Catawampous

Culture Matters - Volume II

2011-06-29T00:39:00.000-07:00

Perspectives of a White Man who has lived for 30 Years in a Filipino Family

Some time ago I wrote a blog post entitled "Race Matters -Volume I (maybe)" [http://catawampous-joel.blogspot.com/2009/02/race-matters-volume-1-maybe.html]. Actually, I started out writing about race, but ended up talking about culture; so from now on, the series will be entitled “Culture Matters.”

Anyway, I had the idea to write further on this topic…maybe. (I have writing commitment issues; which is why I titled it “Volume I (maybe).”) Somehow, to my total amazement, having lived in a Filipino family for three decades, I managed to develop one or two ideas on culture that might matter to the six people who follow my blog.

But then I forgot what these ideas are. Fortunately, I just remembered one of my ideas after reading the recent blog post by my wonderfully talented daughter, Lauren.

The general ideas is that culture frames one’s understanding of what family is and, despite what many of the predominant White culture believe, theirs is not necessarily the best way of understanding family. Or, you could entitle it: “Some of the things I learned from my wife about raising kids are actually pretty smart; but it may still be necessary to use your knee as an extra appendage when trying to hold down a wiggling 14-pound toddler boy so you can change his diaper before he rolls off the bed and pees on the carpet.” (If that doesn’t make sense, refer to comments below.)

But after further reflection, I realize that Lauren said it much better that I can. So following is my blog post:

Refer to http://www.dearestdaughters.com/2011/06/jennifer-lehr.html.

If you still don’t understand the reference to peeing toddlers rolling on the floor, then you obviously did not read Lauren’s blog! You ingrate! Get back there and read!

I’m thinking about writing more in the future…maybe, if I can remember some more stuff I learned about culture.

On Being a Grandparent

2010-02-18T13:23:00.000-08:00

I'm re-discovering the joy of watching a toddler discover the world. I remember the fun of watching my children as toddlers, but I was probably so busy with the necessities of daily life that I often took only a moments notice. The big smile - "I'm so proud of myself!"

Just now, Marbel did some quick squats, hanging onto the arm of my chair. Up-down-up-down-up - then she looked at me and a big smile broke out. "Aren't I amazing." Earlier, riding her rocking horse one-handed: rock, rock, rock - stand up - rock, rock, rock, standup. Big smile! I'm sure these weren't the first times, but the wonder of learning what legs can do is an amazing thing to watch.

Why does it seem so much more fun to see as a grandparent? Is it just that I have more time to breathe and watch, since I'm not constantly juggling working with the million things a parent has to do to raise children? Probably in part. Is it because I haven't really noticed in a long time and it seems new again? I think it is more than just reflections upon fading memories. I've helped raise five grandchildren, and I remember noticing these things more than with my own children. That's sad in a way, but it makes being a grandfather even more wonderful. But why is watching Maribel even more amazing that watching my other grandchildren as toddlers? I think that age brings more capacity to reflect on the wonders of life. Maybe, on the way to growing up, I lost more of that ability than others, so regaining it is more profound. But mostly I think there is a cycle of wonder as a child, that comes back around when you get older.

Maybe it's just that I turned 55 this month and I'm feeling very reflective.

Why is it we never recognize God working in our lives until we look back?

2009-03-30T18:03:00.000-07:00

I had a talk with God today. At first I didn't recognize God because God revealed God's self in the form of one of my clients. I first met God in person about six months ago during God's previous visit to our facility, but I didn't recognize God then either. I'm not sure what I expected God to look like, but now I know. God is a 5 foot 4 inch, 285 pound, 56 year-old Tongan man with long graying hair in an Albert Einstein hairdo. I knew him then as Mr. M., a sometimes client in our facility. I visited him today because he'll be leaving our facility soon.

