Silence

Near the end of class today, Michaela's comment prompted a discussion of the importance of getting to know our fellow 360ers better. This followed an ongoing discussion about assumptions. While I've been thinking about constructive ways in which we can learn more about each other and where we come from (and, unfortunately, gotten nowhere) that's not what I want to discuss here. During today's talk the word "deserve" was flying around in terms of what we as a class "deserve to know" about our classmates. However, what I want to know is what we deserve to share. Personally, I would love for you all to know a little bit about me (particularly the aspects of my background and current situation that may challenge some common "white/middle class" assumptions (!)) However, I lack the knowledge of what the proper time/space/way is to share these things. Maybe we can brainstorm about that, because I think it's an important step in our class becoming as tight-knit as it has to potential to be. But, with this post, I wanted to make the distinction that I try and think less as though I deserve to know about others and more that I would really appreciate if others knew more about me. 

It's just a small step but I think I'll take a whack as this getting to know each other thing. So, here are two things you probably don't know about me: I love cantaloupe juice and I'm a first generation college student. Nice to meet you!

I removed a number of readings I had initially thought (ha ha) that we could get in this week; although I took them off the syllabus "proper," I include links to them here, in case anyone's interested in exploring further the idea of "silence in music":

Jonathan Foer. Seven Attempted Escapes from Silence (libretto).

Karim Haddad. First Attempted Escape From Silence: Tunnels.

Below is a link to a youtube video where Marc Lamont Hill interviews Angela Davis on her work with prision abolition. Needless to say this is very relevant to our class. Both of them have come to speak on campus for Black History Month (Hill came my sophomore year).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AZ5waLhdV0&feature=relmfu

Firstly, I have to say that a lot of things happened this week and this reading is really out of anticipation in many ways.  Our reflections and readings make me think of a lot of questions which I don’t have answers right now.

To check the validity of the accusations Sommer claimed on Rigoberta Menchu, who is the writer of the book that moved me deeply last week, I Googled Rigoberta. Surprisingly, her Nobel Peace Prize was nearly revoked by Nobel Committee due to the David Horowitz’s campaign attacked her using David’s Stoll book. David Stoll carried out an investigation of Menchu’s story and found many evidences that proved that she changed many elements of her life in order to meet publicity needs for some political purpose.

I guess this explains some of confusions I had reading  the book, disconnected timelines, contradicting stories and mixed orientations of narratives and my feelings was cheated partially to fulfill some political causes. I am pretty sure this is not the first case of falsification in the literature history. In the end, the controversies about her testimony and potential of losing the prize were settled because Menchu’s contributions of bringing attention to the genocide happened at Guantemala and to advocate peace. Still, such a drama was not expected when I read such emotional piece.

“I’m still keeping secrets what I think no-one should know. Not even anthropologist or intellectuals, no matter how many books they have, can find our secrets”

Since our class lunch on Friday, I've been thinking a lot about what 360-inspired activism might look like and what we might want to focus on.  I've also been thinking a lot about the skepticism expressed by some members of our class about what kind of dent a small amount of activism might make on problems as huge and systemic as the ones we’re discussing.  I don’t think that any of us are able or willing to take the kinds of risks Rigoberta Menchu did to fight against injustice this semester, even though I know some of us wish we could.  I was thinking a lot about Rigoberta Menchu today when I went to interview a former Philadelphia School District teacher who is also a peace activist for one of my other classes.  We spent the day together, from early this morning until about a half hour ago, and it was riveting to hear this 80-something woman talk about the on-the-ground activism she did in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala throughout the 80s and 90s.  It was shocking to hear about the ways she was willing to risk her life, and the fact that she made it clear she would even give one of her children’s lives if it meant stopping the mass murder she saw happening all around her.  Her other stories of fighting for water access in Mexico, being in Cuba during their revolution, doing reconciliation work in Vietnam, Cambodia and the former USSR, and going on peace missions to Palestine were incredible.  This is also someone who relates very well to our class because of her significant time spent in prison – whether after protesting Langl

