We were standing on the rooftop of the apartment building that we would be staying for the next few weeks.  Jet-lagged but excited, we took in the view.

To our right was a sweeping view of Al-Eizariya or the English name (as you may know from the Bible), Bethany.  In the distance we could see the sands of the Judaean desert. Just below us was the church marking Lazarus's tomb.  The place where Jesus performed a miracle and rose him from the dead.  A place of grace and love.

Then, directly to our left, beside the apartment: the separation barrier wall. The wall that divides Israel and the West Bank. Complete with barbed wire, watchtowers and multiple cameras all along it.  A sign of oppression. The wall cuts through the rolling hills as far as your eyes can see, a daily reminder of the oppression that is caused by hatred fueled by fear.

Our host, Manar was giving us a birds-eye tour of the town, sharing the history of the wall and stories of struggle under the Israeli occupation. As she talked, a thought kept swirling through my mind.  I tried to push it aside so that I could be present but it kept nagging at me.  It continued to nag throughout my time in the West Bank.

As I went through checkpoints.  As I listened to Palestinians tell horrifying stories of conflict and oppression.  As I listened to a Palestinian man tell us how he was kicked out of his home because of Jewish settlers. As I experienced the effects of trauma on children as I taught them.  As I witnessed an ingrained anger and hurt that only comes from consistent trauma of living under systematic oppression.  As I got pulled out and underwent an intense and a bit intimidating questioning at the Tel Aviv airport on my return to the US.

The thought that wouldn't leave my mind?

From the rooftop of our apartment we stayed in.

"This is what fear does" ...to people.  To a government. To a nation.

The recurring question that consistently followed that one?

"Is this the future of America?"

This past month, I witnessed firsthand what fear and hatred does to a country.  To people.  How it divides.  How it controls. How it demeans. How it oppresses.

The heaviness of these two thoughts were never far from my heart. Nor are they now.

Whenever I return home from a trip, there's always a process.  First, there's the excitement--seeing family and friends, sharing about my experiences, showing photos.  Second, it's rest.  Letting my mind and body decompress from everything I saw and experienced.  Finally, reality settles in.  Sometimes it's in a moment or over a series of moments but it comes back with the question, how do I connect what I learned to my own reality? 

Well, reality slapped me in the face on this past week.

As my flight landed in LA and we sat on the tarmac waiting for our gate, I started scrolling through the news. Mistake. First thing I saw: our President making another ridiculous statement, I mean "tweet" because that's apparently how our government communicates now.  Full of hate. 

If you missed it (which if you're on any kind of social media I'm sure you probably didn't), it's here.  He basically went on a rant calling out four US Congresswomen about being anti-American, telling them to "go back to the countries they came from" and fix them instead of America.  All of these Congresswomen are legal citizens of America and all except for one was born in America. And the one who wasn't? Earned citizenship through refugee status. 

Thank God I was sitting on a plane surrounded by people and couldn't verbally say what was in my mind. 

Watchtowers and soldiers above our heads in Hebron.

Over the week, it all unraveled.  People arguing that it was just a tweet and not racist.  People sharing their own stories of when they were told to "go back to their country." A press-conference in which the entire crowd started chanting "send her back" with the President looking on.

The overall tone of his language is one that we see again and again, a tone that instills fear in people....irrational, unreasonable, illogical fear.

Fear that causes people to hate. Language that divides instead of unites. It is bewildering, terrifying and infuriating, all at the same time. 

It took me back to when we were in Hebron. We had a kind and hospitable Palestinian man show us around the Old City.  As we walked down the streets, I asked him about the fencing above our heads.  He explained it was because the Jewish settlers who lived above the streets would throw trash, spit and even worse, urinate on them.  He then pointed about a water bottle filled with urine that got caught in the net. 

All because they are Palestinians. 

My friend standing next to me exclaimed out of disbelief and disgust, "My mind can't understand how a human being can do that to another human!" I just sighed because I knew. People do it out of hate, caused by fear.  Which combined creates a power-trip of superiority. Control over another person. The notion that one human being is superior to another because of race, religion or heritage. Fear can cloud the mind and overcome any rationale or logic. At times, it has a brain-washing effect.  Just look at 1930's Germany.

And is that what is happening in our own country?

Oh how I pray, not. 

First, let me say, this is not a post about immigration reform as that is a whole other can of worms...(that I'm happy to open and discuss)...but not now.  