The conversation started like this: "Good morning Mr. M! I'm Mr. Gibbs. Do you remember me from your last visit? He smiles at me knowingly as he sits on his bed. "We need to fill out some paperwork today" I say. "Is that Okay?" Mr. M. just smiles warmly at me, but doesn't say anything. "We need to start making plans for where you're going to live after you leave us. Where's your home?" "I live in the holy land." Last time I saw him he told me he owns the Hilton Hotel in Concord and usually lives there. "Oh, really....." I say, with a bit of skepticism in my voice. "Where exactly is the holy land?" Mr. M. says that the holy land is in Concord. "When you say Concord, do you mean Concord, California, like in Contra Costa County?" Mr. M clarifies, "It used to be Concord, but I renamed it the holy land."

"So.....where do you stay when you're in the holy land?" "I stay in the Royal Hotel." I tell him that I don't remember a Royal Hotel in Concord. Actually, I don't know anything about hotels in Concord, but at this point I'm betting I won't find the Royal Hotel in the Yellow Pages. Again Mr. M. clarifies, "It used to be called Hotel 6." "Wait, I'm thinking that you renamed the Hotel 6 also, right?" "I own all the Hotel 6s, Hilton Hotels, Best Western Hotels and the Disney Hotel. I renamed them all to the Royal Hotel." "Hmmmm" I answer. I think he senses my skepticism because he continues, "I own all the hotels in the world."

Just when I think I'm beginning to understand him, he shows me that he is always one step ahead of me. "Well, when you can't stay in the Royal Hotel, where do you stay?" "Why wouldn't I be able to stay in my own hotel?" he laughs at the absurdity of my question." But sometimes I stay in King City." I ask, "Like King City down by Monterey?" "No. Of course not. King City used to be Oakland, before I renamed it."

I decide to move on to the next topic. "Your records say you were born in Tonga but you told me before that you are a U.S. citizen. Do you claim dual U.S. and Tongan citizenship?" Mr. M. laughs heartily. "I can't be a Tongan citizen because Tonga doesn't exist." I am fairly confident regarding my knowledge of world geography, so I say "I distinctly recall seeing a country called Tonga on a map of the South Pacific Ocean." Mr. M. speaks slowing, using that patient voice one reserves for people who are a little slow mentally. "I moved all the people from Tonga to the holy land, so Tonga doesn't exist any more." Solely for the sake of argument, I respond, "Well, I think that Tonga still exists, even if there are no people there anymore. I mean, there's still an island called Tonga, unless of course ... well, you didn't make the island disappear, did you?" "No. I don't do that kind of thing anymore."

"Oh, I think I'm beginning to understand. You are God." "Yes, you do understand." Not yet convinced, I ask "Why didn't you tell me this when you were here last time?" "I did tell you, but you forgot." "I think I would have remembered meeting God." "You remembered, but people forget everything as soon as they see me again. When you leave you will get papers that explain everything about me. Then you will know." Thinking I can test God, I slyly ask "Why don't you give me the papers now, so I can read them here?" God smiles and chuckles at me. "That is what my angels are for, to deliver my messages."

I think about this for a little while. "You know, this kind of makes sense to me now. It explains why everybody thinks you're ... well, they don't know you're God, so they keep you here. But since you're God, you could leave here any time you want. So why do you choose to stay here?" God just smiles at me knowingly.

What is it about tagging photos in Facebook?

2009-02-28T01:01:00.000-08:00

Recently, one of my kids made a comment on Facebook suggesting that I learn how to tag my own Facebook photos. Tagging was described as a way to "make connections, build relationships, introduce people to people." Actually, I know how to tag photos in Facebook. I just would rather not spend the effort.

I definitely want to share my photos, and it's not that I don't appreciate other people tagging my photos. I just don't really like making connections with people I'm not already connected with. Other than my extended family, I'd rather no one else in the world knows that I even exist. I understand that you extroverts draw energy from all this "connecting" and "building" and "introducing" stuff. Well, I'll never really understand it - but I recognize that there are people out there who do gather energy from interacting with others.

But for us introverts, "making connections" and "building relationships" takes way too much energy. So, it's about maintaining relationships with the people who are closest to us. And to do that, we have to conserve emotional energy so we can spend it connecting with the people we care about. I know that Facebook could be a great way for me to maintain those relationships without actually having to talk. But for me, Facebook is about listening to what my family is doing, and sharing my pictures with them. Pictures are an efficient way of communicating because they show how much I love the people who are close to me, without having to actually talk about it!

