Recently I hear a panel on international education at Columbia University. One the presentations covered the Batey system in the Dominican Republic.
A brief intro to the area: The Dominican Republic shares the island of Hispaniola with Haiti. Haiti was the first country to gain its independence from the colonial power in 1804. According to many accounts Haiti is the poorest nation in the Western hemisphere and has been racked by internal violence for much of the past century. Relations between the Dominican Republic and Haiti are strained, for a host of economic, land disputes and racial reasons. The Dominican Republic has a long history of bringing Haitian workers to the Dominican Republic to work in the fields.
The panelist presented a brief overview of the Batey system in the Dominican Republic. Batey’s are the name for plantation camps, or “sugar cane companies” as they preferred to be called.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batey_%28sugar_workers%27_town%29. Batey’s have a history of treacherous working conditions and are home to large populations of Dominicans of Haitian descent, and Haitian immigrants. While the panel focused mainly on the inferiority of Batey education systems to that of the rest of the country (and the subsequent tie to the stagnant contributions and lack of social mobility of the Batey populations), there were allusions to other human rights violations.
The more I heard the more enthralled I became. This (and an interesting political conversation) led me to attend another event at CU that provided a spotlight on the systematic tools of oppression used against the Haitians and dark skinned Dominicans. This includes joint efforts between the Haitian and Dominican governments to capture and bus Haitian immigrants to the DR to work on the plantation (against their will), roundups of Haitian (without verification of Haitian or Dominican citizenship) living in the Dominican Republic and dropping them off at the border.
One way that both governments are able to get away with such acts is an actual law that stipulates that children born in the Dominican Republic to non-Dominican parents cannot automatically obtain Dominican citizenship. (However this law is rarely applied to light skinned immigrant groups and in reality is almost solely applied to the Haitian population.) Since many Haitian descendants can not afford the high costs of birth certificates, nor regularly obtain them due to the fact that many people are born at home and not in the hospital. If a parent’s nationality cannot be proven then the child has no legal basis on which to contest its own nationality. Hence generations of Haitian workers are “in transits” since they do not have the legal papers to prove Dominican nationality or Haitian citizenship. It is as if legally, they do not exisit.
The black and white issue is not exclusively an American issue: racism and classism is prevalent in all Latino countries. Afro Latinos incur a host of systematic and everyday discrimination that ranges from being denied the ability to express their culture, to outright ignorant, acts of racism. The fact that the Dominican and Haitian dilemma is not restricted to xenophobia, but also to dark skinned Dominicans is testament to this fact.
While it is inspiring that there are many forces both on the island and internationally rallying to the plight of migrant workers, there is still so much ignorance and systematic discrimination to be overcome. Nationals and others must work actively to not perpetuate a colonial mentality of the oppression of our darker brothers and sisters.
http://web.amnesty.org/library/Index/ENGAMR270012007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Do white people work at Whole Foods
Do white people work at Whole Foods?
The following commentary is based almost solely on my experience, with very little statistical supporting evidence…
Do white people work at Whole Foods? If so, where are they? For those of you who have been living abroad or are just out of touch with the world, Whole Foods is a natural foods super market that got its start among hippies in Texas and has expanded to a national chain catering to the upper middle class, rich people of all colors.
My minimal amount of research on Whole Foods company culture and hiring demographics/techniques has yielded mixed reports of Whole Foods as one Fortune’s “100 Best companies to work for” (1998) to being wholly anti- union and a bit of a slave driver.
I’ve been to various Whole Foods throughout the North East and something that has never failed to amaze me is the fact that there are virtually no white people who work at Whole Foods. I’m talking about working on the floor: the cashiers, the shelf stockers- those people whose sole job responsibility is to direct you to an open cashier. I mean, maybe the white people work in different departments such marketing, finance, pr or some behind the scenes endeavor?
A part of me wants to rally and shout why are all the people serving me brown? Why can’t this be equal? Why do so many brown people still work in customer service? As a financially secure woman of color I feel (unreasonably) guilty of condemning brown people to a lack of social/economic mobility. I know this is irrational for many different reasons: Whole Foods provides higher than minimum wage, most of the workers look really young (high school and college), there is nothing wrong with being a cashier, but I can’t help feel that I am contributing to the inequality.
Anyhow something to ponder the next time your cashier is scanning your gourmet tofu, cage free organic oversized brown eggs and soymilk.
