JANINE HARRISON

Writer, Professor, Teaching Artist, & Arts Advocate
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    • In Honor of the National Weekend of Action: My Evolution from Pro-Life to Pro-Choice

      Posted at 3:42 pm by Janine Harrison, on October 8, 2022

      As a high school freshman, I learned about abortion. I did not consider when a fetus becomes a baby – I simply wished to defend this vulnerable new human possibility and considered myself to be pro-life.

      I had grown up with a mother who was born in 1925 and considered pre-marital sex and getting pregnant “out-of-wedlock” as shameful acts. She once said, “If you came home pregnant, I’d be so ashamed I wouldn’t know what to do!” For this reason, I was one of only two females that I knew who kept her legs closed until marriage. It also made me, in my adolescence, be judgmental, as in: If a female thinks she’s mature enough to have sex, then she’s old enough to take responsibility for the consequences – a very “either/or” way of thinking.

      Slowly, shades of gray filtered into my frame of reference. I learned, for instance, that even after males became aware of the existence of condoms, circa 1920’s (sausage casings then), many men chose not to wear them, and women were forced to have so many children, often in impoverished conditions, with less advanced medical intervention when a problem arose, that birthing and/or rearing many children was sending females to early graves. (It should be noted that males not wanting to wear condoms is an issue that hasn’t completely abated.)

      Also, my mother told me about her friend, Leona, who’d had an illegal abortion during the 1950’s, and how the back-alley procedure made it so that later, when married and ready to have children, she was unable to bear them.

      Early in my teaching career, too, I received a narrative essay from an undergraduate student who wrote about how brave her biological mother was to carry her to term and put her up for adoption after having been raped by a car salesman. The student was grateful to be given a chance at life, yet she acknowledged that not every woman could have mentally and emotionally handled carrying a fetus to term that was a product of rape. It made me reflect on a friend who’d been raped by a stranger at gunpoint while walking to school one morning when she was a 16-year-old virgin. She did not become pregnant, thank goodness, but what if she had? She and our friend group were still so young and innocent then, with college plans ahead. Abortion was legal, but what if it hadn’t been? Being forcibly violated was horrific alone, but what if she’d had no choice but to have an everyday reminder of the assault for the next nine-ish months? What would that have done to her as a person?

      The film, Cider House Rules, in which a young doctor comes to understand why his mentor performed illegal abortions, made me consider incest in an unwanted pregnancy. Much later, I watched a documentary that included reportage of a tween who was impregnated by her father. By the time that she was able to gather the resources – money and transportation – to make an exceedingly long journey to the nearest women’s center to have an abortion, it was too late in the pregnancy for it to be performed. I just wanted to weep and weep for that poor child.

      I have since come to understand that there are myriad reasons why a woman would want an abortion. Her reasons are her business. There should never be judgment placed upon any woman for making any choice over her own body: to bring a baby into the world, to abort a fetus, or to never desire to become pregnant. Women’s lives and choices are our own. These reproductive rights must be viewed as human rights.

      Having a baby is most life-changing for the woman – she who physically carries it to term, with all of the physical changes and risks associated with that responsibility; she who may breastfeed for a year or more, with physical changes and associated risks; she who, most of the time, is the main caregiver; and she who, most of the time, is the person who raises the child(ren) alone and sometimes solely finances upbringing in the instance of breakup or divorce in heterosexual relationships.

      It is even more than that, though. As an activist, I have grown to understand about environmental justice – that children in marginalized communities are often carried to term (if miscarriage doesn’t result) and raised in toxic areas –with industrial emissions exceeding limits, with chemicals sprayed on crops still airborne, with lead or mercury in soil, with contaminated water – causing early deliveries, stillbirths, malformations, physical and learning disabilities, cancer, altered DNA, and much more – because throughout American history, corporations have viewed impoverished urban and rural landscapes as dumping grounds, as expendable. Often, BIPOC communities bear the brunt of this devaluation of life and must live with the devastating and immeasurable costs.

      As a feminist, I’d become familiar with the term “reproductive rights,” but more recently, I was introduced to the term “reproductive justice,” of which environmental justice is only one component. I think of “reproductive justice” as being to “reproductive rights” as “womanism” is to “feminism.” Due to lack of intersectionality in former waves of the feminist movement, BIPOC and other marginalized females and allies understandably felt (and hopefully to a lesser extent, at least, still feel) the need for a more inclusive movement that better reflected issues relating to race and social class. Among them are the right to bear and raise children in areas that are not only environmentally healthy but also safe from violence as well as include access to and equity in sex education, reproductive healthcare, affordable childcare, and a living wage.  

