Wild River Review
Wild River Review
Connecting People, Places, and Ideas: Story by Story
May 2010
Open Borders
 

June 28, 2010

“Making a name for Taiwan” is NYU Freshman Joe Lo

Filed under: WRR@LARGE — joystocke @ 1:51 pm

by Terrence Cheromcka, 20

"Joe" and me on campus in Florence, Italy.

At NYU we call it “word-vomit.”  It is a condition that usually suffers an English speaking American who was born with the unlimited freedom of speech.  The condition was further spread, perhaps, by the ability to flash communicate, almost magically, with the wave of a text-messaging bond.  I thought about “word-vomit” as I reflected upon a talk I had with a Taiwanese NYU freshman, who, for safety reasons we will call “Joe Lo.”

Let me explain.  One Italian lesson required each of us students to compose a piece of news in Italian.  I imagined a “Divine Comedy” theme park.  Joe imagined that Taiwan had declared independence.  When he handed the paper to the teacher he seemed shy and explained that it might sound ridiculous to her.  I just had to ask…

I have never seen a person my age as thoughtful with his words as Joe.  He thought before every statement he made (the perfect politician, I thought).  I imagined him threading this feelings and thoughts together carefully behind closed doors.  Joe Lo certainly had not caught the word-vomit bug and he might be immune.

Taiwan; The People’s Republic of China; Formosa; “The beautiful island” has been tossed about between the Dutch, rule in China, and Japan.  Though it eventually gained political independence Taiwan have never been raised to nationhood independent from China. At one point in history Taiwan cut off communication with China;  The two entities are on deeply different pages.

Joe Lo says he has been “sensitive” to the political matters in Taiwan since he was young.  When he was in only 8th grade he remembers getting very “fired up” at the time when the Taiwanese government changed party-ties for the first time in fifty years. The boys I knew in 8th grade were getting fired up about me.

I joke.  But Joe cannot because to him 8th grade was the time when China had 600 nuclear missiles aimed at his homeland, Taiwan.  He didn’t even stop to pause at this statement:  I interrupted and asked him if this threat scared him at the time and he said no.  He realized no fear even though some years early China had actually succeeded in firing two missiles that landed off the coast of Taiwan?  That he was not scared at all bewilders me.

I was a victim of collective girly insecurities while Joe was a victim, while attending boarding school in the US, of intellectual bullying.  His friends poked fun at him by walking up to him and asking “Wait, if you are Taiwanese doesn’t that mean you are really Chinese?” And then they would walk away before he could defend his nationality.  Joe is Taiwanese but imagine having the integrity of your identity doubted by those lacking understanding of you as a person.  “Why should my identity even be questioned?” he said.

After talking to Joe I feel that we take for granted and discount our American identity and our American passport.  My friend here in Florence is a $50 flight away from all of magnificent Europe but his Indian passport won’t let him leave Italy.  Joe Lo admires that we, as Americans, can stand up and proclaim our nationality without being misunderstood at all.  We, as Americans, can even insist on our multi-national roots.  I am Polish-American, Scottish-American, British-American but really what am I? But really I am American and I am blessed that I can stake all of those dramatic claims without anyone questioning me like they do when Joe says he is Taiwanese.

Division is even evident on Wikipedia, our little toy.   Joe wants to comment on the Wiki-page for the Republic of China but he can’t.  He is afraid that the government would trace his comment back to him and he would get in trouble.

Joe’s goodness radiated through his words and I felt sorry:  He wasn’t sure if he could be a politician or not.  His mother made a beautiful point that, you know, we all have the potential for evil and being involved in politics tends to accentuate that evil.  But I felt sorry because I think Joe would be just what Taiwan needs and would be a great politician (Not like the Taiwanese congressmen he told me about who stampeded through court rooms shouting and cursing–perhaps cursing their laundered money).  His mother is right but I want for him to prove her wrong–isn’t that a child’s job anyways?

I can’t make sense of this identity crisis but I know how an identity crisis feels.  My identity crises usually come from within, though, and I’m sure Joe has those too.  In that case, these layers of identity might simultaneously exist in a way that my prideful American soul can’t imagine.

I write because I want people to think when they read what I write–maybe even leap into a new perspective.  I want you to think about yourself, in terms of others.  When I think about Joe I think about how Generation Y think about ourselves as citizens.  With all his careful observations about his political and national identity does he even have time to think of the matters of identity that I think about?  Religious identity is no factor in Taiwan’s identity crises but does that mean that “if it isn’t one thing it is the next” and religious questioning is just the next link in the chain of succession of the tug of war with identity and freedom from it’s restraints.   Is it inevitable, for the rest of life, that identity will constantly be questioned and challenged?  Is it, simply the human condition and is, perhaps, Joe in some way blessed because he can channel his frustrations about identity towards some ranting politicians rather than inwards, towards a suffering self?

img_2917


Terrence Cheromcka, 20, has been part of Wild River Review’s staff for two years. She is currently studying Religious Studies at New York University.

