I write this letter not just in response to the decision that was made to call my professional development series of workshops a “conflict of interest” and to deny and revoke my colleagues’ funding requests to use Alfond Foundation grant money to pay for these workshops, but also to address the bigger picture of what health and wellness looks like for employees in the UMaine system, particularly in the Covid-19 era.
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Employee wellness, health, and self-care is managed through Cigna and Trestletree as a one-size-fits-all approach. The tools and trainings available through these resources are certainly helpful, especially as a starting point for employees who have had very little exposure to stress management and health and wellness resources. But what if something more is needed?
For those of us who are front-line workers—not only managing our own health and wellness, but also that of our students—something deeper is needed. For those of us working in fields where our subject matter deals with health, wellness, psychology, and trauma, for instance, we need tools that go above and beyond the tools offered by Cigna, Trestletree, the community colleges, and the UMaine system. In short, we need opportunities for embodiment.

Such resources are not easy to find and access, especially in person and in real time. Further, they are expensive. Our professional development takes many forms and approaches and includes learning theory, praxis, and practical tools for our health, well-being, and self-care so that we may continue to do our intellectual work and service work without becoming dysregulated and burnt out. When we have access and opportunities for embodiment, for somatic engagement, we are better employees and we serve our institution and our students more effectively.

For those of us managing the mental, physical, and emotional impacts of trauma (let alone complex trauma), our needs for tools and opportunities for embodied health and wellness and self-care are even greater. The impacts of trauma create (invisible) disabilities that we manage to work with, whether these disabilities are documented or not. Providing us with the accommodations we need to do our work is a legal and moral obligation of the UMaine system, and professional development opportunities that are funded by the system (or, in this case, outside grant funds) are part and parcel of this obligation.

I have witnessed the impacts of stress and burn-out among my colleagues—faculty and staff—and the ways in which these manifest in short tempers, a lack of patience, inability to see another person’s point a view, a lack of flexibility, increased frustration, depression and anxiety, and reduced productivity. Some of us just accept our working conditions as the way things are; some of us fight to change the system. Many of us are only vaguely aware of these as problems that can be addressed by health, wellness, and self-care solutions. I have also personally experienced these impacts and have struggled in silence, finally reaching out for an EAP Band-Aid when I was desperate. Some resources exist for faculty and staff, but these resources are inadequate not only because they are mostly pdf documents and webinars, but more so because they do not harness the power of radical self and community care; they do not offer somatic tools toward embodiment or opportunities for praxis.

It is with all of this in mind that I began studying trauma and embodiment in the context of my intellectual work as a cultural critic and theorist as well as my work as a fitness instructor and yoga teacher, work that I have done alongside my pursuit of a Master’s, a PhD, and my work as a professor (for instance, publishing Women and Fitness in American Culture in 2014). I completed a 50-hour certificate in Embodied Social Justice, utilizing professional development funds in the winter/spring of 2021. I also began teaching NUR 330, Integrative Healing Yoga, for the UMA Nursing program in the summer of 2021 and developed AME/INT/WGS 430 Embodied Social Justice: Racialized Trauma and Cultural Transformation, which I taught in the spring of 2022. This fall I developed AME/INT/WGS 420: Feminist Praxis toward Radical Self and Community Care, which I will teach in the fall of 2023. Through this work I have brought social justice and diversity, equity, and inclusion together with theories and practices of embodiment and have used this lens to understand and address trauma—in the classroom, in my research/writing, and in my life.

But as I have come to understand my work as transdisciplinary, I have also developed workshops that I have offered in a variety of contexts. While I have been offering fitness and yoga classes and related workshops for a long time (often as free community events at UMA), these new workshops break out of the boundaries and definitions of fitness and yoga and draw more from the resources that are a part of my academic work. For instance, from my teaching of Embodied Social Justice, I developed a Resilience, Embodiment, and Radical Self-Love workshop that I offered as a scholarship fundraiser for Kristy McNaughton and her Evolved Movement LLC. Several UMA colleagues attended this workshop in Readfield in the spring of 2022. After being connected via a student who works in the mental health field in Portland, I also created an Embodied Social Justice professional development workshop that I delivered via Zoom for about 20 front-line workers that was offered through the Maine Department of Health and Human Services in the spring of 2022. For the last two years I have presented workshops for Maine teachers through PREP (yoga and embodied movements) and was invited to present Yoga for Educators: Classroom Tools and Self-Care Techniques at the Forward Focused: Innovate, Advocate, Motivate MEA conference in December. Clearly there is a need for trainings like this.

It is from all of this work that The Spiral Goddess Collective, a Center for Mind/Body Movement was born and in addition to the weekly classes that I offer there, I began to create a series of workshops that would offer practical tools for self and community care as well as opportunities to engage with theory and practice related to social justice, diversity, equity, and inclusion. While it is “outside employment” and a “personal business,” it is also part and parcel with the work that I do as an intellectual, an academic, a cultural critic and theorist, and a Transdisciplinary Professor of Cultural Studies at the University of Maine at Augusta. UMA students have reaped the benefit of this work, not only through my classes, but also through my events, workshops, and extracurricular offerings. The only difference is that now I have a sacred space for such offerings—a space that I have to pay for and a space that pays forward into the community through sliding-scale prices and scholarships.

In the summer of 2022, I offered a Rest, Restore, Renew retreat at a friend’s off-the-grid farm in Lowell as a pay-what-you-can event for the nascent Spiral Goddess Collective Care Fund scholarship. UMA colleagues who attended this retreat convinced me that I should offer my upcoming SGC workshops as a professional development package so that more Maine frontline workers like them could take advantage of the benefits of the unique opportunities for training that I am offering. All the participants, which include frontline workers not affiliated with UMA, agreed. The idea of a conflict of interest did not even cross my mind. I have been doing this work for so long, offering it for free or pay what you can.

I have always struggled to define the line between what is work and what is “work.” (I write about this in a variety of contexts, including this recent blog). I have donated countless hours of my time and countless dollars of my hard-earned money to creating and offering services for my community. I have built relationships and trust. And the thing is, for those of us who have experienced trauma, which is pretty much all of us, and which has been exasperated by Covid-19 and other factors, we need skill-development training from people and sources that we can trust, that we can work with in safe/sacred spaces, that we can build upon with each opportunity for professional/personal growth and development.

The calls for professional development opportunities via the Alfond Foundation and MWDC encouraged us to “think big” about the “numerous opportunities to pursue” for “skills development training” and “upskilling Maine employees.” The opportunities that I am providing are well within the scope of the intent of the Alfond Foundation grant funds (as confirmed by UMS HR in a denial of funding due to a “conflict of interest”). I am currently working on appealing the “conflict of interest” decision, which has been presented to me and to faculty and staff who applied for these professional development funds with unclear and contradictory justifications as well as wide-ranging implications that seem beyond the scope of a “conflict of interest.”

The conflict of interest seems to be about providing me—a “University employee”—with “income,” but the situation is more complicated. Correspondence from UMS HR suggested that a faculty/staff member paying me is a conflict of interest in and of itself. This is a very broad interpretation of the UMS policy. Subsequent communication has referred to the “protection” being provided by the system by identifying conflicts of interest. No specific policy language has been cited. Further, the grant from the Alfond Foundation, administered by the MWDC and “housed within the Maine Community College System” provides funding for courses at UMS and the Maine Community College System and the University of Maine System serves as a training provider. By the standards being applied to me, how are these not conflicts of interest?

But, above and beyond the issue with the conflict of interest policy and its interpretation by HR and my UMA supervisors, I ask you to consider the ethics of the overall situation—denying employees their choice of professional development opportunities based upon my employment at UMA makes absolutely no sense, especially when the professional development funds are coming from a source that is meant to provide access to trainings like the ones I am offering. Again, I am appealing the conflict of interest decision because the nature of this particular conflict of interest is also in the interest of UMS and its employees.

I offer some of the feedback that I received from participants in the first workshop. A UMA student who attended, funded by the Spiral Goddess Collective Care Fund scholarship program said:

“After attending the workshop rest, relax, renew I felt like leaving a whole day at the spa. I've never experienced this with yoga before. Feeling open, relaxed and knowing I did something good for my body. It also helped me to focus on the weeks ahead that were very stressful.”

A staff member who attended before finding out that she was denied funding, shared this:

“Through this workshop and through Sarah’s teaching, I was given the space and training that allowed me to be vulnerable to explore and learn new tools to start to restore myself towards deeper wellness. Her understanding of hidden disabilities and her willingness to adjust to individuals’ needs made this training a safe place to explore alternative healing techniques. I was able to understand at a deeper level the need to avoid stimulating the nervous system, practicing the techniques in stillness, gaining a deeper understanding of how culture “collaborates for us not to rest” but to perform and to produce and how for years I have carried this stress within my body all in an attempt to be the best at my job. Being able to observe and experience ways of shedding these layers of stress was indeed empowering for me. I have attended yoga training before but never had the experience of restorative yoga and it was a transformative experience. As a practitioner in the counseling field, self-care is important but we are not often offered such a powerful and transformative workshop as this from a highly skilled teacher.”

I hope that UMS will see that the benefits of providing professional development funds for this workshop series to any faculty or staff who would like to attend outweighs any potential conflict of interest. I do not believe that there is a conflict of interest here and that if there is, “no real or perceived detriment to the University results from conflicts between personal interests and those of the University.” This conflict does not result in “direct monetary losses” nor “loss of confidence in the University.” And, in fact, the decision that has been made to call professional development fund payments a conflict of interest actually results in “negative publicity and erosion of employee morale.” Finally, I believe that my “activities and interests do not conflict with [my] obligation to the University or to its welfare.”

The Conflict of Interest Policy states that this “policy is to be interpreted and applied in a manner that will best serve the interests of the University and that distinguishes between those minor and inconsequential conflicts which are unavoidable and those conflicts which are substantial and material.” I believe that allowing faculty and staff to choose to apply professional development funds—whether they come from UMA, from the system, or from grants—to the professional development trainings of their choice, including my “personal business,” best serves the interests of the University and that the conflict here is minor and inconsequential. Further, what I am offering is a unique opportunity that is in line with the goals of the Alfond grant and the professional development funds offered to UMaine system employees. What I am offering engages faculty and staff not only in wellness and self-care, but also in a deeper understanding of issues related to diversity, equity, and inclusion.

Finally, because this “policy does not prohibit an employee from freely pursuing those teaching, research, and professional and public service activities which will not result in such a conflict, nor prohibit an employee from accepting pay, compensation, fees, honoraria, or reimbursement of expenses which may be offered in connection with such activities,” accepting payments from UMA and UMaine system employees who are then reimbursed by UMA, grant, or system money is not a conflict of interest. And, again, in this case we are talking about Alfond Foundation grant money.

In conclusion, unsigned correspondence from umsacademy@maine.edu to a staff member denied funding stated that “the topics offered by both TrestleTree and Cigna, which are part of the University's benefits, do cover some elements described on Dr. Hentge's website.” Of course they do. We receive self-care and stress-reduction advice from all sorts of UMS-related sources including the FDC, HR newsletters, and the named resources. But not all sources are created equal and none of the named sources provide what I am offering, an in-person experience that provides praxis and embodiment, to say the least. We understand that decisions about conflict of interest are not the purview of umsacademy, but we also understand that there is a bigger picture here that seems to be lost in the tedium of policies and procedures. There is also a story about human beings doing their best to navigate these systems and feeling disrespected in a process that is clearly not designed to have their best interests in mind.

