This I Believe: The Opposite of Magic

The history of child and social welfare in Rhode Island has been a research focus for me for more than ten years now. What is most intriguing for me in this work in the invisible nature of this history. While historians may focus on great leaders and significant movements, like immigration and industrialization, this history aims to understand how private individuals and public offices have worked to address the needs of the most vulnerable. As we look back, we can take some pride and some shame in the methods they employed but it is important to understand how central this work in is the story of this community.
This entry was published by Rhode Island Public Radio in 2009. Shown below is the written essay; at the end of the text is a link to the radio broadcast.

As a lifelong Rhode Islander who studies how our community has cared for vulnerable people, I believe in the opposite of magic. If a magician makes objects disappear, if by sleight of hand, he renders them invisible, I believe in making hidden places, hidden histories, visible and apparent. With its original settlement by native peoples and three centuries of occupation by the Europeans, our state has layers of social welfare history, most of it unknown to our citizens. Of all the works written about our state and its politicians, its industrial rise and fall, its home for the rich and the infamous, we neglect our history of care for the needy and dependent. I believe in making visible how our ancestors and their ancestors cared for orphaned children, for the lame, for those called the feebleminded, for those whose only crime was poverty.
The need to make this history visible was made manifest in my work recording oral histories at the State Home and School, where remnants of the state’s public orphanage remain on the campus of Rhode Island College. This project collected stories from former residents who argued eloquently for the need to recognize and rebuild the history, to not let their stories and that of the institution be paved over or erased. One can walk these grounds and imagine children living here, working the farm, going to school, aching for a family.
One can drive one mile south of Garden City in Cranston and pass through a small city of red brick and stone buildings—the Howard Complex–and find there the earliest structures of our welfare system, our prisons, our institutions for the mentally ill. At its southern border is the granite building that was The State Poor Farm with its parade of misery, built by the residents themselves. One can drive by these sites and imagine mothers and fathers and children who made these institutions their home, sometimes for decades, some willingly, some under force, many discarded and most abandoned.
On the East Bay, there is the building that was the Bristol Home for Destitute Children constructed by a sea captain to house orphans of the Civil War, and in Scituate, the site of the Watchman Institute, a black run organization that its founders dreamt would be the Tuskegee of the North. These places abound in our state, leaving us a landscape, etched with the scars of institutionalization and the badges of mercy and concern.
Making this history visible makes us less arrogant thinking that we are the first or the best to care. Unless we preserve this history and learn its lessons, we join in an act of collective amnesia. And like magicians, we let it vanish without a trace.

http://ripr.org/post/i-believe-hidden-history”>http://ripr.org/post/i-believe-hidden-history

On Diversity: Lessons from Diversity University

For several years, I have been involved in the Diversity University event at Bryant University. Led by staff members, this challenge invites students to use creative means to tell a story about diversity that means a great deal to them. Because this university has a business focus, few of our students have any formal training in the arts. Courses that offer training in the arts and creative expression are few and far in between although  faculty members like Terri Hasseler, Martha Kuhlman, and others are making some inroads in our curriculum. The article shown below was printed in the online version of the Archway student newspaper at the end of the 2013-2014 academic year. The published article also includes some images from last year’s presentation of the students’  work at REDay (Research and Engagement Day).

Everything I knew about diversity, I re-learned (and more) at Diversity University

by Sandra Enos, PhD. Associate Professor of Sociology

Diversity can be a loaded term; it can be narrowly interpreted to cover those classes of people covered by special protections in civil rights laws—gender, race/ethnicity, religion, disability, sexual orientation. Or it can be so expansive and superficial that it undermines the real difference that our unique humanity permits and reveals. Similarly, the word tolerance is also problematic. It connotes a begrudging acceptance, “Yes, I will tolerate those people but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.” So, how do we talk and think creatively and meaningfully about embracing our differences and encountering each other as full realized human beings?

One challenge of living in a complex world is the disorienting realization that our lives will be characterized by a constant mandate to reconsider what it is we think we know about whole categories of people. There is a greater chance in this day of globalization and mashups that we will encounter others who may seem quite different from ourselves in culture, language, values, and heritage. And these encounters are, of course, a two-way street; while we are wondering what to make of these “strangers,” we can also imagine what it is they are making of us. And given the great shifts in our worlds, how do we know who we are? How do we remain open to seeing the great and grand differences among us, some of which matter deeply and others not at all?

