I used to be a conservative-leaning (though in many respects, closer to moderate) misfit in a rather liberal city (Boston). After getting married, moving to Brazil, and settling in a very conservative city, I ended up swinging the other way in various political and social aspects. So in many ways, I'm still a misfit as Saint Joseph of the Fields rolls his eyes at this gringa who doesn't quite se encaixa--fit in (the box!)--with the other Josenses.
Not too long after moving here, after trying very hard to find my place in a few well-meaning faith communities where my questions and doubts and different styles of self-expression were not welcomed, and where my growing anxiety and depression were shamed, I continued a lonely journey of spiritual deconstruction that I didn't realize had actually started many years before. Along that journey, I discovered the writings of Rachel Held Evans, and learned that faith is not something so fragile as to be shattered by doubts and questions and seasons of darkness, and that I can still be a Christian and embrace my LGBTQIA+ neighbor. As she did the hard work of digging into the Bible and researching the ancient Hebrew contexts, I learned that the famous Proverbs 31 passage about a "woman of virtue" was not written as a prescriptive, yet unachievable, domestic to-do list as it is often taught, but rather a celebration of a "woman of valor," (a more accurate translation) honoring a mighty woman in poetry for her accomplishments, big and small. An orthodox Jewish friend of the author told her to think of the Hebrew phrase eshet chayil as a spontaneous blessing to celebrate the glory of everyday victories, more like, "carry on, warrior," or "you go, girl!"
The writings of RHE brought waves of relief to my troubled heart, and gave me courage to carry on with my life and spiritual journey in a foreign country and an industrial city where, more often than not, I don't fit in. On Saturday, May 4th, after a week of intense headaches resulting from a wisdom tooth extraction, a sleepless night, and delivering two morning workshops in São Paulo, I glanced at Instagram and got the news that RHE had died as a result of a severe reaction to antibiotics. I had been following the news of her condition, hoping that soon she would be back on Twitter writing about her experience, and carrying on the work of calling out injustice and inequality, which often involved taking on Internet trolls, with graceful fierceness and well-crafted, biblically-informed words. The news of her death was crushing. She was my age, 37, and left behind a husband and two small children and a massive community of readers, the effects of her writing on whom are slowly and beautifully being revealed in the hashtag #BecauseOfRHE.
After my first few lonely years in Saint Joseph of the Fields, a friend and fellow teacher introduced me to the BrELT community, and I finally found my tribe. This shy foreigner with religious baggage was embraced by Catholics and atheists, liberals and conservatives alike. We learn together to acknowledge our privilege and confront our biases, think critically, and strive to be our best selves while working to make Brazil--and the world--a better place through quality education.
This past Saturday I was back in São Paulo again, with the honor of speaking at the BrELT event, Hand in Hand. 100% of the proceeds from this professional development event for teachers went to Casa 1, a shelter for LGBTQIA+ youth who have been kicked out of their homes due to their sexual orientation or gender identity. Among its diverse projects for many groups of needy people in the local community is English to Transform, which gives folks, LGBTQIA+ and other, the rare opportunity of quality English classes for free. I've learned that Brazil, though obsessed with transgender people on porn, has one of the highest rates of transgender murders in the world. Trans folks are often homeless, and, being turned down from most jobs, have to resort to prostitution as a way to survive. Projects like English to Transform are working to provide them with better options.
The hosts and speakers of the event were all people I deeply admire, and I'll try and summarize just a few key takeaways.
Henrique Moura, my DELTA tutor, challenged us to give our students a voice and then gave us great advice about teaching digital literacies. This included learning how to search--trying out different search engines and comparing the results, or brainstorming key words or ways to search. There's also the skill of learning how to evaluate information critically, and I had never thought to have students read something that they know to be fake in order to learn to recognize the language of inaccurate sources of information. I also loved the idea of having students summarize a text using hashtags to identify keywords and main ideas. These were just a few of the digital literacies he spoke about as he challenged us as teachers to develop our own skills in digital literacy.
