Watch Jeff Thaler – board member of the Gaudino Fund – give a TED talk on “Immersion in the Unfamiliar: An Education.”  Enlightening and enjoyable.

Jeff Thaler created the “Resettling Refugees in Maine” winter study program at Williams College, enabling students to live in Portland with refugee families for the month of January. Students become more self-aware, motivated to learn, empathetic, and open to a world of ambiguity and uncertainty. Thaler also serves as visiting professor and assistant university counsel at the University of Maine.

In the spirit of ideas worth spreading, TEDx is a program of local, self-organized events that bring people together to share a TED-like experience. At a TEDx event, TEDTalks video and live speakers combine to spark deep discussion and connection in a small group. These local, self-organized events are branded TEDx, where x = independently organized TED event. The TED Conference provides general guidance for the TEDx program, but individual TEDx events are self-organized.* (*Subject to certain rules and regulations)

His efforts to carry out the Gaudino legacy:

• Screening and discussing the documentary film, “Mr. Gaudino,” with the Williams community, both on- and off-campus.
• Launching the Gaudino Lunch initiative, which will facilitate students, faculty, and staff getting together over lunch for conversations on topics of mutual interest.
• Supporting student neighborhood proposals that strengthen student-faculty interaction in meaningful ways.
• Providing opportunities for independent Winter Study projects in which students pursue their academic interests in uncomfortable environments.
• Teaching “Philosophy of Education: Why Are You Here?” which challenges students to question their own assumptions about the purpose and value of their time at Williams.
• Collaborating with Williamstown Film Festival.

Contact Info:

• Personal Homepage
• Mailing Address: 24 Hopkins Hall Drive, Williamstown, MA 01267
• Email: William.C.Dudley@williams.edu
• Phone: 413-597-2454

Gaudino Fellow Goes to Guatemala – January 2011

This winter study I was fortunate enough to be named a Gaudino Fellow.  As a Gaudino Fellow I went to study Spanish in a Guatemalan school.  As part of my Spanish Immersion Program at the Pop Wuj Spanish School, I did community service and lived with a host family.  Not only did my Spanish exponentially improve but I was also taught by and lived with the most amazing people.  During one community service project, I, along with other volunteers, helped to build stoves in Guatemalan homes where the families used wood and fire to cook their food.  We made a direct impact on a family’s ability to survive and activities like these constantly filled my stay in this beautiful country.  My experience during this past January was life altering.  It was so special that I plan to relive it during the spring break of my junior year when I return to Guatemala.

As January 2^nd approached, my reality set in.  I was going to another country without anyone I knew and I would be living with people whom I had never met, much less spoken to.  What was I thinking? The only saving grace was I knew the language and at least I would not starve.  After I arrived safely at the school, a little of my trepidation lifted.  It all came rushing back once I realized my host family did not have electricity.  Now I was really in for it.  Here I was, Desiree the World Traveler, in a situation where I was most uncomfortable.  Was this how it was going to be every night? I had no idea.  Suddenly the lights came on.  Whew! We all blew out the candles that were illuminating the living room and we continued our introductions.

Just as we began playing singing games to make me feel at home, the power went out AGAIN.  Is this going to be an every night thing? My Guatemalan family seemed unnerved by these recent events.  I was trying to remain calm but inside I was a “basket-case.”  Uninterested in the singing games but maintaining my smile, I was surprised when the daughters suddenly said they were going out to see their sister play basketball.  Everyone else stayed home and then my Guatemalan mom told me it was time for bed.  8:30 PM!!!  I politely went to my room, wondering how in the world I was going to adapt to this way of life.  In my room, I could no longer contain what I was trying to hide.  The floodgates were open and then I had to stop crying so I could ask to borrow my family’s telephone.  Speaking to my mom in New York, I tried to sound all grown up but she heard the sorrow in my voice.  After I assured her I was fine, I returned to my room, but not before my Guatemalan mom gave me a hug, reassuring me I would be fine.  Behind the comfort of my bedroom door, I changed into my pajamas, and cried myself to sleep.  Homesickness took over.  I felt alone in a very strange place.

