No More Hiroshima

From the darkness of Hiroshima emerged a commitment to peace. We must honor this legacy by ensuring that the light of diplomacy and dialogue prevails over the shadows of conflict.

 Pope Francis

In 2017 I joined a Peace Pilgrimage organized by All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church of Washington, DC. We went to Hiroshima, Japan, as guess of the Rissho Kosei-Kai's Hiroshima Dharma Center. Since tonight marks the anniversary of the dropping the A bomb, I wanted to revisit our Peace Pilgrimageand share with you. So join me in hope and prayers for Peace and No More Hiroshimas. 

The connection between Hiroshima and All Souls began shortly after the atomic bomb was dropped and Japan surrendered. A picture in the Washington Post showed officials at the Defense Department celebrating with a party. World War II was over. Featured in the picture was a party cake in the shape of a large atomic mushroom cloud. 

The minister at the church publicly expressed outrage. How could the U.S. government celebrate peace with a symbol of utter death and destruction?

On August 6th, 400 children of Honkawa Elementary School were filing into classes. At 8:15, in a blinding flash, their lives ended. Only the concrete skeleton of the school building remained. 

Moved by the tragedy and eager to help, the families of All Souls UU decided to take action. Learning that classes were being resumed at the elementary school, they launched a school supply campaign, collecting over half a ton of supplies, including pencils, paper, crayons, games, and more. 

Months passed, and surprisingly, the surviving children of Honkawa Elementary School sent back their own drawings made with the supplies. The art captured happier times – normalcy. It was a generous way of saying, “Thank you."

Learn more about this amazing story by searching online for Pictures from a Hiroshima Schoolyard. 

Today, I’m in the presence of Hibakusha. Hibakusha (被爆者) is a unique Japanese word that literally means “explosion-affected people”. These individuals experienced first-hand the devastating aftermath of the atomic bombs. They are survivors. I didn’t know it at the time, but for some of the Hibakusha, our meeting today is the first time they have publicly spoken of those horrific events. We are divided into small groups so that our conversations are direct and personal. 

With much courage, the Hibakusha are speaking with us Americans. The depth of feeling is difficult to express. After all, they were only children on that August morning of 1945. For all their lives, they have lived with that nightmare. So with a sense of immense appreciation, I’m privileged to transmit Yukoh Tamagawa’s story. Brace yourself for a glimpse of horror. May the echoes of his narrative resonate with resolve—No More Hiroshima. 

On Monday morning, August 6, 1945, Yukoh Tamagawa was thirteen. The air raid sirens blew as the Enola Gay, a B-29 bomber, approached the city. Soon, everything he knew would be engulfed in devastation never seen before. The air raid sirens saved him, not because he escaped into a shelter—there was no way to escape the atomic blast. He was saved because the siren delayed the streetcar that would have taken him to school where the bomb dropped. He was still 2.5 kilometers away from ground zero. His other classmates were not so fortunate. They were instantly vaporized. 

Yukoh begins, “Suddenly, I feel a bluish flash of light that’s like a spark caused by a short circuit, except it electrifies everything. Then I guess I lose consciousness.” Yukoh lies there. Is he alive or not? Pitch-black darkness surrounds him. The world, or what’s left of it, is crumbling. Sounds of collapsing buildings reverberate across what had been a streetcar stop. A vortex of debris begins swirling through the darkness. 

"I can feel. I’m thinking. I must still be alive,” Yukoh recalls. “I was blown 20–30 meters away from where I had been standing. My head throbbed. Blood oozed out of my body. The right side of my face and the back of my hands blistered. Arms too.” He stumbles around, bewildered. His mind struggles to make sense of a world reshaped by the blast. 

It’s so frightening. As the clouds lift, the landscape becomes visible. Where familiar homes and shops stood, nothing remains. A shadow of a tree imprints on a sidewalk, but the tree itself no longer exists. Gone is everyday normality, replaced by utter horror. 

Yukoh sees a man half-trapped under a collapsed house. “He was floundering around and crying for help. I was quite at a loss as to what to do.” Yukoh says, “I just ran and ran. Ran away.” 

There is no escaping. “So many people were burned beyond recognition. The sight of a soldier gave me the most intense shock. He was so badly burned all over. His skin hung in shreds dripping from his arms. The soldier was groaning, screaming in pain.” Even now, Yukoh’s voice quivers in the retelling of this awful memory. 

After many hours of stumbling through the dead and dying, this thirteen-year-old boy finds his way home. “My mother did not recognize me. I was burnt so much.” For days, he struggles to survive. Infections invade his body, and a fever brings him to the edge of delirium. Yukoh remembers, “A Korean man came to my aid with a folk remedy. Every day, he brought a liter of cow’s blood from the butchery. Every day, as the blood separated in the bottle, I drank the thicker liquid.” The liquid was composed of plasma and white blood cells, a high-quality protein. 

