Cultural Invasion

In cultural invasion, the actors draw the thematic content of their action from their own values and ideology; their starting point is their own world, from which they enter the world of those they invade. In cultural synthesis, the actors who come from "another world" to the world of the people do so not as invaders. They do not come to teach or to transmit or to give anything, but rather to learn, with the people, about the people's world.

~ Paulo Friere, Pedagogy of the Oppressed

Let us acknowledge first that we do, in fact, come from different worlds. (We includes all of us, though it can be defined differently depending on the situation.) By what authority do we think we have the right or even the ability to enter into a "world" that we do not come from, and therefore cannot immediately identify with, and bestow answers upon people we have failed to listen to?

Might we not enter first into the lived experiences of others before writing a prescription? Better yet, are we willing to let those we wish to "help" do the prescribing?

The Little Things...

Sometimes it's the little things that will send me into a fit of laughter. Like today, for example, when I was reading through one of my student's applications that read something like, "I am very excited about studying in Whales, England." I'm confident that if my Jonah student doesn't sort it out before she goes, a kind Welsh person will inform her that Wales is neither a tribute to a giant sea mammal nor in England. But she was close, I suppose, on both counts.

Sometimes the little things make me want to kick a cat. Like yesterday when I not only put a giant dent in the car I bought a week ago by trying to avoid hitting a baby carriage, but missed crossing the Hudson River Rail Bridge for the first time by 10 minutes. It's a little thing though.

On occasion, the little coincidences that pepper my day or week seem to create arrows pointing to who knows where, but they're still pointing. Like this past Saturday when I was doing a bit of gardening and came across an old metal toy airplane. Glenn said he dug it up last year and it must be from the 1950's. It made me think of my dad. I turned it over in my hand and inspected it. It was well made, not like the plastic riff raff filling up our houses and landfills now a days. Then I noticed the print on the side, "Made in the USA. Lancaster, PA." Huh. What a funny little coincidence.

Here's to musing on the little things... and what of you?