This sentiment was a one-time feeling.  The next night I went out with my school friends and the following night, I ate a luxurious dinner to celebrate the birthday of my basketball-playing sister.  We all talked and talked and talked.  The language barrier seemed nonexistent and sooner than later I was right at home.  I became some comfortable with my family and my entire experience in Guatemala that I cried both when I left my teacher at my school and my family on the morning I returned to the United States.  When I left I did not say “Adios” but “Hasta Luego” because we will all meet again. =)

Mathir Ghaan (Music of the Earth): A Critical Exploration of the Social Functions of Baul Songs in Rural Sylhet, Bangladesh

During my Gaudino month, I set out to explore the social functions of Baul music, Bengali folk music, in the rural communities of Sylhet, Bangladesh. Specifically, I had a two-fold objective: 1) to recover Sylhet’s rich Baul tradition; and 2) examine in what ways, and to what extent, Baul music, and the radical philosophies that inform it, structure the social life of the rural poor. Through gathering oral histories, visiting the mausoleums of prominent Sylheti Baul musicians, and participating in many Baul performances, I attempted to realize my aforementioned objectives. In the end, I was left with more questions than answers. However, I have come to realize that Baul music serves as a site of solidarity for Sylhetis despite differences in religion, ethnicity, or class. It is deeply instrumental in propagating, and preserving, the folk history of Sylhet. In a sense, Baul music composes the “pulse of Sylhet” for it permeates, and speaks to, almost every aspect of life in the region.

While it was an invaluable experience, my stay in Sylhet was, nevertheless, a very lonely one. From the outset, several markers indicated my “otherness.” My accent, in particular, was an especially salient marker. While I am relatively fluent in Bengali, the overtones of an American accent in my speaking patterns are hard to miss. As such, my speech immediately indexed my “foreign” identity to everyone that I engaged in conversation. I came to learn that my perceived “foreignness” was conflated with financial wealth.  Thus, many a time, I found myself in a situation where someone was attempting to solicit money for me. From malnourished children to fixing holes in a tin roof, the reasons people presented to me were varied and vast.  But in no way could I oblige these monetary request, for I simply did not have the resources to do so. Consequently, I had to turn down many people. Sadly, this adversely affected my relationships with quite a few individuals that I felt were integral to the robustness of my stay. Although no one ever explicitly expressed their disappointment, I could sense, from my interaction with them, the sentiments concealed within. This disconcerted me greatly, but it was a reality that I could not change.

A central lesson that I took away from my experience in Sylhet was that self-interest appears to especially pervasive in nations that do not have the infrastructure, or resources, to provide its citizens the ability to pursue stable livelihoods. Many of the individuals that asked me for financial assistance did so because they had no other choice. In a way, I was perceived as a potential lifeline, and an especially attractive one considering that there were no viable alternatives around. As dismal as this may seem, it is a reality that beckons us to muster courage and empathy, especially if we are to face it, and through out collective efforts, eventually redress it.  While my keen sense of “otherness” was uncomfortable, and at times even hurtful, it nevertheless reinvigorated my desire to confront the manifold social inequalities that structure our world. It is my hope, that in a more equitable world, perhaps I will find the sense of belonging that has eluded me for so long.

Kigali, Rwanda
I- Synopsis
My project aimed at studying the consequences of Rwandese women’s empowerment through the case studies of women’s soaring employment opportunities in the beading and weaving industries. I wanted to explore the social, economic and cultural impacts subsequent to this trend, focusing on the challenges that such changes had
brought not only for women but also in their relationship with men and their community. I hoped to answer questions such as: What was the relationship between taking up handicraft jobs and taking up leadership roles? Did such employment opportunities contributed in fuelling tension between genders in this patriarchal society? What were the changes on men’s views about women’ traditional roles? Once on the ground, my findings led me to discover that women’s employment in Rwanda had been made a top priority at the wake of the genocide of 1994. The Rwandan constitution of 2003 laid the ground for an unprecedented wave of a men-supported women’s empowerment movement across all private and public domains of the Rwandan society. My research led
me to find that in general men agree on the fact that Rwandan women are better leaders than men. It seemed to be of a general consensus that women were better equipped to handle the country’s affairs. By the end of my research I had found that employment didn’t only serve as an effective way to empower women, but it was part of a bigger agenda that aimed at enabling women to be the backbone of Rwanda.

