We got through three topics before Colman arrived.
The first thing that they answered that I talked through was food, there was one girl in the front row that said that she liked to cook Chicken, with some kind of marinara. That was rather cool, I was glad that she responded.
Music was definitely a widely mentioned idea--I asked the students what instruments they played--many of them played guitar, one played piano, and some played drums--I told them I was a took lessons toward being a classical pianist for thirteen years, and that I also knew how to play guitar and wrote music.
The last thing that we got to was Sports---I love that many students were able to find resources through the school to play in sports, and I think that there are many options for sports at Wilson High school. Some guys played basketball, one girl did crew, which I learned was rowing, so saying "playing crew" is a really lame statement.
Discussion went really well after that.
As class usually goes with Wilson, some new students came in halfway through the class period and there were several funny episodes that occurred during class. One student needed a form to sign (I think to drop the class) and Colman told him to have the guy in the back of the class sign it. He said we were power-sharing, and that the guy in the back of the class would be as equal as Colman was in the aspect of his signature being credible. The point is that Colman thinks "paperocracies" are pointless. He said this yesterday when I needed things signed for work-study and EMU things. I think paperocracies are super annoying, and it's America's way of making everything in disarray at almost all times, because something is being lost, or mishandled, and then we have to go find it and take care of the business, it's just so annoying. Why can't it just be "yes" or "no"?
One of Colman's former students came into class almost all the way through the period.
Colman introduced Jafar, and asked if he could tell his story to the class. Jafar said that was fine, and Colman proceeded.
Jafar moved to the United States from Iraq about three years ago. His family moved here because of what the Americans were doing in their country. Before American Soldiers showed up in their town, Jafar was able to go out at night with his friends. Though Saddam Hussien was a dictating leader, he felt safe in the area because Saddam wasn't affecting himself, his family, or his neighborhood. Once the Soldiers from the U.S. came into the area, it wasn't safe anymore. Jafar had to be home by six, and was considered suspicious to the soldiers because he was Iraqi. One night he woke up in the night because he felt cold metal on his face. When he opened his eyes, he saw a gun pointed at his head, and an American soldier with a mask on, with four companions surrounding him. They were checking for weapons in his family's home. They only had a pistol that had been Jafar's grandfather's. Their family was not a radical terrorist group, they were normal Iraqi citizens with lives and friends. Jafar recalled two times that he had been shot at by American soldiers. One time, he was outside, with some friends, and had obviously walked too close not to be suspicious, and soldiers opened fired on him, and he had to run away to not catch the bullets. The other time, he was in his parents' car and was driving past a stationed point, and they fired upon him again. He had to pull over to shield himself from the bullets, and when they stopped firing, Jafar drove away. His parents had to pay for the damage in his car--no one reimbursed them for the damage. The soldiers have been taught to fire upon cars that come too close because it is assumed that they are car bombs, and so they shoot to defer the driver to leave.
Then some of the radicals in the city placed a bomb directly beside Jafar's home. They called the U.S. soldiers and they brought their robot bomb dismantler, but it cut the wrong wire and the bomb went off, and all the windows in the home were shattered and there was a lot of damage to their home. Again, Jafar's family had to cover all the damage expenses and after that they decided to come to the United States. The only reason that they had the option to come back to America was because Jafar's mom was born in the United States--her father was working in Wisconsin when she was born, and when she was a month old, they moved back to Iraq. So she was an American citizen.
Jafar's family came to America then, three years ago. He barely knew any English then, but now he is completely fluent and has a four year full ride to the University of Wisconsin.
If they didn't have that link to the US, Jafar's family would still be in Iraq. He would still be dodging bullets and having his home raided for weapons in the middle of the night. Jafar might be dead.
How much longer are we going to keep shooting and bombing the people who are just like us, with family and friends just like us, in fear? Because we are afraid, we are pressing our very own terrorism upon them, more than they are to us. Our American Soldiers are like the antibiotic resistant bacteria that comes back every time. Terrorism to America is few and far between, and our security measures are making sure of that. Yet we feel no sorrow in killing the nameless and naming them heartless. We harbor no regret in shooting those completely identical to us in a different culture, and calling them terrorists. No matter what we think, the bullets from our guns are piercing the same organ that is beating in our own chests. We were created by the same God, and we are called to love them the same.
I rode the bus home from there, and had to listen to two girls, who were 17 and 18, talk about partying, mixing drinks, and college for like an hour. They rode the bus to Colombia Heights. It was sort of angering, but I know I shouldn't judge because I shouldn't. Then I felt claustrophobic for a little while because a man was sitting next to me and another right in front of me. With riding the bus comes the smells of everyone around you. I tried not to think about it, and think about my knitting, but I got distracted, especially when the yarn I had ran out.
The man sitting in front of me got off at the Veteran's Hospital stop, as I knew he would. Looking at him sitting there, his back hunched in what looked like pain or complete exhaustion. He seemed to have a demeanor of defeat, and couldn't hold himself for swaying back and forth when the bus abruptly stopped occasionally. He walked off of the bus, still hunched over. There is life in this city, but there is also a lot of pain. Many veterans struggle with PTSD, and some end up homeless because of this. I don't think that it was the case with this man, but he looked worn dry.
Our class seminar had an interesting day today. We went to visit the pastor at Plymouth Church of Christ, Graydon Hagler. He was very courteous to us, and shared all about his work in the community and how he knew he was going to go into the ministry since he was a little kid (and he's been ordained for thirty years this coming Sunday.) It was nice to hear his opinions on peace and violence, church politics, and understand where he was coming from. It was a great experience for me--I feel like I can connect a lot with pastors, or I let myself connect with them--because Dad and Mom are pastors.
We had an interesting discussion on the way to the church about marriage.
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