Bernice Johnson Reagon, founder of Sweet Honey in the Rock and civil rights activist, writes of the difference between the comforts of home and the challenges of coalition building. What she means by the former is being among “our people,” when we can speak our minds, say what we mean with hardly a concern about starting a fight about contentious issues. Think about how freely you can talk about gun control, income inequality with some of our friends, acquaintances and family and how difficult that would be among others. Think of how hard it is to talk about race, sexual orientation, different abilities and social class in certain groups. The ease of being with like others is being a home, in Johnson Reagon’s terms. But little gets accomplished in these silos; it may be comforting but it is no way to get things done. In coalition building, a political act, we cross over those boundaries because we are trying to do something that is important to “our people” and others. We want to change a policy; we want to build a better community and to do so, requires the help and support of others. Reagon acknowledges the difficulty of this but suggests that communities can’t be built without those who can cross over. Some might call this radical empathy–ability learned through the experience of constructive encounters with difference where one’s emotions are raw and unsettled and where we confront beliefs that we may be uncomfortable acknowledging.

Over the past few years, students have used photography, film, sculpture, script, spoken word, song, music and dance to reveal what couldn’t be expressed otherwise. They have shared their experiences, observations and understandings and have urged us to break out of our bubbles to a deeper appreciation of the diversity around us, which leads me to the importance of enlisting our entire community in diversity. Like the book that inspires the title of this essay, I am going to list just four lessons that I have learned from my involvement in Diversity University over the past several years.

Let’s play: Build opportunities for creativity

I would argue that nothing worth learning can be learned just once. I would also suggest that difficult and challenging concepts like diversity may be best learned through experience and through art and creative expression. That is what I consider the genius of Diversity University, the staff-run event that celebrates diversity by challenging our community to present creative paths to diversity. Create these opportunities and our community, most notably our students, will rise to the occasion and exceed our expectations.

After being involved in this event for many years, I can state without equivocation that our students are hungry for opportunities to showcase their creative abilities and insights. And, as members of the audience, I can also say without fear of contradiction that the lessons that the students impart are powerful and compelling. We have featured these presentations at REDay where we have the opportunity to speak with the students about their work and its evolution. It is clear that students have worked long and hard; that the messages they conveyed were heartfelt and, in some cases, hard and challenging to express.

We are all teachers and learners: Students as teachers and leaders

We are socialized and oriented to do good. We are placed in sensitivity training groups and instructed to be welcoming and open. But, many people hear this as superficial externally imposed “political correctness” when these lessons should be much deeper. These lessons are not academic clinical ones; they are lessons that are about character and disposition. The “faculty members” at Diversity University are students with something to share and the talent and inclination to bring it to the Bryant community. I would suggest here that these lessons may be among the most powerful that our students will hear. Bearing witness to their own struggles or advocating on behalf of others presents our community with an “up close and personal” view of how these students see the world and encounter it. These are not worn out PowerPoints on diversity and why it is good for us; these are powerful expressions of the impact of stereotypes on our self-confidence, of the effect of being judged by others as inferior, and of the feeling of being invisible to others except as a code for “other.” We need to enlist these students and their projects in any of the work we do on diversity; we need to fully enroll them as teachers and leaders.

We are all learning and growing: Fixed and flexible mindedness

Underlying the premise of Diversity University is a belief that we can change and that we are constantly changing. This embraces the idea of a growth mindset and challenges the premise of a fixed mindset. With a growth mindset, we believe that individuals can open their minds, find lessons everywhere, question their deeply held assumptions and learn from failure—all on a path to growth. A fixed mindset suggests that we are stuck with the talent and beliefs that we have, that in-born dispositions prevail, and that one can’t change human nature. The students who present at Diversity University speak eloquently of their own growth, how their ideas have changed and developed, and how their encounters with others have fashioned them into quite different people than they were just a year ago.

