In reality, education for peace and international understanding is built right into the very fabric and structures of UWC in ways that environmental sustainability is not (yet). Simply by bringing together young people from all around the world, we cannot fail to foster international understanding. Yet the very same act—thousands of young people flying thousands of miles— already pushes the carbon footprint of our students well beyond what is allowed per person to avoid the worst of climate change.

UWC was a great solution to the challenges of the 20th century, but it is struggling to claim relevance, let alone leadership, on the emerging sustainability challenges of today. Moving away from a “diversity of passports” to an understanding of diversity that can be achieved with fewer air miles, planting whole forests to offset our emissions, and doing everything to make our campuses more sustainable are all necessary steps to reduce UWC’s gaping credibility gap on sustainability.

But if we want UWC to be as relevant to the great environmental challenges of today as it was to the political challenges of its time when it started half a century ago, then we will have to think more fundamentally about what making education a force for building a sustainable future should look like.

_______________________________________________________________________________

UWC-USA invites members of the wider UWC community to share their thoughts on topics relevant to the UWC movement.

 

 

 

Some Thoughts on Liberty

Defiantly staring up at a burly TSA officer at Newark Liberty International Airport, I had a revelation about the delicate balance between security and liberty.

I took my 80-year-old mother on my first business trip to New York as president of UWC-USA. While she walked Central Park with a dear friend, I met UWC alumni for the first time. Packing our bags for the flight home, I told my mother I had a surprise for her. Whenever I’m in New York I make a deli pilgrimage to Zabar’s on the Upper Westside. We would sample our way through the cheeses and lox and bring some home to New Mexico.

It was a long walk to Zabar’s and I unfortunately overshot it by several blocks. I also hadn’t quite appreciated that my mother had walked Central Park that day.

We missed our cab pickup. We missed our train. We missed our flight. But we got our cream cheese and lox!

Helping my mother through the airport and check-in went well until we came to security. My Manchego went happily through. So, too, a smoky Gouda and a creamy Brie. But my pint of Zabar’s cream cheese? Determined to be “a liquid.”

It was just too much. First calmly, and then more forcefully, I challenged the TSA agent and then her supervisor. Is the TSA actually in the business of determining the viscosity of cheese? “What about Mascarpone?” I asked cuttingly. “At what point does a wheel of Brie as it softens become a public menace?” Appealing to the largely unsympathetic crowd around me, I continued my challenge. “This is the United States of America! We are a country committed to the rule of law! We don’t just arbitrarily discriminate between cheeses!”

After listening to my harangue and looking desperately through a large binder, the supervisor got up and went into a small office. Moments later I saw three airport police coming from the other direction.

I locked eyes with the youngest of the officers. He was smiling a hint of a smile and I smiled back. I continued to fight the good fight on behalf of my mother’s cheese. He was a master at de-escalation–listening, commiserating, answering patiently while his companions looked faintly annoyed. Finally, firmly, he called the question: “Ma’am, I understand your point. But this is the moment you really need to decide how important this cheese is to you.”

I surrendered my pint. But I knew I had lost something more than the cream cheese. We all did.

 

 

Exploring Hate

In the wake of the 2016 election, I traveled the country and met with a diversity of people to document the hate they experienced during the campaign and under the Trump administration.

Vicious intimidation and cybertrolling, vandalism and arson of houses of worship, and assault or even murder on their own doorstep, people are targeted across this country because of who they are and what they believe.

Communities also experience hate through cruel and discriminatory policies: banishing immigrants and separating them from their families because they do not have papers; depriving the elderly, poor, communities of color, and people with disabilities of health care; and threatening to send refugees home where they would face an uncertain future.

As I traveled the country and met with survivors in their homes, houses of worship, and community centers, I saw an extraordinary amount of pain, hurt, and suffering. But I also saw plenty of resilience, too.

Survivors are not recoiling or abandoning hope. They are coming together, rebuilding their lives, and advocating for a better future for us all. Their communities are following their example by reaching across divides, building stronger coalitions, and centering young people and women of color in the fight against hate and state violence.

Just weeks into my journey, I quickly learned that there is a spirit of love and joy in these communities that hate cannot destroy—a spirit that originates and endures because of the power of community.

This same community exists at the United World College in New Mexico. That’s why I accepted a fellowship in residence at the school just weeks before my book manuscript was due. I knew that the community, and the love and care they have for one another, would motivate me to complete my book American Hate: Survivors Speak Out.

And that’s precisely what happened. When I taught class, the students would ask about hate violence and how they could help curb it. When I met with the school Amnesty International chapter, the students began planning a program on campus where their peers affected by the travel ban could share their stories. When I spoke at the school assembly about civil rights abuses, the students described their volunteer work in local detention centers.

Other times, it was more subtle. I can’t remember the number of times I saw students check in on folks who were sitting alone during a meal or otherwise by themselves. Everyone felt included. Everyone belonged.

There’s an extraordinary spirit of community in the foothills of Montezuma, New Mexico, and the rest of the country would be wise to follow their example.

Arjun Singh Sethi is an activist, lawyer, professor, and friend of UWC-USA.