 I have studied, taught, and worked toward social justice since before I discovered the concept of social justice and began to understand the legacies of the multi-pronged struggles for justice, equity, and basic human rights. Still, as I have embraced and espoused an intersectional framework, I have continued to struggle with the ways in which ability fits within the race, class, gender, and sexuality framework that undergirds what I teach, write, and research.

I have been that professor that feels exacerbated and frustrated when that one more thing is asked of me. For instance, the captioning of videos for my classes. I still do not feel that it is my sole responsibility to make my classes accessible, in part because I lack the knowledge and training—but, mostly, the time—to do so. I think that the institution needs to take more responsibility and recognize that we need time and support to develop new skills. Support exists—extra time does not. (Our current model is not sustainable. . . more on that shortly.) But part of this institutional responsibility is mine. I have to shift my perspective about accommodations. I have to understand my own responsibility to make changes that impact these larger systems and structures.

I have been using the opportunity of our academic theme, Disability Visibility, to not only educate our students, but to educate myself. This is one of the privileges and benefits of working in academia—we always have the opportunity to learn alongside our students. In the spring, I will be offering a one-credit class on the topic of Disability Visibility, not as an expert on the subject but as a facilitator in co-creating an environment of learning.

I recently attended the NWSA conference and tried to attend as many panels as possible that dealt with disability. The first session I attended practiced some of the norms of disability accommodation that I do not regularly engage with (for instance, descriptions of the presenter’s physical appearance and the images on the screen and print outs or QR codes for “access copies”). I panicked for a moment. I was scheduled to present in the next time slot and I had not prepared accommodations. Was this the new norm and I was out of the loop? Yes and no.

Only the disability rights-related panels at the NWSA made such accommodations (of the sessions I attended, which were not that many). Such norms are still making their way into academia, even in the most progressive of spaces. At UMA, we have been slowly implementing tools like automatic closed captioning in Zoom and software that rates the accessibility of documents and materials in our BrightSpace courses. Perhaps we have also been assessing the efficacy of our accommodation processes. But I regularly hear from students who feel frustrated and othered by the process, and I hear stories from students whose professors refuse to accept the accommodations that are required of them.

One thing that I learned at NWSA is that I have been practicing many of the suggested techniques for accommodations and for working toward disability rights for as long as I have been teaching. I have developed accommodations for all of my students that have also benefitted me, for instance flexible deadlines. Sometimes these make more work for me, but they also allow me to feel less guilty if I fall behind in grading. (Since I give my students leeway, the least they can do is extend me the same!) By creating this accommodation, I changed the culture of the classroom. I often get emails from students about the struggles of their lives and asking for an extension; it is easy to say: “my deadlines are flexible for just such reasons.”

Through my work over the last year or so, I have also developed a larger understanding of what accommodations are all about. Disability accommodations are not (just) about making academia more accessible for students who live and work with disabilities, they are about transforming a culture of impossible expectations and arbitrary (and insidious) barriers that we are all expected to function within without complaint or recognition.

Two related ideas that came up at a panel at NWSA were sustainability and collective access. Impossible expectations are not sustainable for individuals or for institutions. Impossible expectations lead to burn out and I know that many of my colleagues and students are feeling this, even if only some of us are willing or able to admit it. Collective access means that we need to rethink the bigger picture of what our classrooms, campuses, and curriculum look like. This too can help us to live and work in a sustainable way and can also help us to better care for ourselves and each other.

Can we imagine a world where accommodations don’t exist because we have changed the structures, systems, norms, and expectations of our culture as well as the ways in which we treat each other and the ways we expect to be treated? The short answer is: yes, because we have to.

One of the panels I attended drew from the work of Ruth Wilson Gilmore who calls for the creation of “life-affirming institutions.” They argued that we can reimagine and transform academia which is, by design “inherently, intentionally, and iconically ablest.” Building on the idea of “prefigurative politics,” following the work of Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, they argued that “another university is possible” and, in fact, “it is already here.” If we live the world that we want, that we need, then we realize that that world already exists.

We collectively make the present and the future that we want to live in, even when the structures that we work and live within seem impenetrable and inflexible. Our academic theme is an opportunity to shape our institution and bend it toward a better way of teaching and learning for all of us.

As I look at the beautiful new flier that one of the PR people put together for me*, I am haunted by my own words, which are highlighted by being set apart from the rest of the description that I wrote for the purposes of marketing to members who speak the language of the fitness industry.

“JourneyDance is more than a workout.”

This is language that I thought would make sense to the audience at the community center/gym where I teach. The idea of a workout, the goals of a workout are what resonate with people who join gyms, health clubs, fitness centers, and fitness programs. In fact, where I teach is one of the most welcoming and inclusive spaces to find opportunities to “work out.” Even so, it is still a space that many people are afraid to venture into, especially alone. Gyms and fitness studios are not just the great unknown; they are hostile territory. For some, this kind of vibe—the culture of working out—is a major turn off.

To even refer to JourneyDance as a workout is doing a disservice to what it is all about, and this is not the first time that I have wondered if a group fitness/gym space is the best place to offer this new healing modality that I have fallen in love with.

JourneyDance is not a workout at all. Will participants burn calories? Yes. Will their heartrates increase? Yes. Will they sweat, burn fat, tone their bodies, and get a cardiovascular workout? Yes, most likely. Will they grow stronger and more flexible? Yes. All of these are hallmarks of a “workout.” But I don’t see these as the goals of a JourneyDance class and it is not at all how I would describe the class. JourneyDance is not “dance fitness.” It is, but it isn’t. The hallmarks of the classic workout are more like the side effects of JourneyDance.

Cardiovascular endurance, increased strength, weight loss and maintenance, and other such physical fitness measures are the goals of traditional workouts and group fitness classes. I can’t count the number of times I have been asked how many calories someone can expect to burn in a class I am teaching. The side effects that often come with a good work out—stress relief, better proprioception, a sense of well-being, enhanced mood, emotional balance, and improved mental health—are not the benefits that we typically use to sell fitness programs.

In fact, such things are rarely discussed in fitness spaces. We attract people to fitness programs and classes with promises of weight loss and sometimes with promises of improved health. And less often with promises of health and well-being. These are mainstream motivational tools—promises that cannot be kept by programs or classes alone. There is a reason why we call working out work. Physical fitness, health, and well-being take commitment and consistency and there is no easy formula or magic pill, despite what the diet and fitness industry want to sell us.

JourneyDance is not a workout. It might be more accurate to call JourneyDance a work in. But it is more of a both/and. We work our bodies, but the work of our bodies is not the goal. We work in the inner realm of our minds, emotions, and spirit.  What is the goal? Does there even have to be a goal? Set, measurable goals are what the fitness industry exploits. The goals of weight, size, strength, health are elusive. They are straw men—distorted versions of the reality of living, being, ageing, and existing in this world. When we don’t reach the goals we have bought into, we blame ourselves and the vicious cycle continues. JourneyDance interrupts that vicious cycle and creates new possibilities for living, being, ageing, and existing in this world.

If there is a goal in JourneyDance, it is a goal that grows with us day by day, dance by dance. One day the goal might be to sweat and de-stress. The next day it might be to let go of the mental garbage we accumulate. The next day it might be to connect with other people in a safe/brave/sacred container. We might aim to tap into the inner wisdom of our bodies, our own innate ability to heal. We might not know what the goal is until it has been accomplished. We might never pin it down. It doesn’t matter. The old adage applies: it’s not the destination; it’s the journey!

In JourneyDance, we are moved by music. Dance is only movement and moving our bodies—moving our bodies joyously, purposefully, and ecstatically to music—is medicine. For years I sought to encapsulate the work that I do in the world of fitness—the closest I could get was the tagline: Move and Be Moved. When I discovered JourneyDance, I found the form of movement that I had been working toward all along. When we let go enough to just move, we will be moved in all kinds of ways.

As I stated earlier, JourneyDance is not “dance fitness”—it is so much more. JourneyDance is a healing modality. It is a form of conscious dance. It is a transformative experience of mind/body/spirit. It is different every time we do it; it meets us where we are and it gives us what we need. This is not the description that will resonate with people who are looking to work out. Some of us would rather buy into the partial truths of the fitness industry because these narratives feel safe—they are promises that sometimes yield desirable results. There is nothing wrong with working out. To each their own.

But I have chosen to offer JourneyDance in a gym/community center setting because I have always pushed at the boundaries of the boxes that the fitness industry constructs. I hope to give members an opportunity to try something different, to add an outside-the-box dimension to their routine, to go deeper and discover new mind/body connections and possibilities. And I hope to attract new members who might reap the many benefits that this non-profit community center/gym offers. We are complex beings and what we do with our bodies should be as multidimensional as we are.

*I have chosen not to picture this flier or to mention the name of the place where I teach because I am writing as a Professor and fitness/dance/yoga professional with more than 25 years of experience and my opinions are not meant to represent the place where I teach. This is a commentary on the fitness industry as a whole, not the specific place where I teach.

I wrote this piece months ago. I thought it was pretty good and submitted it to a few publications, where it was quickly rejected. I meant to share it in my blog, but never got around to it. Sadly, it is still relevant, maybe even more so. I have included a related poem below as well as a side note about a book I started reading a couple weeks ago.

Young people are often discounted and dismissed. Their youth and experience, we assume, cannot compare to the wisdom of adults, especially in times of crisis. This might be why—as more and more Americans compare the current COVID-19 crisis to end-of-the-world stories—we ignore what young adult dystopian novels have to teach us.

One of the reasons we dismiss YA dystopian literature might be that the overwhelming majority of young adult dystopian novels are written by women, and even more feature female protagonists. Women and girls—so often the victims of patriarchal violence, so often the glue that keep families and communities together in times of crisis—know about the hardships of dystopia. We live the impacts of our dystopic patriarchal world every day, especially if we are further marginalized by race, class, or sexual orientation. So why are our Girls on Fire stories dismissed when the real world is faced with real dystopic crisis?

Lurie Penny describes, in “This Is Not the Apocalypse You Were Looking For,” an article  for Wired, how we Americans like our end-of-the-world stories: “Our heroes—usually white, straight men with traditional nuclear families to protect—are cut off from the rest of the world; the daydream is of finally shaking off the chains of civilization and becoming the valiant protector and/or tribal warrior they were made to be.” These heroes dominate our cultural landscapes and imaginations.

A Facebook post, from a self-proclaimed retired high school librarian who had read her fair share of dystopian literature, encapsulates the very problem with patriarchal imagination and adults’ attitudes: “don’t worry… somewhere a seventeen-year-old girl is working on a cure for COVID-19, if only she can decide which boy she is in love with first.” Even those who are familiar with the stories of YA dystopia are quick to dismiss the Girl on Fire.

