Tag: education

Brain Drain to Brain Waste

Published on by Marilyn8 Comments

Lady Liberty

“What did you do in your home country?” I asked.

I was speaking with a nursing assistant from Iraq. Nursing assistants help with patient care. They usually make beds, bring bed pans, and do general non-invasive patient care like bathing a patient.

“In my home country? In my home country I am a lawyer.”

This scenario is repeated all over the country, in every state, in every major city where there is a large immigrant population.

An immigrant’s country of origin is drained of those with degrees and skills desperately needed, only to come here and work at a job far below their educational level. Lawyers, doctors, teachers, engineers, chemists — none of them able to work within their chosen fields. So many of them are in jobs that will barely pay their bills and they are unable to complete the education that would allow them to work again in their respective fields.

I hear their stories in restaurants, in cabs, and in the patient navigator course that I teach twice a year. It’s a humble moment when you realize the gentleman from Cameroon that is taking your navigator course has two advanced degrees; or the woman from Senegal is a physician and you are teaching her about breast anatomy.

Researchers at Purdue University now have quantitative data that supports the stories I have heard for years. This team of researchers looked at census data from 1980 to 2009 and found that: ”

…the level of education of nearly half of immigrants was above the education requirements for their job, compared with one fourth of men born and living in the U.S. The prevalence of such “brain waste” exceeded 40 percent for immigrants with a bachelor’s degree, 50 percent for those with a doctoral or professional degree and 75 percent for those with a master’s degree. The overeducation prevalence for U.S. natives was 10-20 percentage points lower. Over time, immigrants find suitable jobs, but not to the extent of U.S. natives.*

The research has its weaknesses. For instance, women were not included in the study. The reason cited was their “complex labor market careers” during the period of time that was researched. Many women worked part time or did not work at all while raising families.

But overall the evidence of brain waste is irrefutable. 

The tragedy of this cannot be overestimated. There are .2 physicians per 1000 people in Afghanistan, while Afghan physicians work in kitchens in the United States. There are 2 teachers to every 1000 people in Ghana while Ghanaian teachers work in parking garages by day and struggle to learn English by night.

The hard thing about this post is that there are seemingly so few solutions. One thing we do know is that the better the language skills of the immigrant, the more likely they are to be able to find a job at their education level, so affordable English classes are critical. Another solution is to make the education and testing needed to meet the requirements of a particular field of study, for instance nursing, more reasonable and develop a mentor program so that people can be mentored in their field.

There is something else equally critical, something that we can address. Over and over I see Americans treating immigrants as though they are stupid. They ignorantly assume that limited language skills equals limited intellectual ability. I have watched interactions where someone who barely graduated from high school in the United States shouts at an immigrant and treats them poorly. This is inexcusable. I grew up outside the United States, and lived in two countries other than the U.S as an adult and I was never treated as stupid, despite my fractured and terrible language skills. Instead, I was encouraged to learn both Arabic and Urdu by both Egyptians and Pakistanis. Not only that, I was applauded for the baby steps I made in language learning.The rude behavior that is so prevalent in the United States toward non English speakers can and must change.

The first step in change is always awareness, so I offer a challenge: next time you are out to eat and you’re being served by a Latino, or Pakistani, or Ethiopian waiter, be reminded that you may be communicating with someone who has multiple degrees. Even if they don’t have multiple degrees, they are worthy as human beings. Next time you are in a cab, get into a conversation with the cab driver and find out more about their life. Next time someone with limited English skills speaks to you, whether to ask you a question or to serve you, encourage them and don’t dismiss them.  Next time someone talks about immigrants ruining the country, challenge them and make them give you facts on just how immigrants are ruining this country. 

While policy change around brain waste has to take place at an institutional and governmental level, behavior change depends on the individual. We can’t change people’s attitudes, but we can behave in ways that challenge their attitudes. 

