Causes and Effects: Identity and Movement

One of the main ideas we as humans - especially Americans - struggle with is identity. Who am I? Am I really the person I say I am? Do I see myself as everybody sees me? The list goes on...Who we are is very much determined by where we come from - and where we are going. What one does with his or her life is based mainly upon identity: what one enjoys doing, the living conditions in which one is willing to live, how one interacts with others, and more. How one’s personality is shaped has a lot to do with the way one is raised; if a person is taught to have morals, then more than likely, those morals will stay with him or her for the rest of his or her life and if a person is taught by his or her parents that breaking the law is okay, then more than likely that person will end up in jail. Where one comes from has an immeasurable amount of influence in determining where one is going and what kind of person someone turns out to be. One particular example of this concept of the interaction between identity (who one is) and movement (who one is becoming) is a very famous, or rather, infamous, man who migrated from his home country in Austria to change the course of history for the entire world: Adolf Hitler. From the way he was raised with a controlling father and loving mother to eventually migrating to Germany, people and places around Hitler influenced greatly who he was and came to be.

Hitler was born on April 20, 1889 in Braunau, Austria to a domineering father and a mother to which he was devoted (Encyclopedia of World Biography). Right off the bat, Hitler was taught to obey orders from a male superior despite his own wishes and this shaped much of his personality. His interest in art was part of a way of expressing himself outside of his father’s influence and therefore was something upon which Hitler greatly relied besides his loving and supportive mother. At this point in time, Hitler’s “self” can be described as having a rather obedient manner towards authority on the outside and a part of him that wanted to break away from this authority which was kept hidden in away and manifested through art. All artists use their skills to express themselves; this is part of what makes one an artist and while Hitler is known mostly for his unthinkable crimes against humanity in general, one cannot forget that “artist” is part of this genocidal dictator’s identity. Many people have wondered what would have happened had Hitler made it into that Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna, Austria where he moved after the death of his beloved mother. However, I’m jumping ahead of myself.

According to the “Encyclopedia of World Biography,” Hitler became rebellious after his father’s death in 1903. At this point in time, just to put some perspective around where he was in his life, Hitler is fourteen years old, a confusing and often tumultuous time in anyone’s life without any external events “upping the anti,” so to speak. With the domineering presence of his father in Hitler’s life gone, however, the young adolescent is able to outwardly express his aversion to authority and his already mediocre grades drop. Now, Hitler is seen as a rebellious teenager headed towards failure with no male influence in his life and a widowed mother, but he clings on to his identity as an artist. Hitler found comfort in his art as all artists do; it is an escape from this world and allows him to see and create everything as he wants it to be. Two years later, at the age of sixteen, the young artist leaves formal education forever, tired of listening to what someone else wants him to do (Encyclopedia of World Biography). The only person he wanted to listen to dies two years after that, leaving the now “adult” orphaned, uneducated, and out of a monthly income of money. One of these problems is solved by spending the next five years as a “starving artist,”(and a second-rate one, too, according to Russian artist Irina Valdrom) living from one sale to another in a state of depression, unable to fulfill his dream of becoming a famous artist (Hitler the painter - don’t give up the day-job!). At this point in time, living alone in the city which denied him his dream, “Hitler already show[s] traits that characterized his later life: loneliness and secretiveness, a bohemian mode of everyday existence, and hatred of cosmopolitanism and of the multinational character of Vienna” (Biography.com).

The character traits that come from living a harsh life - loneliness, distrust (which can lead to a hatred of people in general, or a particular group of people), hatred of the different, hopelessness, and rebelliousness - are all something another group of people to which Hitler can be categorized: immigrants. Now, this is not to say that all immigrants are evil, sadistic, genocidal dictators in the making, but these traits are something that all immigrants must deal with on some level or another simply because coming to a new place is frightening, which can cause people to lash out. One also does not typically move to a country unless he or she is simply unable to bear the living conditions of a homeland or there is promise in a new world. Much like the immigrants who leave their homes for the promise of work with good pay and end up barely living off of picking strawberries in the fields in California or those who, like Enrique in Nazario’s book, are depressed in their home country and need an escape, Hitler left Austria to become an immigrant in Munich, Germany. There, in a new country, Hitler’s identity is an immigrant and nothing else; he is able to be where no one knows him or really cares what he does; freedom is achieved, but the loneliness is still there.

