Keepin' On

So. It's amazing what a little resolve can do for a gal. I have believed for some time that we posess and amazing ability to determine our trajectory. As mentioned before in other posts, there is something to be said about fate--it moves us forward in certain ways but is in no way an independant actor on the paths of our lives.

Today is the last day of July. And it was a good day. In the midst of all that is swirling around in the eye of my own personal hurricane, I am beginning to think that with my head down and eyes on course, the next month is going to be breathtaking.

I have 9 more days of work. My how far we've come this summer. I use the collective we--everyone who has stuck on through the most depressing posts ever, as well as the fellow summers who are feeling the weight that is this law firm bearing down on us. Nah, we're not through the hardest of it all, I don't think there really is a "hardest" in this kind of thing, but it's kind of like those last few weeks of winter. Tentatively looking outside each morning to make sure a NorEaster has not crept in, and beginning to see a little green bud of life poking through the snow. I do love drama, but I think anyone can get the idea.

August will be a great month. Will I get an offer from the firm? In ten days I'll know. Here is what I know right now, on July 31st, 2007: In the next 30 days I will move into a home with rooms of my own; I will road trip up to Vermont with two of my favorite Vermont turned DC gals and spend a weekend on Lake Champlain drinking wine, floating in the water, twirling in the sun, and blowing kisses to the stars; I will throw sticks to Phoebe the Dog in my backyard and grill veggies with my parents and listen to the crickets talk; I'll host a housewarming party/birthday party/revolution of life for myself and everyone I know; I will finally let go of all the rest; I will be happy.

None of the above are negotiable. They are givens and only a supreme act of fate can make me change my course. Sometimes being a little lost is kind of exciting. In the process of finding yourself you get the opportunity and excuse to open your eyes really wide and rediscover everything that has been obscured underneath that shroud.

A Tale of Two Cities

What is it about new cities that makes things a little clearer? I think it is the feeling of freshness--of everything being new, a little exciting, kind of scary and very anonymous. An ability to reinvent who you are, even for a few days, in a place where no one knows your day to day routines and habits, habitual haunts or skeletons that peek out from your closet. The feeling of being lost and found all at the same time.

I was in Chicago this past week. Ostensibly for work but secretly to see if this change of scenery would suit me. Moving from the shores of the Potomac to those of Lake Michigan in an attempt to find an answer to a question that I am not sure I can even articulate now. Driving in from the airport to a skyline dotted with daunting buildings rather than low lying monuments, on streets that were dominated by cabs rather than personal cars, in an office on the 39th floor gazing down at the boats on the lake, Indiana in the distance, picnic blankets on the amphitheatre rather than looking from the 12th floor onto the home of the President.

I am at the point where I think I need to shake things up, make a change in my life. I have been searching for something not only the past 2 months, but since embarking on this journey of law school as well. And I think in every journey, whether it is to the grocery store, through grad school, wandering through the abyss of dating, or meandering through life, we all occasionally get lost. But I think there are different levels--ranging from turning a virtual corner, ending up in a real bad neighborhood, recognizing it immediately, and correcting your path as quickly as you strayed off course. And then there is when you find yourself in, what I like to call, the abyss of what the fuck. Where up is suddenly down, things that are tried and true seem to be failing, where you find comfort in the most unlikely places and people and no matter how often you close your eyes and hold your breath and click the heels of your ruby red wedges, when you look back up you're still in the same place.

A lot of what I have blogged about this summer has lead me to the stark realization that I am ensconced in my own abyss of what the fuck. I was sitting in Chicago, looking out my window onto the shores of Lake Michigan when it became clear that all of these different threads that I have written about largely in an individual manner have woven into a thick shroud that I am not sure how to come out from under. Actually. That's a lie. I do know how to come out from under it, or at least start peeking out once again from under it. But it's hard and unpleasant and I hate being forced into self confrontation. That's not to say that I am averse from taking responsibility for my own turns in the road that has left me stranded in this abyss--I just hate knowing that when I turn around and start trying to get myself out of this abyss, there will be people who will have to be cast away--those who I have held onto and put unnatural faith in and who seem to have powers that bring out some good and a lot of bad. And I know that even being on the road back I will most likely make some missteps and the path is not going to be..clear.

So Chicago. It feels like it's a million miles away (ok ok, 659 miles away) but right now I have this twitching in my gut that says it might be the end of this road back. But that's getting ahead of myself. It can be a lonely journey--much of what is in your head and heart--and it's scary. Searching for a path that is not wholly clear even for the explorer is daunting. I'm kind of hoping to stumble onto a magic map that will give me all the answers. Until then, I'm stuck with dusting off whatever compass still exists within me, strapping on the hiking boots and hoping that I meet some of the kind and deep souls along this journey that have graced those in the past. And as always, continuing to keep a little faith in myself, since, well, it's gotten me this far, right?

Collect Ephemera

I caught some flack from a few loyal readers (thanks mom) about the removal of what had been my most recent post. I am not going to repost it, because I didn't feel it fair to the person who was causing the sadness and pain that it described. As I said, I don't know who reads this thing, and having addressed the situation privately it just didn't seem...prudent.

But I stick by my stained glass assertion and the need to let light in to catch the most compelling reflections that make up the intracacies of individuals. So there you have it. Moving on.

This week's topic is going to stray a bit from the angst ridden posts of my life in a law firm to something far far more joyous--my darling and wonderful sister's upcoming wedding which is taking place in 8 days. Not surprisingly, this momentous event has caused me to contemplate a number of different emotions surrounding weddings. Both for the bride to be, as well as for those who are merely the spectators and revelers in such an occasion.

Being a witness (albeit a distant one down here in DC) to the preparation of marriage has definitely made me pause a little bit. Watching this gorgeous person who I have known my entire life go through the processes of marriage makes wonder where the past 28 years have gone. When did we grow up? How is this possible?

My AP English teacher in high school gave my class some great advice before we graduated. She told us wherever we went and whatever we did, to collect ephemera. It is in the passing moments, she explained, the ones the glimmer and fade quickly, that create the fullest patchwork of our memory and experience. This conversation and piece of advice has come up a few times in the last few days and J's marriage makes me wander back through the ephemeral moments that I've caught with her since high school. I was looking at photos the other night--one in our backyard the day J came home from camp for a day off with her gals, the two of us standing, arms around each other, while her friend took a photo from the ground. I remember the day clearly--it was a gorgeous Vermont summer day, I had been working at the pool, they all came down to swim whisked me back home before they had to take back off for camp.

Or a night more recently, after parents had gone off to bed and my sister and I sat bundled on the front porch on a very quiet winter's night drinking wine and talking about past sadnesses and regrets, while gaining a deeper respect for the similarities we share.

Or my freshman year, sitting in my college dorm room alone, crying my eyes out after finding out that my legs weren't well enough to put me back in the boat for our race against Cornell, that my whole family was going to attend, and that I would not be going to, and getting an email with a small stanza from The Boxer and the quiet words of encouragement and support.

Coming home from Mali and watching my sister bounce past security before I had made it out of the secured area to be the first to embrace me.

I could go on and on. But some of my favorite ephemeral moments will remain ours to share. The point being--looking at some of these moments I see the richness and grace that has been infused into my life through them. And I watch a woman prepare to get married and feel a deep sense of joy and respect, knowing that the moments with us will continue regardless of age or place or relationship status.

I am so very very proud of the steps that have led my sister to this marriage that is coming so quickly and the moments we have shared along the way.

Go See 'Evening'

This movie is astounding. I think ever mother, sister and best friend should see it.

There are no mistakes. There is life. We move with purpose and grace. We are mysterious creatures.

Go see Evening.

Revolutions

I turned 28 on Thursday, and it has was a great day. I had a birthday gathering last night to celebrate and enjoyed the easy company of my dear friends. It has been a good week.

And, surprisingly, it has been a good week professionally as well. I'm a pleaser. I like to make people happy. I like to fix things that I sense are not quite right. Professionally and personally, I do my best to create harmony among the people in my life.

It turns out it's not so easy to do in a large international law firm. I tried. Oh did I try. Based on the last couple of posts I think it's fairly clear that I failed. Miserably. But I don't think it's my fault. We are armed at the beginning of the summer with ways to politely say "no" to work. Things like "I would really love to help you, but let me tell you what is on my plate now so you have an understanding of my constraints that already exist" or "I appreciate the chance to work with you on this project, but I think you should talk to Other Partner I am Currently Being Enslaved By to decide what percentage of my time (blood, sweat and tears) should be going to each project".

In theory, those lines really do seem like magic bullets. Easy ways to take the pressure off of the young associates (or summer associates) to keep piling work on when they are already completely over extended. Well. Here's what they don't tell you in training: Partners are greedy and they don't give a shit about another partner's project. You know why? Because, that other partner's deal is not going to raise their personal paycheck at the end of the day. You eat what you kill. You do not feast, at partner level, on another partner's bounty.

So therein lies the problem. And that has been a big problem for me. Using those great lines, getting half of it out of my mouth to be told "I don't care about the other project or the other deadlines you have. Here's my project. I need it in 35 seconds". Bitch. Slap.

