matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

Response

Monday 10 February 1997

Thoughts about economics — an initial draft for a response to Dr. Mark Ahlseen:

Is child labor the only way to achieve economic growth? Dr. Ahlseen certainly seems to think so. Dr. Ahlseen makes the remark that our forefathers and mothers made the sacrifices of child labor in the nineteenth century and implied that since America is now prosperous, such a route is necessary for any developing country’s economic growth. I wonder if Dr. Ahlseen also thinks that every time a new medical clinic opens up, the doctors should have to rediscover penicillin? Or every time a country develops a new industry, it should have to do all the research and development that led to the invention of that industry? Dr. Ahlseen is looking to the past for a model proper economic growth. Should we also look to the past for a model of other forms of growth? Should we allow people to die of tuberculosis because so many people died of it one hundred years ago? Just as medical technology has developed to a point that such a thing is unthinkable, moral and economic theory have evolved to a point that child labor is unthinkable. Or at least it should be.

As for his comment that all companies “run their places to increase their profits for their owners,” I would like to point out that I never denied this. My point is simple: Companies use the lax child labor laws in developing countries in order to save money on the production end. They don’t have to pay as much for labor as they do in the United States. However, once economic growth does begin and wages do increase, these companies often close down their operations and move to another country where they can get the same labor for less money.

“We live in a world of scarce resources,” and we have worked hard for the economic advantages our country enjoys. Our ancestors made the sacrifices necessary for us to enjoy our current economic status. Such is the line of thought in Dr. Ahlseen’s letter. Unfortunately, he fails to acknowledge what that status is: The United States is the single largest consumer of natural resources even though it has only a small portion of the world population. The resources of the earth are being distributed in a grossly unequal manner. In order for all countries at the very least to rise above the label “The Third World,” the resources must be redistributed. Before someone labels me a communist, bear in mind that I am not making any suggestions as to how this redistribution should occur. I am simply pointing out that the United States consumes such a great majority of the natural resources that it renders it physically impossible for nations to achieve the things that America has. The earth can only give so much, and it’s being pushed to the limit as it is.

Ahlseen seems to be saying that given the extreme and dire situation in third world countries it is unfair to them to eliminate child labor as a possible source of economic development. If that is the case, why limit it to sweat shops? Why not allow — even promote — child prostitution and pornography? The “sex tours” offered in southeast Asia clearly show that there is a market demand? Perhaps that’s going too far and it crosses an ethical boundary. Yet, according to Friedman, corporations have only one ethical obligation: make money for their shareholders. So Ahlseen would mix and match ethics and economics when his Christian sensibilities are injured.

Another question: Why shouldn’t child labor be an alternative here in America? When does a country reach a point of economic status at which it becomes an undesirable alternative? If it does indeed promote economic growth, why not repeal child labor laws here in America?

The problem is simple: Ahlseen is implying that there is a dichotomy between ethics and economics, yet he is failing to realize the full implications of this. And here I can make my argument that corporations do indeed have a moral responsibility other than making money.

Long Trip Home

Sunday 09 February 1997

It has been a very long journey to this moment: I am finally home, and I finally have my computer. I am no longer cut off from the technology that I became so dependent on in the past. Perhaps it was a good thing that I was without it for so long, but I am certainly not going to give it up just to make this good thing better.

The trip from Sopot to Lipnica was hellish. Saturday morning I left with Julie N. and Grace on an 8:50 train to Warszawa to pick up my computer. I got to Warszawa around one and decided it would be best to get a little more money, so I headed to the poczta in Centralna and waited in line for half an hour for my money. Then I went to pick up a ticket to Kraków, waiting in line for another half hour. “Prosze jeden bilet do Kraków, druga klasa, na ‘Express’ pociag,” I said. “Nie ma druga klasa,” said the lady behind the glass. “Pierwrza bedzie dobra,” I said. After a moment, she said it: “Nie ma.”

