Newsletter August 2006

ISO Essay Competition Winners

1st place – The most important lesson I learned in the USA is?
Thomas Jacob
New York Institute of Technology

2nd place – The most important lesson I learned in the USA is?
Sylvie Britz
Philadelphia University

3rd place – Home sweet home
Tassia Gimenez Augusto
Martin Methodist College

The most important lesson I learned in the USA is? – Thomas Jacob

"Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means… If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?"

It was my second day in the United States of America.

I stared, transfixed, at the massive billboards, flashing neon lights and the yellow cabs that streaked past me. The giant screens I could see were video–streaming advertisements continuously. Skyscrapers rose in the background. The riot of color around me was over–whelming to my senses. But more than the visual spectacle that was Times Square, I was stunned by the extra–ordinary diversity of people. I could see people from every racial and cultural heritage imaginable. I felt dizzy at the races, languages, cultures and religions that had being sucked into this vortex of humanity.

I was born and raised in a small town in South West Indian state of Kerala, leaving me unprepared to face the extraordinary diversity that I was witnessing in Times Square. But this was just a precursor to what I would see and experience in America as I worked towards the completion of my Masters degree in Film–making.

America is indeed a ‘melting pot’ of cultures and nationalities. I think the most important lesson I have learned is to appreciate, respect and celebrate other cultures. It didn’t happen overnight, of course. It’s been more like a series of little lessons, reinforced over time.

Since I’m a student of cinema, my impression of America in general and New York City in particular was formed by the repeated viewings of films by Martin Scorsese and Woody Allen. And, of course, the conventional Hollywood movies and fashionable television shows like Sex and the City. But I felt the one issue the popular movies and shows never addressed enough was the incredible multiculturalism that actually exists in a city like New York. Films and television shows have the ability to inform and influence people, especially if they become a part of the popular culture. I risk of sounding grandiose but I believe that as a future filmmaker I have the responsibility to make the right choices in depicting the human condition and behavior.

Initially, I was hesitant and uncomfortable dealing with people who seemed to have very different customs, beliefs and values compared to mine own. But once you get to know someone better, usually by spending time and sharing activities, the superficial perceptions that you associate with their external falls off. The advantage of living in New York City is that you are constantly meeting new people. My roommate is from Taiwan. My best friend was born in Mexico and raised in Texas. My girlfriend is half Brazilian. My Media Research professor is from Chile. The actor in my student film is Scandinavian. The security guard in my building is Indian. And, my fellow students are, basically from everywhere.

Living in this kind of rich multicultural environment has made me much more tolerant and less judgmental than I used to be. I realize that life is more than black or white, there are shades of grey to it. When you are able to relate to someone like a friend, girlfriend or roommate, irrespective of where they come from, what they look like or what they believe in, you manage to break through prejudice.

We classify people stereotypically based on what we think we know about them. And, usually it’s the little things that we share with them that help break this pattern. Like watching the same video on youtube.com and thinking it’s cool. Or listening to a song in Mandarin and humming it afterward. Or learning how to say "What’s happening?" in Spanish. Or going to the St. Patrick’s Day parade. Or learning to use chopsticks. Participating in an activity or sharing a common experience helps us to better understand and appreciate each other.

I have also noticed how laughter is a powerful way to connect. I guess it’s impossible to hate someone if you laugh with them. Watching comedians like Dave Chappelle, Adam Corolla or Russell Peters making fun of racial stereotypes, with a group of friends, makes us laugh at how seriously we take ourselves.

I admit being open culturally is more than humming Mandarin pop songs, watching comedy shows, wearing the Yankees baseball cap or saying "Que pasa?"

The more time you spend with someone from a different country or culture, the more you realize how much they are really like you. The same things make us laugh; the same things make us cry. Most of us, students, face the same problems, basically. Grades. Finances. Relationships.

Although it may sound simplistic, whenever you attend a play, go to a performance or listen to music by a member of a race or ethnicity different from yours, you are actually becoming more tolerant and capable of relating with another person as a human being.

The fact that I come in touch with so many ethnicities over the course of a regular day in New York City is exciting. Whether it is shopping in an ethnic grocery store or getting Chinese take–out. Visiting museums and learning about Civil Rights movement in America helped me get a better understanding of the problems faced by minorities.

Living in an incredibly pluralistic city like New York gives one the opportunity to take part in a host of cultural events, art exhibitions, food fairs, talent fests and fashion shows that bring the best of the world to the city. The fact that there is an incredibly large number of tourists visiting New York City, helps in a better understanding of what people elsewhere are thinking and feeling.