By Tuesday of this past week, at 5pm, when the third person said this to me in, oh, a week, I hit my tolerance threshold. I envisioned an act of physical violence (I am a really passive person. Make love. Not war) while saying GET IN LINE, SHITHEAD. Instead, I curtly sat, tersely responded and in the end stayed at the office until 3am trying to get it done. But the breaking point had been hit.

My friends who have followed the path of this summer with me, most often steadily walking with me, supporting me and giving me all of the zen and positivity they have, or the one(s) who have given the dose of reality in pointing out that I do have other choices, I can make an independent decision, and to stop being so desperate appreciate that it's not easy to speak up and assert unhappiness. Tuesday, I had an epiphany while sitting in the office getting dumped on. I don't need this. I don't deserve this. And I will not spend the next six weeks wallowing in a trough of misery.

So I stood up for myself. In a calm, collected, unemotional and professional manner. I was honest. I had lunch on Thursday with my partner mentor and the woman who I have been working with on the project finance deal. We went to a lovely restaurant (for all the DC kids--go to Blue Duck Tavern--it's delish) and mid-meal when they asked me how things were really going, I told them. I was tactful. I did not say "You people must be batshit crazy if you actually think I would actually come back here when I get an offer". Instead, I stated three things: I have noticed a lack of respect among partners for other partner's projects. I have noticed and felt a great lack of respect from work providers when I try and assert balance with them. I have noticed a lack of communication generally, and a lack of respect for other's deadlines.

It was a good place to start. I did not want to complain or bad mouth other partners or projects. But I needed to open the discussion for "here is what I have noticed and here is why I have and some other summer's might not see this yet". And I think it worked. They were embarrassed. And horrified. There were follow up conversations. Promises of change. Profuse apologies.

I do not hold my breath. But at least in the firm my feet are solidly placed, I am standing upright, and I feel a sense of strength. I feel like my fierceness has returned.

My associate mentor--an amazing little powerhouse of a woman--and I have spent a lot of time the past week honestly talking about my experience and hers. She has been really concerned about my situation and has done what she can, in her junior position, to try to help. She has given some great advice. One of the best pieces came at 2:30am on Tuesday as we were both stuck at the office. "DLS, get your offer. Get your reviews which will be glowing. And then look around. You do not have to come back here. And no one will be surprised if you don't. You have other options.'"

I can't predict what will happen between now and August 11. But I am have regained at least a semblance of control over my life. And that, I think, is what is ultimately important.

Things DLS Is Thankful For

I know it's not November. But come on, sometimes it's good to reflect on the...good.

Sometimes my posts can be kind of downers. I know this, it's kind of the way it is, because sometimes life can be a downer. And I worry, at times, because this is a snapshot of what I am thinking about at any given moment, and I hate to alarm people.

But then there are the times when those snapshots are more panoramic than I care to admit. I have these great friends who comment on here--and I adore that. And then I have my family. None of whom have crossed the comment border. But I get emails from them, effectively commenting on posts. Last night I got many.

We all get lost every now and then in our own lives. It's inevitable. I use my gals, my darlings, my loves, as compasses. I am remarkably fortunate to have them. And sometimes I feel very very far from the rolling hills of Vermont. From the wisdom I gained in the farmhouse in which I was raised. But other times, like today and last night, I have a moment of clarity as to where I have come from, and why I am who I am.

I love my family. I always have. I always will. I love that I come from 2 people who are as unjudging and supportive as my parents. I adore my siblings. I bask in the friendship my sister and I have developed, sometimes painfully, over the years. I am humbled by their support and honesty. I am guided by their peace and wisdom. And I feel free to be who I am, without apology or struggle because of their strength that they impart on me.

I do, I feel lonely right now. But I never feel alone. And it's because, sometimes in the quiet night when only the crickets are chirping in our fields outside the house, I get a note of steady and unwavering support from my family. I can hear my mom's sing song voice reminding me of the beauty of the day, my dad's wit and sarcasm and always adoration of the prospect of learning and growth, my sister's slow, steady and solid voice of reason, and, every now and then, my brother's jovial pat on the shoulder and I know, I am comforted knowing ,that no matter what path I travel, I will never be alone.

This has been a tough week, a tough day in DLS's world. Work, friends, life. It's never easy. I hope it's often rewarding, but sometimes it's just one big struggle. But I know no matter what is happening, no matter where I am, no matter what my paycheck or loan payment is, I will always have home. And for that, I am thankful.

Where Am I Going, Where Have I Been?

I am fairly certain that no one is actually checking this blog anymore since I have been silent for weeks now. But as it is a great mode of decompression for me, I am going to keep writing and hope that anyone who loyally reads might come and take another look.

The past three weeks have been...intense. And tiring. And have forced me to really evaluate what it is that makes me happy, where I want to be, and what I want to be doing with this kind of complicated life that I lead. I exhaust myself, at times, in the sense that I feel like there are so many people making the decision to just join the firm, work the corporate law job, put one foot in front of the other as we are told to do in law school. And then there's me. I struggle against the easy decisions. I like to make things more complicated than they have to be. I question everything and often to my own detriment. But in this case, in the case of my job, I like to think it's because I actually value being happy. I know, most people do, but unlike a lot of other folks, I actually have a fairly strong sense and handle on what creates my happiness.

Project finance, shockingly, does not. Corporate finance also does not rank too high on the DLS happiness scale. I like to think that I can be that person who gets the job done, who reviews financing agreements for 100 million dollar deals 17 times to make sure commas are placed in the right spaces, defined terms are capitlized, and that every last period is placed exactly where it needs to be. But where is the fulfillment in that? Who am I helping? What am I contributing to? Surely, our client. Perhaps acting as the lender, perhaps in the role of the borrower on any given deal. I can argue that in this firm I am helping the environment, as much of the project finance work that is being done is for clients who are working on renewable energy projects, biodiesel, windmills, etc. But at the end of the day, where is the tangible gain that allows me, in my somewhat crazy and not always rational world, to put my one foot in front of the other?

This job makes me feel lonely. It's what I realized about 2 days ago. It's a feeling that has been creeping very slowly over me since week One. It makes me want to be dating someone so I can feel a physical and emotional closeness to a person, because there is no emotional depth at all to the work I am doing. I commented to my friend J that this is the first time, I do believe, in my professional life (or my personal life) that I feel like I am not doing something that has a positive impact on individuals, or that makes someone's life a little easier (ok ok, except the partner's, who is making BANK from these deals. His life is easier. Thank God). It is bothersome, and depressing. To this same friend (poor guy, he bears the brunt of my musings these days), late one night, as I was chatting with him while watching the clock tick eternal at my desk while drafting schedules to agreements, I realized I actually felt really really sad.

I don't balk from emotion. I appreciate it, I bask in it, I like to feel because it makes me feel alive. But I don't like the empty and lonely sadness I have felt passing over me, sometimes lingering, in waves over the past month. But what do I do? Where am I going from here?

I have been many places in my life. I like to think that from each place where I have paused, I have taken something with me. One of my most prized takings is the volumes of journals I kept while in Mali, and the very public journal I kept on this site last summer while I was in Kenya. I revisited both of these this past weekend and was reminded of where I have been and where I would like to be going. After a particularly trying week in Mali, about at the time I had passed a year in my village, I wrote "There are times I want to stand on my roof so everyone in the village can see and hear me and tell these people who keep bringing me their children and their parents and their relatives who are ill, asking me to heal them with by touch or magic medicine, that I CANNOT SAVE YOU PEOPLE, the only person who can save you is yourselves." The last post I wrote while in the refugee camp last summer ended with this:

"But that is why I will keep coming back to this as the place where my heart lies. There is such honesty and truth in suffering, and the only way to respond is likewise. I cannot imagine a life that is void of this feeling--trying to find a way to better the lives of people who cannot do it on their own. In the end, there is no us and them."

I still feel that way. But now, in this moment, or from the moment I re-read it, it dawned on me: the only person who can save me is myself, and I have not lost the desire to feel as intensely passionate about something as I did last summer. Dramatic, but true. I can sit at my desk and feel...helpless. I can look around and come up with myriad reasons why this firm and the people here are creating my depression and angst (and it would not be a lie). But I am the only person, just me, who will determine where my foot is placed next. And when I make that decision about where I am going, I will know that it is right.

Maybe it will be back here. It most likely will be, as 180k in debt aint gonna pay itself off. But a lot can happen in a year or two. (Yes. I just linked to myself. Because I am that cool). I'll let everyone know when my footing is back to be being solid.

What's a Girl To Do?

It's Memorial Day weekend (moment of silence folks, memorial day...), I am sitting in my future apartment with two cats who love me, straightening up before my gals come over for mimosas and chit chat before brunch, and what do I see when I turn on the TV? LEGALLY BLONDE. oh wow. Sundays do not get better than this.

Here is the fave line thus far (3 minutes after turning it on): What does she have that you don't? Three tits?

HAHAHAHAHA. DLS might kind of be losing it. But it's fun!