We all count: Rendering the invisible visible

It is too easy to see a community like ours as unitary, where the majority rules. Many of the presentations at Diversity University point our attention to the great variety of people in our midst. Images and interviews with individuals who escape the attention of our “official” cameras and press help us to understand that everyone has a story here and that many of those stories challenge the popular premise that Bryant is a business school where students learn to be managers and where few are creative or imaginative. By seeing the creative chops of our students—whether it is Amanda Spaziano’s brilliant spoken word, Kendra Hildebrand ‘s beautiful mannequin sculpture, Rohan Vakij and Benjamin Heineneyer’s compelling Humans of Bryant, Mikayla LaRosa’s provocative documentary or Migena Dulaj’s lovely media assemblage or any of the other presentations we have seen over the years—we affirm a richer, fuller and complicated cultural and social identity for our community.

Diversity University presents us with great opportunities for growth—faculty, staff and students. The call for presentations goes out in the spring semester for an event in late March. It is never too early to imagine what you could do. What does our community need to learn from you? What creative talents are you eager to share? Please join us next year!

The university of the web

There’s been lots of talk about MOCCs and about the power (and threat of the internet) to disrupt university education, as we know it. On the other hand, there have been lots of articles and reports written that suggest the residential campus experience, which only serves a small percentage of the students seeking post-secondary education, is the only true path to wisdom and a full education. Of course, neither is entirely true.

When I speak with most my students about imagining a new sort of education, they don’t have much to offer. They are as programmed as the rest of the higher education industry about the essential elements of a college degree. And, yet as valuable as they argue in-class face-to-face encounters are with professors, many are enchanted with their screen lives as if these are just as real as real encounters—and maybe they are in a brave new world.

The purpose of this entry is not to debate the current and future state of higher education. It is simply a review of websites and entries that have come to my attention during the fall semester of 2014. Each one to me presents something lovely and important about using digital technologies to tell stories. Each tells these stories in ways that would be hard to imagine not that long ago. Each is annotated. Like anyone who spends any time on the web, I have seen hundreds of these sites; this is a sample of what I think is this best. As an educator, I refer to these entries as I think about what a newly designed educational experience may be like as we not only appreciate these treasures but also create them.

 The Malawi Mouse Boys

From NPR, the story of a magnificently talented group of Malawi singers whose previous jobs of selling roasted mice brought them to the attention of a record producer. Using instruments made of bicycle parts and other recyclables, these men make exquisite harmonies. The story combines compelling music with an extraordinary setting.

http://www.npr.org/2014/12/13/370321750/hunting-mice-and-singing-in-harmony

The Toys of War

Set in Southern Sudan, the children who have survived the civil war make clay figures to illustrate the impact of the bombing and attacks from the Sudanese government. This will break your heart; no question about it. The children’s creation of the setting, their fashioning of the weapons of war and their interviews with the filmmaker conspire to punch out a damning anti-war message.

http://nyti.ms/139ANta

 The Kronos Quartet

Using 3D point capture, the members of this most intimate musical organization—the quartet—explain how to make music. Their figures enter and fade out of the moving image as they take up their parts. What is so intriguing is their belief that each time they place a piece that it can be better; that each performance is a separate and distinct conversation.

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/09/22/arts/music/kronos-quartet.html

 Animated Life: Seeing the Invisible

Utilizing paper puppets, the writers tell the story of the invention of microscope. An amazing enough tale, of course but the use of the paper cutouts to illustrate the “discovery” of bacteria and the fact that most of the life on this planet is invisible to us makes this an especially lovely science story.

http://nyti.ms/1m9znH7

 The Animated life of A.R. Wallace

Also using paper cutouts, this short biography is a fascinating story of Alfred Wallace who along with Charles Darwin developed the theory of natural selection and evolution. Wallace, like many men of his time was a citizen scientist. With little formal training, he visits Brazil and Malaysia on collecting expeditions. As the narrators note, he gathers “great gaudy things.” Animals, bird, flora and other materials collected in Brazil were destroyed in a fire on the boat returning him home. In Malaysia, he collects 126,000 specimens and quickly writes down his “big” idea about what he has seen in the tropics. Told wonderfully, this is a tribute to Wallace who has doesn’t receive the sort of recognition that Darwin has and, if this account is to believed, didn’t mind as he considered Darwin the better scientist.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/05/opinion/the-animated-life-of-ar-wallace.html?smid=pl-share

