The Composition

This is Not Your Mother’s Feminism — or is it? #MeToo and the Generational Divide

The #MeToo Movement galvanized women. From Los Angeles to Shanghai, from Hollywood studios to board rooms and political office, women are sharing their stories of sexual harassment and assault.  And it has inspired a huge wave of activism that shows no signs of slowing. 

However, some analysts say that as much as this new wave of feminism has brought women together, it has also caused a rift.

According to an Associated Press story, there is a generational divide in the public’s reactions to the #MeToo movement.

“Millennial women,” it said “are more likely to have grown up in environment supportive of gender equality, with the expectation — not always fulfilled — that they’ll be attentively listened to in those circumstances.”

It was an interesting thought. Women, according to this piece, are not only fighting for a seat at the table, they expect it. It’s uplifting. It’s believing that we are at the actual precipice of change.

But, is it true?

Jade Hameister skied around the North Pole, across Greenland’s largest icecap, and then around South Pole. It took her 37 days to complete the 373-mile trek, while dragging a 220-pound sled across the rugged, frozen landscape of the Antarctic.

She is sixteen.

Hameister is the youngest person to ever complete the adventure referred to as ‘The Polar Hat Trick’.

That should be the story. She battled harsh winds and extreme temperature to accomplish a feat that few people – of any age – ever will.  She demonstrated incredible resilience, determination, athleticism and tenacity.

But, the story reported in media outlets around the world was not about the high winds, the blizzards or the whiteouts that she faced; it was not about the journey or the training involved to achieve this feat.

No, the story was about her gender. Worse, it was about how she responded to sexist comments on Facebook . She posted a photo of herself and a message: “I skied back to the Pole again… to take this photo for all those men who commented ‘Make me a sandwich’ on my TEDX Talk.” Then added: “I made you a sandwich (ham & cheese), now ski 37 days and 600km to the South Pole and you can eat it.”

This was the story on CNN and Teen Vogue. A snarky response to internet trolls. That was the story that Samantha Power and the Twitter handle Bad Ass Woman Alert shared.

I don’t see a generational divide.

It feels good to taunt a Twitter troll. It’s fun to flaunt one’s success. But, for all the talk of gender equality, for all the social media activism – from #BeBossy to #StrongIsBeautiful to #AskHerMore and #LikeAGirl, social media movements have come and gone, usually to sell makeup or shampoo.

Generational divides exist. They always have. For generations, women have fought for the right to vote, to work, to be heard. Each new fight is built on past victories.

Are there differences of opinion? Differences in philosophy? Certainly. Just as there are differences between mothers and daughters, and even among friends. The bigger question is whether this new wave of feminism is here to stay, whether it will lead to lasting change, or whether it is relegated to the graveyard of forgotten hashtags.

I believe in the power of social media, in the power of movements to spread awareness. I admire the women sharing their #MeToo stories and demanding justice.

But, do I believe that this is the beginning of actual change? We’ll see.

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Publix Gets it & People Love Them

There’s been a lot of Publix love shared on social media, especially throughout the last week, and for good reason. Everyone in South Florida knows their sloshy, “where shopping is a pleasure.” And it is. The stores are clean. They have great quality products and excellent customer service. 

What’s not to love?

But there is more to it. Publix works hard to be more than a grocery store; they’ve worked to be a part of the community. All stores have membership rewards. Customers get coupons and stores collect valuable data that they use to market their products. But Publix works to make even that feel like a personalized experience. When I joined the Baby Club, I didn’t just receive age-appropriate discounts, they sent me a pediatric encyclopedia.  

When Hurricane Irma started barreling towards South Florida, Publix opened until the very last moment and many of their stores, including the one in my neighborhood, opened the following day. They emailed customers before the storm and immediately afterwards. They posted a message to the community on social media and took a full-page ad in my local newspaper. Yesterday, they announced that they opened one of the stores in Key West, because the community was counting on them.

We are in this together. That’s Publix’s message. I’ve thought a lot about that over the last few days, and not just because it is my favorite grocery store (which it is), but because it is one of those times when being good also makes good business sense.

