I realized I never posted discussion about Ghost of Berlin, will post my notes soon, but for now my thoughts on today's discussion of "nationalism" with Misha Neininger.
First of all, I thought the subject of "transcending nationalism" was very interesting, especially in the context of Germany and its history of an extreme desire for a pure identity that has in a way, made many Germans hesitant today to even wave a national flag. It made me think about my take on nationalism…maybe I have transcended nationalism because I am so culturally confused.
I’ve never been nationalistic, even during the Olympics I don’t know whether to support the US or China. Both countries always end up wining too many metals anyway so I usually just find a smaller country to root for. Sports arenas always bring about national pride, but I don’t really watch sports and don’t follow teams. I’ve never waved a US flag, I refused to say the pledge of allegiance (and got detention for it) and even in high school, I was never very spirited. I am not really fond of the “nationalism” that has emerged dramatically in the last decade following unfortunate events. For a while there, political figures and slogans made me feel like I wasn’t American enough because I did not embrace red white and blue. In a way, I support Germany’s urge to transcend nationalism because to me, nationalism is much deeper than saying how much I love my country, it’s what I do for my country. By supporting important reforms in education, healthcare, civil rights and other social issues, I am being nationalistic. I will never paint my face red white and blue, but will commit to improving my community and my county. That is me being nationalistic.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Altar excercise exploring themes of the wall and possible project topics...
Classical Music
I think it’s interesting to look back on great composers who have written powerful pieces and reflect on what their inspiration was; or in many cases what their frustration/distress/torment was in life. They say that music often rises from the oppressed, like jazz which began as slave-music. I’ve also heard that musicians never starve during depressions because when times are bad and life gets difficult, people of all cultures will give up many luxuries but continue to indulge in concerts and operas.
There are also those who used classical music to express hidden and mockery of political systems. Shostakovich is the first that comes to my mind. A great composer during Stalin era in the soviet union, his symphonies straddled the line between portraying the heroic red army and mockery of Stalin. His abstract dissident styles were not always liked by government officials, which caused many of his earlier works to be banned. Shostakovich, like many Russian intellectuals at the time, watched his close friends and relatives arrested, executed and exiled and lived with the constant threat of disappearing in the middle of the night with the nocturnal “knock at the door”. However, he eventually came to play the political game through classical composition. He yielded to Party pressure by composing abided by pieces in the name of praising the triumph of the red army; However hidden in his chords and progressions is an obvious disdain and mockery of the communist party and Stalin himself, turning symphonies to musical satires. In many of his symphonies what was supposed to be the soviet marching triumphantly to victory could be interpreted as the death march. The repeated underlying beats throughout his composition makes the air tense with uneasiness, reflecting the “nocturnal knock on the door.” Shostakovich pushed his critique of the Soviet regime the furthest he can without engaging in outright dissent.
There are of course many more examples in history where classical music was used to transcend borders made by political systems, mock and protest. I wonder what kinds of music resulted from the existence of the Berlin wall. How did musicians on either side perceive the wall, and more importantly how did the wall and its political history shape the development of classical music during that era.
I guess on my altar I would put scribbled music, orchestral instruments, conductor’s baton, and maybe photos of political figures at the time.
Health care access between different groups of people, East, West, Immigrants...
Another idea was to look at the health care system in east and west Germany, and the role of political division in Berlin in the divided medical system. Health insurance in West Germany was regulated by the government, but mostly administered through private insurance companies, and in East Germany, all health costs war paid by the state. I think it would be interesting to look at the doctors’ and nurses take on the unification, whether is still a division, whether patients still stick to their own side of the wall. This can also be extended immigrants, how did health care differ based on your identity as East or West, or non-German.
On the altar I would include obvious medical equipments, also passports of different people, insurance and medical paper work.
Childhood Education
I got this idea from Amy during our classroom brain storming session. It would be interesting to examine those who were entering grade school during the construction and existence of the wall, and how maybe school curriculums differed between the East and West. I remember when I was stills studying from Chinese textbooks when I was little, I had to recite essays about generous Mao and sing songs about the Red Army. Of course, I just repeated the words and when I became older and started realizing what the words were saying, I felt brain washed. I remember some songs I played on the piano, my dad wouldn’t teach me the lyrics to because he was sick and disgusted with comparing Mao to the Sun that keeps the Chinese people prosperous, healthy and good spirited. Even in college, all undergrads are required to take classes on Mao Zedong Thought and Den Xiaoping theory. Perhaps something like that was implemented in the teachings in East Berlin? And of course, how that might have differed in West Berlin. In addition, it would be interesting how the history books may have changed during the erection and fall of the wall.
