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Working with the Roma
Rachel Norton - Letter #4 (December 18, 2006)
Happy Holidays to you all! I hope this letter finds everyone in good spirits, enjoying the season. I have received many Christmas cards from some of you, and it has made me so happy! Also, I have appreciated the many wise and encouraging emails I received after my last letter. Here's a brief update: things with the little orphan I wrote about are still difficult, but we're managing day by day. Also, the parents' meeting I mentioned was well received, although it was not as useful to Alma (my coworker) and me as we might have hoped. Maybe next time… This month I've been thinking a lot about how to discipline the children in the preschool. Sometimes they are completely out of control, and I just can't rein them in. They can be so cruel to each other. They can be so cruel to Alma and me. And when they're at their worst, all I can think is, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing!" A problem is that corporal punishment is the standard here. Whenever I've asked for advice, I've been told that I should smack the children who misbehave, or slap them on the hand with a stick. Well, I'm not going to do that (although sometimes I am sorely tempted!). These children witness aggression all the time—domestic violence is a particularly widespread problem in the camp. Besides, the children hit each other constantly. I don't want to reinforce this approach to conflict resolution. I want to show them that there is another way to work through problems and express feelings of anger or disappointment. But, frankly, I don't know what that other way is here, since giving time-outs, withholding privileges, shouting, and other common disciplinary actions seem to have little effect on the children. Positive reinforcement seems to work well, but is of little help when someone does misbehave. I am hoping that consistency and patience with our current disciplinary program, which combines all of these tactics, will produce the results we're lacking now. One of the reasons for all this disciplinary difficulty is that our
mentor, Béla, has not been with us as much as usual. Béla
is absolutely wonderful with the children in the camp. He has been
working with them and organizing things for them for years, long before
Alma and I showed up to volunteer. The children love him and respect
him, and naturally they behave much better when he's in the preschool
with us. This past month, however, he had to work elsewhere. He had
to travel for over an hour to the nearest big city, Ungvár,
every day to do manual labor. At the end of the two weeks he went to
collect his wages, and whomever he was working for refused to pay him!
How can this happen? Well, I don't know for certain, but it was implied
that the work is not completely above-board, and that the employers
are connected to the mafia. So, they can do what they want, and there's
no legal recourse. Some people say the Roma are lazy, and their circumstances
are their own fault. There is surely some truth to that latter notion.
But here is an example of a man laboring, doing whatever work he can
find, in order to support his family, and through no fault of his own
his effort is in vain! I was so angry to hear this story, but what
can I do? What can anyone do? (In case you're wondering, the office
with which I am affiliated has found some money with which to pay Béla
for the work he does in the preschool. But it's not enough to provide
for his family. He can't make our preschool his sole means of support.) This is my first Christmas away from my home and my family, and I think I'm suffering a touch of homesickness as a result. Before we volunteers left the U.S., the lovely people at PC(USA) gave us a book about culture shock. It is a lot like regular depression, only with a more acute cause. I think I'm a classic case right now. I don't think I am having trouble adjusting, but I've noticed recently that annoying things irritate me more than they should. And I feel melancholy and exhausted. On one particularly difficult day last week, when I was feeling really blue for no apparent reason, I realized something that's been comforting to me ever since. (Warning to my Jewish and/or atheist readers: this is totally Christian in nature!) I was singing "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" to myself as I walked down the street. It seemed especially appropriate because of Advent, and because its minor key matched my mood. I think the lyrics (as I remember them) are especially beautiful, and I will quote them at length to you now:
The verses of the song are from the point of view of the Israelites in exile, waiting for a Messiah. They are also from us, contemporary people living in a broken world, waiting for justice and redemption. They are from me, stumbling through a gray fog of malaise, waiting for something to soothe my mind. I have always thought of the refrain as an instruction given by we contemporary singers to the exiles in the past, telling them that the Messiah that we know, Jesus, did in fact come to rescue the world. And we will celebrate his birthday this month. But what I realized walking glumly down the street, is that this instruction to rejoice is also to me, now. I'm told to celebrate not because salvation (for the world and for me) is imminent, but simply because it will come, someday. Rejoice now because Emmanuel shall come to thee, eventually. Probably not this December 25th. Maybe not for a thousand years. But the presence of a tiny spark of hope in the midst of the world's darkness, even if the spark never grows to a full flame, is reason enough to rejoice. Much love to all, PS. As ever, should you wish to contribute to the fund that supports my work here, you can! Just make out a check to the PC(USA) with my name and ECO number, 074436, in the memo line, and mail it to:
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