Week One: Done

So I had a bit of a panic attack this week. As I was wandering the labyrinth of my firm's halls looking for one of the zillion conference rooms over looking the White House, I started to wonder how I got here. Was it a product of free choice or one of expectation? I think a little of both. I know what the motivations were for taking this job (cash. seriously. that was the motivation and I am not ashamed to admit it) but really, I don't think I ever expected to actually start. You get the offer in October, 8 months before the job begins. So it's pretty easy to forget that you actually have start.

But you do. And panic attacks aside (please-this is the first of many. I have been called melodramatic more than once) the first week was...decent. Lots of work, fantastic people, good dining on the firms expense, and a few drinks here and there and my first paycheck. I don't think this summer is going to be life changing, or riveting, but it will definitely be challenging. And I have never been one to run for challenge.

Off to my massage. It's the perk of the paycheck.

What Would You Do In 4 Months?

This has been an intense day for DLS. It started so nicely. A leisurely morning in bed, followed by a lovely walk to the Metro Center area of DC for some shopping for "firm wear". (Ok ok, I got two firm appropriate shirts and 2 fun ones. What's a gal to do??).

I was walking home, about a block from my house listening to some Dar Williams and feeling pretty good about the day. When all the sudden a man came careening out of his house, grabbed me and said "Please help me! I don't know what to do!". DLS likes to think she's level headed and a good person, so she calmly said "ok, calm down, what's going on"? The man explained that his partner had collapsed in their house, he was very hard of hearing and could not call 911 and needed help. Clearly, I pulled out the cell phone and called the dispatcher. I had to relay all of the intimate details of his partner's condition. He has leukemia. Had been given four months to live. Code blued on vacation in Miami just two weeks before. The dispatcher had me find out his history, his family history, personal history. I gave her my cell phone number because the man could not remember his own. I stayed with him until the ambulance came--I am certified in CPR and his partner was barely breathing.

I watched the scene unfold and could not help but be reminded of my own mortality. As I wandered home 15 minutes later, anonymous once again, this but a momentary flash for me and the rest of this man's life, I started to wonder how I would spend 4 months if I knew they were my last. With family, no doubt, and friends of course. Would I fly to Morocco tomorrow and climb the Atlas mountains? Or would I go back to Vermont and sit on our deck with my parents and Phoebe the dog and watch the sun set over our field each night? Maybe go back to China and wander through the hutongs in Beijing, or maybe go to 6 flags and ride every scary and death defying ride they have. Most likely I would go back to Mali and spend a month in my village with the people who changed my life the first time around.

I don't know what I would do. It's interesting to think about. What would YOU do? While you think about it, I'm going to continue sipping my 3pm gin and tonic to calm my nerves and enjoy the space I occupy in this world right here and now.

What's in a Year?

At the closing of any occasion of accomplishment, I am someone who finds it difficult not to pause and kind of take stock of where I am and from where I have come over the previous 365 days. It's a great way to do a mental and emotional check and to evaluate ways in which I can move forward in the most positive manner.

For those readers who are new to this blog, it actually started out as an account of my summer working in a refugee camp, with all of the first 15 or so posts detailing that experience. I started it a year ago, thanks to my friend H's suggestion after noticing, I am sure, the 100+ names on my group emails. And it struck me today, as I woke up without setting my alarm, surveyed the mine field which is my room, and laid in bed thinking about things to do today on this glorious and empty morning, how different this time last year was for me.

I left for Kenya on May 27, 2006. For the week leading up to it, this week, I was working on my journal writing competition, called "write-on". Let me explain a little but about this for those not familiar. Journals are big in law school--they are great for resumes, and they are basically student edited, selected and reviewed scholarly journals. Most put out about 4 issues a year, and each journal is topical (for example, mine is the International Law journal). The write on competition is held for 11 days after exams your first year and it's your only path onto a journal. Students buy a packet (making money off us any way they can!), with about 300 pages of topical research already compiled and a 50 question "bluebooking" test, and we have 11 days to write a 10 page note addressing the controversial area law at hand using only the sources and articles contained in the packet. See, the reason why write-on is stressful is because once you finish, you wait until the end of July to see if you were selected to be on a journal that you ranked. Immediately following finding out is when the interviews for 2L summer associate positions begin. Who wants to be the person who has to explain to their interviewers why there is no journal listing on their resume when the 10 people prior to that interview all successfully wrote on? It's awful.

So that's what I was doing. And packing my room. And saying goodbye to friends. And shopping. And having panic attacks daily. And figuring out how to pack for 6 weeks in a refugee camp followed by 4 studying law in London. And trying not to go insane.

So the summer came and went (I won't rehash it here--it's all in previous posts) and as I sat with S on the plane to Boston from London, after spending about every waking minute together since May 27, she looked over at me and said "So where do you think you'll be one year from now? Did you ever think this is where you'd be a year ago?" We both paused and thought about that. She continued and said "That's what I love about life: the best laid plans always change, and in a short period of time things can change and all of the sudden you're on a UN plane from Nairobi wondering oh my god, how did I get here!".

And I think that's one of the truer statements I have heard. I think there are times we fight change, because it's easier to keep putting one foot in front of the other than to allow yourself to veer off course, make a change, close your eyes, hold your breath and jump. I look back at where I was a year ago and am forced into pause to see how much I have grown through the experiences, some remarkable and some remarkably hard, that I have confronted, created, or dealt with over the last 365 days.

So where do you see yourself in a year, I wonder. I am trying to envision myself in 7 days since I will be 4 days into my life as a lawyer and that's hard enough. Having a moment and taking stock is good, though, for me, since it reminds me that an occasional jaunt off the beaten path keeps things interesting and has the ability to change your life.

I Feel Like I Just Gave Birth to a 31 Page Paper

I am done! Hooray. I could not be happier and turning in my final paper which has been the focus of this semester this morning was like a 2 ton weight being taken off my shoulders. And I have to say I am pretty happy with it. Let's hope my professor is as well...

I have 5 days to make the "transition" from exam mode to work mode. Lots of mixed feelings, but I feel that this summer is going to be a good one--challenging, a little scary, but a good chance to see if I can hack it in this corporate law world I am being shoved into.

I am going to continue sipping my beer in the journal office enjoying the freedom of being...DONE.

I Think I Love My Mac...

So, I caved in September and bought a Mac after having 2 HPs arrive at my doorstep broken (everyone boycott HP!!! they're evil!). And after a few weeks of staring lovingly at my Mac, all shiny and white, practically coaxing me to start my own garage band just 'cause I could, I finally became, what one might call, a devotee of Apple products. Nothing makes DLS happier than calling with questions to the Apple helpline, and being received by some nice person with a hearty Midwestern accent, who listens to DLS without judgment (as she is a self-proclaimed computer idiot), and who DLS can feel nodding and practically patting her head over the phone, then offering unlimited time and support, to help DLS figure out how to log onto the internet.

I was calling Apple those first few weeks just to chat--I would come up with anything, really, that I thought they might be able to help me with. It was kind of like therapy included in the price of your computer. What could be better?

But then in December something horrible happened, right in the middle of exams: DLS turned on her computer one morning and instead of the *DING* and happy little apple picture popping up, a very scary blinking question mark flashed instead. And there was no ding. DLS spent 90 minutes on the phone with the technician. DLS was not a happy camper, and I think the technician could tell. So, with his inability to aid me over the phone, I popped on the metro and went to my neighborhood Apple store for some in-person freak out session/therapy/technical support. The hard drive was dead, they informed me. But I left my computer, wrapped in it's fun neoprene case, with the Apple people and did what any self respecting law student who was in the middle of exams and was told her computer just died would do: soothed myself with some retail therapy.

Here is what I love about Apple: 3 hours and about 300 dollars worth of clothing and makeup later, I got a call from Apple. My computer was fixed. THREE HOURS PEOPLE. It was not shipped to Hong Kong, DLS was not asked to take the back off and remove random chips (thanks HP, you freaks), no, the computer stayed put and the geniuses at the store fixed it. In 3 hours. However, while I had the foresight to buy the 3 year protection (DLS is not good with technology. Sometimes things break), there are some things that the warranty does not cover. Like water damage. I arrived back at the store, hopeful and glowing, to be told that, in fact, my little computer had been a victim of water damage. (Maybe as a result of my shower leaking into my bedroom for two months without my LL fixing it. Just sayin'). I looked at my now empty wallet and my stomach SUNK. Hard drives are expensive. DLS did not want to return her new fun things. I think the Apple man saw the desperation in my eyes, and had witnessed my panic attack 3 hours before, and pushed the invoice toward me, this time really patting me on my shoulder while saying: "You know, based on everything you've been through, and in the spirit of the holidays, we're going to not mention the water damage, and not charge you for the hard drive. We'll pretend it was just a malfunction". Ladies and gentlemen, if I had had a ring I would have gotten on one knee and proposed to Apple man at that moment. Seriously. And then I would have drugged him and forced him down the aisle. I was THAT thankful. And stable.

So my Mac has been happy. Until recently. I am in exams..again. And suddenly my shiny new hard drive is telling me that I have no disk space left, that I can't save anything else. How is this possible? It's new! Is it the 2500 photos? 4000 songs? Being a responsible (fine, semi-responsible) adult, I called Apple man back. Apple man, what the hell. Apple man was patient and calm, once again. Apple man sold me an external hard drive, the same thing DLS's parents had been begging her to buy since she got the new computer. Apple man told DLS to move stuff over and make some room.