 Murmuration of starlings

There are few more interesting figures of speech than collective nouns for animal groups—an ostentation of peacocks, a badling of ducks, a cowardice of curs, a drift of swine—and, of course, a murmuration of starlings. This short video with accompanying music shows the mesmerizing flight of hundred of thousands of starlings. At some points in the film, you lost sight of what you are seeing and can easily conjure up waves of light or a digitized image of a black and white photograph.

www.keepturningleft.co.uk

Creative resources

What to find and what finds you

This semester I am teaching a brand new course titled the Sociology of Innovation and Creativity. This course allows us to explore creativity and innovation–where it comes from, what kills the urge, what undermines creative confidence, what makes communities and times creative, whether creativity is in the domain of youth and disappears with age–all these issues and more.

I find these topics fascinating. We are looking at right-brain and left-brain thinking and I am increasingly convinced that your brain master may change over time. I have had a creative bent all through my life but my left-brain master has steered my ship. Until now, when the right-brain is much more in the front of the wagon, not only leading the way but wandering down lots of paths where I would have never ventured as a bold youth.

Far of this adventure is answer-directed but the other part is purely play, in seeing magic and wondering how the creator pulled this off.

This semester I participated in the Creativity Sketchbook Challenge. Every day for thirty days, 100 students, faculty and staff at Bryant University responded to a sketching challenge. This was a wonderful way to build and open up skills and considerations about telling stories we may have told in other ways. Using a variety of media, we took up pen and paper, colored pencils, cardboard cutoffs, brushes and paint and charcoal and experimented with building a creative practice. Although it would seem that the middle of an academic semester may be the perfectly worst time to do this, actually it was the ideal time to find time. It was easy to push all the senseless work and busy tasks to the edge to make space for this playtime.

Creativity Sketchbook

http://bryantcreativity.blogspot.com/2014_11_01_archive.html

Some final thoughts: Poem published in edited collection

Some final thoughts   

When I am laid to rest

Passed away

Gone to the other side

I would hope that my friends would encircle me with

Those things that have surrounded me every day.

I would rather my coffin be dotted with wild asters

And mildewed hostas than draped with tropical flowers

Whose journey to my grave is longer than any I have taken.

I want no showy flower heads, with bright orange beaks

All that vulgar beauty

I want no flowers that like some relatives

only show up at funerals.

Perhaps, some beloved seaweed

Spent sea grass.

A tide’s collection of bleached shells.

Maybe, if I pass away in deep autumn

A branch from the holly bush

Its red berries in bloom.

Or maybe, my partner’s favorite flower, not mine

For the gesture is for the living, not the dead.

For the comfort of feeling that one has loved as well as one could.

I would hope that there would be no talk about my soul

Returning to its maker.

I would dream that someone would preach that my soul

Like all others

Joined together many stolen parts.

All my life I have taken measure for my own

Of what I have believed to be

The essence of those I knew and loved.

The kindness of some

The compassion of others

The tenderness they shared

The lives, those ineffable moments we lived.

When they lay me down with pieces of them

Elements of many others

I have the warmth and the beat of their hearts with me.

Published in Befriending Death: Over 100 Essayists on Living and Dying, Michael Vocino and Alfred G. Killilea, Editors. Bloomington, IN: iUniverse, 5-6.

Photography, poetry and science

These books published by Blurb collect images and texts. In each, I have tried to examine the natural world through its beauty, piecing out the aesthetics of the universe, our small planets and my little neighborhood.

