A Picture-Perfect White-Washed Red-Trimmed Cottage

Posted on December 30, 2012 by Kathryn Van Winkle - NUI Galway

I’m looking back at my year in Ireland from a distance of four months and more than 4,000 miles. My friends from the master’s program at NUIG finally celebrated our graduation at the end of November, an event I could enjoy only vicariously, through photos and social media. So this is a good time to take stock and reflect. Items on my Ireland to-do list havs been crossed off, vigorously:

  • Make friends (I knew I’d like the other Mitchell Scholars. I just didn’t know how much.)
  • Travel (though I never made it to Dingle or the Ring of Kerry. How soon can I come back?)
  • Study another language (if only a cúpla focal—a couple of words)
  • Perform in another country (unexpectedly, in Portuguese)
  • Write and publish something (see “You Had To Be There: Irish Theatre in 2011,” in this fall’s issue of the New Hibernia Review)
  • Do some good (see Theatre of Witness at the Derry Playhouse)
  • And have some fun (see Galway, city of).

And I have new lists: penpals to keep up with, soda bread recipes to try, plays I want to direct here in the US. But when I look back, what I remember most clearly is not my own accomplishments, nor my new goals, but the hospitality of the Irish people. From chance acquaintances offering flashlights, umbrellas, and 5 a.m. lifts to the airport (just don’t call it a “ride” — that means something very different), to the incredible bounty of activities we enjoyed during our Mitchell Scholar commencement weekend in May, my year was suffused with generosity.

My time in Derry/Londonderry  during a short internship toward the end of my Mitchell year was no exception. Pauline Ross at Derry Playhouse welcomed me into her theater; Teya Sepinuck welcomed me into her Theatre of Witness project; and the Birthistle family welcomed me into their beautiful home, where they housed and fed and entertained me for the three weeks of my internship. I learned so much about the history and hopes of the city through their guidance and in my work for Theatre of Witness, a storytelling/documentary drama project that provides a forum for marginalized voices. In Northern Ireland, Teya works with people involved in and affected by the Troubles. The result is tremendously powerful, for both performers and audience.

This summer the participants were men coming to terms with the legacy of their past: two ex-prisoners, a former RUC  (Royal Ulster Constabulary) detective, a former British soldier, a former prison governor, and a man who had lived through a car bomb as a child. They told their life stories to Teya, who developed a script, and they all collaborated on the staging, crossing borders drawn by sectarianism, violence, torture, and betrayal. They performed and toured the resulting piece, Release, this fall. I am awed by the generosity and courage of the participant-performers in both Release and other Theatre of Witness performances.

Teya’s assistant, Emma Stuart, treated me to a road trip adventure around the Inishowen Peninsula. We crossed the border into Donegal, trading stories of emigration and travel and places that feel like home, rounding a tight bend and driving up against hedges to let local farmers’ trucks pass, inching down a steep incline to collect seaweed from a sandy beach strewn with boulders, and approaching the most northerly point of Ireland: Malin Head.

There we discovered the most northerly garden, and the only thatched conservatory on the island, in a picture-perfect white-washed red-trimmed cottage. We couldn’t take our eyes off that house, so we pulled over and poked our heads in through the open door, pretending that we thought it was a shop. (We knew it wasn’t a shop.) Out popped the owner. Dermot was delighted by our interest in his 200-year-old cottage. He treated us to juice, gave us a tour, and regaled us with some history and folklore.

Dermot was on his way back to Belfast. He invited us to spend the night in the cottage in his absence. Though we declined gratefully, we got to talking about Theatre of Witness—and lo and behold, Dermot revealed that he was the parish priest of Lisburn, responsible for 14,000 parishioners. He wanted to bring the show to his town and his people, and he had a brand-new performing hall. What were the odds? Only in Ireland. Thanks, Father Dermot.

Thanks, everyone.