So today, as I was gearing up to start my take home exam and the mean little icon popped up saying there was no more disk space, I finally decided to take the external HD out of the box and see if I could make it work. DLS had to call Apple again, because she could not figure it out. (Do you like how DLS so flawlessly switches between 1st and 3rd person narrative in this? I think it adds a little something). So all my photos, every one of them, were moved from the snappy and smart iPhoto to my ugly gray external HD. I figured there would be at least half the disk space open after that move. When DLS opened the little thingy that tells you this information she saw that in fact, only 2GB of 75 had been freed.

DLS is not a happy camper. It's time to go visit the friendly Mac people again, in person. I think I love my Mac, but the verdict could go either way....

Lawyers DO Have A Sense of Humor!

It's exam time. It's really here. There's no getting around it. Every day I sit with the other (more) diligent students in the library, staring out the window at the lovely weather we're having. And then stare back at my computer screen and books and whimper silently to myself.

So, it's not surprising that any small piece of humor is welcomed with open arms, breaking up the monotony of whatever class I'm studying for at that moment.

Right now that class is Decedents' Estates, also known as "Wills and Trusts". I have a closed book exam for this class on Thursday, and there's a lot of information. A LOT. So I did what any other law school student would do who is hoping to get an above average grade on the exam: I went right out and bought all the study guides I could find, including a box of flash cards that cost me $42.95. In the past week I have been working my way through the 765 cards included in this box, and I have to admit, they weren't a bad investment. The full realization of just how GOOD an investment they were came the other day, while I was quizzing myself on the creation of valid Last Wills and Testaments:

So the topic at hand was latent and patent ambiguities in Wills (those not familiar with this subject, fear not, it really has nothing to do with the hilarity which ensued as a result). I'm reading my cards, learning all about how courts go about determining the intent of the testator when ambiguity is present in the will. First we (the cards and I) go through the black letter law. Then we move on to the hypothetical questions. Now, in all of these study guides, the authors (all law profs and lawyers) like to use witty names, often cartoon characters or other well known pop culture icons as their subjects. However...this one took the cake (and this is full and unabridged, from card #175):

"Dr. Doolittle is a bona-fide animal lover. In his will, there is a bequest to the Society of the Protection of Tits and Asps, in CT. Now, CT has a Society for the protection of Tits, a bird lovers group. And it has a Society for the Protection of Asps, for reptile lovers. But there is no Society for the Protection of Tits and Asps. When Doolittle dies and his will is probated, should the court allow testimony and personal correspondence regarding Doolittle's intent?"

WHO CARES! This box of cards was DEFINITELY worth the 43 bucks for the laugh I got out of card #175. It's the small pleasures that keeps DLS going through exams. What can I say, Im easy to please.

Wahoowa

I went to UVA undergrad. My mom went there for nursing school. My dad for law school. I came to UVA as a hippie Vermonter who did not own a pair of black "hoochie" pants in the land of sororities. But I left with great friends and a fantastic education, and there are times I miss Charlottesville and UVA.

There is a rival, in Virginia, between schools. It's not uncommon. My friend M and I always ribbed each other in Peace Corps. She was a Hokie, I was a 'Hoo, and we thought our individual schools were superior.

UVA has a bridge that belongs to the students. It's called Beta Bridge. Almost every night you find different student groups, sports teams, frats, individuals, painting it, advertising something or other happening on campus. I remember one morning I woke up and turned the corner, onto Rugby Road to see the bridge painted in pale yellow with blue writing saying "Amy, I'd do the stars with you, anytime. Will you Marry me?". Every female on the UVA campus melted that day. I still have a photo hanging in my room of the bridge painted when the new rowers were chosen for the team my freshman year. Same bridge, 6000 coats of paint later.

Below I am posting a letter in its entirety from the VA Tech student government to the UVA community. It's true--this past week we have not been 'Hoos v. Hokies, we've all been together, past and present, students and alums, in solidarity. Enjoy.

Date: April 17, 2007

On behalf of 30,000 students, administrators, and our Virginia Tech community, I cannot begin to express our gratitude for the outpouring of sympathy, support, and compassion UVA has shown us in the past two days.

It is an understatement to say the aftermath of our losses has been emotionally trying for us. The realization of losing 32 valuable lives in our Virginia Tech family is something that we are trying desperately to recover from. But even in the most difficult day of Virginia Tech history, we have found strength-it is your university in particular that has sustained us, far beyond what you will ever know.

How do we thank you for your students and faculty gathered here today to memorialize our victims and to share in our sorrow. How do we thank you for the initiative and commitment your student government made towards finding 30,000 candles for our grieving campus so that our student leaders could focus on healing and comforting instead. How do we thank you for the hundreds of Hokies who saw your painted bridge, and were moved to tears? How do we thank you for the way your students instantly put aside our infamous rivalry to the point where the greatest measures of compassion from another institution have been from you?

Your aid has had such a profound impact upon our students. Please know what UVA is doing is being noticed, is making a difference, and is nothing short of extraordinary.

Thank you for being a testament to the best of collegiate student leadership-and to humanity in general. In what we have been calling the darkest night Virginia Tech has ever seen, you are one of our brightest lights. The strong alliance that has been formed between our school and yours is part of our foundation in moving forward.

From our hearts to yours, thank you for your noble efforts. May you also find solace and restoration as we grieve together as students and as a nation. In or out of times of need, Virginia Tech will stand beside you as fellow students, Virginians, and most importantly, as friends.

With gratitude,
Elizabeth Hart
Virginia Tech
Student Government Association
Director of Public Relations

Does Anyone Else See The Problem With This?

Ok--quick post to follow up on later but wanted to share now since I felt like I was in an alternate universe reading it. (I do this in the middle of my decedents' estates class where we're talking about Medicare Spend-down. Someone just asked if this was going to be on our closed book exam. Father O'Brien's response: "Well, if you can work it into the rule against perpetuities it is!" Awesome. But I digress...)

So--check out this BBC Article. Yes, my hiatus on talking about Africa, refugees, and my paper has ended (start rejoicing folks).

Here is one of DLS's favorite parts:

On the state of Oil in Sudan, according to the Sudanese business man: "This is the best situation we've had in 20 years". Really? This is the best situation you've had in 20 years? Hundreds of thousands of people perishing to the north in your country and you're psyched about pretty hotels and oil? Now I get it. How can anyone expect the rest of the world to give a damn about that region called Darfur if you don't. That makes sense. Keep pumping that oil. By the time the crisis is Darfur is over you'll have ridded yourself of all those pesky peasants in the north so you can finalize your vision of "Africa's Dubai".

There are more gems in this article (see: discussion of US sanctions. Don't even get me started on this) but wow. Let this one marinate and tell me whether you feel a little squeamish about the whole thing.

Better Than DLS Could Say It

Read this. It's gorgeous and thoughtful and made DLS cry.

Could not be said better. I am proud to be Tales' friend.

As The Dust Settles

I don't think anyone's mind has been truly free this week from the events at Virginia Tech that took place on Monday. As the days have passed more of the initial questions have been answered, more of the philosophical "how can this happen, how DID this happen" and the "are we at the mercy of fate" questions have arisen.

I started thinking about this reading minor incident's blog entry here a couple of days ago. The idea that our stories have already been written, that we are on a path to something greater that has already been set is not entirely new (Helloooo...haven't we ALL seen and memorized the NeverEnding Story? Or is that just me?). We have the ability to affect and alter our lives, paths and decisions, but overall the destination and when you arrive is inevitably the same.

Maybe a little morbid, but it struck again this morning as I was perusing the Washington Post online upon arriving at work. They wrote about the 75 year old professor and Holocaust survivor who saved his classroom of students from the gunman by becoming a human shield. As I read about his funeral in Israel that took place yesterday, his survival as a teenager in the concentration camps, and his journey to Virginia Tech, the idea that we move buoyantly through our lives with a purpose unbeknownst to us struck me even more.

I was happy to be the only one in the office as I was reading the WaPo piece. It made me tear up and remember the truly great people who exist in the world, the ones who live not in the tabloids, on the big screen or using their fame while adopting babies from Africa. They are the people we know in our daily lives, the people whose small acts of generosity and kindness send ripples throughout the community on a regular basis and help pave their own paths of fate.

I think the outlines of what shall become each person's narrative has been written. Fate exists for the bounty of us all. We fill in the blanks based on the choices we make--both the small and the large. As I read the chain of events spanning 6 decades that brought Liviu Librescu to the door of the classroom where his student sat as targets, this belief was solidified just a little bit more.

Channeling Elle Woods

Oh woe is law school, moans DisgruntledLawStudent at least once a day. Ok, at least 100 times a day. But today I had a moment of channeling a fictional law student I can quote in any given situation...particularly this one.

All those who know me know that I find this law school to be really good at making people feel mediocre. All the time. It does not matter what grades I'm getting, there is still that "Congratulations, you're mediocre!" banner waving high above the heads of hopeful litigators day in and day out. And there's that whole selling my soul to the corporate devil that keeps me up at night.