A particular uncomfortable experience I came across was my first meeting with the co-founder of Gahaya Link, Joy Ndunguste. Within the first minutes of our conversation, she bluntly announced me that I couldn’t use her company anymore as a study case for my research. Among the reasons she gave, the main one related to an
unsustainable influx of visitors and researchers in the company’s locals following the excess media coverage that Gahaya Link had generated. Pass my shock and disappointment, I got curious to know more about the reasons of her discontentment at the media and at the waves of researchers who were showing an interest in Gahaya Link.
She resented the media coverage that Gahaya link was having for two reasons: not only it was detrimental to her business but it was also misrepresenting the company as the sole reference of entrepreneurship in Rwanda, and that at the expense of other handicraft cooperatives.

She explained that most researchers coming to do work on Gahaya Link already had a preconceived idea of what they wanted to find and to write about. Mentioning their methodology, she said they would waste her time and workers’ by only addressing common questions that were already covered all over the news. “Nearly all the Muzungus are looking for already cooked success stories,” she said. “I would like to see more researchers start from scratch instead of just scrapping the surface of the subject they research on.” Subsequently to our meeting, she recommended that I try to do research on grassroots cooperatives whose impact in women’s life and communities were according to her more significant and tangible.

Our discussion was really eye opening for me because it gave me a totally different perspective on the role that researchers play in the understanding of matters they seek to address. Through my conversation with Joy, I learned how to be flexible so that although the change of my research’s methodology took me into a different path, my project still nonetheless had addressed the issues of women’s empowerment and gender dynamics. Finally, because of Joy I learned how researchers themselves could be more of a nuisance rather than a help to the matter they seek to address.

Synopsis:
How does healthcare work in conjunction with religion and culture to prevent and treat leprosy?  How do Ethiopians use religion as a frame for understanding and managing disease?  During my two weeks spent in ALERT leprosy hospital in Korah village of the capital city Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, questions of this variety helped me to reflect on the hypothesis I developed prior to my arrival in Eastern Africa: the most effective model for medical treatment is one that combines allopathic medicine with local culture and religion.  I wondered that if such a statement were true than would I find that ALERT offered a concrete example of such a model?  Can methods that include effective treatment, but are cognizant of the effects of local beliefs, be used to reverse the progression of leprosy and prevent further development of multidrug-resistant mycobacterium leprae strains?  What kind of immediate steps can we take to improve quality of life and what long-term techniques might best address their medical needs?

Observing dermatologist and leprosy specialist, Dr. Elizabeth Bizuneh, over the course of two weeks elucidated a plethora of variables I needed to take into account in reflecting on my hypothesis meaningfully.  It was quickly evident to me that treatment of any sort administered at ALERT could be deemed ineffective unless other, basic needs of this incredibly impoverished community were met like nutritious meals and clean water.  For example, how could fine-tuning medical treatment be effective when a community lacking shoes continued to succumb to a disease that is primarily acquired through feet?  More unanticipated variables that caused me to adjust the way I initially approached my inquiry was ALERT’s role as an international hospital characterized by a diverse patient base making any specific models of healthcare reliant upon culture complicated.  Though I didn’t observe any overt religious traditions utilized at ALERT, I did witness a pronounced negotiation between doctors and patients that certainly has contributed towards a positive and sustaining treatment for patients.  Perhaps clinics serving smaller, divisible communities could utilize concrete techniques incorporating local religious practices, however, at ALERT I witnessed how a paradigm of this fusion between culture and medicine is currently manifesting itself through subtle doctor-patient interactions.

Uncomfortable Experience:

From the night I first arrived until the evening I flew out, my time spent in Ethiopia was almost always characterized by some degree of feeling uncomfortable.  I wasn’t surprised by the fact that my appearance as a young, blonde girl from the States would cause me to stick out in most crowds or even that nearly all of my endeavors would have to be carried out with a translator or trustworthy male nearby.  As expected my trip was a string of extremely uncomfortable situations, but what I couldn’t have prepared for and didn’t anticipate was a deeper discomfort with the way I had been living my life before I traveled to Africa.  As someone who bases my life of the teachings of Jesus Christ, when I read passages in the Bible directing me towards helping the poor, the oppressed, the widow, I often felt momentarily convicted but rarely was catalyzed into authentic action.  Ethiopia gave me a new angle on life that has cultivated a new passion in me to seek the good of others and thereby more fully embrace what it means to be a Christian.