The following commentary is based almost solely on my experience, with very little statistical supporting evidence…
Do white people work at Whole Foods? If so, where are they? For those of you who have been living abroad or are just out of touch with the world, Whole Foods is a natural foods super market that got its start among hippies in Texas and has expanded to a national chain catering to the upper middle class, rich people of all colors.
My minimal amount of research on Whole Foods company culture and hiring demographics/techniques has yielded mixed reports of Whole Foods as one Fortune’s “100 Best companies to work for” (1998) to being wholly anti- union and a bit of a slave driver.
I’ve been to various Whole Foods throughout the North East and something that has never failed to amaze me is the fact that there are virtually no white people who work at Whole Foods. I’m talking about working on the floor: the cashiers, the shelf stockers- those people whose sole job responsibility is to direct you to an open cashier. I mean, maybe the white people work in different departments such marketing, finance, pr or some behind the scenes endeavor?
A part of me wants to rally and shout why are all the people serving me brown? Why can’t this be equal? Why do so many brown people still work in customer service? As a financially secure woman of color I feel (unreasonably) guilty of condemning brown people to a lack of social/economic mobility. I know this is irrational for many different reasons: Whole Foods provides higher than minimum wage, most of the workers look really young (high school and college), there is nothing wrong with being a cashier, but I can’t help feel that I am contributing to the inequality.
Anyhow something to ponder the next time your cashier is scanning your gourmet tofu, cage free organic oversized brown eggs and soymilk.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
The Western Wall: Danger Border Ahead
On my way to the airport for my trip to Israel I stopped by my office. As I rushed to leave a colleague asked me if I would take a picture of the Western Wall. The request struck me as odd but I responded that I would and ran out the door.
It wasn’t until a few days later when a friend and I wandered through the maze that compose the Christian and Jewish Quarters of the Old City that his request registered. My friend, a college roommate who had moved to Israel, stopped at a balcony over-looking the Western Wall to explain the significance of the area. I tried to stay attentive but I was fixated on the wall, this monumental image of the Jewish and Israeli struggle. A million thoughts raced through my mind: would I be overcome by emotion, would I stand out as a non-Jew, what would I learn?
From the distance the wall was not so imposing. There was a routine security check and short lobby to pass before entering the fifty or so feet portioned off for female prayer. Upon nearing the wall I saw all types of women, from trendy schoolgirls to young mothers with children and ultra conservative Jews who shook feverishly and wept enough tears to cover the centuries I had no dramatic realization, no break-though during my ten minutes of waiting for a space in which to touch the wall and three minutes of my hand pressed on the wall trying to discern some sort of message from the prayer notes crammed into the overflowing cracks of the stone.
The Western Wall is not only the physical barrier between the Jews and their beloved temple, but it is also a symbol of the political struggle between the Arab and Israeli world, the struggle for self identity that young Israeli’s confront and the cultural barriers separating Israel from her neighbors. These notions of the Western Wall resonated with me throughout my travels in the Old City and throughout the country. The Western Wall crossed my mind during every conversation I had, when an Israeli would comment that Arabs are “dirty” or an Arab would speak of the injustice of being cut off from independence.
Physically the Western Wall is either the holiest of religious structures or just some stones, depending on who is asked. It is a place where East and West intersect and to some extent coexist. It is not uncommon to see a rabbi pass by the nun who is retracing Jesus’ last steps on the Via Dolorosa, with the Muslim call to prayer in the background, echoing throughout the city and serving as a reminder that within these walls it is not solely anyone’s territory. Countless conflicts have ensued in these walls, with power passing from the Jews to the Romans, Byzantines and so on until we have reached the present day configuration. While armed struggle occurs daily in areas such as the Gaza Strip and West Bank, it is the Old City where it all begins.
Israeli’s are in the peculiar situation of having to constantly define and defend their existence and have to live with the psychological consequences of inheriting centuries of defense mechanisms. One conversation with a 20 something year old Israeli-American stuck out in my memory and cemented the concept. We were discussing peace, Israel and global warming among other topics, and she said mentioned a friend of hers who lived in California and complained of having to drive an hour to visit a family member. The conversation seemed normal enough until the young lady’s voice turned with passion and a hint of resignation as she said; “ I can’t drive 45 minutes without hitting a hostile country. I can’t go an hour without running into someone who wants to kill me”. Her comment cemented the reality: these fears and hate are not unfounded. They are real and not going anywhere. This is a nation of always changing barriers and borders where everything can be contested.