To become a part of something, the now-twenty-four-year-old volunteers for the German army at the beginning of WWI, where he is finally able to be considered in a group. Hitler’s leadership began to shine as he found identity within the ranks of the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment, always in the front lines and leading his comrades with his fighting spirit. This location - this place as a soldier in Germany - is where Hitler finally feels that he belongs, free from the “frustration and aimlessness of civilian life,” finding “discipline and comradeship satisfying,” and being “confirmed in his beliefs in the heroic virtues of war” (Biography.com). With his place in life finally accepted and acknowledged by others, who can really blame Hitler for joining up with his now-unemployed comrades at the end of the war in Munich, where resentment and betrayal festered in the hearts of every discharged serviceman present? It is here that Hitler finds his location - his identity - as a respected spokesman and leader and where his beginnings as a dictator set on homeland pride (for Germany is, of course, a home to him now as his own place of birth deemed him “unfit” for service years before), and the glories of war. Hitler’s identity in Munich is a seasoned (for now he is around thirty years old) brave, patriotic, common-man-type, eloquent, fiery soldier and leader and this shapes the future of both Hitler and the world as the young dictator rises to power among his comrades within this churning country of ruin and frustration.

Throughout his life in Austria, Adolf Hitler was given a label from those around him of a failure, second-rate, and worthless; in Germany, as a nameless immigrant, he finds an identity of heroic, successful, and patriotic. Without his move to Munich, Hitler might have never become the man we identify him as today: a manipulative (albeit eloquent), genocidal, psychotic leader and dictator, showing that movement really does affect one’s identity whether one intends it or not.

Works Cited:

"Adolf Hitler." 2009. Biography.com. 3 Dec 2009. http://www.biography.com/articles/Adolf-Hitler-9340144.

“Adolf Hitler.” Encyclopedia of World Biography. 3 December 2009. http://www.notablebiographies.com/He-Ho/Hitler-Adolf.html

“Hitler the painter - don’t give up the day-job!” TV-Novisti 3 December 2009. http://rt.com/Art_and_Fun/2008-04-29/Hitler_the_painter_-_dont_give_up_the_day-job.html

My First Opera...In English?

On Friday, November 20, I went to go see UNCG's school of music put on the fall opera: a modern mix of Gilbert and Sullivan's "Trial by Jury" and Mozart's "The Impressario." This opera was a whole new scene as compared to the one put on by the Greensboro Opera Company. For one thing, the opera was in English. I had no idea that there were operas written in English. I thought that operas were all Italian, but this performance of "Trial by Jury" and "The Impressario" both shattered that stereotype in an instant. There were still supertitles on a screen above the performers with the script written out, as it tends to be difficult to understand what words opera performers are singing no matter what language they are singing in. The second thing that I found completely different from my previous thoughts of opera was that it was a comedy. I had always thought that operas were tragedies - "La Traviata" had certainly added to that prejudice - so when I realized that what was happening on stage was both completely hilarious and incredibly ridiculous, not only was I amused, but I was slightly perplexed as well. However, I found the story line and actors incredibly entertaining. The first act was pretty much two soprano divas battling out over the main role because the prima dona - the main female role - was missing. Of course, as the first act finished, it had turned out that both divas had conspired and kidnapped the prima dona, at whose discovery this was revealed. The divas were, of course, arrested and the play the company in the opera was supposed to put on - "Trial by Jury" - was able to begin at the start of act two. I loved the entire opera; the singing was amazing and the acting was thoroughly entertaining. I would definitely love to see it again, especially if I would be able to go with someone besides myself; laughter always enjoys company.