“Crap!” I yelled so loud that I’m sure the whole station heard me. I stormed out of the station and the tension continued to build. I asked a taxi driver how much it would cost to get to Bukowinska. The answer: about thirty zloty. I knew that Julie was supposed to be at the Marriot for a while, so I headed over there and we chatted, allowing me time to calm down. She loaned me 50 zl as a precaution and off I went. I bought a tram ticket, road out to Bukowinska and picked up my computer. Then I went back to Centralna to try to decide what to do. I decided to go to Zabrze and stay with Mike D. I knew it would take a little bit more money, but not as much as getting a hotel room in Warszawa. First I went to Katowice. The train was thirty minutes late, leaving at 8:10, so I ended up waiting about two hours for that train. The actual trip took three hours, then I hopped another train for the final half-hour to Zabrze. I found Druker’s place; I knocked on the door; no one answered. I finally got a hotel room for 23 zl and just crashed. Then today I took the 10:53 to Kraków and from there the 1:00 bus to Chyzne. Mike M. was on it, so we chatted for most of the way. Just outside of Spytkowice we ran into traffic problems – an auto accident due to all the heavy vacation traffic. We spent an hour there, then I had about a forty-minute wait in Jabłonka for the bus to Lipnica. All told, it took me ten and a half hours to get to Sopot and thirty-two and a half to get back. That’s forty-three hours of traveling.

In Sopot

Saturday 08 February 1997

More Thoughts from Sopot

Friday 07 February 1997

I’m in the church again. I didn’t know it, but they’re having a mass now. There are about twenty people here, including a man in the confession booth behind me. There’s no altar boy, but an old man is wearing the little white outfit and ringing all the bells. The church is much more well-light; the light is bouncing off the white walls, but it’s still not very bright. I am the only one sitting right now, and I feel a bit conspicuous, but not too much. They sing in unison, but not everyone joins in. Some are standing right behind me — a weird feeling. The priest initiates a song then steps away from the mic, still singing. The priest holds the host, hand under to catch crumbs (?), says a prayer, then a thin, cheap sounding bell is rung. He goes to the gold box, gets out a cup, then passes out the host. About three people go for the host. He puts the cup back, the bell is rung. He wipes the crumbs into the goblet, mixes in some wine, drinks it, wipes the goblet out with a white cloth. He folds the cloth lengthwise, lays it over the goblet, places a lid-like thing over it and the altar man takes it away. Then he sings a prayer — a chant in two tones. Everyone stands to sing. I can’t see what happens. When they sit, the priest is gone. After a few moments, the lights are dimmed. A few remain, but most file out quietly. A man in jeans is now taking the sound system down. It’s like a concert in reverse: The lights go down at the end and the roadies waste no time breaking down everything.

The ritual and hierarchy [are] amazing. I can’t see why people subject themselves to it. Out of love? Fear? K wants her beliefs to be based on love, but I don’t know if it’s possible.

So now a little about the past couple of days. Wednesday night the Volunteers (And then There Were Three . . . ) played at a local bar. I missed most of it. I was looking for a bite to eat. When I got there I began talking to Julie L. She said the following: “I felt like you were completely overshadowed.”

Skipping Class

Wednesday 05 February 1997

I’m in the main church here in Sopot, skipping the first language lesson of the day. I needed some time alone, I decided. Who knows what PC administration might say.

This church is really quite small and relative modern. The walls are white with bricks along the edges serving as a border. It makes the whole thing look a bit like Lego blocks. The church yesterday in Gda sk was enormous. With its thin pillars and high, arched ceiling, it was the epitome of Gothic architecture. The entire interior was white, a creamy, Liquid Paper kind of dirty white. There was an enormous organ which J. S. Bach supposedly loved, an altar made in the fifteenth century that was at least twenty feet tall, and a huge crucifix with Mary and Peter (?) Standing at the base of the cross, with a skull at the bottom (Golgotha, I guess). There was another crucifix with a strikingly lifelike face which had an intriguing legend attached: The unknown artist hung a man on a cross and watched as he died to obtain an accurate likeness.

Around the walls of this church in Sopot are representations of the stations of the cross. I don’t know what they are, but they are all very similar: Christ on the way to Golgotha carrying the cross through a dark and empty landscape encountering several people along the way. Christ is always painted with a tired and somewhat painfully confused visage, almost childlike in some pictures.

