Intercultural Digital Storytelling Project (#IDSP)

By Lizzie Falconer; MPA student and IDSP16 fellow

It was 10 am and a small group of people had gathered outside Holland center. A motley crew: some in sweatpants and sneakers, others in suits and shined black shoes. Some wore knitted hats, others wore hijab. One woman was heavily pregnant, and another was pushing a baby stroller.  Without context it would have been impossible to know who these people were and what they had in common. But it was us, the DPMI Monterey class of 2016, preparing for our group excursion to Point Lobos. We were excited, all of us had been cooped up in Casa Fuente 434 from 9-5:30 every day, learning and practicing development tools in small groups. The days were long and the work left my brain feeling gelatinous. I was excited for the excuse to be outside.

For many people, J-term meant traveling: airports, plane tickets, backpacks full of dry fit clothing. My fellow #IDSPers were headed all over the world. I felt a twinge of jealousy. I love to travel as much as the next MIIS student.  But for me, my J-term plans were a little closer to home. Specifically, the greater Monterey County.

I stayed in Monterey for J-term because my first semester at MIIS almost killed me. I am not saying that in the hyperbolic, “I took 18 credits, never slept and lived off of espresso shots” kind of way. I actually did nearly die, in the form of water on the 101 that caused my car to hydroplane and flip into a ditch at sixty miles an hour. Three weeks later, I fell off my bike and tore ligaments in my shoulder. To quote the EMT who rushed over to render aid: “Maybe you should try walking.”  Staying in Monterey for J-term was my way to heal. Give myself a chance to relax and recuperate. I would eschew the cross cultural learning opportunities for a later date, I thought to myself, when I felt healthier.

Once we were all gathered in front of Holland, we divided up among cars and drove to Point Lobos. The clouds hung low and heavy along the shoreline. Our group met inside the park, and then split up to hike different paths down to the shore. Everyone bounced around with excitement, chatting and joking, in five different languages.

The ocean was beautiful, the deep gray-blue it turns when a storm is coming. Pelicans soared above us, pausing midflight to dive bomb the waves. We stopped and took photos. Then ran to the next beautiful spot to take more photos. This was my fourth trip to Point Lobos, but being surrounded by so many people who were seeing it for the first time heightened my excitement.  I ran around like a little kid, pointing out the marine life and plants to my fellow participants.  Watching the waves, spending time with new friends, laughing at sea animals, this was the healing I needed.

Spoiler alert: You don’t need to leave the country to get an immersive learning experience. In fifteen days of DPMI, I talked with colleagues from Liberia, Pakistan, India, Afghanistan, Sudan, Ethiopia and Mexico. We shared meals and drinks and stories. I watched our group, once thirty-six individuals, come together to form our own community and culture. We had shared jokes, experience and a common vernacular.  We hiked together, we laughed together, and we worked through arduous group projects together.

At the end of the three weeks I walked out of our classroom, Casa Fuente 434, like a weary traveler. Full of new ideas, fresh perspectives, and an appreciation for all of my colleagues who shared their stories with me.

By Danny Pavitt; IPD Student and IDSP16 Fellow

Professor Jan Knippers Black mentioned many times that, in her opinion, the best way to learn is by full immersion. I thought I understood this concept before I left for Chile a little over two weeks ago, but back in the comforts of my Dallas hotel room (thanks, Storm Jonas), I admit that perhaps I didn’t fully comprehend “full immersion” in the same way I do now.

The truth is that I could have sat in my room, Google searched “Mapuche”, or “Judge Juan Guzmán”, or “Augusto Pinochet”, and learned a lot about each one. However, as is all-too-often the case in class, “learning” would occur but I would eventually lose sight of details that filled those facts with life.

Enter StoryTelling.

In our two week tour of Chile that included the high-rise-filled city of Santiago from the peaks of Cerro San Cristóbal, the mountainous region of Temuco and the beautiful, bug-infested (inside joke. Not really infested) coast of Valparaiso, we talked to people that had been affected by the 17-year dictatorship in many different ways. We very quickly and often-abrasively learned that there are certain groups that continue to be affected by a government that still follows the rules of a constitution created by Pinochet, rife with over-privatization and complete lack of consideration for the rights of the “underprivileged” (in parenthesis because this is a word created by Western culture and isn’t applied in the same way by some communities we met).