This kind of attitude is common among adults. This kind of attitude will be our undoing. It is true that many of these novels have romantic plotlines, but these books are also about self-discovery, survival, resilience, freedom, hope, community, and the power of love. Penny notes that the current COVID-19 crisis has brought out a different story. Those on the front lines “are not fighters. They are healers and carers.” But this insightful article does not cite any of the stories that are over-shadowed by these powerful cultural myths, rendering them further invisible.

We see this tendency to turn our attention to the texts that have been inspired by, and produced in, our patriarchal American culture in some of the dystopian venn diagrams that have been circulating on social media. Typically, the only book that appears on such lists that was written by a woman is Margaret Atwood’s A Handmaid’s Tale, which makes the list as a token representation, at least in part, because of its popular television adaptation. It also makes the list because it is about the control and forced pregnancy of women’s bodies, which becomes more and more relevant every day. It is allowed to exist alongside the other texts that erase women from our visions of the future.

So, if we were able to step outside the boundaries that patriarchy has created for our imaginations, what might we learn from the end-of-the-world texts that center girls?

Community is important and we can only succeed if we work together.

The battles scars of trauma are real and lasting.

No matter how powerless we feel, there is always something we can do to make things better.

It is important to take care of other people, but it is also important to take care of ourselves.

No matter how dire circumstances may seem, there is always hope. We can always build something new.

These are only some of the lessons that YA dystopian literature can teach us, but we have to be willing to question some of our long-held beliefs about who we are as a country and who we want to be when the current COVID-19 crisis tapers off.

In order to better understand who we are and where we are going, we need to read new stories, and Girls on Fire stories are a great place to begin. Unlike adult dystopian stories, these stories have hopeful endings. We can teach these stories, and I’m hoping that the young people who read these stories, who take these stories to heart, will be the next generation of leaders who don’t get stuck in the tired old narratives that have shaped our contemporary patriarchal dystopia.

This Girl (Is on Fire)

A sense of humor

is important
in trying times--
 
toilet paper shortages
and social distancing
are fair game.
 
But when a retired
high school librarian
claiming vast knowledge of genre
posts:
“don’t worry
right now a 17-year-old
girl is working on a solution, but first
she has to decide
which boy she is in love with”
 
The joke’s on us.
 
Because belittling young adult
dystopian literature
is one thing
 
but trivializing girls
is the death of us all.
 
Side note: A student asked me if any of the YA dystopian novels I had read for my research took up subject matter that might compare to the pandemic. While plenty deal with similar scenarios, I could not think of any that really spoke to the current moment… until I picked up the book Recoil by Joanne MacGregor a couple of weeks ago. First published in 2016, this book is a little too close to home. So, if you like that kind of thing (like I do), check it out.

Most of the novels that I write about in my Girls on Fire book are set in the far future. These novels take place after the people of our era have screwed everything up. While most people are probably turning to light reading, films, and TV shows. Dystopian stories can still teach us a lot about where we are and how we can get someplace better.

It’s not one thing, it’s a confluence

No one can survive by themselves

Community has to be rebuilt; family has to be redefined

Love can save the day

A pandemic is just a pandemic, but when a pandemic triggers economic collapse and economic collapse sends the privileged into seclusion reinforced by violence, and scarcity causes people to turn on each other instead of supporting each other, and the government cracks down through totalitarianism, that’s when things get truly dystopic. We’re not there yet and we don’t have to go there quite yet!

So, here’s a few of my favorite reads where the lessons of dystopia are actually quite optimistic!

Check out Octavia Butler’s series: Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents for a story that hits a little too close to home (minus the pandemic). Despite the chaos of “The Pox,” people are able to build a better future by embracing new ideas and taking care of each other.

Check out Sherri L. Smith’s Orleans for a story about what happens when Delta Fever causes a wall to be built isolating the Delta region of Orleans from the Outer States. The ending is not exactly “happy,” but it depends upon how you read it!

In Lauren Oliver’s series--Delirium, Pandemonium, and Requiem—love is considered to be a disease. But not everyone is willing to give up this disease for the illusion of safety. Some critics read the ending of this novel as a reinforcement of heterosexual romance; I read it as a call to tear down old structures and re-build new ones. And to open our hearts even when it is scary to do so.

Stay tuned for more examples of how the Girls on Fire of YA dystopia can help us save the world!

While March is officially Women’s History Month, this is only one reason for the two Culture & Movement events I have planned this first weekend of March, the weekend of International Women’s Day. While we celebrate history, we also need to recognize women’s ongoing struggle for freedom and equality—this is much more what these two events are about!

First Friday Free Fitness Dance: Girls on Fire, Friday 6-7:15 (March 6)
The first of these First Friday events was cancelled due to a snow storm. (The Black Freedom Struggle theme I prepared will be back the first weekend in June when I am pretty sure that snow will not interfere!) The last time I offered a Girls on Fire event at UMA-Bangor in the fall, it was a great success. This event will be less extravagant, but just as successful, I hope! I also offered this event in Denmark last year in celebration of International Women’s Day (also a success). We will dance to many of the same songs, as well as some new stuff. In addition to the obvious Alicia Keys’s “Girls on Fire” song, we’ll also dance to Beyoncé’s “Freedom” and Saving Jane’s “One Girl Revolution.” As always, all are welcome. Hope to see you at 6 pm, Friday, March 6 in Eastport Hall 124!

Women Warriors: Yoga for Self-Care and Social Justice, Sunday 10-3 (March 8)
In addition to my yoga classes, I love offering yoga workshops and retreats—opportunities to dig a little deeper into what we are doing on our yoga mats. Also, at these events I do not have to make sure I fit everything I want to do that day into the allotted time slot. In workshops and at retreats we can get lost in yoga for hours!

I am super-excited about this particular workshop, which brings together the quintessential yoga Warrior pose with women warriors of history and fiction, while also exploring ideas of social justice and techniques for self-care.

This workshop is divided into three parts. People are welcome to attend the whole workshop from 10-3 or to attend any of the parts:

From 10-11:45 we will work on technique and alignment for yoga’s many warrior poses and we will learn about a variety of women warriors from history and fiction, including Maxine Hong Kingston’s classic novel, Grace O’Malley (Irish Pirate Queen), Lozen (Apache Warrior), and Hervor (Viking Shieldmaiden), as well as Katniss (from the Hunger Games, duh), Zena, and Wonder Woman. We will emulate these woman warriors as we invent new versions of the warrior poses. There’s even a surprise or two in the mix.

From 12-1:15 we will have the regular yoga class as usual, with a warrior and self-care focus.

From 1:30-3:00 we will explore self-care techniques including breathing, meditation, and myofascial release (tennis ball work). Trust me, this is not enough time, but we will make it work…

Bring some snacks to share and get ready to play with yoga on International Women’s Day, March 8, 2020!

Many years ago I applied for a job as an assistant professor of African American Studies. On paper, I was qualified for the job. In the reality of a predominantly white campus looking to diversify their faculty, there was no chance I was getting that job. There is a longer story here, of course, but one thing I learned on that campus visit is that the designation of February as Black History Month was outdated. Black Liberation Month was the name used by the ethnic studies faculty and students. It has stuck with me.

This February I am offering a First Friday Free Fitness Dance event and the first theme for this event is “Black Freedom Struggle.” As allies, there are many different ways that we can work toward the ongoing struggles for Black liberation. While participating in fitness dance seems like it is a rather superficial way of being an ally, there is a lot to learn about literal and figurative movement through music and dance. Movement begets movement; movement fosters consciousness; movement helps us to develop empathy and insight.

The songs in this class speak to many facets of the Black experience in America. And, disclaimer—I do not censor music. Some artists use strong language to share their struggles. I honor that. So here’s a taste to the playlist and some of the themes we will move to, in my hopes that we will Move and Be Moved.

Lupe Fiasco—a Black Muslim artist whose messages are always insightful, inclusive, raw, and deep. We will dance to two of his songs:: “Coming Up” and “Kick, Push.” Lupe Fiasco is not as well known as some of the other artists I will feature in this class. I hope his songs make you run to buy his music.

Beyoncé featuring Kendrick Lamar: “Freedom” is one of my favorite songs from the album, Lemonade. The title makes obvious connections to the theme!

Jay-Z’s “Dirt Off Your Shoulders” from the Black album reminds us to lighten our load in order to move forward with the struggle.

Lizzo’s “Juice”—Lizzo has been celebrated (and berated) all over popular culture for her celebration of her “plus-sized’ body and sexuality. She is unapologetic for who she is and what she wants. She embodies Black freedom.

Kendrick Lamar’s “King Kunta”—one of my favorite songs of all time. If you have not heard this song, go listen to it right now. I will wait. Lamar brings the funk and unites generations through his artistic talents.

Flo Rida, “How I Feel” is a song that reminds us that every day is a new day!

Santigold is one of my favorite artists and also not very well known. We will dance to her “You’ll Find a Way.”

Janelle Monae is also one of my favorite artists and we will dance to two of her songs, “Tightrope” featuring Big Boi and “Cold War.” The first song is all about keeping balance and walking the tightrope of society’s expectations and the video features Monae’s mad dance skills (which we will not try to emulate!). The second has layers of meaning. The video for “Cold War,” which features only a close up of her (beautiful) face is so moving. She asks us: “do you know what you’re fighting for?”

And more and more and more!

Join us on February 7th from 6pm to 7:15 in Eastport Hall on the UMA-Bangor campus as we move, groove, stretch and raise our consciousness!

In addition to the reading and research I did to prepare for my plenary talk at the Harry Potter Academic conference, when one of my students (in my intro to interdisciplinary studies class and my Girls on Fire class) offered up her expertise, I asked her what it was about the books that spoke to her.

Her response was not only heartfelt and illuminating, it also helped me to understand several of the presentations I attended. The role of trauma, violence, and grief were the focus of several presentations and it was clear that Harry Potter has helped countless people survive, process, and heal trauma of all kinds. My student’s response was the kernel of a paper that I will encourage her to write and submit to neat year’s call for papers.

As I noted in part one of this two-part blog, the papers accepted and presented at the Harry Potter Academic Conference are selected not based upon academic credentials, but on the merit of the ideas presented in the abstract. There is also a clear effort to include undergraduates, independent scholars, and even high school students. This approach helped to create a diverse multi-generational, interdisciplinary, group of presenters and attendees and an environment for a free exchange of ideas.
My plenary was an overview of my work about the Girl on Fire—the power of the symbol and the potential of imagining the future through the lens of girls and women. And while I was there to give participants a new lens on Harry Potter, I also gained a new lens for my Girls on Fire work. While the presenters were not explicitly using a “Girls on Fire” lens, their work spoke to the spirit of the Girl on Fire—as symbol, as role model, as activist, as mentor.

There were a wide variety of interdisciplinary presentations that applied lenses of psychology, sociology, science, critical theory, religious studies, queer theory, feminism, history, Shakespeare, and pedagogy, as well as character studies including an insightful and entertaining powerhouse of a presentation by Kate Glassman, an MFA, poet, and middle school teacher from Minnesota: “Irascible and inflexible, perhaps, but always dependably, solidly present: The Preeminence of Minerva McGonagall in Harry Potter.” She was on fire: sassy, witty, and unapologetic.