People filter into the church to pray. Some even carry bags with the fruits of their morning shopping. It’s as if they are just dropping in on their way home. It’s rather strange. Are they offering their own prayers, or the Bisquick prayers they’re taught as children? I cannot understand the prewritten, memorized prayer. How can that mean anything? I remember the woman in Wraclaw who glanced at her watched as she muttered her prayer. It’s just another part of the ritual and repetition meant to keep people from thinking on their own.

At the top of the phallic arch over the alter is the eagle/chicken national symbol of Poland. A nice combination of religion and nationalism.

As I look around, I notice the arches on the side of the church have a particularly noticeable penile shape, complete with a tapered tip. I wonder why that is. The WCG of old could explain it, but I’m not sure it’s attributable to Satan’s evil influence . . .

Language School

Monday 03 February 1997

We had our first language classes today and it’s good for a couple of reasons. It was good to learn a little more Polish. But more importantly, it taught me a lot about what it’s like to be a student. As I struggled to think of something to say to Sue, I thought of how all my students must feel. It’s not an effective teaching method. Even simple things that I say so often came with great difficulty. I must find more effective teaching methods which are also more comfortable for students.

I’m finding that I’m falling into that strange apathy I felt in K. Dolny. I am alone at times, and I don’t want to be with anyone. Still, I don’t want to do anything that might assure me of being alone.

It seems that I am always taking the initiative to talk to people. Few people have sought me out of the group to talk. As we walked through Sopot today I didn’t really talk to much of anyone. And after the reception I wandered around, not really feeling like I’m part of the group. I don’t mind in a way.

Waiting in Krakow

Sunday 02 February 1997

Location: Krakow Glowny Train Station Waiting Room

I've about an hour until I leave for Sopot on a horrific six hour train ride. I’m in the waiting area, sitting beside the first woman I’ve ever heard say kurwa. She turned toward me as she laughed – many teeth were missing and the few that remained were any and all colors except white. Two police officers are winding through the crowd – no, three – asking questions I don’t understand. They’ve said nothing to me, and I am a little grateful. Two tired bums sit with blank expressions. They probably haven’t shaved or bathed in weeks. A drunk just bumped into me and he apologized with glazed eyes. An old man sits across from me, his hands folding in his lap and gazing quietly with almost childlike eyes. A group of gypsies sit together, looking at photographs. Some people read, some eat, and we all wait.

Waiting is not something I will miss when I return to America.

EKG Forest

Saturday 01 February 1997

I am now sitting at my desk which is now in front of the bedroom okno looking occasionally at the school. I borrowed a chair from Roy so that now I am reasonably comfortable as I write. It was snowing heavily until a few moments ago, but now it’s not falling at all.

I can see the hay fields to the left of the school, the fields from which I’ve taken so many pictures. The hay triangles/pyramids are slightly visible, and the forest is a hazy band of darkness on the hill-top horizon. The doubled glass in the window makes everything sway and bend as in an amusement park mirror. The half-built house beside the school shrinks and grows as I move my head just a slight amount. The tips of the trees form a jagged border resembling an EKG chart. What it’s graphing, I’ve no idea. The clouds are whizzing by, and I can hear the wind that carries them whistling around the corners of the apartment building. There is a small patch of clear; I can see the baby blue sky through it as if it’s a floating window. The clouds around it, illuminated, form a white border in the grey. And I hear an unseen jet above the grey ceiling.

I like being in this room. I spend so much time in the big room that it becomes a bit stifling, I think. I guess now I’ll be spending much more time in here. I think any change can be good, and this one is very much so.

Crucifix

Saturday 01 February 1997

There are crucifixes in each and every classroom at my school.  Separation of church and state is not a goal of the Polish democracy.  So every day I teach with a little statue of a man nailed to a tree hanging right above my head.  “It gives some people comfort,” says Danuta, my counterpart English teacher.  I suppose that’s possible.

