REPOST - Understanding History and what it means to be British!

I originally posted this a few years ago, but as an immigrant, I wanted to share, again, what I feel being a privileged white male European living in the USA.

From (slightly edited):

Wednesday, January 02, 2013

Before the holidays took off I began a quest to find more Holiday stories from cultures other than my own.  I mulled over stories from faiths other than Christian.  I was raised with Grandparents who were mostly Christian Scientists, but in late Elementary School years attended Church of England for a while.  In my teens I explored other religions and faiths and I have kept reading about different cultures and their beliefs since then.  I have also been lucky enough to have known people whose faith has been tested beyond 'normal' circumstances and have retained their faith, or had it made all the stronger.  Religion can be a bit of a sticky wicket.  Some people proclaim their faith is the only right one and all others are corrupt, or heathen beliefs.  I once shared a flat in London with a born-again Baptist. He was told me the Catholics had it wrong and would burn in hell for what they thought was right. That was his belief.  The truth is that until we die, none of us will really know - have the solid  fact before us (a fire pit beneath our feet, wings on our backs, or fighting in Valhalla with other great warriors) - if there is indeed anything after death other than nothing!  Reading old myths, legends and folk stories I have seen many religious (and other) bigotries appear, sometimes because of who was transposing, or translating the story, or because of the 'norms' of the day - what was acceptable then and not now.

Being British has some drawbacks.  Hard to imagine, but it is true!  The biggest for me is that as a Nation, Britain colonized the world.  The sun never set on Britain at one time in history.  It was a while back and I should move on, but that history comes with a lot of baggage and for me a heightened awareness of what Britannia did - England even.  England ripped apart Scotland. England caused major problems in Ireland which began over 350 years ago and are not 'fixed'.  Britain did serious damage on the African continent, and in India, and what we did to the indigenous people of America was appalling. I know other countries did similar things, but.  With all of this came exploitation, and... and the suppression of indigenous beliefs.

So when I come to tell tales from other cultures I carry that sack on my back. Especially around the Winter Holidays.  We could begin the winter Holidays with the Eid Al Adha on the 14th and 15th of October and run until the Chinese New Year which [was in 2013] the Year of the Snake and is celebrated on the 10th and 11th of February. Somewhere I wanted to find some great stories I could be faithful to and tell from deep inside. And not be too down - I was going to be performing for kids as well as grown ups.  I looked at some Jewish tales, mainly the story of Hanukkah and the folklore of the driedel.  But I did not feel right telling this story as a non-Jew. Then I remembered a wonderful story written by Eric Kimmel called  Zigazak!: A Magical Hanukkah Night. Because this is an original story I could not, with good conscience, tell it without Eric's permission. So I emailed him via his website and he said: YES.  A friend of mine Tim Van Egmond told me (and others) about a Japanese story. And I had my own stories to draw from.  So over the Holiday period, I was able to tell a story about a couple of Hanukkah goblins (thanks so much Eric), the story of King Wenceslaus from Bohemia (now in the Czech Republic), a Japanese story about New Year and why the seas are filled with salt (thanks Tim), the Winter Cherries (a great Welsh tale set in the Arthurian 'romances' pantheon), and a true story about the truce the soldiers created on the Western Front of World War I, 1914.  (Over the holidays I found another true story about a German pilot who escorted a British bomber to safety!)  It was a nice mix of tales and religions and all of them contained the best part of humankind - our humanity!  Every story I read and told contained our humanity, our ability to make the right things happen, to help others. And every story has it's own little miracle in it.

Oh we ain't got a barrel of money
Maybe we're ragged and funny
But we'll travel along singin' our song side by side
Don't know what's comin' tomorrow
Maybe it's trouble and sorrow
But we'll travel the road sharin' our load side by side

Back to now - 16th September, 2017

When I first came to the States I had to stand in a line with other men on either side of me with my drawers down, along with the rest as a doctor took hold of certain parts and asked each and every one of us to cough. On arriving in U.S. with all the right permits I was questioned about why I was here and what I planned on doing. My answer to marry my American fiancee. Once in America it wasn't over. We had to be married within three months. It wasn't over. We were interviewed together six months later. And a year later. I was given a 'green card' (which was pink and when I asked if boys didn't get blue ones, I realized I should keep my mouth shut) which was to be renewed in five years. Even with nothing to hide, and with all the right papers filled out in advance, it was intimidating.

In Portland, Oregon where my wife and I moved to live, getting in line at the immigration building to be interviewed to stay in the country and renew the visa I was very much in the minority being white. I saw all sorts of people with all sorts of problems. Some of these people were rude and obnoxious to the officers, even when it was the person at fault, so it is not surprising the immigration people were not always happy. It was not surprising that some of the immigrants were pissed off. It was not easy to find the right information, and even when you arrived at 5.30 AM to get close to the front of the line when the doors opened at 8 am (or was it nine?) to find you still needed other info, it was frustrating. Sometimes these folks were very polite despite all this and the officers were rude, for sme unknown reason. Should you talk out, and stand up and defend these folks? What if when it was your turn they refused you admission? Once you left the line, you wouldn't get back in until the next day. The officers I dealt with were sometimes great, and sometimes not so much. As an English speaking, white male I think I was sometimes treated better than others, and saw and heard some pretty poor human relations. No one wants to be in those lines, in those rooms, waiting to see if you could remain here. I chose to come over to America. For those who did not choose, but were brought, I cannot even imagine what the experience would be like for them - young people who have really only known America as their home, brought here by their parents.