This photo tagging issue comes down to the question of whether it is worth spending all that time tagging the several hundred pictures I posted. For me, it is a lot more efficient to send one Facebook message to all my family to let them know I've posted new pictures. I recognize that, regardless of whether you see yourself as an extrovert, you active Facebookers somehow enjoy creating all the activity that ultimately becomes part of the Facebook buzz. I also recognize that, without you people doing all that connecting and building and introducing, Facebook would be a pretty boring place. But I'd rather not spend my free time tagging photos. My idea of relaxation is spending a couple minutes on Facebook seeing what my kids are doing, then go read a book. I guess I'm a Facebook leech, because I like to read what others are doing but I don't want to spend the energy telling other people what I'm doing all day.

You extroverts will never understand why us introverts would rather go read a book or watch the Food Network. And us introverts will never understand how you extroverts can spend so much time keeping connected with tens or hundreds of people all day and night. As Rudyard Kipling said, "Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet." But I'd rather not meet the twain - it'd just take too much energy.

Race matters - Volume #1 (maybe)

2009-02-01T23:05:00.000-08:00

Bi-racialism or Multi-racialism: Perspectives of a White Man who has lived for 30 Years in a Filipino Family

[Warning: This blog entry is intended to be serious, unlike past posts where I was trying to be funny but probably wasn't. Also, it is kind of long.]

I wrote down these thoughts while listening to a National Public Radio episode of Talk of the Nation back in December called “Politics of Bi-racial.” This was shortly after the presidential election when every news outlet was trying to spin stories off of the historic election of President Barack Obama. The thing that got me upset was a White woman who asked rather indignantly: "Why doesn't Barack Obama call himself multi-racial? When he calls himself Black, he's denying that he is half White!" I framed my response as a listener comment email during a live broadcast, but I became so passionate about it that I couldn’t stop at a few lines. Unfortunately, the episode ended before I could get my brilliant ideas onto the airwaves. But Lauren has been asking me for some time why I haven't updated my blog. So, I thought I'd cheat a little and slide my email in here, with some editing.

If you don't know me, Sarah and I are a “mixed couple.” Sarah is 2^nd generation Filipino-American and I am White, of unknown generation. When we got married, or truthfully some time before that, I gained two already-made children. (My White family would say they are stepchildren.) Then in the 1980s we had two more children - hapa, mestizo, bi-racial kids - and faced the question of how to talk to them about their racial identity. Today this may seem a little obvious, but this was a time when there was virtually no discussion of the issue and “mixed marriages” were still considered taboo by many. In fact, it was not all that distant from a time when it was illegal for Whites and Filipinos to marry.

“Mixed marriages” are more common today and, at least in metropolitan areas, are no longer considered taboo. Of course, “mixed marriages” go way back in American history to the first encounters between Whites and American Indians. But Sarah and I were pioneers of “mixed marriages” in the sense that we were on the front end of a growing wave of “mixed marriages." Not that there weren't multi-racial kids before then, but mixed-couples became ever-increasingly more common in California during the 1980s and 1990s. More importantly, we were pioneers because society gave us no clear or positive models for how to raise children of a “mixed marriage.” "Mixed children" were considered "unfortunate" by many. Oh, people would assure you that THEY aren't racists, but "don't you know that your children will have such a hard time in this world." Maybe that was more in the world I grew up. Maybe not so much in Sarah's world.

So we had to make it up as we went. We instinctively rejected the notion that race doesn’t matter. I believe that society will have achieved racial equality when our society stops asking why we have to talk about race, and starts talking about race as something to celebrate, not denied. At the same time, without any kind of model to help us frame the conversation, we had to find a way to talk to our children about their racial identity. Again instinctively, we told our children that they are not half of this or half of that, but they are all Filipino and all White. Our hearts told us that telling a child they are half or this or part of that says to the child that they are not a complete person. We rejected the historic societal understanding that their racial identity can or should be boiled down to fractional mathematics. To do so teaches a child that every moment of their lives they must be asking themselves: “In this situation, am I a Filipino or am I White? Or, in this context, do people see me as Filipino or White?” These are choices that no one should have to make, least of all a child who is just forming his or her identity. And don't fool yourselves into thinking that the little children can be protected from racism in our culture. Society does force these questions on multi-racial children from an early age.