Early in the first semester the director told me to come down to the new English classroom to tell him where I wanted the bulletin boards.  (The boards were actually sheets of styrofoam attached to the wall.  Economical.)  He drilled the holes, put up the styrofoam, then drilled the hole for the crucifix.  I wondered how he would respond if I said, “I don’t want that in my classroom.”  No doubt he would be confused, and maybe (probably?) a bit upset with my irreverence.  Of course I said nothing.  “When in Poland . . . ”

It’s got me to thinking about the whole religious symbolism in Christianity.  The cross is a sacred symbol because it represents Christ’s death to millions of Christians around the world.  It is a simple character, almost reminiscent of minimalism in its barest form.  Most people wear crosses because it is an outward expression of their inner convictions.  Yet I wonder: If Jesus had slipped in the shower and bonked his head, would we be wearing Soap-On-A-Rope?  Would giant bath-size Dial bars replace steeples at churches?  Would we make bathing motions every time we enter a church?  It would shed new light on what Pilate said: “Okay, I wash my hands of the whole issue!”

Anyone seen Monty Python’s Life of Brian?  Remember the scene where they’re trying to decide what symbol they’ll use to indicate that they are followers of Brian?  “The shoe!  The shoe!”  I suppose that scene prefigures my own speculations.  Yet both point out how virtually arbitrary religious symbols are.  If Christ were to be put to death today, I suppose twenty-first century Christians would use the electric chair or a hangman’s noose as the primary symbol.

The crucifixes are just one indication of how strong Catholicism is in Poland.  For many, to be Polish is to be Catholic.  They are virtually synonymous.  In fact, next to every crucifix is a relief in plastic of the national symbol of Poland.  Religion and nationalism, hand in hand, as they so often are.

Lipnica Wielka, Lipnica Mala

Thursday 30 January 1997

I didn’t look at the destination sign closely this afternoon so it took me three hours to get from Jabłonka to Lipnica Wielka because the bus I got on went to Lipnica Mala. And of course as I was walking through the fields toward Lipnica the sun set. And the sky was cloudy, so I turned around and went back to the road. I was afraid I would get lost in the forest which had appeared before me so very suddenly.

I walked for a while and suddenly a babcia stopped me and asked, “Skad jestes?” I thought for a moment and pointed toward the end of the village and muttered, “Tam.” And she asked me again. I was angry and tired, and though I understood her words, I didn’t understand what she meant. I tried again: “Jestem z Ameryki.” She shook her head. “Skad jestes›?” she asked again. “Gdzie?” I asked. “Hej!” she confirmed, rephrasing it, “Gdzie byłes› ?” I told her everything: “Mieszkam w Lipnicy Wielkiej. Byłem tam,” pointing again. I apologized, “Musze isc,” and left.

I tried for an hour to get a ride via autostop, but no one did. They would all turn on their lights to see who I was, then drive on without slowing. I laughed as I wondered why they didn’t stop. "Myslysz, ze ja bede mowic, 'Daj mi twój maly fiat?'" I yelled at them.

Finally one guy stopped. He asked me where I was going. He muttered something about “sto” something. “Bedzie dobry,” I sighed and started to get in. He yelled something and drove off, only to pull into a drive sto meters away. What I want to know is if he was only going 100 meters, why the hell did he pull over in the first place?

Another car pulled out of a drive behind me, drove about fifty meters and began slowing as it approached me. “Finally,” I thought., but the car passed me and pulled into another driveway, about seventy-five meters away from where it began. “Lazy jerk,” I thought.

Finally someone gave me a ride. I walked the final kilometer to the main road from Jabłonka where I quickly caught a ride all the way back to dom naucy--oh, to my apartment.

Stupid day . . .

Thoughts on Alcohol

Tuesday 28 January 1997

This afternoon I saw the man who has a mustache and red beret entering the gmina. He is short with a fierce look of arrogance in his eyes. He often struts, and more often he staggers. I seldom see him sober and I never see him without a cigarette. At the store he strutted in and threw down some money and said gruffly, “Daj mi Popularnie,” the cheapest brand of cigarettes at about 1.20 z a pack or about $0.44.