I have been here in America for over 20 years and still carry a 'green card' which is now green again! I cannot imagine what it must be like for people trying to move to America now, after the Twin Towers came down, after the hatred that seems to be rife here now. Or for those who are trying to stay. It took me two months to find a job. My skills included 5 years of management experience, and hospitality, I had been a professional photographer - self employed, and ended up at first as a barista in a coffee shop - it was Portland, Oregon! I speak the same language, sort of. There are people coming over here with better skill sets than I had or have, more qualifications who are working the same sort of jobs - coffee shops, cleaners, menial work, if you will as I had when I first arrived. For someone of colour coming here, someone of an obvious different faith than Christian, I can see these folks having a much harder time finding work and settling.

With the garbage I carry of Britain's past colonization, I have the utmost empathy for newer immigrants coming to these shores who welcome "your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
I hope America can stand by these welcoming words, and remember that everyone who is not a Native American is an immigrant or descended from immigrants, who might have arrived homeless, wretched, tired and poor. Have empathy. When the Italians came over they were treated like dirt. When the Irish came over, the same thing. The Polish people, the folks from the Ukraine, each 'last' wave of immigrants begin at the bottom, with a sort of cultural hazing, intentional or otherwise.  I hope we can offer all people entering the United States of America the little miracles I find in the stories I tell. The stories I tell from all over this wonderful and crazy work we live in.

LIVE! And in the moment.

Practicing, circa 1980

There is something special about performing. My first exposure, like most peoples, was in the school play, or first school musical presentation, but back then I was still learning my craft, insanely nervous, or just goofing around with friends, and not in the moment. My first real taste of that something special was when I was 14 or 15 and my dad had me sit in on drums with a jazz pianist at a restaurant we were at. My parents had divorced when I was 6 and I only got to see my dad at holiday time - Christmas, Easter, the summer holidays, etc.. Of course I wanted to show Dad what I could do. He never got to hear me play.

My old 4 piece, 1960's Olympic kit
with additional hanging toms, all in the attic!
Circa 1980.

I had been playing drums since aged 11 and had got my first kit when I was 12. I played mostly rock and roll and pop, but I also played along to a few jazz l.p.'s that were in our house. I would take my record player and amp up to the attic where my blue, 1960's Olympic drum kit was housed, plug in my headphones and bash along to whatever records I took up with me. That was it, right there. At the time I had not played with another musician, unless you counted the time I played in the school band, which I really don't! So we were in this restaurant eating and my dad persuades the pianist to let me play on the drum kit which was there. I was insanely nervous and unprepared. It was not a school audience, but total strangers. I was not performing with peers and friends, but a professional pianist. I had no idea what tunes we were going to play. I think my dad knew the piano player.

Painted Bass Drum, and yes that is a cow bell for a leg!
And the drum sticks are in a Wellington boot!

The pianist asked me for a song I knew and I said, Tiger Rag. I knew this from a live recording of Louis Armstrong and had played it a number of times on my own.  It's a crazy upbeat number, lots of fun. But being jazz, the pianist either played a completely different song, or played a totally different version. Of course, it's jazz! I hung in there. The pianist played another tune and I fell into the music, lost myself to the piano. In storytelling it is called riding the elusive dragon, an image I love and think totally captures the feeling. Some people call it on-form or being on, in the game, or in the moment. It is a place of beauty and magic.

Performing live gives you a high, a buzz, a thrill. But more than that, it connects you with your audience in a way that is unique to performance. You are them, they are you. Some rock musicians say it is better than procreation. I am not sure I can say that is true with storytelling, but it is pretty darn good. This connection is almost spiritual. It connects you with people in ways unlike any other. Ask yourself how you felt after going to a great concert, or what you were feeling after hearing a professional storyteller and were moved in some way by what they were doing.

It turns out we have a similar, quite possibly less intense, experience when we have meaningful conversations. Science had proved there is a very close connection during storytelling. Storytellers and listeners have been hooked up to brain scanners to see how the brain works, and lights up. http://news.sciencemag.org/2010/07/mind-meld-enables-good-conversation Since this 2010 experiment other studies have been done with storytelling. These have shown that the listener and speaker are so in tune with one another that the brain scans show the listener almost anticipates what is going to happen. That is a truly close relationship you're having with a stranger!

Musicians can be seen doing this with each other when jamming. Playing some tune, the guitarist might change accent and rhythm slightly and the drummer and bassist are right on it. Even though it wasn't planned and completely off the cuff, the other musicians felt what was coming and went with that feeling. To the audience it might have sounded rehearsed and well practiced, but it is a spontaneous event of 'magic', if you will. Comedians doing great improv can and do experience these moments. I am sure sports folks also have this moment.

Storytelling has that connection, but instead of with a colleague on the stage, the shared moment is with the listener. Sometimes, when we do our job and the 'planets are aligned', the elusive dragon flies into the space, we jump on its back and ride with the audience, and everyone is transported. Obviously a controlled environment gives the opportunity for this more than a hot and humid room filled with over-heated children, and distracted camp councilors, but it can happen in those places at those times. Then, (under far from perfect circumstances) it is truly magical, it is a magnificent ride with the story. The colours are bright, the smells of the story are strong, and nothing else in the room, or outside the room matters. And later, after the gear is packed up and you're driving home, you know you reached people, and there is that high, buzz, thrill. Maybe you gave the audience a little more joy, maybe more understanding about the world we live in, for all its horrors and hardships. And in those mystical moments we are taken somewhere else, far away and are who we want to be, if only for a moment.

In the moment of joy, July 2015!