Back then, I was asked by White people: “Why do you force your children to confront race? Can’t you just let them grow up first? You should let them have their time of innocence when they're still young. They will have plenty of time to face racism when they grow up!” No one actually said it that way exactly, but their expressions of disapproval of the way we talked to our children about race was more than evident. This kind of thinking is a corollary of the false theory that if we just stopped talking about race then racism will go away: "If we don’t talk to children about race then they will grow up without any racial prejudices and racism will be eradicated." I am certain that I don’t have to tell my friends of color how absurd this is. Unfortunately, our society forces children to face their racial identity in a negative way. I can tell you many stories about our kids facing and recognizing racism at a very early age. There was one time, when they were 3 and 4 years old that the man at an ice cream stand made our clean and neatly dressed kids put their money on the counter before he would scoop their ice cream, but didn’t do this with the scruffy looking White boy in front of them. We witnessed this, but it was our kids who told us that the man was racist. I don’t think that our society’s understanding of race has changed much since then.

Maybe one day scientists will be able to measure race genetically and assign the fractions of a person’s racial genetic material. Or maybe not. But even if they can do this, what would be the purpose? A person’s racial identity is not genetically inherited. Society’s understanding of race is a social construct, not a scientific one. Society’s understanding of race is inextricably connected with culture. Our racial and cultural understanding of ourselves is shaped by the culture of our family within the context of society’s understanding of race and culture. I know people whose ancestry is predominantly non-White, but they were raised in White families. Their family culture is White, but society sees them as non-White. Societal context may shape their racial and ethnic identity as much as their family. I can’t pretend to understand how this feels, but I imagine society may force them to struggle to connect with the culture of their ancestry. Should they be forced to make this choice? Shouldn’t they be allowed to freely claim all the ethnicities and cultures they associate with, or perhaps none if they so choose, without feeling like they have to make choices between part of one and part of another? Shouldn’t all people be allowed to continuously develop and expand their racial, ethnic and cultural understanding of themselves throughout their lives?

For all the talk about “multi-racialism” our society still views race in “black and white” terms. One drop of non-white blood makes you multi-racial and, therefore, not White, says our culture. It’s not really a question of skin color. A person can be very light skinned, but if their features are seen by society as non-White, then they are considered non-White. So we parents of “multi-racial” children and children of color are forced by society to attempt to “innoculate” our children against racism when they are very young. We also have to find ways of fortifying our children’s sense of their racial identity, because society will still try to tear it down. Not always intentionally, but when a child grows up seeing very few positive images of people who look like them on television, in movies, in magazines and even on the internet, society is sending them a very powerful message that they are not really part of that society. And regardless of economic or social status, separate is never equal.

My White family has asked me why we emphasize our children’s Filipino culture more than their White culture? The answer is that their White culture is re-enforced virtually every moment of every day simply because they grow up in a dominant White culture. We do not have to do anything and they will absorb White culture. On the other hand, we must be very intentional about how we talk about their racial identity to re-enforce their Filipino culture. Inoculation and fortification. Perhaps this is a little sad, but until we live in a society free of the disease of racism, we have no choice.

So when I hear people ask why President Obama doesn’t call himself multi-racial, I have to ask: Why should he? Science has proven that we are all genetically mixed to one degree or other. So the whole concept of “multi racialism” is meaningless. His identity is defined by the family and culture in which he grew up. If you want to understand his identity, read his books and listen to his speeches. He has been very clear and honest about his search for his identity as a child and as a young man. His discussion of race is very nuanced. The fact that his understanding of race and his own identity has moved way beyond the last generation’s is one reason why many people see him as hope for a better society. The media has called it “post-racial,” but that term implies that President Obama is beyond talking about race which, if you’ve been listening to him, is clearly not true. My thoughts rebelled when I first heard that term applied to President Obama. I believe that “post-racial” is another example of the White-dominated media reflecting White society’s wish that we should “just stop talking about race and get past it.”

