Coping in Copenhagen: From Berlin and Back
Years ago, I read Edward Said's Out of Place and upon reading it I was struck by the lack of positive role models he had as a child, growing up. His teachers seemed to negate his very existence and it reminded me of how very opposite my experiences in the New York City Education system had been. Mind you, this is written by a woman who as a girl had gotten suspended from school in the 5th grade, and who also attended what was considered the worst High School in New York City: Washington Irving (we made it on the front page of the New York Post the day we installed metal detectors). So bear this in mind as I weave the rest of this tale:
I always loved school. School offered me respite from the chaotic nature of my home life. At school, I was given structure and I excelled. I also came into contact with incredible human beings--the teaching staff and students. I attended P.S.152 on Glenwood Avenue and when I began, something peculiar had already been in the process: Blacks were moving in, whites were moving out.
I started 152 in the 2nd Grade and felt excited that there was a "racial mix" in my classroom. I had very limited contact with white folk and like any other child, I wanted access to EVERY ONE. But this eluded me--by the time I had finished the 2nd grade two white kids in my class had been moved out, Lee and Lisa. From grade 2 to 5 (the extent of my stay at 152) the only other two white kids there were Jesse (a motherless girl) and Naomi, who was Jewish and remained with us, as far as I know, well beyond my leaving 152. I don't know why, but even then, I had the feeling that the reason why Naomi remained with us was because her parents actively chose NOT to move her. But anyway, my point is, by the time I started 152 it was mostly us Blacks and Puerto Ricans. And we got along fine--our cultural codes different enough to feel safe and apart, yet uniting on the commonest of grounds: stickball, barbie dolls and sometimes music. Later on there was a slow trickle of Eastern Europeans, but kids learn quickly, and they quickly camouflaged themselves among the yellows and the browns so much so that they jumped double dutch and invited us to their birthday parties and let us cornrow their hair.
My teachers were almost always Jewish, a tradition that carried on into High School. Although I didn't learn much about my own past and the heroes and heroins that carried me into the present (Toussaint L'ouveture, Dessalines, Eric Williams, Angela Davis) I did learn a lot about the Holocaust and I am not saying this cryptically. The overwhelming message I received from many of these teachers was that of camaraderie--empathy with our historical past. (Strange that the only thing we learn about Black culture in Public School are episodes which are more likely to conjure feelings of embarrassment than episodes that illicit pride. Think about it: Imagine being 8 or 9 and the only thing you learn about your own people is that of slavery and subjugation. Nothing about Rebellion, our great pre-Colonial, or culture passed on. How are we to love ourselves when we can not see ourselves in our books? But anyway, thankfully the parents of my classmates took care of that. With classmates with names like Makeba, Kenyatta, Mecca and Letitia--you do get a crash-course in the strength and perseverance of our people. Resistance is always alive.
There was this one teacher who stood out and whom I will never forget: Mrs. Stein. Mrs. Stein was a peroxide blond, buxom brilliant human being. She was my 4th grade teacher and she dropped science. She always bought Avon from my mom's Avon catalog and I'll never forget the color lipstick she liked: Wood Rose.
Mrs. Stein introduced us to the true story behind the building of the U.S.of A. She told us about the extermination of the buffalo to starve the Native Americans, she told us about the disease, the genocide. She made us make Native American masks and took us, beaming with pride, into Manhattan to the Museum of Natural History. These are things I will never forget because through her telling us these stories I learned so many important lessons. I will never forget her lesson on generalising and it went like this: Don't ever generalise. People are different and when you generalise you forget people's individuality. Now as a Jewish American woman, she knew this lesson probably as well as any of us Black and Puerto Rican students in her class and because she introduced us to some real history, and showed us through her lesson whose side she was really on
we LOVED her and she gained our RESPECT.
So all through my life I have always attempted not to generalise. Now, I am not always successful as those of you who know me well know. I can go off, just like anybody, and boy, do I. But her lesson resonates and I found myself standing in Berlin, looking at the Topography of Terror and thinking about her.
I never wanted to go to Germany. And there are many layers to this. One is that as an African American, I grew up reading books about Black expats in Paris like Josephine Baker, James Baldwin--and so I, simple human being that I am, automatically only wanted to check Paris, first and foremost, out. Of course I could do both--but I just never thought that far ahead.