Two Girls on Fire gave inspiring talks in the last session. The first, Madison Stump from Bowling Green State University, presented “Harry Potter as a Discussion of Environmental Harm and Impact.” She was on fire, imagining an environmental movement made up of visionary Potter fans. The second, Wellesley student, Anto Chavez Alfonzo, presented with her mentor, the advisor of the Miami Dade College chapter of the Harry Potter Alliance, Emily Sendin. She was on fire describing the social justice events that Hermione’s Army organized and the “transformative effects on a community of student readers and leaders.”

While there were plenty of men at the conference, the majority of presenters and attendees were women. This may be due to any number of factors including women’s majority in education generally, and their over-representation in the humanities and soft sciences. It might also be due to the ways in which the Harry Potter books speak to female readers through the “Girl on Fire” character of Hermione Granger—and a number of other female characters like Luna and Ginny.

Further, the men who presented illustrated the best characteristics of allies to Girls on Fire. For instance, Brett Slattery presented “You Won’t Need Any Ink: Dolores Umbridge and Pathological Tribalism” while dressed in the most fabulous drag ever—a skillfully crafted ensemble of pink and camp. And, co-organizer, Patrick McCauley, presented “The Appeal of the Universal Under the Shadow of the Postmodern”—a brilliant call for an intervention in postmodern theory and practice. He framed his talk with a story about the silencing of his female students—a call for approaches that empower young women who choose not to speak up because of the costs of being a know-it-all.

While I had no doubt about the richness of the Potterverse—I see it reflected in my students and colleagues all the time—I was not fully prepared for the magic (ah, there’s the obvious reference again!) that came from witnessing the best qualities of academic conferences. Enthusiasm, critical inquiry, celebration, connection, imagination, collaboration, vision, and inclusion. As I learned to say, we all solemnly swear that we are up to no good!

When I was invited to be the keynote speaker at the 8th Annual Harry Potter Festival at Chestnut Hill College, I had never read a word of the Harry Potter books. I had heard a paper about HP at an academic conference and, of course, I had heard and seen a variety of advertisements for the movies and merchandise. My friends and colleagues were big fans; my nephews and niece were super-fans. I knew more than one family of five who decided to all dress up as Harry Potter for Halloween. I had sat through countless HP references and inside jokes with only minimal understanding. In fact, it was kind of a thing that I had never read Harry Potter, and my closest friends and colleagues knew that eventually I would have to read them, even as I resisted the idea. Given my Girls on Fire work, the people I talked to were often shocked to hear that I had never read Harry Potter. But I was invited to the conference not because I was a HP scholar, but because I was not one—because my work speaks to HP fans and scholars in new ways. I was an experiment, and a successful one, I hope.

Until I accepted the invitation, I had no intention of picking up the HP books any time soon. But I knew that I had to have something beyond superficial familiarity if I was going to walk into the belly of the beast. I knew that every person at the conference would have read every book, and probably re-read every book. I knew that they would have seen all the movies and that many would probably be wearing HP clothing and accessories. I knew that they would all have at least a decade, if not a two-decade head start. I knew I could get nowhere near their level of interest, insight, or expertise. But I read the first two books and began the third one, and read some introductory scholarship, so that I would feel at least a little less than clueless.

The reasons I had never read HP were mostly coincidental. When the first book was published, I was just beginning grad school. And even if I had wanted to read HP, I was not reading anything that was not assigned for my classes or instrumental for my teaching. I also don’t tend to read a lot of books that are centered around male protagonists and I have never been a big fan of British literature. Because I do not have children, the books were never really on my radar and when I did begin reading again, I was much more inclined to read science fiction and dystopia and only turned to YA fiction when I ran out of Octavia Butler books. And soon I was deep in the world of YA dystopia with female protagonists—the “guilty pleasure” obsession that became my academic obsession. And, finally, I tend to be one of those readers/pop culture consumers who turn their nose up at wildly popular trends. For years, I was quite sure that HP was over-rated, but I certainly could not deny the impact that these books had on my family, friends, and colleagues.

So, I accepted the invitation to speak at the conference, in part, because I knew that this gig would challenge me and, in part, because the conference organizers assured me that my work would be relevant to the conference attendees. I accepted the invitation because I try to keep an open mind, and because I love to learn new things. And I accepted the speaking invitation because I will really accept any invitation that allows me to share my passion for young adult dystopia’s Girls on Fire. I was interested in finding out more about this HP world—or Potterverse, as the fans know it. I had assumptions and preconceived notions, but I also had a curiosity. As I have since confirmed via a few online sorting hat quizzes, I am Ravenclaw after all.

Overall, the conference was a wonderful experience, from the setting to the atmosphere created by a bunch of people who are passionate about Harry Potter and the work that they do—in and out of academia. Despite the fancy private college setting, the conference is put together with very few resources and with a lot of energy, and the conference organizers are committed to keeping the conference accessible to a diverse range of people. The papers accepted and presented are selected not based upon the academic credentials, but on the merit of the ideas presented in the abstract. There is also a clear effort to include undergraduates, independent scholars, and even high school students. The energy, the joy, the untapped possibility—they were all palpable.

As I noted during my plenary talk, what’s better than the HP books or the Girls on Fire books, is what readers, fans, scholars, and activists do with the texts. Even when I was unfamiliar with certain aspects of the overall story or later books, I found all of the talks to be interesting, insightful, enlightening, and some were even entertaining. More than once I was moved to tears by the passion of the participants, especially at the reaction of the two high school students who presented their papers and were awarded with scholarships to Chestnut Hill College.

I saw so many wonderful presentations and met so many incredible people. Dare I say the conference was … magical?! And, of course, the conference also did not disappoint in terms of my own learning and new insights I was able to glean regarding my Girls on Fire work. (Ravenclaw, again!) But for these insights, you’ll have to read the second part of this two-blog series! Stay tuned!

One thing I have learned from teaching in Denmark is not surprising—I love responding to students’ ideas and mentoring them through the process of a project/paper, and I got to do this with 30 graduate students as they wrote original research papers for my half of a team-taught Critical Themes in American Studies: Bodies, Minds, and Movements course. But I detest having to grade, to judge by pre-determined “fair” standards, to assign a number (or letter or whatever symbol, but especially a number), and pin it down and fix it in time. This is especially difficult with the inflexible Danish grading system.

In the spring, I had a new challenge—grading an oral final Exam. Lucky for me, I was the second grader and my wonderful colleague took the lead. Since I was also unfamiliar with how oral Exams are done, it was easier to follow his lead.
The typical oral Exam format: student delivers a presentation, professors (and in some cases outside examiners) ask questions, student leaves the room as the graders confer, student is called back into the room and told their grade. The last part was the most daunting part for me—face-to-face grading!

But we did something different than the norm. Rather than ask the students to present on the content of the course (bodies, minds, and movements), they were asked to complete an “in practice” project and then present their project to us. When we introduced the assignment, there was panic, frustration, and some anger. What we were asking them to do required them to step out of their comfort zones. In almost every case, the students rose to the occasion as they took the content from their research papers out into the real world.

They produced blogs and podcasts and magazine articles as well as a commercial campaign for #NeverAgain, a website for veterans to access yoga tools, and a polyamory community/activist group. One student created a zine about anarchist body-building; another created a series of illustrated children’s stories that incorporated American studies ideas; another created a pamphlet to encourage women of color to run for public office. One student taught in a high school setting and five students taught lessons in my online summer school class that I taught at my home institution. Several students stepped way out of their comfort zones and produced art. But what was so special about these oral Exams was less about what the students produced and more about what they learned—about the subject matter, about the field of American studies, and about themselves.

I realized about half way through the oral Exams, that this was the most I had ever heard some of these students talk. And I talked with a lot of my students—from short conversations to sustained meetings discussing their ideas. But in the oral Exam, they took the floor, they ran the show, they told us about their work. It was refreshing and invigorating and inspiring in most cases. In some cases it was awkward. But almost every student shared their passion with us in an Exam that was more like a conversation.

There couldn’t have been a better conclusion to my time teaching and learning in Denmark. As most any teacher would agree, it’s the students who make our work worthwhile. When we can challenge our students—and they take on that challenge and produce amazing work—there is no better reward. Well, maybe cake.

More than once, I joked with my Danish colleagues about how I had heard that Denmark had a better work/life balance than we do in the U.S., but that it seemed like they worked just as much as we all do.

Few people outside of academia know what hard work academia can be. Yes, it can certainly be an elite strata that full of privileged people. No, of course it does not compare to other kinds of work that lack the benefits, prestige and protections that academia can offer. But for so many of us, academia can be spirit-breaking, if not also backbreaking work—for faculty and staff alike.

Working in academia can also be extremely rewarding, but neither the backbreaking work nor the meaningful rewards are my point here. (And, of course, university staff have far less agency than professors.) I establish this description of the reality of working for a university in order to share a few things about working in Denmark that we can all learn from, which is also based only on my limited experience:

• If it is not in the job description, they don’t do it. And this is the accepted norm. Administrators don’t pile the work on; they hire another person.
• They take time off, time away. Certain offices shut down for holidays and semester breaks, and everyone takes three weeks off in the summer.
• The university owns properties that any employee can reserve at a reasonable price to enjoy a weekend at the beach, for instance.
• If a professor teaches an overload, they earn time off in the future.
• Paid parental leave lasts for a full year and applies to same sex couples and adoptive parents.
• When they stop working, they stop working.

Of course, there are exceptions and I am generalizing. But the fact remains that the Danes think differently about life and work. I joked with my Danish colleagues because too many of us in the U.S. put work above all else—whether this is driven by obsessive passion or a struggle for survival. Our American mindset makes work toxic—competitive and unrelenting. Staff accrue vacation time that they are not allowed to take; professors work long hours and work when they are “off-contract.”

In the U.S., if we have vacation time, we are shamed when we take time off (if we can find the time to take) and our colleagues often bear the brunt of the work we leave behind. If we are sick, we are encouraged to suck it up and work through it. In short, we are abused by administrators and the system and we abuse ourselves in an effort to meet both internal and external expectations.

In Denmark, vacation time is almost a human right. They are still passionate and committed. They still work hard. They might still be stressed out and over-booked, but not to the extent that we are in the U.S. They value time with family and friends. They participate in social and recreational activities outside of work. They exercise and eat a lot of vegetables and home-cooked meals. They know that they will be taken care of if they can't work.

We should take some of these cues from Denmark and work to change the mentality of our culture as much as our own individual work habits. Both are easier said than done. I’m trying to use my time in Denmark to make some of the changes I have been trying to make for years—take on less, take time off, practice self-care, and try to encourage my colleagues to do the same.

And, of course, there should always be some cake.

The end of a semester and the finality of grades is always difficult for me. Here in Denmark, the end of the semester bleeds into the next. So, while I started my new class yesterday, today I finished grading from last semester (until the re-exams are submitted).

Exams were my biggest concern when I thought about coming to Denmark to teach. I am an “easy’ grader. If I could, I would not give out grades. I would write a personal note to each student about their work over the course of the semester, what they did well and what they need to work on. This is how grading was done in my program during my first year of college. Since then, I have been chained to numbers.

I do not—and I have never—assigned exams. Instead, the students’ work over the course of the semester is scaffolded with assignments building upon each other and leading to a final paper of some kind. When I calculate final grades for students, there is some math involved, but there is also some wiggle room. There are many scaled variations between A and F to reflect an “almost A” or a “barely C.” I can reward ambitious efforts or excellent attendance.