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O’Bama: Election Season Away from Home

Posted on November 8, 2012 by mlotfipour13

As a former volunteer for the Obama campaign, I felt as though I was neglecting my political duties by being away from the US during prime election season. But within my first hour on the island of Ireland, I had had my first political discussion. In preparation for Ireland, I had attempted to learn about the different political structures and parties that exist here: I had read about Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil and all the in-between parties. However, my cab driver was more interested in discussing Obama’s visit to the island and my thoughts on that other guy, Mitt. I was informed of Obama’s Irish roots in Moneygall in County Offaly and about the historic roots of his “Irish” name, “O’Bama.”

The discussion of U.S. politics continued during  the wine reception at UCD orientation, during small class discussions, and around the dinner table with my roommates. I was so excited to engage in talk of U.S. politics – it felt like being home in a way. Every time I’ve been homesick, I find that people’s interest in and connection to the U.S. has brightened my day. Sometimes I even feel more comfortable than at home, since I’m surrounded by “Irish Democrats” who, I find, share my political views.

Though I have not missed any of the candidates’ debates (or the captivating Facebook and Twitter posts regarding Big Bird and binders full of women), I have undoubtedly had a different experience of this presidential race than I would have if I’d remained in the US. After each debate, I’ve had long discussions with Irish classmates – who had also stayed up to watch the debates the night before. Being removed from any US political history gives my international friends a different perspective — more about what is actually said and done by the candidates than about preconceived notions. It’s been refreshing, and has given me many new insights.

I write this the night before the US elects the president. I’m looking forward to celebrating the evening with my Mitchell family and at the US Embassy. I’m even more excited that I get to share the experience with the guest I’m bringing to the Embassy event, an Irish classmate whose passion for US politics demonstrates the longstanding connection between Ireland and America.

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Sinking In, Running Around

Posted on November 7, 2012 by kdwyer13

I’ll admit to a slow start.

I arrived in Belfast with the standard hopes-and-dreams of any student arriving in a new country to study. Perhaps being in the field of human rights law, I was a bit more starry-eyed and a bit more determined to get right down to business than some. In any event, I dreamed up some simple and essential goals for this year:

1. Have fun
2. Travel
3. Produce good academic work, both in and out of class
4. Build friendships and maintain relationships
5. Learn something completely new (and awesome)

My first month in Northern Ireland was more difficult than I’d imagined it would be. I couldn’t quite find my access point into the energy and thriving life of the city. Belfast is a community crowded with cultural events, from theater and music to events related to the Troubles. I wanted to learn about everything, and to get right to the heart of the city in every way I could. But somehow I felt blocked and frustrated.

There’s a different culture here than in the US, and while people are extremely friendly, they aren’t so anxious to have you over for dinner or to build strong intimate connections. Added to this was my surprising academic schedule that gave me only four hours of class a week. After six years of friendships, study, leadership, and volunteering in Oregon, I felt pretty lost in unscheduled time.

All that changed two weeks ago. First, I met a professor with a shared interest in working with incarcerated individuals, and he directed me to some organizations in town. Second, the Mitchell director introduced me (via email) to a BBC journalist who not only had me shadow her at the broadcasting house but also introduced me to some friends in need of research assistance and early-morning walking partners. As my days filled up, I’ve found more and more peers in my program who are anxious to meet outside of class hours for study dates and coffee. We’ll be putting an event together for Human Rights Day in December.

Now it looks like I’ll be racing around from now until Christmas.

The goals I initially came up with were good ones: They’ve given me the flexibility to adjust to my new home here in Belfast, and to a culture shock that is rapidly giving way to comfort.  They’ve allowed me to reflect on the differences between my time in Northern Ireland and my experiences living and working in Central and South America, as well as various places in the US. I’ve had a lot to learn, and suddenly, I’m off.