There was an uncertainty I felt before leaving to Chile regarding what it was that we’d actually be doing down there, but it was enough for me to know that I’d be able to practice some Spanish and be a blank canvas, ready to be colorfully and impartially painted by knowledge of Chilean political history and the Mapuche indigenous people that fight the government for the rights to their native lands every day. What I got was much more, having the unique opportunity to listen to the stories of the people that had experienced beauty and conflict for many years.

We looked Juana Calfunao in the eyes and listened to the beautiful things she had to say about the importance of living in harmony with the earth and thanking it for everything we take from it, and were given a brief opportunity to feel, deep-down, what it was like for her each day on her land. We listened to José Montalva Feuerhake, the Governor of the region where many Mapuche communities live, who said things that we needed to hear because they represented the other side of a story we hadn’t heard much of yet, even though everything he said seemed a little evading and naively optimistic. And we heard the story of a warrior, Polo Lillo, who is from La Victoria, a community on the outskirts of Santiago that was established by a group of people that went against the dictatorship and whom continue to fight for democracy through equal dissemination of information (radio, television, workshops, etc).

Listening to these people gave me perspectives and energy to feel life as they live, changing my definition of “full immersion” forever. At the constant satisfaction of all 5 of my senses, I now understand these issues better than I ever could have from a screen in my room, with mountains of information still left to learn.

Processing and personal debriefs will continue through the rest of this semester, especially as I begin to develop a story to represent some part of my time in Chile. I appreciate the journey I went on personally and as a part of a sizable group.

Side note: San Diego -> Dallas: 3 hours. Dallas -> Santiago: 9.5 hours. Santiago -> Temuco (by bus): 10 hours. Temuco city center -> Small Mapuche community: 40 mins. Sitting on a wooden bench on a ranch listening to a Mapuche man talk about the disgraces of Donald Trump: humorously embarrassing. #miischile2016

by Meredith Rupp; IPD student and IDSP16 Fellow

Since arriving in Kathmandu, my senses have been under siege. And I am reveling in it. I have seen otherwise wild motorcycles slowed to a sputter for the meanderings of a cow; a baby, eyes winged in eyeliner and arms bundled in red cloth, posing for pictures at temple after temple in celebration of its first bites of rice; and dried buffalo intestines draped over a temple doorway in offering to gods. The perfume of incense and the sounds of phlegm being passed are unceasing. Seldom is the doorway that goes unadorned in marigolds and painted Buddha eyes peer over you from all around. I have determined Nepali tea to be a thick, steaming dream whose spice is just strong enough to do a little tap dance on your tongue. And alas, I have dodged incoming traffic right into the trajectory of bird poop. Of all my experiences so far, none has been more puzzling, memorable, powerful or uncomfortable as the Antyesti at Pashupatinath Temple.

Pashupatinath Temple is a famous and sacred site of the Hindu religion built on the banks of the holy Bagmati river. Built in the 15^th century for the national deity Lord Pashupati (an incarnation of Shiva), the site is a string of temples, ashrams, stone inscriptions, and never ending stairs. Every evening there is a Hindu ceremony there – one where bodies are burned, smoke blankets the holy ground beneath your slinking feet, and voices rise up, not in pain or grief filled questions, but in a powerful and unified exultation of life and death and god.

From the moment you set foot in this place, you feel out of place. There are monkeys – big and baby – menacing you with piercing red eyes. A dirty, holy river, grey from ash and trash and the what’s left of charred souls, snakes throughout the center of the grounds. Stairs line both sides of the river, with pyres aflame on one side and three high priests performing a ceremony on the other. The priests sing to the gathered crowd as mourning husbands have their heads shaved and smoking bodies cloud the air with souls escaping their bodies. As the burning ends, the remains of the corpses are placed on stretchers and draped in colored cloths, red for married women leaving their husbands behind and white for widows and men. Small groups of the principal mourners carry the stretchers upstream as the priests chant, dance, and

swirl flames and plants in the air. Mourners wash themselves in the smoky river and place the stretchers on ramps down to the river. They adorn their departed with tikah, flowers, statues, and whispered prayers while the priests and their followers clap and cry out to the gods together. All the while, tourists flash photos of the dead and outsiders watch in wonder.

