Gypsies in Thailand....part 4

 
Well, it's time to tally up the dental costs in between lapsing into happy reveries of Thailand.
It just all goes together!  Our time was too short but we accomplished so much.
Not only did we get our dental work done in far fewer appointments and for a much lower cost,
we had time to sight-see, get a lot of good Thai massage and eat our way around the world!
Everything had gone so well with the dentist, that I decided to indulge my curiousity
about the Thai health system.  I had time to experience that, as well.  More details to follow
in the next post...
But back to dentistry...  Here are the grand totals for Thai and US care.
Bear in mind that not only were the prices better, but the level of care and attention was excellent,
as was the efficiency of getting the work done in as few appointments as possible.
The speed in which our components were crafted was measured in days and hours and not weeks.
Wait times were minimal, generally about 15 minutes if delayed at all.
Best of all, was the gentle, cheerful and supportive atmosphere in which the work was done.
So altogether, it was a really good experience in every respect!

My dental expenses were:                                 Thai prices              US prices
Exam w/panorama x rays +1 additional x-ray  $49.04                  $207.00 
Cleaning and deep planing                                       $296.60                $985.00
Removal and replacement of 2 crowns                $635.57                $1950.00
Cast Metal Partial Denture                                       $391.63                $1400.00
Total                                                                                 $1372.84               $4542.00    Savings of $3169.16

Gypsies in Thailand... part 3

Each day in Bangkok was a kind of decompression from the stress of western society.
We found ourselves letting down and relaxing more and more.  We slipped into a comfortable
routine soon after arriving.  We had decided to stay in one central location for our stay,
rather than trying to go everywhere and do everything as many travellers are encouraged to do.
The simplicity of unpacking once and feeling like you had a home base was preferable to rushing
from place to place.  Apart from our frequent dental appointments, we moved through our days
without set agendas.  We outfitted ourselves with a guidebook and a couple of maps and ventured
off in search of all that is unique to Bangkok.   But mostly we simply lived there!
We absorbed the smells and sounds and sights.  We became attuned to the rhythms of the city.
One of the first things we noticed was our way of moving through our surroundings.
It was a vivid caption of how we were moving through life.  By comparison, we moved fast,
forcefully and in a hard and defensive way compared to the Thais languid, easy pace.
By contrast, we seemed always be in a rush even when trying to relax!
It was an adventure in itself just to slow down and try to match the pace of life that flowed
around us.
When you slow down you feel your body in a whole different way.
In fact, you might discover that you haven't been feeling your body very much at all in our
fast-paced society.  You begin to breathe a little and ease up on the gas pedal.
Everyone around you is relaxed and reasonable.  The very atmosphere begins to pull you
into a better space.  People tend to smile more...even at strangers.  It is part of their gentle lifestyle.
You slowly begin to soften and become like them.

Thai massage is likened to "a thousand gentle waves'.  Thai culture is very much like that, as well.
It washes away layers of stress, hardness and separation.  It brings with it a felt sense of repose
and good will toward all.   Often the hardest part of coming back to the states is that people do not
smile or even look at one another.  When they do, it is often carefully measured and superficiall
It was a good experience to let down and be our naturally soft and sweet selves.

There were so many kindnesses shown to us along the way....countless gestures and smiles.
It was so amazing to be treated so well everywhere we went...

Some people are tempted to unthinkingly take this lovely treatment as their due,
rather than valuing it and learning to emulate this better way....to pay it forward to others.

It has been my experience that one exposure to Thai culture sparks a life-altering process of change.
if you are open to it.   It gentles the soul and eases the mind.
It brings you back home to your best self on a very deep level.
All that is best in you is unearthed, dusted off thoroughly and affirmed.
It is a return to innocence and a chance to begin anew....  

The Gypsies in Thailand continued...

We were in a state of high excitement in the months leading up to our departure.
Heading to Thailand to get our teeth fixed was such a lark, but it also made good economic sense.

It made sense on another level, as well.
Experiencing Thai culture is a valuable part of the journey.
Thailand is justifiably called  'the land of smiles'.
There is an air of gentleness that pervades the land.
The lifestyle is modest and easy-going.  Everything is reasonably priced.
It is an easy place to be...  Thai people are patient, cheerful and fun to be with.
Their values are less materialistic and they are far less stressed than we are.

Life is meant to be enjoyed, but struggling financially within our present greedy system
robs people of much of that enjoyment.  People feel increasingly helpless and enslaved
to a cold system that values personal wealth over the common good, especially in the
realm of health care.
I was tired of living by those standards.  I have my own ethics and standards.
I prefer a kindler, gentler way, a more generous and heart-felt way....the Thai way.

In upholding one's ideals, sometimes you have to vote with your feet!
It would be good to go back to that 'home of my heart'.

                                         ***

As our plans were finalized, we had excellent communication with our clinic and guesthouse.
As part of their service it is customary to help with airport transfer and your hotel room.
We would be landing late in the evening after some 30 hrs. enroute, so we welcomed a ride
to a comfortable small hotel for the first 2 nights.  That would give us time to rest, acclimate
and find our way around our new neighborhood- the place we would call home for the next 2 weeks.

Amazingly, everything we needed was within walking distance of our guesthouse.
Our dental clinic, a hospital, and Thai massage were all within an easy mile.
Walking around, discovering everything was a delight!
We were staying in an area that is culturally quite diverse.
Within a few minutes walk, we found the African and Arab quarters, Korean and Japanese
neighborhoods, old canals lined with teak houses on stilts and ornate temples were
jostling for space with modern malls and other western trappings.

Bangkok is a visual feast...a gastronomic one, as well!
We wound our way through streets lined with food carts laden with delicious foods, fruits and veggies, many of which we had never seen before. The aromas were so amazing!
Really good food was cheap and plentiful around the clock.
Tiny shops filled every available space.  Pop-up markets!
Here was a whole nation of small entrepreneurs setting up and breaking down every day.
Melissa, who sets up booths at art fairs, was enchanted!  They made it look so easy!
One of the markets we discovered was set aside for deaf people.  They were a cheery bunch,
signing away and clowning with each other.  Making the most of life!

There were hi-rises interspersed with old traditional neighborhoods where chickens still wandered
the dusty lanes.  Everything was a patchwork of old and new, garish and sleek, homely and modern.
The streets were crowded with bright nail polish hued taxis, tuk tuks, motorbike taxis, buses and cars. Traffic jams in Bangkok are legendary. We were constantly surprised at how amiably traffic flowed ...
no one got impatient or honked their horns. People calmly made way for others to get where
they were going safely.  The contrast is amazing!  This is the way to live!

The feeling of freedom and good will that pervades Thai culture was heartwarming  to our gypsy souls.  Joking, good-natured haggling over prices, smiles all around, easy-going days are the norm here.
It was so good to shed the stress of western life and to immerse ourselves in the Land of Smiles.
It always feels like a homecoming to me.

People watching is as varied as it gets. Thais mingled with Europeans, Americans, Aussies
and Africans in their variety of native dress.
Arabs, Chinese, Indonesians and Indians were living side by side in an array of cultural
and religious styles.  It is dizzying for a first-time visitor.
Somehow, Bangkok manages to encompass and make space for them all.