In addition to becoming friends with my fellow Mitchells and spending a good amount of time traveling and hiking in beautiful places, I’ve made some serious progress on the goal of learning something new, which has led me to my most ridiculous — and satisfying — activities to date: I learned to surf (badly) with fellow Mitchell Scholar Ashleen Williams up in the North Atlantic, and I’ve taken ceili Irish dancing classes through the university. Think Riverdance meets square dancing, and you’ve got the right idea.

I can’t wait to see what Belfast will bring me next.

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Out with the Old, In with the New?

Posted on November 7, 2012 by rcarlson13

Today marks my two-month anniversary in Ireland. I arrived in September, dragging my disheveled way down O’Connell Street, shoulders straining under the three suitcases still stained with dust acquired somewhere between the African Sahel and the Eastern seaboard of the US. My packing job after a year living in Senegal had been simple: Remove mounds of medical supplies, replace with peacoats and woolen hats. Add a business suit or two and throw in a copy of Ulysses for good measure. Voilà: My life’s possessions, reassembled for my next year abroad. In the local parlance of Ireland, I was “sorted.”

“Sorted” was an apt way to describe my entrance into Dublin as well. Of course, there was literal sorting. Academic red tape to slog through, new keys to track down, aesthetically pleasing tea mugs to select (I’d always scoffed at tea as yogic and inefficient before coming to Ireland, but now I love it). More importantly, there was a sorting of perspective to undergo. Before my room at Trinity was ready, I stayed in a hostel on the north side of the Liffey for two nights. I knew Dublin first from beneath the train tracks, in a converted wine cellar filled with international free spirits. Aboveground, the streets were peppered with Chinese storefronts, Polish grocery stores, and kitschy mom-and-pop teashops. I flounced around buying scones with backpacking buddies I’d met at the hostel, like a tourist on vacation in my new hometown.

I found myself wandering those same streets again recently, but I barely recognized them. The lenses through which I see Ireland regularly shift In this manner. I view Dublin one day through the hodgepodge of the city’s north side, another through the august offices and neon of Temple Bar.

This is the island of the peat-fueled hearth and also of the Guinness-fueled concert. Sometimes as I stroll from High Street into Christ Church, surveying Viking ruins, my thoughts shift to neorealist theories of international politics. These layers are emblematic of the city too: a recent historic “ghost tour” of Dublin brought me to a local restaurant converted from a church: the churchyard, where a kid’s fair is erected during the summertime, contains the coffin of the “hanging-est judge in Ireland” (whose spirit, in the form of a Labrador, supposedly still terrorizes hapless housewives somewhere north of Phoenix Park). Here, history is not facing the wrecking ball but seeds the present.

Despite my continual sorting, people around me have been taken aback lately when I’ve let slip the word “home” to describe Trinity. “Galway was a blast, but it will be nice to settle home next weekend,” I’ll say, or “I’d better stop home to grab a sweater.” Invariably, confusion arises: “You’re going back to the States next weekend?” someone will ask or “Surely you can buy a sweater here” (aside: can you ever!).

Maybe after traveling so much, I’ve learned to use the word “home” too liberally. But there’s something exceptionally settled about my Mitchell company: an immediate ease that I didn’t expect among high-charged young careerists. For instance, I’ve noticed that my Mitchell class is uncannily food oriented (beyond the two people who figure food into their professional ambitions, more than a few are impressive chefs). It seems this group means to savor.

So here’s to savoring, and here’s to sorting.

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Star-Struck in Belfast

Posted on November 7, 2012 by byoung13

It’s not everyday that you meet a celebrity. But for me, it happens nearly every Thursday in my photography MFA course at the University of Ulster’s Belfast campus. The world of photography is an interesting one. The fame tethered to success becomes associated with the images you create rather than with your face or image as a person. When was the last time you saw a photographer’s face splashed across the pages of a tabloid? Of course, famous photographers are esteemed and lauded, but it is their work that becomes known, not the face. If I passed one of my favorite photographers on the street, I might not even know it.