We need to keep talking about race and ethnicity, but we need to develop a new language. One that allows people to forge their own identity. One that never forces people to choose between one race, ethnicity or culture and another. One that acknowledges that these things come from our individual family and cultural roots, not our genetic material. One that celebrates diversity but allows people to choose to be of one culture or of many. One that allows all people to be whole people not fractional people.

Instead of pigeon-holing those who society sees as “multi-racial,” perhaps we should label people like me as “mono-cultural” and speak of everybody else as the norm.

The Professional Recycler

2008-12-19T22:49:00.000-08:00

Today I had an interesting conversation with one of my clients who is 45 years old. It started with some standard questions for our first time clients that help us develop an overall picture of the client's background and current program needs. First, I asked him about his employment history. He responded that he has never held a job in his life. So I assumed he has no work skills and I suggested that he might want to avail himself of vocational training opportunities while he is at our facilities.

Then I asked whether he uses illegal drugs. He told me, with evident pride, that he has been using "crack" cocaine daily since it first appeared on the streets in this area in 1982. I guess you could say he was a "crack" pioneer. He informed me that he smokes a 1/2 ounce of "crack" per day, which costs about $250 at current street prices here. Since he clearly has no job to earn the money, I suggested that he must sell "crack" in order to afford his $250 per day habit. But he responded with disdain that he never sells drugs. So I was greatly interested to know how he managed to obtain enough money to support his habit. He told me that he collects and recycles aluminum cans for cash. So at the current redemption value, that works out to be 5000 soda and beer cans every day. That is some serious recycling! Perhaps I was a little judgmental in concluding he has no work skills. I had to admire his recycling talent and I congratulated him on a great career and future in the recycling profession.

I then asked him if he uses any other illegal drugs, such as "crank" (i.e. methamphetamine). He scoffed at this notion, saying that "crank" is "man made." I responded very professionally by asking: "So I guess 'crack' just falls from heaven?" Which he thought was a very funny question, and then informed me that "crank" comes from chemicals, but "crack" is "from the ground and, therefore, comes from nature!" My response was: "And here I thought it comes from microwave ovens, just like popcorn and Marie Calendar's frozen pot pies."

Am I being too obscure?

2008-11-30T22:05:00.000-08:00

One of the comments I received on my first and only previous blog post was that it was "academic," which leads me to believe that people may take my writing too seriously. That I might have a sense of humor is a shock to many I'm sure. Regardless, I intended my first blog post to be, in part, a self-parody.

Yes, on one level it was intended it to be a serious social commentary. But I really didn't expect readers would follow all those links to articles on American immigration policy. I was playing around with embedding links within my writing, which was new to me. I thought that was really cool, then I thought: What if I wrote something serious with all these academic looking references, then threw in a slightly bizarre ending? I've always been attracted to humor of the absurd. But I'm afraid people didn't even get to the ending.

Clearly though, having to explain one's humor means that you're not funny. Oh well. It is dawning on me that, in the blogosphere, it doesn't really matter if anybody understands me.

In school I was taught to always have an audience in mind when I write, so that I would better understand the purpose and method of my writing. One of my daughters recently disabused me of this notion when it comes to blogging. Apparently, blogging isn't actually about communicating with other humans. It is just about writing whatever - and then maybe someone wants to read it.

Which means blogging is an ideal venue for my humor.

Be our guest, be our guest, be our guest worker.

2008-11-23T22:44:00.000-08:00

I am reading the November newsletter of Trinity Presbyterian Church of Stockton, our home church in Stockton. For those of you who don't know Trinity, it was founded in the 1940s by Filipino immigrants and children of Filipino immigrants. Today, it is truly a multi-ethnic church with several ethnic groups represented, but remaining majority Filipino. This church family baptized Sarah as a child, and adopted me as an adult when we were both on our separate journeys back after being separated from a church family for many years.