One morning we wandered the Arab quarter and had breakfast in a Yemeni restaurant.
The Muslim owner quickly surmised that we were Americans and told us that they had all been praying
for us as Hurricane Sandy approached our shores.  He addressed us as 'my sister' and 'my daughter'.  
Arab women were stand-offish as a rule, but not always.  How we need to break down these
judgmental stereotypes...

We walked miles each day between dental appointments, squeezing in as much sightseeing as possible. Every other evening was reserved for a good 2 hour Thai massage.  When we were too
bushed to trudge on, we hailed taxis or tuk tuks for a dollar or two... a luxury that could not be
easily afforded back home.  Eventually we mastered the wonderful skytrain and subway systems,
as well.  It was all quite fun!   Lots of exhaust fumes, though!

So...on to the dental part of the story!  We had appointments at the same time for our initial
check-ups.  After a gentle and thorough exam, a treatment proposal was given to us.
Prices were plainly marked and various options were listed.  Less expensive crowns, mid-price and higher priced were discussed, for instance.  We had time to ask questions, confer and make decisions.

A deep planing and cleaning would be handled in one visit, not 4, as is done in the US clinics.
Melissa was advised that her gums and teeth were not as horrible as she had been told.
Her situation was straightforward and easily remedied without expensive add-on treatments.
We were amazed!
Cleanings such as these can be painful and nerve-wracking...but not in Thailand!
The dentists and staff were so gentle, non-alarmist and supportive that we actually found ourselves
falling asleep during the cleaning,  Our people are so rough in comparison...and rushed.
Appointments followed efficiently day by day with some allowance for our holiday schedules as well.
We were greeted warmly every day by the smiling staff.  'Hello Miss Robinson!  How are you today, Melissa?!"   They made us feel like family.  The clinic was one of our 'homes away from home.' 

We never imagined looking forward to going to the dentist, but just that's what happened!
They took so much time with us, making sure that every detail was perfect.
They were so delicate, gentle and patient.
It was dental heaven!

The prices were just as friendly!  Melissa's treatment and prices are listed below:

Thailand                                                          US______________________
$53.21 -  initial visit with 4 x-rays                 Initial visit  $120
$263.82 - 5 cavities (7 surfaces)                                        $936 
$260.56 - Root Planing for 4 quadrants                             $1186 ($800 uninsured price)     $577.59   total                                                          $2242 ($1856)  total
to be continued...

The Gypsy Ashram goes to Thailand

Well...in a completely different vein...

A few months ago, one of our gypsies called me about some problems she was having
with her teeth. She is a young, uninsured, hard-working artisan struggling to build her business.
Like many young people starting out, managing a roof over your head, finding a reliable car
(and mechanic), buying insurance and all the other necessities of American life can be quite a juggling act. Paying off college loans, travelling to art shows, buying supplies and equipment
all make for a lean existence at times. One must also pay for the occasional dance class
and splurge on something beautiful to wear now and then, too.

She had called several dentist offices for quotes and recommendations for care over a 2 year period.
The estimates she received were open-ended, higher than what she could afford, and to make matters worse, she was pressured into all sorts of expensive add-ons wherever she went. She was given to understand that her teeth and gums were so bad that she needed to commit immediately to lengthy
and high-priced treatments. In the interim, she was surprised to find that no one would even clean her teeth or fill her cavities until she had her 'disease' treated. Prices continued to rise as did her fears.
Each attempt left her more demoralized and with feelings of being misled and manipulated.
It was time to do something! I suggested dental tourism.
I had been putting off dental care myself for a few years. I could afford it with some effort,
but I felt that prices were exploitatively high and I just didn't want to participate in our system.
I have dental assistant friends who have shared some inside information about the marketing courses
they are forced to take. Sadly, their jobs have become as much about aggressively up-selling unnecessary services as caring for patients. The tactics that are employed are blatantly manipulative.

Going somewhere like Hungary, India or Thailand where prices are far lower, without sacrificing quality seemed like a good idea. As we talked things over, Thailand was the favored choice for both of us.
We could get our dental work done, receive a lot of great Thai massage and see the world through the microcosm that is Bangkok.
The next day a woman told me that her elderly mother was quoted $1650 for a crown at the dentist
in my neighborhood.  Heavens!!  Things were worse than I'd thought. That sealed the deal for me!

I searched flight fares, dental quotes from Bangkok clinics and sought out an old favorite guest house
and Thai massage school. Wonderfully, I found that for the price of that crown that we could pay for
a return flight, our guesthouse, meals and still have a little left over for affordable dental work!
I also felt that the Thai dentists would take more time and be far more gentle and patient oriented.

Without any further thought, we chose a clinic, booked our flights and then competed with each other
to pack the smallest bag. Gypsies travel light and on short notice, after all! We are not bound by cultural mandates and are free to make our own way in the world.

to be continued...

Raymond Buckland ... continued

Raymond Buckland is a sprightly 78 year old gentleman with a wide ranging reputation
as a metaphysical researcher.  His interest was sparked early in life when he came across
a relative's library of spiritualist writings. He was hooked and it became his lifelong passion
to learn, experience and share what he discovered with generations to follow.

His father, also a writer, was a king of his gypsy clan.  He married an English woman
and became one of the first 'settled gypsies' in England.  That caused no small friction
with his Roma mother and other female relatives. The new bride suffered rejection
and harsh treatment at their hands.  He knows what it is to have a foot in both worlds...
that of the Roma and that of the gadje (pronounced 'gowjoes') or non-Roma.
He gew up in an age of transition within their communities.
Young Raymond published his 1st article at 12, but he was 35 when his 1st book was published.
Since then he has written over 50 books on a wide variety of  metaphysical topics.

His first lecture provided an overview of Roma history with a few new insights that were
clearly the views of an insider rather than a cultural anthropologist. Along the way, he made
few apologies for some of the questionable attitudes and activities of his people, but he was able
to lend a humorous and compassionate understanding to the picture.
We were treated to a great slideshow of early photographs of the travelling Roma.
Mr. Buckley described the lifestyle, customs, beliefs of his people.  He also gave a good history
of the vardos or wagons with all their various styles. For those of you who need a vardo 'fix'
now and then, this is my favorite site..  http://gypsywaggons.co.uk/varsuk.htm 

In the later lectures, we practiced various forms of scrying, meditating, use of crystals
and various other methods of developing communication with your higher self and with
the non-visible world.   His experience is vast and covered not only Roma techniques,
but the various methods of spiritualism.  He told stories about how it took him 50 years to
make contact with his own father after his passing.
His friend, famed psychic John Edwards worked hard for 3 years to reach his own mother.
It's not often that you get to talk with someone so honest and knowledgeable about these topics.

In passing on his experience, one of the most memorable things he shared was that
"Spirit speaks first".   What he means by this is that as we notice our thoughts and impressions
throughout the day or when we ask for help, the first lightning-fast, fleeting impression
comes from spirit.  All subsequent thoughts are coming on a slower vibration.
Information from the spiritual realm is characterized by its swift and subtle quality.
Meditation helps us slow down, clear the mind and listen.
With time, we learn to discern these messages.