I was taught a few traditional Greek dance moves during a party by a friend. Participating in a little activity like that with someone with a very different cultural heritage than mine own, made me more embracing of the multi–culturality that I see around me.

India has had a troublesome relationship with its neighbors. The History books I had read in Middle school (like History books everywhere) stressed on the wars the country had fought against foreign aggression.

And often, Bollywood (the Indian film industry based in Bombay) which has a huge impact on the popular culture in India, plays on these fears, negative perceptions and bias of the general public.

I was not without my fair share of prejudice. I had to do a project for my Special Effects class and one of the group members was a Pakistani student. Initially I was a little uncertain if we would get along well. But somewhere in between analyzing the right moment for a fade–out and discussing the color composition of a shot, it occurred to me he was just a regular guy like me. Although we ended up getting only a B grade for our project, I think it has done great good to me as an artist and a human being, helping to make me more empathetic, accepting and open–minded. I believe that I have grown as a person.

"An eye for an eye leave the whole world blind," said Mahatma Gandhi. In the post 9–11 world we live in, there appears to be an increase in acts of bigotry and hatred. There seems to be less tolerance for people who seem different. In such a world, a healthy respect for other cultures and communities will help to ease away mistrust and antagonism. I think the reason for intolerance is lack of understanding of other cultures. I believe it is largely caused by the sweeping generalizations we make based on one or two bad examples.

I think we should move from being tolerant of other cultures to celebrating other cultures.

When I graduate next year, I would have learnt so much more than framing a shot, setting up a scene, editing footage, creating the right lighting for the camera, working with actors or telling a story. My GPA (however good or bad) won’t reflect the changes I would have undergone as a human being. Learning a little about so many different cultures would have made me more compassionate, empathetic and open–minded to what I see around me, which would make me a better filmmaker.

As an artist I want to embrace the eclectic and put it into my work. It will help me get better ideas, push the envelope and expand the horizon.

When I go back to India and start making films, this will be a lesson to carry with me. Through my body of work, in my own little way, I’ll hopefully be able to help in breaking down stereotypes. Perhaps I might enable my audience to relate to the humanity in a person and not judge him on the basis of his race or religion.

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The most important lesson I learned in the USA is? – Sylvie Britz

When I started to think about what to write in this essay, I remembered a moment during my junior year in college that made me realize how fortunate I am to be able to attend college in the United States.

It happened during one of my design critiques. My classmates and I were exhausted by the work we had just finished. After having labored for days on her pieces, my friend Katie burst out: "Feminism Shmeminism!!! Why do we even bother!? I’m getting myself a rich husband instead of THIS!" We giggled at her comment because she delivered it in her typically outraged but terribly amusing fashion. Then we went back to critiquing our work without giving her remark another thought.

Katie’s "Feminism Shmeminism" was only meant to be a humorous comment, not to be taken too seriously, but it now makes me think about how often I take the education I get here in the U.S. for granted. I am sure that everybody at some point questions why even bother going to college. Why labor over projects that then will be torn apart during a critique? I daresay we often do it simply because we have the opportunity to! Here in the United States I am finally allowed as a woman to express myself artistically, to gain an excellent education and to develop into a confident freethinking individual.

You may wonder why I chose to write about feminism. After all it seems as if it has been widely accepted here in the United States. It looks like more and more powerful women emerge from this society. The reason why I am stressing feminism and the opportunities it provided is because I come from a country where freethinking independent women often are looked down upon.

I am originally from Luxembourg, a tiny European country located between Belgium, Germany and France. It is extremely conservative. Feminism often is ridiculed. Independent women are not taken very seriously. Especially the thought of freethinking women–artists raises a lot of eyebrows. In fact, in Luxembourg creating art is considered a hobby that nobody really can use to make a living.

When I told my family I decided to become an artist, I had to listen to Luxembourg's equivalent of "Feminism Shmeminism!" "You should get married and have a man provide for you!’ "How do you expect to make a living as an artist?’ "By coloring in between some pre–drawn lines, like in paint by numbers?’ As old–fashioned as this may sound, these opinions about independent female artists are still a reality in Luxembourg, and I am sure in many other parts of the world.

My mother is a perfect example of a woman who had to suffer under these old–fashioned and oppressive opinions of a woman’s role in my society. She was on her way to become a skillful painter before she met my father. Her high school teachers desperately wanted her to take more painting classes so that she could learn to push her art as far as possible.