      I live in Indiana, where the maternal mortality rate for Black females is disproportionately high, and that is only one tragic result in which race, social class, and access are significant factors.

      I live in Indiana and am now the mother of a teenage daughter. It pains me that Roe v. Wade was overturned and our red state has voted to ban abortion (currently being challenged in court), and if the ban is reactivated or if she moves to another state in which abortion is prohibited, she could have fewer rights than I had as a teenager in the 1980’s. It pains me to see retired women at protests, lamenting, “I did this in the 70’s! Why do I have to do this again in 2022?”

      Today, the United States should be focused on doing at least its share to overcome the climate crisis for humanity’s sake. Instead, conservatives are immersed in efforts to set women’s rights back to the mid-1900’s – still! The sad truth is that women and allies must fight against abortion bans, fight for reproductive justice, and never cease being vigilant. This must come in the forms of a blue tsunami this November 8th (as cliché as it sounds, every vote does count!) and activism – not just on this National Weekend of Action – but routinely, always.

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    • “Cursed” Island? An Update on Haiti

      Posted at 2:32 pm by Janine Harrison, on August 22, 2021
      Post-earthquake debris in a Jérémie, Haiti home (Photo Credit: Degraff Jean Karfka Sendy)


      A young Haitian man I know recently referred to his island as “cursed,” an understandable viewpoint.

      First, a down-and-dirty historical recap: Haiti was colonized by the French, who enslaved the indigenous people and exploited the rich land until a successful revolt ended their rule in 1804. Sore losers, the French forced Haiti to pay astronomical reparation costs and crippled their ability to trade with other nations. They also left behind a tyrannical political system, colorism, and forced Catholicism. The result, in part, involved political corruption and instability in which leaders rarely served a full term without coup, assassination, or suicide, and if they did, it was because they were dictators, like the infamous father/son duo, Papa and Baby Doc, who inflicted horrific pain on Haiti’s people and collective memory. Cumulative result? Haiti is now the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

      The political corruption and instability continues to this day with, and as you likely know, the July 7th assassination of President Jovenel Moise, whose entire presidency was punctuated with questions of legitimacy and scandal, in his home. The country is currently being run by an interim prime minister and, due to the aforementioned instability, a government that is severely understaffed until the next election.

      Why doesn’t the U.S. do something? The USA’s history with Haiti is problematic, at best. On one hand, we’ve sent troops, etc. to Haiti twice to offer “assistance” and, instead, essentially taken over and exploited the Haitian people, most notably during the occupation of 1915-1934. Additionally, when we support leadership, we are often siding with dictators or minimally, greedy, corrupt,  and ineffective leaders, so instead of helping to promote the growth of a fair democratic system, we’re are actually stifling it by maintaining the status quo. These are actions that should not be repeated. In contrast, when we don’t help Haiti, we are viewed as “abandoning” the country in a time of great need. I can only hope that we find some middle ground, in which we help to facilitate a fair next round of elections.

      That said, it seems unlikely that equitable elections will occur this fall, since both the party that former Presidents Martelly and Jovenel belonged to is corrupt as is the primary opposition. Furthermore, with gangs causing violence on parties’ behalf and, I believe, unrelatedly as well, many lives are in danger, which doesn’t exactly encourage a welcoming voting atmosphere. Atrocities have occurred regularly over the past two years, including weekly robberies, kidnappings, and murders, in addition to countrywide lockdowns due to political protest, with far-reaching economic consequences.

      Add to this the 2010 earthquake, 2016 Hurricane Matthew (and smaller hurricanes), and recent August 14th earthquake, and the results are devastating. Haiti is deforested, which means less protection for towns and cities, and climate change is only worsening the frequency and severity of tropical storms. This isn’t just a horrible streak of bad luck; the issues will only continue to mount.

      Cathedral of St. Louis Roi of France, Jérémie, Haiti (Photo Credit: Degraff Jean Carfka Sendy)

      In Haiti, there is no division between church and state. The Cathedral of St. Louis Roi of France, which is located on the main square in Jeremie, located in the southwest, where 119 deaths occurred in this month’s earthquake, is used for multiple purposes, including such events as graduations. This is the second time that it has lost its roof in the past five years.

      Haitians are having even greater difficulty than ever keeping roofs over their heads, food in their bellies, and their health. Simply put, the main issue involves increasingly inflated prices accompanied by depreciation of the Haitian gourde and merchants wanting to be paid in USD, Keep in mind, too, that this is a land in which you must pay for something as simple as potable water.