In all, Raymond Buckland was an inspiring guide and fascinating personality.
He was not a stereotypical Roma by any means, but he is a good historian
and a living link to his heritage.
We were grateful for all he shared with us...

Raymond Buckland, an English Gypsy

Back in 2000, I was living on a houseboat on Lake Lanier near Atlanta, Georgia.
That is a story in itself which will be shared in time, but for now, let me say that
it was a perfect gypsy set-up.
It was cheap, easy and when you were ready for a change, all you had to do
was turn the key in the ignition, cast the lines and go wondering on the water.
When you found an island with a sandy bank, you would just beach your boat there,
tie off and live till your supplies ran out.  Sleeping under the stars, revelling in the simplicity
of life.  No electricity, complete freedom, back to basics.
My old houseboat afforded just enough shelter, but it was spare enough to leave you living
close to the elements.   It was heaven!

A houseboat existence also left me with a bit of a home base...not too much, not too little,
from which to travel.
That summer, I indulged a long-held fascination with Spiritualism and it's roots.
Spiritualism is the belief in the continuation of life after the transition we call death.
150 or so years ago, it was a movement that swept America and England.
What remains of it in today's America are 3 communities: Camp Chesterfield in Indiana,
Lily Dale in upstate New York and Cassadaga near Daytona, Florida.
I decided to go visiting, one by one.
What I found was a quirky and wonderful assembling of psychice, mediums, healers
and investigators.  The camps are visited by all manner of interesting folk, as well.
I went as a bit of a curious and somewhat skeptical observer.
Having had plenty of unusual expereinces myself over the years, I knew that these things
are real and I wanted to spend  a little time among these people.  In particular, I wanted
to interview some of the older folks who had been born with gifts of healing.
My plan was to go to Camp Chesterfield and spend 3 weeks-3 months there,
observing and writing.
That was 12 years ago.  I am still here.  An unexpected chapter of my life unfolded here
and my beautiful boat days came to a close...
All good Gypsies must stay flexible, lightly attached and open to the call of Spirit.

There are what is called 'settled Gypies' and roaming ones.
I find myself somewhere in the middle...and it works pretty well.

So back to the story... Raymond Buckland was coming to give a series of lectures at
Camp Chesterfield and I was excited to meet this half-Roma son of a Gypsy king,
prolific writer,  and avid psychic investigator and teacher. 

to be continued...

Serbia and the Gypsies continued....the Aftermath

 At this camp, I witnessed the most inhumane living conditions of the Roma 1^st hand. 

I was so incensed and upset by what I experienced that I could suddenly think of nothing else. 
I had come looking for answers and I was choking on what I found.   
But there was no doubting  that I needed to witness this for myself. 
The scene burned its way into my psyche, branding it forever. 
My driver tried to take some of the edge off the experience by taking me on a long drive.
He turned off his meter and we drove slowly back to the old city.  He started to share many things. 
"I know where a Gypsy Museum is.  Would you like to see it?" 
"I remember an interview with a Roma teacher...I think I can find his place."  
We spent several hours together finding the places and people.   
It was a valuable experience in many ways.
He opened up and we began to talk in earnest about the situation from various perspectives. 

"In the time of socialism, everyone had a job, an apartment,  education and security. 
Despite differences, we lived as equals.  When Tito died and our system crumbled, factories closed,
the economic changes were too much, the war took place and we lost everything.  Society is
still struggling for even basic necessities.  I myself am 40 years old, and I still live with my parents.
I am on a long waiting list for an apartment.  My girlfriend and I cannot marry and raise a family
as a result.  I work 2 jobs, long hours to make ends meet.  This is the case for many Serbians now.
If apartments were given to Roma ahead of Serbians, there would be turmoil.  We are all waiting.
This camp has been here for 2 years.  Most of these people are recent arrivals from Kosovo,
hoping to find a more hopeful situation in Serbia..  They would be at the bottom of the list for housing.  They might wait many years for help."  

The situation was complex and difficult, yet this was insufferable.  I had only a few hours left
before flying back to the States.   I agonized over what could/should be done.  My first thought
was to find a way back to the camp and give my extra cash, but there was no way to make that happen. 
A part of me wondered if it would be received as an insult.  
I was deeply moved by their plight, but I couldn't find my place in the situation. 
Everything that I tried to do was blocked on some level.  I would have to wait for guidance. 

When guidance came, it was not what I expected.
I wanted to DO something...and quickly.  Instead  I was told to do nothing but pray...for now...
and to pray hard!    I was reminded that that is the most powerful act.       
I put all my heart and mind into it.  I prayed that the government would no longer turn a blind eye
and that it would move these people to shelter that was decent and safe. 
I thought of nothing else for many days. 
I returned home, a bit heavy-hearted, but with a sense of force and determination.
Prayer has many times turned impossible situations around. 
I went back home and back to work with their situation pressing in my mind and heart.

Just 7 days later, as I was scanning for news articles on the recent International Roma Day.
I stumbled on camera footage of the very same camp! 
On that day, the camp made headlines around the world.
It was being dismantled by order of the mayor of Belgrade!    Incredible!

People were being  registered for services of all kinds and they were being moved into various kinds of housing and otherwise resettled in safer conditions.   I also found that there were many NGOs, media and welfare organizations on the scene, monitoring the situation.    Though there was some criticism of decisions made by the government, the evidence bore out that the Roma were given new housing in many cases and that they were well-treated.  They were given money to live as well as funds to rebuild homes in their old villages. Families remained intact and were carried by buses.to their new homes.   Army trucks and personnel came to load their goods and transport them to new locations.
They still faced struggle for sure, but at least this burning garbage dump was behind them.

To all my readers, thanks for your patience these last months.  This was a difficult chapter to write.
There is still much to understand and learn...

warm salutations to all the good Gypsies...

next. post.:.a weekend with Roma author, Ray Buckland... and.meeting some unexpected Gypsies!

Belgrade and the Gypsies

One of the aims of this visit was to find the Roma enclaves in and around Belgrade.
I had done a little homework prior to the trip.  News reports had turned up 3 settlements
on the outskirts of the city, but I knew there had to be others.
According to some reports Roma make up 7%  of Serbia's population.
Approximately 500,000 people in all.
I would have to rely on the locals for more information.

One of the things I like to do when travelling through a city like Belgrade is to take
local busses or trolleys to the end of each line...to the outskirts of each suburb.
That is often where the Roma are to be found.
In this way, you get a glimpse of real life of a place...you get to see the outlying
neighborhoods far from the city center with all its tourist attractions.
I find that while I love the architecture, museums and other cultural accoutrements,
I am a people watcher at heart.
Nothing else interests me more than the people...their faces, moods, their daily lives...
They are the living history of a place.
I perch myself in the middle of the trolley and wonder what kind of job each one is
rushing to, what their lives are like.  The neighborhoods they emerge from,
the environments that shape their lives.
I explore the various neighborhoods and districts, getting my bearings...
getting a feel for the place and its people.

Serbia's history lies heavy in the people..
It is better to be a discreet observer than to ask many questions.
People will tell you what they want you to know.