But the one thing said law school does and does well are their clinics. A total of 10 clinics represent battered women, low income individuals seeking to secure housing, landlord/tenant issues, criminal justice issues, juvenile justice issue, and, most exciting to me, asylum seekers coming to the clinic as a last ditch effort to gain asylum in the U.S.

The Center for Applied Legal Studies is the asylum clinic. In pairs of 2 students take a case from start to finish, ending with representation in a court against the department of Homeland Security. I applied last year and did not get in. I applied this year and the decisions came out today.

I was really tentative about getting my hopes up, as I did last year, even with my experience from this past summer. CALS has the highest number of applicants and only 24 total slots for the year--12 in the Fall and 12 in the Spring. So I submitted my application telling myself that either way would be ok...

Here is the scene as I went to the door to check the list to see if I had been one of the lucky ones, the moment of channeling Elle Woods:

SCENE:

In a Harvard Law hallway, looking at the list of the 4 people chose for the prestigious internship with the fancy Boston Law firm. Warner gets in, bitchy girlfriend gets in, token hostile girl gets in. The rest of the students are milling around. Elle walks up.

Students: who else is there? Who is the fourth slot going to (as Elle pushes her way to the front of the line)

********We hear rustling and murmuring, see Elle turn around and emerge, huge Grin on her face*******

Elle: ME! (As she pushes toward Warner and bitchy girlfriend)

Elle: oh Warner, remember after winter formal last year when we spent those four amazing hours in the hot tub togeher?

Warner: yea--uh, no, no I don't (bitchy girlfriend glaring)

Elle: Well this is SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT! Excuse me, I have some shopping to do...

END SCENE
I am Elle. I was chosen. THE LAST SLOT GOES TO ME! And suddenly DisgruntledLawStudent becomes a little less disgruntled and a little more hopeful for the year to come.

I could not be more ecstatic.

Those Who Give Us Pause

There are the defining moments in everyone's life, those times when you think to yourself "I will always remember where I was when ______ happened".

For me, it is a combination of the Challenger's explosion (in Science class), but more profoundly September 11, 2001 when I was working in the Senate Judiciary Committee. I remember every last detail, as most people do, down to the shoes and skirt I was wearing, and the sense of calm that settled over my mind as we ran outside to the chaos that ensued between the Capitol and Union Station. I have told the story many times as it is one that for me spans about 5 days, and it is one that I am sure will be told many more times throughout my life. I view events such as these as milestones, the quiet reminder of where you are and where you are going. The reminder of mortality. The reminder that life is finite and we should embrace the day laughing heartily and often.

I imagine there will be many moments of pause this afternoon for families around the country, as they reach their sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins who are attending or working at Virginia Tech.

I imagine there will be many moments of pause for people like me who don't know anyone directly affected but stand in the doorway or in front of the computer and ache at the climbing number of fatalities.

There is good reason to pause this afternoon and take a good look at where you are and those around you. As a moment of peace sent out to those affected by the gruesome killings, as well as a moment of reminder for the things that we often take for granted. Those who give us pause are often the people who are stumbling or have fallen, but they are also the ones who provide perspective and resolve to those who remain.

Those Who Inspire

It's my friend S's birthday today. I have to post a little somethin' about her as this has been a kick ass and *BIG* week for her (and all of us who have been next to her during the past year).

S is one of those people who is a classic overachiever. She's in a joint degree program, getting both a master's and a J.D. She works for a judge, while balancing this. She goes to yoga classes. Regularly.

And today, she's reached the top of the thesis mountain, a peak that she has been climbing slowly and steadily for 365 days, if not more. I. Am. SO. Proud. Of. Her. Ladies and gentlemen, she has accomplished this ALL WHILE IN LAW SCHOOL.

I like having people around me who inspire me to be a little better, reach a little farther, push a litter harder. S is one of those. In a zen-like manner she steadily gets it done--accurately, intelligently, and always fashionably.

She deserves a shout out or four. Give someone a high-five and congratulate S on a job well done, and to another remarkable year on her birthday.

Hooray for New Blogs!

Everyone should read Minor Incident's blog that just got up and running (and is linked to the right...) There is nothing better in this world than thoughtfully brilliant people.

Sink or Swim

There is a strange melancholy that descends on law school campuses around this time of year. I noticed it last Spring and it is ten-fold this time around. I don't know if it's the creeping realization that exams are (somehow) less than a month away, or feeling the momentum, even briefly, of just how quickly time passes. It's more acute now than ever before and I think it's more disconcerting.

I have balanced a fine line between feeling panic at the thought of having to finish this paper that has become a winding road that seems to have no end (breathing deeply) and looking back at a semester of my Wills and Trusts class that is quickly approaching an end, capped with a closed book exam, in less than a month (breathing deeply) and the sudden jolt of where I'm going in less than 2 months and wondering if I am really actually truly ready to work in a law firm (breathing deeply). And I look around and it's no different for most other people. If it's not a first time firm job, it's the Bar exam, or for first years being inundated already with the idea of Early Interview Week that does not even begin until August! Feelings of remorse after swearing that you would not get behind in reading for that class and realizing that you are 200 pages behind with deadlines left and right. Strategizing sleep schedules knowing that there is not going to be much in that department for 5 weeks, and calculating how much coffee you can drink in a day to still stay sane and have maximum efficiency.

It's the moment of realizing you know what you HAVE to do to get through it, but good god, you just don't really want to, you wonder if this is going to be the time you might not make it, and putting your head down and just pushing through what feels like a quickly hardening block of cement.

This is where the super powers kick in. We all have them. We just need to wake them up. Wish us luck....

OOOHHH Mama's Got A New Pair of Shoes!

Or...a new apartment. For the weekend. What is it about a slight change of venue that makes me feel like I am going on vacation to Cancun rather than to Dupont Circle? I mean, I'm not even leaving the District, for crying out loud. But there is something about the thought of being away from home that makes me feel like a giddy little girl again. And there are cats involved. At the risk of making me sound like a cat lady at the tender age of 27--I am so excited.

R dropped off the keys 15 minutes ago. My first question was "So. when you gonna be out of the apartment? Can you text me on your way out so I can jump in the cab and head up there?" I think she might be second guessing letting me cat sit for her.

I think the thing that makes me feel like I won a hotel vacation in some exotic locale is the info sheet that R sent me today. It's really genius. I mean, not only do I not have to put up with the incessant whistling of my roommate, but I have a whole new batch of take out places to sample for three days! There's a lot of sampling to be done. Also, R has a shower with a tub. It's decadence. Pure and simple.

So the info sheet. She has categories such as: Shopping/Amenities and lists grocery and liquor stores (the woman knows me well) as well as explicit instructions as to how to use the TV and VCR, Internet, and track lighting. It's like arriving in a hotel and checking out all the cool stuff they have in their bedside folder. It is a truly a great moment at the beginning of any vacation.

So my bags are packed: sunscreen, flip flops, parasol, fuzzy slippers and 1000 pages of notes. And pajamas. I'm only bringing pajamas. because I don't plan on leaving. Unless it's for alcohol.

Taking a Breather

So. In hopes of varying the posts, I am going to take a breather from refugees and Somalia for a moment. After I just share this, from the WaPo trifecta of stories this past week on Somalia:

The U.N. refugee agency said 58,000 people have fled violence in Mogadishu since the beginning of February.

Waves of people have crossed Somalia's western border into Kenya, raising concerns that Islamic radicals could be trying to hide there. On Friday, a senior Kenyan police official said six officers in Garissa, near the border, were arrested and accused of aiding "possible terrorists" from Somalia or Ethiopia.

Forty-five Somalis have been detained since Friday, police said.

Somalia has been mired in chaos since 1991, when warlords overthrew dictator Mohamed Siad Barre and then turned on one another.

OK. So. Just a few thoughts on the above:

1) 58,000 Somalis fleeing--that is 1/3 of the total number of Somalis in the camps of Kenya--who have tricked in, been born there, come sporadically since 1991. 58,000 people. SINCE FEBRUARY.

2) Dear Kenya: you kind of look like huge assholes. We are essentially locking people into a self-imploding country. Is this some kind of social experiment to see what happens when we allow anarchy and a population to return to a Hobbesian state? Are Somalis really this expendable? Really?

So I continue to plug away at the paper, regardless of feeling like I am having a relapse of malaria because in my gut of guts I know there is some value here. I was talking to my friend Martina, who just came home from spending 6 months in Southern Sudan with MercyCorps. We were talking about the different realities in Sudan and Somalia, working with these populations. Martina talked about her training on what to do should you find yourself in the middle of a mine field--since they are so common in Sudan. My response, of course, was "well, how in the world would you KNOW? I mean, isn't that the point of mines, that they're buried?" She was explaining that most of the people planting the mines were "in a hurry" and would often leave the mine packaging at the site of the landmine. I had to (very inappropriately) chuckle at the genius of it all.

And I will try to leave the endless trickle of thoughts on the horn of Africa, refugees, our places in this conflict at that. What shall I write about next...hmmm....we shall see.