Secondly, well, again, I grew up under the shadow of the Holocaust: I mean, I grew up in New York. I will never forget the concentration camp survivors who came to visit our schools, the movies, the documentaries that cumulatively told me many things and unfortunately one of those things I sort of tacitly accepted was that, well, ok, here I am generalising again: Germans were mean! I know if I took these feelings and not only consciously but logically dissected them, I would have come away with an entirely different perspective, but I didn't. Again, I didn't consciously think these thoughts about Germany, but you all have to understand the effect The Diary of Anne Frank had on me. I must have been 8 when I first read that book and I had nightmares that the U.S. would break out into some big racial war and well--let your imagination do the rest! (I'm a writer, always have been, so my imagination has always been ALIVE!) So I apologize if I sound really ignorant right now, but I'm telling you the truth. And let's face it, I never had the same education as I had regarding the Holocaust on Rawanda, Dafur, the African Holocaust (where 600 million Africans perished)And back in '98 when I took the train from Paris to Copenhagen, I almost wet my pants when we rolled into the Germany and the train conductor barked "Tickets!". I don't know, trains, German, German person in a uniform--very unsettling feeling for this Brooklyn, obviously ignorant girl. So let's suffice it to say I had no real desire to go to Germany.
But then Michael invites me to Berlin to surprise Regikins for his 36th birthday party. I'm there! Reggie and I go back to when Barnes and Nobles on Astor used to be a Conran's Habitat, or as he said, when they went from stone to papyrus. Reggie and I worked in the Housewares Department together and well, I guess you can say the rest is Our story. Let's just say that I got my first (and only) pair of flamingo pink glitter hot pants from Regikins. Let's just say that my European Virgin Tour was with Reggie and it was Amsterdam that popped our cherry. Let's just say that--ok, maybe I should end the story now before I get us BOTH in trouble! But we partied at Nell's, The Tunnel, each other and now Berlin. I've known Reggie for what is it? 19 Years???
But now I'm getting ahead of myself. We'll get back to Berlin and Reggie. Because, as you all know, I only got back from New York a few weeks ago and while there I saw Tony Medina. In between that time and now, Tony managed to get here on standby. It took three days for Tony to get here and by the time he got here, it was the Wednesday before the Saturday I was due in Berlin. Now, I still had not heard from Michael about the Berlin plans, and I didn't want to buy my ticket to Berlin without actually having some concrete plans. Wednesday Tony gets here, the day I have to go back to work!!!! But I pick him up from the airport and manage to get to work and finally, word from New York! But I decide not to go, because A. It would cost me an arm and a leg to get over there now; B. I wanted to spend the weekend with Ben and Kai and C. Tony just arrived and maybe he should just chill in Copenhagen and see it? But ooooh no, Tony wanted to go to Berlin and the fact that Regikins was so close by...I had to do it. So Tony and I packed our bags and that Friday after he arrived we once again made it to the airport, destination: Berlin!
Now, I could tell you about the non-refundable train tickets we bought, hoping to get a refund on our non-refundable airplane tickets and the last minute panic when we realized that we suddenly had two airplane tickets and two train tickets, I could tell you about the frantic phone calls made around town for anyone who wanted FREE train tickets to Berlin and I could tell you that in the end, I not only managed to unload them, but to a paying customer, but I won't burden you with all those details.
Suffice it to say, we made it to Berlin and by a little past Midnight, we had made it to Reggie and Michael's hotel and settled quite comfortably by the bar.
Berlin was a blast. In a country where humanity had so spectacularly and quite visibly erred, there's a city where architecture triumphs. Berlin inspires not only awe, but bewilderment. It makes you wonder, if human beings are capable of such beauty, if we are capable of making such beautiful buildings, how come we can't feed each other? What's so complicated about that?
So in Berlin, we celebrated Reggie's birthday at Privatewhere we ate, drank great wine (thanks Emilia--the world class international wine taster!) and danced like we still in our twenties (the shame!). We had a GREAT time and I will definitely go back to Berlin. I also got my Indian food fix at a restaurant called Bollywood: the ingredients were VERY fresh and the red snapper, well, I hadn't tasted red snapper that fresh in a LONG time.
Two nights ago, Kai interviewed Tony. I'll upload that video soon. It's pretty good and he loved having a "real" writer around. His eyes popped out of his head. Tony bought him three of his children's books: Deshawn Days, Letters to Santa and Love to Langston.