A Memorable Play

On Friday, November 20, I went to go see "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" performed by UNCG's theatre department at 9:30 in the morning. When I arrived at Taylor Theatre, chai in one hand and pre-purchased ticket in the other, I was not expecting to see what was there: a seething mass of elementary school children waiting in their not-so-straight lines to see the show - the show that I was about to see. I froze, suddenly finding a new appreciation for the caffeine that the chai had sent coursing through my system moments before. Taking a deep breath, I moved forward toward the doors again, avoiding the small children as their teachers attempted to get them all seated without having an accident or - goodness forbid - loosing one of them among the homogenous crowd of students flooding in. Of course, it got better once everyone was seated - we (we being the group of about 40 students above four feet in height) all were put in the back row so the children could see above us - and the lights finally dimmed. The scene opened on the main characters - Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy - cowering while air-raid sirens blasted over their heads. It was a familiar scene for me, as I have read the book and seen both the old cartoon and new live-action versions of this play. However, it was a new experience to see how the directors, set-makers, and costumers were able to bring the worlds of Narnia to the audience without the use of computer animation or special effects. I found myself drawn to the cast member who played the unicorn and how well she played her part, despite the fact that she did not have 10 words throughout the whole play. The acting was not as good as I had hoped, but the children enjoyed it and once the children calmed down, I was able to enjoy it as well. The play was appropriate for the age group and all-in-all it was very entertaining. I would definitely recommend it to anyone who is up for a light, though allegorically deep, play and who enjoys a little bit of magic.

International Festival

On Friday, November 20, I attended an International Festival at the Philips-Hawkins Dormitory with one of my best friends, Esha. Esha was born here in the U.S. but her parents are from Punjabi, in North India. Having Esha as a friend, I have learned so much about her culture and the differences even between Northern and Southern India; it's a bit like the opposite of the U.S. where we think that Northern people ("yankees") are stuck up and Northerners think that Southerners ("rednecks") just farm and drink all day. In India, the Northerners farm and the Southerners are considered stuck up. At this festival, however, where my friend was mostly the only Northerner, I found that this stereotype, like most, wasn't entirely fair or true. Everyone was welcoming and, as it was in part a fashion show to show off the garb from different regions of India and talk about the diversity, dressed in what appeared to me around the same garb. Now, Some girls had adorned themselves with beautiful jewelry and some wore bindis on their foreheads. Some wore saris and some wore more a more casual tunic-like dress with a pair of paints. Unfortunately, the latter has a specific name which I cannot recall at this moment. All traditional dresses were beautiful; even some of the men were wearing rather intricate - and, if I may, shiny - outfits. About 15 regions of India were represented within the entire show and each of them told their region and how to say "hello" in their particular dialect. The show was incredibly enjoyable and eye-opening and I hope that they will host more festivals within the future.

