I’ve been traveling a lot this academic year, punctuated by the fact that in the last 6 weeks I’ve presented 5 times at 3 different conferences (in Palm Springs, Toronto & Madison), as well as serving as a discussant and leading sessions at 2 of those 3 conferences.
The work I am doing is (I hope and believe) important. It is work with teachers that can inform the practice of other teachers; it is work to amplify the voices of teachers so that we can do a better job of supporting their early development and career transitions; it is work to make audible and visible the voice and experiences of Asian American teachers beyond their own classrooms. It is collaborative work. It is heart work. It is good work.
I just returned from the 2019 Association for Asian American Studies conference in Madison, WI where the theme was “Sanctuary, Fugitivity & the Ungovernable.” I’ve never been to an AAAS conference, probably because I’m not an “Asian Americanist” (in fact, I didn’t even know that term was a term before this weekend). I’m a teacher educator and I’m Asian American, but I realized this weekend that I am certainly not an Asian Americanist, in that I still have SO MUCH TO LEARN about the Asian American experience (contemporary and historically). But, at least I am coming to know what I don’t know, which is a big step in learning.
My friend & co-conspirator, Jung Kim & I presented from our work with Asian American teachers. Our presentation, “We are here too: Listening to the voices of Asian American teachers” highlighted, among other things, the need our participants had to find spaces where they belonged, both as children in K-12 schools, and now, as educators. We also discussed how our teachers found sanctuary: in some of their own teachers, in ethnic studies programs, and in community. Finally, we saw how these teachers provided spaces of sanctuary and belonging for their students, drawing from their own sense of needing those spaces when they were younger, building bridges within Asian American communities and building coalition with non-Asian American communities.
Fitting with this last conference theme, traveling so much has made me realize the importance of sanctuary spaces and homecoming. I have always struggled with belonging. When I was growing up, there were many moments where I didn’t feel like I belonged. Even within my own family, I was 10 years younger than my brother; my mom, a first generation immigrant who loved me fiercely, couldn’t always relate to my struggle to be American and what that meant as a second generation Asian American; I couldn’t understand why it was important for her that I retain elements of my heritage culture (although, of course, now I do). Although I always had friends, there weren’t a lot of people who I felt understood me when I was in my K-12 education. Maybe this is just a part of growing up.
Maybe this is because I didn’t really know myself either. I am not sure, but I remember the deep loneliness I often felt growing up. And, I also remember the deep love that broke through that to provide sanctuary: from my family, always there for me, even if they didn’t always get me; from some beloved teachers, who valued my contributions and my voice; from my close friend group, who never shamed me for my nerdiness.
Home for me, has always been about people. The people at the beginning of this post, my family, represent my fundamental home. My home will always be wherever they are. I finally have a spiritual community that is truly a home space for me, particularly my social justice ministry & music ministry teams. Across these three conferences, I also have home spaces–home spaces created with my amazing EDCI 530/ Linked Learning Masters cohort students; home spaces created with my academic colleagues from across the country turned family at AERA; home spaces created with my education colleagues at AAAS. In those moments that I feel particularly overwhelmed by all I am not doing, I find refuge in returning to these home spaces, these people who are my people. These people who get me and with whom I am deeply connected.
I am grateful, because there is always so much to do. But, in these spaces, with these people, I am home. I can just be.
There’s truly no place like home.