However, when she married my father at the age of 19, he did not allow her to pursue her dream any longer. He was deeply in love with her and did not want to lose her to art. I once asked my father why he would not let my mother paint anymore. He explained to me that he was truly worried that if she took more art classes, she would start to think too independently. Knowing how intensely she focused on her work before their marriage, he was afraid that she would spend less time with him, maybe even stop taking care of him and decide to pursue a life of her own. My mother was such a naive young woman that he was easily able to stop her from creating any more paintings. Even though this sounds like it might have happened in the 1950s, if not earlier, it occurred in 1976. Actually, my father still does not allow my mother to pursue any kind of artistic exploration.'

As you can see "Feminism Shmeminism’ still plays a key role in my world. It upsets me when I see the gorgeous paintings my mother did before her marriage. It angers me because I recognize her potential. I see the great artist she would have become. Yet she could not pursue her dream. As a wife she was supposed to take care of her husband, raise her child, and stop having a life of her own.

I know that the very moment I was able to recognize my mother’s love for color, when I saw the passion with which she created these pieces, I realized that art was the path I wanted to pursue. Nothing was going to stop me. I swore to myself that I would never have anybody interfere with or make me give up my dreams.

A critical turning point that was about to test my commitment to become an independent, freethinking artist happened when I turned 17. Back in 1996, my all–girls catholic boarding school started a student exchange program with the United States. At that time I only had had 2 years of English language classes and the officials presumed that my language skills were inadequate to successfully participate in the program. However, I was convinced that living in the U.S. for a year, far away from my parents, would not only be the first step in becoming a freethinking and independent, but also help my father realize that I could make it on my own. After having struggled through several of those terrible language proficiency tests, I finally got accepted into the exchange program.

In 1997, I first set foot on American ground. Here I had the opportunity to live with a wonderfully understanding host family that passionately supported my love for art. I told both my American family and my art teacher at my new high school about the "Feminism Shmeminism’ approach that still rules my country, and about my dream of becoming an artist.

Having heard how upset it made me that my mother was not allowed to pursue a career as a painter, my teacher told me about an art college nearby that was founded with the premise to provide women with a great education that would allow them to build a career and become self–sufficient. He thought I might be interested in attending a school that was so strongly focused on teaching women how to develop their own voice.

After having heard that, there certainly was no doubt in my mind that I was going to attend college in the United States. My Dad was a little shocked that I decided to pursue studies this far away from home, but amazingly he did not stop me. In fact he loved the idea that my college of choice was an all–women’s college. He thought it would help to keep me out of trouble. However, what he did not realize was the fact that this school, as an all–women’s college, helps women to develop a strong independent voice a lot easier than any co–ed college.

It was not until I attended art school in the United States that I eventually learned about successful independent women–artists, the feminist movement and feminist art. Having had the opportunity to hear the true story about women’s struggle to establish themselves as empowered freethinking individuals who passionately pursue their dreams opened my eyes and validated my striving to become an independent artist myself.

Before coming to the United States, I had never heard of any leading feminist artists such as Miriam Schapiro, Judy Chicago or Valie Export. None of these women were ever mentioned in any of my Luxembourgian art classes. Female artists who tried to overthrow or point out the subordinated role of women in my society were simply ignored.

It was not until I came to the United States that I met and learned about women who stood up for themselves. Not only have I learned about well–known independent women–artists, I also met a great deal of very talented individuals who I consider to become the next generation of highly respected female artists.

I truly admire my friend Pauline, a 49 year old woman who decided to continue her education. Despite having to juggle home and school, trying to be everything to everyone, she still finds time for herself and her art.

I appreciate her strength and courage to go back to college. I also applaud how caring and supportive her family and peers are of her bold decision to continue her education. Looking at the gorgeous paintings she has created, I wish my family would have been as supportive of my mother’s desire to study art, for I see in Pauline what might have become of my mother if she only would have had the opportunity to go back to college.

Julie, another of my American friends, dreamt about traveling to Australia and sharing with Aboriginal women her knowledge in textile design. She applied for a fellowship, but unfortunately it was her denied. However, this has not stopped her. Julie is so committed to experiencing Aboriginal culture first hand and sharing her art knowledge and skills with Aboriginal women that she has managed to find ways to finance this expensive trip on her own. Consequently, she will able to spend several weeks in Australia. She will come back with memories, knowledge and experiences so rich that they probably will inspire her for the rest of her life. I admire that she has the courage to raise the funds for her trip by herself and travel thousands of miles to experience a culture so different from her own.