Their history is difficult, to be sure.  Belgrade itself has been razed to the ground 44 times
throughout its history.  Such conflict.  Unimaginable to us.
The people have a resiliency and strength that defies logic.
Somehow they manage to live around that legacy.
I remember walking past various buildings and getting cold chills,
only to find later that they were places of horrific carnage.
The building that housed my hotel felt haunted by restless, disturbed spirits.
Belgrade, for all its glitz, would not be an easy place to live.

Over the last few years  I have spent time in what was the former Yugoslavia.
After seeing the landscape still bearing the scars of the conflict in the 90's,
layer after painful layer emerges. It is such a strange conflict on several levels.
One wishes that everyone could find a way to get along.
But time spent in Croatia and Bosnia and now Serbia, showed me that
there are distinct differences in these people.
Their bloodlines, though sometimes mixed, have ancient roots.
Their bodies are different as are their temperaments.
They inhabit the same region, but, by nature, they are unique.

Perhaps that lies at the base of much of their natural struggle.
I'm not sure that it is wise to impose any 'solutions' on these things.
Each culture is quite beautiful and extraordinary in many ways.
If those distinctions could remain intact, perhaps some cooperation would naturally result.

Once I got my bearings, I began to ask delicately about the Gypsy neighborhoods and camps.
More than once, the subject was shifted toward tourist attractions.  "A monastery, perhaps?"
"An ethnographic museum?"  "Why would you want to see THAT?"  "What Gypsies?"
"Oh no...there is nothing to see."   The degree of discomfort was palpable.
I assured them  that it was just idle curiosity on my part.
There were no takers... 
I finally befriended a young tourist guide who told me confidentially that there might be a place
near the Holiday Inn in new Belgrade.  Bingo!   I had heard of this one.
The camp was in the shadow of the fancy hotel.
No cabbie, though eager for business, would take me there, however.
I was tired of being stone walled.  I resolved to take public transport and walk there
early the following morning. 

I was excited about what the next day would bring.  I went to bed early to make the most
of the next day.  Tomorrow I would surely find the Roma settlements for myself.

But that night a strange thing happened while I slept.  At first, I thought I was dreaming.
I smelled something really horrible in my 'dream'.  An almost unimaginable stench seemed
to take up all the air in my room.  It was suffocating and vile.  It woke me up out of a dead sleep.
I thought the building was on fire at first, but everything was quiet around me.
The stench was so strong that it almost had me in a panic.
I opened the window to the street below and gasped for air.
I surveyed the street and all was peaceful.  No fire trucks, no smoke.
I called the front desk.  The sleepy clerk assured me that all was well.
For the rest of the night, the noxious smell literally hung over me.
I eventually realized that the acrid smoke smelled like a garbage dump fire.
Horrible!!   And strange....

As the sun came up, it subsided.  It had been a hard night and I was glad to get up and move around.
I was strangely unsettled and my nerves were on edge.  I took a long shower trying to get the stench
out of my nostrils.  Once dressed and leaving the hotel, I looked all around, but there was no evidence
of anything out of the ordinary.  The morning air was fine.
I checked my map and headed for the Holiday Inn.  My map was far from scale and I walked for an
hour or more without much visible progress.  Finally a businesswoman helped me trick a cabdriver
into taking me to my destination.  He assumed that I wanted to go shopping at the market
near the hotel.   I went along with the plan.  My driver spoke reasonably good English and we began
to talk about Belgrade on the long drive.  I was able to tell him my real reason for going there.
He was a bit mystified but he offered to guide me and wait for me as I would not be able to get a ride
back from that neighborhood.  As the area came into view, I could see he what he meant.
Literally in the shadow of the modern hotel ringed by construction sites, was a shanty town of
dilapidated shacks thrown together with cardboard, old planking and corrugated metal.

I asked my driver to slow down so I could really see it.  His inclination was to race by and rush me
back to the city center.  I rolled down the window to see more clearly and was immediately assailed
by the smell of a garbage dump.
It was the same smell that had filled my room only a few hours before!!!

I took a closer look.
The shantytown was burning!
Smoke curled around all the hovels and I saw that these people were living on an active
garbage dump!
My God!!  No human being should be forced to live like this!
People in the Balkans treat street dogs better than that!
It was impossible to think that in a civilized society that this could happen.
No wonder people were reluctant to discuss the Gypsy encampments.

My driver was visibly embarassed.  I begged him to linger but the best he would do was to circle
the camp once more.  He was afraid to stop or to even let me out for a few minutes.
'Afraid'  I thought ?!
There was no sense of danger from the few miserable people we saw.

I wondered at the hypocrisy of people calling them "dirty gypsies".
There were no sanitation facilities and no running water.
The Roma were smudged with smoke from the burning dump.
I thought about all the rhetoric about their laziness, but I saw them picking through the garbage
and construction refuse to recycle what could be saved...to make a few dinars to eat.
Suddenly all the criticism about their unwillingness to assimilate, work, go to school,
make themselves presentable was a cruel and horrible joke!
How they were even able to survive this experience was beyond me.
Breathing in toxic vapors, living without water, worse than beggars.
This society had relegated them to the garbage heap on every level.  Denied housing and jobs,
begrudging them water, food and assistance and then blaming them for their uncivilised state!

Serbia had just experienced it's worst winter in 100 years with most of the country placed under disaster status.  Whole villages were buried under heavy snowfall for weeks, roofs and houses collapsing. 
I wondered how many Roma had perished and what the struggle for survival must have been like.
One would become half mad from toxicity alone.  I knew what a few hours of it had felt like.

Something galvanized inside me in that moment.  Suddenly the whole trip seemed to hang
on this event.  Nothing else mattered.  My stomach was knotted with the reality of what I saw.
Everything in me shifted...and shifted hard.
I told my driver to stop a moment, telling him my camera had malfunctioned and that  I needed
just one photo.  It was a bid to get more time.
He did his best.  By now he was deeply humiliated by the scene and for a moment he saw, as well.
He drove a little slower, a little closer.  I stuck my head out the window, craning to get
a better view and to lock this scene in my mind when, suddenly, the most amazing thing happened.

As I did that, I saw three middle-aged men sitting on a makeshift bench outside one of the shacks.
We made eye contact in a startling moment.
They stood to their feet politely, smiled from their hearts and waved in greeting.
Their rugged faces were beaming.
There was no suffering or self pity, no begging or seeking. 
They were simply and genuinely welcoming.  It was a salutation, a greeting.

There was joy in their faces!   It was a joy that went through me like a bolt of electricity.
Such joy...
It was not only joy, but a deep sense of humanity.
Welcome humanity in a desert of cold inhumanity.
It was as if they held the last remaining fragments of sanity and what it is to be a real human being
in a world that aimed to stamp out all remaining traces of it.

It is hard to describe the impact of their plight, their resilience in the face of all they suffer,
their innate humanity unchanged.

Had they transformed into angels to bear the brunt of man's inhumanity
and to continue to bear witness to a better way?  I would not have been surprised.

"the meek shall inherit the earth."

to be continued...

Serbia continued...

My first impressions of Serbia were garnered on the bus ride through the countryside
enroute to Belgrade...
It was a warm early summer morning with overcast skies and light rain dappling the hills...
perfect for seeing the depth of terrain, the greenery and softened landscape.
Fields, hills and villages were spread in every direction, softly shadowed.

