As robots get small enough to easily swim around inside the human body, they’ll soon be used to perform medical procedures all from within a patient. And researchers at Johns Hopkins University are making such an idea even more plausible with the development of tiny robotic grippers that will actually dissolve away inside a patient after a medical procedure is complete.
Aww, tiny houses! Tiny apartments. Micro-living. So cute! And green! What could go wrong!?
This week the House of Representatives is scheduled to vote on H.R. 5, the “Student Success Act.” This bill would reauthorize the No Child Left Behind (NCLB) law, which in turn reauthorized the venerable Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965. But its rosy name notwithstanding, H.R. 5 would do little to help Latino students succeed. Instead, the bill would significantly undermine the gains made by Latino students since NCLB was implemented in 2002. H.R. 5 would weaken accountability measures, potentially end annual student assessments, and significantly erode the gains made by Latino students since the reforms of NCLB began to level the educational playing field.
Though No Child Left Behind is hardly a perfect initiative, the law has done substantial work in improving the math and reading scores of Latino students over the past ten years. NCLB’s central tenet that no student should slip through the cracks plays out in three broad practices: annual testing of students in math and language arts; performance targets; and subgroup accountability. The widespread adoption of these practices over the past ten years holds significant civil-rights implications for the Latino population. Consider, for instance, the third piece of the NCLB trio: subgroup accountability. When Latino student performance is tracked distinctly (prior to NCLB, performance was recorded as part of a formless, unhelpful aggregate) parents, advocates, and public servants are able to learn exactly who is flourishing and who is not. Subgroup accountability means that education advocates have been able to push school districts who fail to educate their Latino students, as is too often the case, and this pressure has led to increased performance among Hispanic youth. Latinos cannot afford to abandon this badly-needed reform when inequities still run rampant throughout our education system.
After all, despite the past decade’s gains in Latino math and reading scores, Hispanic Americans still lag far behind all other ethnic groups when it comes to educational achievement. Only 13.1% of Latinos aged 25-29 had completed a bachelor’s degree or higher in 2012, for instance, while 17.8% of Blacks, 31.1% of Whites, and 50.4% of Asian Americans held that credential. This is occurring in an economy where by 2018, experts forecast that 63% of jobs will require at least a college degree. Meanwhile, 30% of our K-12 students will be Hispanic by 2023, and 20% of American workers will be Latino by 2020. What this will all add up to, if things don’t change, is an under-educated population that will not be able to find work in a 21st-century economy. Our educational policy cannot abandon Latinos to under-education and subsequent underemployment – yet this is precisely the track Congress seems to be putting Latino students on.
Confronted with this inequitable state of affairs, H.R. 5 offers the following non-solutions:
1) Divesting states of the responsibility for closing achievement gaps between subgroups of students;
2) Lowering education funding to 2012 levels, locking in educational invests to a mere $800 million over the next six years, and eliminating provisions that prevent states and municipalities from inadequately funding our public schools;
3) Crippling funding for English-Language Learning programs and distorting the effective functioning of academic support schemes for English-Language-Learners;
4) Enabling school districts to subsidize affluent, suburban schools with money intended for needy schools that need it most.
Clearly, none of these proposals would do anything for Latino students who remain under-served and under-educated in a rapidly-changing economy. At a time when stark achievement gaps between subgroups of students remain unresolved, when increased funding in education is more badly-needed than ever, and when too many schools are too often seeking to exempt English Language Learners from their accountability systems, H.R. 5 threatens to exacerbate the educational inequities that have long held back Latino students in our schools, and that have held back Latino graduates in the workforce.
–Albert Jacquez, NCLR Action Fund Political Director
Growing up in a moderately-religious Muslim family, I was always expected to pray in a certain way at certain times. I went to a Catholic school for my middle and high school, where we were told to pray with our heads bowed down and hands folded. As I grew older and learned about different religions, I realized that each one had their own way or method of praying.