      I don’t believe in curses. Haiti is a country that experiences many humanmade difficulties, including climate change, that need humanmade solutions, both internal and external. Until said solutions are actualized, Haitians are dying.

      Please help if you are able: Haitian Connection

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    • Each Voice a Stride

      Posted at 12:38 pm by Janine Harrison, on November 3, 2020

      The BLM flag attached to the car window ahead of me was threadbare from waving. As I drove through East Chicago, Indiana, neon “Roadway to Citizenship for our DREAMers,” “Stop Gary Airport Deportations,” and “545” signs taped to my car, I thought about how each 2020 protest caravan I’d attended had been different. The first, a Black Lives Matter funeral procession, which passed a police officers’ banquet, had garnered much attention from Blue Lives Matter counter-protesters. Horns blaring, yelling, and cursing pervaded the air. I could feel the hate lining the streets of our route, American flags hoisted, as though the right were somehow patriotic and protesting for justice and equality was not.

      The next caravan was the first of two “United Against Racism” events, this one located in Gary. Even though it wasn’t a funeral procession, it felt the most like one. The weather mourned countless Black lives lost, Breonna Taylor lost, emotions running as heavy as the storm clouds while we near-silently wove through overpoliced, underserved neighborhoods, residents coming out to watch and cheer us on.

      The second such event entailed hazard lights blinking and a morse code of beeps: … —… as the theme song of our interlacing of police department and Harbor blocks. Determined. Hopeful. When I returned home, I tried to peel my protest signs off of the car carefully as I’m growing tired of making new ones and know I will need them again.

      In ways, my life experiences prepared me for activism. And, as a writer who believes in writing as a high-level agent of social change and who increased my creative output with that intent in mind, I felt I was doing my part. Then, Trump was elected. My bestie and I soon found ourselves taking my teenage daughter to the first Women’s March on Washington, D.C. We ended the day with a poetry reading hosted by Split This Rock. There, Sarah Browning said the words I knew to be true but in saying aloud made real for me: “Writing poetry is no longer enough.”

      In Spring 2018, a young politician and activist, Brandon Dothager, whom I’d met a week or two earlier at a poetry slam I’d hosted as a town poet laureate, came to my house and recruited me into a new local community, that of Progressive Democrats, which I have since proudly played a very minor role in helping to foster in Northwest Indiana.

      Now, here it is – Election Day 2020, the day we’ve been waiting for — the fate of our nation never in greater peril. We hold our breath. We eat Tums like gummies. We try to stop our heartbeats from breaking through our chests…

      The thing is, no matter the outcome, even when we do pry Trump’s fingers from the White House fence, I’ve heard tell that many individuals will snap back to their pre-activist days like a twanged rubber band. But we can’t. We simply can’t.

      I would love to simply bounce back to life as just a writer and professor! (It sounds so freeing — the time gained, the world weight lost.) But these four years have shown me that whether the issue is new-ish or a hideous centuries’ old thread that has been sewn into our country’s tapestry, there is so much wrong, so much that needs to be done, so much that our Millennials, Z’s, and Alpha’s need to have a future that they deserve — instead of the one that we are misguidedly handing to them on a plastic platter — that I’ve realized I’m going to have to be an activist for the rest of my life, gaining political knowledge and speed as I go.

      Our societal situation is not unlike the sole issue of feminism in that the second we turn our backs strides will be lost. And now, tragically, we have many steps to regain just to reach the point where we can start to make progress again. Many people have likened recent events to the civil unrest of the 1960’s. Only this time, we are ready, and we need to carry the momentum into penetrating and permanent change.

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    • American Flag as the Last Coffin Nail?

      Posted at 2:29 pm by Janine Harrison, on August 2, 2020

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      Is it being a whiny White person to lament giving up on a national flag? After all, whole generations of marginalized citizen groups have felt betrayed by or never invested in the U.S. flag because the reality of our country has never lived up to the ideal the flag represents – not even close.

      Many kids today, my daughter included, have been raised to question the actions of society and to know that history is biased, written by those in power, and far from complete (the majority of women’s and People of Color’s voices having been excluded).

      But, I remember being in first grade and in my first school play. We had to dress up as pioneers. My mom bought me a long dress, green with a tiny flower pattern, an apron sewn into the front (ala Holly Hobby). She traced a circle on an old white bed sheet with marker using a Hills Bro’s. coffee can as a template, cut it out, made little slits, and wove a green ribbon through it, turning the flat sheet into a bonnet. I stood on a riser in front of our audience of parents and proudly stated my line, “His father kept searching low and high, till he found the naughty guy. George admitted, ‘It was I, I cannot tell a lie!’” I had recited the climax of the story of George Washington cutting down the cherry tree. After, we sang the “Cherry tree, chop – chop, chop” song.