In Denmark, the student’s Exam is the only basis for their grade in the class. And since most of the Exams I have graded are anonymous, I am grading only the words on the paper. This is extra torture. Further, there is a 7-point scale with 12, 10, 7, 4, 02, 00, and -3 being the only grades given. When grading, we talked about a “strong 10” or a “weak 7,” but this is not reflected in the grade. Further, a 12 is more or less an A+ and is not awarded easily.

In my U.S. classes, I want students to succeed and I tell them at the start of each semester that I have designed the class toward success. Much of the students’ grades are based upon attendance and participation assignments and the final is usually not more than half of a student’s grade. Most of my final assignments are 20% of the final grade. When I am grading, I am able to take into account every assignment the student has completed as well as other things I know about the student.
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While the day to day teaching has not been that much different in Denmark, the exam process is quite different. I did not have the opportunity to see any of my students’ writing before they submitted their exams and everything I graded was anonymous. Grading at home is a drag; grading in Denmark is beyond stressful.

In the U.S. exams take place, for the most part during the course of the last week of the semester. Grades are usually submitted before Xmas. Then it is done and time to move forward, even if I give too many incompletes.

The Exam system in Denmark is interesting and messy. In Denmark, Exams—the final exams and papers for fall courses—are spread throughout December and January, scheduled independently of when the class may have met during the semester. Some of these exams are oral presentations; some are timed writing. Some are take-home and the time students are given to complete these assignments varies from 24 hours to 3 days to 5 days or more. Most exams have either an internal second grader or an external second grader. The grade on the Exam is the grade for the class.

For my B.A. elective class about Hip Hop America, I assigned a pretty standard paper and was the sole grader. This was a small class and the grading was relatively easy.

For my co-taught M.A. theory and methods course, the students considered three questions for a week and then had 24 hours to write about a question we selected from the three. My colleague and I read about 30 papers (about 15 pages each) and then decided on a grade together. This was also fairly easy and we only argued about a couple of papers that we disagreed on.

For my M.A. elective course about Girls on Fire and YA dystopia, I had an internal grader who read the students’ papers. I did not realize I had an internal grader until the students had already started the exam. This was the toughest set of papers to grade. It was a small class and I came to love each of my students over the course of the semester. I read and graded and re-read and graded the essays three times, each time trying to make myself be more objective. Still, most of my grades were higher than the agreed-upon assigned grades ended up being.

On top of regular exams, I also supervised a B.A. thesis project this fall. This was also a new experience for me though I have supervised many similar kinds of student projects over the years. The most difficult part about this B.A. thesis advising, however, is the dual role that I play—as mentor and supervisor as well as the grader. I work with an outside reader in assessing the student’s thesis; together we assign a grade. So, throughout the semester I have been commenting and encouraging and wanting this student to do the best, but then I have to do my best to evaluate her project objectively. I am still second guessing myself, especially since this was the first thing I graded in Denmark.

This spring I will be a grader and an internal grader. The class I am co-teaching (really two classes in one big experiment) will have a mid-term for each of our classes and the final will have a paper and an oral exam. I am grateful for this experience teaching, working, and grading in a different mode. It is one of the reasons why I applied for a Fulbright, but it is tough. I hate to make decisions, generally, especially when such decisions can impact someone’s life like a grade can.
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And, here’s the ultimate contradiction within the Danish educational system. Everything is rather laid back most of the time. Students come to class or they don’t come to class and most classes do not have any kind of participation or attendance requirement. I still don’t know which paper belongs to which student though I have invited all of my students to seek my feedback. The only thing that rescues me from my grading despair is that I get to work with many of the same students in the spring. And even if I don’t know what each individual needs, I have been able to identify what the collective needs. And maybe that is part of the point of this system.

Part of my research project for my Fulbright in American studies revolves around fitness. In my first semester in Denmark, I have tried to get a lay of the land by observing and participating in a variety of fitness activities. I’ll be continuing this work this spring, but I will also be offering some fitness-related events of my own.

Free Yoga Classes on the University of Southern Denmark’s Campus
On Mondays throughout the spring, I will be offering Yoga for Every Mind/Body classes. These classes are free and open to anyone. Classes are offered in the classrooms behind Starbucks from 16:30 to 17:30. Best to bring your own mat and other props if you have them, but I will also have a few mats participants can borrow.

Yoga Classes at Earth Yoga Studio
Abril, of Earth Yoga, has been generous enough to provide space for me to teach classes from her studio. I will teach some Sunday classes and will also offer a “Yoga for Open Hips” workshop. Please register through the Earth Yoga website. The cost for these classes covers the operating costs of the studio.

Hiking Yoga Odense
This spring I will be offering a few Hiking Yoga events that take advantage of some of Odense’s landscapes. Basically, we do some yoga, then we walk to another scenic spot and do some yoga, then we walk to another spot and do yoga, and then we return where we started and do some yoga. No experience or equipment necessary. Free and open to all.

Girls on Fire: Mind/Body Fitness Dance
While this event includes yoga, it is more of a dance class than a yoga class—a mind/body form of fitness dance. I have written a blog about this event, which takes place in the Winter Garden at SDU on March 8.

One of the things I miss most about home is my fitness family and I am excited to share my yoga knowledge and skills with my community in Odense and at SDU.

This line, crooned by Courtney Love, is almost always in the back of my head. My college roommate would repeat this line and her love of cake was almost unmatched. Almost, because I too love cake and it only sometimes rivals my love of soft-serve ice cream or frozen yogurt. But Love can't capture the deliciousness of Prinsesstarta, or Princess Cake.

There are many wonderful cakes in Denmark. In fact, kage takes many forms and even inspires holidays. There is a daily kage on my campus and students often make kage for events. The Danes’ love of cake has inspired me to make myself vegan cakes way too often, and I have been eating cake almost every day.

But I digress, which is easy to do when talking about dessert… unless that dessert is Princess Cake.

Apparently, if you watch The Great British Bake Off you are already familiar with Princess Cake. And if you frequent IKEA, you may have sampled their version (which is pink, not green, which is a total travesty). But I had knowledge of neither context. Instead, I discovered Princess Cake at a breakfast buffet on a Viking ferry from Stockholm to Helsinki.

It looked intriguing: creamy layers covered in a green marzipan. When I saw that it was called Princess Cake, I had to try it.
Side note: the meaning of my name is “princess,” something that never seemed to fit until I found Princess Cake. I mean, besides Princess Lea, of course.

I fell in love with Princess Cake. The next day at the buffet, I got the last piece. The next two days, I ate the grocery store version in Stockholm. The next day, on my birthday at the Romme Alpin ski resort, I was disappointed to find no Princess Cake at the Swedish dinner buffet. (But I more than survived, stuffed with dinner and several desserts.)

Princess Cake is layers of vanilla cake and pastry cream and raspberry jam, with a big dome of whipped cream and a green marzipan layer encasing it all. There are other versions, but this is THE cake in Sweden. And it has a fun story that connects it back to Denmark.

Princess Cake is far from vegan, so it will be a short experience that I will savor as long as I am on vacation in Sweden. Someday I might venture a vegan copy, but for now, I am just going to be the girl with the most Princess Cake.

While I am only mostly vegan, I prefer to eat vegan when I can. When traveling, being vegan can be a challenge, especially with a picky vegan partner. But, Sweden has provided an extra fun opportunity for some vegan tourism: fast food.

If you are vegan, you know how tough it can be to eat fast food. Even if an option is available, it is difficult to trust the kitchen. But I had done some homework, and I knew that Sweden was extra vegan-friendly compared to other places.

In fact, Sweden is so vegan-friendly that the “McVegan” burger was developed here. Sweden is one of the few places in the world where the McVegan is sold. And I have been planning a trip to Sweden with almost the sole purpose of getting to try the McVegan.

Now, generally, I try to avoid McDonalds despite the very nostalgic connections I have to the place. Every once in a while I start to crave the hot fudge sundae and I will sneak off for one. But, otherwise, my only fast food splurges are usually confined to Subway sandwiches, and usually in a pinch.

*Side note: I have taught the book Fast Food Nation many times, and my colleague taught it to our students this semester. I read 40 final exams that talked about the ills of fast food in America… And still, I can’t help but want to eat at McDonalds.

But Sweden not only delivers the McVegan at McDonalds’… the local Max Hamburger chain also offers vegan fare. Since both fast food restaurants were within 70 meters of each other and only a two-minute walk from my hotel, the vegan taste off was on!
Both restaurants offered kiosk ordering. (I never want to order at the counter again!)

Max Hamburgers was significantly more crowded, and significantly more expensive. Max also didn’t have a vegan hamburger though they had a lot of vegetarian options. Max was also very dirty…but it was also very tasty. As one of the oldest hamburger chains in Sweden, it has some authenticity points.

The verdict: the McVegan burger did not disappoint. It had that good old McDonalds’ taste I remembered from my youth. More impressive, however, would be if they made a McVegan burger version of the Big Mac. Then I would most definitely have to live in Sweden.

Max Hamburgers was just darn tasty. The vegan burger option was a barbecue pulled pork type of sandwich with jalapeños. While not my favorite sandwich, this one was absolutely the best vegan version I have ever had. The barbecue sauce was sweet and spicy and the vegan “meat” was a nice texture. The fries were also significantly better. The meal, however, cost almost twice as much.

Another Max bonus: we also had vegetarian chicken nuggets that I am pretty sure were vegan (according to a food blogger) and were definitely vegetarian according to the menu, but they were a little too much like my memory of the real thing. But they were very good, and my husband’s favorite.

Another Max drawback: There are a wide variety of sauces available, but any extra sauce costs 7 Swedish krona (SEK) for a very small cup. Thus, we only had the vegan mayo, which was very good. Very good, but not my first choice of sauce.

All said, I would eat both of these vegan fast food meals again, especially after my vegan internet research yielded two failed attempts: one to find a vegan grocery store that was a café instead, and one to find a buffet that I imagined being endless and only included a couple of not-so-good-looking choices. Further, the grocery stores in Sweden are stocked with vegan options. So, while food can be a bit pricey, the vegan food is not hard to find. Finally, both fast food options were significantly healthier than fast food in the U.S., so it is almost guilt-free.

And then there were those non-vegan splurges, like my favorite new discovery—Princess Cake. But that is another blog.

Before living in Denmark, and learning (a little bit) more about other countries in Europe and Scandinavia, these places seemed like a kind of utopia for women. Iceland is considered to be the “best place in the world to be a woman.” In Sweden, children are taught to think about “people” rather than “women” and “men.” In Denmark, there is leave for new mothers and fathers. In many of these places there is legislation against sexism and stereotypes in advertising. These are conscious steps toward gender equality, and in the U.S. we have yet to take such steps.

But what I have found (in my very little experience and underdeveloped analysis), is that women here are still struggling to be seen as equals across institutions and traditions. Women and men still do gendered work. Women fail to hold the top positions at the same rates of men; for instance, many academic departments at my university lack tenured female faculty members. Moreover, while there is more gender equality, feminism might be even more of a “bad word” here than it is in the U.S. Many of my female students crave female mentors and opportunities to study gender.