I was impressed with the carefully tended land.  Every inch of it was under cultivation.
This land was well-loved...  You could feel it in every sworl and ridge.
It was meticulously planted and managed well.
The traditional houses gave a similar impression of great care and strength.
They were hand-built, good sized and solid.
Not ostentatious, but fine and strong and of generous proportions.
It was easy to see the character of the people in their fields and houses.
They were hard-working, aware and fully engaged in their lives.

They had earned a certain prosperity through their efforts...it was well-deserved.
I was intrigued with the yards surrounding their houses.
Much like the fields, the yards were neatly cultivated to the last inch with flowers and vegetables...
no lawns to be seen anywhere.
Everything gave off a sense of strength and a good kind of pride and industriousness.
I could hardly wait to encounter these people.

After a few hours, I changed buses in Nis.
The energy of the place and people was quite distinct.
I knew without a doubt that I was in a different country now.
The Serbians are somewhat serious in temperament with a sense of mannered reserve.
They carry themselves with a sense of pride and keen awareness,
It is much like the kind of feeling I get at a chess tournament....highly charged intelligence.

As I walked through the crowd, I became aware of the large community
of Gypsies milling around, as well.
The darker skinned men were sharp-eyed, nervous, seeking.
The women in long skirts were quiet and submissive to their husbands.
They were a separate society...not quite shunned, but tolerated.

I was the only foreigner in sight.  I felt various peoples' curiosity.

Back on the bus for the final leg of the trip, the sun came out and lit up the countryside.
There were gently rolling hills with cattle and sheep, serene villages, and spring crops.
A few hours later, we rumbled into the sprawl that is Belgrade.
At that moment, I much preferred the serene and beautiful rural Serbia,
but I had committed to several days in the city for this first trip.
Belgrade had been described as one of the liveliest cities in all of Europe
with something for everyone...a must-see.

I hopped off the bus with map in hand, intent on stretching my legs for awhile
and walking off the long  bus ride.
According to my map, I was within walking distance of my destination...the city center.
I was soon surrounded by cab drivers offering help.  A few of them spoke a bit of English.
I politely assured them that I would be fine walking the short distance.
I just needed to get my bearings.  Several of them insisted that it was too far to walk...
several kilometers...and through dangerous neighborhoods.
I began to doubt my map reading, but I was not up to being rushed into a waiting cab.
Besides, I had no money. My first stop would be the bank.  That said, they left me alone.

My first Serbian exchange was with the unsmiling bank guard, who eyed me warily
at first before relenting and holding the door open for me.
He offered to help with my bags and asked where I was from.
I told him I was from the US, and shared that it was my 1st visit to Serbia...
and that I was half Serbian on my father's side.  He finally smiled at that.
He thought for a moment before earnestly impressing me with the remark
that my Serbian side was my 'better half'.       Serbian pride... 
He studied me soberly while I handed over passport and dollars in exchange for Serbian dinars.
Once more, he went the extra mile in helping me leave....much unsaid, but felt.
It was going to be an interesting trip...

Belgrade was a typical big city with people rushing by, unable or unwilling to stop for questions,
but I eventually found the tourist information building.  Once again, I was assailed by cabbies.
I waved them aside so I could get to a window with a guide.
The woman behind the glass, who, thankfully, spoke flawless English, helped me make
a hotel reservation for the next few nights and showed me the shortcut up the steep hill
to the city center...a mere 8 blocks away.
Beware of the cab drivers, she warned.

I found my hotel after a good, stiff hike up the hill past shops and restaurants.
I dropped my things, freshened up and hit the streets, eager to make the most of my time.
I walked big circles around my hotel to familiarize myself with the neighborhood.
I was in the perfect spot...close to everything...parks, museums, trolley cars
and boulevards lined with open-air cafes where one could rest, sip coffee and people watch.

As I explored, I was delighted to find several well-stocked bookstores within a few block radius.
People were serious about books here!  It reminded me of the good old days in New York City
when independent bookstores were plentiful.
I soon procurred a copy of Momo Kapor's "The Magic of Belgrade".   How perfect!
I had read Momo's "Guide to the Serbian Mentality"...a book laced with touching humor
and insight born of a life of keen observation.   What more fitting guide!
I could weather whatever came my way with Momo as my guide.
I chose a small local restaurant for dinner, wine and some good reading...

" Belgrade is not all in Belgrade.  A much bigger part of Belgrade is in the yearning for Belgrade,
 which makes it more beautiful than it actually is...."
.

Serbia Bound...

This post is much delayed.  My time in Serbia was brief and unexpectedly intense. 

It has taken some time to understand the experience and even more time to be willing to write about it.

Serbia was to be a special highlight of my trip to the Balkans. 

There are several reasons for that….

A little less than a year ago, I found that my father’s family was from Serbia.

I had  always had a deep affinity for all things Balkan…and somewhat of an affinity for Gypsies, as you can see, but I never imagined that it was anything more than a romantic fantasy.

A few years ago, after my 1^st trip to the former Yugoslavia, I took some time off to write
about my experiences there.
In my stack of notes, I came across a scrap of paper bearing the name of my biological father. 
As a child, I had been told he was French Canadian. I accepted it without question at the time.
But seeing his name as an adult made me wonder about its origins.
I was strongly impressed to dig deeper into my alleged French Canadian roots.
I discovered that my father was  an American born son of Yugoslavian immigrants
and that they were Serbians. 
Suddenly, many things about my inner life made perfect sense. 
Things such as my love of their music and dance, which could be a chapter in itself, 
my somewhat edgy and serious temperament,  my inner sense of history, struggle
and deeply felt emotions/opinions. 

Quite typically Serbian, for better and worse.

There was a strong psychic component woven tightly throughout this series of discoveries.

It was as though my father’s spirit was driving me to find him and to know more of his story.
I literally felt a personality over my shoulder for months on end. 
Many times, I grew weary of the search.  I didn’t think it should matter at this later stage of my life,
but I was literally compelled to keep working at it. 
I hit many dead-ends, ran out of ideas and then finally, when it seemed  completely hopeless,
my phone rang one afternoon.

On the other end was the last surviving member of that generation of the family…

an 83 year old woman in Des Moines.

She was as forthright and honest as could be hoped as she began to tell me about
my biological father and their family.
Everything she described fit the personality of the figure over my shoulder…exactly.

It was a heady experience…a difficult story, but one worth knowing.  

It was also a life-settling experience on some really deep levels.

As you can imagine, I could hardly wait to go to Serbia and immerse myself for a time…

to understand them…to understand myself.

Seven months later, I boarded the flight and then the final bus to Belgrade in high hopes!

I had done a fair bit of homework prior to the trip. 

One of the surprising things that emerged was that Serbia was the biggest exporter of gypsies
in the modern world.
Not only that, but that most of them settled in the Midwest…Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and the like. 
My own back yard.
As pieces of the puzzle emerged, I realized that I had had several dealings with them already. 
My curiosity intensified!

Suddenly, I realized that the family that cut my trees down as well as the people that took care

of my driveway coatings were gypsies.