      For years, I could remember every scene, every song in the play, which covered historical events ranging from the Paul Revere’s ride to Betsy Ross sewing the first American flag. The production made me feel so proud to live in such a great nation.

      (If you must vomit, please do so in the bathroom. Thank you!)

      I also remember celebrating 1976 because it was our country’s bicentennial. I may still even have a commemorative coin set stowed away somewhere.

      Years after I became a young adult and started to learn that many of the teachings about our “great nation” were actually myths, the truth much darker, frequently shameful, I remember the first time I felt a real sense of patriotism. Not the kind made out of blueberry stars and strawberry stripes on cake or more importantly, standing and respecting VFW members driving in convertibles in 4th of July parades, but feeling patriotism in a contemporary, relatable sense. It was the day after 9/11. Even this was fraught with issues, I now recognize, but I’ll still never forget how I felt that day and for weeks to follow. The American flag flew everywhere. Strangers’ sorrow about the planes hitting the Twin Towers and Pentagon was practically palpable, even as we passed one another in the aisles of a store. We were struck tragically on our own soil, and it felt personal, and I felt “American” in a way I had never before known.

      But that was 19 years ago.

      Before racist backlash against our first Black president.

      Before police brutality reared its ugly head in the mainstream media, showing Whites that the USA isn’t even close to post “-ism” anything and ultimately, leading to the Black Lives Matter movement.

      Before Trump was elected, emboldening an ignorant, fearful, hateful mass of people who’ve had their heads buried in holes, evidently since the 1970’s or 80’s, to re-enter daylight, to shout, to bully, to injure, to murder, to blame “libtards.”

      Recently, I was in a Black Lives Matter symbolic funeral procession. Since the start of coronavirus, it was the first such protest in which I’ve participated. Counter-protesters, the Blue Lives folks, stood along our route, “patriotic,” with American flags a-plenty draped, hung on poles, even dangling from a tow truck. I wasn’t surprised by them or their intelligent comments, such as “Fuck you!” but I was taken aback by the sheer number of flags – by the audacity. It infuriated me to think that the counter-protesters considered their stance to be somehow “American.” That those who are hired to protect and to serve everyone murdering Black citizens historically through to the present day is somehow acceptable and that protesting the act is somehow unpatriotic, unAmerican.

      My husband, a social studies teacher, remarked, “But there is nothing more American than protest.”

      For me, the U.S. flag has always represented the ideal – what our country claimed to have been and should actually have been founded on: freedom and justice for all. (#blacklivesmatter)

      Infuriated, I wanted to scream: “This is NOT patriotism!”, I wanted to take the flag back from these hijackers. Despite the kneeling in recent years to show “we do not and will not support the status quo, this domestic colonization,” I wanted patriotism to not be owned by racists when it and the flag should live up to the hype – should walk the walk – should represent a loyalty ALL can feel in a just and equitable land, should represent freedom and justice for ALL!

      I guess I’m an idealist that way. I believe in living in the world the way it should be if it were better, instead of living in it as it stands. We can and should aspire, always, to societal betterment.

      Still riled, I suggested to heads of a couple of progressive groups after the funeral procession that we start flying the American flag at our events. That we work to take it back. I was reminded that the flag has always been problematic for disenfranchised Americans and that for this reason, we need to embrace new symbols.

      I grieve. Perhaps ridiculous and very White, all considered, I grieve what seems to me right now to be the loss of the American flag to Trump supporters and all the ugliness they symbolize.

      In an ideal world, we would be ready for a national rebirth. We’d make long-term changes in which we would create a safe, fair society for People of Color. We’d have a new independence day that ALL citizens could buy into and celebrate together because we finally overcame the tragic history and corrupt systems holding us back. We’d raise a new flag, symbolic of this awakening.

      I grieve because we aren’t there yet. And at the rate we are going, I may not see it in my lifetime.

      I grieve.

      | 1 Comment
    • Kids’ Lit Wish List

      Posted at 2:48 pm by Janine Harrison, on March 1, 2020

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      (Photo Uncredited: Information Not Available)

      I’ve had the privilege and joy of teaching Children’s Literature to undergraduate students, primarily elementary education majors, who are mostly early 20-somethings and from diverse racial backgrounds, this semester.