I also didn’t know what do you when you pray. Are you supposed to praise God — is that prayer? But then my childlike mind would say that no God that is so vast, powerful and beautiful doesn’t need praise from little insignificant me. He is full of glory no matter what. Why would I have to glorify Him? Of course I got in trouble from my religious teachers.
Then I was told, “Ask God for what you want” — again my crazy ADD brain started to go in a million directions. Isn’t God the one who created me? Doesn’t He already know what I want and what’s good for me? And again I had no answer.
So I created my own style of prayer, where I would just simply talk to Him. During the times when I was dozing off in math class, I would beg Him to make sure I knew enough to do my homework. Or during the night when I couldn’t sleep, I would talk to Him about my day. Even the times when I was angry at a sibling or friend He was my only confidant. Don’t know what happened, but He became my best friend.
Over the years I have matured a lot and learned many aspects of “prayer” that I didn’t as a child. I realized that prayer has many forms; it’s when we have conversations with God through His creations. I understood that gratitude, being around your loved ones, becoming a mom, patience, a pet cuddling up in your lap and compassion from a stranger were all forms of prayer.
I also realized that prayer is doing what you were put on this earth to do. For me it is when I m writing. I am so in one with my soul and God that nothing around me matters. Everything around me fades away and I am mesmerized at how my brain and fingers work together to put random thoughts on an empty sheet of paper. I feel like God talks to me through my writing. I feel so one with the universe and so complete and for me that is the best kind of prayer ever. Truthfully it never mattered if people liked what I wrote because I saw myself being supported by the best friend in the world — God Himself!
WASHINGTON — There are few people in the media more thin-skinned than Fox News host Bill O’Reilly.
Mother Jones recently published a report calling out O’Reilly for exaggerating stories about his reporting during the Falklands war in 1982.
In response, O’Reilly seemingly wished bodily harm on one of the piece’s authors, David Corn, saying, “I expect David Corn to be in the kill zone. Where he deserves to be.”
O’Reilly later said “kill zone” was simply a “slang expression” and not meant to be interpreted literally.
But the threats didn’t stop there. O’Reilly also lashed out at a New York Times reporter covering the controversy. During a phone conversation, he promised to go after the reporter if the story was not to his liking.
“I am coming after you with everything I have,” he said. “You can take it as a threat.”
Threats are nothing new from O’Reilly. And as I know firsthand, he sometimes goes even further.
In 2009, O’Reilly was scheduled to speak at an event for a group that helps rape survivors. At the time, I was a blogger for ThinkProgress, and I noted in a post that in the past, O’Reilly had implied that women who dress in a certain way or consume too much alcohol should perhaps expect to be raped.
A few weeks later, while I was on vacation several hours outside of Washington, D.C., a producer for O’Reilly, Jesse Watters, ambushed me outside my hotel, asking me why I was hurting rape victims and demanding that I apologize to rape victims everywhere for my post.
Fox News never answered my inquiries about how Watters found me, but my best guess — since I hadn’t told anyone exactly where I was going that weekend — was that he staked out my apartment and followed me to Virginia. No one from The O’Reilly Factor had contacted me before the ambush for comment.
I wasn’t the first one to face this type of harassment from O’Reilly or his team. He had behaved similarly toward dozens of other people before me, including judges, religious officials and journalists.
In 2008, Watters confronted Cynthia Tucker, then a columnist at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, while she was outside her home getting the mail. Roger Oglesby, then the editor and publisher of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, was ambushed by Watters in his driveway as he got out of his car in 2007.
Nevada journalist Jon Ralston said O’Reilly’s team tried to get him blocked from appearing on Fox News after he wrote in 2012 that The O’Reilly factor had aired a segment that was “one of the most shockingly idiotic and insulting pieces I’ve seen about Las Vegas.”
Fox News spokeswoman Irena Briganti did not return a request for comment on whether O’Reilly will send anyone to confront reporters at Mother Jones or The New York Times, and whether the network still stands behind these types of ambushes.
