Category: Granite Views

Their kitchen is very like mine: a coffee maker, bowl of fruit, and a shelf of spices, under a window that looks outside. On their counter is a small TV or computer screen. Yes, it almost exactly mirrors my kitchen here in New Hampshire, but theirs is in an apartment building in Kyiv and one whole wall of their kitchen has been blown out from a Russian missile yesterday morning.

Their family is very like mine. Together today, we are three generations: my wife, our son and our daughter-in-law, and our two grandchildren. They are having breakfast at our house, stopping here on the way to Logan airport for a two-week vacation. I’ve been playing number games with my grandson and our granddaughter is learning to say “Aloha.” As a family, we look very much like them, but they, with their small children, are taking shelter in a subway station as the air raid sirens wail and the sounds of nearby shelling shakes the benches they are sitting on. I see joy and expectation in the face of my grandchildren and fear in the faces of that Ukrainian family. Mine knows where they are going. They have no idea where or when they will be safe.

Their neighborhood is very like mine. The houses are along a tree-lined street with cars parked outside. My neighbors are cleaning up after a snow storm, grumbling when the town snowplow deposits a plug of ice at the end of their newly cleared driveways. But the family outside Lviv is outside trying to halt a line of Russian tanks making its way through their otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Their neighbors are very like mine. Across my street lives a physician, next door is the owner of a construction company, further down is a retired school superintendent and a business executive, and beyond the owner of a tech company. Even in Covid times, we gather in one of our driveways to share a beverage in the evening and catch up on local news. But in Kharkiv, the neighbors gather to collect empty bottles — just like the ones we have — to make Molotov cocktails. And there, too, the counterparts of my neighbors — a physician, a builder, an executive, a retired superintendent, don makeshift uniforms and take rifles into their hands, many of which have never even held a weapon before. Why? Because their country means so much to them.

Empathy is the very human capacity to feel as another person might. The Russian invasion of Ukraine is like no other war in my experience. I do not read about it in a newspaper 24 hours later. Instead, it is broadcast live into my kitchen as it is happening and through those media relays from Ukrainian kitchens, families, neighbors and neighborhoods so very like mine, I am drawn deeply into their plight because it is now so possible to imagine what such a conflict would entail in my otherwise safe life.

They are fighting for democracy and their country. They are also fighting for us. We must help in any way we can.

Some years ago, I was on a business trip to South Korea, a guest of a university there that had invited me to give some lectures. The hospitality was gracious and generous and included several excursions to places of interest outside of Seoul. At the end of my third day, however, my host, Professor Hwang, advised me that on the next day not he but a colleague would be my guide, as he himself had a “duty” to fulfill.

When Professor Hwang did rejoin me two days later, I tried carefully and respectfully to inquire about the “duty” he had mentioned.Smiling kindly, he asked if I knew yesterday’s date. Of course,” I replied, and mentioned the number of the day in May. His smile grew broader as gently he reminded me it had been the birthday of the Buddha, and that, according to Korean tradition, at least once in a person’s life she or he should observe that sacred day by visiting and bringing flowers to that teacher who had been most influential in the formation of the student’s character. Professor Hwang had done just that. His story touched me deeply.

Three years later — by good fortune, also in the month of May — I was in Santa Barbara, a city to which my high school principal, Father Carroll O’Sullivan, had retired. He had been my mentor all through those long-ago days, but I had lost touch. He welcomed me warmly, graciously accepted the flowers, and as we had tea, I recounted my Korean experience as an explanation for my visit to him now. He was deeply touched. For a couple of hours, we reminisced on those times, and we ended our visit with a photograph being taken. “Father O,” as we all had called him that back then, died just a couple of months later. That photograph is now on my desk.

Yesterday’s Union Leader carried the worrisome news of a recent survey that revealed nearly half of the state’s teachers are seriously considering leaving their jobs. Such an eventuality, understandable given the unprecedented pressures today on their profession — pandemic-related accommodations, workload, fractious school board meetings, uncertainties in the face of legislation restricting what can and cannot be taught, overly officious regulators — would be terrible even to contemplate. And yet, who of us could not, given but a few moments of reflection, identify that one teacher who made such a welcome difference in our early lives?

