This is my brain on dogs

Sometimes my brain is like a 1-year-old Great Dane:

Other times my brain is like a sprite miniature Dachsund:

A People’s History of the United States
by Howard Zinn

p35, Drawing the Color Line

The system was psychological and physical at the same time. The slaves were taught discipline, were impressed again and again with the idea of their own inferiority to “know their place,” to see blackness as a sign of subordination, to be awed by the power of the master, to merge their interest with the master’s, destroying their own individual needs. To accomplish this there was the discipline of hard labor, the breakup of the slave family, the lulling effects of religion…the creation of disunity among slaves by separating them into field slaves and more privileged house slaves, and finally the power of law and the immediate power of the overseer to invoke whipping, burning, mutilation, and death.

Talking through each other

“In the face of this enormous and imposing force of the people, I felt very small, but I was full of self-confidence, like a small tree standing in a vast and ancient forest. In struggling against the enemy, I had come to fully realize that we had to have the strength of the whole forest in order to be able to stay the force of the strong winds and storms. As I thought about the protection and support of the people, about the enormous efforts that the revolution had expanded in educating and nurturing me, about the countless comrades and beloved peoples…I felt more intimately bound, more so than ever before, to the road I had taken and had pledged to follow until my last days. This was the road for which I would sacrifice everything for the future of the revolution and for the interests of the masses. For me there was no other road to take.”

[Nguyên Thị Ðịnh]

“My dream for the future is a dream of Vietnam. Our country has a long history of people who fought against aggression and injustice. Our highest calling is love of country, as has been demonstrated by many Vietnamese patriots in the past. I, too, have been moved by the love of my country and also by the greatness of my country’s future and the world’s future. I believe in a very bright future for Vietnam and for the whole region of Southeast Asia. Time has passed too slowly for my country and my people, and left a long history of suffering. So these thoughts make me unable to keep silent-my knowledge, vision, and love of country urge me to speak. And I always believe that truth, justice, and compassion will prevail, no matter how strong the dictators are, no matter how bad the situation might be. “

[Doan Viet Hoat]

TV Reunion

Kevin Minh (stop snickering!), a fellow Vietnamese adoptee, blogged about Tiffany Chi’s chance reunion with some Vietnamese relatives while appearing on the TV show ‘nhu chua he co cuoc chia ly‘ recently in order to spread the word that she was searching for her first mother.

What happened at the end of the show is reminiscent of a tabloid talk show here in the States when long-lost relatives are unexpectedly reunited by the show’s producers.

Obviously, according to Kevin, Tiffany was handed much more than she probably bargained for.

Read about it HERE.

Seeking legitimacy (and dollars) from adult adoptees

You have a friend request

Chsfs- Korea Tour (Minneapolis / St. Paul, MN)

“The Adopted Adult Service Tour is a unique opportunity for adopted persons to connect with each other and give back to others in need.”

Children’s Home Society & Family Services, St. Paul, MN.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Trawling for adoptee dollars, the Children’s Home Society & Family Services of St. Paul, MN has cast the ubiquitous Facebook net into the sea of adult adopteehood in hopes of catching future donors, contributors and possible future APs who will remember CHSFS when they themselves become infected with the adopt-an-unfortunate bug.

Perhaps this topic has been touched on before, but it bears repeating. I have the suspicion that adoption agencies perpetuate their own existence, and maintain their financial standing, by extracting “fees” from adult adoptees who are themselves financially independent. These agencies virtually sell the adoptees’ culture, as well as their birthright, back to them by using their significant resources to offer reunion gatherings, culture/heritage tours, books and other media, first parent searches, and adult adoptee support groups (i.e., Resource Committee of Adopted Adults).

What strikes me as absurd about the “Adopted Adult Korea Service Tour” led by CHSFS is that not only will the adoption agency charge adult adoptees for this event in order to facilitate its core business of adopting more children from overseas, but it will also condescend to them by attempting to invoke survivor’s guilt and shove gratitude in their faces.

[T]his unique tour experience is focused on exploring issues in traditional and contemporary Korean society through learning from members in the community and giving back to those in need.

…invited to join this service-based tour where we will be volunteering with a particular emphasis on assisting children, youth, and the underserved population.

Thus, the inherent message and goal of this tour is that adult adoptees are not to squander any of their time on this earth thinking about their own interests or their rights (personal fulfillment is reserved for the privileged few), and they are certainly not to be trusted to acknowledge and mourn any sense of loss with their dignity intact or explore the nation and culture they were so expeditiously ferried away from without official supervision.

To add insult to injury, CHSFS will not allow participants to conduct searches for first relatives or foster parents while they are on the tour.

Feeling like a target for these nefarious messages, due to the backdoor channel the agency used to reach me vis-a-vis Facebook, I don’t feel obliged to give CHSFS, or its agents, any slack.