To walk through the Old City is to reinforce segregation, condemn diversity all while confronting the barriers and similarities between the three great religions. Walls are merely the way to enforce protection. From the Old City one can glance over East Jerusalem and see the wall/fence (depending on who you ask) separating Jerusalem from a still to be created Palestinian State. In a city of no peace, how can the inhabitants and descendants be expected to cast off the inherited sense of distrust and desire to put walls?
I thought that I would take a two-week trip to Israel and understand the issues at hand. After spending my last few days in the Old City and the periphery of the Wall, I left physically and emotionally drained, trying desperately to wrap my head around my encounters and perspectives I gained. I came to the realization that it would take years to even begin to understand the myriad of complexities. I still can’t fathom the religious emotion that overtakes Jews, Muslims and Christians alike, but I can sense the history, tension and hope trapped within the walls. One does not have to be religious to sense that people have mentally and emotionally closed off from each other. In turn walls are built, maintained and frequently destroyed in attempts to find freedom, whose Middle East definition is not quite objective.
In an attempt to make sense of my confusion I think back to a conversation I had over tea with a Palestinian businessman in the Old City. When asked whether he thought a solution was possible, if peace could ever be at hand, he responded with a gruff no. Maybe it was the look on my face, but as I walked out he relented a bit and said, “Maybe. In the end it is human beings who create change, so maybe”.
It wasn’t until a few days later when a friend and I wandered through the maze that compose the Christian and Jewish Quarters of the Old City that his request registered. My friend, a college roommate who had moved to Israel, stopped at a balcony over-looking the Western Wall to explain the significance of the area. I tried to stay attentive but I was fixated on the wall, this monumental image of the Jewish and Israeli struggle. A million thoughts raced through my mind: would I be overcome by emotion, would I stand out as a non-Jew, what would I learn?
From the distance the wall was not so imposing. There was a routine security check and short lobby to pass before entering the fifty or so feet portioned off for female prayer. Upon nearing the wall I saw all types of women, from trendy schoolgirls to young mothers with children and ultra conservative Jews who shook feverishly and wept enough tears to cover the centuries I had no dramatic realization, no break-though during my ten minutes of waiting for a space in which to touch the wall and three minutes of my hand pressed on the wall trying to discern some sort of message from the prayer notes crammed into the overflowing cracks of the stone.
The Western Wall is not only the physical barrier between the Jews and their beloved temple, but it is also a symbol of the political struggle between the Arab and Israeli world, the struggle for self identity that young Israeli’s confront and the cultural barriers separating Israel from her neighbors. These notions of the Western Wall resonated with me throughout my travels in the Old City and throughout the country. The Western Wall crossed my mind during every conversation I had, when an Israeli would comment that Arabs are “dirty” or an Arab would speak of the injustice of being cut off from independence.
Physically the Western Wall is either the holiest of religious structures or just some stones, depending on who is asked. It is a place where East and West intersect and to some extent coexist. It is not uncommon to see a rabbi pass by the nun who is retracing Jesus’ last steps on the Via Dolorosa, with the Muslim call to prayer in the background, echoing throughout the city and serving as a reminder that within these walls it is not solely anyone’s territory. Countless conflicts have ensued in these walls, with power passing from the Jews to the Romans, Byzantines and so on until we have reached the present day configuration. While armed struggle occurs daily in areas such as the Gaza Strip and West Bank, it is the Old City where it all begins.
Israeli’s are in the peculiar situation of having to constantly define and defend their existence and have to live with the psychological consequences of inheriting centuries of defense mechanisms. One conversation with a 20 something year old Israeli-American stuck out in my memory and cemented the concept. We were discussing peace, Israel and global warming among other topics, and she said mentioned a friend of hers who lived in California and complained of having to drive an hour to visit a family member. The conversation seemed normal enough until the young lady’s voice turned with passion and a hint of resignation as she said; “ I can’t drive 45 minutes without hitting a hostile country. I can’t go an hour without running into someone who wants to kill me”. Her comment cemented the reality: these fears and hate are not unfounded. They are real and not going anywhere. This is a nation of always changing barriers and borders where everything can be contested.