Our first visiting lecturer, Martin Parr, is a huge name in photography.  When I think of Parr, I think mainly of these two images taken as a part of his series “The Last Resort”:

Parr is a noticeable exception to the incognito photographer rule. I knew what he looked like before I sat, slightly star-struck in the university lecture theater, listening to him talk about his photography practice. He is featured in many of his own photographs, usually in a funny, slightly jarring way.  Take for example, “Autoportrait“ (2000), a collection he’s assembled during years of traveling by having his photo taken in various tourist photography studios.

Following the talk, we got the chance to sit in on a critique given by Parr of the work of the second-year MFA photography students. It was equal parts exciting and terrifying, knowing that I will be in a similar position this time next year.

Another guest photography lecturer, Gareth McConnell, was personally very exciting for me to meet and learn from. For the past several years, I have been obsessed with his series “Meditations,” and it is this series of images, taken of a bed, that I think of when I hear his name:

His recent work also features beautiful, dramatic shots of flowers at night, images that remind me vividly of my experience last year photographing cherry blossoms in Japan.  This is an image from McConnell’s series “Night Flowers”:

McConnell was engaging, funny, and sincere, and I really enjoyed listening to him speak about his work, about the practicalities of  being a working photographer, and about his experiences growing up in Northern Ireland.

Most recently, we were visited by the American photographer Doug DuBois, who I associate with this image from his book All the Days and Nights:

DuBois has been working for the past several years on the island of Ireland, so it was interesting for me to see an American photographer working with  the Irish landscape. He gave us a unique and thorough look at his work in progress and spoke of the many decisions that play a role in his work.

The first two months of my course have already brought so much excitement and inspiration that I can’t wait to see what the rest of the year holds.

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Dispatches from Oireachtas na Gaeilge

Posted on November 7, 2012 by cwalsh13

I recently spent a weekend at the Oireachtas na Gaeilge in Letterkenny in County Donegal. I didn’t really have a choice. For months now, everyone around me has been talking about the Oireachtas. I had heard a lot about it, but still wasn’t sure what sort of shape it would take. Well, imagine a small town in Donegal. Add giddy Irish speakers from all over the country and the world. Throw in the performing arts and a whole lot of chaos, and you’ve arrived at the Oireachtas. The decision was made. I packed my bags on Friday and took the bus from Galway to Donegal with a couple of classmates.

The Oireachtas has been going on since 1897 and stands out as the highlight of the Irish-speaking year. People travel from all over to compete in and watch some of the very best displays of Irish-language music and arts. Normally sedate Letterkenny hums as students, musicians, dancers, and poets celebrate each night and into the wee hours of the morning. The Oireachtas revolves around the Corn Uí Riada, the most prestigious sean-nós style singing competition in Ireland. I had the good fortune to be in the audience for this year’s competition. For more than three hours, we sat mesmerized as some of the best singers in Ireland offered their take on one of the oldest parts of the Irish musical tradition. When the winner was announced, the crowd roared and joined in, as you might or might not expect, on a song dedicated to the winner’s mother.

It’s an event that could only happen in Irish-speaking Ireland, and somewhere in the absurdity of a few hundred people singing a song about a big pot of potatoes in honor of someone’s mother, there’s a really touching beauty to it all. With a community as small as the one that uses Irish, there’s a participatory feeling to things. It’s not enough to simply sit back and watch; you’ve got to get involved. This might mean singing along with the winner of the most prestigious Irish-language singing competition in Ireland. Or it might mean finding yourself  acting as an Irish-language directions-giver for a music festival in a place you’ve never been before (this happened to me, at a festival in the town of Cavan — nobody could find the bathroom. Nobody). The point is speaking Irish means participating in Irish culture in a way that goes far beyond observing.

As I rode the bus back to Galway, winding through Joyce country and County Sligo, I thought about how at first I hadn’t even been sure I was going to the Oireachtas and how much my experience here has been enriched because I did. This seems to be the main thing I’m learning about Ireland. To get a sense of the place, you really have to engage in a sort of practiced spontaneity.