I'm beginning to feel all written out – and we're not even halfway through the semester. I suppose, mostly, it's because I feel like my voice has been overused of late. When I'm not speaking, my blog posts are speaking for me. When I'm staying silent in class, I'm still, somehow, making a statement. I feel as though I'm never truly silent. Sommer talks a lot about silence as a way "ethnic" writers draw a line and mark where they need to be respected. Rigoberta says, "I'm still keeping secret what I think no-one should know," and reminds us who really has the power in her novel. But I feel we're not doing enough of that in our classroom. Last week, HSBurke said she thought it was ironic that in a class about silence we were "ALL SO LOUD." I agree. As I work on becoming a better listener, I want to also work on being a better person of silence. During our lunch meeting on Friday, when icouldntthinkofanoriginalname mentioned that she felt we shouldn't feel pressured to speak about personal topics, but that there is value in sharing, I wondered the opposite. Isn't there also value in not sharing?

I'd like to follow the lead of Jesusa Palancares, quoted in Sommer's introduction, "Advertencia/Warning" and simply say, "Fuck off, now. Go away and let me sleep."

    I wanted to return briefly to the question I asked in class on Thursday about what I Rigoberta Menchu, and the trauma novel, does. I asked this question because I have read Trauma fiction before. Most recently, I read Half of a Yellow Sun, a Nigerian novel by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. The novel explores a horrendous civil war which took place in Nigeria in the 1960s – essentially a genocide which was funded by European and unrecognized by Americans. It was difficult but incredibly moving to read, and for me, it succeeded in establishing empathy and producing shock and disgust that I had never heard any mention of this history (especially considering that it wasn’t that long ago).

but I think this might still be coping out.  Our assigned reading for tuesday directly plays into the paper I'm writing for Jody's class and I'd like to have the two of them "play together" here.  Unfortauntely, that means I won't be able to turn this in on time.  I'll share my paper online and then respond to it with the lens of the "Advetencia/Warning" reading.

Promisies.  Promisies.

To be honest, it is easy for me to forget that a large piece of our conversation in class Thursday was based upon something that I had written (or more aptly, blubbered,) in my Web Paper.  In that paper, I spoke it like I saw it: through a lens of self-consciousness and doubt, and I called you all “a group of women who are clearly flourishing in this environment.” I don’t mean to sound callous when I say thank you for proving me wrong on that point. But you all did, and I am grateful. When your self-confidence is rock bottom, it’s easy to assume that everyone else is passing you by, standing on a higher level that you can’t even begin to see. After Thursday’s class and our lunch on Friday, it is clear to me now that that’s not necessarily the case. I commend the struggle that we’ve all undertaken – to understand ourselves as 360ers, as learners, as people – because I know that the struggle can be beneficial. Showing each other our cracks and admitting that we don’t have it all together is, in my opinion, something our group needed. Thank you for your honesty. Because, as many of you said during our read around, honesty is what we need to flourish here. 

Doris Sommer’s reading was not the most accessible text. It was quite difficult for me to understand the implications that arise when secrets are used in texts to distance the reader and to understand her thinking around why authors, like Rigoberta, would choose to withhold information. But I will admit that, similar to thoughts I shared in class, my dislike for the focus of this reading dominated my thoughts and ultimately distracted me from what the author was trying to prove. So,  as I read,  I kept thinking, “Okay, so she used secrets in the book, why does her reasoning for doing that matter? What satisfaction will the reader and Sommer get by knowing? Who cares if we don’t know if her story is completely factual, why should that take away from the genocide? Hello! Remember the genocide?” Even as I write this post, I can see how my thoughts were  a bit close-minded.  Although I am reluctant to acknowledge that there is some value in knowing the answers to the questions raised about Riogberta’s book, I now feel—I can’t fully articulate it—why the urge to know is so strong.