The first day I arrived in Addis, we drove around Korah and I looked upon hundreds of people living on the side of the road, mired in the stubbornness of poverty.  That night I felt frustrated with myself.  Why didn’t I feel more for these people? How come tears weren’t rolling down my face at the hopelessness I had seen and touched?  However, as the trip wore on, my frustration turned to understanding as I became personally involved.  I remembered names and revisited people day after day.  As I became invested in their plight, it became personal, and that’s when the tears came.  In my own discomfort I empathized with these acquaintances and experienced the odds they were fighting, but even more remarkably, I saw their great gratitude despite such circumstances.  I realized that I hadn’t merely been choosing the parts of my Christianity I wanted to put into action and the parts I wanted to leave behind, but rather, I had never before been forced to consider how involving myself in deeply impoverished circumstances might be another integral part of my faith.  I had never personally grappled with the poverty some of my friends in Ethiopia deal with every moment of their lives, but now that I have experienced it firsthand it has and will continue to shape the way I think and act.  When I think of the friendships I have developed it’s impossible for me to walk away ignoring the incredible resources I have been blessed with and the ability I have to reach out to those who have less.  From East Africa to Williamstown to rural Montana, I now know that helping those who need it the most is a calling on my life as a Christian and as a human being.

The research trip coincided with revolutionary political and religious unrest. While I was in Beirut, all members of the oppositional political party resigned, the Lebanese national unity government collapsed, and violent demonstrations took place, in line with demonstrations across the Middle East. My trip in Cairo came at a time of extreme religious tension, as a result of a church bombing, and the murder of a Christian citizen. It also coincided with the self-immolation of five Egyptian citizens protesting the oppressive Egyptian regime, and unprecedented civil unrest, which culminated in the January 25th  “Day of Anger”, during which hundreds of thousands of Egyptians protested the government, calling for the ouster of Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak.

As a Sunni Muslim, I was restricted from visiting a number of otherwise accessible buildings, as new security measures placed policemen at the gates of most, if not all, Christian youth centers, churches and predominantly Christian commercial buildings. This was the case in both Cairo and Beirut, although the former city employed much more stringent security measures. In both the Christian structures and spaces I accessed, I didn’t announce the intention of my study, per the advice of relatives familiar with both cities and religious traditions, as well as professors at AUC and AUB. My status as an outsider was solidified primarily through two factors: 1. I was a Sunni Muslim in the midst of a Coptic Christian community, and 2. My purpose was to observe and record the rituals and life practices of those around me.

Because of these two factors, as I engaged the inhabitants of Garbage City, I felt like more of an outsider than I had ever before in the Middle East. For the first time, I began internalizing the view of the Muslim from the Christian perspective, that is, a simplistically drawn portrait that misunderstands the “other’s” humanity. This struck me, as it allowed me to reflect on the way in which I am myself misconstruing, mis-recognizing another’s humanness. The disconnect that appeared to me, that between how we view an “other” and how an “other” views itself, was further accentuated, and taken to a different more striking level, as I began attempting to articulate the disconnect in theoretical terms. This was due to the fact that language, as I had employed it, was a means of explaining that which I felt and experienced. But language – made of the words, vocabularies, structures that had been set in place by the philosophers and sociologists I had studied – were not able to describe properly the kinds of things I was feeling. In fact, thinking about language seemed to violently rework the feelings I had, to try to pit them against, and then fit them into, a language structure. Thus, while the physical experience of occupying an “other’s” space was grueling and often uncomfortable, what left me most uncomfortable was thinking about the way in which two cultures, each employing a different a language, clash into each other, and are unable to fully comprehend the other. Put briefly, these reflections taught me to understand my limited ability to acknowledge an “other” and consequently, to allow myself space to understand

Emigration and Family Dynamics in Laos

My project is a case study of the effects of open adoptions on family dynamics. My host family, which happens to be the subject of my study, lives in Laos, and has placed their three eldest children up for adoption. The majority of the month was spent getting to know my family. Near the end of the month, I conducted separate interviews with each member, which went quite smoothly. They were willing to share their thoughts with me. From their answers, I discovered that the relationship between the adopted children and the rest of the family is not as intimate as it could have been.

During my first interview, I realized that some of my questions were formed with an American framework of mind. The questions revolved around expectations for the future and the differences between their hopes and actuality. Rather than be universal human concepts, hopes and dreams are culturally bounded. I hypothesized that the Buddhist notion of impermanence influenced the way the family members think about life. Life is constantly in flux and it is no use to have specific hopes for the future. One can only wish that life will be comfortable.

