Mitchell Scholar Blogs

Upon the completion of my first two months in Ireland on the Mitchell Scholarship, I have much to be thankful for and even more to anticipate. These past months of adjustment have revealed the charm of Irish culture and challenged myself and my fellow class to maximize our time here.

As someone who is accustomed to a very rigid schedule of eating, exercising, and studying, Ireland has in effect thrown all of that out the window. Which is a good thing. Oftentimes, structure impedes exploration – and a set routine can confine one entirely to their comfort zone.

One day in September I was talking with my cab driver about places to go and things to try out. He told me of an Irish expression – “iasacht lamh” – meaning to “lend your hand.” Originating from an old tale of feuding families, the expression depicts one family member trying to make peace with the other side by offering a handshake through a carved hole in a wooden door – a risky leap of faith as their opponents stood on the other side with knives and swords aplenty. Albeit an extreme analogy, this saying symbolizes the excitement of embracing uncertainty: “lending your hand” to new experiences.

There are other slogans and hot takes that local cab drivers have willingly dished out, not all entirely appropriate for a published blog, but this advice has proven to be particularly useful. Here in Ireland, I’ve settled into a new rhythm of unpredictability – which has already yielded fruitful experiences.

Walking along the cliffs of Howth and Moher and traversing the mural-laden streets of Belfast are just a few things that have added to my experience. Learning of Ireland’s difficult colonial past and struggles with ethnic conflict make me appreciate all the more a society’s ability to reconcile and move forward, even with all the baggage. The first impression one gets when traveling the Emerald Isle is the awe of its immense natural beauty. For me, such scenery proclaims God’s majesty and serves as a reminder of how much we take for granted.

Mitchell Welcome Reception at the Royal Irish Academy

Glenstal Abbey, Limerick

As a proud Tennessean and adopted Kentuckian, my belief in “southern hospitality” can now make a new exception. People here have been incredibly accommodating and have gone the extra mile to help. During my first week here I emailed a local pastor, out of the blue, about visiting his church. The next afternoon, we were sipping coffee together with his wife, discussing each other’s lives and the mission of the Church. The next week, I found myself at their home with other young adults from our congregation eating soda bread, vegetable soup, and watching the GAA finals. “The land of a thousand welcomes” holds fast and true.

When our Mitchell class visited Glenstal Abbey, a poem by the late Irish poet John O’Donohue was read to us before we departed. The words of the poem not only confirm Ireland’s long tradition of literary genius, but also perfectly speak to the start of this new experience – a full year of study, fellowship, and exploration:

“Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening…

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.”

Here’s to a new Irish beginning, a year of lending one’s hand to new experiences and people, and a new rhythm of risk and promise.

For a theatermaker in Dublin, October is the biggest month of the year. The Dublin Theatre Festival takes over the city. As someone who just moved to Dublin, it was my chance to dive headfirst into contemporary Irish theater. Through these plays, I glimpsed a cross-section of what Irish artists are thinking and talking about. The Festival left me with questions and ideas that will follow me through the rest of my studies in Irish theater.

One trend I saw was the use of presentational ensemble theater to call attention to communities in Ireland that are not usually represented onstage. Rapids was a documentary play where actors performed the stories of people living with HIV in Ireland; the five actors in The Good House of Happiness incorporated their personal experiences as East Asian immigrants in Dublin into the script; and this is a room… featured an ensemble of teenagers who acted out scenarios about homelessness and Dublin’s housing crisis. In all three, the actors were careful not to claim ownership over these stories, and not to reduce entire populations to one narrative. Rather, these pieces were about the act of giving voice to someone else who might not otherwise have a voice. They educated their audiences but they were not didactic.