Seascapes: Narragansett Beach

http://www.blurb.com/b/1486217-seascapes-narragansett-beach

The Weight of Water: Reading the Beach between the Solstices

http://www.blurb.com/b/2617844-the-weight-of-water

The Geology of Imagination

http://www.blurb.com/b/2421077-the-geology-of-imagination

Black White Wave Light: The Amplitude of a Small Universe

http://www.blurb.com/b/3476027-black-white-wave-light

Autumn Again

http://www.blurb.com/b/1918731-autumn-again-ii

Defending Hope: Reflections on the margins

Defending Hope

 

In my book Mothering on the Inside: Parenting in a Women’s Prison, the final chapter explores how researchers come to know the lives of women in prison. Titled You know what I’m saying, I examined to what degree we could really understand the lives of these incarcerated mothers. The women used this phrase repeatedly in our exchanges, as they did in conversations with others, to ask, perhaps rhetorically, if the conversation partner really understood her point, maybe testing for agreement, or perhaps asking if there was common ground between the speaker and the listener. In that essay, I suggested that we might not know as much as we think we do when we leave a site, even if we spend much time and much effort pursuing a research question. I would like to return to that abiding concern here.

 

It does not require meta-analysis to conclude that our prisons are failing on any measure that embraces rehabilitation and reintegration of offenders. They are succeeding in what Goffman observed as their real end—which was to degrade, dehumanize, and institutionalize. The wonder is how living with the high level of failure, let’s say, recidivism, these institutions and their staff members barrel on. Even the treatment staff become inured to the failure, expect it and accommodate it.

 

As researchers in settings that are marginalized, we find ourselves moving between two worlds. Working in the prison setting, for even a short period of time, gives us the privilege of knowing as much of that world as we are open to learn or as we are talented enough to know. When I was spending weekends and nights in the prison parenting programs and mornings and afternoons interviewing inmate mothers, my friends would comment, “That must be so sad.” “You must get so depressed.” A professor in my graduate program expressed his concern that I was taking on too much and not sticking close enough to my central research question. But the reverse was true. I never felt more hopeful or more connected to people than when I was in the prison setting. And, that central research question blossomed into a more richly textured examination of mothering in prison than I (or my professors) had originally imagined.

 

As part of doctoral work in the late 90s, I participated in a small study group looking at proposed welfare reform, characterized then as “ending welfare as we know it.” Professors and students in that seminar bemoaned the political scene and forecasted doom with the shredding of the social safety net. The professors shared their frustration that the politicians never paid much attention to the findings of well-researched replicated studies that demonstrated the clear value of building social and economic supports. One afternoon, the class observed that the academic community, i.e., liberal social scientists, was among the most marginalized in the current political landscape. We were ignored and defeated. I spent the long drive home, depressed and despairing, that the problems of the world were escaping the grasp of progressive reformers.

 

My next appointment took me to the Women’s Prison for my first extended interview with an inmate mother, whom I had met several months prior in the parenting program. This 21-year old woman, who I will call Bee Bee, had been in prison on three separate occasions so far. She had two children, one in the care of child welfare and another with her mother. We began to talk about her journey to prison and she set down a familiar path. It reminded me of one of those heroic myths where you see the protagonist suffer the world, insulted and abused at every turn and you are convinced by their story that maybe there is a chance of survival at the end. A few minutes into the story, I wondered how many social workers, intake staff, clinicians, teachers, treatment staff and others had already heard this story and whether telling it another time would benefit Bee Bee in any way.

 

At age twelve, her grandmother rounded up Bee Bee and her girl cousins and put them out to the streets, turning tricks. At age sixteen, Bee Bee called the police and the girls were rounded up by law enforcement and turned over to child welfare. What resulted was a family-size diaspora with sisters and brothers and cousins distributed over foster homes, treatment centers, reformatories, independent living and other arrangements. Child welfare intervention set off another stage of molestation, drug use, suicide attempts and pregnancy at age fifteen. At age eighteen, in her last conversation with her social worker before exiting child welfare, the worker reviewed her case. Bee Bee recalls,

 

She was telling me the whole story again, like I never heard it. And she was looking at me, like I was doomed. But, I know I am not doomed. God doesn’t doom his people. But, these people think these things about you and pretty soon, you have no hope. But I do have hope for me and my baby. It’s gonna work out.

 

Conversations with Bee Bee and women like her left me hopeful. I was buoyed by their faith and their refusal to let the larger picture of what the social workers and the sociologists know about the odds that women like Bee Bee will find themselves a place in our harsh, merciless world deter them from believing that they could make it. I think about that conversation all the time, about walking that narrow line between individual hope and systemic despair. I worry about becoming that researcher or worker who reflects in her eyes the doom she sees for these women. I am not suggesting here that we turn our eyes to the structural challenges faced by inmate mothers. Our duty as researchers and citizens is to bear witness and confront these facts at every turn. I am arguing that there is an abiding need for us to share the promise of hope. And, I would contend that there is an accompanying responsibility to construct a scaffold of supports, programs, and connections that makes hope more than just blind optimism and that this needs to be done on an individual and systemic basis.