The parents did not have specific desires for their own life or their children’s futures, and the children did not have any for their own future either. After interviewing the parents, I decided to change my questions for the children and to focus on how they talk and think about the adopted children. The changes were effective because the children talked for longer lengths of time. Therefore, I was given more material. My initial questions and their inability to respond made me recognize that my American ideals affect my perception of others and the questions that I pose.

For Winter Study, I went to Ghana to research the stigma of mental disability there and how, if at all, people with mental disabilities are treated differently from people with physical disabilities.  I am very interested in the education and enrichment programs for the mentally disabled, and since I only had experience in my home-town, I wanted to see what the situation was like in a completely different setting.  I went with Nana Taylor, another sophomore here who is from Ghana, and I stayed at her house for three weeks.  During that time, we conducted lots of interviews and visits at a school for the mentally disabled, the physically disabled homeless, and a visually impaired newsreader.

We discovered that there is significantly more stigma for the mentally disabled, and it is driven by traditional culture.  Currently, however, there is a burst of education and enlightenment that is reaching many Ghanaians.  Many people we talked to were open-minded and acknowledged the heavy stigma placed on the disabled.  I am fairly confident in predicting that in the next generation, the stigma will be minimized – although it is not reasonable to expect total equality for the disabled, since there are stigmas on the disabled in every country.

Uncomfortable learning:

As a (very clearly) white person in Ghana, it goes without saying that I stood out.  I did not usually mind being called after and joked with, but one consequence of my appearance was that many people felt no shame in assuming that I was rich and able to share my wealth with everyone.  While in Ghana, I met up with my family friends’ grandmother’s caretaker’s family, who lived in Nima, the poorest slum of Accra.  The family was incredibly hospitable and I had a wonderful time staying at their place overnight – upon my arrival, they even brought over the seamstress and arranged for a dress to be made for me.  Between my stay and my departure, however, they kept in contact with me and I felt as if they were trying to guilt-trip me into giving them money – they insisted that I should not pay for the dress, while they could not pay the modest transportation fees to get their 15 year-old son to school.

I met up with the son two more times before I left – he seemed to be the messenger for the family – and every time I talked to him and met with him, he would bring up how he wasn’t doing anything all day and he couldn’t go to school.  I was split between listening to him as a worried teenager or listening to him as a teenager told by his mother to wheedle money out of me.  I felt terrible questioning his motives because I knew that he and his family really were nice and modest people.  In the end, I gave him a modest amount of money for the dress as well my worn-out sneakers, and he gave me a package to bring back to his aunt – something I had to wiggle through customs and almost missed my connecting flight for – and I left feeling like we had parted somewhat even.

From interacting with this family and with the many people who approached me to talk, I realized that intentions, just like everything else, are not black and white; yes, people on the streets saw me as a source of money, but yes, they also saw me as someone new and exciting to talk to with interesting information from abroad.  I learned to expect these people to want some change or a future visit, but I also learned that they also just wanted my company for a minute to share some stories about how our lives are different and what that all means.  I came back from Ghana more open-minded and with a more multi-faceted view of human motivation and personality.

The picture: Breakfast during my overnight stay with the family in Nima.  I was served separately.  Their house consisted of this open kitchen/eating area and a few rooms where the mother and children slept.

His plans for carrying on the Gaudino legacy of uncomfortable, self-reflexive learning include:

• In the Fall, 2008, Prof. Burger has orchestrated the first-ever interdisciplinary Gaudino course (EXPR 309–cross-listed under ARTS, PHIL, MATH, and MUSIC).  This course centers on the creative process involved in generating original ideas, theories, and artistic works. Here, in three-week blocks, students will explore intensively the creativity involved in studio art, philosophy, music, and mathematics by attempting to produce original works in each of these areas of study.  The focus will be more on the creative process rather than the final products.
• Monthly special events called “The Gaudino Dialogues”, in which an interesting and successful alum will return to campus to share his or her life story (highlighting all the requisite failures as well as the successes) and how he or she has been creative.  These events will be live sit-down, one-on-one interviews with Prof. Burger and will be open to the general public. The hope is that these alums will inspire all of us (especially our students) to take more risks and actively try to be more creative in our everyday lives.  Each evening event will be proceeded by a private dinner with the students from the EXPR 309 class. Prof. Burger also hopes that these events will lead to discussions across divisions with interested faculty on how they are creative in their endeavors (both in their scholarly work and in the classroom), so that we can be inspired and learn from one another.
• Collaboration with the Williamstown Film Festival.