Another theme that ran through the festival was gender. The Sin Eaters was my favorite play that I saw in the festival. The all-female cast showed how generations of Irish women have lived with trauma from violence committed against them and their ancestors. It was site-specific to a chemistry lab in the Poolbeg Towers. There were eight people in the audience, and the actors led us on individual journeys through the space.  By creating individual journeys and not providing us with any space to share our experiences with each other, the piece highlighted how women are too often isolated from each other. They seldom get a space to talk about the different kinds of violence they’ve experienced, so they think they’re alone. After the show, I stood in a circle with four audience members I didn’t know. We shared the different individual scenes in which we took part. Maybe that conversation was a model for how we break the cycle of violence.

A question that I have been struggling with is the role of internationalism in Irish theater. My professors and colleagues say that there was an unusual shortage of international acts in the festival, and that these Irish companies were only programmed because the festival was unable to program more international acts. There is a sense in the theater community that internationalism is inherently progress. This attitude is very different from what I’m used to in the United States, where, often, theater communities only look inward to find new talent. To an extent, I agree with the importance of looking outward – theater should be diverse and multicultural – but, from the plays I saw, it is clear that internationalism is not the only way to achieve progress. All of the aforementioned plays were made by Irish theater companies. They were innovative, subversive, and rigorous. I wonder if, in looking to other countries for cutting-edge theater, Ireland shortchanges its own artists and the inventive work they are doing. As an American who came to Dublin to make theater, I will continually navigate when it would be helpful for me to bring in my perspectives as a newcomer from another culture, and when I should step back and listen. If the Dublin Theatre Festival has taught me anything, it’s that I have a lot to learn.

I used to joke that living in Wyoming had ruined cities for me–four years of small towns and empty plains make it hard to adjust to a concrete jungle. I had never been to Dublin before this year, and approached the change with apprehension–would I be able to keep up with the frenetic pace of a global capital? Or would I be lost in the chaos? During my time here, Ireland has surprised and delighted me, perhaps most powerfully in its ability to shape itself around the needs of each of us. A living mosaic, Dublin can be taken as its impressive whole or seen up close for the distinct, small spaces that compose it. I am glad to say that I have found my eye in the middle of the city’s living storm; far from being lost, I feel very much in place.

There are many elements that make up homesickness, not least of which is your native language. Growing up in Mozambique, I took for granted the particular musicality of Portuguese. After moving to the U.S., I missed those familiar sounds painfully. I had no expectation that this particular aspect of homesickness would disappear in my new Irish life, and was therefore astonished to discover a vibrant Brazilian community across Dublin. Without seeking it out, I had found in Dublin what I had missed so much for so many years–voices that sounded like home. This has struck me as a defining characteristic of Dublin: alongside a strong Irish identity, there is a welcome diversity of experiences and origins. I have no anxiety that I am out of place, because there is no firm standard for what in place even looks like–there is room to be colorful while still belonging in the mosaic.

In my postcolonial studies I was always struck by the way that colonization scars a country: while the details of occupation may differ, trauma marks the population. I have been struck by the foundation of cultural understanding that I have found with other postcolonial students: our fierce patriotism exists alongside both a grim recognition of enduring challenges and a lingering resentment for the abuse that enabled them. In my studies, the world has been presented as a dichotomy: colonized vs. colonizer becomes interchangeable with developed vs. undeveloped. Ireland defies that pattern. Although it is an economic powerhouse with a strong influence in global politics, its own historical trauma remains a part of the national psyche. When classroom conversations turn to oppression and occupation, students lean forward, engaged by the recognition that these are not curses suffered by strangers, but a reality. In my life, I have fought to break down the layer of insulation that exists in wealthy nations to separate them from global crises. In Ireland, I have found that I don’t have to fight as hard: there is empathy for those who suffer at the hands of imperialism and respect for those who overcome it. This recognition that we are not so different has made me feel deeply at home in a new country.

Many Mitchell scholars can point to Irish ancestors whose influence lives on in their last names, in their hair color, in their national pride. Several others, like me, have no genetic ties to the island. And yet, I feel at home. Ireland’s complicated past and diverse present resonate within me and provide a sense of belonging. I am so proud to be a part of this living mosaic, and I am so grateful to have found where I am in place.