It got me to thinking about drunkenness and alcoholism in general. It seems that for a long time we either turned a blind eye to the problem or we laughed at it (as illustrated by the character Otis on The Andy Griffith Show). In America it is often hidden away, shuffled to the slums or closed behind suburban doors. But here, it is out in the open. People click their tongues and shake their heads, but they’ve become desensitized, I think. And since many of the women who click their tongues go home to alcoholic husbands, it’s hard [to imagine that they] feel much more than disgust. They are codependent in the original sense of the word, and when they see a man staggering down the street, they see him in their own pain, and the only reaction that seems logical is revulsion.

Grandmother’s Day

Thursday 23 January 1997

I had a rather successful lesson with IB today. I wrote the lyrics for “Come On Come On” and cut the song into strips. I left blanks for a few words, so first they had to put the song in the proper order, then fill in the missing words. The whole thing took up the full class period, and everyone got involved and stayed busy.

The lessons with IA went well, too. The first lesson we worked on the animal crossword puzzle. I gave them the complete list, let them study it and ask questions, then took the lists back up and gave them the puzzles. The second lesson was simple: I had everyone write a letter to Maw-Maw. It was Grandmothers’ Day Tuesday and I thought it would make a nice surprise for Maw-Maw–and keep the kids busy during the last lesson of the semester.

An interesting romance has sprung up between Anna P. in IB (the one I always call on, hoping to boost her confidence) . . . and Zbeszek. I saw them walking hand in hand yesterday. I hope that his apathy doesn’t rub off onto her . . .

The weather has warmed considerably this week. Snow is melting and the ice on the road has turned to black slush. I walk about without a hat or gloves and nothing turns numb. There was a beautiful full moon last night, but the standard clouds have returned and it is as dark as a moonless night now. But the starts don’t provide any surrogate light. It seems unlikely that this warmth will last, and in a way I don’t even want it to. The black snow and the dirty slush serve as a prelude to the inevitably muddy spring that is on the way. Spring will bring many good things, but they will arrive in a muddy package.

I wonder what this is doing for the frozen creek? Obviously some of the ice is melting, but is it becoming unsafe? Kids have been skating and playing on it for weeks now, and until I saw how thick it is, I did feel a little anxious each time I saw them. I guess there’s nothing I can do unless I see something happen. I don’t worry about it.

I wonder if the ice will audibly pop when it thaws. I’ve always read about the gunshot noise rivers make; would a small stream do such a thing? If so I doubt it would be loud enough for me to hear unless I happened to be close to it. Perhaps I will be by some stroke of luck.

Halina (IA) did not come to school the entire three weeks between the two breaks. I wonder if she’ll come back at all. I should go up to the Haven and see what’s going on there. Perhaps she’ll be back after winter break.

She was always a bit confusing. In some ways she seemed very eager to learn. But often she was incredibly apathetic about everything. I think part of it was due to a lack of confidence. But her English seemed rather good. Or at least she’d become very good at faking understanding. I think she might actually ahve been bored in class. I know that she felt a bit out of place because of the age difference between her and the rest of the class.

Stagnation

Monday 20 January 1997

I need to do some thinking about IIA, for I am really beginning to stagnate in there. They are bored silly most of the time. It’s fine occasionally, but it is not good if it happens all the time.

I think part of the problem is their level. It’s difficult to plan for that level because the simple things I do in IA/B wouldn’t work that well. And a bit of it is their age: a tough group at that age when they feel trapped between adulthood and childhood.

Some of it could be a lack of long term planning. I never seem to know where we’ll be going next, and I think the kids can tell this too. During the break I will to make at least a tentative syllabus for the rest of the year. I am not sure I’ll be able to make it very detailed–it problem will be a week-by-week thing. I will try to include a few long-term projects as well as a general idea of when we’ll have tests.

My water heater is gone. The drip turned into a pour last night and I actually was able to get someone to do something about it.

I just realized the extremes of my working conditions: On the one hand, I overuse the book in IIA; on the other, I don’t even use a book for classes V and VI. What i need to do is combine the two in IIA in order to find that Golden Mean. Maybe I can apply some of the tactics I use in V and VI successfully in IIA. I can use the book as a guide, but invent my own activities for practice and application. I’ll try it Wednesday for the lesson with adjectives.