Bruna Caltabiano brought some important psychology to language learning and talked about the importance of lowering students' affective filter, considering the intersections of emotions, thinking and learning. She challenged us to create a low-anxiety atmosphere for learners, provide them with opportunities to succeed, and consider the emotional, as well as the cognitive and physical aspects of learning. She also came back at the end to give a compelling talk about empathy, reminding me to listen and pay attention to students' body language and to not make assumptions about their behavior.
I had a chance to share some best practices of games that don't focus on competition or single students out, but build skills in collaboration, creative problem-solving, and even empathy. Some of these include twists on common games, like tic-tac-toe or guessing games with teams working together, or charades in reverse, where the pressure is on the crowd and not the individual guesser. Others involve maker hacks, where winning involves communication, a group consensus, or making a toy balance by asking questions. (I think I may write more about some of these in next week's Maker Monday post.)
My dear friend Claire Venables always gracefully acknowledges the privilege we both have as white, cis, native speakers of English and passionately challenges me to grow to become a better teacher and a better person. I thought I'd had lesson planning down to a fine art, but she introduced us to feedback-focused lesson planning, where we give greater consideration to problems students may have and plan when to give them feedback, as well as more time for them to practice after giving feedback. My lesson plans have always looked like lists of step-by-step procedures, but now I see the value of a mind-map approach, putting the most important skill (not necessarily a language structure) at the center, the heart, and, if necessary, eliminating parts that don't provide vital support to that heart. She also showed the value of "try before you buy," trying out the students' task and paying close attention to other, more spontaneous forms of language that emerge and that students may need. Lesson planning "from the heart" is nothing sappy or lovey-dovey, but involves careful consideration of the main communicative objective and how to get there.
Three more ELT superheroes, Cintia Rodrigues, Marcela Cintra, and Ricardo Barros, formed a panel that provoked deep thinking, as well as laughter and tears, and stirred us to carry on the work of combating inequality. The anecdotes they shared, and their visions for equality in institutions and representation in course books showed the enormity, the urgency, and also the attainableness of the task. They challenged us to deconstruct ourselves every day, to grow as we drop potentially hurtful expressions from our vocabulary and confront our privilege while tuning ourselves to the stories and needs of others.
This deconstruction is a journey that, for me, started several years ago as I learned to detach myself from some harmful elements of religion while learning to "love my neighbor as myself," and with that, to stop hating myself, and to walk more deeply in love on many fronts. There was a time when I, shamefully, might have felt conflicted about participating in an event that helps the LGBTQIA+ community, but, through considering Jesus' words and actions, different interpretations of scripture that take cultural context and a broader view of redemption into consideration, and good old science, I'm glad to say that I've changed, grown, and hope to work to undo some of the harm that has been done in the name of Christianity.
The writings of Rachel Held Evans were a significant turning point along my journey of deconstruction. A few days after her death, during a tearful night, I pulled out a permanent marker and wrote as a temporary tattoo on my arm, eschet chayil--woman of valor, not in Hebrew, but in Klingon, the warrior language of my nerdy heart. As I think about my role and my community (among which are some non-binary folks), and the journey I have traveled thus far, I think I will embrace the other, non-gendered translation of the phrase, "carry on, warrior," and give a shout out to everyday victories, big and small, as we carry on the work that is before us.
So here's another thanks, and a "carry on, warrior" to the BrELT team who organized this event and who work hard to make this community a vibrant, safe, and diverse place to grow. (T. Veigga, Eduardo de Freitas, and Priscila Bordon, you folks are awesome, and your work makes a huge impact!) And to my friends and family, far and near, who listen without judging, who help me make phone calls when anxiety keeps me from doing that in a foreign language, who give me chocolate, rides, stickers, words of encouragement, and who inflate toy hammers for me, eschet chayil, carry on, warrior! To my students, who face unseen adversities and afflictions in a constantly-changing world while taking on the challenges of learning a foreign language, eschet chayil. I see you. I hope to listen more. To all those who loved RHE or are confronting death or loss, carry on, warrior. I stand with you and honor your grief. You are stronger than you think. We may not feel like warriors, but we are accomplishing feats we never would have imagined, and we can do this hand in hand.