This storyteller did indeed take a few photos before realizing that I had perhaps violated some nascent and as yet still forming value I hold. I have never had so many questions or felt so conflicted about something happening right before me. It seemed so otherworldly and wrong to be watching something so private and quiet in the US. In Nepal though, religion and life are in constant overlap. Some Nepali sent their dead to whatever comes next and the rest were there to celebrate and honor this tradition; whether they knew the deceased or not was irrelevant for they know the cycle of life and death and the power of the gods over it all.

by Maren Haas; IEM student and IDSP16 Fellow

As a child growing up in the United State, I was always excited for any holiday, but especially those with parades.  They were the few days of the year that my parents allowed me to accept candy from strangers and give hugs to my favorite Disney characters.  Growing up, I still appreciate the tradition, but some of the thrill has gone away.  When I arrived in Spain last week, I knew I was going to have the opportunity to observe the holiday Reyes Magos, or Three Kings Day, but little did I know the parade that awaited me.

Leaving the hostel first thing in the morning, I saw rows of blue and white chairs lining the streets, empty, waiting for the spectators.  Come early evening, the chairs filled with people waiting for hours for the parade to commence.  My friends and I found a place to stand behind the two rows of chairs and people quickly filled in behind us.  Darth Vader led a possy of minions to start the parade, and the children went wild.  I started thinking about pop culture’s ability to infiltrate religious festivities, when WHOOOOSHHHH a piece of candy whizzed passed my head.  It startled me, but I quickly understood why adults and children alike around me were holding plastic bags above their heads.  Unlike the United States, where treats are periodically handed out or lobbed lightly into the crowd, here handfuls of candy were being pelted in all directions with force.

The plastic bags, and sometimes even an upside-down umbrella, were being strategically used to collect the sugary goods and to protect faces. My friends and I were excited, but terrified, and WHOOOOSHHH a frisbee swiped across my friends face.  Frisbees became small toys and the candy continued to be hurled in our direction – we savored the moments between floats when we were safe from the flying sweets.  People around us laughed and asked us about parades in our country as we continued to cower and flinch each time a hand pitched in our direction.  As the parade ended, it was almost a sense of relief: the battle was over, everyone had won, and the three kings will be remembered for another year.

The last two weeks of the semester are upon us, and stress levels are at an all-time high, so IDSP is coming to you! Next Tuesday, December 8th we’ll be in the library from 12pm-1pm inviting studiers to take a 15 minute break, eat a cookie, and create a newspaper blackout story. It’s kind of like magnetic poetry; you get a newspaper article and a black sharpie marker, and black out everything but the words you want to keep to create a story.

We’re going to have newspapers in Chinese, Korean, Japanese, German, French, and English! (We’re working on getting some Spanish language resources, as well!)

Study in the library next week during dead hours, and stop by and create a story. See you there!

Last Tuesday, the new cohort of seven #IDSP16 fellows got together for the first time. They shared stories about the origin of their names, and then used the Narrative4 frame work to introduce each other using the first person. Fellows then went on partner walks in dark Monterey (around 7pm – thanks, Day Light Savings Time!). When they came back they were asked to represent their experience using markers, post-its, paper, scissors, legos, or anything else they could find in the DLC’s Design Sp@ce. (Check out the photo collage for a glimpse into their creations.)

We’re really excited to unveil this year’s group who were selected from more than 20 applicants! #IDSP16 fellows will be traveling to Brazil, Nepal, South Africa, Mexico, Chile, Madrid, Panama, and lovely Monterey, California over J-term.  Stay tuned to the blog for updates from the field, and what stories begin to emerge from fellows’ time around the world. For now, check out the profiles of the seven new fellows!

What do you do when some asks you the loaded question, “Where are your from……wait, where are you really from?” This can be a challenging question, especially in a world of multi and complementing identities. Borders and nationalities don’t necessarily define us; they are constructs, inconstant and potentially stifling.

The Intercultural Digital Storytelling Project (IDSP), Committee for Intercultural Communication, and Committee for Diversity and Inclusion joined forces on Wednesday, November 11th to host the first Intercultural Story Circle event of the year to tackle this very question.  The Story Circle was meant to bring students and faculty together to explore themes of identity and belonging through story sharing.

The meeting started with a viewing of the TED Talk by writer and novelist Taiye Selasi, “Don’t ask where I’m from, ask where I’m a local.” Participants used Selasi’s exercise of exploring ones rituals, relationships, and restrictions to tell stories of self and belonging.

Story circles are spaces where individuals can share personal experiences and stories, through a thoughtful, structured, and facilitated process. Story circles are powerful tools to develop trust, encourage expression and reflection, and generate collective problem solving and action.