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The way she tells it, Anne-Charlotte Moulard grew up in a fairytale. “I was born in northern France, close to the sea,” she says. “We could see the coast of England when the sun shone and the sea was calm.” It was a rustic childhood, the kind most of us only dream about — so why leave? The answer, of course, is Paris.
“This town is an open-air museum,” Moulard says. “What an amazing gift!” It’s been ten years since she first arrived for art school — and while some call it the City of Light, Moulard calls it home. Here, as a fashion photographer, she creates visual narratives right of storybooks: in her photographs live cabaret women and femmes fatales, harlequin dolls and Galatea — but of all her characters, none is so memorable as Paris itself.
Moulard knows the city like only a photographer can. She shoots the red brick of alleyways, deserted streets in the 20th arrondisement, and the vine-choked graves of Père-Lachaise. If you ask her for the most beautiful place in Paris, she won’t even miss a beat: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, her own neighborhood. “It’s a mythical place where Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin used to live,” Moulard says. “It’s still full of the memory of famous writers, singers, and actors.”
She isn’t kidding. Visit Saint-Germain, and you can’t swing a croissant without hitting something legendary. In fact, at its heart are two of the world’s most iconic establishments: Les Deux Magots and Café De Flore, once frequented by the likes of Hemingway, Simone de Beauvoir, and Picasso. Around the corner stands a church dating back to the 12th century; beyond that, the school that produced Monet and Renoir. For all the city’s landmarks, though, Moulard makes this much clear: there is only one way to see Paris — like a local.
“I think Paris is really incredible if you live in this city as if you were a resident,” she says. Forget the Mona Lisa; this means coffee at the corner bistro and getting lost in the Jardin du Luxembourg. It means the market on weekends, biking through the Marais, an apéritif on a rooftop at sunset. And what of the Eiffel Tower? The Louvre? The Champs Elysées? “Tourist guides are for that,” Moulard says. “The best ever is to be Parisian for a day.”
Let’s be honest: who hasn’t dreamed of living like a Parisienne? Photographer Anne-Charlotte Moulard takes us through the city, from dawn to dusk, the local way.
When did you first know you wanted to be a photographer?
I grew up in a romantic atmosphere where spoken or read stories were appreciated. I kept this taste for storytelling: I tell stories, whether a single image or a series of many. My vision is cinematographic. I work like a filmmaker, doing location scouting, casting, and storyboards.
If someone only had 24 hours in Paris, what should they see or do?
You have to go for a run or a walk in Le Jardin du Luxembourg — and don’t forget to borrow your neighbor’s dog. Then, you have to take a coffee at a bistro with a newspaper and talk with the barman and people around about the news. Then, if it is the weekend, you go to the market to taste fresh products and pastries…
You also have to join Parisian friends for lunch — Parisians always have a new restaurant to test. So, take a share bike called Vélib and join them for lunch time. The best ever would be to sit on a terrace if the sun shines. Parisians are like lizards; they look for the sun that they miss from October to March.
Where are your favorite places to eat?
Brunch & Tea
1. Mama Shelter is the place to be in Paris — very trendy. This hotel, designed by Philippe Starck, is the definition of a modern hotel. It mixes everything: the lobby gives you access to a vast room where you have a store, a pizzeria, sofas to sit and drink, and tables more isolated for couples. There is also a terrace for the sunny days. At night, you have concerts and DJ sets with really good music. After a short night, you need to regain strength, and Mama Shelter has thought of everything. Its brunch is absolutely incredible! You have to taste it.
2. Café Coutume is my favorite place in Paris to have a fantastic coffee and work. Close to the Bon Marché and designed by Cut Architectures, this place is a spot where girls and boys scribble on Moleskine notebooks and take pictures of their cappuccino, because the primary goal of this lab design is to remind you what a really good coffee is. The WiFi allows you to work all day, which is really nice when you’re freelance like me.