      I showed the class the 2016 Tedx Talks video, “Missing Adventures: Diversity and Children’s Literature,” in which Brynn Welch argues that we need more diversity. She argues essentially what my cousin, Abby, an educator, recently stated to me, which is that “Books need to be both ‘windows and mirrors’ for kids, allowing them to understand someone else’s experience and to see their own as a valuable part of society.” Welch revealed that less than nine percent of children’s books with human characters contain protagonists of color, white still being the “default setting.” Most of my students were taken aback, understandably, by this statistic.

      In the freewrite that followed, a couple of my Latinx students wrote that they had grown up with books containing white protagonists, never seeing themselves reflected in the writing, and equally as awful, never questioning it. It reminded me of growing up in the 70’s and 80’s with mainly male protagonists in children’s and young adult novels, many of which employed the generic “he,” and never questioning it. This is one way that we internalize that our voices don’t matter – whether as persons of color, as females, or as any other individuals who are not able to see their own reflections in the “mirrors” that are kids’ books. Another group that we discussed that day was Native Americans and lack of contemporary representation thereof. One student admitted, “I didn’t even know there still were Native Americans until I entered middle school. I thought they were all gone.”

      At the end of the period, a student and I were the last two left the room. She’s the mother of two children, one bi-racial and the other, Mexican American. I, myself, am the mother of a mestiza who is half-white/non-Hispanic, half-white/Hispanic. We talked about how hard it is to find children’s books that reflect bi-racial or bi-ethnic identities, but how important it is for our kids to feel as though they belong. I said, “When Jianna was little, she looked dark next to my white friends’ kids and white next to her half-brother’s Latinx family.” She vigorously nodded.

      Last week, I graded the students’ freewrites. For Part II, I had asked students what they thought was still missing, four years post-video, that they would like to see reflected more prominently in children’s literature. Our class wish list is as follows:

      More…

      • Muslims
      • Bi-racial families
      • Family type diversity (not just Mom and Dad), including same-sex parents as a norm
      • LGBTQ+ representation
      • Social class discussion
      • Work ethic focus
      • Routes to success, in addition to college and military
      • Mental health issue discussion
      • Neurodivergence
      • Grief/death processing
      • Puberty conversation
      • People with physical disabilities
      • Protagonists of color in which issues of race are not the focus
      • Racism in a contemporary context

      While I realize that strides in literature have been made over the past four years, we need to make certain that they continue, preferably at a faster pace, so as to be more reflective of contemporary society. In “Missing Adventures,” Brynn Welch reminds viewers that we show what we support, in part, through our spending. This year, if you can, please consider voting with your wallet by purchasing diverse children’s books as presents for the kiddos in your life — including white children — to help prevent raising kids who see the white race as “default”!

      #diversechildrensbooks #childrensliterature #kidsbooks

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    • Numb and Sun: Time for Re-connection

      Posted at 4:04 pm by Janine Harrison, on January 12, 2020

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      Last year, for the first time in a few years, I went MIA on my blog posts for months at a time. I had difficulty thinking of simple topics upon which to write 300-500 words. This is a bad sign for a writer.

      For a long time, I’d hear from college students, “I’m not feelin’ it.” Nowadays, some say, “Ya feel me?” I think many of you will understand when I admit that while I may feel what’s going on in the lives of others and across the globe (Iran, Australia, Puerto Rico, just to list recent events), in this overwhelming world, it’s sometimes difficult for me to feel what’s going on with myself. I go through life numb because there’s too much input and not enough time and energy for processing and output. For the artists reading along, you’ll understand, too, that this isn’t good for creating — to feel as though you’re somehow cut off from, well, your “soul.” I haven’t written a new poem in months!

      Shortly after Trump rose to power, I saw warnings about “activism burnout” posted on social media. More recently, I’ve read posts about empathetic people needing to “set boundaries.” And, goodness knows, we’ve been tossing around the term “self-care” for a while. Earlier this month, I actually turned a Pinterest pin about “Types of Self-Care” into a small poster and hung it on my office wall.

      Also, it doesn’t help me, personally, that it’s winter, albeit a mild one due to climate change (ugh!). I experience SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), usually in January and February, the most. My symptoms come in the form of trouble concentrating, sluggishness, agitation, and sleep issues. When it’s really bad, I feel like I roll through days in an anxiety-riddled fog. I am, without a doubt, a creature of summer. If you know me, you know that. If you’re in my inner-circle, you’ve probably bought me a blanket, a sweater, or winter weather accessories somewhere along the line. (Thanks again, by the way!)