People who offered roof repairs and other transient jobs were, as well.
Even though I was bit leery at times, I had a certain deep-rooted sympathy for them.
My experiences of them were not always perfect, but they were generally good. 
Certainly better than the stereotypical stories that are passed around!

I began to see with newly opened eyes their lives, their families, their not-quite-mainstream lives.

Then I began to share notes with friends who seemed to have a gypsy connection.  
We learned that many of them had blood ties to gypsy families.

In early America, it was forbidden for gypsy men to marry white women. 

They married blacks as well as native Americans, with whom they often felt

a greater sense of affinity. 

There were periods of prejudice in earlier times and often the children were either

not informed of their gypsy heritage or they were told simply that they were part

Native American.

One such friend pulled out old photographs of her great grandmother decked out

in colorful long skirts with huge gold loop earrings.  It was suddenly clear to her

that she was gypsy and not native American. My friend embodies both cultures…

It was often very life affirming for people to find these missing bits of their history. 

to be continued...

The Gypsy "Problem"...assimilation vs. inclusion

You know, language is a slippery thing sometimes....

We are bombarded with so many words, so much information these days
that images, ideas and information begin to blur together.
We are jumping to conclusions before we have even quite heard the stories.
As an old friend once cautioned me, "we are jumping to confusions".

On the recent trip to Bulgaria and Serbia, I had to wonder about two of these
'blurry' concepts, in particular...
On one hand, as I looked upon the post communism/new capitalism era
I suddenly heard myself...and was dismayed at my mistake.
I had thought 'capitalism' and not 'democracy'.  

Isn't 'democracy' what we pride ourselves on?
Wasn't 'democracy' the original and stated goal?
How had 'democracy' come to denote 'capitalism'...and rampant
western-style capitalism at that?

In a far departure from the ideals of democracy, there has occurred a blurring
of these concepts....perhaps even a 'bait and switch'.
Unfettered capitalism seems to have replaced the democratic experience.
The terms are now used interchangeably and casually to the great harm of societies everywhere.
They have become nearly synonymous. 

Having been granted the democratic freedom of autonomy and the rights of individuals
to pursue their own course in life, we find growing numbers of greedy people and corporations
taking over the landscape.
Instead of a noble and uplifting result,  what we wound up with was the right to amass
as much money and power at the expense of as many as possible.
Rats clambering up the ladder to success.
We are not building a more just and equal society on either end of the ladder
at this stage of the game.
It is an exclusionary and elitist system that harms the good of all.

Democracy has not delivered on its promises because capitalism has replaced it.
People were seduced onto the path of competition, selfishness and greed.
It is clearly not working... Those in post-communist societies suffer still...more so.

The other concepts that have become unfortunately intermingled in people's minds
are that of 'assimilation' and "inclusion".
The context of my observations has particularly to do with the Roma people,
but it concerns all minority people in almost every conceivable context.

I believe that no person or society or government can work without a good underlying
philosophy.  Fix that and most of the rest will take care of itself.
Without a sound and sane philosophy, there is simply chaos and base tendencies run amok.
Of course, this always serves the opportunists well.... Think about it...

The Decade of the Roma is well underway.  Begun in 2005 in Sofia, Bulgaria,
it calls for the inclusion of the Roma in every level of society.
Many fine words have been spoken, programs initiated, meetings held.
So much rhetoric but so little tangible progress.  Lovely window dressing.
Much money has exchanged hands on behalf of the Roma, but I see that little of it reaches them.
Instead, it continues to circulate within the tight circles of the privileged.

But again, we have the problem of language...
Where does inclusion start?     In the minds and hearts of the excluders.
Who does "inclusion" appeal to?    Those that "exclude"... of course!
But somehow the argument is turned on its head and, once again,
the burden falls not on the "excluders," but on the Roma who are now expected to "assimilate". 

Again the terms are bandied about loosely...one or the other will do, it seems...
It's all the same...or is it?

 If you stop to consider for a moment, it is quite clear that these are very different paths.

"Inclusion" assumes the right of every individual and group to co-exist in an equal and fair way.
Sharing the goods, services and opportunities... and not only that...but sharing the responsibilities,
as well.
It is common sense simple... and it is the only tool for healing society's troubles.

Whereas "assimilation" calls for the blending in or obliteration of the society or individual
as the price to be paid in order to participate in society as a so-called "equal".
This a an antagonistic approach that functions to keep people in unequal relationship to one another.
It cannot work.  It goes against nature.

There is a further aspect to be discussed in my next post....  Trip to Serbia

The Gypsy "Problem"...assimilation's impact on you

In my last post, I considered the attitudes regarding assimilation of the Roma
as the solution to the so-called Gypsy problem. 
I found that most of the rhetoric and effort is geared toward assimilation...
fitting in, erasing differences, leaving Roma values and culture behind
and adopting those of the dominant culture.

This does not only apply to the Roma people, but to those who are Gypsy in spirit.

It is not easy to carve out a life or livelihood when you find yourself at odds
with the prevailing culture. 
You set aside your art or music, your freedoms and innate rhythms, your very uniqueness
to conform to a culture that encourages alienation from others and self. 
Your color, your wild nature, your reaching for joy are all too much
for the uncreative and mechanistic culture that surrounds you.
  
You rein in your Love for Life and for People to match yourself to those around you.
You know it is wrong every step of the way but you are caught up in the flood for awhile.
You adopt fear, set aside generosity and innate goodness, and wipe away your open smile
to conform to a cold society.
It can be experienced as a kind of death to self to stifle your best and truest impulses
in order to survive...


You literally take your life in your hands if you dance sideways of the system to fashion
a life out of the deep and half-hidden desires and sensibilities you hold within.
Many times you run counter to family, spouses, friends, and authorities of all kinds
as you begin to assert yourself. 
You run up against hurdle after hurdle until you are almost too weary to fight on. 
We incur so much pain and self doubt along the way.
Much of our life is lived underground...we live as small and secret selves,  hidden Gypsies.

We have already learned to reject ourselves...to hold prejudice on an inner level.

The work begins there ultimately...on the inside...as you discover and acknowledge
all that you are.  To make a little room for that self...a safe and respectful place where
it can be protected and cultivated again on its often interrupted path through life.
It becomes a kind of spiritual quest for self and for God who gives continued nudges
as well as strength for the journey. 
A colorful mosaic emerges... as messy, crazily beautiful and exuberant as life itself.

Do what you are able to do for now, but know that you will one day need to come
out of hiding and declare who you are...if you are lucky.
That is Life's gift to you ...to free you from self-limiting ideas...self-limiting lives...
other-limiting lives.

That is also your gift to others...  to be who you are without reservation or apology.
To bring who you are out into the open...and to make that possible for others, too.
To forge a new and better culture day by day...

Consider it a creative challenge...don't sit around complaining about your plight.
Use your innate intelligence, wit and humor to out-strategize the system.
But find legitimate ways to express who you are, even if who you are changes daily.

Don't stop until you find the cleverest, most ethical, most lovingly human ways
to show the prevailing culture that they are misguided in regard to you and to life itself.

Don't become a leech out of anger and self righteousness  as many have done,
but find the most artful and compelling ways to frame your innate beauty, character
and gifts.

Don't struggle...simply take what you have right now...for it is enough...and Outshine.