“Whenever people talk in the abstract about the pros and cons of immigration, one should not forget that immigrants are individual human beings whose lives happen not to fit neatly within national borders – and that like all human beings, they are all different.
How different, though? Different better, or different worse? Such basic questions underlie whether people are willing to accept outsiders in their midst”
― Philippe Legrain, Immigrants: Your Country Needs Them

*From “Attracting Global Talent and Then What? Overeducated Immigrants in the United States” 

Photo credit: http://pixabay.com/en/statue-statue-of-liberty-freedom-470190/

14 year-old Courage

Published on by Marilyn37 Comments

Warning: This is a rant

Malala Yousafzai is 14. She lives in the Swat Valley of Pakistan, a place where our family spent many lovely vacations. And while Swat is lovely for vacationers, it’s not an easy place to live by any standard.

Malala is not your typical 14-year-old. At age 11 she was writing a blog diary for the BBC under a pseudonym and two years later she was nominated for the International Children’s Peace Prize for her work promoting the right for girls in Pakistan to get an education.

And yesterday she was shot — shot in the head and the neck and is now fighting for life at a hospital in Peshawar. The Taliban proudly claimed the shooting; she has been on a hit list for over a year for her work promoting education and rights for girls. They saw her as a threat, a threat to an ideology and way of life, a threat to who they are. You can read about the shooting here.

It got me thinking about a lot of things. About courage — she stood so boldly for what she believed. About extremism — a 14 year-old girl is a threat in what universe? About apathy — the 14-year-olds I know are interested in boys, sex, Justin Bieber, and New Direction. I’ll take Malala any day of the week. Standing up for education is somewhat nobler than looking forward to getting birth control pills from your school nurse.

I know that’s harsh and I want it to be. 

Because I’m a little tired of this country and our whining. I’m tired of our apathy. I’m tired of watching teenagers and adults who don’t give a rat’s ass for the world they live in and I see it every day. I’m tired of us thinking we have all the answers for a world where 14 year-olds get shot for believing in education. I’m tired of the election and tired of not having worthy leaders. I’m tired of a world that condemns the attack one day, and goes back to being just as awful the next.

I’m tired of myself being a part of this because I’d like to be a little more like Malala. I’d like to be braver, I’d like to stand up boldly for what I believe, I’d like a good dose of 14 year-old courage.

How about you? What are you tired of? What do you want more courage to change? 

Readers – Thanks to CAB reader, Debbie Wood, here is a link to an interview with Malala and her father when she was eleven.

http://portal.sliderocket.com/BBVXH/Hoshyar-Foundation

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Outsiders

Published on by Marilyn30 Comments

I found myself growing hot with frustration.

I tried to back up. “Let me explain. Both of you grew up here. You’ve lived in the towns where you now live since you were born. It means you know the rules; you ‘get’ how to do things, how things work. Those of us who move here? We don’t know these things”

I felt like I was speaking to children. The conversation began as I was telling some colleagues about our friends who just moved here for a year after living in Japan, Australia, and most recently, Romania. Their youngest daughter went to her first day of school yesterday.

“So?” was the reaction I got “Big deal.”

It was.

This was her first day of school in America. Ever. She’s in high school and she’s never attended school in the United States. Added to the equation is that this is a part of the country where people don’t move a lot. You meet many people who have lived here all their lives. Those of us who haven’t are the exception, not the rule. Both kids and school administrators are not used to having new comers. There is an assumption that everyone knows the rules, everyone knows how to fill out the forms, find out specifics, work the system.

So it was a huge, big, fat deal.

And to have to explain this felt more than frustrating. Everything seems easy when you know how to do it. But as Robynn said in a previous post, sometimes the “easy” is impossible.

So I tried to put the situation into a different context. “Imagine if you came with me to Pakistan and I wanted you to get something in the bazaar, or I wanted you to go sign in with the police. Would you know how to do it?” Silence “What if I said ‘but it’s so easy! everyone knows how to do that!'” I think I made my point.

I found myself yet again the outsider trying to defend other outsiders. It’s a role I have played often, but it still surprises me that people don’t understand. We become so comfortable with our normal that we consider it normal for everyone else.

It’s fall now and schools across the country have begun the school year. Elementary, high school, college, graduate school – it all begins in September. And there are a lot of outsiders, a lot of people who don’t have a clue where they are supposed to be and how they are supposed to get there.

They may not know that you are expected to wait in line in the United States or that in America the expectation is that you follow traffic laws. They may not understand that you don’t walk through a “drive” through to get your meal; they might be shocked at our public displays of affection to our pets and our partners; they probably don’t know that bargaining isn’t common – you don’t negotiate the price. And initially they won’t even know where to get the basics – eggs, bread, milk, and fruit.