Yes, this is the dead of winter and flowers are harder to come by and travel more difficult. But do we need to wait until May to contact that certain teacher and just say, “Thank you?”

New Hampshire is in the process of its once a decade setting of electoral districts at all levels of government. The state and federal constitutions call for each district to be about the same size so that a vote in one district is equal to one vote in another district. This is the reason we take a census every 10 years.

Not surprisingly, this process of setting districts is a political one with the political parties jostling for position every decade. Each tries to tilt the map to its advantage. The result taken to the extreme is what political scientists call gerrymandering, where the driving force of redistricting is to ensure one party or the other is all but ensured of getting elected and the districts tend to stretch over long distances to get in one voting group or another. On the face of it, that seems pretty undemocratic.

But it’s not. Elections aren’t fair and never have been. Incumbents have huge advantages over challengers. Just like in life, those in power are likely to stay there. But it’s no conspiracy. We — the voters — elect them. Maybe you identify as a Republican but nothing stops you from voting for a Democratic candidate or vice versa. Nothing stops parties from running candidates that might appeal to voters that typically favor the other party.

And that may be why Gov. Chris Sununu signaled that he opposes the Republican state Senate plan that would take the current two districts and rejigger them so that one heavily favors Democrats and the other Republicans. As currently configured, Republicans actually have a good shot at taking both districts if they put up candidates that appeal to a wider electorate, candidates in the mold of Sununu himself.

And that’s the rub. Gerrymandering by its nature shifts candidates of the dominant party to the party base because the only race that counts is the one inside the party. In addition if you’re a party insider in Washington you’re not really looking for Sununu-type officials that might not vote the party line. This goes for both parties. Though the parties want to win, if given the choice, they are going to support less independent candidates.

The flip side is that heavily gerrymandered districts with their more fringy candidates can present an opportunity to the other party if they are willing to be a big tent and allow for candidates with broader views. Voters will listen and will vote for great candidates regardless of their party affiliation if they feel it’s in their interest. But you can’t expect people to vote for candidates who don’t share some of their values. To me the problem isn’t gerrymandering, it’s the parties’ unwillingness to really be competitive in every district. Now wouldn’t that be something.

February has finally arrived and with it comes Black History Month. Having lived in New Hampshire for a significant portion of my life, I have only recently become aware of all the wonderful events happening across the state during this commemorative month. For those who, like me, wish to address racial injustice and to work for a more integrated nation, here are some things I’ll be doing to expand my commitment.

Attend a Black Heritage Trail of NH Tea Talk. This year’s series is being offered virtually with an in-person option with limited capacity on the subject of “Courage Conversations: Leaning in for Change.” For the 2022 Elinor Williams Hooker Tea Talks Series, BHTNH will work collectively to create a safe space for meaningful interchanges, grounded in history and lived experience between different segments of the Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC) community. We will also investigate the current issues that continue to create tension in the community. All talks are on Sundays from 2 to 3:30 p.m. and are free of charge. More information can be found at blackheritagetrailnh.org.

Address legislation impacting racial justice in New Hampshire. There are several bills in this year’s legislative session that will have an impact on how our state’s public education systems are able to practice their right to teach our students. The most promising, SB304, counters the harmful HB2 “divisive concepts” bill that has sent a chill throughout our state’s public institutions, especially K-12, in their efforts to address inclusion and equality especially around race. Passage means removing provisions concerning freedom from discrimination in public workplaces and education, and would clarify the authority of public schools and public employers concerning discrimination.

There are two additional bills that are looking to limit free speech and free expression in the classroom. HB1313 expands HB2 to include public higher education and limit the essence of higher education learning by promoting the omission and silencing conversation on important parts of our nation’s history as it relates to race and other protected identities. HB1255 seeks to ban New Hampshire public school teachers from promoting any “negative account or representation of the founding and history of the U.S.”

Explore my own biases and assumptions This is, for me, the most critical piece of this work. What is my vision for our society and what role will I play in helping to create this? I need to know that I am not free of racial biases and healing myself of these comes from self-responsibility, patience, love and mindfulness.

This work, of course, doesn’t end in February. This is a years-long journey and it will continue to require collective community to bring about the change.