3. La Chambre aux Oiseaux is another favorite breakfast place. This coffee shop is located in the trendy neighborhood République, along the Canal Saint Martin. The duo behind this project, Lena and Hervé, are decorating and cooking enthusiasts. Between painting, laughter and friends, they managed to create a really timeless place: the chairs, wallpaper and even the dishes were unearthed, chosen with passion. Here, you’ll remember your childhood. The kitchen, for its part, is tasty and light.
4. Pierre Hermé is a famous pastry chef and incidentally, my neighbor. Every weekend and during holiday periods, the queue is always full and stretches to the corner of the street. Everything is very good; I still recommend l’Ispahan, my favorite dessert. Here, the pastry becomes art.
Restaurant & Bar
1. Fish La Boissonnerie is a place for gourmets. The tiled façade of this former fish shop has been a must in the neighborhood for 10 years.
2. La Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels is a really select bar à vins. It is a hangout for oenophiles; savvy or not, they will taste delicious dishes, always in agreement with a wine from their supernatural cellar.
3. Oenosteria is an Italian restaurant, quite hidden and only known by Parisians. It is as if you were in Italy! The service is made by Italians boys who speak and sing. With cushions on the keypad and large windows, the Oenosteria retains a sleek simplicity.
4. Les Editeurs is an institution of the sixth arrondissement, a classic brasserie but quite chic. This place is open every day and very late. Its comfortable seating and refined but hearty cuisine make it a popular meeting place. During the day, professional appointments are organized there. In the evening, you meet writers and politicians — and even later, young lovers kissing.
5. Le Manger is a restaurant located in the Bastille neighborhood. The entry is simple; the dining room is just designed well, and the skylight splashes all other tables in a warm atmosphere. The specialty of this place isn’t only the decoration: Le Manger aims to help the unemployed re-enter society as they learn to cook, guided by the chefs. The food is really good, and it is good to know that by coming here, you help people.
Where’s the best place for nightlife?
In Paris, rooftops bars have started to open. Two are now famous:
1. Le Perchoir is a bar located in the Ménilmontant area on a wide open rooftop with panoramic view over the capital. Discovering such a place must be earned — and like any new Parisian place that’s a victim of its own success, the world is jostling at the gate, while the seats are limited. Cocktails and good music are offered here.
2. Le Nuba is located on the top on a newly rebuilt place, which includes the new school building of IFM (French institute of Fashion), a museum of playful art, restaurants, and shops. At night, the view on the Seine, its bridges, and its famous Bateaux-Mouches is incredible. The place provides food, drinks, and cocktails, and you can listen to trendy DJ sets all night long.
How would you describe your personal style?
I would say I have a preppy style: I often mix beautiful pieces with simpler things purchased in high street shops. I love a denim shirt, black skinny jeans, soft pants, and short jackets because I am small. For dresses, it is above the knee and still graphics. My colors: black and navy blue for trousers, gray and beige for knits, and flashy color accents like yellow for accessories and jewelry.
Despite my small size, I don’t wear heels — my size is part of my trademark. So, I discovered a passion for derbies and Chelsea boots.
Anything else you’d like us to know?
The best period ever to visit Paris is spring. I advise you to take your tickets as soon as possible and to book a room on Airbnb to live like a Parisian.
Photos of Melody Sanderson by Anne-Charlotte Moulard; Pierre Hermé Macarons by Brett/Flickr
Sherri was a little girl, born with big brown eyes and bouncing curls. She was the forth child born to her parents, but was the first girl. She was born into a seemingly normal family, with two parents and three older brothers. More often, this girl grows up into a lovely young woman, prepared to carve her place in the world. However Sherri’s story was different.
Sherri became blind at a young age and her father did not want a daughter, especially not a disabled one. Her family had no money, and her brothers were never around. Her mother’s mind seemed to live in a very dark and distant place, and she offered little guidance.
Her father cared more about whiskey and drugs than he did about his family, so too often, little Sherri was on her own.