We can step into these scenarios and be that person who makes life a little easier for the outsider, a little less daunting, a little more manageable. That person who reaches out and understands that some of these things really are big deals. The person that helps make the easy possible.

Do you remember what it was like to be an outsider? How did that work for you? Who was the person who came alongside you and walked you through the rules, the do’s and don’ts of life in another place? 

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A Long Journey; A Journey of Faith

Published on by Marilyn20 Comments

When you become a mom you don’t have the luxury of seeing a future film about the twists and turns your life is going to take. You don’t know what joys, trials and tragedies may be awaiting you. You become a mom on faith.

Faith that you will weather the sun and rain that is a part of raising a child.

Faith that you will have strength for the long haul. 

Faith that you will have the grace it takes to love a child more than you love yourself.

In faith we get pregnant. In faith we give birth. In faith we cry tears of joy as we look at our newborn, awed by tiny hands and feet, puckered mouth, and newborn wrinkles. In faith we adopt. In faith we see our child for the first time at an orphanage or foster home, and from eyes to heart we know this is our child, given to us at this moment for this time. In faith we find out that something is not normal with our child, in faith we move forward learning all we can about children with Down Syndrome, or Muscular Dystrophy or Autism. It’s a journey, a journey of faith.

And there are moments when you see results of your faith. First steps, first word, first prayer, first day of school, completion of kindergarten, healing from a first heart ache or broken friendship, healing from a first wound, graduation…the list is endless.

It’s a long journey; A journey of faith.

Yesterday I saw a result: I received a text from my youngest saying “It’s all good!” – he had completed all the course work required and is graduating from high school. Next Wednesday he’ll pick up his cap and gown at four in the afternoon and go over final steps of the program. We will be there, celebrating with proud grandparents who will quietly cheer as their 17th grandchild graduates.

As youngest of five kids Jonathan came into the world with instant family and no need for play groups. He was adaptable and flexible, rarely displaying a temper and willing to go with whatever was happening. He is one of those kids that is comfortable to be around, even in adolescence. (Well. Mostly.) We can sit for hours discussing life topics, things that matter.

I’ve written before about Jonathan and academics. It’s been a long journey. He is smart, loves reading and is a critical thinker. But. He doesn’t fit with the main stream learning process that demands sitting at a desk, fitting in with the status quo, and writing one hundred ‘P’s’ across the paper in cursive to show you have it “right”. Wow. Good for us. We have a bunch of kids in this country who can write ‘P’s’.

And until this year, Jonathan did not have teachers that encouraged. He had teachers who were type A personalities whose teaching careers seemed defined by the results their students achieved. He has had teachers who follow the book to  the minute details and struggle to find room for the “Jonathans” in their classroom. He has had teachers who are more concerned about standardized tests than true learning. He was a statistic, caught in a bad system.

Until this fall. And this fall, by faith, we were able to move him into an extension program where he was surrounded by teachers who love teaching and love the students. He is now affirmed for who he is, not who they want him to be. He has excelled as he has inhaled Dostoevsky and Mark Twain, Kerouac and Nietzsche. It has not been easy and he has worked hard.

We celebrate the results of his work as he graduates a year early. This child who didn’t want to go to college (ever) is now excited about learning and looking into colleges and universities. He has applied to do a gap year in Oxford at an advanced studies program. He boasts a reference letter from one teacher that had me in tears with her affirmation of him as a student, of him as a person.

We become parents with no guarantees. Whether biologically birthing or adopting, parenthood is a journey of faith. Today I get to celebrate. Tomorrow I may have to cry. But that’s what this is: A long journey, a journey of faith. 

So.Many.Stories – At the Principal’s Office

Published on by Marilyn8 Comments

Today I am delighted to have Dorit Sasson takes us into a story of cross-cultural conflict and confrontation. I met Dorit through the So.Many.Stories project and you will see her bio at the end of the post. 

The bare white principal’s office is now a place of confrontation. The fact that I am a newly arrived English elementary teacher at a development town in Israel hasn’t sensitized loud-mouthed teacher to collaborate with me. When I finally told Tziona, our mentor, the real deal of our collaboration, I knew that I would have to work even harder to make my silent “teacher” voice heard. The voice I perhaps didn’t know existed.