Why do people love Publix? They love Publix because the store makes them feel good. Yes, this is good marketing, but it is also good people skills. And making people feel valued, that translates into loyalty.

Onward. Adventure awaits.

Becoming a parent is to experience life, the daily trials and mundane tribulations, with new poignancy.

Childhood, a time when every turn in the road leads to a new adventure.

It is to experience past, present and future simultaneously, to somehow find a little sadness and a bit of nostalgia at every joyous milestone and a little fear even in victories. There is certainly a new, heightened awareness of the ephemerality of life. And with that, the urgent need to hold on, to document, to each adventure, each passing moment.

The Harbinger Celebrates its Tenth Anniversary

Today, my journalism students celebrated their newspaper’s tenth anniversary. Donald Trump, the president-elect, is on the cover. It is the third presidential election that The Harbinger covers.

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The senior editors surprised their staff, and me, with a small celebration — there’s never much time in a newsroom, even a student newsroom, for self-congratulation — and they praised the students on a job well done.

“Remember that you are a part of something special and that you are leaving your mark on this publication, on this room and on this school,” they said.

One of them turned to me and asked, “so how does it feel to have steered a publication for 10 years?” And I wasn’t sure how to answer.

I had a flurry of emotions and ten years worth of memories: an amalgam of faces, conflicts, stories, deadlines, layouts. There were breaking stories and broken hearts, celebrations and disappointments, tears and laughter.

It’s high school, and every staff grapples with telling their story, with the desire to leave their mark.

And they do. Each staff builds on the progress of the one before it. And in this way, they are each a part of an even bigger story.

img_4371There are 22 student journalists working out of our newsroom. They are reporting, writing, tweeting, blogging, streaming video, documenting the year.  While The Harbinger alumni, scattered across the world, continue to learn, grow and succeed.

So, how do I feel? I feel incredibly lucky to be a part of their story.

 

As Life Begins, I’m Looking Forward & Back

My son is only three months old. He’s so little that even that phrase, my son, sounds foreign. Yet already I have planned imaginary future conversations.

Like so many, my family sacrificed everything so that I would never have to. What will he make of that? Will it inspire him? Weigh him down?

I’ve thought about time-outs during the terrible twos, about both of us blinking back tears on the first day of kindergarten, about homework and curfews, heartbreak, victory and defeat.

But today I find myself thinking about a whole other conversation, one that is much more complex. How will I teach him who he is? How will I instill a sense of culture and family history?

No doubt, many parents wonder the same. But, as President Obama shakes hands with Raul Castro, I wonder what my son will think of it.

My father was a political prisoner. He spent nearly 21 years in various Cuban gulags. His father was killed by firing squad. My mother’s father also spent years in Cuban cells. 

My story is hardly unique.

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Cubans came to Miami and started building new homes, new lives, and — eventually — the home of their memories. Little Havana, Florida. Photo by Amanda Delgado

I was born and raised in Miami, a place unlike any other, a city in the United States but somehow worlds apart from it. I grew up between English and Spanish, a bridge between my families’ suffering, loss and tragedy and a new life in a new world. Like many others, I inherited my family’s pain. Their sense of loss, their forever exile, is something I grew up knowing and feeling as though it were my own.

My parents’ Cuba, their parents and grandparents’ Cuba, became a place alive only in woeful memories or impassioned political arguments. It became an archetype, a place that lived in our collective unconscious, a place we knew and felt and understood because of the hurt and loss embedded deep into the core of our existence.

I wonder how to explain that, how to explain their sense of loss. I wonder too, how to explain to him my sense of loss, a sense of exile and estrangement from a place I never knew.

 

How do I preserve their history, their stories when even I grapple to make sense of it all? Especially as those stories become a little cloudy.

 

My father is gone. So are my grandparents. My mother doesn’t discuss her life there much. Some of those memories buried deep in her unconscious, the trauma too much for her to bear.

There aren’t family photos or ancestral artifacts to tell the stories of what life was like before, during and after the revolution. All those things stayed behind as families fled.

Histories were lost.