Does blogging about refugees count as work on my refugee paper?

I know the answer to this is no...but sometimes it's nice to get out of the analytical position and move back into the hmm, here are the thoughts that I have had while wading through, at this point, thousands of pages of ideas that others have already had on the issues I am writing about.

Here is why I am writing this paper:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/02/AR2007040201569.html

The government telling them to go. GO WHERE? The borders are closed!

So here's the progress to date: the paper has morphed from refugees, border closings, non-refoulement, case studies to refugees, the 1951 convention, non-refoulement, state responsibility for intentional wrongful acts.

I was really frustrated for a while. I mean, how do you write on something that every other person expressing an interest in refugee law has already analyzed? So I forced other people to listen to me while I worked things out that were swimming in my head. And what did I discover? the 2001 ILC Draft Articles on Responsibility of States for Intentional Wrongful Acts! (Anyone still with me?). This was a goldmine, a gem. Sure sure sure--people have written on these since their finalization in 2001, there have been symposiums. But no one, that I can find, has written entirely on their implication regarding refugees. See, the cool thing about the Draft Articles is that they apply to wrongful acts not only against other states, but also individuals. They don't deal with whether the international law or treaty being violated is wrong, but provides tools and guidelines to analyze if a state can be held or should be held accountable for a derogation of a treaty obligation, and when, if ever, a state is NOT held responsible. You will not find a case study dealing with border closings where the state closing the border does not have a reason, excuse, "state necessity", "national security" excuse. And they are normally BULLSHIT reasons. I am actually excited to write about this, because I think it's novel and I think it's a new way for all the people, including myself, who are exasperated by the state of international refugee law to approach these issues.

I applied for the Center for Applied Legal Studies today--a clinic at Georgetown where pairs of students represent an individual who is seeking asylum. They come to the clinic as their left chance, they have already been denied, and clinic students take their case from start to finish. I would really like to be a part of this clinic, not only because it's 12 credits of real life lawyering, but also because I think it would take my experience to a full circle. I know where I want to be in 5 years, and it would be great to have a first hand look at the U.S. refugee laws do to people who arrive here, versus international refugee law.

How Humanitarian Can Humanitarians Be? Part II

So there's this problem in Sudan. Crisis, some might say, genocide is a term I've heard used. So where's the international response? Is it comprised solely of the 14,000 humanitarian aid workers and 70 NGOs in Darfur? What happened to the resounding (and once again unfashionably late) proclamations after the Holocaust and Rwanda of "never again"? Is the world being outsmarted and outplayed by one man sitting in Khartoum? I'm beginning to think we are....

Bashir is a genius. Really. He'll move into history alongside the Maos and the Hitlers for his calculating ability to manipulate and strategically twist every single attempted intervention in his favor. Case in point: where, pray tell, is the UN? They are not peace keeping, they are not intervening. No air strikes, no sanctions. So UNHCR is there, barely, and with the UN's genius plan of integrated missions they are stifled, by their own supervising organization, in their tasks. Bashir has nothing to do with the UNHCR's failures. His moves, however, have played an enormous role in the lack of intervention.

The situation on the ground in Darfur is bad. But it's not quite bad enough. It sounds weird, doesn't it? Bashir's plan, his agenda, is to make the situation on the ground so uncomfortable for the residents of Sudan that they will be propelled to flee--to leave the country, seemingly by their own volition. As long as there is not mass starvation, as long as they can walk that invisibly fine line, the government is sitting pretty. As long as they are allowing some humanitarian aid in there is less of an argument for the UN to intervene. So this leads me wonder (and I assure you, I am not the only one)--are the humanitarian actors the ones actually preventing an escalated response in their stoicism and devotion to stick it out regardless of the number of aid workers who have been shot in the head?

There have been 12. 12 workers in 6 months gunned down purposefully. That is 2x as many as in the previous two years combined. So what would it take for the UN or anyone else to get in there? Currently there are 7,000 AU peace keeping forces on the ground. Bashir has refused to allow for more. The UN Charter allows for intervention when there is serious instability of forced migrants (Am I alone here in seeing Chad flashing in large red letters?) or if there is a significant breach in peace and security. Umm. No comment. Under Chapter 7 of the UN Charter the Security Council can authorize action. However, the UN Charter also provides for the ability of any permanent member of the Council to veto and thus kill these authorizations. Who likes Sudan's oil?? CHINA! Who's a permanent member of the UN Security Council?? CHINA! I think you can see where I'm going with this.

Member states can invoke their own right to intervene unilaterally or as a coalition, but we have all seen how well that worked out for the U.S. in a small country named Iraq. Without the backing of the Security Council the problem won't be touched with a 100 foot pole by anyone else. I shake my head in disappointment and frustration at the continued reverberations of Iraq. Sudan disintegrates into two civil wars covering the entire country, government sponsored torture and murder, mass exodus that is poised to drag Chad and the Central African Republic into the turmoil and the rest of the world sits idle.

I amend my question--how humanitarian SHOULD humans be? CAN humans be? I'm sick of reading and writing about this. I am tempted to take a semester off and go there with one of the NGOs--I'm 100% confident I could find a 6 month internship. I hesitate, knowing it would make my mother cry and affect any offer (most likely) I might be lucky enough to get after this summer. But it makes me sad to sit here and just wax poetic to an audience possibly of none, and whoever is left reading is most likely kind of tired of such similar topics over and over. Patience, zen and hope is all I got now.

Food For Thought

I have spent the better part of this first lovely weekend of spring in my windowless bedroom trying to parse out exactly what the focus of this paper is going to end up being. There's a lot of information out there--much it saying the exact same thing, making the same points, arguing the same deficiencies in the system of international law as it pertains to refugees. There are contradictory treaties. Maybe contradictory is not the right word...conflicting might be more sound. Looking at the Refugee Convention and its subsequent 1967 Protocol as compared to the Convention Against Torture, both U.N. documents, both legally binding on those states who have ratified (the U.S., for one) and both with a very similar and bold purpose: to give protection to those who are facing the most grave dangers in their home state. But the problem, as I see it, is this: two conventions, both noble, both working off of each other blurring the lines and making it less clear who falls under what category for each treaty thus making the black and white of a situation so much more gray, allowing countries to write off a person or a group under a clause in one treaty while refusing to see that they actually fit criteria x, y, and z of the other.

Everything is further complicated when you apply the larger umbrella aspects of "international law" to the scenarios--state responsibility, individual actors v. state actors, the ability to ratify a treaty "with reservations", the good ol' U.S.A.'s ability to legislate around their international law obligations through the use of administrative laws, last in time theories, and the rule of non-self executing treaties that they so incorrectly apply(ed) to the different refugee conventions.

Here is my current brain teaser: Can a country like Somalia, with no real functioning centralized government, a failed state for all intents and purposes, that does not have the ability to PROTECT their citizens still have the ability to persecute them under international law? If these treaties, such as the Torture Convention, apply to acts that are carried out "by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in official capacity" (Article 1, CAT), can they still apply to a failed state that does not have a recognized or single functioning government. I mean--the short answer is YES! Of course it does. But from a purely textual reading of some of these treaties (As I channel Scalia) we can see where people fall through the cracks. The U.S. is split on this issue. How "official" does the individual need to be? Does it need to be a situation where the "official" is one who is working among the ruling authority at the time, even if it is just a rebel or guerilla group who has seized temporary control over an area? How can a state be expected to take responsibility when it remains a state in name only? So far no one, none of the 12 books and 35 law review articles I have read seem to have an answer for this or anything else.

Everyone can see the problem, identify the cause. But no one can change it. Where does change begin? I was clearly not cut out to be an academic.

In other sad news this week--the Bronx fire (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/03/11/AR2007031100228.html)
has given a lot of us Mali folks a sad pause as we read and listen to the devastatingly sad events . Unfortunately this is so common--I remember hearing about the different family members from villages who were pursuing the dream in the U.S., living 12 men to a 2 room apartment in NYC and elsewhere across the country in sub-human conditions, trying to make ends meet and send the extra money back to the family who they left behind. It's amazing what people will do, what sacrifices they will make to try and build something better for their families. And it strikes me a little more melancholy when it's a situation such as this for some reason. Maybe it's the kids. Maybe it's Mali. I think more it is the vain wish and naive and idealistic hope that someday the continent of Africa will not have the pulsing need to send their people to live in worse conditions than from where they came in hopes for something better. But I don't hold my breath.

Hope Wanes

The Washington Post has done an impressive job recently in their coverage of different aspects of what is happening in Sudan, from coverage of the political issues to some serious "human interest" stories. Here are some links to the most recent and terribly bleak stories and videos. I encourage people to watch the actual video. I watched it at work--I felt almost transported back to Dadaab--the stories from the refugees are surprisingly identical, but unfortunately in Chad the level of aid is not anywhere near where it needs to be, or where it was in Kenya. What is happening in this region of the world is so deeply upsetting to me and I feel stifled in my inability to contribute to the search for an end to the extreme suffering.