My Education: My Plan

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" This is a question that many of us recognize from days as early as kindergarten, perhaps even earlier. A typical answer of someone so young is "a princess!" or "a firefighter!" However, as we grow older, we begin to think about what we really do want to do with our lives and it seems almost inhuman to ask a child to decide what he or she wants to be, perhaps more so to ask him or her to think about growing up; especially when we consider what it entails: a loss of innocence and becoming responsible. In our senior year of high school is when we typically begin asking of ourselves: "Well, what do I want to do when I grow up?" Most of all, I find the pressures of knowing what it is I want can be overwhelming as they delve even deeper into a sense of self: What do I like? What is morally right to like? What are morals? Why do we have morals? Is something good or bad? How do I decide? Does it matter? Who am I...The list goes on and on. However, we'll save the cliche "What is the meaning of life?" for another time and focus on what this essay is supposed to be about: simply what I plan to do with my life despite whether or not I know why it even is. I am currently a music education major at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro to learn more about the broad, incredibly fascinating world of music so I may be able to make a difference with the next generation. As such, the deservedly well-known music school here at UNCG has my entire four years already planned out, minus my own plans of learning Japanese and studying abroad in Japan. Unfortunately, UNCG's Japanese program does not offer Japanese 101 in the spring semester and therefore I am unable to begin this endeavor until the fall semester of my sophomore year - a strange concept for me, being comfortable as a "big, grown-up, college student," as I'm sure I will be very adjusted to life here when my sophomore year comes speeding right around the corner. I do have the years planned out though, with AP scores able to get me out of most GEC classes, I'll be able to take the few GEC classes I need while in Japan. With the incredible international connections UNCG has, I hope to find a program during which I may be able to study abroad during the summer and avoid falling behind in music classes. I know Japanese is a strange language or culture for a music major to consider; typically we'd be studying the Romantic languages and cultures. However, I think it's a good idea to be well-rounded and explore a culture so different from our own; Japanese will also offer a new market for me in terms of knowing a different language as well as a vastly different perspective on life than that with which I have lived. Japanese will also offer a new culture for the chorus students which I intend to teach. I will be able to show them a completely non-Western language and set of traditions different from anything they have seen. I hope to be able to show my students the wonders of music and how one can never ever stop learning about it and the world-wide cultures which all have some music within them. It's fascinating the way different cultures use music: traditional dances, entertainment, story-telling, ceremonies, religious practices, and so much more. For instance, I find it incredibly interesting that a particular African tribe uses the same word for "sing" as it does for "dance." Typically, these are seen as to separate areas of the performing arts, but when you think about it, you can't really have one without the other. When one dances, it's to music and when one sings, the soul dances. Your body has to move to the beat, be it be-bop or Baroque and one just has to listen and find it to know that both forms of art are intertwined. No matter what age one is, he or she can find this internal joy in music, which is why I am not sure which age group I want to teach. Any age from kindergarten to college has its pros and cons, but no matter who I want to teach, I want to be able to teach them well. For this reason, I would very much like to pursue my masters in choral education and perhaps even earn a PhD in some music education-related field; either way, I intend to work a little in the field and really get to know what I want before pursuing graduate school any further. Right now, all I know is I love music and teaching. Teaching gives one the sense of making a difference and chorus is a great community to offer students, especially in a world becoming steadily more focused on education for the sake of salary as opposed to for the sake of learning and enjoying the process. In music, kids do not have to worry about traditional grades or standardized tests, but are able to enjoy creating and learning what they can do both as an individual and in a community. Music is able to nurture the fun side of learning without the pressures of grades, one of the amazing things about this part of life. Music is all around us and is a part of life; to appreciate music is to appreciate life and the beautiful cultures and aspects of this world. I want and plan to be able to show this to the future generation of children and that's why despite the work load and time it takes, I will continue my education as a music education major to become a teacher of one of the true miracles in life: music.

Sonia Nazario Reflection

On Monday, November 16, at 3pm, I attended a lecture by Sonia Nazario, author of "Enrique's Journey." I was rather excited about the lecture at first; I mean, I was going to get to see the author of this great book talk about it and what she was trying to do with the novel; but when the lecture was over, I actually found myself rather disappointed. All I felt Sonia Nazario did was reiterate what I had already read. From beginning to end, even in order of the book, she pretty much summarized the difficulties and emotional roller-coasters presented in each chapter, even starting with the day described in the first part of "Enrique's Journey" when Nazario asks her housekeeper about her children. As far as I was concerned, she presented little to basically no new material and just summarized the book, which every single person in that room had - I'm assuming - already read, as it was the required reading campus wide. The only new material I even remember her presenting are some pictures I hadn't seen in the book. Even when the questions were asked at the end of one hour (and I was expecting a lengthy, in-depth, 2 hour lecture), I still felt that I could have answered the questions and the prepared questions simply reiterated a previous discussion topic. What I wanted to know were her feelings towards Enrique after learning that he was going to do the exact same thing to his daughter and girlfriend as his mother had to him. How could he possibly rationalize being able to bring his girlfriend and toddler daughter to the U.S. when his own mother couldn't even afford to bring him there? At least Enrique's mother didn't go out and sniff glue or get drunk, wasting her money on self-destructive tendencies. How does Enrique think he'll be able to do twice of what his mother couldn't when he already has problems with spending money irrationally? How can he do something - after living with the emotional consequences for most of his life - to his own daughter that he knows tore him apart? I don't want or mean to be judgmental as I have never been in the situation, but I can never find myself rationalizing drug use or hypocrisy. I wanted to know Nazario's feelings about that issue, not that a pile of vulture feces-infested trash smelled bad or that a metal train railing in near triple-digit heat was hot. I can figure these things out for myself. I know the journey was difficult - the book would be half as popular if it didn't have all these horrors in it - but I want to know Nazario's views on moral and political issues. What is Nazario's religion? Does that affect her use of the church's in the story or was that just a part that she had to put in there because it was part of the journey? Does she still keep in touch with Enrique? How is Enrique's family? How does Nazario feel about using someone else's story and gaining so much, despite original intentions of bringing the story to the public? Was anything embellished or left out for certain purposes? I want to know what Nazario thinks about her writing; not that she can read or present a lecture on something she spent a good deal of her life on. Perhaps I'm being too harsh in expecting an author with such great material to give us something more, but I guess I just expected something more than what I had already been given.