The aggressive principal speaks. (I can still hear Lina’s voice) “Yael,” Lina says.  “Dorit’s a new teacher. If you’re both teaching the same classes, I don’t understand why you are both working separately. So, ma koreh, what’s going on?” Lina asks. I have to wonder what looks tighter: Lina’s intent expression or her bun.

Yael, the other teacher who prefers to teach English “her way,” doesn’t say anything.  Tziona sustains our eye contact long enough just to reassure what she has said to me before, Yehiyeh besder, “it will be okay.” But we both know it will be a long way. She leans forward, crosses her legs a bit and says, “We need to find a way to work things out together. You both can’t continue working in isolation. It makes no sense.”

Yael looks at me. I nod.

Okay, it’s time to make my silence heard.

There’s more that Lina and loud-mouthed teacher need to know. Much more.

For example, what about the time when I introduced myself to her classes and all I got was a Mona-Lisa smile …from one student?

Or when I tried to “socialize” with loud-mouthed teacher and all I heard was the noise of crunching carrots.

There is no cultural-linguistic shield to protect me now. (it’s a confrontation – how do you rely on your Israeli smarts)

I try to discern the “loud-mouthed” teacher’s eyes from her thick rimmed glasses but the light refracts what appears to be a stare. I know she’s thinking “go home you American. I take no prisoners. I’m better than you and you’re not going to change the way I work.”

Since the beginning of school, I’ve honored the Israeli teaching motto of “don’t smile before Chanukah,” and so perhaps I’ve received Lina’s goodwill. But now I have to find the right Hebrew voice. To articulate Hebrew assertively. To undo my silence. But between Lina’s tight-fisted bun and zippered mouth and Tziona’s fidgety look, I’m hoping I won’t need to talk.

Loud mouth teacher is the first to speak. She’s of course the one with “kfiyoot” – the seniority. She moves her hands in and out as if to open an oven. “Tziona,” she says raising her voice. “It’s close to impossible. We teach at different hours in different places.”

Loud-mouthed teacher now points to me. “She teaches small groups. I teach the large classes.”

“Yael, you don’t have to work together on everything. There’s no point if you have the same book and grades and you’re both working in isolation.” Tziona says. Lina nods affirmatively.

Loud-mouthed teacher looks at me. The words don’t come.

“How about if Dorit pulled out some of the lower-performing students from your group and worked with them?” Tziona suggests.

“Ze lo ya’avod, it won’t work,” loud-mouthed teacher says.

“Why?”

“Because …they are at different levels.”

            What does that have to do with anything?

I say something that I hope will turn the discourse around. Even though I am still figuring out which word to say, I speak anyhow.
“I think the students I teach are at a lower performing level. They cause problems.” I am both nervous and relieved that I’ve got now everyone’s attention.

“Exactly. That’s why I don’t think it’s good to take my students out.” Loud mouthed teacher says. Her words rise like huge hot air balloons in this small office.

“Aval achav hadivarim nirgeo, but now I feel things have settled down.” I say in a calm Hebrew voice.

“Ze lo yishaney kloom, it still won’t make a difference,” loud-mouthed teacher says. “It’s too difficult of a situation.” She still won’t look at me so I look to Tziona for support.

“And if Dorit takes the hours she has with the non-readers and works individually with one or two students?” Tziona suggests.

“Still won’t work.”

“”Yael, you’ve got to be flexible here.” Tziona now speaks more emphatically. “This is a very difficult situation.”

“Yael, I don’t understand you. We’re talking about the students here.” The aggressive principal says something I didn’t expect to hear. “Give it a chance.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a try, but I still don’t think it will be successful.” Yael says.

All I hear is the “ani” for “I.”

Tziona looks at me, “How do you feel about that, Dorit?”

“That’s fine. I have worksheets prepared for their level and everything.”

Tziona nods in approval. “That’s a good start.”

“But it’s a difficult group. A harder group.” Yael says.

“Is there anything you want to say Dorit?” Lina asks.

“No.”

We talk it out – in their language.