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First Impressions

Posted on November 7, 2012 by pdekoning13

It’s now a bit more than a month and a half since I set foot in Ireland, and what a roller-coaster ride so far. With multiple trips outside the country, a part-time job with an organization in DC, a local internship, and a fairly rigorous academic program, I could benefit from a bit of a break. My reading week seems to have arrived at just the right time.

Despite this, in those moments that I have had time to relax and enjoy my surroundings, I have been delighted by my experiences in Dublin. The Irish people seem to constantly exhibit genuine warmth and cheerfulness — something I find particularly surprising given the challenging economic situation in the country. Surprisingly, some of my favorite moments have been in taxis. Many of the Irish cab drivers I’ve encountered have been eager to share their take on Irish history with me, and one even began reciting poetry that his deceased father, a journalist, had written. Almost everyone I’ve met here seems to have an unconditional love of literature, art, and music, and it gives this city a cultural vibrancy.

I have also been very pleasantly surprised by the food. Though the national dishes don’t exhibit the kind of diversity one might encounter elsewhere, the painstaking attention that restaurants pay to their ingredients and their suppliers is impressive. The Irish boxty — a thick, fried potato pancake wrapped around a meat of choice – is a particular favorite, and one of my major projects in the coming months will be to master Irish recipes like Guinness and steak pie. As a beer enthusiast, I’ve enjoyed exploring the emerging Irish craft beer culture. It remains small – there are no more than 12 to 15 breweries on the island – but I’ve enjoyed finding diversity, beyond the omnipresent Guinness, Murphy’s, and Smithwick’s.

One of the things that has struck me most about Dublin is the fact that one can still see many of sites that symbolize the great divisions in Irish society over the centuries: Christchurch, the Anglican church that serves as a solemn reminder of the lack of religious freedom in Ireland under much of British rule; Kilmanhaim Jail, where countless political prisoners fighting for Irish freedom were held and sometimes killed; the General Post Office, where the 1916 Rising occurred; the Four Courts, where Irishmen turned guns on each other in 1921, starting a brutal nine-month civil war. And so much more.

I’ve rarely been to a city that seems so set on remembering the past, on reliving the painful memories that have plagued its existence. It feels as though the city itself serves as a constant reminder to its inhabitants of how far Ireland has come and how much Irish citizens ought to be thankful for the independence and freedoms that their ancestors fought for.

I’m very much looking forward to gaining a deeper understanding of Irish history, and seeing its impact on different parts of the island – especially Northern Ireland – in the coming months.

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Cooking up a Gaelic Storm

Posted on November 7, 2012 by Catherine Skroch

When you think of Irish food, what comes to mind? Potatoes? Shepherd’s pie? How about fish and chips? Bangers and mash, or bubble and squeak? Or perhaps to you Irish cuisine just looks like a tall, dark, handsome pint of Guinness. Who could blame you?

Before I arrived in Northern Ireland, I was convinced that somewhere buried below piles of mashed champ and cabbage lies a vibrant culinary tradition – as vibrant as the Irish countryside. I set out to discover the space where local farmers and producers meet chefs interested in Irish tradition, as part of my interest in food and nutrition as a method of healing survivors of conflict.

Back in the US, I  had worked on a project called Peace Meals that brings together survivors of trauma for informal cooking classes and nutritional meals. Studying international relations in Belfast, I am interested in learning from practitioners about the best ways to work with those who have been affected by conflict. I’m hoping to blend my love for food with my passion for working with survivors of trauma, one dinner at a time.

Imagine my delight then, when I received a call from one of the teachers at the famed Ballymaloe Cookery School, inviting me to attend a class. Debbie Shaw called me unexpectedly on a Friday afternoon to invite me to her course focusing on nutritional healing. We would be making dishes aimed at utilizing nutrition to heal winter maladies such as colds, depression, and fatigue.