My new go-to is yoga. Too much hiking and not enough stretching, not to mention crouching over my keyboard, brings on unaccustomed pains. The breathing, poses and mental habits of yoga rejuvenate me. Even practiced in a drafty community rec center, yoga loosens my muscles and expands my mind.

The language is part of it. I do not mean Sanskrit, the ancient language the first yogis spoke. I mean the word patterns and translations used by my American teachers, each of whom brings their own style and experience to class. They all emphasize that practicing yoga is a personal journey. There are modifications for different bodies and room for different degrees of challenge on different days. After all, it seems, “Leg” and “Hip” and our other body parts are esteemed colleagues. It’s OK, I’m told, if “Back Body” wants to just drape in “Child’s Pose” for an hour.

The descriptive names of yoga’s poses and flows just tickle me. “Downward Dog” and “Cow-and-Cat” are well-known, the stuff of birthday card jokes. But what about “Seated Half-Fish“ or “Revolved Chair’’? I have to wonder if these sound as funny in the original. My teachers actually do refer to the final pose, lying prone on the mat in silence for a few minutes, in Sanskrit. I imagine that’s because we Americans aren’t very comfortable with death and “savasana” means “corpse.” Although there is a practice known as laughter yoga, and various animal-accompanied classes are guaranteed to make one smile (think yoga with goat, butterfly, kitten), I’m not in one of those classes. I giggle as quietly as possible at the imagery of my teachers’ words.

Physical movement is only one of the eight limbs of yoga. Breathing control, behavioral self-restraints and disciplines, withdrawal of the senses, concentration and meditation are others, culminating in liberation. A significant and growing body of research backs up what dedicated yogis have always known about the emotional and mental as well as physical benefits. Yoga reduces anxiety and depression and strengthens parts of the brain important for memory, attention, awareness, thought and language.

The pandemic has caused significant mental health challenges, particularly among younger adults, racial and ethnic minorities, essential workers and unpaid adult caregivers. Experts surveyed by the Pew Research Center predict that some of the worst stressors — economic inequality, misinformation and “tele-everything” — will persist in the new normal. At the very least, life will remain unpredictable. We can ease ourselves into position to handle it, and help others, by stretching our bodies and minds. When my hip joints are screaming as I criss-cross my legs, my teacher says, “Breathe. Sit up tall. Allow the change.” Ever so slowly my pain, thoughts, and feelings do change.

It’s a tough time to be in the world of education. Local school boards spend their time addressing parental concerns on critical race theory, mask and vaccine mandates, and in-person versus remote learning. Faculty, staff and administration offer another perspective on these topics. With all the background noise, the purpose of education easily gets overlooked, and many students are struggling in the current dynamic environment. Consider what it must be like for refugee students who have landed in this new world of learning.

Recently I spoke with Riyah Patel, founder of New American Scholars, a New Hampshire-based nonprofit that provides peer-to-peer tutoring and mentorship to refugee students. Riyah started this nonprofit last summer at the age of 15 because she herself had struggled with remote learning, finding it difficult to connect with her instructors and peers. If she was struggling, how difficult must it be for kids who have been forced from their countries and homes, landing here with scant resources?

Riyah reached out to local refugee organizations and inquired about interest in a summer tutoring program for this population. The response was overwhelming. Because she had only one tutor (herself), she limited her services to 10 students. She then connected with the Concord Public Library for space. With her parents’ help on transportation, she was up and running.

The students ranged in age from fifth grade to high school. She grouped the kids based on their skill levels and worked with them Monday through Friday over the course of the summer. Due to cultural and language barriers, combined with the online learning system, the kids felt behind and abandoned by the American school system, yet they were engaged in the tutoring process and wanted to learn and fill in the knowledge gaps. By summer’s end, all students had shown immense progress. Riyah’s vision is to expand and offer services statewide, possibly partnering with schools. Her goal is for this nonprofit to become self-sustaining and carry on for many years to come. The website is up and running (newamericanscholars.org), and she is seeking additional tutors for the coming summer.

Perhaps there is a lesson in this story for the American education system. Sometimes we must cut through the noise and get down to the business of educating students, all of them, creating learning opportunities that meet individual students where they are. There are many ways to do this, and one very passionate and motivated 15-year-old student is leading the way.