To support WRR’s mission, and our commitment to support artists and good storytelling, please make a tax-deductible donation by clicking here: Wild River Donation.

June 21, 2010

The Queen of Anatolia

The Queen of Anatolia

by Joy Stocke and Angie Brenner (Excerpted from the Memoir, Anatolian Days & Nights)

“Everything we see in the world is the creative work of women.”

Mustapha Kemal Ataturk, Founder of the Republic of  Turkey

kubabaCybele – Mother Goddess of Anatolia (Turkey)

Courtesy of the Anatolian Civilizations Museum, Ankara, Turkey

An-neh!

The little girl’s voice vibrates in the chill morning air. In a navy-blue woolen dress and brown tights bunched at her ankles, she tentatively crosses the courtyard, tears shining on her cheeks. “An-neh!”

A woman breaks from a group of mothers standing at the ticket booth. In a storm-grey headscarf and black, double-breasted, ankle-length coat, she hurries toward her daughter scolding her indulgently before scooping her into her arms to kiss away the tears.

The call of a lost child seeking her an-neh, her mother, seems a fitting welcome to Ankara, home of the Anatolian Civilizations Museum, which holds one of the world’s greatest collections of sculpture and art dedicated to the mother goddess. Long before the rise of Judaism, Christianity and Islam people worshipped the Great Mother who had many names: Artemis, Aphrodite, Cybele, Diana. The Greeks named the land now called Turkey, Anatolia, in honor of her incarnation as Anat, goddess of the rising sun. And from that goddess, the word Anne – Mother – entered the Turkish vocabulary.

I have loved the goddess in her incarnation as the Virgin Mary since I was a child and credit my Catholic upbringing for my affection. At Sunday Mass, I often sat in a pew near a niche that contained her statue, her marble body robed in a sea-blue cloak, her rosy-cheeked son Jesus sitting on her lap. While the priest went through the rituals of the Mass, I smiled back at her, because surely the kind and compassionate smile on her face was put there for me.

“I’m so sorry about your son,” I would whisper, trying to imagine what it was like to be told you will bear the son of God and that one day you would watch him nailed to a cross and tortured to death. On the first of May, with the other girls of the parish, I would dressed in white to celebrate her, laying roses on the altar and singing, “Salve Regina, Hail to the Queen.”

Angie’s interest in the mother goddess followed a different path. Raised Protestant by a Catholic mother and Dutch Reform father, Angie asked questions that were never fully answered. For instance, outside of the birth story of Jesus, why was Mary ignored?

When we began traveling to the Mediterranean region, we discovered that Mary has a long line of ancestresses, goddesses who, for good and ill, held sway over the mortals in their midst.

picture-5Byzantine Icon, Virgin Mary

And so, on a morning in May, far from Ankara in Central Turkey, we  find ourselves on a shaded hill near the town of Ephesus in front of a Byzantine house made of stone. Tradition says that Meryemanna, Mother Mary, the Blessed Virgin, spent the final years of her life here.

To thousands of pilgrims, it makes no difference that the house was built three centuries after Mary’s death. Or that it wasn’t discovered until the nineteenth century when a bedridden German woman, who had never visited Turkey, saw it in a vision.

Inspired by the German woman’s description of a house constructed of stone blocks with rounded arches, a priest from the nearby port city of Izmir traveled to Ephesus and found an abandoned house nestled in a pine grove overlooking the Aegean Sea. In 1967, Pope John Paul VI canonized the house as the official residence of Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus, and as her final resting place.

Does it really matter whether the house belonged to the Virgin Mary or not? Muslims as well as Christians make pilgrimages there to honor her. Inside her house, inscriptions from the Q’uran flow across the walls in Arabic calligraphy. Following a tradition stretching back to their nomadic and shamanistic past, Muslim worshippers tie white strips of cloth to a tree near her house so their prayers may be answered.

In 451 CE, the Council of Chalcedon awarded Mary Christianity’s highest honor, the title of Airoparthenos, Ever-Virgin, one who never had intercourse in order to conceive her son.

Her foremothers would have been shocked. In their time, procreation was held as a mystery of greatest importance in the endless cycle of renewal and birth. A goddess could mother hundreds of children and still be called a virgin.

Modernity, however, can be deceptive; and in this case even comforting. In a secular Muslim Republic, Turkish children evoke her name hundreds of thousands of times a day whenever they call for their anne.

house-of-virgin-interior-c-ephesusguide1House of the Virgin Mary, Ephesus, Turkey, ephesusguide.com

Joy E. Stocke is Editor in Chief of Wild River Review.  The essay above is an excerpt from the memoir, Anatolian Days & Nights, A Love Affair with Turkey, co-written with Angie Brenner to be published in 2011.

To support our mission and passion for good storytelling, please make a tax-deductible donation by clicking here: Wild River Donation.

Powered by WordPress

Archives