My First Opera

Last Friday, November 13, 2009, at 8 p.m., I went to Greensboro Coliseum's War Memorial Auditorium with one of my friends to attend my first opera. The opera is called La Traviata, by Giuseppe Verdi and was presented by an organization called Greensboro Opera. The opera was absolutely gorgeous, despite an obvious lack of funding for stage sets or even costumes. The opera company had to make do with what they had, draping nice sheets over lawn chairs as substitutes for the elegant furniture Violetta Valery - the female lead who was a very well-off French courtesan - would have most definitely had. It was clear that some of the costumes were borrowed by the actors or had been scoured for during multiple trips to thrift shops. The lack of funding for such an amazing opera, combined with the small casting and single-night performance all made it very clear to me that we are still in a recession, despite what any radio station or news anchor might tell me. However, the absolutely angelic voice of Jennifer Black, who played Violetta, and the skills of the entire cast in telling the beautiful, tragic story definitely made up for a lack in funding. The basic story reminded me very much of Moulin Rouge, where the female lead is a rich French courtesan with a regular patron - Barone Douphol, played by Scott MacLeod, in this case - and captivates the heart of a simple young man - Alfredo Germont, played stupendously by Chad Johnson. The courtesan has never really known love, only lust and when Alfredo insists that he truly loves her, Violetta finds she is willing to leave her life of riches and the manipulating control of the rich Barone for this true love. Of course, as this is a tragedy, there is a twist: Violetta has tuberculosis, and has only a few years at most left to live. However, because of this, Violetta wants to live the last of her life with Alfredo, which she does. There is a twist as Giorgio Germont (played by Mark Walters), Alfredo's father, comes to Violetta to ask of her the ultimate sacrifice: to leave Alfredo and make the estranged son return back to his family; the drama intensifies. I will leave the rest of the opera to those who wish for the end not to be spoilt, and conclude with the statement that this opera was most definitely worth seeing both for the awesome talent and beautiful story line and I would encourage anyone who enjoys either to go see it.

Evil Dead paper

On Friday, October 30, I went to go see Evil Dead: The Musical with one of my best friends and my boyfriend. When . To my surprise, one of my friends from home, named Steven Spencer, who had graduated 2 years prior was one of the main characters in the play: Scottie, the main character's best friend who had picked up a hooker in a bar three days before, subsequently making the main character's nerdy, homely sister a fifth wheel. The musical was a parody of horror movies, much like The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but a bit less crude. To be sure, there was definently plenty of crude humor, sexual inuendoes, cussing, taking the Lord's name in vain, and - of course - violence. However, in a show that is not only a parody, but a parody of the generally gruesome genre of horror, these things can't but be expected. It was interesting to see my high school friend on stage after seeing him in the leading role of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew two years before. I can definitely tell that he has grown. I can also tell that in theatre, one cannot very easily hold to one's own personal morals because in scripts, at least in most of the good ones, there are things that go against a lot of people's morals. I could not be an actor because there would always be that part of me saying "this is wrong" despite the fact that I would know "it's only acting and I'm not actually saying these things; it's just the character." I must give props to those who are truly actors, however, for the art is not easy morally or psycologically. I enjoyed the show however, as well as seeing my friend, and would most definitely go back and see it again.