And now I rack my brain, trying to remember the good and bad, the laughter and the tears, and I try to imagine how I will share them with my son. Will I remember them? Will I do them justice? And what will he make of it all. What will he think? Will they form part of his identity? Will he listen patiently? Dismissively? Will he be curious? Will he feel Cuban? American? Both? Neither? Will he also yearn for a place that exists only in hearts and minds of a generation that is fading away?

If I lived between worlds, between languages and cultures, somehow — like the city in which I live — both American and not, what does that make him?

I don’t know.

Cuba begins to change. Whether that change is good or bad — whether it leads to democracy on the island, whether Cubans’ lives improve — is unknown; but, change is certain. 

And my parents’ Cuba, even the embellished romanticized memories, is even further away, less tangible.

Family stories, like history itself, fade away and I can only imagine how my son will see it, how he will see me, and who he will become.

Related Stories:

“The Power of Words & Feelings: Semantics of Cuban Policy”

“In Miami, Change is the One Constant”

 

What happens to a Dream Deferred? Students Immigration Status May End their dreams of college

G. Tejeda

Giancarlo was three when he moved to the United States, the only home he has ever known. Now his dreams of college are in jeopardy. Photo by Fabiola Santiago, The Miami Herald

There are thousands of students in Miami-Dade County that are forced to live in the shadows: bright, talented students whose legal status in the United States prevents them from realizing their dreams.  As educators, we often only hear these stories at the end of the school year – if at all — when graduation is upon us, and it is too late for us to help.  Too often these kids remain silent and afraid, because there is so much on the line.

This year, I met one such young man.

Giancarlo Tejeda arrived in the United States when he was three years old. His parents fled their native Colombia, escaping the bloody turmoil at home, to provide their children with the opportunity to grow up free from the fear of repression and violence.

It’s a story that is very American.  All of us are here because we searched for freedom.  Unfortunately, Giancarlo and his family are undocumented immigrants. For his entire academic career, he has kept this secret, concerned that if people knew, his family’s safety would be in jeopardy.  So he and his family have lived with the constant fear and anxiety of being discovered. They’ve worked hard at whatever work was available and possible, who now had to face the reality of starting anew in a foreign land.  Many young people face these challenges, and although their legal status and the need for reform may be controversial, the trouble they face is indisputable.

You would never guess at Giancarlo’s struggles by looking at him or observing his behavior in school. He is a fantastic student, excelling academically and socially. He is graduating magna cum laude, in the 92nd percentile of his class, and has — throughout his time at MLEC — won various awards in competitions ranging from programming and engineering to science and technology.

He never told anyone about his immigration status, not his friends or favorite teachers, not his school counselor, not even the schools to which he applied.  He never complained. He never asked for help or for sympathy. He always wanted to be held to the same high standards as everyone else.

I just learned of his situation and felt that I had to help. Giancarlo was accepted to New York University and the University of Florida.  NYU is not offering him any financial assistance because they consider him an international student, ineligible for financial aid.  This is yet another obstacle.  He cannot apply for federal aid or student loans.  He is worried that his dream, which is so close that he can almost touch it, may be forever out of reach.

I look at Giancarlo and see a talented young man with a long resume of academic success. He had the brilliance and steadfast tenacity to learn and grow and excel. Imagine what more he could have done with just a few more resources. Imagine if the fear of discovery had not been a heavy presence in his home. Now imagine what he will do and what he will accomplish with a college education and what an impact he can make on the world.

There are far too many students like Giancarlo in Miami-Dade, too many children that have grown up here, that don’t know any other home.  We have already educated and cared for these children in our public schools and in our communities.  Why not give them the opportunity to come out of the shadows and give back to the only neighborhoods they’ve ever known?

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To help Giancarlo achieve his dreams, visit his crowd-funding sitehttp://www.gofundme.com/rb6p5dtg?pc2

Watch his interview with CBS4http://cbsloc.al/1CtekSi

Breaking Through

Sun rays break through the storm clouds on Miami’s Turnpike

No matter how dark the skies, the sun always, eventually, breaks through.

It was a gloomy, overcast day. There have been many such days lately, both figuratively and literally. But, on the road, the rays of light broke through the wall of clouds and — as gushingly melodramatic as it sounds — I saw an allegory.