On the altar, I would put school books, text books, or commercial products aimed at kids and see maybe a differences in the ways children’s toys are advertised across the wall.
I think it’s interesting to look back on great composers who have written powerful pieces and reflect on what their inspiration was; or in many cases what their frustration/distress/torment was in life. They say that music often rises from the oppressed, like jazz which began as slave-music. I’ve also heard that musicians never starve during depressions because when times are bad and life gets difficult, people of all cultures will give up many luxuries but continue to indulge in concerts and operas.
There are also those who used classical music to express hidden and mockery of political systems. Shostakovich is the first that comes to my mind. A great composer during Stalin era in the soviet union, his symphonies straddled the line between portraying the heroic red army and mockery of Stalin. His abstract dissident styles were not always liked by government officials, which caused many of his earlier works to be banned. Shostakovich, like many Russian intellectuals at the time, watched his close friends and relatives arrested, executed and exiled and lived with the constant threat of disappearing in the middle of the night with the nocturnal “knock at the door”. However, he eventually came to play the political game through classical composition. He yielded to Party pressure by composing abided by pieces in the name of praising the triumph of the red army; However hidden in his chords and progressions is an obvious disdain and mockery of the communist party and Stalin himself, turning symphonies to musical satires. In many of his symphonies what was supposed to be the soviet marching triumphantly to victory could be interpreted as the death march. The repeated underlying beats throughout his composition makes the air tense with uneasiness, reflecting the “nocturnal knock on the door.” Shostakovich pushed his critique of the Soviet regime the furthest he can without engaging in outright dissent.
There are of course many more examples in history where classical music was used to transcend borders made by political systems, mock and protest. I wonder what kinds of music resulted from the existence of the Berlin wall. How did musicians on either side perceive the wall, and more importantly how did the wall and its political history shape the development of classical music during that era.
I guess on my altar I would put scribbled music, orchestral instruments, conductor’s baton, and maybe photos of political figures at the time.
Health care access between different groups of people, East, West, Immigrants...
Another idea was to look at the health care system in east and west Germany, and the role of political division in Berlin in the divided medical system. Health insurance in West Germany was regulated by the government, but mostly administered through private insurance companies, and in East Germany, all health costs war paid by the state. I think it would be interesting to look at the doctors’ and nurses take on the unification, whether is still a division, whether patients still stick to their own side of the wall. This can also be extended immigrants, how did health care differ based on your identity as East or West, or non-German.
On the altar I would include obvious medical equipments, also passports of different people, insurance and medical paper work.
Childhood Education
I got this idea from Amy during our classroom brain storming session. It would be interesting to examine those who were entering grade school during the construction and existence of the wall, and how maybe school curriculums differed between the East and West. I remember when I was stills studying from Chinese textbooks when I was little, I had to recite essays about generous Mao and sing songs about the Red Army. Of course, I just repeated the words and when I became older and started realizing what the words were saying, I felt brain washed. I remember some songs I played on the piano, my dad wouldn’t teach me the lyrics to because he was sick and disgusted with comparing Mao to the Sun that keeps the Chinese people prosperous, healthy and good spirited. Even in college, all undergrads are required to take classes on Mao Zedong Thought and Den Xiaoping theory. Perhaps something like that was implemented in the teachings in East Berlin? And of course, how that might have differed in West Berlin. In addition, it would be interesting how the history books may have changed during the erection and fall of the wall.
On the altar, I would put school books, text books, or commercial products aimed at kids and see maybe a differences in the ways children’s toys are advertised across the wall.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The wall the surrounds the U-district
Seattle, like many larger cities, is composed of smaller districts with distinct cultures familiar to locals and sometimes even well known to visitors. These districts are frequently defined by types of houses in neighborhoods like Queen Anne, natural or manmade water ways like Green Lake, and of course nightlife like Belltown. However, most Seattle residents tend not to be labeled by where they live and can be found enjoying various activities in various neighborhoods. For example, a resident in the Northgate neighborhood will work in Southlake Union, grab a bit to eat on Eastlake, take a bike ride to Gasworks in Wallingford, take the dog to Magnuson Park in Sandpoint, grocery shop at Pike’s Place downtown and eat Dim Sum in the International district. And while these different neighborhoods are unique, almost everyone is a Seattleite with common culture characteristics.