Janelle, another amazing American woman that I have met, previously had worked at a non–creative job until she finally felt that something was missing in her life. She has tried to open up her own fashion business but she soon realized that she needed better technical and professional skills to become a confident designer and business woman. Even though she was frightened about having to support herself, she eventually gathered the courage to enroll in a BFA program.

All of her artwork, whether it is a knitted, woven or paper piece, displays the incredible skills she has acquired in college. I admire that she has been able to pull herself up by her own bootstraps, come back to college even though it was incredibly frightening, and evolve into a truly amazing artist and designer.

What I see in all of my American friends is an incredibly strong will and a commitment to follow their dreams. In doing so, they validate my own quest in becoming a freethinking independent artist. I think the stories of all the people I have met here in the United States are very inspiring for anybody who has to overcome obstacles to realize a dream. I admire the strength, ambition, and commitment of all of my peers to their work. However, in seeing the great talent and the success of all of my American friends, I have to keep reminding myself of the struggles female artists had to go through in the past. I do not think I should ever take the opportunities that feminism has provided for me for granted. During my studies here in the United States, I have evolved into a truly motivated artist. I have learned to think independently and fearlessly voice my opinions. I have become a feminist, whether my Luxembourgian family likes the sound of it or not. I hope that every woman in a situation similar to mine will find the courage to look beyond her family’s and society’s old–fashioned vision of "Feminism Shmeminism’ just the way I have during my studies here in the United States of America.

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Home sweet home – Tassia Gimenez Augusto

It is typical of human beings to judge things before they know them; and it is not different with me. I lived in Brazil since I was born. I grew up in a small town playing with my friends in the street, and with my family always by my side. I would not say that I am a spoiled, but my parents always gave me all that I wanted; they were also really close to me all the time, giving me protection and support no matter the situation.

We used to celebrate all the holidays together, and we used to have meals together everyday. My mom is a teacher and my dad is a farmer. They work a lot, but they still could find time to be with my sisters and me. My dad used to take us to our farm to ride horses, to feed the chickens, and to fish in the pond. My sisters and I had a lot of fun every time we went there.

I have played soccer my entire life. My dad was a professional soccer player, and he always loved the fact that I play soccer. He used to take me to all the games, teach me his skills, and we also used to sit in front the television and watch soccer games for hours. We support different teams in Brazil, so we used to make bets when our teams played, and we also used to make fun of each other when our teams won or lost.

In august of 2005, I got a soccer scholarship to come to United States. I came to a college in Pulaski, Tennessee named Martin Methodist College. My parents were really happy and proud of me. At the same time, they were worried about me living away from them, and how it would be hard to live by myself in the dorms at the college.

In Brazil, people use to say that Americans are reserved; that they do not like hugging very much, and they are also individualistic, not concerned about other people lives. I always thought the same way. I had never been in America before, but I was sure that it would be hard to feel comfortable in a place like that. I was afraid that I would miss my family and all the affection that I had back home. On August 11, I finally came to America and I could see firsthand how the Americans acted. It was actually different from what I used to think.

Actually, when I first got here, my first impression was not that good at all. In the airport, people were very polite to me, but they did not seem to care. They helped me by giving me information about the places I should go, but they still were kind distant and reserved, different from what I was used to back home.

I finally arrived in Georgia and met the girls on my soccer team. It was funny when I said hi to them. In Brazil, we say hi to people and we give kisses in the cheek. In my state, we say hi and give one kiss only, but in other states, they say hi and give three kisses. Here in United States, people only shake hands; it is very different. It was the same way with all of the Americans I met afterwards, saying hi and shaking hands.

As the months passed by, my English became better and I also began to know people better. That was when I realized that my first impression about Americans was totally wrong. I started to go to stores in the town square and everyone was now so kind to me. They could easily recognize my accent, so they asked me where I was from and asked me about my country and my life. Every time I could think of a word or explain something, my friends were always by my side trying to guess what I was talking about, and I felt very happy about that.

In October, when everything was going well here and I was used to being away from my family, I tore my ACL and had to have surgery. My mom was desperate. She asked me to come back home immediately and do the surgery in Brazil. She was afraid nobody would take care of me here, and she even talked about coming here to stay with me.