She would try to search for her parents, someone to feed her and care for her — but even when she did find them, her father would most often snatch her up and throw her in a closet so that she would stay out of his way. She spent the majority of the first six years of her young life in that closet. Maybe, in some ways, it was a blessing that she was blind during these times. The darkness of the small closet might not have been quite as scary.
When Sherri was seven, her father found another use for her. It was the most awful and vile thing that a father could do to his little girl. He repeatedly abused and raped her, over and over, year after year, until she was 11 years old, at which time, she became pregnant. It turned out to be a minor problem for her dad, which he took care of with his large leather boot firmly on her back, kicking her flat on her face at the bottom of the stairs, and ending the pregnancy.
During this time, Sherri’s father would also beat her mother daily. Even though her mother wasn’t there for her, Sherri loved her, and wanted to protect her. After all, it is all she’d ever known.
The abuse continued and her dad often ran out of money to supplement his habits.
That is when he discovered another use for his blind, teenage daughter.
He began selling her to different men for the night. They would pay him in cash or drugs. It didn’t matter to him. He would send man after man into her room each night. Then, when he was done using her, he would throw her back in the closet, which locked from the outside.
This closet became Sherri’s sanctuary. She knew that if she was in there, then she was going to be left alone — at least for a little while.
One day, while Sherri was in her closet, she was feeling around through the clothes on the floor, looking for a place to lay her head. Instead, she found a guitar. She had never held or played a guitar, but she discovered that she loved the pretty sound it made when she thumbed her fingers across the strings. The strings would vibrate, and she would listen to the sweet, soothing sound. For the next several years, this sound blocked out all of the other noises. Sounds that used to frighten her were now replaced by the soothing sounds of the guitar.
Sherri did go to school when she could. She loved school, because it meant that she was not at home. She learned everything she could. She worked on her studies as much as possible — and despite everything, she became valedictorian of her class, and received a full scholarship to college.
The blind little girl with the bouncing curls was now off on her own, finally escaping the dark hell that was all too familiar to her.
At least, this should have been her escape. But every weekend, her father would threaten to beat, rape, and even kill her mother if Sherri did not come home. So, feeling that it was her duty, Sherri would go home and face the abuse that she had suffered all her life, not realizing that she finally did have a choice.
One Sunday, one of Sherri’s friends from school invited her to church. Sherri enjoyed church, and she made friends quickly there. One night, after the service, a couple of the women leaders asked Sherri about the visible scars and sores on her body. Sherri confided in them out of desperation, sharing her darkest secrets for the first time.
That same night, the women came to her dorm, gathered all of her stuff, and took her to a safe place — the first safe place she had ever been — a 50-acre farm in my home state of Kentucky.
This story is almost too horrible to be true, but it is. I can tell you this, because I recently sat across from Sherri while she shared her story.
Today, she is a beautiful, healing young lady with purpose, goals and dreams. She is writing music and playing her guitar — the same guitar that she taught herself to play on in her dark, sanctuary of a closet. Her songs tell of hope and redemption.
She played one for me last week called, “Beautifully Broken,” and there was not a dry eye in the room. Her strength, courage and resilience are incredible and inspiring.
Listen to Sherri’s “Beautifully Broken” above.
The home that welcomed her in is a ministry called Refuge For Women. The ministry provides “safe homes” for women who have similar experiences like that of Sherri.
Refuge For Women is the largest organization in America to provide free housing and a Christian environment for women who have been trafficked and sexually exploited.
Trafficking is a serious issue, and it is not limited to Third World countries. It is right here in our homeland. We hear the saying, “don’t turn a blind eye.” How fitting it is to say that and think of Sherri.
There is a government role in combating sex trafficking and the abusers — but what about the victims? These women are broken physically, emotionally, and spiritually. They need healing in all areas and Christian-based programs have proven to be successful over and over. Refuge for Women provides these women with hope, and the promise that they will be loved unconditionally — a love that most of these women have never experienced.
I will continue to be a voice for these victims. I will stand up for harsher punishments for their abusers. And, I will partner with organizations like Refuge For Women to give these women a fresh start, and a path towards recovery and redemption.