In the newsletter there is a small mention of thanks to me, along with mention of many others who helped clean around the church in preparation for the church's 60th birthday party. After a list of Trinity faithful, the article says "... and guest worker - Joel Gibbs." The use of the term "guest worker" caught my attention because it is a term often used euphemistically to refer to people of other nations working in this country for short periods of time, with very few rights and a presumption that they will be forced to return to their country of origin sooner than later. It was used in 2007 in the the debate surrounding President Bush's so-called "Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act of 2007" which was defeated. (Here's more information on immigration policy and legislation.) Previously, the presumption of repatriation was explicit, as was the case in the Bracero program which brought over 4 million Mexican workers to the U.S. in the 1940s to 1960s. But in Mr. Bush's proposal it was hidden behind seemingly sympathetic but false political rhetoric about allowing foreign citizens, primarily Mexicans, to more easily come to the U.S. to do seasonal work. The reality hiding within the language of this legislation was that few "guest workers" would ever have any real chance of obtaining permanent residency permits, and a new system of "points" would shift the emphasis of immigration, from re-uniting families in the U.S. to supplying U.S. corporations with technologically trained workers willing to work for less than their U.S. counterparts. (President-elect Barack Obama's 2007 speech to the U.S. Senate provides a more eloquent analysis.)

Now, if you've read this far you haven't automatically assumed that I am some idiot racist. I am not comparing my unmeritoriously privileged White male position in society with the plight of some people of color from foreign nations who come here striving to give their children something better than the grinding poverty from which they came. But if you are still not convinced, read my disclaimer below.

What I am trying to say is that sometimes a few words, taken out of context, can poke at your mind (or maybe just my mind) in a way that causes you to look at things a little differently. In this case it started me thinking, in a kind of stream-of-consciousness kind of way, about what it would be like if I were working in a place totally foreign to me, and I was told: "You're our guest here, but you have to do this difficult work that we don't want to do. And we're going to pay you a wage that we would never accept. We're not going to let you join a labor union and won't give you the workplace rights we take for granted. Of course you will have to pay the same taxes we do, but you won't get many of the benefits we do as citizens. And, oh yes, you can't stay here. But thank you for coming anyway, and be our guest."

This reminds me of the character Lumiere in the Disney cartoon Beauty and the Beast singing "Be Our Guest," except that Belle gets great service, doesn't have to work, initially is kept captive in the castle by a big brown beast but is eventually released when the beast turns out to be a prince. In our country "guest workers" get terrible service, we make them do menial work, we think we're acting like "princes" when we initially allow them to stay, but eventually we kick them out and it turns out that we act like beasts. (You all were probably wondering how I was going to connect this discussion with a Disney song. And yes, Beauty and the Beast is sexist, but that is a different narrative.)

Why am I thinking about immigration policy at this time, with the economy tanking, two wars grinding on and on, the health care system in melt-down and a hundred other problems that affect us directly? We can't afford to loose any more jobs to illegal immigrants and we certainly don't need more things to distract us from the joy of Christmas, right? Except for that thing Jesus said about serving the less fortunate: "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me" (Matthew 25:40).

So when I read the words "guest worker" describing me personally, I began free-associating and ended up with this mental picture: I'm being held captive in a scary castle, surrounded by a crowd of hostile household items, including an angry animated candelabra, a cartoon clock that sounds like Angela Lansbury's evil twin, and a cadre of cutlery leading a troop of tableware in assault on my head. After being refused service at the table, I am forced to perform menial labor by a crazed mop and then told by the clock that I've stayed too long. Then I'm booted out of the castle by a big hairy beast.

It seems when you hear "be my guest" it doesn't always mean you're going to be treated like a guest. But then years of living in a Filipino family have taught me that different cultures have different understandings of hospitality. Perhaps Norteamericanos could stand to learn from their brothers and sisters to the south.

Disclaimer: There is no connection between the gracious expression of gratitude in Trinity's newsletter and my silly story, except several levels of free-association that probably exist only in my tortuous mind. I'm sure the newsletter writer did NOT mean to say I was a guest worker in the same sense as is used in immigration policy debates. I do NOT mean to suggest that I know what it is like to be a person of color doing difficult work in a foreign place and culture for low wages and little or no thanks. Nor do I mean to suggest that my work at Trinity was difficult or that I felt out of place. The work was little trouble. I always feel welcomed and appreciated by my Trinity family. And the food and hospitality I received the next day was far more remuneration that I earned from my work at Trinity.