Tony's gone now. Well, I think he is. He's been trying to get out of Copenhagen for the past 3 days on standby. So let's cross our fingers and hope that Tony has gotten on that plane. God speed Tony and thanks for visiting. You are a special and beautiful human being.
Love,
the lab
coping in cph!
P.S. Just got a phone call from Tony--he didn't get on that plane...
I always loved school. School offered me respite from the chaotic nature of my home life. At school, I was given structure and I excelled. I also came into contact with incredible human beings--the teaching staff and students. I attended P.S.152 on Glenwood Avenue and when I began, something peculiar had already been in the process: Blacks were moving in, whites were moving out.
I started 152 in the 2nd Grade and felt excited that there was a "racial mix" in my classroom. I had very limited contact with white folk and like any other child, I wanted access to EVERY ONE. But this eluded me--by the time I had finished the 2nd grade two white kids in my class had been moved out, Lee and Lisa. From grade 2 to 5 (the extent of my stay at 152) the only other two white kids there were Jesse (a motherless girl) and Naomi, who was Jewish and remained with us, as far as I know, well beyond my leaving 152. I don't know why, but even then, I had the feeling that the reason why Naomi remained with us was because her parents actively chose NOT to move her. But anyway, my point is, by the time I started 152 it was mostly us Blacks and Puerto Ricans. And we got along fine--our cultural codes different enough to feel safe and apart, yet uniting on the commonest of grounds: stickball, barbie dolls and sometimes music. Later on there was a slow trickle of Eastern Europeans, but kids learn quickly, and they quickly camouflaged themselves among the yellows and the browns so much so that they jumped double dutch and invited us to their birthday parties and let us cornrow their hair.
My teachers were almost always Jewish, a tradition that carried on into High School. Although I didn't learn much about my own past and the heroes and heroins that carried me into the present (Toussaint L'ouveture, Dessalines, Eric Williams, Angela Davis) I did learn a lot about the Holocaust and I am not saying this cryptically. The overwhelming message I received from many of these teachers was that of camaraderie--empathy with our historical past. (Strange that the only thing we learn about Black culture in Public School are episodes which are more likely to conjure feelings of embarrassment than episodes that illicit pride. Think about it: Imagine being 8 or 9 and the only thing you learn about your own people is that of slavery and subjugation. Nothing about Rebellion, our great pre-Colonial, or culture passed on. How are we to love ourselves when we can not see ourselves in our books? But anyway, thankfully the parents of my classmates took care of that. With classmates with names like Makeba, Kenyatta, Mecca and Letitia--you do get a crash-course in the strength and perseverance of our people. Resistance is always alive.
There was this one teacher who stood out and whom I will never forget: Mrs. Stein. Mrs. Stein was a peroxide blond, buxom brilliant human being. She was my 4th grade teacher and she dropped science. She always bought Avon from my mom's Avon catalog and I'll never forget the color lipstick she liked: Wood Rose.
Mrs. Stein introduced us to the true story behind the building of the U.S.of A. She told us about the extermination of the buffalo to starve the Native Americans, she told us about the disease, the genocide. She made us make Native American masks and took us, beaming with pride, into Manhattan to the Museum of Natural History. These are things I will never forget because through her telling us these stories I learned so many important lessons. I will never forget her lesson on generalising and it went like this: Don't ever generalise. People are different and when you generalise you forget people's individuality. Now as a Jewish American woman, she knew this lesson probably as well as any of us Black and Puerto Rican students in her class and because she introduced us to some real history, and showed us through her lesson whose side she was really on
we LOVED her and she gained our RESPECT.
So all through my life I have always attempted not to generalise. Now, I am not always successful as those of you who know me well know. I can go off, just like anybody, and boy, do I. But her lesson resonates and I found myself standing in Berlin, looking at the Topography of Terror and thinking about her.
I never wanted to go to Germany. And there are many layers to this. One is that as an African American, I grew up reading books about Black expats in Paris like Josephine Baker, James Baldwin--and so I, simple human being that I am, automatically only wanted to check Paris, first and foremost, out. Of course I could do both--but I just never thought that far ahead.