I have started an internship program for the young ladies from Refuge for Women. I will offer a paid internship in my Kentucky office with the hope of giving them a second chance. I hope you will give them a chance as well, and look around your community for organizations, like this one, to help.
If you are a victim of sex trafficking and abuse, or know someone who needs help, please visit www.refugeforwomen.org.
It has already been a year.
It has been a year, almost to the day, since the revolution in Ukraine overthrew the corrupt, tyrannical, and, in its last days, murderous regime of Viktor Yanukovych.
To mark the anniversary of that event, which I followed closely from its beginning, one to which I endeavored to contribute by coming twice to speak in the Maidan, and which, to this day–that is, up through my visit to the combat zone earlier this month in the city of Kramatorsk in the Donetsk region–has filled me with an unwaning enthusiasm, President Petro Poroshenko invited me to the Kiev National Opera to perform my play, Hôtel Europe, in which Jacques Weber starred last fall at the Théâtre de l’Atelier in Paris.
In the audience are intellectuals from Kiev and veterans from Luhansk.
Heads of state who will participate the next day in the Dignity March that Poroshenko modeled on the January 11 march held in Paris in observance of the victims of the shootings at Charlie Hebdo and the kosher market. And Harlem Désir, an old comrade of mine and now France’s minister of European affairs, who, by his presence in the audience, reminds us that France considers Ukraine part of Europe.
Regina and Vlad Davidzon are there from the review La Règle du Jeu. Hand in hand with the Victor Pinchuk Foundation, they managed to stage a performance that, in a time of peace, would have required weeks to put together.
As for me, in the manner of Meyerhold who, in Moscow in 1917, would rewrite his plays nearly every night to include what he called “the news from the front,” I have spent the preceding days and nights adapting my text to the latest developments in the current situation in Ukraine.
The plot remains the same, of course.
It is the same story of a writer who has two hours to prepare a major speech on the future of Europe and who, mysteriously, can not seem to do it.
The scene of the action is still the martyred Bosnia for which I fought passionately, to which the character has returned, like the Musketeers, twenty years after the fact.
A line, sometimes no more than a word, suffices to make Debaltsevo echo Sarajevo.
An inflection, a minuscule modification, a phrase, is enough for the Minsk accords signed recently by Ukraine and Russia to suggest a sequel to Dayton.
And, when my writer character mentions Bosnia’s Alija Izetbegovic, when he praises the man of culture who became a valiant war leader, when he glorifies the magnificent pessimism of the civilian who made war reluctantly and won, there is no need to change a word for the audience to hear Poroshenko’s name and erupt into applause.
More emotion when Lisbon’s flaming Avenida Palace–where, forty years ago, I saw General Otelo de Carvalho suffocating in billows of smoke–becomes the fifth floor of the torched union headquarters on the Maidan, with the backlit silhouette of Evgeni Nitchuk visible in the night.
Or when, in one of the text messages that never stop interrupting the struggling writer by bringing him news, not only from the front but from the wider world (messages that the audience sees projected on the wall at the back of the stage), there appears the sports headline of the day: “Vitali Klitschko the winner over Arthur Cravan in Kiev”–the victorious revolution, for once, of the most mysterious, the most demanding, of literary forms.
Or when–on the subject of the arms that will have to be supplied to bring some balance, as was true Bosnia, to the opposing forces and thereby create some chance of ending the war–my character seeks, as the vehicle for the delivery of arms, the equivalent of the individual to whom I referred in the original text as “our Turkish friend” and comes out with the name Nadiya Savchenko, the pilot captured in Donetsk who has become, since being imprisoned by Putin, a sort of Ukrainian Joan of Arc.
Is it possible that universal history has available to it a limited number of great scenes that it never stops repeating, as in the theater?
Does it embellish endlessly the same simple themes, the awful secret of which I have not been able to divine in forty years of war reporting?