Standing at the toppings counter and facing the ever-difficult decision of brownie bits or chocolate chips (or, dare I say, both?), I felt my phone start to vibrate. With a mixture of dread and excitement, I looked at the caller ID. Just what I thought – it was the phone call I’d been waiting for; the one that would let me know whether or not I would be heading to Ireland next year as one of twelve Mitchell Scholars. Sending a nervous look my mom’s way and getting a confused look from the teenage frozen yogurt shop worker, I dropped my carefully-arranged cup to the counter and rushed out of the store. Just outside, I took a deep breath, tried to control my shaking voice, and answered. The second I heard the word “congratulations,” everything stopped and sped up at once. I was selected; I was a Mitchell Scholar; I was moving to Ireland! But wait, where did they say I was going? “Any other immediate questions?” suddenly came from the other end of the phone. “Um, uh, yes, sorry. I was too shocked and excited, and I didn’t actually hear…where in Ireland did you say I was going again?” Through some muffled laughter, I heard the name of my future home: Galway. I like to think I thanked them again over the phone, but my memory is a bit of a blur of excitement. I do remember going into the frozen yogurt shop where my mom was anxiously trying to read my face and announcing to her (and presumably the rest of the frozen yogurt consumer population) that I would be going to Ireland! Needless to say, it was a celebration moment more than deserving of both brownie bits and chocolate chips.

Flash forward a few hours, I was in a hotel room with my parents calling various relatives to tell them the news when the official press release listing all twelve winners was released. I was thrilled to see the final group filled with new friends I had made during the interview weekend, but as I read through the list I realized something. I would be the only Mitchell Scholar next year in Galway. I was still absolutely thrilled to know I would be there next year, already enamored with the Salthill Promenade before ever walking it, already awed by the buskers on Shop Street before ever listening to them, but suddenly a small seed of fear settled in beside my excitement – after four years of undergrad with a consistent support system built on expanding existing connections, how would I find a new group alone in not only a new city but a new country? The excitement outweighed the nerves, but nevertheless that small fear persisted throughout the months preparing for my departure.

Suddenly it was somehow mid-August, and I found myself stepping out of the (unnaturally wrong left side) passenger side of a car onto a sunny dock. Jet-lagged and slowed down by suitcases, I rang the designated number on the keypad and an excited, familiar voice came down, “WELCOME TO GALWAY; I’M SO EXCITED TO FINALLY MEET YOU IN PERSON; COME RIGHT UP.” I emerged into the apartment which would soon become my home and into the arms of one of its current residents Azza Cohen, one of the Class of 2017 Mitchell Scholars. Over the next few days, she and her sister showed me around Galway covering essentials ranging from phone plans and groceries to making sure I had my first 99 ice cream cone. As they guided me through the city, we eventually arrived at the university. NUI Galway is a dual language campus with almost all signs in both English and Irish. As she told me about campus life and her experiences as a student, I stopped Azza and her sister on the walking bridge into campus so that I could take a picture of a sign. On one of the posts, the university advertises its status as “Ranked in the top 1% of universities worldwide.” An impressive feat worthy of notice, the sign itself didn’t strike me as out of place. What interested me was not the fact, which I had known already, but the Irish: Rangaithe i measc an 1% is fearr d’ollscoileanna an domhain. Due to its spacing on the sign, I found myself in a new city, trying to get my bearings, approaching the imminent departure of my only guides, and facing a sign the top of which to me looked like it was telling me, “1% is [fear].” Laughing, I took my picture, captioned it “are they sure it’s only 1%,” sent it to my friends back home, and continued on with our tour of Galway.