Secondly, well, again, I grew up under the shadow of the Holocaust: I mean, I grew up in New York. I will never forget the concentration camp survivors who came to visit our schools, the movies, the documentaries that cumulatively told me many things and unfortunately one of those things I sort of tacitly accepted was that, well, ok, here I am generalising again: Germans were mean! I know if I took these feelings and not only consciously but logically dissected them, I would have come away with an entirely different perspective, but I didn't. Again, I didn't consciously think these thoughts about Germany, but you all have to understand the effect The Diary of Anne Frank had on me. I must have been 8 when I first read that book and I had nightmares that the U.S. would break out into some big racial war and well--let your imagination do the rest! (I'm a writer, always have been, so my imagination has always been ALIVE!) So I apologize if I sound really ignorant right now, but I'm telling you the truth. And let's face it, I never had the same education as I had regarding the Holocaust on Rawanda, Dafur, the African Holocaust (where 600 million Africans perished)And back in '98 when I took the train from Paris to Copenhagen, I almost wet my pants when we rolled into the Germany and the train conductor barked "Tickets!". I don't know, trains, German, German person in a uniform--very unsettling feeling for this Brooklyn, obviously ignorant girl. So let's suffice it to say I had no real desire to go to Germany.
But then Michael invites me to Berlin to surprise Regikins for his 36th birthday party. I'm there! Reggie and I go back to when Barnes and Nobles on Astor used to be a Conran's Habitat, or as he said, when they went from stone to papyrus. Reggie and I worked in the Housewares Department together and well, I guess you can say the rest is Our story. Let's just say that I got my first (and only) pair of flamingo pink glitter hot pants from Regikins. Let's just say that my European Virgin Tour was with Reggie and it was Amsterdam that popped our cherry. Let's just say that--ok, maybe I should end the story now before I get us BOTH in trouble! But we partied at Nell's, The Tunnel, each other and now Berlin. I've known Reggie for what is it? 19 Years???
But now I'm getting ahead of myself. We'll get back to Berlin and Reggie. Because, as you all know, I only got back from New York a few weeks ago and while there I saw Tony Medina. In between that time and now, Tony managed to get here on standby. It took three days for Tony to get here and by the time he got here, it was the Wednesday before the Saturday I was due in Berlin. Now, I still had not heard from Michael about the Berlin plans, and I didn't want to buy my ticket to Berlin without actually having some concrete plans. Wednesday Tony gets here, the day I have to go back to work!!!! But I pick him up from the airport and manage to get to work and finally, word from New York! But I decide not to go, because A. It would cost me an arm and a leg to get over there now; B. I wanted to spend the weekend with Ben and Kai and C. Tony just arrived and maybe he should just chill in Copenhagen and see it? But ooooh no, Tony wanted to go to Berlin and the fact that Regikins was so close by...I had to do it. So Tony and I packed our bags and that Friday after he arrived we once again made it to the airport, destination: Berlin!
Now, I could tell you about the non-refundable train tickets we bought, hoping to get a refund on our non-refundable airplane tickets and the last minute panic when we realized that we suddenly had two airplane tickets and two train tickets, I could tell you about the frantic phone calls made around town for anyone who wanted FREE train tickets to Berlin and I could tell you that in the end, I not only managed to unload them, but to a paying customer, but I won't burden you with all those details.
Suffice it to say, we made it to Berlin and by a little past Midnight, we had made it to Reggie and Michael's hotel and settled quite comfortably by the bar.
Berlin was a blast. In a country where humanity had so spectacularly and quite visibly erred, there's a city where architecture triumphs. Berlin inspires not only awe, but bewilderment. It makes you wonder, if human beings are capable of such beauty, if we are capable of making such beautiful buildings, how come we can't feed each other? What's so complicated about that?
So in Berlin, we celebrated Reggie's birthday at Privatewhere we ate, drank great wine (thanks Emilia--the world class international wine taster!) and danced like we still in our twenties (the shame!). We had a GREAT time and I will definitely go back to Berlin. I also got my Indian food fix at a restaurant called Bollywood: the ingredients were VERY fresh and the red snapper, well, I hadn't tasted red snapper that fresh in a LONG time.
Two nights ago, Kai interviewed Tony. I'll upload that video soon. It's pretty good and he loved having a "real" writer around. His eyes popped out of his head. Tony bought him three of his children's books: Deshawn Days, Letters to Santa and Love to Langston.
Tony's gone now. Well, I think he is. He's been trying to get out of Copenhagen for the past 3 days on standby. So let's cross our fingers and hope that Tony has gotten on that plane. God speed Tony and thanks for visiting. You are a special and beautiful human being.
Love,
the lab
coping in cph!
P.S. Just got a phone call from Tony--he didn't get on that plane...
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