Is it I dreaming, or is it history? Is it my family heritage playing tricks on me or the phantoms of the dark ages, those phantoms that sleep with one eye open, when, from Bosnia to Libya, from Afghanistan to Kurdistan, or today in Kiev, I keep hearing replays of Spain and the French Resistance?
I will probably never know.
The only thing I can say is that when the curtain falls on the last line of the play–“Glory to Ukraine! Glory to Europe!–which I endeavor to shout out in the language of Vasyl Stus and Lesya Ukrainka, and when Petro Poroshenko takes the stage to express his friendship and, in Churchillian tones, to rally his countrymen to the endurance and valiance required by the torrent of blood and tears that has been unleashed on them, I do not know what is uppermost in my mind: the intense joy of participating in a sorrowful but noble commemoration–or the sadness that, in the manner of the Sages, clings to the messianic obviousness of the incompleteness of all things.
Translated by Steven B. Kennedy
By: Indira Kartallozi
We belong to a world that is rapidly changing. There is amazing progress, yet we are also creating huge problems, especially in the area of migration. People are being driven out in all directions as a result of world conflicts, civil unrest, poverty, diseases and environmental disasters. The future of forced migrants in the UK and worldwide is constantly under threat and their journeys often have tragic consequences. Migrants not only face increasingly strict border controls and restrictive legislation, but they are also negatively tainted by the media and politicians.
A class of world outcasts is being created. We have to work towards painting a different, more realistic and positive picture. And that is what I do, with my work and the work of Chrysalis Family Futures. The idea might be small but I’m committed to leading and empowering other people to stand up for the most marginalized. Whether I influence a person, a child, an adult or a community, I am creating change. In doing so, I will be recruiting other change makers.
My commitment is also personal, since I am a refugee and a migrant to the UK. I feel obliged to change the prevailing hostile anti-migrant era. In the age of austerity and economic insecurity, prejudice against migrants is dangerous and initiates hate, conflict and civil unrest. I’m faced with this hostility everyday through my work. I see children living in desperate situations. I see mothers who are being abused and exploited in many different ways. I see people who are frustrated with the hostility that is aimed at migrants.
My work and personal experiences have only enhanced and strengthened my commitment to support the most vulnerable. These are the same values I share and have adopted within the mission of my social enterprise, Chrysalis Family Futures. We are committed to protect and empower the human and socio-economic rights of all marginalized families. My personal experience connects me strongly to the rights of refugees and asylum seeking families and the issues of gender equality.
Chrysalis Family Futures is a business with a dual mission, one that aims to create profit and one that reinvests in projects that will empower refugees and migrant families. So I hope that in 5-10 years, I will be developing partnerships with stakeholders across Europe and the world that share similar values and commitments. I have met and worked with some incredible people in very difficult or traumatic situations. Rather than focus on their trauma or post-traumatic suffering, especially related to refugee experiences, I see the benefits of enabling post-traumatic growth and development.
I believe that with proper support and guidance, people can transform their lives – and I have seen this in practice time and time again. I do the work I do because it enables me to assist people in renewing their strength, not only to go through difficult times, but also to grow from that experience. Small ideas are equally important. Your strength comes from you. Your own experience creates the necessary solutions. Whether your motivation is to change yourself, your community or the world, it’s always important to think simple.
Of course, the work is not always easy. The biggest challenge for me personally was learning to be patient. Only just now I see the outcome of the work and time that I have invested during the past two years. For me, the key has been to remain committed to what I believe in and to learn through each experience. It is difficult to foresee, but I hope that the work of Chrysalis Family Futures will leave its mark by helping to create a more equitable and prosperous society.
Migration is a human right – we should all be free to roam the earth and be were we choose to be. For now, Chrysalis Family Futures is developing projects both in the UK and abroad and connecting with the companies leading in corporate responsibility and supporting social entrepreneurs. There is nothing more exciting and fulfilling than seeing personal transformation in practice. I hope others will join us in our triple-quest in working with vulnerable families: to protect, to emerge and to grow.