With more research, my limited and anecdotal observations would certainly yield more proof of patriarchy’s insidious hold on the world, but I mention these observations here as one of the foundations for a special event I plan to offer this March for International Women’s Day, a mind/body fitness dance event that I hope people here in Odense, Denmark will be brave enough to attend. I am trying to be brave in offering this opportunity to my new and temporary community.

This type of event takes many people way out of their comfort zones, but this is part of the point. Mind/body fitness dance is an opportunity to “dance it off” or “dance it out,” to “shake it off” or “light it up.” My poster invites participants to: “Lose Yourself. Find Yourself” and “Move and Be Moved.” However we think about it, the results are achieved the same way: through novel physical movements set to inspiring music and through new ways of thinking about ourselves and our world(s).

A merger of feminism and fitness, dance and yoga, structure and freedom, this event is really just a glorified fitness class. If someone has done Zumba or step aerobics or Jazzercise, my mind/body fitness dance will seem very familiar. But my class is about more than these dance fitness classes that stay on the superficial planes of the body. The goal of mind/body fitness dance is not toward burning calories or losing weight; it is toward freeing ourselves from such expectations and limitations. It is not an exaggeration to say that this class is a transformative experience.

So, I hope the women and girls of Odense will come dance with me. Brave men and boys are also welcome. That’s part of the point about feminism: it helps all of us live outside of the limited and limiting expectations of gender. This event is an opportunity to play in a dystopic space where the possibilities are what we make them to be.

So, be brave, be fierce, be vulnerable, be powerful. Move and Be Moved.

For a mid-term election event organized by M.A. students in American studies, I gave a brief no-frills talk about Politics. At first I had no idea what I was going to talk about, but one of my students gave me some great questions to consider concerning whether this mid-term election was part of the Year of the Woman and what role pop culture plays in elections.
 
As I note in this piece, my students and colleagues here in Denmark are much more interested in Politics and elections than most people I know in the U.S. Of course, everyone I know is more interested in/involved in Politics now that American politics resemble the worst kind of shit show ever. At the mid-term election event, students gathered and watched the news as the ballots were counted and the results were shared and analyzed. Many stayed on campus until 5:00 in the morning! Many were waiting to see if the anticipated blue wave would arrive.
 
So, as the blue wave comes into power and the shit show continues, I share a slightly revised version of my talk here:
 
Politics with a Capital P
For most of my education and early career, I have not really been interested in Politics, at least not the kind in the category of the capital P. I think the system is broken and needs some work if it is going to both represent the American people and carry on—or more accurately, finally realize—the American traditions of democracy, liberty, justice, and freedom.
 
I am interested in the kind of politics that are not capitalized. Cultural politics.
 
As Americans we agree on the general principles, but the way we define the pursuit and definitions of these ideals varies greatly. And the divide—the false divide between Republicans and Democrats—continues to grow, in part, because our system cannot contain the realities of the spectrum of political beliefs and desired methods.
 
I have long been a registered Independent, and I think the system needs some major revisions if not an overhaul, but I put my efforts in the cultural and educational realms.
 
But, at the same time, the election of Donald Trump means that I can’t be uninterested in Politics—capitol P. None of us can. And there have been a number of good old-fashioned grassroots politics that have emerged in the era of Trump, but these stay mostly peripheral to my life and work.
 
So, I am fortunate to be here in Denmark with American studies students and colleagues who can remind me about the importance of capital P politics. In fact, many of my students have a much firmer grasp on political systems than I will ever have and my students and colleagues here are more interested in American elections, especially midterm elections, than just about anyone I have ever met in the U.S.
 
I want to offer some food for thought on a couple of related topics—women and politics, pop culture and politics, and the bigger picture of Politics. And I have to do what I do, what American studies does—you know I have to make it more complicated….
 
The Year of the Woman?
There are many reasons why women would opt out of politics. Who wants to be treated the way women in politics are treated?
 
Certainly the election of Trump provided an impetus for women to get involved and run for office in record numbers. But not all women are equally promising toward a realization of justice and equality.
 
Being a woman in politics means that you have had a similar experience of being belittled and even accosted. In this patriarchal structure you’ve probably been steered toward other pursuits or told that you’ll never make it in politics. Being a woman in politics means having to prove yourself every day. It means having to prove that you “have what it takes,” that you can play with the big boys, or the big guns. Because politics have been a man’s world and a boy’s game.
 
Simply being a woman in politics is not enough to change the structures of politics as usual, let alone the policies reflected by a particular class of people (namely: older, rich, white men). Today, many women in politics espouse similar ideas and policies as the men who have come before them. We see a few women playing pivotal roles or, in the recent case of Susan Collins, failing to play an important pivotal role.
 
We see every woman in politics judged for her looks first and her mind second; this is an American tradition after all. We see women like Dr. Ford (and Anita Hill before her) treated like poison and accused of being liars and opportunists. We see professors who advocate “engaged citizenship” banned from teaching with the excuse of “partisan politics” when political pressure is applied. Academic freedom is threatened; women’s right to control their bodies and speak their minds are treated as if these are optional rights.
 
Politics is dirty, manipulative, and short-sighted. It has been the realm of the privileged. Idealists are eaten alive.
 
I do hope that this is the year of the woman, and that the roles that women play in politics continue to increase at least until we find equal gender representation. This would be a start.
 
More so, seeing women like Stacey Abrams elected would signal a shift, but not simply because she is a woman and not simply because she is a black woman. There is nothing simple about these aspects of Abrams’s identity; but both are cultural identities that have shaped her life and her politics. This means that she offers more than just politics as usual. [And the blue wave of women entering Congress means that we might just see different politics.]
 
We need more of these firsts because when there are no more firsts—that would be a start. When ideologies and actions are more important than appearance and party loyalty—that would be a start.
 
The shift that begins with the “year of the woman”—with the increase in women serving at all levels of government—is more important symbolically than it is in terms of any immediate impact or policy-level change.
 
The simple presence of women does not mean anything unless social justice is what is on our agenda.
 
So how do we put social justice on the agenda? How do we empower the people with the most to lose and the least to win?
 
…How do we get people interested in running for office when we can hardly get people interested in voting?
 
 One answer might be found in the power of popular culture—but not just the power of pop culture to entertain and excite—the power of popular culture to shape our ideologies, our consciousness, and our approaches to politics—cultural politics, or Capital P politics.
 
The potential of popular culture toward these ends is, ultimately, why I am in the field of education and not politics.
 
Pop Culture and Influence on Elections
The power of popular culture is complicated. Its power to shape political attitudes and beliefs is certainly greater than its ability to make a direct political impact when it comes to elections. This is one of the reasons why celebrities can make an impact. Celebrities represent more than just a candidate; they represent an institution.
 
Celebrity fan culture can hack general apathy and the—not untrue—belief that an individual’s vote does not matter. But because people’s pop culture choices are also political, pop culture and politics are intertwined. Pop culture is nuanced, while politics allows little room for complexity.
 
Celebrity support often unintentionally exacerbates the divided nature of the either/or aspects of the American two-party system. Their support has the appearance of partisan politics because their support is for left-leaning causes: human rights, in short. Sometimes celebrities are well-versed; sometimes they are passionate tools.
 
American popular culture helps to shape our understanding of politics, but basic human rights should not be polarized in the way that America’s two-party system requires.
 
Side note. I am not even talking about the whole “fake news” situation though news is now a part of entertainment media and overlaps pop culture. I am talking about pop culture: movies, television, music, video games, and entertainment media and practices of all kinds.
 
Some shows, films, music, stars, etc. cater to liberals and some cater to conservatives. None are neutral in the bigger sense of cultural politics. Thus, people’s pop culture choices reflect their ideologies and political views.
 
Side note: We can, perhaps most obviously, see the difference in the power of left pop culture and right pop culture in the attempts to find celebrities and entertainers willing to perform at Trump’s inauguration, which of course, made it easy for the “fake news” to mock Trump.
 
Most pop culture texts and agents—and the most popular ones—cater to liberals. Sometimes in dangerous ways.
 
For instance, Bill Maher can be just as emotional and close-minded as any conservative talk show host. When one of his guests said that when we, on the left, have conversations about “how can they think such things,” on the other side of the door, there’s a group of conservatives having the same conversation. Maher cut to the next segment as if he not just displayed this exact behavior, as if his whole show was not built on it. Maher probably lies a lot less, but he panders to his fans at least as much.
 
Taylor Swift’s recent voter inspiration is interesting because she does so with a more liberal message despite her pop culture image that plays well in the often conservative white world of country music. But her fans are young, and maybe they are still open-minded.
 
Big-name celebrities, respected celebrities, celebrities with questionable motives, celebrities with good intentions—all can inspire votes through their endorsements. But these celebrity interventions can only do so much. The hard work is something that cannot be reduced to a sound bite or secured with a check.
 
So, in terms of elections, celebrities can, perhaps, be of most help through sound bites and big checks. But, if we keep pandering to a populace that lacks critical thinking skills, we might need those well-informed celebrities to use their power in other ways. Maybe they already do….
 
Ultimately, it is not celebrity, it is conscious pop culture creations that teach us about truth, social justice, human rights, compassion, joy, and love—the stories that move people’s hearts and minds—that hold the most political potential. These are the kind of politics without a capital P, but with the potential to influence, and maybe even transform, the capital P politics.

After four months, I have adjusted to some of the basics in Denmark. I don’t feel lost all the time; I can navigate to and from campus and to several local places. I can mostly read food labels—or at least tell what foods include eggs, milk, or meats of several varieties. These are, after all, a few survival skills acquired out of necessity. I’ve discovered which stores have the foods I like and I have even found quite a few vegan food choices, despite being cautioned that Denmark is not very vegan friendly.

While I am still learning a lot, the learning curve is not quite as sharp as it was for the first six weeks or so. I am grateful to be able to spend an extended academic year here, rather than the one semester (or less) that many Fulbright scholars spend abroad. As I transition from the holidays into exams, I am continuing to learn about teaching American studies in Denmark (and will have more to say on that subject). For now, here are a few more cultural observations about Denmark and the Danes:

The biggest notable difference between the U.S. and Denmark is what I have come to think of as the “ethic of care” I see everywhere. This is hard to explain, and I certainly have limited experience, but I don’t see the same kinds of poverty. People are happy and healthy and fed, clothed, and housed. They can go to the doctor any time they need to. This is, of course, the shiny surface of Denmark, and there are aspects I don’t see or know, but generally, there is a basic respect for people that I have never seen in the U.S.

The Danish love cake (as I have observed before and will mention again and again!). I can identify with this love. While American cake is a rather narrow—though deliciously diverse category—for the Danish, a wide variety of baked sweets are categorized as cage. I have tried several varieties, and will try more, but really I have been inspired by the Danes to bake my own vegan cakes, not that it takes much convincing to get me to make a cake!

Health and fitness seems to be integrated into a generally active lifestyle… even with all the love of drinking and eating and celebrating. And Danes will use any excuse for a party. Before it even got dark on New Year’s Eve, the fireworks started and they didn’t stop. In fact, in the period from just before Xmas to after New Year’s fireworks were a regular sight and sound several times a day.