Not too long after moving here, after trying very hard to find my place in a few well-meaning faith communities where my questions and doubts and different styles of self-expression were not welcomed, and where my growing anxiety and depression were shamed, I continued a lonely journey of spiritual deconstruction that I didn't realize had actually started many years before. Along that journey, I discovered the writings of Rachel Held Evans, and learned that faith is not something so fragile as to be shattered by doubts and questions and seasons of darkness, and that I can still be a Christian and embrace my LGBTQIA+ neighbor. As she did the hard work of digging into the Bible and researching the ancient Hebrew contexts, I learned that the famous Proverbs 31 passage about a "woman of virtue" was not written as a prescriptive, yet unachievable, domestic to-do list as it is often taught, but rather a celebration of a "woman of valor," (a more accurate translation) honoring a mighty woman in poetry for her accomplishments, big and small. An orthodox Jewish friend of the author told her to think of the Hebrew phrase eshet chayil as a spontaneous blessing to celebrate the glory of everyday victories, more like, "carry on, warrior," or "you go, girl!"
The writings of RHE brought waves of relief to my troubled heart, and gave me courage to carry on with my life and spiritual journey in a foreign country and an industrial city where, more often than not, I don't fit in. On Saturday, May 4th, after a week of intense headaches resulting from a wisdom tooth extraction, a sleepless night, and delivering two morning workshops in São Paulo, I glanced at Instagram and got the news that RHE had died as a result of a severe reaction to antibiotics. I had been following the news of her condition, hoping that soon she would be back on Twitter writing about her experience, and carrying on the work of calling out injustice and inequality, which often involved taking on Internet trolls, with graceful fierceness and well-crafted, biblically-informed words. The news of her death was crushing. She was my age, 37, and left behind a husband and two small children and a massive community of readers, the effects of her writing on whom are slowly and beautifully being revealed in the hashtag #BecauseOfRHE.
After my first few lonely years in Saint Joseph of the Fields, a friend and fellow teacher introduced me to the BrELT community, and I finally found my tribe. This shy foreigner with religious baggage was embraced by Catholics and atheists, liberals and conservatives alike. We learn together to acknowledge our privilege and confront our biases, think critically, and strive to be our best selves while working to make Brazil--and the world--a better place through quality education.
This past Saturday I was back in São Paulo again, with the honor of speaking at the BrELT event, Hand in Hand. 100% of the proceeds from this professional development event for teachers went to Casa 1, a shelter for LGBTQIA+ youth who have been kicked out of their homes due to their sexual orientation or gender identity. Among its diverse projects for many groups of needy people in the local community is English to Transform, which gives folks, LGBTQIA+ and other, the rare opportunity of quality English classes for free. I've learned that Brazil, though obsessed with transgender people on porn, has one of the highest rates of transgender murders in the world. Trans folks are often homeless, and, being turned down from most jobs, have to resort to prostitution as a way to survive. Projects like English to Transform are working to provide them with better options.
The hosts and speakers of the event were all people I deeply admire, and I'll try and summarize just a few key takeaways.
Henrique Moura, my DELTA tutor, challenged us to give our students a voice and then gave us great advice about teaching digital literacies. This included learning how to search--trying out different search engines and comparing the results, or brainstorming key words or ways to search. There's also the skill of learning how to evaluate information critically, and I had never thought to have students read something that they know to be fake in order to learn to recognize the language of inaccurate sources of information. I also loved the idea of having students summarize a text using hashtags to identify keywords and main ideas. These were just a few of the digital literacies he spoke about as he challenged us as teachers to develop our own skills in digital literacy.