Not mine.
We don’t really find a solution in their language.
Not mine.

When we leave Lina’s office, I whisper to Tziona, “That wasn’t easy. With Yael, I mean.”

Tziona says, “I know. She’s difficult.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

I go home and write about the lesson and the day in my language. This is what I wrote:

“Today, I taught another lesson to fourth graders who are learning another language that just happens to be my mother tongue.
Only I’m not so sure if this cultural classroom is mine or theirs.
I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Dorit Sasson is the author of Giving Voice to the Voiceless and a speaker. She uses the power of story to help others create their life and business in story. Download your free MP3, Story Manifesto: A Guide To Stepping into the Authentic Voice and Vision of Your Story, at www.GivingAVoicetotheVoicelessBook.com. When you do, you’ll receive a complimentary subscription to the “Giving Voice to the Voiceless” ezine, including a transformational tip of the week.

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Communicating Across the Boundary of the Classroom – The F Cannot be Disguised!

Published on by Marilyn1 Comment

Today I have the great privilege of posting over at Lessons from Teacher’s and Twits. I have followed Renée Schuls-Jacobson since early last fall and there are several things I love about Renée – one is her openness and sense of humor, the other is her ability to bring a community together on her blog. She generously shares her piece of the internet with others, so head on over to her blog to read and comment. I’ll be responding to comments there today!

The F could not be disguised. No matter how skilled my son was with the fine-point of a Sharpie, we could tell that it was not an A+ in English. If the pen smudge hadn’t given it away, then the comments would have: “Does not do his homework. Disorganized. Enthusiastic in class.”  Even though I had heard the comments before and knew they came from a drop-down list on a computer program, they still stung. Read more here….

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Fried Cerebellum and a Master’s Degree

Published on by Marilyn17 Comments

I have mentioned before that my daughter, Annie, is finishing up a Master’s Degree at the American University of Cairo. She defends her thesis on Monday and I wish I was in Cairo. I want to be making cookies and tea to soothe both her cerebellum and her soul as she prepares for the grueling presentation of facts and narrative supporting her thesis statement.

Since I can’t offer that, I sent her the next best thing: a story about Graduate School Barbie (TM). Graduate School Barbie helped me realize that everything I have heard from my daughter for the past three years is real, accurate, and worse than she has described. I knew about the propensity for tears and the different sort of eye ducts, but my daughter never told me that she would have fried cerebellum or that the lining of her stomach would dissolve from the surplus of digestive juices produced by anxiety. I had to discover it from Graduate School Barbie. This Barbie, with her prematurely graying hair, wrinkles, and  sallow skin, is quite a Barbie. Barbie haters may even wish for the real Barbie back, instead of one with grey cells. There are two types of Grad school Barbies and Annie would most relate with Delusional Masters Barbie (TM). We’ll see if she’s willing to move forward and model herself after PhD Masochist Barbie (TM) – I’m secretly hoping that honor will be for my niece and her mom to navigate.

I discovered Graduate School Barbie through the blog Ceej and Em. This blogger suggests Grad School Barbie would make an excellent Christmas gift. Here’s this teaser from the post:

Every Graduate School Barbie comes with these fun-filled features guaranteed to delight and entertain for hours: Grad School Barbie comes out of the box with a big grin on her face that turns into a frown after 2 weeks or her first advisor meeting (whichever comes first). Read more here! You will be so glad you did! 

If you have any friends in graduate school, please send them the blog post from Ceej and Em today! It will make everything a bit easier for them to know that a special Barbie was designed with them in mind.

As for my daughter – I am so proud of her fried cerebellum, her overactive tear ducts, and her tenacity. Day after day of putting fingers to keyboard and typing out one word at a time; reviewing the manuscript for one more look at her citations; existing on coffee and adrenaline; and producing a thesis all while going through the upheaval in Cairo is remarkable. She has endured sleepless nights from gunshots and fires in the street, she has been housebound some days, and unable to get to her house on others because of rioting in the streets and she has done it all without her mom. Evidence of how little I am needed? I like to think it’s evidence of her tough spirit!

So join me by drinking a glass of Proseco, (or sparkling cider!) as I celebrate her fried cerebellum and a well-earned Masters Degree.

A Happy Weekend to all!