      BUT, this year, I’m re-starting work to reconnect my brain, emotions, spirit, and body. So, you can expect monthly blog posts from me again (whether you want them or not!).

      I wish you all a 2020 of deep breaths, long sighs, time for reflection and connection, and much sunlight!

      Excuse me now while I go sit under my sun lamp and journal, followed by playing 2020 Just Dance with the kid.

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    • The “You are Special Today” Plate

      Posted at 6:43 pm by Janine Harrison, on September 25, 2019

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      Last night, my husband and daughter, along with our friend, Greg, met me after work at Tania’s restaurant in East Chicago, Indiana. They brought the bright red “You are Special Today” plate for me, which is a dinner plate given to the family by my mother-in-law, Wanda, who owned such a plate while my husband and his siblings were growing up. I chose the restaurant (delicious Puerto Rican food, by the way!), and after we sat down, Mike presented me with a card made out to the “Bold Poet” and a gift. It was a copy of Haitian-American writer Edwidge Danticat’s book, Create Dangerously, which worked both literally and symbolically, because it was reading her story collection, Krik? Krak!, that led to the reason why I was special yesterday in the first place!

      You see, yesterday my first full-length poetry collection, Weight of Silence (Wordpool Press) was released, and I was (am, actually) very excited! Recently, my poet-friend, Quraysh Ali Lansana, referred to the work as an “important labor of love,” which seemed apt.

      Cliff’s Notes version? Danticat’s writing put Haiti on my radar as more than a blip in the Caribbean and has subsequently led to two trips to the island thus far, considerable learning, the forming of friendships and even an unofficial new family member, and 111-pages of poetry on women’s issues, the tragic history, current sociopolitical situation, and natural disasters experienced by Haiti’s resilient people.

      The words found traction at Wordpool Press, a small press run out of Bloomington, Indiana, by editor Colleen Wells, who adopted her daughter, Gaelle, from Haiti, shortly after the horrific January 2010 earthquake in capital city, Port-au-Prince. Due to her empathy, 100 percent of not only poet profits but also Press profits made from Weight of Silence sales, will be donated to Haitian Connection! This invaluable not-for-profit organization helps to shelter, educate, care for the psychological and physical wellbeing, and feed Haitians, with a special emphasis on women and children. Naturally, I am thrilled by the perfect fit of work and publisher!

      Even though I lamented that the collection wasn’t ready for release when Hurricane Matthew devastated the southwest portion of Haiti in October 2016, I am thrilled that it was launched yesterday. Since the disaster, the country has experienced double-digit inflation, an oil crisis, and increased political unrest, to the extent that people living in the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere are in the worst straits that they have experienced in over two decades.

      If you are in the Chicagoland area, I hope to see you at one of my upcoming launch parties or readings! (See Upcoming Events.) If not, I hope that you will consider purchasing a copy from Amazon. While it would be counterproductive for me to actually send purchasers “You are Special Today” plates, please know that I would certain feel the sentiment!

      Thanks for reading!

       

      | 0 Comments
    • CITA and More: Ways to Help Southern Border Immigrants

      Posted at 3:04 am by Janine Harrison, on July 29, 2019

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      For some of us, armchair activism against the Trump administration’s assault against immigrants who are seeking asylum in the United States from across the Southern border isn’t enough. Yet, it is difficult to know how to help, especially for those of us who live in the Midwest.

      This summer, I started working with CITA (no, not the Chicago Indoor Tennis Association), the Chicago Immigrant Transportation Assistance via the ICIRR (Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights). Volunteers take shifts at the main Greyhound station, so that we may assist those immigrants who have been released from ICE and are en route to relatives’ homes.

      What I have learned thus far is as follows:

      • ICE releases individuals and families without cash. Instead, they are given pre-paid credit cards or (get this!) — checks — in lieu of any money they possessed when entering a detention center.
      • Immigrants arrive hungry. Many immigrants have been traveling on buses for hours or days (see above image), often starting from Texas or Louisiana. One wonderful volunteer assisted a family of three; the father had not eaten for over 48 hours and the mother and child, not for  24+ hours. CITA, which is actually comprised of several organizations, has a nearby Red Cross storage unit. From it, we are able to provide water, snacks, and meals. Often, we pass out lunches that we have on hand and then walk to storage to retrieve additional supplies. When we return, usually within ten minutes, the food has already been devoured.
      • Immigrants arrive sick. We keep medicine and personal products on hand for adults and children because by the time they reach us, they have headaches, sore throats, fevers, or coughs; women need menstrual provisions; and more.
      • Immigrants arrive without weather-appropriate clothing and shoes. For starters, ICE takes shoelaces during processing and doesn’t return them. We keep a supply of laces for this reason. Also, individuals who have lived in warm climates leave cold detention centers for trips on cold buses, heading north, without the benefit of long sleeves, pants, socks, or close-toed shoes. This was especially problematic in the winter and spring, I was told, with children arriving without coats and wearing sandals. We hand out clothing and shoes to accommodate such needs.
      • Immigrants need directions or use of a telephone. Most immigrants do not speak English. They sometimes need assistance to get on the correct bus or they need to speak to someone at their destination location to arrange pick up. We help them to navigate the bus station, so that they are ready to board their next bus. Sometimes, we loan an individual a cell phone to make a call. If an immigrant is lost, out of money, and needs another bus ticket, CITA will help in that capacity as well.

       

      If you wish to volunteer with CITA or cannot volunteer in-person but would still like to take part in this effort by making a donation of money or supplies, please contact
      info@citachicago.org or visit Cita Chicago

      Other ways to help our influx of immigrants from Central America and Mexico include:

      • If you are able, please consider paying the bond of an immigrant in need who is currently being held in a detention center or fostering or sponsoring a child awaiting immigration proceedings
      • Volunteer for migrant service agencies in your area that help refugees to transition to the United States
      • If you live near the border, bear witness.
      • And, of course, VOTE!

      Thank you for reading!

       

       

       

       

       

      | 1 Comment
    • Eco-friendly Lessons We Can All Learn from My Great Depression-Era Parents

      Posted at 7:40 pm by Janine Harrison, on April 28, 2019

      Recently while reading an article on reducing plastic consumption, I realized that the intent was to sell environmentally-conscious products. While I’ll likely invest in bamboo toothbrushes for the family, since they are biodegradable, the remainder of the products seemed unnecessary.

      As I read and thought about our energy consumption, recycling issues, and plastic pollution, I could imagine my Great Depression-era parents shaking their heads at American excessiveness.

      Here is what we may learn from them:

      1. Whenever you leave a room, turn off the light. (An oldy but a goody!)

       

      1. If it isn’t broken, don’t replace it! Do we really need a newer model? A new bell, new whistle? Something that matches a new décor or a different season?

       

      1. If it is broken, can it be fixed? I realize that we live in a disposable society and that sometimes it is more costly to fix an item than it is to replace it; however, sometimes a little effort, ingenuity, and perhaps the addition of an instructional youtube video can go a long way (and save a few precious pennies in the process)!

       

      1. If something cloth is no longer wearable or presentable in the kitchen or bathroom, can it be added to a rag bag for future dusting, polishing, wall washing, dog drying, etc.? Do we really need to buy dust cloths or disposable cleaning wipes or synthetic sponges?

       

      1. Reuse bags. Paper bags can be filled with paper and cardboard products destined for the recycling bin. Plastic bags can line garbage cans and wastepaper baskets. Why buy them? Similarly, (and this post-dates my parents!) pretty, sustainable bags for the grocery store are a waste of money and material, if we have already amassed a quantity of free recyclable bags. Instead, use them and/or canvas bags until they’re thread bare. In fact, use everything until it’s thread bare!

       

      1. Most American homes already contain a cajillion plastic containers in the kitchen. Why waste plastic wrap and tin foil if we can stick leftovers into bowls and cover them with lids? Why not use the plastic until it’s unusable and not replace it? Then, better options can be explored.

       

      1. Remember glass? Maybe you’re too young. Why buy individually bottled beverages when water can be poured into a glass pitcher and flavors added or it can be turned into lemonade or iced tea? Glass and other non-plastic reusable water bottle options abound today.

       

      1. My parents were the type who stuck the last sliver of a soap bar to the new soap bar. (They scraped every bowl clean. They got every last drop out of a shampoo or ketchup bottle by turning it upside down and letting the liquid flow down into the cap.) While many of us today now use liquid soap and shower gel, we can reduce plastic use even via use of large refillable containers. And do we really need to buy new bottles of window and counter cleaners or can we make our own and re-use the last purchased plastic bottle?

       

      1. As for plastic utensils, why can’t we start washing real forks, spoons, and knives again, even when we are on the go? If afraid of throwing away the ones that belong to our matching kitchen sets, perhaps we could pick up some odd ones from a local thrift store or flea market? Regarding disposable plastic, we can also ask ourselves – unless they are a medical necessity, do we really need straws at all?

