Taking Photos

I at one point had a ton of photos from IPC on a digital camera. Funny thing is, it made it far too easy to loose the picture. A hard drive dies. Technology moves on. Early image storage services died out. Services close. When you upload a photo that is important to you to a service online, you expect the service to last a life time. I was taught differently when I kept photos of my first born son in my inbox. I thought it would be there for life. I was wrong about that though and in the end, the only photos of my oldest child right after birth are lost. So is a story of my stay at IPC, including that of a rubber chicken.
But photographs are not the only place where images are stored. I still remember those photos of my son and hope I always will have a clear memory of them. If I do not, I still cannot complain. We may live in a time where taking photographs is as simple as pointing your phone at something, but there was a time when we only had our memories, when photographs weren't even a luxury item. It is because of how short lived documents can be, notes written in class, pictures of that night out or letters from the president, that I do not do much to create these documents in the first place, but they still have a certain power to bring a shard of a memory to others.
When my dad was dying in 2009, I rushed to his bed side and took with me the pictures I had of my children. I printed them out at a local shop from my USB stick. He had never seen them before and I regret that. I honestly do. I did what I could and showed my dad pictures, a facsimile of a memory, a point in time, for him to at least see what they look like. The regrets I feel still haunt me to this day, but at least he had this small consultation. But the expression on his face, his honest interest in my children, told me more about my dad than I had learned in the seven years I had been away.
Documents can provide a common ground, something for people to connect with. It can be a photograph of loved ones, or it can be a story of fantasy, allowing people to loose themselves, together, in a world that doesn't exist anywhere else. The expression 'You had to be there' only states there is a lack of common experience, a valley in between two people, but a photograph can create a bridge between two people who would never see eye to eye without it.

Photographs in the news have become more violent and actual, as people document what is happening around them. Dictators and government may seek to control the distribution of these pictures, to prevent any common ground forming between opposition to a regime or policy. Propaganda, an attempt in political manipulations, is an age old tactic in politics. In times of war, looses are under reported. Unpopular acts are suppressed. The image of the good guy fighting for everything right against the worst depiction of the enemy possible is shown repeatedly. Free distribution of images is the strongest possible counter measure to such propaganda, undermining the intent of those who seek to control your opinion. It is because of the strength of these images, that dictators fear the camera-man, the writer, the newspaper and broadcaster. It can lead to understanding and common ground between those who support the government and those the government opposes. It can lead to peace.

To Contact Old Friends

 I am not the kind of person who gushes over friends and keeps a long list of contacts I write to every single day. I have people I keep close to myself, who I see often enough. I guess I should be the kind of person who puts down roots and doesn't move around a whole lot, but I am the person who moves, a lot.

I suppose one of the joys of loosing contact is regaining contact after many years. I have been doing exactly this over the years. I contact friends I went to school with or trained with and have a good time chatting about what we have been doing. Some people I am happy to hear have not moved on because they were.... less than the best of friends. I am glad to hear others do well or at least make ends meet because they changed who they are. Some I am happy to hear from in general because they were and still are good people.

IPC wasn't all bad if you had that impression from an earlier post. While I may have been push out to the corners, it is a highly social school and you do end up making a lot of good friends and connections. The school is about the informal exchange of culture and learning through communication between the students in equal parts to communication from teacher to student. It is there students challenge their assumptions about other societies, start a professional career in NGOs or an in depth political analysis to bring back home. While it may sound like classes would have titles such as 'Cross Cultural Communication', 'African-European Political Relations', 'Political Organization Theory' along with the actual classes 'NGO Work I and II', 'Communication' and 'Media and the Middle East', there were equal parts Yoga, Drama and Arts. These were forums for communication between students. Classes where we expressed thoughts outside of the formal academic subjects we studied and listened, carefully, to the thoughts of others.

If you ever have the chance, please stop by www.IPC.dk and think about attending for a semester or two.

The first year in Denmark

In my first year in Denmark, I started at a school for a spring course in Globalization and Communication. I studied at IPC and got my first taste of college.
The day I arrived I felt a bit like a fish out of water. I met people from places I have never been to before. Personalities I would not consider adopting myself. Characters that would in my eyes at the time come from books.
My most vivid memory of my first few hours there is one some might call me a racist for bringing up and rant I am fabricating. It is a memory none the less.
I sat at a coffee table in the commons and was speaking with a student from the Eastern Bloc, when a very bold and outgoing student from South Africa came by and introduced himself and promptly stood behind the girl at fondled her breast. This took me aback and I expected a very strong reaction from her, but to my surprise, she smiled, laughed and, well, that is where the memory tappers off for me. I suppose they arrived a day or two before me and became acquainted.

Over the next few weeks, I was introduced to people from around the globe and both rubbed some people the wrong way the got along, kinda, with others. I was far from popular; I overheard some talk poorly of me and I can tell you, to hear that kind of candid speech hurts deeply. I wonder if diplomacy has been affected by such episodes at high level talks. Perhaps even a little war or two.

While I did come out of my shell over those 20 weeks and looked back fondly on that school and my time there, truth is, while I did improve greatly, I wasn't truly welcomed or well received. If anything, I felt like I was pushed out to the corners and found it hard to be part of the group. My time at the school was more about learning that being especially social, except for one girl who I had three kids with over the years. What I got out of those 20 weeks is a certain awareness of what is happening around the world from the school's perspective and a weight loss of 15kg.

Maybe I'll go back and have a better experience the next time around.