These themes will be addressed in more detail through the Pioneers for Change Fellowship kicking off on March 23 and 24, 2015 in London. Pioneers for Change is an initiative of Adessy Associates.
About Indira Kartallozi
Indira is a founder and director of Chrysalis Family Futures – a social enterprise that stands for protection and empowering of human and socio-economic rights of vulnerable and marginalised families and children. Indira has 15-year experience in advice on welfare, housing and immigration rights and her expertise ranges on issues of forced migration and human rights. Her work with Chrysalis Family Futures has taken her to various countries in Africa, Europe and Latin America. Since completing her MA in Refugee Studies and her ground breaking research on austerity and welfare reforms, Indira has been invited to speak to various conferences and seminars in the UK and abroad.
The path to being an office jerk is a journey…not a light switch. Office jerks are amongst us in all walks of life; they’re our managers, teammates, subordinates, vendors and customers. Unfortunately their jerkiness goes unnoticed by them for years and the disease spreads like a virus. Not only affecting them, but everyone they come in contact with. It’s so vile that no doctor, manager or company policy can diagnose it. Many managers even have this illness themselves. If you do or have done any of the following, consider yourself a jerk. Or a Yankees fan… or a digital marketing expert.
Didn’t give a tip – Your partners and team members deserve bonuses and to be paid on time. They are the waiters at the restaurant and you’re the customer. If someone has waited on you hand and foot for any period of time, they deserve some compensation. Yes, how much compensation depends on the job they did, but they deserve something as long as they don’t hurt you in some way. If anything, the basic tip for poor service is representative of who you are; a decent person who understands that even lousy service is still service after all. Assume that behind the service provider is someone with a family. Remember, only part of the reason why they are getting you mozzarella sticks is because they love you. The other part is because they need the money.
Taken valet parking at a shopping mall – Valet parking at airports and sporting events is all fine and dandy. But a shopping mall? Come on, office jerks. Unless that five-minute trek from your car to the Macy’s involves a walk on fire I think you can manage, and probably benefit from, the incidental exercise. You’re going to a shopping mall. Chances are you’re not there on a strict schedule. Do you really need the VIP treatment for your loosely-structured suburban loitering?
Glared at a baby on a flight – Office jerks travel often. Chances are you’re a jerk if you’ve glared at a young mom trying in vain to pacify her child on one of their first flights. You were a kid once… before you became an annual contender for Time Magazine’s Jerk of the Year award. Unless your glares have the power to reduce air pressure they don’t make the ride for kids any less turbulent. What do you care anyway? Don’t you have a pair of noise-cancelling headphones? Drown out those cries listening to the Jerky Boys soundtrack… it’s a great album that also happens to be named after you. This person probably also calls himself a thought leader on LinkedIn.
Keep down someone weaker than you – Some business jerks enjoy stepping on other people. They politically don’t support their ideas, pass them over for promotions and deliberately forgo helping them achieve their personal goals even if beneficial to the company. All out of spite. That’s the office-equivalent of hitting a kid. I think we can all agree that’s grounds for yelling jerk-alert in the hallways.
Haven’t helped anyone today – Everywhere you go in the office there are people you can help. If you turned a blind eye to a poor person (an intern asking for some advice), didn’t thank someone helping you with something (took credit for a job you didn’t do) or didn’t make someone’s day better (compliment anyone) then you’re a jerk. Think about the resources you have, your own knowledge or the people you know. Helping other people and paying things forward helps you get ahead.
The good thing is that onset office jerkiness can be cured with a few basic things; humility, generosity and goodwill. Consult a recovering jerk or jerk-free person in your office (assuming there is one) if you match any of the symptoms described above and then setup a jerk intervention.
Let’s help you see where your digital marketing stacks up to the jerks you compete with.
This is site is run by Sascha Endlicher, M.A., during ungodly late night hours. Wanna know more about him? Connect via Social Media by jumping to about.me/sascha.endlicher.