What makes this lifesaving kindness so remarkable is the widespread enmity that existed between Japanese and Koreans. During the Japanese occupation, Koreans were dehumanized and forced into demeaning slavery. They hated the Japanese, and in turn, the Japanese considered Koreans less than human. Yet, here was this Korean man coming to the rescue of Yukoh Tamagawa. “I am very ashamed of having despised Koreans whose fellow countryman now showed great kindness,” recounts Yukoh. “In spite of the unfair treatment of Korean people, he overcame divisions of nationality and brought the best medicine available to me day after day for three weeks. He saved me.” 

Years after the bombing, Yukoh tells another remarkable story during the American occupation. “My ill feelings for Americans are deeply rooted. I have much anger. Americans are frightful, brutal for the inhuman act of dropping the bomb. I hate them." 

Then, in 1958, Yukoh had an accident. An American tank truck collided with his jeep. He was in bad shape, suffering from multiple fractures and a serious compound fracture of the thigh. Feeling responsible, the Americans wanted to evacuate him to Okinawa, an occupied territory at the time. But authorities objected vigorously. No one had permission to go without a passport and special authorization. 

Yet, the Americans risked arrest and took emergency action. They flew a helicopter to Okinawa Hospital with Yukoh inside. “I was in the hospital for forty-five days. I had many operations—more than I can remember. I needed lots of blood. American soldiers volunteered their own blood for me. American blood is in me” 

“So I had to transcend my country’s hatreds. They risked a lot. I’ve come to see Americans in a new light. Americans saved my life.” 

There’s a Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima centered on the spot where the A-bomb was dropped. We peace pilgrims wander its grounds. In the distance, the skeletal A-Bomb Dome looms. It’s not just the remnants of a building, but a witness to the inferno that once engulfed the city. Seeing it is like staring at a ghost of history, frozen in concrete and twisted steel. No more. 

Walking further and around a bend, we’re confronted with a huge green mound—16 meters in diameter. Green grass now covers rows and rows of collected anonymity lying below. Known as the Mound of the Unknowns, it’s a final resting place for those whose body parts went unclaimed. Some life stories never find their identity. We pause in silence, remembering. 

We’re drawn towards flashes of color fluttering in the breeze. The Children’s Peace Monument is draped with thousands of handmade paper cranes. Each small, delicate bird is folded into a spectrum of vibrant colors. They come from around the world. Maybe each carries a child-like wish for peace. Give peace a chance. Yes, give peace a chance. 

The Korean Memorial was not built until 1970. Enmity between Japan and Korea continued after the bombing, even though 20,000 Koreans were among the dead. Attitudes needed to change, and national reconciliation had to begin. In time, both nations recognized the need for healing. Construction began. The memorial portrays the human experience of suffering and our equally human yearning for reconciliation. May it be so. 

We keep walking. In the distance, there's the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. With floor-to-ceiling windows and a facade on stilts, the museum has a sweeping view of the entire park. Inside, the windows bathe the space in light, while the exhibits are dark, personal, confrontational, and heartbreaking. Pictures on the walls and artifacts in glass cases expose human failure, laying bare a horrific story. Yet within this stark reality, there are glimpses of rebuilding efforts and survival heroism. Look at Hiroshima today. It’s proof of human resilience and steadfast commitment to world peace. 

I’m drawn to the art of Kichisuke Yoshimura. He was 18 years old at the time of the atomic blast. He summarizes his pictures by saying, “On the riverbank, I saw figures that seemed to be from another world. Ghost-like, their hair falling over their faces, their clothes ripped to shreds, their skin hanging. A cluster of these injured persons was moving wordlessly toward the outskirts." His images have stayed with me. I urge you to see them online. 

So I end this pilgrimage, not with words, but with my own painting inspired by Kichisuke Yoshimura’s work. For me, making it etched a message into my soul.

 No more Hiroshima. Please, no more Hiroshima.

Yearning During Uncertain Times

These are uncertain times, aren’t they? We’re all craving something steady and true. Apprehension, chaos, and violence seem to be everywhere. Social media is full of hate speech, and it's hard to know which media sources to trust. Our lives swirl with social fears and political turmoil.

Yet, in the midst of this turbulence, there's a powerful desire for values that ground us in kindness, justice, peace, and appreciation for one another, regardless of differences. It's like we're hoping to find a way forward that cultivates a garden of hope and understanding. We want to see flowers blooming across our dusty, sad landscape.

Like many, I enjoy watching YouTube videos. I’m not addicted—well, not yet. Occasionally, I stumble upon a video I didn’t know I needed to see. Wonderful.