This invitation was a dream come true, so of course I scrambled to travel overnight all the way across the island. Out beyond Cork in the middle-of-nowhere-Irish-countryside lies what must certainly be the closest thing to the Garden of Eden that exists today.

Ballymaloe's kitchen garden, source of most ingredients for the classes.

The cookery school is located on a 100-acre organic farm where most of the ingredients used in the courses are raised and grown. Started in 1983 by Irish celebrity chef Darina Allen and her farmer husband, the school now offers more than a hundred short courses like the one I attended, as well as longer vocational training courses.

We made dishes including pinto bean and roast butternut squash ragout, spelt brown bread, carrot and sweet potato soup with coriander and cashew pesto, gluten-free fig-ginger-cranberry muffins with homemade butter, cinnamon baked apples, rice pudding, and grilled lamb chops. And that was all BEFORE lunch!

Needless to say, these dishes were some of the best I have ever tasted. You can see more photos of what we cooked here in my photo album.

As I ambled around the kitchen garden, orchards, pasturelands, greenhouses and chicken coops (Le Palais des Poulets, as it’s called), I felt that I was walking in a living homage to Ireland’s rich history and culture. Irish culture is very communal – it’s not unusual to see entire families in a pub on a weekday evening – and subsistence agriculture is part of history here, for better or worse. It’s hard to explain how culinary traditions can bring us together so strongly. I just know that, even though I am currently across the ocean from my family, kneading Irish soda bread and sharing a warm slice with a new friend somehow feels like home.

Recipe:  Quintessential Irish Soda Bread

Be sure to eat with plenty of Irish butter!

  • 3 cups (12 oz) of wheat flour
  • 1 cup (4 oz) of white flour
  • 14 oz. of buttermilk
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • 1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
  • 2 oz. butter
  • 1/2 cup currants or raisins (optional)
  • 1 Tbsp. caraway seeds (optional)
  1. Preheat the oven to 425 F. degrees.  Lightly grease and flour a cake pan.  In a large bowl sift and then combine dry ingredients. Mix in the butter until the dough is crumbly.
  2. Add the buttermilk to form a sticky dough.  Gently fold in the currants or raisins if using.
  3. Place on floured surface and knead — lightly.
  4. Shape into a round flat shape in a round cake pan and cut a cross in the top of the dough. Sprinkle with caraway seeds  if using.
  5. Cover the pan with another pan and bake for 30 min.  Remove cover and bake for an additional 15 min.
  6. When done, bottom of bread will produce a hollow sound when tapped.
  7. Cover the bread in a tea towel and lightly sprinkle water on the cloth to keep the bread moist.
  8. Let cool and slather with Irish cream butter and orange marmalade. Serve with tea or coffee.

**If you want to make this gluten free, substitute 4 cups gluten-free flour blend and 1 tsp xantham gum or 3 cups gluten-free flour blend and 1 cup ground flax meal.

Recipe adapted from The Society for the Preservation of Irish Soda Bread. (I’m not kidding.)

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Achill Island: Land of Midges and Fairies

Posted on November 7, 2012 by kkirkpatrick13

Since Ireland was going to be my new home for the next year, I arrived earlier this summer, determined to see as many aspects of the country as I could before settling into life as a student.  I had a whirlwind week of history in Dublin and then two intense weeks spent learning Irish in Donegal with an Irish-speaking farming family and an oddball bunch of international (and Irish) language learners. I then made my way to Achill Island, one of the islands off the west coast in County Mayo. I had no expectations when I arrived … except that I wanted to experience rural Ireland and learn enough about gardening to turn my black thumb at least a little bit green.