No, this is about the culture of fear and division that has formed in our country.  

A culture of fear that has separated children from their parents at the border and created inhumane conditions at detention centers.  Fear that is trying to block immigrants from seeking asylum at the border. Fear that has blocked refugees from entering our country.

Fear that has led our President, the leader of the free world, to tell four Congresswomen, elected by Americans to serve our country, to go back to the country they are from. To question their loyalty to our country just because they see problems that they are advocating to change.  Isn't that democracy though?  That as Americans we can be empowered to advocate and speak up for the change we want to see without fear.

The wall in Bethlehem, West Bank.

Even though it may have seemed like "just a tweet", it was so much more. Even though this isn't the first ridiculous statement from him, something this time broke in me.  Maybe it's because of what I've seen. Maybe it's because I believe and I know, my country is better than this. Maybe it's because I'm finally fed up.

This language is just another example of growing a culture of fear, a "superior attitude" to other cultures in our country. It's fanning the flames. We need to stop it. We must. 

So what do we do?  I honestly, at times, have no idea.  I'm still figuring it out. But here are some of my current thoughts.

We must start by recognizing our identity, privilege and bias in order to move forward.  

Have you ever sat down to reflect on what identifies you?  If you had to sum yourself up in just a few words, what would it be?  White, Christian, woman, straight, able-bodied, teacher, artist, daughter, sister.  Those would be mine.

Knowing what exactly is our identity helps us understand what follows next: privilege and bias.

We all have privilege.  If you think you don't, you probably need to really reflect.  For me, it's the color of my skin,  it's my nationality. It's the fact that I grew up in a secure family structure with parents who had job security and steady incomes and who kept me safe, educated and healthy.  It's my education.

I had a date with a guy who did not, in his words, understand the whole "white privilege" thing (obviously that guy didn't get a second date).  He made a remark that he wished people would stop saying he had privilege just because he was white, his life was hard too!

So I told him a story.  It was when I was teaching in DC, right around the time of the Trayvon Martin murder.  One evening as I was walking to the metro train, one of my students joined me as were both headed to the same station.  He was young, black and a growing middle-schooler just on the cusp of his teen years.  It was getting dark and it started to rain so I put my hood up on my jacket.  I realized that he was still walking without his hood up.  I pointed this out to him and he responded quietly without making eye contact: "Ms. Gower, it's ok. My mom tells me never to put my hood up when it's dark.  Even if it's raining."

I looked at my date and asked him if he had any kids in his life and he said a nephew.  I said, "your nephew will never have to worry about whether he should put his hood up while walking at dusk. Just because of the color of his skin. That is white privilege."

We need to recognize our privilege and also our bias.

If you haven't read about implicit bias and how it affects race, please read up on it.  It is basically unconscious and unintentional bias that we all have.  Much of it is learned from our experiences growing up and throughout our life.  Being aware of these biases is crucial in stopping discrimination and racism from happening.  Everyday we make hundreds of choices and our implicit biases can cloud our choices, perspective and actions.

Here is a short 2 minute video that explains implicit bias really well.

Second, we need to act.  One way I think we can do this is by learning how to be culturally responsive to others in our work and personal environments.  

As a teacher, I think about race and diversity all the time. The majority of my students are immigrants, they come from all over; Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Columbia. I know their lives are difficult being immigrants in America, especially over the last few years.

There is a term educators use called "cultural responsiveness" or "cultural responsive" classrooms.  Being culturally responsive means to be able to identify, understand and relate to your own culture and the other cultures around you.  As the term states: you can respond to culture. As a teacher, this also includes finding ways to meet the needs of my students who have different cultural and economic backgrounds.


The next day, he glowed with pride as he taught our class. Pride in his heritage.  In who he is as a Columbian.  I hadn't seen this boy so engaged before.  He later told me that the night before, he practiced for hours...with his Dad who, according to him, is "the best Cumbia dancer EVER!!"  My heart grew 5 sizes in that moment.

He was so proud of who he was as a Columbian.  I learned so much that day about him and about embracing the diversity of the little faces that look at me everyday in my classroom.  About empowering them to be the best version of themselves and to be proud of their whole self, including their culture.

You may be reading this and thinking "but I'm not a teacher, how does this relate?"  I believe that cultural responsiveness can benefit more settings that in just a classroom.  How could you be more culturally responsive in your workplace?  In your personal life? In other communities that you are apart of?