 

William Sloane Coffin once remarked, “that hope reflects the state of our souls rather than the circumstances that surround our lives.” Perhaps, too much hope blunts our research focus. My hope is that once we have born witness to the facts of the lives of inmate mothers, that we can join them to design systems that make the promise of a better life not an empty one.

Other paths for scholarship and outreach

Other paths for scholarship

In addition to publishing in edited collections, printed journals and other traditional forms, I have also used digital media, radio and other formats to present my research and public scholarship.

 Local history and placemaking

Since 2003, I have been researching the history of social and child welfare history in Rhode Island. Some of my work has been published in standard academic journals. Others reside on websites, either as a result of working with local agencies to compile their organizational histories, to discuss my ideas about the role of the public scholar, or to make this history more accessible to a wider public.

I Believe in the Opposite of Magic

This I Believe essay broadcast on RI Pubic Radio June 22nd 2009

http://ripr.org/post/i-believe-hidden-history

Making history visible: Rhode Tour as history making

Comments to NEH visitors on Rhode Tour and public humanities

http://temp.rihumanities.org/rhode-tour-making-history-more-visible/

Rhode Tour: Orphanages, Asylums and Almshouses

Rhode Tour is a mobile application that provide online access to tours of Rhode Island focused on places or topics. This application is downloadable for iPad, iPhone or Android devices.

http://rhodetour.org/tours/show/1 – .U9qSSRZEDBc 

The Privilege of Caring: A Community’s Response to Needy Children

This document traces the 175 year history of Children’s Friend and Service using extensive agency files and records.

https://www.cfsri.org/pdfs/exhibitcatalogweb.pdf

 Teaching with purpose and creativity

 Contributor to terrainfirma blog: Faculty Creative Fellows at Bryant University

http://terrainfirmactl.blogspot.com/?zx=b3d094835f6ee010

 Four Steps to Living a Meaningful Life: Invited Remarks at Women’s History Dinner, March 30, 2014

http://www.hercampus.com/school/bryant/4-steps-living-meaningful-life-dr-sandra-enos

Everything I knew about diversity Archway, June 2014

http://www.bryantarchway.com/everything-i-knew-about-diversity-i-re-

learned-and-more-at-diversity-university/

Corrections and criminal justice

Mass Incarceration: Triple Jeopardy for Women in a Color-Blind and Gender-Neutral Justice System. Journal of Interdisciplinary Feminist Thought

http://digitalcommons.salve.edu/jift/vol6/iss1/2/

A move to a social change toolbox

In the drive to connect with communities, we sometimes forget what is our real purpose. And we sometimes get so buried in the details that we neglect the other creatures in the forest.  In our work at Bryant University, we have several projects going on without much coordination. In some cases, the atypical faculty members works to develop a sustaining and changing relationship with a community partner, but in too many cases, these relationships are transactional and even those take quite a bit of energy and effort for all parties.

What I have been thinking about for a while and what I am developing into a proposal for a book is the relationships (or more to the point, the lack of) among practitioners of service learning and social entrepreneurship on campuses. I have a foot in both worlds and wonder how students see what it is we teach them. It is of necessity only a slice of what they will need in life but are we cutting this even finer than we need to? In other words, are we providing students with just one view of social and civic engagement instead of helping them understand and appreciated all the ways in which they may live a socially engaged life—volunteering, philanthropy, advocacy, voting, conscious consumption, leadership, civic action, social movements, witnessing, story-telling, social entrepreneurship and others.  Perhaps, it is fortunate student who gets a sense of all this in his education but it may be the case that even on campuses where student engagement is high and the projects they work on are well organized and beneficial that students may be getting just a part of the picture. So, this idea of a social change toolbox has been on my mind. How to develop it. How to teach it. How to marshall our community partners and learn about this together.