To walk through the Old City is to reinforce segregation, condemn diversity all while confronting the barriers and similarities between the three great religions. Walls are merely the way to enforce protection. From the Old City one can glance over East Jerusalem and see the wall/fence (depending on who you ask) separating Jerusalem from a still to be created Palestinian State. In a city of no peace, how can the inhabitants and descendants be expected to cast off the inherited sense of distrust and desire to put walls?
I thought that I would take a two-week trip to Israel and understand the issues at hand. After spending my last few days in the Old City and the periphery of the Wall, I left physically and emotionally drained, trying desperately to wrap my head around my encounters and perspectives I gained. I came to the realization that it would take years to even begin to understand the myriad of complexities. I still can’t fathom the religious emotion that overtakes Jews, Muslims and Christians alike, but I can sense the history, tension and hope trapped within the walls. One does not have to be religious to sense that people have mentally and emotionally closed off from each other. In turn walls are built, maintained and frequently destroyed in attempts to find freedom, whose Middle East definition is not quite objective.
In an attempt to make sense of my confusion I think back to a conversation I had over tea with a Palestinian businessman in the Old City. When asked whether he thought a solution was possible, if peace could ever be at hand, he responded with a gruff no. Maybe it was the look on my face, but as I walked out he relented a bit and said, “Maybe. In the end it is human beings who create change, so maybe”.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Lonely Planet and misconceptions
For my next international outing, I have chosen the geographically small, politically infamous Israel, with some side excursions to Jordan and Sinai. I didn’t purchase a Lonely Planet and don’t plan on looking at one during my trip. While LP achieves its objective in providing a traveler with EVERY detail possible it also kills surprise and preconceptions by acting like that asshole in the laundry mat that ruins the ending of a movie by blurting out the ending.
When informing people of my plans, the typical reaction involves either astonishment or disgust. Acquaintances have done a double take, trying to see if they can place me with Israeli or Palestinian nationality. Various close friends have accused me of “supporting the Zionist empire”, which I consider to be grossly ignorant. It’s this sort of remark that perpetuates intolerance and hate. I understand not agreeing with Israeli politics. I actually don’t. But it’s these same friends who dream of Cuba and hold contempt with our American government at forbidding travel to the island. Who are we, as American citizens, to point a finger? Unless you are completely self sufficient, making your own clothes and growing your food, all our economic purchases “support the American empire” and encourage repression elsewhere from buying clothes likely manufactured in sweatshops in Southeast Asia, or enjoying soybeans and beef imported after razing the Brazilian Amazon.
What about the historical and religious value of visiting this area? What about learning about another culture? When I think of Israel, Jordan, Lebanon and other Middle East Countries, my first thought is not of violence (this is not to negate the violence, repression and discrimination ever present in the region). I think of the reality of their lives: of perseverance, of those who wake up every morning, ride the bus to work and learn to live with the politics of their country, while still seeing the beauty of the world and maintaining determination to create the future. The Israeli and Palestinian people I have encountered over the years have brought to light my misconceptions and advised I go firsthand to experience the reality of life in the region and not trust media or political sources who distort public opinion for their own vantage.
I am, however, left wondering about the term “Middle East”. I know it refers to geographic configurations, but I can’t help but associate “Middle” with the concept of being stuck in the middle. Maybe I’ll have a different notion after my trip. If not, I’m sure Lonely Planet will have an explanation.
When informing people of my plans, the typical reaction involves either astonishment or disgust. Acquaintances have done a double take, trying to see if they can place me with Israeli or Palestinian nationality. Various close friends have accused me of “supporting the Zionist empire”, which I consider to be grossly ignorant. It’s this sort of remark that perpetuates intolerance and hate. I understand not agreeing with Israeli politics. I actually don’t. But it’s these same friends who dream of Cuba and hold contempt with our American government at forbidding travel to the island. Who are we, as American citizens, to point a finger? Unless you are completely self sufficient, making your own clothes and growing your food, all our economic purchases “support the American empire” and encourage repression elsewhere from buying clothes likely manufactured in sweatshops in Southeast Asia, or enjoying soybeans and beef imported after razing the Brazilian Amazon.