As always, be a Good Gypsy....Be a Smart Gypsy while you're at it!

The Gypsy "Problem" ....Assimilation

Everywhere I went in Bulgaria and Serbia, I heard about the Gypsy 'problem'. 
Attitudes were often quite negative and relations were clearly strained.

As I wandered and listened and observed, much of it seemed strangely reminiscent
of an earlier time in America.  It reminded be of the '50s and 60's when
Americans were also struggling with the presence of blacks (former slaves)
and with those of different ethnicities and cultures...non-whites, such as Mexicans.

It was interesting to find that Roma were slaves in the Balkan regions for many years.
In fact, their legal emancipation occurred around the same time as that of America's slaves.
The Roma perform menial tasks (such as street sweeping and metal recycling)
and agricultural work for little pay in the same manner that blacks and chicanos have.

While our minorities still struggle for equality, things have come a long way.
The pace of integration into society has been much slower here in Bulgaria.
For instance, segregated communities and schools are still quite common.
Segregation is openly accepted and encouraged, whereas in America, segregation is taboo.
Yet historically the Roma received somewhat better treatment in Bulgaria than in other countries.

America was founded on principles of fairness and equality for all.  We were dissatisfied
with restrictions and the old ways.  The repressed and oppressed flocked to our shores.
We openly defined ourselves as a melting pot as successive waves of immigrants arrived. 
America was an experiment of grand proportions and far-reaching ideals, a place of openness
and freedom.  A place where everyone had a fair chance.  It was, and still is...
Far from perfect.  Easier said than done, but through struggle and with time,
we have achieved much. 
Ethnic tensions of every stripe were intensely felt and experienced in every aspect
of society along the way.
From jobs to neighborhoods, religion, intermarriage and social and political status...
All were part of the struggle that played out in so many ways. 
It was and still is, to some degree, an uneven development, but it continues to work. 

Some people are by nature and nurture quicker to adapt to these changes.
Many others are, for the same reasons, slower to receive those that are different.

I could identify with some of their experience by looking back to my own childhood.
I remember my early years growing up in Los Angeles in the early fifties.
Back then virtually everyone seemed to be tall, slim, blonde and tan...
the idealized beauty of the time. My little world was peaceful and homogeneous.

But one night we were driving to a movie theater and my dad took a couple of wrong turns
and wound up in Watts...the volatile black neighborhood of the 50's.
In moments we were surrounded by police cruisers, lights flashing, sirens blaring
and men in riot gear.
It felt like we had stumbled into a war zone. And, in fact, we had. 
We were questioned and warned to stay away for our own safety.
And then we were given an armed escort out of the area...
That was eye-opening!  I was 5 years old.

Soon after, when the first Mexican family moved into our little suburban neighborhood,
there was a huge uproar.  House for Sale signs sprouted overnight..."the Mexicans are coming". 
It was only one family, but nearly everyone panicked. 
We got to know them once things simmered down a little.  They were lovely people.
I still remember Mrs. Soto bringing over big platters of the most delicious homemade enchiladas
I have ever tasted. We became best friends with their girls. 
But I also remember their 1st Christmas when someone broke into their home
and stole all their presents.  When it was later found that their own relatives had broken in.
we felt their painful embarrassment. We all pitched in to share what we had with them.
You can imagine the gossip from that one!

Some years later, I picked strawberries all summer alongside local kids and migrant workers.
I befriended a Mexican girl whose family lived in the back of a truck. 
One girl and 12 brothers...living rough. What a life..
But for our part, we spent a happy summer together.
On the final day of harvest, we would get paid for all of our season's hard work.
My friend offered to cash in my pick ticket and have the money for me early the next morning
so I wouldn't have to wait in a long line.  I handed my ticket to her at her urging,
not heeding the little twinge in the pit of my stomach.  
When I arrived early the next morning her family was already gone..they had gotten paid the night before.  Gone before first light...   I was crushed!  She had stolen all that I had worked for.
No friend, no money, no goodbye.   They were taught to steal....compelled by their parents.

When I was 9 years old, we moved from sunny southern California to Wisconsin. 
That was a series of shocks.  It was the 1st time seeing snow, having a winter coat!
Sitting in class, there were suddenly all kinds of 'strange' kids!  I was so struck by all the diversity! 
Polish kids and a Native American or two.  Kids of mixed European descent...
Italians mixed with Irish, Czechs with Germans and the like.
In the end, typical American kids, but from my very limited perspective it was a big adjustment.
I felt like I had landed on another planet.  Planet Green Bay.     
My world expanded in the most uncomfortable way. 

I had to decide quickly if I was going to hate my circumstances or embrace them. 
In the end, I embraced them.  I began to open up, take chances and like my fellow classmates.
I was lucky. I was a white kid, so circumstances favored my inclusion, more or less without question,
but other minor prejudices kicked in: I wasn't 'from' there. My parents had no standing socially or financially.
My folks helped us deal with those attitudes with a little common sense. 
We learned to minimize those concerns.
They taught us that we were just as good as anyone else and to do our best and ignore the rest.   

In the end, I thought people in general wasted an awful lot of time and energy on such things. 
Judging each other...and thinking they had to put other people in their places...

To me, they were just self appointed bullies trying to shape others to meet their expectations. 

No doubt, children and adults suffer the same thing when society becomes overbearing.  
Such needless suffering....
Now, as then, people still opt to poison their lives with such nonsense.   
They fail to see the gift of each culture, each individual.

When I look upon people now, I see individuals who are the living  survivors of so much history.
Just think of all that has happened to our forebears...
Famines, wars, pogroms, natural calamities, plagues and other illnesses.
Mothers dying giving birth, accidents, every conceivable hardship and struggle..
. 
How incredibly fortunate that we are here at all...alive and well. 
We are...all of us... the living legacy of all that has happened throughout history.
So many miracles that we are here... 
Contemplate that for awhile...

Now look at the next human being that you see and consider that this is true for them as well. 

We are that precious legacy...each and every one of us. 
We should look at each other from that standpoint. 
Each one a miraculous survivor of so much..
It should be no wonder that we are a little bumped and misshapen and imperfect...
Still struggling somewhat, rough and smooth, loving and falling short...
.
What would it hurt to accord each person you see a little respect...and awe. 
You and I....we are here together... in this time. 
A long line of history precedes us.  We are the precious remnant that made it through to today.

It becomes inconceivable to me that people would want to take life...or even harm it in any way.
We should be binding up the wounds, breaking out of society's senseless and hate-filled trance.
Connecting with life instead of ravaging it...

Do you feel better when holding onto prejudice, anger or grievance? ...really? 

or does your heart swell and ease itself when you are kind to another?
  
Your own body will tell you everything you need to know.... 

We are the only ones that can...or will...fix these problems in the end....
We cannot pawn them off or delegate them to others...
Not the governments, not the committees, the endless programs or think tanks....

That has become a get rich quick scheme for those who make a pretense of helping.
Hard earned charitable dollars are systematically withheld from the very people they
were intended to help by the very programs created to administer those funds.
Very little trickles down...it was never intended to...
More about that in the next post...

Thanks again for visiting the Gypsy Ashram...Your comments and additions are always welcome.
Feel free to share these posts...   
Keep your hearts open, dear Gypsies... 