With that said, though, I ask myself whether or not there are redeeming qualities possessed by adoption agencies or facilitators which adoptees should take into consideration. I think by their very nature these entities have tremendous value and carry many advantages that adult adoptees should certainly tap into. In many adult adoptees’ cases, the agencies and orphanages hold paperwork and an institutional memory that can point one in the direction of his/her true origins. It would behoove us to engage the people working in these capacities in a constructive and mature manner so that we get what we deserve: honest answers.

To turn this pipe dream into reality, we need the other side to halt its transparent marketing campaigns aimed at targeting our “demographic” (via social networking sites like Facebook) and come to the table prepared to argue the facts, negotiate and treat us as equals – treat us like the adults we are.

…when it’s only a Northern Song

If you’re listening to this song
You may think the chords are going wrong
But they’re not;
He just wrote it like that.
It doesn’t really matter what chords I play
What words I say or time of day it is
As it’s only a northern song

…

If you think the harmony
Is a little dark and out of key
You’re correct, there’s nobody there.
It doesn’t really matter what chords I play
What words I say or time of day it is
And I told you there’s no one there.

The custodians

They pass by my cubicle with carts loaded with paper towels, garbage bags, cleaning supplies and pink rubber gloves.

Uncle…brother, can you come by with your feathery wand next and dust off these shattered memories that lie, embedded, in the orphanage floor?

Can you spare some of that solvent in your cart, too, so I can spend some time alone and wipe away all of the unnecessary apologies that have accumulated around the edges?

Auntie…sister, I walked in on you as you were putting toilet paper in the men’s stalls, and you gave me your widest smile as a token of your understanding.

“Sorry”, you said, “that we couldn’t keep you with us. It was never supposed to be this way. Excuse me, I’ll leave you be.”

The layers of paint and wallpaper in my mind bend and buckle to the floor, and I’ve only got a lifetime to clean up this mess.

They pass by my cubicle again. One is pushing a vacuum cleaner, the other is running the dust wand along wood and plastic.

I look at the screen and then I watch their backs as they walk away from me. Two more people who pity the workhorse I’ve become.

Model Minorities, Cajun Style

Racialicious (who linked to Hyphen Blog who linked to NYT) has an account of a high school student in Louisiana who in her graduation speech read a sentence aloud in Vietnamese to her parents in the audience. Because of that simple act of gratitude, “[s]chool officials in Terrebonne Parish are considering a policy that would require all commencement speeches to be in English.” [my italics]

Despite how xenophobic this little school district campaign is, at least these students now have a tangible example of American exceptionalism and White Supremacy, all rolled into one, that they can tape into their yearbooks for future reference. Hopefully, they, and other students of Asian descent, will throw off their Model Minority capes and educate themselves about the sordid history of prejudice, discrimination, scapegoating and hostility against people from Asia who have made their home in America.

This incident should galvanize the student body of that high school and the members of their community with a conscience to force a halt in any and all planning to go through with the English-only policy for future graduation speeches within that school district.

This incident should jumpstart a community-wide discussion to dismantle and examine the reasons for the school officials’ reactions to that one sentence in Vietnamese (that was graciously translated into English for the audience), and what it means to be a citizen and resident of these United States.

Finally, I have a few (loaded) questions:

• Would the school officials have reacted with the same hostility if the student were of Irish descent and spoke a sentence in Gaelic?
• Would the school officials have reacted with the same hostility if the student were of Swedish descent and spoke a sentence in Swedish?
• Would the school officials have reacted with the same hostility if the student were of Dutch descent and spoke a sentence in Dutch?

Knowing the history of this country and aware of how much further our national image needs to progress, I would take an educated guess and say, “No”.

Run-in with a demon

Many walking paths criss-cross Point Defiance Park, and I found myself on one of them this weekend. It was a nice respite from the hustle-and-bustle going on at the Taste of Tacoma where many sunburnt people were consuming copious amounts of food and drink, and listening to several kinds of music all at once.

Walking is holy to me. I worship my own footsteps on solid ground. With each step I think ahead, but I also think back to stay on course.

So, it came as a complete surprise to me when I startled a Demon, who was obviously scrounging around for its own sustenance on the forest floor. I took one step too close and It took off, scurrying over ivy and moss. I whipped my head around, looking for where it hurried to, and out of the corner of my eye I saw its small, dark body clinging to the bark of a tree not very far from me.

It dared not move.

It was waiting for me. To follow or to leave?

Suddenly, it shined its evil red eye my way.

I didn’t blink. I was mesmerized by this Demon’s close proximity to me, as well as its resolve to freeze all movement. I couldn’t stop staring. This was to be my final undoing. The Demon’s glare started to consume my corporeal, earthly shell.

It was too late for me to do anything else. As I stood in silence, a fog of whiteness slowly surrounded me, enveloped me and overtook me. The Demon smiled as it watched me dissipate. In its eyes, I had fulfilled its greatest desire.