What about the historical and religious value of visiting this area? What about learning about another culture? When I think of Israel, Jordan, Lebanon and other Middle East Countries, my first thought is not of violence (this is not to negate the violence, repression and discrimination ever present in the region). I think of the reality of their lives: of perseverance, of those who wake up every morning, ride the bus to work and learn to live with the politics of their country, while still seeing the beauty of the world and maintaining determination to create the future. The Israeli and Palestinian people I have encountered over the years have brought to light my misconceptions and advised I go firsthand to experience the reality of life in the region and not trust media or political sources who distort public opinion for their own vantage.
I am, however, left wondering about the term “Middle East”. I know it refers to geographic configurations, but I can’t help but associate “Middle” with the concept of being stuck in the middle. Maybe I’ll have a different notion after my trip. If not, I’m sure Lonely Planet will have an explanation.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Skeletons
A grain of salt
Skeletons
It seems that all my friends, single or booed up, are experiencing dating dilemmas.
There’s my friend who accidentally on purpose found pictures of her boyfriend’s ex in compromising positions. She was distraught. I consoled. Being the level headed person that I am, I told her to forget it, it was just a picture. He loves you. But we both came to the agreement that you shouldn’t snoop if you can’t handle it. In the Mario’s famous words, “I don’t want to know”. Being with someone and sharing a life with them is a beautiful thing, but everyone has some skeletons in the closet, or secrets that you just don’t share. In matters of the heart, there are some things that are better left unsaid. (That being said, I too fessed to having snooped. Lets be real, who hasn’t looked over their significant other’s mail, took a “peek” in their drawer while they were out?)
And then there’s another friend who monitors how much time he spends with each date in order to…actually I don’t really know why. And I’m not even touching on my friends who are between relationships, i.e., still sleeping/on and off with the ex but actively dating other people. I could go on about and on…
Which brings me to my current situation. My dating usually falls into two categories:
1) I go on a few dates and then run away from the guy because he is too boring, nice or obsessive;
2) A male friend confesses his love to me/tells me that he thought all the time we spent together was dating. Opps. And then I run away. Get the drift?
However, the past few weeks I have been spending time with someone new and really enjoying it. Which then caused me to panic and ask friends for advice, which ranges from the crazy, to the normal to the just somewhat weird. Some conversation excerpts include
“ After the first date you must wait at least three days to call, and then diminish that by one day for each date” “You can’t text until 4-5 dates unless it’s just a booty call” “If you kissed with tongue you can call the next day. A peck is two-three days”.
Geez, has it always been this complicated? Is this what the 21st century is all about?
In the paraphrased words of the infamous E.Waples, “when will we ever stop playing games?”
I believe the moral of this story is to take it all with a grain of salt.
V
e
Skeletons
It seems that all my friends, single or booed up, are experiencing dating dilemmas.
There’s my friend who accidentally on purpose found pictures of her boyfriend’s ex in compromising positions. She was distraught. I consoled. Being the level headed person that I am, I told her to forget it, it was just a picture. He loves you. But we both came to the agreement that you shouldn’t snoop if you can’t handle it. In the Mario’s famous words, “I don’t want to know”. Being with someone and sharing a life with them is a beautiful thing, but everyone has some skeletons in the closet, or secrets that you just don’t share. In matters of the heart, there are some things that are better left unsaid. (That being said, I too fessed to having snooped. Lets be real, who hasn’t looked over their significant other’s mail, took a “peek” in their drawer while they were out?)
And then there’s another friend who monitors how much time he spends with each date in order to…actually I don’t really know why. And I’m not even touching on my friends who are between relationships, i.e., still sleeping/on and off with the ex but actively dating other people. I could go on about and on…
Which brings me to my current situation. My dating usually falls into two categories:
1) I go on a few dates and then run away from the guy because he is too boring, nice or obsessive;
2) A male friend confesses his love to me/tells me that he thought all the time we spent together was dating. Opps. And then I run away. Get the drift?
However, the past few weeks I have been spending time with someone new and really enjoying it. Which then caused me to panic and ask friends for advice, which ranges from the crazy, to the normal to the just somewhat weird. Some conversation excerpts include
“ After the first date you must wait at least three days to call, and then diminish that by one day for each date” “You can’t text until 4-5 dates unless it’s just a booty call” “If you kissed with tongue you can call the next day. A peck is two-three days”.
Geez, has it always been this complicated? Is this what the 21st century is all about?
In the paraphrased words of the infamous E.Waples, “when will we ever stop playing games?”
I believe the moral of this story is to take it all with a grain of salt.
V
e
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