So here are the links. Without the ability to participate in this crisis, the best we can do is remain educated and aware.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/03/07/AR2007030702253.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/world/interactives/chad/

I heart JT

So. As the summer draws near all any of us law students can think about is how much free stuff we're going to get as summer associates (just kidding, we're actually thinking about the remarkably beneficial and rich learning environment we'll be exposed to for 12 weeks...).

I had a dream last night that I REALLY hope does not foreshadow my own experience...

Time: Summer 2007
Place: Law offices of --, Washington, D.C. (-- is my anonymous law firm, since none of you know where I'm headed. ha)

MTV has decided to do a new reality TV show about all of --'s summer associates, starring yours truly! they will follow us for 12 weeks and capture all of the gory details of this new class, as we struggle with learning how to effectively research on Lexis and Westlaw while not costing our firm a billion dollars, draft a brief that is not based on characters from American Idol, all while sleeping on airmattresses in the conference room over looking the White House. It's going to be scintillating (as you all can tell) and the added bonus is that Justin Timberlake is joining our 2L summer class where he is the rogue and mediocre associate.

I woke up just as they were about to start the second episode where JT gets into a brawl while on a scavenger hunt. I almost hit snooze just so I could see what would happen....

Revival

I have not posted anything on here since...July. I started this blog as a way to continue communication with so many people back in the U.S. while I was in a far more remote part of the world this past summer. What I am realizing is that law school provides a similar solitude--I am in front of my computer 18 hours a day but never really in a position to catch up with people. Thus, I decided to continue these postings for the few, the dedicated, the people who actually find my life somewhat entertaining.

This semester, however, has brought the interesting project of being able to do a lot of research on something I find remarkably interesting: the international legal policy of not sending refugees back to countries of persecution (the policy known as "non-refoulement"), as embedded in not only the 1951 convention as relating to the status of refugees, but also the Convention Against Torture. There are 132 countries who have signed and ratified the 1951 Convention. And I dare say a similar number that have refouled refugees consistently over the years. Admittedly, it's not like this is gravely different from any other international legal norm dealing with human rights issues--lots of treaties, lots of people standing up on significant days of the year, shaking their fists and crying out against the atrocities that are occurring all over the place, only to get back on the plane and return to drafting laws and memos that will absolve themselves for following the very acts that would put an end to all that they decried just the day before. But I digress. I am interested to continue researching and see how I can weave a compelling argument, and possibly be ballsy enough to suggest a reform or two...we'll see what develops.

I am reading a remarkable book that I implore people to check out: What is the What, by Dave Eggers. It's a poetic, sad, true account of the Lost Boys of Sudan, told by one man, living in Georgia. The narrative is remarkable, and Mr. Eggers has done a superb job of weaving the tale in a very compelling manner. I have not yet finished it, but it is completely enthralling, and the narrator's true recollection of being interviewed for resettlement in the Kakuma camps in Kenya add a different perspective from the throne that I occupied this summer.

So there you have it. First post in a long time. Maybe compelling enough to keep coming back, and maybe not...but cathartic for me once again.

Perspective

We left Kenya after three days in the game park, 300 herds of elephant, 1500 wildebeast, a family of lion, 2 cheatahs and a couple of giraffe's later. Steph and I had ages in the airport, and we both wandered for 6 hours feeling thankful that Nairobi at least has corridors and corridors of duty free shops, unlike Bamako and Conakry which only have seating on the tarmac and a bar that is occasionally open. We spent the time shopping and shopping and shopping.

We arrived in London very early in the morning, neither of us having any sense of where we were supposed to go. We got our bags and stood around kind of staring at the walls as if they would give us some magical idea of how to get from Heathrow to the dorms in central London. We did manage to figure it out, and were thrilled to arrive at the dorm to find showers and laundry machines and some of our friends.

Steph and I developed a remarkable friendship in Kenya, wading through the emotions, the challenges, the life that we were leading in tandem. When we went over together I was not sure what would happen--I knew we would end the summer loving or hating each other, and I was fairly certain I knew which side of the line I would fall on, but you can never be sure. There was a mutual appreciation for the good in people. Those things that you notice about someone that immediately bond you to them. We dealt with the passing scene before us with a mix of sadness, hope, frustration, but always laughter. Laughter was the savior. It might sound odd, being able to laugh, heartily and often, but we did. And we laughed at each other, and supported each other. And that's the only good way to move through this life is with someone there to remind you that it's too much to get bogged down in your own helplessness--sometimes the only thing you can do is your best and never lose sight of that ability to just laugh till it hurts. I pride myself in being able to speak "Stephanie" and decipher her stories as she doubles over in hysterics unable to make any sort of sensical statements--I might add it to the list of languages I speak, in fact as it was one of the more difficult skills to acquire. One thing I will never regret in my life are the people who I have been lucky enough to acquire as friends along the road. Steph is a lifer. It's something I like about her.

London was a hard adjustment. There was no time to process, we started class, had tea, spoke of international law in the abstract after having lived in the result of lawlessness and international abadonment of a people. Everything came back to Somalia. Ah, the cherished UN--what an organization--where there is no enforcement. I frustrated my professor with my emails and emails and emails, I still do, but after seeing something go so completely wrong, how can you not question, not be skeptical? There is never anything that happens without consequence, and sometimes the consequences are easier to overlook, particularly when they are sitting in the desert far from anything else other than the border of the lawless state they ran from. The consequences are far less severe when there is no oil, no resources at stake, as if people are not the most precious resource of all. These organizations are developed to protect individuals, and they have, and they do, but they protect the individuals who are lucky enough to have allies sitting in one of the five permanent places on the Security Council or those who have something other than just their citizens to bring to the table.

We had dinner with a lovely guy who lives in the same flat as Chanda and Steph and he was asking about how we felt about the UNHCR and UN as organizations. Steph deferred to me and I went on the usual diatribe about how disfcunctional they are, how disillusioned everyone is, and bitter, and nothing works. And it hit me--I was telling about this disillusionment as if I was detached from those people. But I'm not. THAT was disillusioning.

Perspective. How easy to lose and difficult to gain. But it's important to have and I am trying my hardest to hold on to it because once you slip down that slope your ability to initiate, develop, imagine and believe in improvement is gone. I talked to my dad on my birthday, the day I interviewed the family trying to protect their sister from being burned to death. I was sad and frustrated and needed the perspective that only my father can give. He is even and balanced, his passion is channeled differently from my fist pumping indignation that can overwhelm and stifle productivity. He listened to the recount and the horror in my voice. And this is what he said (more or less...): Then find something better. Fix it. Find a solution. That is your job. And you know what? You may never be able to fix it, but you should not stop trying.

That, that will remain my charge. That will bring me perspective. That will keep me questioning.

Last Days of Kenya....Part I

It was a strange goodbye. Things are always a little strange in Dadaab, but this was one that felt not quite complete, or settled. Knowing that there is still so much that needs to be done, knowing that the tip of the iceberg has barely been scratched. We had a party. There is always a party. While it is sometimes unclear whether the people who UNHCR employs know how to do their jobs, it is always clear that they know how to throw down for people who are coming or going. We roasted meat, there was a happy hour sponsored by someone where all the drinks were free. It was interesting looking around at these people one more time and knowing that regardless of who comes or goes, the refugees remain.

We left Wednesday afternoon and boarded the UN plane to Nairobi. This time there was no discussion about how many kilos we all weighed and how much luggage we had. We just got on sitting on the dusty airstrip in the middle of nowhere and prayed that a dust storm would not kick up and prevent us from lift off. The plane is a small one, you feel every bump. It’s disconcerting, particularly when you look at one of the tires and it appears somewhat flat, but there is one way out of Dadaab, and that’s by plane. Hail Mary, here we go.

Flying to Nairobi you can see Mt. Kilimanjaro to the left and Mt. Kenya to the right. The clouds hang low so that it about all you can see, but taking off from Dadaab before hitting the clouds we watched the red earth disappear and the finality of it all struck.

Where have I been the last 5 weeks? I have been recording my thoughts in this blog, sharing them with whoever comes across it or is pointed toward it, but my story of this experience is completely cursory to what actually happens every day. The people who work here, including myself, have become witnesses to the lives of these forgotten people. We have sat and recorded a small history of individuals—some of whom were instrumental in the terror that occurred and have ended up here after the tides turned on them, some of them pure victims targeted just because they were found tending their cattle out in the bush. Many of them children, this being their only history, nothing before the life of a refugee.

Steph calls this the cosmic jackpot. How do we all end up where we are? With one roll of the dice these refugees could be any of us, our sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, our families. But they’re not and you wonder how and why we have all landed in these places. I can’t dwell on it for too long, because it makes me uneasy, seemingly no explanation in a world where everything today can be googled and explained. Ironically enough I write this on my laptop sitting in the Amboseli National Park at the Ol Tukai lodge an hour before my massage and two hours after our second safari ended. Outside the window is a field where the herds of elephant wander 20 feet from our room. Life is tough. But here we are.

Steph and I did not know what to do with these three spare days we had between leaving Dadaab on the last flight of the week and taking off to London on Saturday night. We scrambled, got a hold of a travel agent and planned this safari. It ended up being cheaper than hanging out in Nairobi for 3 nights with our UN discounts and stellar travel agent, and we’re in Kenya, in limbo between the intensity of the internship and the stress of 6 credits started and finished in one month. Thus far, the trip has exceeded all expectations.