Bruna Caltabiano brought some important psychology to language learning and talked about the importance of lowering students' affective filter, considering the intersections of emotions, thinking and learning. She challenged us to create a low-anxiety atmosphere for learners, provide them with opportunities to succeed, and consider the emotional, as well as the cognitive and physical aspects of learning. She also came back at the end to give a compelling talk about empathy, reminding me to listen and pay attention to students' body language and to not make assumptions about their behavior.
I had a chance to share some best practices of games that don't focus on competition or single students out, but build skills in collaboration, creative problem-solving, and even empathy. Some of these include twists on common games, like tic-tac-toe or guessing games with teams working together, or charades in reverse, where the pressure is on the crowd and not the individual guesser. Others involve maker hacks, where winning involves communication, a group consensus, or making a toy balance by asking questions. (I think I may write more about some of these in next week's Maker Monday post.)
My dear friend Claire Venables always gracefully acknowledges the privilege we both have as white, cis, native speakers of English and passionately challenges me to grow to become a better teacher and a better person. I thought I'd had lesson planning down to a fine art, but she introduced us to feedback-focused lesson planning, where we give greater consideration to problems students may have and plan when to give them feedback, as well as more time for them to practice after giving feedback. My lesson plans have always looked like lists of step-by-step procedures, but now I see the value of a mind-map approach, putting the most important skill (not necessarily a language structure) at the center, the heart, and, if necessary, eliminating parts that don't provide vital support to that heart. She also showed the value of "try before you buy," trying out the students' task and paying close attention to other, more spontaneous forms of language that emerge and that students may need. Lesson planning "from the heart" is nothing sappy or lovey-dovey, but involves careful consideration of the main communicative objective and how to get there.
Three more ELT superheroes, Cintia Rodrigues, Marcela Cintra, and Ricardo Barros, formed a panel that provoked deep thinking, as well as laughter and tears, and stirred us to carry on the work of combating inequality. The anecdotes they shared, and their visions for equality in institutions and representation in course books showed the enormity, the urgency, and also the attainableness of the task. They challenged us to deconstruct ourselves every day, to grow as we drop potentially hurtful expressions from our vocabulary and confront our privilege while tuning ourselves to the stories and needs of others.
This deconstruction is a journey that, for me, started several years ago as I learned to detach myself from some harmful elements of religion while learning to "love my neighbor as myself," and with that, to stop hating myself, and to walk more deeply in love on many fronts. There was a time when I, shamefully, might have felt conflicted about participating in an event that helps the LGBTQIA+ community, but, through considering Jesus' words and actions, different interpretations of scripture that take cultural context and a broader view of redemption into consideration, and good old science, I'm glad to say that I've changed, grown, and hope to work to undo some of the harm that has been done in the name of Christianity.
The writings of Rachel Held Evans were a significant turning point along my journey of deconstruction. A few days after her death, during a tearful night, I pulled out a permanent marker and wrote as a temporary tattoo on my arm, eschet chayil--woman of valor, not in Hebrew, but in Klingon, the warrior language of my nerdy heart. As I think about my role and my community (among which are some non-binary folks), and the journey I have traveled thus far, I think I will embrace the other, non-gendered translation of the phrase, "carry on, warrior," and give a shout out to everyday victories, big and small, as we carry on the work that is before us.
So here's another thanks, and a "carry on, warrior" to the BrELT team who organized this event and who work hard to make this community a vibrant, safe, and diverse place to grow. (T. Veigga, Eduardo de Freitas, and Priscila Bordon, you folks are awesome, and your work makes a huge impact!) And to my friends and family, far and near, who listen without judging, who help me make phone calls when anxiety keeps me from doing that in a foreign language, who give me chocolate, rides, stickers, words of encouragement, and who inflate toy hammers for me, eschet chayil, carry on, warrior! To my students, who face unseen adversities and afflictions in a constantly-changing world while taking on the challenges of learning a foreign language, eschet chayil. I see you. I hope to listen more. To all those who loved RHE or are confronting death or loss, carry on, warrior. I stand with you and honor your grief. You are stronger than you think. We may not feel like warriors, but we are accomplishing feats we never would have imagined, and we can do this hand in hand.
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