Paper Trails

With the recent worry about providing paperwork to affirm one’s citizenship, I have been sorting through files and boxes in my basement looking for my naturalization certificate. I just recently received a new passport, but in this political climate, I’m worried that it may not be enough. When I lived in Hanoi in 1996, the first advice given to those of us who were Vietnamese adoptees was: “Do not get in trouble with the law. If they throw you in jail, you’ll have a hard time getting back out.” I was twenty-three and rebellious enough to not care but mindful to store that bit of knowledge for later use. As adoptees of Viet Nam, most of us did not denounce our Vietnamese citizenship (effectively granting us dual citizenship up until 2011 or so). As a result, my U.S. passport was somewhat moot in 1996 in the event I was caught in the clutches of the Vietnamese government for some 23-year-old-rebellious-reason. Fast forward to 2017 and I’m now concerned about my U.S. citizenship, wondering if I will be detained upon reentry from international travel and questioned about my purpose, my background, or honestly, about my faith. It’s stressful and sad that I would question my years of U.S. citizenship or the gold star on my license. I have been filing taxes since 1992 and have enjoyed a privileged and democracy-driven life as a hard-working, U.S. citizen. Nonetheless, I still worry, and I still haven’t found my naturalization certificate.

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Opting Out

I am tired of being a pawn, a piece in the teaching game that is sacrificed for the greater good. I am your pusherman, peddling mandates of curriculum and assessment to turn profits for the wizards behind the curtain where the stakes are high and no one ever wins but the dealer. Best practices are packaged in shiny, new sleeves and rolled out as the latest goods for sale. States are still buying, but the products are just another method to stratify rich from poor, good from bad, losses felt by those who can’t afford to be a part of the solution. It’s a metaphor, but I don’t have the time to teach that properly because I waste valuable instructional time in rooms of silence, listening to the click, click, click of a mouse that will drag and drop kids into boxes that will never explain who they are just what they are not. I forgot what I was doing; teaching lost its shine the moment I became a pusher, an expendable chess piece of little consequence no matter what side of the board I am standing on.

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