I received a notice from PC Warsaw that I’ve been waiting for for months now: My diplomatic pouch is here. In other words, my computer is now in Poland, if you can believe it. And so I might have it in a couple of weeks. That is of course if someone will bring it up to Sopot, which honestly seems a little bit unrealistic.

Of course now I have to get it to work here . . .

Settling In Again

Friday 17 January 1997

I am thinking of those now waiting to leave for Poland to be group XIII. At this point last year, nothing was really firm (I think), but I was already sure that I would be leaving in May or June. It is probably too soon for anyone (including staff) to know all that much. Still, someone must surely get as excited as I did when I suddenly found myself pacing the hall, trying to imagine what live in PC would be like.

Now that I am here and settled, I have difficulty remembering what the waiting and uncertainty were like. And I certainly have trouble trying to imagine what my return will be like.

Lately I’ve been particularly pleased with my life in Lipnica. I am comfortable here, for a number of reasons: I feel much more confident in my teaching. I also feel much better about my Polish, and I think these two factors contribute the most to my present contentment. I enjoy what I do, and I have reason to believe that I do it well; and I do not feel as challenged by my environment. Other factors are surely my friends. I am not lonely in the way that I was when I first got to Lipnica. Lastly, I am just generally settled in, with a routine and a degree of organized regularity: I know what’s going on.

Photo Development

Thursday 16 January 1997

This has been the nicest day I’ve had in a very long time. Out of the blue I had this splendid day. I knew my lessons would go well but so did everything else.

I’ll begin with the lessons. In IB I did an exercise with can/can’t. I wrote fifteen jobs/occupations on the board and asked, “What can a pilot do? A dancer?” Then everyone got a card with one of the jobs on it. They had to find out who had the other jobs by asking, “Can you dance? Can you fly a plane?” To end the lesson everyone had to tell one thing s/he learned: “I know Sylwia (actually there’s no Sylwia in IB, but oh well) is a pianist because she can play the piano.” It went rather well because almost everyone was busy for the whole time.

The lesson for IA, though, was even better. It is the best lesson I’ve come up with thus far. I prepared a word search with irregular verbs in the past tense. Once they found the verb (“gave” for instance) they took a small slip of paper I’d given them and wrote the base form on it (“give” in this case, of course). They wrote each base form on a separate sheet, and I gave them about twenty to twenty-five minutes to work on the puzzle. After that they took the verb slips and got in groups of three or four and played a game. Each player, one at a time, put a verb slip on the table and challenged anyone at the table. The challenged student had to say the irregular past tense of the verb and write it on the slip. If it was right, s/he got the slip; if wrong and the challenger corrected, s/he got the slip; if neither noticed and and a third player noticed it was wrong, s/he got the slip. Most slips=winner. It went perfectly. And they loved it.

After lunch, I went on my walk. And it was very relaxing and rewarding. I took about ten pictures, mostly (maybe exclusively, but I can’t remember) of children playing. I found a group of boys from sixth class (and Piotrek from eighth class) who were sledding and I took several shots of them. Then I went for one run. They were flying down a short but steep hill then gliding onto the frozen stream. I made it to the stream but for a moment feard I wouldn’t make it back–the ice cracked and moaned under me. One of the boys showed me the safest path and I was very thankful to make it back to solid ground.

I also finally got some shots of the sled-strollers that people use to haul kids on. It was Beata (IA) and her niece Claudia (Klaudia po polsku, chyba). Klaudia was wrapped like a mummy with only her face showing. She made some gurgling sounds at me as I took the pictures.

I felt more comfortable taking pictures today. The more I do it the less conspicuous I feel. Perhaps by summer (or even spring) I’ll have done it enough that everyone pretty much ignores me.

Taking pictures of kids is particularly enjoyable. At first they act and pose for me, but then they ignore me and I can get the shots I am really looking for. I’ve a feeling I”ll take pictures of kids more than anything else.

I was thinking about IIB today and I came up with a strategy to get to Zbeszek. I’m going to ask him to teach me to play ping pong. Or at least try. Perhaps that way, while spending non-academic time with him, I can get to know him on a more personal level, and this should help in class too.l