On an island whose landscape is characterized by barren hills, desolate stretches of bog, and breathtaking rugged cliffs, I found myself volunteering in a small botanic garden oasis on Achill Sound. I lived with a wonderful Dutch couple, Doutsje and Willem. Doutsje runs most of the B&B and garden-tour business, and Willem is a painter and musician. Our conversations were rich and varied and funny, and they provided valuable insights into life as an outsider in Ireland.  My work included making the garden more accessible (I discovered my untapped skills in ramp-building), painting several sheds, weeding, and launching a new soap-making endeavor. Some highlights of my time on Achill:

Ninety percent of conversations were either about the weather or about midges, which are a small flying insect that bites you until you end up looking like you have the chicken pox (“fecking midges!” is what people say). Midges like the shade, they don’t like the wind, they come out when its cool, and they are around more in the morning. Given that the weather on Achill changes every hour (from torrential downpour to gorgeous sunshine), the midge population was also extremely variable. You could walk into the local pub or greet guests in the garden or check out at the hardware store … and chances are you would end up talking about the weather and, consequently, about midges.

Magic is alive and well on Achill. My friend John saw fairies in the bog while he was digging peat, and you can see “fairy hills” left by farmers scattered about the landscape. John told me the reason the sheep on Achill are all concentrated near roads and houses is because they soak up humans’ negative energy so that people can enjoy life (picture small, woolen unhappiness sponges). That’s why Achill is such a healing place. The sheep.

Achill is home to gorgeous beaches and coastline, but what is most incredible is the light — magical, if you will (it’s probably the sheeps’ aura). I found a healing, welcoming, and slightly absurd home on Achill, and indeed everywhere I traveled in rural Ireland. It was the perfect introduction to my new Irish home, and to my Mitchell year.

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Business School

Posted on November 7, 2012 by bbechtolsheim13

As I sit down to write, Post-Tropical Storm Sandy (formerly known as Tropical Storm Sandy, formerly known as Hurricane Sandy) spits its last bits of wind and water across the Eastern Seaboard of the US.  For the first time since my arrival, Ireland’s weather feels relatively calm.

I had come close to feeling Sandy’s wrath myself.  Last week was a no-lecture week at University College Dublin, and so I used the opportunity to visit friends and loved ones in Boston and Washington, DC. My flight back to Ireland took off just as the winds were picking up, and we beat the storm out of town before the airports shut down.

Returning to cities I once called home provided an opportunity to take stock of my short time in Ireland so far; contrasts and lessons snapped into clarity when confronted with feelings and experiences that felt instantly familiar.

With the support of the Mitchell Scholarship, I am pursuing an MBA at University College Dublin.  And as much as I am enjoying my coursework and settling into a routine here, the trip back to the States reminded me of how unlikely my choice to pursue a business degree was.  Before coming to Ireland, I’d worked for an international development NGO for three years, and my friends were working at jobs in the federal government or at advocacy organizations, labor unions, or nonprofits — or they were studying in graduate programs training them to do the same.

When I told people I was going to be studying in Ireland, I was met with raised eyebrows and expressions of interest.  When I told people I was going to business school, the stares were blank or confused. I don’t wear the mantle of business school student very easily, but it’s a role that has become increasingly comfortable over the past months.

For me, the pursuit of an MBA is simply another route to the practice of social justice. After my time working in international development, I recognize that the impact of business decisions can dwarf development interventions. And these same development programs often fail to reach their potential because of mismanagement.

My visit to the States provided an opportunity to reflect on why I came to Ireland and on whether I was in fact learning what I had hoped to.

My classes are challenging and rewarding, and I oftentimes return home at the end of the day spinning with ideas about how what we learned in class could be applied to the development sector I recently left. Sometimes I try to imagine ways to allow businesses to think beyond their bottom lines and maximize the positive dividends of their presence in communities. For the remaining ten months, that will be the centerpiece of my academic journey.

