09-15-2001, 06:47 AM
As a few of you know, I teach English at the Community College of Rhode Island, one of the largest community colleges in the country. During the years I have been there, I've read many stories, written by students from all over the world, that have affected me deeply. I've also come to know many of these students quite well.
Johnson K.C. Ma, a student from China, told of his escape as a child from China. His mother dragged him and his young sister miles and miles before they came to a river. At that point, the mother was faced with a decision: which child do I save? Johnson never heard from his sister again. I have read so many stories of escape from the Killing Fields that I never want to read another again. One Russian man decided to come to America because, in his broken, yet heartbreaking, English, he wrote, "I have no meal for my son." Luis, a Columbian student in his mid-forties, left his wife and child in Columbia, while working and studying in the US for five years. Nearly every day, he came to me to discuss American idioms he heard on TV. Two years ago, I met Luis's wife and child; they had come to stay.
I have worked with a man who held a Doctorate in Islamic Studies, yet had little facility with written English. Monica, a Korean woman, came to our Writing Center every day one summer to practice her writing; just last June, Monica received her MA in Psychology from Northeastern. I've met three doctors from Poland, now working to receive nursing degrees. I delighted in an essay written by a monk from Sri Lanka in which he described sitting around with the other monks at the monestary watching America's Funniest Home Videos, their favorite TV show.
This week I've heard more backlash against immigrants than I've heard in the ten years I've worked at CCRI. (Thankfully, it has come from students--not faculty or staff.) The president of our college took the time to remind us that most students lacked the perspective and experience to find any frame of reference for this week's events; he reminded us that we could use the tragedy as a "'teaching moment'" for the students. Gee, I wonder which students he had in mind.
Last night, I saw a Ford Bronco flying a huge American Flag. As the truck drove off, the flag dragged across the ground and the last few gleams of light revealed the two confederate flag decals on the back window. It was getting dark out, so I went home.
Maybe I found my "teaching moment."
John
Johnson K.C. Ma, a student from China, told of his escape as a child from China. His mother dragged him and his young sister miles and miles before they came to a river. At that point, the mother was faced with a decision: which child do I save? Johnson never heard from his sister again. I have read so many stories of escape from the Killing Fields that I never want to read another again. One Russian man decided to come to America because, in his broken, yet heartbreaking, English, he wrote, "I have no meal for my son." Luis, a Columbian student in his mid-forties, left his wife and child in Columbia, while working and studying in the US for five years. Nearly every day, he came to me to discuss American idioms he heard on TV. Two years ago, I met Luis's wife and child; they had come to stay.
I have worked with a man who held a Doctorate in Islamic Studies, yet had little facility with written English. Monica, a Korean woman, came to our Writing Center every day one summer to practice her writing; just last June, Monica received her MA in Psychology from Northeastern. I've met three doctors from Poland, now working to receive nursing degrees. I delighted in an essay written by a monk from Sri Lanka in which he described sitting around with the other monks at the monestary watching America's Funniest Home Videos, their favorite TV show.
This week I've heard more backlash against immigrants than I've heard in the ten years I've worked at CCRI. (Thankfully, it has come from students--not faculty or staff.) The president of our college took the time to remind us that most students lacked the perspective and experience to find any frame of reference for this week's events; he reminded us that we could use the tragedy as a "'teaching moment'" for the students. Gee, I wonder which students he had in mind.
Last night, I saw a Ford Bronco flying a huge American Flag. As the truck drove off, the flag dragged across the ground and the last few gleams of light revealed the two confederate flag decals on the back window. It was getting dark out, so I went home.
Maybe I found my "teaching moment."
John