I was not sure about what I should do, but my friends said that they would help take care of me and everything would be all right. I decided then to have the surgery here. The first days were really complicated: it was difficult to shower, to walk, and even to sleep. My knee was hurting very bad, and I had to take pills all the time to feel better. My friends, however, were always by my side; it is hard to describe how much they helped me. I stayed in my friend Maria’s house, and she took care of me all the time; she used to help me with everything. She woke up in the middle of the night when I was in pain and gave me all the attention I needed. Rachel, my other friend, took me to school everyday and helped me to get in and out of the car several times. She was always so patient and made me laugh at her jokes and with her bad Portuguese. Her mom came to visit me shortly after the surgery, and she was so cute. She reminded me of my mom; the way she talked to me, and the way she was worried about me.

I feel guilty about what I used to think about Americans before. I used to call my mom almost everyday after my surgery and tell her how people were taking care of me. She was surprised too, and really grateful to everybody. I got better very quickly. My knee healed well and I went back to my normal life. One month after my surgery, it was Thanksgiving and we had a break of almost one week from school.

Thanksgiving is not a holiday in Brazil. I had heard about the holiday already. People used to say that it is a day that everybody stayed with their family, ate turkey, watched American football, and gave thanks for all the good things they had in their life. I was worried about this holiday because I live at the dorms, and I could not go home, so I thought I would stay alone there for almost a week.

On the Friday of Thanksgiving, the owners of a nightclub that we usually go out here in town, made a lunch for all the foreign students and it was so good. I went there with my Brazilians friends, and there were people from ten different countries eating together at the same table. We said a prayer and we ate different kinds of American foods. Everybody said thanks to them when we were leaving; they hugged us and they said it was a pleasure for them to do something like this.

My Thanksgiving had started out good already, but the best was still to come. Rachel invited me to go with her and her mom to spend the weekend with them. We went to Chattanooga because her aunt leaves there. When we got there, Rachel’s family was so nice to me; her aunt, Paula, was always asking me about Brazil, and her little daughter, Brooke, acted as if we knew each other for years. We played videogames all the time and she explained some words that I could not understand; it was so cute. Brooke is ten years old, the same age of my little sister, Talissa, in Brazil. Every time that I looked at her I could see my little sister; the blonde hair and the way she smiled at me made me happy and sad at the same time. Every time that I saw Rachel hugging her mom, or when everybody was eating, I could remember my family and it felt so much like home. Because of the weekend that I spent with my friend, I now know how important family is to Americans, and I also realize that, different from what I thought, they actually care about people.

It was not even one month that I was here and I had the best Thanksgiving that I could wish, and also the best spring break. I spent the week of the spring break with another friend from my soccer team. We went to Florida and we had so much fun with her family. They treated me like someone in the family; it was so good. Until one week before Spring break, I had no plans at all. I thought I would be in Pulaski, lonely in the dorms. All the girls were going to Palm Beach, but I had no money to go with them. When my friend asked me to go with her to Florida, I could not believe it. It has always been my dream to go to Florida. I have thought about going to Florida since I was a little girl.

My friend Sarah lives in Palm Bay. We traveled for eleven hours to get there; I saw many cool things on our way, and I learned even more English. Her dad surprised us with tickets to go to Universal Studios in Miami. When we got there, I could not believe it. I was in shock; it was such a beautiful place and it did not look real. I had one of the best days of my life there. I said thanks to her dad so many times, but it did not seem enough. Now I have the pictures and the memories of my amazing spring break. I cannot wait to get home and tell everybody all the fun I had.

I thought I had had enough to prove to me that Americans are really nice, that they care about other people, and that they have much family spirit, but at Easter I had another surprise. There is a girl that works at my physical therapy office named Kath that is very nice to me; she treats me as if she were my mom. Kath is always concerned about me, asking about my day and taking pictures of us all the time. Her brother Scott is my physical therapist. He is also very nice to me. On Easter Sunday they invited me to have lunch with their families and spend the afternoon with them.

I found out that the Easter here in the United States is exactly like in Brazil. We ate a lot, and then the kids went looking for chocolate eggs and candies all over the house. I spent a wonderful Sunday talking to everybody in their family. I played with the kids and I ate very much too. I really had a good time there and I am glad they invited me to spend Easter with them.

I am lucky to be in a place with so many nice people. I do not know if all the foreign students feel like I do about Americans. I changed my opinion about them since I got here, and now I know what to say when someone tells me that Americans are reserved and they do not care about other people. I always thought Brazil was the only country with a great deal of affection between people; but now, after all that I have been through, I can say that no matter where you go, there will always be a person who will care about you and make you feel like you are at home. I do not know if I will spend the rest of my life here in the United States, but I do know that it would be great. Home is that place where you feel loved and happy. I am proud to say now that I am not sure if my home is Brazil or if it is the United States.

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