The U-district however stands out from the rest of Seattle in many ways. Bound by I-5 in the west, 25th Ave and Lake Washington on the east, Lake Washington ship canal in the south and NE Ravenna Boulevard in the north, there is a natural border that surrounds the residents. Few students seem to venture outwards from the area, first years never do. Residents of the U-district are diverse, ambitious young people from all over the northwest or beyond tied together by the common purpose of receiving an education from the University of Washington. Surrounding the campus are un-kept apartments, Greek mansions that look impressive from the outside but reek of cheap beer on the inside and 8-9-10 bedroom houses to stuff in as many bodies as possible. Landlords take advantage of the need for housing and jack up the rates on dark smelly basement rooms because most students are stuck starring at some kind of monitor 24-7. College students don’t seem to mind the broken windows, mildew kitchens and stained carpets because it masks their own uncleanliness and after party messes. Landlords don’t care for the crappy state of their estate because renters don’t care. The living conditions are dirty and crowded, the neighborhoods are filled with petty crimes, but the food is amazing and serves the tastes of many diverse nationalities.
But I’m sure it’s not just the food that keeps residents in, even though from personal experience, the food keeps people coming back. So what is it that keeps people of the U-district strictly within the boundaries of their neighborhood? I have resided in the U-district, and know while there are no physical walls that keep me caged inside; there are barriers that limit my transgression over the imaginary border. I think it comes down to a few things, lack of time, lack of transportation, lack of money, and even to some, a lack of interest.
Students must live very close to their location of study. It is absolutely necessary to be able to roll out of bed and be in class 10 minutes later; this maximizes sleep and correlates with higher grades. At least for my crowd of friends, mostly scientists and engineers, there is never time to waste and spending hours on transpiration through heavy traffic’ed Seattle to and from class is just not an option unless you can be productive on the shaky noisy bus. This leaves any residential neighborhoods outside of the U-district unrealistic.
Speaking of bussing, residents of the U-district mostly do not own cars. And if they do, the lack of parking available on campus, not to mention all of Seattle and the high gas prices restrict their usage. Some buy into the Seattle culture craze of being eco friendly, and have resorted to biking, which gets you efficiently to the store and back. And this becomes a natural limitation to the spilling of U-district residents over to the rest of Seattle neighborhoods.
As students, we make little money and dump thousands each quarter into the education system. There are industries that pray on vulnerable students by selling overpriced content-less textbooks, with new editions each year that change only the orders of chapters. As a result, students are cheap, Belltown nights are rare and six-packs from Safeway and guitar hero at a friend’s apartment while playing guitar hero becomes the preferred Friday night activity.
U-district is a temporary home for most residents. Most who dwell here will move on to conquer the world, most likely not from a Seattle home. Time in the u-district is short, and sometimes people don’t care to explore.
I was once boxed in the imaginary borders of the U-district. When I lived there, the closest I’ve gotten on my bike to I-5 was 7th, never crossed 25th except to Nordheim, gone as far as kayaked on the Lake Washington Canal, and always stopped short from going over Ravenna Boulevard. These silent borders match the Wikipedia definition of the U-district border. So while informal and never really defined, the borders of the U-district have emerged from common usage and common perception of its residents. However, as my friends have graduated and left eh U-district, I have also followed. Since last year, I have ventured out and found a home in Lake City, and it has drastically changed my views of Seattle. Though occasionally I swing by the U-district for Aladdin Gyros and Thai Tom’s, I keep my stay in the U-district limited to class hours. Emerging through the imaginary wall and migrating north, I feel like I have almost entered the real world. I say almost because I am still a student, and still believe the cure the cancer is only a research project away and live with ambitious thoughts of what I want to be when I grow up. But the rest is far more real than the dumpster living situation that is the U-district. I have a back yard not filled with used furniture and garbage, quiet neighbors with pretty gardens, and lots of parking on my driveway. With the help of the car, I now roam Seattle.
Sometimes though, I still have to consider my U-district friends when I arrange for get together locations. There is definitely an unspoken tension about making events locations away from the U-district, and if I want high turnouts, it’s still safer to keep it inside the border of the U-district, where U-district residents feel most comfortable.
The U-district however stands out from the rest of Seattle in many ways. Bound by I-5 in the west, 25th Ave and Lake Washington on the east, Lake Washington ship canal in the south and NE Ravenna Boulevard in the north, there is a natural border that surrounds the residents. Few students seem to venture outwards from the area, first years never do. Residents of the U-district are diverse, ambitious young people from all over the northwest or beyond tied together by the common purpose of receiving an education from the University of Washington. Surrounding the campus are un-kept apartments, Greek mansions that look impressive from the outside but reek of cheap beer on the inside and 8-9-10 bedroom houses to stuff in as many bodies as possible. Landlords take advantage of the need for housing and jack up the rates on dark smelly basement rooms because most students are stuck starring at some kind of monitor 24-7. College students don’t seem to mind the broken windows, mildew kitchens and stained carpets because it masks their own uncleanliness and after party messes. Landlords don’t care for the crappy state of their estate because renters don’t care. The living conditions are dirty and crowded, the neighborhoods are filled with petty crimes, but the food is amazing and serves the tastes of many diverse nationalities.