While at the time I thought little more of the sign than a brief laugh, its message has stuck with me in ways I didn’t then realize. On the night before their departure back to the states, Azza, Daniella (her sister), and I took a walk along the Claddagh at sunset. Bathed in soft purple light, I was expecting a reserved quiet reflective walk. Daniella, however, had one more dream to accomplish in Galway – she wanted to busk on the streets with her ukulele. The only problem was that she absolutely did not want to sing. Knowing from the safety and comfort of the apartment that I knew the words to one of the songs she was able to play, she stopped mid-walk, opened her case, put it on the ground, and began to play. Already feeling myself blush an incredible shade of red, I looked up to see her staring at me waiting for me to sing with her in public for all to hear. Nervously laughing and refusing, all I wanted to do was retreat. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, I had one clear thought: “1% is fear.” Cliched as it may be, in that moment I realized that if I was going to make the most of this year and really embrace my new home and university, especially once Azza and Daniella departed, I couldn’t retreat into the safety of what felt comfortable. I would have to put myself out there; I’d have to do things that I feared. “1% is fear…1% is fear…1% is fear…” I listened to her playing, waited for the cue, opened my mouth, and sang. While that was both the beginning and end to my brief busking career, we managed to make 20 cents for our efforts, and that coin has stayed on my nightstand ever since. A reminder to myself as I came into my new home to welcome the things that I was afraid of, to put myself out there even if I wasn’t perfect at what I was attempting, to embrace aspects of this new place that I never thought I could.

In the two months since then, I’ve walked past that same sign countless times coming to and from campus, and I’ve tried to live by its (albeit unintentional) message in ways that I never expected. Like many of my fellow Mitchell Scholars from this year and others, I knew myself as a planner, a perfectionist of sorts who approached things with clear steps, goals, and knowledge of the situation. These were skills that felt comfortable to me; they had gotten me far and enabled some of my greatest accomplishments. Yet in the past two months, some of my most rewarding moments have come from the times when I quieted my racing thoughts, pushed aside my need to be perfect at and in control of whatever I was attempting, and followed the quiet voice slowly repeating, “1% is fear.” Without that voice, I never would have accepted a spontaneous trip to Connemara. I never would have found myself celebrating Galway’s victory at hurling, a sport I found I loved despite never having heard of it only a month before. I would have never laughed the night away while being taught how to make Mayo plaits by a new friend as she prepared to go to the Gaelic football final to support her team, and I definitely never would have been found wearing it in a pub the next day to watch the match and getting friendly elbow nudges from an elderly Mayo resident on the stool next to me whenever points went our way. I wouldn’t have enrolled in optional modules I felt I had the least amount of background knowledge in that I’ve come to love. I wouldn’t have gone for an interview for a job at the Academic Writing Center on campus which has now come to give me some of the most rewarding experiences of my time in the library at NUIG. And without embracing my own fear of discomfort and even failure, I absolutely never would have taken up a new sport and joined the NUIG Fencing Club which has become not only a hobby I love but given me a family away from home full of laughter, advice, support, and joy both inside the gym and beyond.

Without embracing the portion of this experience that relied on moving past my own fears, I never would have found myself mid-competition looking up through a fencing mask at the stands of the University College Cork gym to see the faces of Mitchell Scholars who had hosted me in Cork and travelled from Dublin to support me there alongside those of my new fencing family all smiling encouragingly at me while I tried something brand new to me. “En Garde” I took a deep breath. “Ready” I reminded myself that 1% is fear. “Fence!” And, moving forward, I embraced it.

Me and Daniella making our way to busking fame

Walking through Galway with Azza

Enjoying the scenery near Leenane

Supporting Mayo! (If you don’t already know, then don’t ask about the final score)

Fencing at Wests, hosted at home at NUIG

Ready to fence at UCC (with supportive photos taken and captioned by fellow Mitchell Scholar Miranda)

Grateful For The Rain

May 27, 2017

Having spent most of the previous four years in sunny, drought-stricken southern California, I arrived in Ireland last September a bit unprepared for Ireland’s abundance of rain. Especially during the Irish winter, there are some days when it feels like Mother Nature is cooking up her own version of the Ice Bucket Challenge, whether we want to play or not. When the wind picks up, as it often does, the rain seemingly pelts us from the side too, and occasionally one’s umbrella is turned inside out.