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Storytelling

Posted on November 7, 2012 by awilliams13

I’ve always wanted to be someone with whom people associated adjectives like “cultured” and “artsy.” “Eccentric” would be ideal. I’ve wanted to attend plays in the middle of the day, and lose myself in the obscurity of discussion over a pint at night. As luck would have it, I’m currently in Derry/Londonderry where I can achieve such goals while also doing something productive – earning my master’s degree in applied peace and conflict studies at the University of Ulster – Magee.

On Sunday while the town sleeps or goes to church, I spend time surfing the internet for whatever activities are on for the week. A play about the move from violence to nonviolence in the context of Israel and Palestine on Monday at 11? Yes, please and thank you. Surfing in Bundoran on a Saturday afternoon with another Mitchell or solo on a Tuesday? I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf.  On Wednesdays I go with friends from my academic program, as one girl from Belfast puts it, to discuss things and be “all intellectual.” These Wednesday-night gatherings often result in stories of tradition, politics, and occasionally embarrassment, which carry us through the week to the next Wednesday outing.  Irish humor is in full force on Wednesdays, and it’s keep up or stay home … and what would be the fun in that?  Wednesdays are my weekly reminder of the art of storytelling because whoever can convey it best on Thursday morning usually wins the “what happened last night” debate.

Storytelling is an art. In Derry/Londonderry there is a movement of storytelling toward healing and understanding. I am currently enrolled in an eight-week course based on this  idea. I have the opportunity to attend plays oriented toward telling stories as a way to break down barriers and to take measurable steps toward understanding, if not achieve it. A few nights ago we attended the Theatre of Witness, which brings audiences together to bear witness to the stories of those who haven’t had a voice in society.   The performance I saw focused on the stories of six men – a soldier, a former RUC detective, a car-bombing survivor, former prisoners, and prison governor. I walked in, telling myself I was going in with an open mind. But I’m not sure if that can ever be true, since we carry our prejudices with us – if not on our sleeves, then buried somewhere in our minds. I walked away seeing some of my classmates in a new light – hearing them tell their stories, the one that gets to the core of who they are or watching them take in what was happening on stage.

Over the next several weeks, we’ll do more of that, and I think that the chance to listen is the best opportunity the Mitchell Scholarship will give me. Maybe I won’t manage to acquire enough oddities to be considered eccentric, but at least I’ll learn a bit along the way.

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Why the Mitchell?

Posted on November 7, 2012 by ttobin13

Why apply to the Mitchell Scholarship? That answer likely varies for each applicant. For me, a major motivator was the community. The community of Mitchell Scholars, past and present, is full of individuals committed to public service. These people are impressive, yet surprisingly down-to-earth and universally kind. For whatever reason, the Mitchell Scholarship committee has allowed me to learn and grow alongside them. For this, I will be forever grateful.

In addition to the community, the island of Ireland has some of the top universities in the world. Mitchell Scholars study a wide range of subjects, from law and politics to business, international security, and Irish language planning. As the Scholars study all over the island, the possibilities for weekend ventures abound. Exploring the island is made that much more fun when Mitchells gather. Together, we are making memories and friends that will last a lifetime.

When I applied to the Mitchell, I knew that studying in Ireland would afford much potential for adventure. Little did I know that I would have so many “only-on-the-Mitchell” moments. Here’s just one example:

Reading the local paper, I saw that the counties of Cork and Kerry were hosting an event for local food enterprises, the 2012 Food Forum.  Intrigued, I signed up.  Upon arrival, I was treated to some delicious food, as well as some food for thought.

At the Food Forum, I learned more about the importance of agriculture and the food sector to the Irish economy and got to sample an array of local beverages, desserts, and foods from  small and medium-sized producers. A highlight was talking with a local black pudding producer about the potential market for puddings in the United States.

As I learned more about food safety in Ireland at the Food Safety Authority kiosk, Simon Coveney, the Irish Minister for Agriculture, Food, and the Marine, approached. Surprised, I had some pictures taken with the minister, and I’ll be in the Authority’s next newsletter. All for asking the right questions in the right place at the right time.

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