       

      1. Donate, sell, or give away anything and everything that is still usable.

       

      I realize that most of us are “whores to convenience,” myself included, and that in relation to some of the above-mentioned suggestions, I’m being hypocritical (e.g. 16 oz. Diet Coke bottle), but I am increasingly striving to do better, and I hope that we all will because, after all, what is a little inconvenience as compared to further risking the future of our planet? And let’s admit it, Americans – when it comes to energy consumption and pollution of all types, we’re disproportionately high contributors! So, let’s do better, and better still!

      | 2 Comments
    • Flying Over: A Visit to Ciudad de Mexico

      Posted at 4:00 pm by Janine Harrison, on March 31, 2019

      mexico-city-2719368_1280

      Earlier this month, I had a reprieve from the heaviness of U.S. political chaos via a short vacation to Mexico City with one of my two besties, Jackie Larson. We stayed with a wonderful couple, Minerva and Leo, who were born and raised in Mexico, and it proved both a lovely diversion and a great learning experience!

      It was my first time in a non-touristy area of Mexico, and it felt like I was visiting the “real” country for the first time. I did what I always do when traveling internationally and enrolled in STEP (Smart Traveler Enrollment Program) through The U.S. Department of State – Bureau of Consular Affairs. While on the site, I reviewed travel warnings. Ciudad de Mexico was only at a two on a scale of four and included such usual warnings as petty crimes like purse snatching and pickpocketing.

      To be honest, my main concern was whether or not I should have a custom t-shirt made to wear in public that, in Spanish, read, “I hate Trump, too!” But I didn’t. Still, I braced myself for at least some animosity. If I had thought about it more carefully, I would have realized that in one of the largest cities in the world, not all white/non-Hispanic travelers would originate from the United States, and it was not as though I wore an American flag on my person so as to be easily identifiable. While I could chalk my attitude up to the U.S. tendency to think we are the sun and all other countries revolve around us, in all honesty, I think that being ashamed of living in a society that is currently led by an administration whose belief system is rooted in hatred and fear has simply made me extra self-conscious in relation to those people being targeted, Mexicans especially.

      I am pleased to report that not one Mexican was less than polite to either Jackie or me. For an enormous city, I found the residents to be warm and lovely!

      While there, I learned from our fantastic hosts a couple of fun facts worth sharing:

      1. “Huevos a la Mexicana” is so-named because the tomatoes, onions, and jalapeños are the color of Mexico’s flag.
      2. I confirmed what I had once heard, which was that Mexicans answer the phone, “¿Bueno?” instead of “¡Hola!” The origin is likely that when telephones were first installed, the lines often weren’t clear and users answered, asking, “Good?” as in “Is the line good? Can you hear me?” The greeting simply outlived its need.

      Although I do not consider myself to be a “foodie,” I do appreciate food and could go on and on about the meals that I ate (particularly the fresh seafood and a sandwich called a Pambazo!). However, due to length expectations for blogs I’ll spare you the savory details and just strongly suggest that you use your imagination and allow your mouth to water now!

      53390448_10210619178435718_5317570670983380992_n

      My favorite place was without a doubt the Blue House (Museo Frida Kahlo). Even though I was saddened as I grew to appreciate Frida Kahlo as a disabled artist, as evidenced by a wheelchair at an easel and numerous rigid corset-like back braces in her wardrobe collection, I was also surrounded by beauty in each room, in the light that shone into the interior, and while sitting in the courtyard, filled with Aztec-design statues, fountains, and ponds and much flora and fauna. The residence had such creative energy, and I felt such at peace. I was ready to move in right then and there to live and write!

      53720072_10210621117884203_8258468094339448832_n

      While at Museo del Templo Mayor, a museum connected to a large archeological dig site in which approximately two city blocks of the Aztec capital city of Tenochtitlan was unearthed, I remembered the first time that I traveled to NYC and realized that Chicago was young. Then, later, when I was sitting on a fallen column dating back to the Roman Empire, I finally understood, emotionally, that my country was still a baby. This led to two additional thoughts. The first was an appreciation for ancient civilizations, and how much they were able to discover and do with almost no technology or modern-day understanding of the world. The second was that maybe once the United States is able to extricate itself from the whines and tantrums of the orange-haired infant currently shaking the White House, maybe we’ll be able to right the furniture and begin to toddle as a nation. Here’s to hoping!

      #travel #Mexico City #Ciudad de Mexico #Donald Trump

      | 1 Comment
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