But I’m sure it’s not just the food that keeps residents in, even though from personal experience, the food keeps people coming back. So what is it that keeps people of the U-district strictly within the boundaries of their neighborhood? I have resided in the U-district, and know while there are no physical walls that keep me caged inside; there are barriers that limit my transgression over the imaginary border. I think it comes down to a few things, lack of time, lack of transportation, lack of money, and even to some, a lack of interest.
Students must live very close to their location of study. It is absolutely necessary to be able to roll out of bed and be in class 10 minutes later; this maximizes sleep and correlates with higher grades. At least for my crowd of friends, mostly scientists and engineers, there is never time to waste and spending hours on transpiration through heavy traffic’ed Seattle to and from class is just not an option unless you can be productive on the shaky noisy bus. This leaves any residential neighborhoods outside of the U-district unrealistic.
Speaking of bussing, residents of the U-district mostly do not own cars. And if they do, the lack of parking available on campus, not to mention all of Seattle and the high gas prices restrict their usage. Some buy into the Seattle culture craze of being eco friendly, and have resorted to biking, which gets you efficiently to the store and back. And this becomes a natural limitation to the spilling of U-district residents over to the rest of Seattle neighborhoods.
As students, we make little money and dump thousands each quarter into the education system. There are industries that pray on vulnerable students by selling overpriced content-less textbooks, with new editions each year that change only the orders of chapters. As a result, students are cheap, Belltown nights are rare and six-packs from Safeway and guitar hero at a friend’s apartment while playing guitar hero becomes the preferred Friday night activity.
U-district is a temporary home for most residents. Most who dwell here will move on to conquer the world, most likely not from a Seattle home. Time in the u-district is short, and sometimes people don’t care to explore.
I was once boxed in the imaginary borders of the U-district. When I lived there, the closest I’ve gotten on my bike to I-5 was 7th, never crossed 25th except to Nordheim, gone as far as kayaked on the Lake Washington Canal, and always stopped short from going over Ravenna Boulevard. These silent borders match the Wikipedia definition of the U-district border. So while informal and never really defined, the borders of the U-district have emerged from common usage and common perception of its residents. However, as my friends have graduated and left eh U-district, I have also followed. Since last year, I have ventured out and found a home in Lake City, and it has drastically changed my views of Seattle. Though occasionally I swing by the U-district for Aladdin Gyros and Thai Tom’s, I keep my stay in the U-district limited to class hours. Emerging through the imaginary wall and migrating north, I feel like I have almost entered the real world. I say almost because I am still a student, and still believe the cure the cancer is only a research project away and live with ambitious thoughts of what I want to be when I grow up. But the rest is far more real than the dumpster living situation that is the U-district. I have a back yard not filled with used furniture and garbage, quiet neighbors with pretty gardens, and lots of parking on my driveway. With the help of the car, I now roam Seattle.
Sometimes though, I still have to consider my U-district friends when I arrange for get together locations. There is definitely an unspoken tension about making events locations away from the U-district, and if I want high turnouts, it’s still safer to keep it inside the border of the U-district, where U-district residents feel most comfortable.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The wall in my life
I feel like there are many walls in my life that separate me from others, from where I live to what I study, to my beliefs and general outlook towards life. There are walls that I live comfortably in, using them to help define who I am, and there are walls that I try eagerly to transgress so I can be closer to who I want to be. I’d like to believe that whatever walls in my life, I put there actively, but I’ve realized now that walls grow on its own like blackberry bushes in my parents’ garden, and when you do not actively knock them down, they tend to take over your identity. The growth of one specific wall slipped by unnoticed for many years as I grew up in the United states with my american friends and lifestyle. An now I feel that it has slowly uprooted a part of my identity, forcing me to reexamine my background and redefine who I am.