The Gypsy "Problem"

Everywhere I went in Bulgaria and Serbia, I heard about the Gypsy 'problem'. 
Attitudes were often quite negative and relations were clearly strained.

As I wandered and listened and observed, much of it seemed strangely reminiscent
of an earlier time in America.  It reminded be of the '50s and 60's when
Americans were also struggling with the presence of blacks (former slaves)
and with those of different ethnicities and cultures...non-whites, such as Mexicans.

It was interesting to find that Roma were slaves in the Balkan regions for many years.
In fact, their legal emancipation occurred around the same time as that of America's slaves.
The Roma perform menial tasks (such as street sweeping and metal recycling)
and agricultural work for little pay in the same manner that blacks and chicanos have.

While our minorities still struggle for equality, things have come a long way.
The pace of integration into society has been much slower here in Bulgaria.
For instance, segregated communities and schools are still quite common.
Segregation is openly accepted and encouraged, whereas in America, segregation is taboo.
Yet historically the Roma received somewhat better treatment in Bulgaria than in other countries.

America was founded on principles of fairness and equality for all.  We were dissatisfied
with restrictions and the old ways.  The repressed and oppressed flocked to our shores.
We openly defined ourselves as a melting pot as successive waves of immigrants arrived. 
America was an experiment of grand proportions and far-reaching ideals, a place of openness
and freedom.  A place where everyone had a fair chance.  It was, and still is...
Far from perfect.  Easier said than done, but through struggle and with time,
we have achieved much. 
Ethnic tensions of every stripe were intensely felt and experienced in every aspect
of society along the way.
From jobs to neighborhoods, religion, intermarriage and social and political status...
All were part of the struggle that played out in so many ways. 
It was and still is, to some degree, an uneven development, but it continues to work. 

Some people are by nature and nurture quicker to adapt to these changes.
Many others are, for the same reasons, slower to receive those that are different.

I could identify with some of their experience by looking back to my own childhood.
I remember my early years growing up in Los Angeles in the early fifties.
Back then virtually everyone seemed to be tall, slim, blonde and tan...
the idealized beauty of the time. My little world was peaceful and homogeneous.

But one night we were driving to a movie theater and my dad took a couple of wrong turns
and wound up in Watts...the volatile black neighborhood of the 50's.
In moments we were surrounded by police cruisers, lights flashing, sirens blaring
and men in riot gear.
It felt like we had stumbled into a war zone. And, in fact, we had. 
We were questioned and warned to stay away for our own safety.
And then we were given an armed escort out of the area...
That was eye-opening!  I was 5 years old.

Soon after, when the first Mexican family moved into our little suburban neighborhood,
there was a huge uproar.  House for Sale signs sprouted overnight..."the Mexicans are coming". 
It was only one family, but nearly everyone panicked. 
We got to know them once things simmered down a little.  They were lovely people.
I still remember Mrs. Soto bringing over big platters of the most delicious homemade enchiladas
I have ever tasted. We became best friends with their girls. 
But I also remember their 1st Christmas when someone broke into their home
and stole all their presents.  When it was later found that their own relatives had broken in.
we felt their painful embarrassment. We all pitched in to share what we had with them.
You can imagine the gossip from that one!

Some years later, I picked strawberries all summer alongside local kids and migrant workers.
I befriended a Mexican girl whose family lived in the back of a truck. 
One girl and 12 brothers...living rough. What a life..
But for our part, we spent a happy summer together.
On the final day of harvest, we would get paid for all of our season's hard work.
My friend offered to cash in my pick ticket and have the money for me early the next morning
so I wouldn't have to wait in a long line.  I handed my ticket to her at her urging,
not heeding the little twinge in the pit of my stomach.  
When I arrived early the next morning her family was already gone..they had gotten paid the night before.  Gone before first light...   I was crushed!  She had stolen all that I had worked for.
No friend, no money, no goodbye.   They were taught to steal....compelled by their parents.

When I was 9 years old, we moved from sunny southern California to Wisconsin. 
That was a series of shocks.  It was the 1st time seeing snow, having a winter coat!
Sitting in class, there were suddenly all kinds of 'strange' kids!  I was so struck by all the diversity! 
Polish kids and a Native American or two.  Kids of mixed European descent...
Italians mixed with Irish, Czechs with Germans and the like.
In the end, typical American kids, but from my very limited perspective it was a big adjustment.
I felt like I had landed on another planet.  Planet Green Bay.     
My world expanded in the most uncomfortable way. 

I had to decide quickly if I was going to hate my circumstances or embrace them. 
In the end, I embraced them.  I began to open up, take chances and like my fellow classmates.
I was lucky. I was a white kid, so circumstances favored my inclusion, more or less without question,
but other minor prejudices kicked in: I wasn't 'from' there. My parents had no standing socially or financially.
My folks helped us deal with those attitudes with a little common sense. 
We learned to minimize those concerns.
They taught us that we were just as good as anyone else and to do our best and ignore the rest.   

In the end, I thought people in general wasted an awful lot of time and energy on such things. 
Judging each other...and thinking they had to put other people in their places...

To me, they were just self appointed bullies trying to shape others to meet their expectations. 

No doubt, children and adults suffer the same thing when society becomes overbearing.  
Such needless suffering....
Now, as then, people still opt to poison their lives with such nonsense.   
They fail to see the gift of each culture, each individual.

When I look upon people now, I see individuals who are the living  survivors of so much history.
Just think of all that has happened to our forebears...
Famines, wars, pogroms, natural calamities, plagues and other illnesses.
Mothers dying giving birth, accidents, every conceivable hardship and struggle..
. 
How incredibly fortunate that we are here at all...alive and well. 
We are...all of us... the living legacy of all that has happened throughout history.
So many miracles that we are here... 
Contemplate that for awhile...

Now look at the next human being that you see and consider that this is true for them as well. 

We are that precious legacy...each and every one of us. 
We should look at each other from that standpoint. 
Each one a miraculous survivor of so much..
It should be no wonder that we are a little bumped and misshapen and imperfect...
Still struggling somewhat, rough and smooth, loving and falling short...
.
What would it hurt to accord each person you see a little respect...and awe. 
You and I....we are here together... in this time. 
A long line of history precedes us.  We are the precious remnant that made it through to today.

It becomes inconceivable to me that people would want to take life...or even harm it in any way.
We should be binding up the wounds, breaking out of society's senseless and hate-filled trance.
Connecting with life instead of ravaging it...

Do you feel better when holding onto prejudice, anger or grievance? ...really? 

or does your heart swell and ease itself when you are kind to another?
  
Your own body will tell you everything you need to know.... 

We are the only ones that can...or will...fix these problems in the end....
We cannot pawn them off or delegate them to others...
Not the governments, not the committees, the endless programs or think tanks....

That has become a get rich quick scheme for those who make a pretense of helping.
Hard earned charitable dollars are systematically withheld from the very people they
were intended to help by the very programs created to administer those funds.
Very little trickles down...it was never intended to...
More about that in the next post...

Thanks again for visiting the Gypsy Ashram...Your comments and additions are always welcome.
Feel free to share these posts...   
Keep your hearts open, dear Gypsies...