While I have often thought of Americans as being rude, the Danish are “rude” without realizing that their behavior may be offensive. Or, rather, that they don’t care if their behavior is “rude.” It is just Danish. For instance, there is no Danish word for please. And almost all of them will knock you off the sidewalk or out of the bike lane (fair enough) if you are in the way.

I can respect Danish “rudeness” to an extent. I am not a huge fan of “small talk” and the American tendency to greet people with a “how you doing” is one of my least favorite customs. We say this without thinking and we really don’t want to know how someone is doing; we don’t wait long enough to hear the obligatory answer most of the time. The Danes just don’t bother.

And, finally, since almost all things come back to food. Candy is a huge thing; crackers are not. Candy seems to dominate in Danish grocery stores. Almost all of them have an extensive candy isle as well as a bulk candy bin with almost a hundred candy choices. Unfortunately, for my palate—and the typical American taste—much of it is anise (or black licorice) flavor. Sometimes it is even salted.

With all of the spreads available in Denmark, the cracker options are severely limited compared to U.S. grocery stores. The bread choices abound—and then some—but the crackers are dreadfully lacking. I tried to explain crackers to a Danish friend. I was at a loss for words to describe the crackers varieties that range from simple to fancy, cheap to expensive, plain to flavored. There are too many crackers for me to even begin to explain what a cracker is.

I don’t even really eat that many crackers in my typical diet at home. There are a few things that just call for crackers, but otherwise, I don’t normally crave crackers. But here, without the availability of diverse crackers, I crave Triscuits and Wheat Thins, and Saltines, and fancy multi-packs, and the ability to just grab a box of crackers for whatever cracker craving I desire. Ah, white people problems I didn’t expect in such a white, white world!

I keep forgetting that it is Thanksgiving in the U.S. This is not unusual since I really don't celebrate Thanksgiving. But, I do take the day off at home. In Denmark, it is any other day and I had (a wonderful) class discussing dystopia. But, in Denmark, American studies students are having a Thanksgiving dinner for 50 people and some people are celebrating Thanksgiving at least by eating, but it is not a thing here. (They have, however, adopted the Black Friday tradition, though they call it Black Day in the stack of junk mail that went straight to recycling.)

Denmark has plenty of holidays, most of which feature food or drink. All of them require plenty of food, and especially drinks. There are Danish holidays just for beer and just for cake. (A small selection of x-mas beer bottles are the backdrop in the picture above.) And in Denmark, there are many cakes, every sweet pastry is cake, and cake is almost always available. I love Denmark.

But I digress, below is a response I provided to an "Ask the Expert" feature for a campus magazine (pictured above, translated into Danish). I tried to keep it simple... but it was also an opportunity to reflect in new ways on old American traditions and holidays as well as how our traditions and holidays relate to Denmark.

Why do we celebrate Thanksgiving?
There are so many ways to answer this question! I think most Americans would say that we celebrate Thanksgiving because it is a tradition and an opportunity to be thankful for what we have. However, we tend to be more centered on the activities of the day—eating, drinking, and watching football—than we are on the meaning of giving thanks. And Thanksgiving almost always means eating too much! Plus, Thanksgiving also means two days off of work and an extra-long weekend, at least for some of us. It also means the beginning of the Christmas holiday season and, in the last decade or so, “Black Friday” shopping deals. Every year Black Friday starts earlier and earlier, with some retail stores even opening on Thanksgiving Day.

As an American Studies professor, I tend toward a more cynical explanation (if my above explanation was not already cynical enough!): we celebrate Thanksgiving because it is a way to justify our mistreatment (and genocide) of Native Americans through a myth of equality and cooperation. Further, we see gender stereotypes play out as the women cook the food and do the dishes while the men drink beer and watch football and the children watch holiday-themed movies and television shows. But of course there are diverse iterations of this Thanksgiving holiday tradition, and even Native Americans celebrate a version of Thanksgiving.

Even with my critical views and vegan diet, I am guilty of indulging in the perks of the Thanksgiving holiday. It is a day when I don’t have to work and don’t have to leave the house and can stay in my pajamas all day. My husband and I can cuddle up and watch football or non-holiday movies. I even make a vegan “Tofurky” (a product manufactured specifically for vegans to enjoy the turkey tradition) and vegan stuffing, mashed potatoes, and gravy … and of course dessert!
 
How much does Thanksgiving mean in a Danish context?
Being new to Denmark, I can only answer based on the little bit I have learned since I arrived just over a month ago. My short answer would be that celebrating Thanksgiving is a very hyggeligt thing to do! This very “cozy” time with family and friends, eating and drinking and being warm by the fire is very much in line with the practice of this holiday in the United States. I plan to add more candles to my future Thanksgivings! (More on hyggeligt later ... and candles are very popular in Denmark.)

But another Danish context relates to something I learned from my American Studies colleague, Jørn Brøndal, about the early Danish settlers in America. He writes about Danish travel writers’ perceptions of the Indians they encountered on their travels, and in one of our classes he talked about how the Danish settlers to the New World participated in the genocide and removal of the Indians alongside other white settlers. So, perhaps the celebration of Thanksgiving also has a deeper meaning in a Danish context! At the very least, my experience so far tells me that the Danes have a lot to be thankful for!

While I have had the privilege of traveling outside of the U.S. on several occasions, I tend to be a shy traveler. Since I am a rather shy person, maybe this is just an extension of myself instead of a whole new trait. For instance, I feel immensely guilty when I go somewhere where I don’t speak the language. So, 15 years ago when I traveled to several European countries, I would avoid interactions as much as possible. Of course, communication cannot be avoided entirely, and being uncomfortable in communication is one of the lessons of traveling.

When I have traveled to Mexico and Nicaragua, I feel slightly less guilty because I at least know enough Spanish that I can navigate, ask for a bathroom, and understand and communicate in very basic terms. The longer I am in Mexico, the more Spanish I remember and the more comfortable I become. Except when it comes to conversion rates for money.
So, of course, money and language were my two biggest concerns about Denmark. And public transportation, but that’s another topic all together.

I have been surprised at my ability to navigate money. I have actually found it quite easy to understand how much money I am spending, what a decent price is, and how much I am spending compared to the U.S. dollar. It is still not easy to tell the coins apart, or to remember which coin is worth how much (and they are so pretty that I get distracted sometimes!), but I have a bank card now, which makes things a lot easier.

Language, on the other hand, is far from easy. For over a month now I have been completing daily lessons with the Duolingo app and doing some other self-study. I can tell that I am learning and I can read food packages and some basic signs. However, the vocabulary on Duolingo is not the most pertinent to my life… or anyone’s life. Knowing how to talk about apples, animals, clothing, and ninjas, along with boys and girls and men and women is rarely helpful. The words for foods and beer, at least, have been helpful.

And then there’s the pronunciation. I stumble over pronunciation in my native language on a regular basis.
Early in my stay, a young woman said something as she held out a bag to me that had some kind of pastry. I had absolutely no idea what she said. When I apologized and said I only speak English, she paused and said, “Would you like a croissant?” I felt pretty darn stupid. I should at least recognize the word croissant!

I also struggle with a few names, in particular one of my colleagues’ names, which has that tricky ø and a student who doesn’t even recognize that I am talking to him when I try to say his name. Most of the time no one bothers to correct me, and many students often say they are fine being called whatever. But I don’t like to struggle with names; they are important to me.

The worst incident happened when I was telling a Dane that one of the first words I learned was the word for sorry, which is not an easy word (undskyld). I said the word and he made me repeat it. He said, yes, but you can’t say it like that. You have to say it like you mean it. Otherwise the person will think you are not very sorry. Not saying I have given up on ever being able to pronounce Danish words, but this was a pretty big bow to my confidence.

Further, I have learned that the Danes don’t really apologize, at least not in the way that Americans do. And especially not in the way that American women are conditioned to apologize, even when there is nothing to apologize for. “I’m sorry” comes out of my mouth far too automatically. Luckily, “sorry” is also used by the Danes in familiar settings.

And, yes “everyone” here speaks English, but not really everyone (but better than most mono-lingual Americans would speak another language). I often get correspondence from my university and other places that does not have an English translation. So, again, Google (translate) to the rescue.

And I have been told that Danish is “impossible” to learn and that the Danes really appreciate it when you try to speak their language. The impossible part has been my experience, but so far I’m not feeling the appreciation. I do, however, try to use terms for hello (hej) and sincerely (venlig hilsen) in my written correspondence. There is some appreciation there.

When I got my ticket to “A Conversation with the President,” I was not so naïve as to think I might actually get to have my own conversation with Barack Obama. Granted, I am—like Obama—an eternal optimist and a girl can dream, of course.

But, no, this particular dream did not come true. Instead, it was as expected: after giving a talk for the 200 students attending the event, I was barely able to find a seat in the back row, which was still closer than I could ever imagine I’d ever get to the man, the myth, the legend. The students got to spend the hour standing on the stairs, but they may have had a better view.

Regardless of the view, I am still privileged to have had this opportunity to see and hear Obama, to be in the same room as he answered the questions of the CEO of Foreningen Business Kolding. He remarked about the comfort of Danish chairs (which I am in total agreement with) as well as the highly organized society of Denmark, which he attributed to the cold temperatures.
Since the event was a partnership between business and education, it was no surprise that Obama was asked about these topics. When he started talking about education, I started taking notes.

And here’s where my home institution and other American universities should listen up: when asked about the skills he thought students of today need for the world of the tomorrow, Obama spoke about the need for critical thinking and creativity. He highlighted the importance of learning to work with people and to develop empathy and understanding. He said that his advice to his daughters (if we assume that they might listen to him) is to be kind and to be useful, to “worry less about what you want to be and more about what you want to do.”

While he did not use the word “interdisciplinarity,” this is exactly what he was talking about.

He talked about how the most successful people are those who love what they do. If you focus on what you want to be, he argued, then you have “no center, no focus, no reason except to maintain the power that you have.”

Obama reiterated an argument that is not new: the kind of work we train students for—by asking them to sit in lecture halls, follow scripts, and spit back answers on tests—will be done by robots, by artificial intelligence. I’ll add that rather than see this as a threat, we should see this as an opportunity. Human beings will be freed up for higher pursuits and I’m with Obama in imagining what such a world might bring.

I think that the Danes felt inspired and it was certainly a breath of fresh air to hear Obama’s optimism about the future—his sights have always been on the long game, so to speak. His Obama Foundation, which he describes as a “university for social change,” has a vision of training young leaders to guide, steer, and organize “communities, nations, and the world,” creating communities of people across nations, in multiple fields, with a shared mission and values.

It was nice to soak in some optimism for an hour, but when I checked my Facebook feed, and I saw what was going on at home—the travesty of the Brett Kavanaugh hearings—the long game seems too far away. We’re going to need more than optimism to get through these trying times. I will remain optimistic that the long game is still in play, but an end to a culture that excuses and encourages sexual violence (among other insidious things) needs to end before we can set our sights on the promises of the future.

Apparently, I had to go all the way to Denmark, just to be in the same room as Barack Obama. Before the event, instead of listening to one of my distinguished colleagues speak and hanging out with the VIPs, I will be giving a talk for the 200 students who have been privileged enough to score a ticket to the event—some by departmental affiliations in business or American studies and some by a good old-fashioned lottery.