The McNeill Clan (sort of…)

9/9/09

McNeill: Isle of Barra, Scotland: 1800’s: Nova Scotia and Americas

My dad’s side of the family is the MacNeil clan and the Berham clan, my grandfather and grandmother’s sides respectively. The MacNeil family originated about 1049 when a man supposedly descended from and Irish king named Niall, of the clan O’Niall, established himself as the first chief of the clan MacNeil (which means “son of Neil”) on the Isle of Barra, an island in Scotland (Kaiser). The family motto is Buaidh no Bas (pronounced using the International Phonetic Alphabet as [puəʝ n̪ˠo paʃ]) in Gaelic and “Vincere Vel Mori” in Latin, which means “conquer or die,” a rather intense family motto, if I do say so myself (Kaiser). A little on down the line, say, at the 41st chief, Roderick MacNeil, the clan rule was passed to some cousin who had apparently already come to the “New World.” Many MacNeil’s settled in Canada around Nova Scotia where their descendants still live today. This shifting of family rule occurred in the 1800’s after about eight centuries’ worth of MacNeil rule on Berra came to an end due to the selling of the island and Kisimul castle (Kaiser). This occurred around the same time as the Clearances, which forced many on Barra, including most MacNeil’s, to come to the Americas where many stayed despite some intentions of eventually moving back when things got better (Kaiser). There are no worries though, as about 100 years later, a descendant named Robert Lister MacNeil, an American citizen and the clan’s 42nd chief, bought back the castle and the island and spent the rest of his life restoring it (Kaiser).
Now, although I realize I had to look most of my information up on a website, I am still greatly interested in my family’s name and history, it’s just that most people that would know it are long dead and gone while the others unfortunately can’t remember. One of those members is my 102-year old great grandmother, Frances McNeill (who went to UNCG when it was still an all-women’s college),I contacted but from whom I was unable to gain any information about the MacNeil clan. I have, however, been able to piece together some tidbits from different relatives from our family gatherings and history. In Red Springs, where my dad grew up, the Highland Games were held every year and my family in and around the area would come together and celebrate our family’s history. The Highland Games are a gathering of Scottish descendants from many clans where native games such as feats of strength in a game where tossing a log is involved are played and the sound of beautifully and powerfully played bagpipes fills the air. The MacNeil family crest is that of a grand face of rock embossed in a circle with the family’s motto on it. Our tartan, or color/plaid, is a rich forest green, golden sunshine yellow, and a deep navy blue. The picture above is that of a wooden plaque of the family crest with the plaid as the background. All of this is on my dad’s father’s side of the family. My dad’s mother’s side is the Berham’s.
I was able to get in contact with my grandmother, who was able to tell me a little bit of the history of the Berhams. The knight who led the other knights to go kill the famous martyr Thomas Beckett was an ancestor of the Berhams and believed to have changed his name to Berham after being exiled for his murder. There is a story that during a revolution in Scotland, a McCauley, also a Berham ancestor, was part of the losing cause. Apparently, McCauley escaped in a whiskey barrel to head to America, where he was later picked up by sailors. Of course, McCauley did not plan on going back to Scotland any time soon. It is not known whether or not he had a family, but I am sure they were sorely missed and he intended for them to come with him if possible. A Berham ancestor gave the first track of land to the University of North Carolina. On my other grandfather’s side of the family, Eddinger, a man was the Dean of Education here at UNCG for a long while. My great-great grandfather on my Berham grandmother’s side was a preacher, but fell in love with a Cherokee woman. The church, of course, did not approve, so the two ran off together and got married. The two were, however, both Christian, a part of the family I am proud to say my sister and I still carry on.
All in all, I am Scottish (MacNeil), Irish (MacNeil), exiled from England (Berham), German (mom’s mother’s side of the family: Styer, and mom’s father’s side of the family: Eddinger), and 1/16 Cherokee (Berham). My family’s history (at least what we know of it and what I could piece together) is rich and ancient, and I am proud to carry on the names of each and every one of my forefathers. I hope to be able to pass on some of this information to my own children, despite not being able to carry on the family name when I get married, so that our history will stay alive and well long after I am dead and gone.

Work Cited
1. Kaiser, Charles R. “History Pages.” Clan MacNeil Net. 9 September 2009 http://www.clanmacneil.ca/history1.htm#45