We left Nairobi yesterday morning and were picked up by Jamal, a remarkably jovial Kenyan who was going to be our guide for the three days. We were the only two who were heading out so the mini bus was all ours. It takes about 4.5 hours to get to Ambeseli from Nairobi, the first hour spent actually getting out of the city itself. Once you’re out of the city the landscape is much like that of any place I imagine in rural Africa—lots of herders (all Masai in this part of the world), few towns. The towns that do exist spring up and along the road are clusters of little shops constructed from corrugated tin and painted fully advertising Coca-cola and café. Just as suddenly as they begin, they end, and the expanse of bush continues on.

I had consumed too much coffee (our first non-instant coffee in 5 weeks, how should I be expected to control myself??!!) before leaving Nairobi and, of course, had to stop about 1.5 hours into the trip, a solid 90 minutes before our first scheduled stop. Jamal was hesitant. The first time I asked as we approached a town he said “Oh don’t you worry, we have a scheduled stop in Nakuma, it’s coming soon.” As we got into town I saw a sign that said Nakuma, 93k. That, in my bladder’s world, is not soon. About 20k later we got to another small town, this time I insisted we stop. Again, Jamal was quite hesitant, telling me it would be better to stop in the bush since there were no toilets here suitable for whities like us. “No, no” I said, “I can handle it, seriously.” Again, Jamal continued to insist that we wait for the good toilets in Nakuma. Steph could see I was desperate, the town was about to be a distant vision. “Really Jamal, I have used pit latrines before. In fact, for 2 whole years!!!” He continued to say that these would be dirtier than I was used to. I looked at Steph, Steph looked at Jamal. “Jamal, she was a Peace Corps Volunteer, she can handle it, REALLY”. Ah Steph, always the voice of reason. Finally, we pulled over. After paying the ladies who owned this latrine about 4 dollars to use it (and no, it was certainly not clean) we continued.

We got to Nakuma, which is the boarder of Tanzania, also the turn off for the road that takes all eager tourists to Ambeseli. We had to stop for gas. I think it was a ploy by Jamal to see how well Steph and I could handle ourselves inundated by the Masai women selling things at engorged prices. We did well for about the first 7 minutes, until I dared Steph to open the window and buy something. I didn’t think she would take the bait. I clearly don’t know her well enough. She spotted some green bracelets she liked, and decided to take a stab at it. Wrong answer. Opening the window just a crack she started talking to the lady selling them and bargaining with her. Apparently the Masai women have a 6th sense, because when you think there are only about 5 vendors in your vicinity, the moment you start to bargain for a good, 35 more suddenly appear. And they are all selling the same thing. And they all look exactly the same because they are wearing so much jewelry. It was a nightmare. Women reaching in, throwing things at us. Steph trying to keep control of the situation (she had lost it about 5 minutes before) and me, sitting there, watching this unfold, and deciding that I too liked one of the bracelets and that it would be a good time to go in for the kill. We’re morons. Jamal saw the entire thing and I am sure wondered if we had made up the fact that we had both lived in West Africa for extended periods of time. Without offering any help, just laughing, we drove off.

After you turn onto the road to the park it is all dirt—no pavement. It takes about 53k to actually get to the park gates, and about 20k from the gates we started seeing the animals. Giraffe grazing in the trees were the first animals we spotted and we were too shy to point them out to Jamal, thus missing any opportunity for photos and awe. When we got to the park gates Steph and I both wondered if these UNHCR Id’s we were given would truly be the magic ticket into the park at the resident rate of 1000 Kenyan shillings per day (about 13 dollars) rather than the 40 USD entrance fee for nonresidents (we are, in fact, nonresidents—the UN is the only organization that the park accepts as staff being residents of Kenya—even the international staff). Seeing that we had only been in the country for 5 weeks the chances were slim. But Jamal just grabbed our Ids and told us to wait in the car. Low and behold—it worked. It was an auspicious beginning—being able to save 60 dollars that neither Steph or I had.

Driving into the park was out first dose of reality that on these safaris, it is true, you have to work to not see an animals. First it was Wildebeasts and antelope, then the zebras started appearing. I love the zebras—their markings are amazing—so perfect and symmetrical—it’s like you’re looking at a creature that is not completely real, until you see a herd of 50 of them grazing placidly and realize that these are as common as deer in the US.

We were about 100 meters to the entrance to the compound where all of the lodges sit and to our right was a family of elephants—3 grown females and a baby. They were ambling along, not concerned with our vehicle directly in their path. They had to cross the road to get to the water, and we sat and waited. Elephants do not move quickly, but waiting to see 4 elephants cross 2 feet (maybe!) in front of the car you’re sitting in, close enough that you could touch them, was well worth it. Every wrinkle, their enormous feet—it was, at the risk of sounding trite, really cool.

If only we had known before we arrived how common elephants were. Steph and I decided to pay 60 dollars more than the quoted price to upgrade to a nicer lodge with a swimming pool for Steph. When we arrived we were not disappointed, and I was surprised at how nice it was. They have two sets of cabins—the elephant view cabins and the Kilimanjaro view cabins (not too shabby…). We were placed in the elephant view cabins, both of us thinking it was a fancy name that would make everything seem even more authentic. As we walked to the room, down a series of paths, past the monkeys that were chilling on the doorsteps, we realized that these were, in fact, elephant view rooms. The field that the room overlooks is a gathering place for HERDS and herds of elephants. There were a few hanging out when we arrived, and later in the day we arrived back home to find literally about 100 elephants grazing and standing, all right by the fence, not minding the rows of cabins just across the fence from them.

This was our first taste of why these safaris are so impressive and popular. More to come in the next and last post—now that I am in London with high speed internet I am also going to try and post some pics. Stay tuned…

Endings

It's hard to pinpoint the feelings that I have about this experience now that is quickly coming to an end.

I have appreciated being a student of what humanitarian aid really is troughout the past 6 weeks. I came thinking that I knew, basing my experience on the 2 years I spent in Mali. Working here has opened my eyes and forced me to recognize why there are organizations such as UNHCR and CARE and why the work they do is so important.

Being a part of resettlement has been remarkably evocative emotionally. There is an immediacy to the work that is being done with resettlement and there is a return that is far faster than in most departments or organizations dealing with aid work. That said, I still don't know how I feel about resettlement in the larger scheme of these people's lives. There are times I think that removing people from all that they know, people who lack any education and cannot fathom what an airplane let alone a sky scraper or indoor plumbing looks like is not the most beneficial to either the population being resettled or the population absorbing the refugees.

But then I see many of the heartbreaking cases that I have been witness to the past 6 weeks and wonder how we can leave people in a place like this until there is peace in Somalia (this is where everyone who knows anything about the current state of Somalia laughs really hard for a really long time....). There is no perfect solution. There are durable solutions, and there are interim solutions, but none are perfect, and none replace what these people have lost or never been party to in their lives.

I interviewed a man this morning who has been a refugee since 1974. 32 years of fleeing one war zone only to land in the next. He left Ethiopia for Somalia, Somalia to Kenya. Now, he has been waiting here since 1991 for the next place to flee. He had no real problems in the camp, but I recommended promotion of his case anyway simply because there comes a point where, from a human rights perspective, his life is no longer humane.

This afternoon I interviewed a family--a truly lovely family--who had come here with their children, again in 1991. Their son is deaf. Not fully deaf, but partially. I asked how we became deaf and almost lost any semblance of professional poise I had when they declared "Oh, when he was 6, he stuck date pits in his ears to see what would happen". The father, who spoke perfect English and had worked for the Somali government from 1969-1990 declared it very matter of factly and it took all the self restrain I had to not lean in and say "well, I bet you don't let him eat too many dates anymore, do you?". At the end of the interview the father presented me with all of his documents showing his high level of acheivement in typing--both short and long hand. My translator looked at him and said "Why do you not look for a job here, you are over qualified" to which he responded "I am an old man, and my head is no longer clear--I cannot type that fast anymore. I just want something better for my family".

And that's the essence of it, isn't it? All of these people just looking for something better, searching for a way out. At the end of the interview with this family, the last interview of my stint here, the mother and wife who spoke NO English said to me "Thank you for being such a good mother to us--a mother of resettlement, trying to help all of us, working for us." That statement broke my heart knowing how little I can do, how little, in the scheme of this problem, I have done.

But that is why I will keep coming back to this as the place where my heart lies. There is such honesty and truth in suffering, and the only way to respond is likewise. I cannot imagine a life that is void of this feeling--trying to find a way to better the lives of people who cannot do it on their own. In the end, there is no us and them. There is just us.

Kevin told me when I returned from the field and turned in all my cases that Stephanie and I had screened, to date, about 600 people each. For a remarkably short term internship that came together on a string and was a complete fluke, I don't think I could ask for much more than that. Kevin asked if I had maxed out my credit card paying for the plane ticket over here--frankly, it was the best spent money I can imagine and would do it again in an instant. It's worth any amount of money to feel alive, sometimes raw, often angry, but always passionate.