I’d like to say that I have been specially selected to give a talk to SDU students before the Obama event, but the truth is that I was one of only two volunteers and I had the most flexibility in my schedule. The students, it turns out, will be waiting in the campus library for two hours since they are not considered VIPs. In fact, I opted out of my VIP ticket to talk with the students—a place I am far more comfortable being—even if I still have to dress in “business” attire.

(Of course, I am still trying to figure out exactly what business attire consists of and I am guessing neither yoga pants nor my “fuck racism” shirt are appropriate. I was also told, quite plainly, that a skirt—my go to for anything that requires me to “dress up”—is not a good idea. I bought a blazer, so that should do it… as long as sparkly Doc Martens are close enough to business attire...)

So, while this “A Conversation With the President” event will most likely focus around topics related to business (given the sponsorship of the business crowd in Denmark), my talk will focus on popular culture and racism: “Barack Obama: Our Pop Culture President … and the End of Racism?” While I am a bit (read: extremely) nervous, I am also excited to have this opportunity to connect with many students I would not otherwise have contact with.

And if I might be allowed to do some very un-Danish bragging, if I can fit it all into 25 minutes, my talk is going to be quite entertaining and thought-provoking! And of course there is no pressure on me to give a pre-talk before hearing/seeing one of the greatest orators of our time. And there is no pressure for the tech to work for all my video clips. And there is no pressure to get on a train that morning and not get lost….

So, stay tuned! I will be posting a copy of my talk on my website www.cultureandmovement.com

As I noted in a past blog about some of the initial things I have learned through observation and orientation, there are many similarities between the university system in Denmark and the university where I teach in the U.S., the University of Maine at Augusta. But there are also some interesting differences and quirks I have discovered in Denmark (so far!).

9:00 is not 9:00. 9:01 is 9:00
Fortunately I was team-teaching my first class when I found out about the fact that classes start on the quarter hour. So, if a class is scheduled at 9:00 in the morning, it actually starts at 9:15. If a class is scheduled at noon, it actually begins at 12:15. If something begins at 9:00 sharp, it is usually listed as 9:01 to help avoid confusion.

Further, they use the 24-hour clock in Denmark, which I have always understood as “military time.” I can handle telling the time for the most part, but can’t quite get over the weirdness of feeling like I must be living in a war movie.

No equivalent of “general education.”
Students specialize early on and so by the time they are working on their bachelor’s degree, it is assumed that they have already gotten all of that general knowledge from their previous studies. Thus, in my classes I have students who have all chosen to study American studies (for a variety of reasons), which is quite different than my previous teaching where students had to take, for instance, a humanities or cultural diversity elective or were “forced” to take college writing.

I can see the logic in this system, but I did take a lot of really great classes during my undergraduate education that I never would have taken if I did not have to. I learned many things that still resonate with my life and work today. Without the general education requirements for things like cultural diversity or fine arts, we might never know what we are missing out on!

My Hip-Hop America class is full of English majors.
I assumed that the elective classes (one MA-level and one BA-level) that I am teaching would be filled with American studies majors. Both are small classes, which was also a little surprising. I was surprised to find in my Hip-Hop America class that half the students there on the first day were actually English majors (a major that studies literature as well as language and more). I don’t know if they were nervous or if they were not really excited about the subject.

Only the Japanese exchange student seemed really excited, but he was nervous and apologetic about his English (which was very good!). My technology worked perfectly and I had made a kick-ass power point with music videos and engaging content, but it mostly fell flat. I’m a little worried, but will remain optimistic!

Many international students are in the American studies program.
My MA-level “Girls on Fire” class is almost entirely international students. I have students from Germany, Brazil, Slovakia, and more countries I can’t remember… and one of the few Danish students is originally from the Faroe Islands. In my BA-level Hip Hop class I have two German exchange students and a Japanese exchange student.

Gender not so equitable?
In much of my women’s studies work, Denmark (and other Scandinavian counties are often cited as having superior gender equity). With a few of my initial observations and conversations, I am not sure that it is all that more advanced than the U.S. I was told by a couple of colleagues, anecdotally, that they think that young men in Denmark today are “down on” feminism and they would probably not take a class they thought would be about women or feminism. And, this just happens to relate to part of my research project, so I hope I will be learning more about girls and women and feminism in Denmark!

Related, there are a lack of opportunities to do gender studies at my university here (and, again anecdotally, it seems this is a lack in some European countries more generally). After my first Girls on Fire class, two students approached me after class to see if I was willing to work with them on their Master’s thesis projects since they wanted to do gender studies but had not been able to find anyone to work with.

After just over two weeks in Denmark, I have learned some interesting things about Denmark, the Danes, and Danish cultural life. Of course, I am only scratching the surface and look forward to what else I have to learn. Here’s a few little stories and observations:

The Danes are a laid-back people: In Maine (and certainly elsewhere), we have a saying: “It is what it is.” This is basically a kind of acceptance of those things we cannot change. When my wonderful, kind landlord showed me around the apartment (with a long list of all of the cleaning quirks I need to try to remember!) and then walked me to the internet office, she repeated several times: “So it is.” I am not sure if this is a Danish saying or just something she says because she has run out of words in English. I guess I will find out!

Fitting in: Apparently my blond (grey-white) hair and blue (green-grey) eyes help me to fit in well here. Many people have spoken Danish to me expecting me to answer back, and some have even shown shock when I speak English back to them. (My pronunciation is so horrible that I have barely tried to speak more than a few basic words at a time.) One day I let an older woman with a plant get off the bus in front of me and she thanked me profusely for, what my colleague told me after, was my immense kindness. I just smiled.

Learning the language: They say that the language is impossible to learn. It is even more impossible to speak. But I have been practicing (on Duolingo and by pronouncing words and street names in my head) and I can recognize words and am feeling more comfortable. And then someone asks me something simple like: “Good morning, would you like a croissant,” (while holding out a bag with a croissant in it) and I understand not a single syllable!

Some surprises:
The amount of litter. I really expected the streets of Denmark to be much cleaner! There are beautiful cobblestones and bricks of many designs and varieties everywhere and the streets are well-paved and smooth. I feel like getting one of those trash wands and picking up trash everywhere I go!

The amount of racial and ethnic diversity. In my pre-reading and some of my orientation, I learned about the changing demographics of Denmark (like everywhere) and controversies around immigration and what it means to be (ethnic) Danish, and while these issues still exist, I have been surprised at the visible ethnic diversity around me.

Some totally new things:
I live on an island, a very flat island. It is not so flat when riding a bike, but it is a new place in this way. When I bought my bike, the man who sold it to me told a story about the people of this island. He said: If there was a nuclear war all around them, the people of Funen (or Fyn, in Danish) would make some coffee and sit around and wait. If, when they were done with their coffee, the war was still going on, they would make some more coffee and wait. The Danes aren’t going to be starting any wars anytime soon, he assured me.

I live in a relatively large city compared to the college towns and small cities where I have lived. Navigating has been frustrating and confusing, and I am lucky to have a friend, Kirby, who is more familiar with the area and good at navigation. I have now gotten to campus twice without getting lost. So, that is a major improvement! But when I tried to show Kirby the grocery store I found on my route, my first turn would have taken us into the city center, far away from where I was trying to go.

Further, my campus is also very confusing with long, maze-like hallways where every wall and door is white, several floors with stairs in multiple locations, buildings that are connected, doors that lock after you exit them, doors that lock at 4 pm so that you have to swipe your ID card and use a passcode (my card does not currently work since it “locked” after three failed passcode tries), classrooms that are within another classroom, etc. (Oh, and did I mention that more than 95% of all signage is only in Danish?) I was doing great finding my way to my office, my classroom, IT, etc. … until Kirby and I tried to meet up and ended up looking for each other for over a half an hour!

Some not surprises:
Bureaucracy is just as convoluted and frustrating as anywhere else. Despite doing the needed things far ahead of time (which was frustrating, confusing, and expensive), two weeks later I still cannot access my grant money through my Danish bank account (luckily the Fulbright Commission gave me cash!), but I do have my CPR card (like a social security card) which makes me a “real person.” I also have a NemID, which allows me secure online access and a residency card, which I was not expecting to receive.

No one knows what a Fulbright is. In this way, Denmark is not unlike anywhere else, though the Americans I have randomly met, are super-impressed when I tell them why I am here. And, when I return I will be pestering all the people I know in academia to apply for one!

Part of my Fulbright orientation was an introductory comparison between the Danish educational system and the U.S. educational system, including what we might expect from Danish students.

In terms of comparing the educational systems and experiences with students, I have found that some of the observations between Denmark and America don’t ring true to my experience as a professor at the University of Maine at Augusta (even though some resonate with my undergraduate and graduate experiences). There are certainly differences, but the distance between my American students in Maine and my Danish students in Denmark may not be as wide as it could be.

At Danish universities, there are no fraternities or sororities and there is no sports culture, particularly the kind you find at big American universities. So, while I got plenty of Go Cougs! and Beaver Nation! at Washington State and Oregon State Universities during my graduate studies, at UMA we don’t really have much of a sports culture and we don’t have a football team.

Related: much of Danish students’ social life takes place off campus. Since UMA is a commuter campus (or, rather, a set of commuter campuses), this rings true for my students as well. In both contexts, we work to try to make spaces and opportunities for students to socialize.

Few students live on campus in Denmark. UMA has no dorms so no students live on campus!

UMA has a confusing name. The University of Southern Denmark also has a confusing name, or set of names. The abbreviation of SDU throws us American off and I have heard the Danish name for the university, but have yet to pin it down with my developing language skills.

Danish students call their professors by their first names. One professor explained that when he taught at Mississippi State e could not get his students to call him by his first name, but in Denmark he can’t get them to address him formally. I have always asked my students to call me by my first name and feel very uncomfortable when students address me with the American version of respect.

While I have been told the Danes can be big drinkers, and there are even bars on campus (whether formal or informal), at UMA we are not allowed to purchase alcohol with university funds and we are rarely allowed to consume alcohol on campus.

I have been told: Here in Denmark many students don’t attend classes since it is not required. There is an understanding that Danish students are adults and they should have independence and freedom. It is the students’ responsibility to learn the class material so they can pass their exam at (or after) the end of the semester. Further, students may not participate in classes as fully as American students and may have a more ambivalent attitude toward their education. While attendance may be sorely lacking at UMA, and I have certainly encountered students who do not wish to participate, I do find that most of my students (who are “non-traditional” compared to the Danish) are highly engaged and invested in their educations. They have often sacrificed a lot for their education and end up with crippling debt.

In Denmark, there are high dropout rates, especially in the first year and many students just never finish their education at the bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate levels, even though that education is “free” and they are paid a generous stipend to be a student once they reach the age of eighteen. (PhD students are actually employees of the university with a full salary!) UMA suffers from a similar set of problems (low attendance and completion rates), but for what may (possibly) be an entirely different set of reasons. I will have more to say about these similarities and their fundamental differences in future blogs!

All of these observations are based upon my preconceived notions from research, conversation, and Fulbright orientation, so I am excited to see what more I learn this year… beginning with my first class on Wednesday!