I was born in China and grew up with my grandparents until I came and joined my parents in the United States at age 6. At that time I knew nothing but the playground I learned to ride my bike in, the park I caught butterflies in, and my grandparents’ house on the eighth floor that over looked the populated city in which I was born. For years, I referred to Taiyuan as my home and China as my homeland. The differences I saw between me and everything and everyone else American, I attributed to the fact that I was born and raised in China, and that made me feel unique among my white classmates that have never left the state. When I went back to visit, I felt like I was returned to my habitat, I could be myself again with my grandparents. However, before long, I turned 12 and realized I had spent equal number of years in both countries, but I didn’t care because I still felt Chinese. Then I was in high school, and talking on the phone with my grandparents became more and more difficult as my Chinese became more and more broken. When I went back to visit again, I became the an american. I can’t name the dates of the important holidays in China or talk about what my people do and eat to celebrate on those events. I don’t understand the teachings of Mao and other great Chinese politicians and philosophers. I don’t know the history of my people and can’t even name the cities bording my hometown. Worst of all, I couldn’t communicate with my grandparents past what I want to eat, no talks of politics, bioengineering, my deepest darkest secrets and no vivid discriptions of my life in the America. I became a tourist in my home town and a guest in my grandparents’ house.
There hasn’t been much change where I grew up, the park remodeled, new buildings went up, but the neighborhood and especially the people are still the same. I feel like everything there was stuck in time, my grandparents still who they were when I left them 15 years ago with maybe a few more wrinkles. Sometimes I feel bad when I visit, realizing that they were probably still looking forward to seeing a little girl with big eyes running around crazily, yelling loudly and talking really fast in their language. Now I speak so slowly, stumble on almost every other word, and spend minutes trying to think of how to express something clearly in a tongue that I no longer knew. I don’t understand why chinese people have to push and shove everywhere they go. I don’t understand why they can be prideful for their country and still throw gargage everywhere. I don’t understand why they act politely to your face and talk behind your back. I’m not used to China anymore, and can’t imagine ever living there long term again.
I guess everyone probably saw this coming, most young people who arrive in America become converted quickly in calling America their home, maybe I just stubbornly held on the belief that I was more Chinese than I will ever been American. And now there is a wall built of cultural differences and language barriers between those who I was closet to and the place I felt was my home for so long. I guess now I consider myself an American, but I’m slowly beginning to avoid defining myself based on my nationality while I continue to build my identity.
I was born in China and grew up with my grandparents until I came and joined my parents in the United States at age 6. At that time I knew nothing but the playground I learned to ride my bike in, the park I caught butterflies in, and my grandparents’ house on the eighth floor that over looked the populated city in which I was born. For years, I referred to Taiyuan as my home and China as my homeland. The differences I saw between me and everything and everyone else American, I attributed to the fact that I was born and raised in China, and that made me feel unique among my white classmates that have never left the state. When I went back to visit, I felt like I was returned to my habitat, I could be myself again with my grandparents. However, before long, I turned 12 and realized I had spent equal number of years in both countries, but I didn’t care because I still felt Chinese. Then I was in high school, and talking on the phone with my grandparents became more and more difficult as my Chinese became more and more broken. When I went back to visit again, I became the an american. I can’t name the dates of the important holidays in China or talk about what my people do and eat to celebrate on those events. I don’t understand the teachings of Mao and other great Chinese politicians and philosophers. I don’t know the history of my people and can’t even name the cities bording my hometown. Worst of all, I couldn’t communicate with my grandparents past what I want to eat, no talks of politics, bioengineering, my deepest darkest secrets and no vivid discriptions of my life in the America. I became a tourist in my home town and a guest in my grandparents’ house.
There hasn’t been much change where I grew up, the park remodeled, new buildings went up, but the neighborhood and especially the people are still the same. I feel like everything there was stuck in time, my grandparents still who they were when I left them 15 years ago with maybe a few more wrinkles. Sometimes I feel bad when I visit, realizing that they were probably still looking forward to seeing a little girl with big eyes running around crazily, yelling loudly and talking really fast in their language. Now I speak so slowly, stumble on almost every other word, and spend minutes trying to think of how to express something clearly in a tongue that I no longer knew. I don’t understand why chinese people have to push and shove everywhere they go. I don’t understand why they can be prideful for their country and still throw gargage everywhere. I don’t understand why they act politely to your face and talk behind your back. I’m not used to China anymore, and can’t imagine ever living there long term again.
I guess everyone probably saw this coming, most young people who arrive in America become converted quickly in calling America their home, maybe I just stubbornly held on the belief that I was more Chinese than I will ever been American. And now there is a wall built of cultural differences and language barriers between those who I was closet to and the place I felt was my home for so long. I guess now I consider myself an American, but I’m slowly beginning to avoid defining myself based on my nationality while I continue to build my identity.
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