But if the rain is occasionally a minor inconvenience, it also provides gentle reminders of some valuable lessons. For starters, the rain reminds us that a little extra preparation, whether in the form of a raincoat or an umbrella, can be extremely valuable. It also reminds us that no matter how well prepared you are, you’re still going to get wet sometimes. Maybe most importantly, the rain reminds us that sometimes temporary discomfort is a necessary component of a meaningful experience. The last soccer game I played this year was scheduled on an evening with heavy, frigid downpours, and when we arrived for warm-ups, many players on both teams seemed to be in a foul mood, myself included. Nevertheless, once the game began, we played with a wild abandon, and left the pitch smiling.

Ireland could not have the incredibly lush, radiant greenery that makes it the Emerald Isle without its abundance of rain. Of course, without rain, most plants cannot grow. Similarly, without experiencing some amount of discomfort, we cannot grow as people. I am grateful for many things about my time in Ireland, including the opportunity to broaden my education, the opportunity to explore Ireland’s natural beauty and cultural heritage, and the opportunity to build deep friendships with the other Mitchell scholars as well as my classmates at UCD. Maybe most of all, I am grateful for the moments of discomfort, because these are the moments that have helped me grow the most.

Rainbow on the River Liffey

Ruins near Wicklow

Field near Wicklow

A year ago today, I had the honor of serving as the student commencement speaker at my graduation from the University of Scranton (29:00 minutes in), after which I saw my year as a Mitchell Scholar begin. In this speech on the tension between walls and migrations, I built off of my Mitchell application and the vision I had for studying in Ireland, a land which has seen its history defined by such a tension – a history we explored as a Mitchell family at the EPIC museum in Dublin and walking along the walls in Belfast; one of the memorable lines from my address was this: that the world needs less people who live to succeed and more people who succeed at living. I could not have found such wonderful people who fulfill this criteria than my fellow Class of 2017 Mitchells.

As I explored the Wicklow Mountains the other day on a gorgeous Irish summer day (quite rare so far), I came across a trail-head sign delineating the possible hikes for the day. One word – hillwalker -caught my attention. In my biodiversity and conservation class, we had come across lawsuits regarding hillwalkers, people who hiked off the beaten path, trailblazers, renegades, or simply Dubliners with an adventurous spirit, who would often hike across the farmland and sheep-land of many on their excursions – no walls impeded their paths. The courts often would side with hill walkers; a similar experience occurred while I was in the English countryside visiting friends the other month, where I learned that farmland had to be kept open for hikers.

Hiking in the Wicklow Mountains.

In Ireland, ownership of the land has always been a tension, as the Imperial British would often take land from the Catholics and/or divide it to lessen the landholdings of the Irish. Their still remains a conscious tie to the land for the Irish and its importance, and the example of the hill-walkers reveals how the Irish have sought to tear down walls of oppression or physical barriers to their culture since Independence. Tied into this history of walls of oppression, the Irish have the memory of repeated emigrations and migrations.

Migration, has, to me always been about growth and peace. Seeking a better life, dialogue with one’s neighbor, and building bridges, not walls. The island of Ireland’s history is a history of migration. To witness first hand the progress that has been made in the North since George Mitchell’s work in bringing about the Good Friday agreement has been astounding; so to has the response of Northern Irish and Irish alike in working to ensure that no hard border – no wall –  is produced from Brexit, but rather a flow of ideas, peoples, and culture continues across the border: a migration.

Coming back to America will be a migration for me, a full circle of a year, but I know that I will be proud to consider myself among the ranks of Mitchell Scholars: people who have found a passion to bring about positive change in the world through the reduction of barriers and the promotion of leadership, exchange, and peace.