Enter James Talarico. He's not your typical internet voice. James speaks with a calm blend of passion and wisdom that cuts through the noise and reaches straight to the heart. His words resonate with people from all walks of life. I discovered his video nurturing those seeds of kindness, understanding, and justice in me.

James was born in Central Texas to a single mom who fled abuse. Through that experience, he learned the importance of standing up for those in danger and in need of help. He was educated at the University of Texas, Austin, and gained a Master of Education from Harvard. Returning to Texas, he joined Teach for America and taught English at a public middle school.

In 2018, he jumped into politics. Well, actually, he walked. James walked the full length of his district, becoming one of Texas’s youngest State Representatives at 28 years old. 

Youcan read more about James Talarico here.

James’s work in the Texas legislature is a blend of heartfelt dedication and relentless advocacy, driven by his life experiences and unwavering belief in a more just and equitable society. 

He capped insulin at $25, reformed state school financing to be more equitable, increased school mental health programs, and reduced student-to-teacher classroom sizes. He became known as a legislator who got things done.

The YouTube video which I needed to see was a powerful sermon on the Separation of Church and State, a topic of great relevance in this era of christian nationalism. He doesn’t lecture; he paints a vivid picture of what true freedom, justice, and peace look like in a democratic society that respects both religious diversity and secular governance.

What makes James's talk compelling is how he connects with everyone. Whether in a church sanctuary or at a computer, tablet or phone, his words restores life to bedrock values.

Whether you are Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Jewish, Humanist, or none of the above, his words speak to the universal desire for a just, peaceful, and compassionate society. He shares stories from different traditions, showing how each one values the harmony that comes from mutual respect and understanding.

View his message here: The Separation of Church and State.

James doesn’t just talk about past history. He brings the conversation into our present times. He points out that in times when hateful speech and violence are all too common, we need to hold onto foundational principles more than ever.

By the end of his talk, James will have you not just thinking but feeling a deep sense of responsibility. He calls on us to be voices of reason and compassion in our communities, to stand up for the values of justice, kindness, peace, and the diversity of our beloved community. It isn’t just a call to understand the separation of church and state. No, it's a call to be lived out in our daily life.

I hope this video becomes a special one for you. May it become something you didn’t know you needed til you saw it. We're planting seeds in barren soil, trusting that flowers will come where there once was only dust.

View James Talarico’s The Separation of Church and State

Traveling Again...

Here we go again. Bags are scattered across the bed.  My stuff is being packed for a 4 month return to Ajijic Mexico.  I’ll be teaching adults in the neighboring traditional town of San Juan Cosala.

Learn more about this Pueblo

I  awake at 4:30 am. My mind swirls with last minute details. Don’t forget this or that. So I’m rushing around my DC apartment. And just as bread pops from the toaster for breakfast, the airport taxi arrives. It’s 10 minutes early. Yikes!

The driver asks me, “Where are you going? Business, Vacation?” “No,” I say, “I’m going to teach English in Mexico.” He tells me about his experience of learning English when he came from Egypt. I congratulate him on his success.

With this snippet of conversation, I’m reminded of the value of teaching English as a Second Language (ESL). Since 2009 when I was in the US Peace Corps in Ukraine, I have been teaching. I’ve taught in person and more recently via Zoom. I even had a chance to participate in a US State Department 12 week teaching seminar. Helping others learn a second language is such a privileged.

And a wonderful benefit is the good people I’ve met along the way. Recently, a few days before my departure, former students organize a farewell brunch. What fun! Hours of English conversations. Thank you, Mahmoud, Jehan, Abid, Haanna and Dzung. You’ve become good friends.

At the airport, I lug my bags towards check-in. I have 35 pounds in a trunk, a carry-on suitcase, a backpack and a magic stick. It’s a new addition to my entourage. Some might call it a walking stick or cane, but I prefer the idea of a magic stick.

My magic stick bestows benefits. The check-in agent seeing my struggles offers to wheel my bags down a long hall to the drop off spot. Then she arranges for a chair to take me through security. A special passage-way brings me to the front of the line. My age and the magic stick wave me through requirement for shoe removal and belt inspection. At the plane entrance, I’m invited into early boarding. I’m the first to enter. It’s like magic.

Yes, I’m not as agile as I was during my Peace Corps Service (Ukraine 2009 – 2011 and Macedonia 2015 - 2016). Mild arthritis and tight leg muscles have made walking a bit painful.

My good friend, Darryl, who’s a personal trainer, has shown me some leg stretches that are making a real difference. Those routines keep me going along with Aleve and pain creams when needed. Of course my magic stick has become a silent helper too. Like we use to say during my AARP days, “I may be getting older, but it beats the alternative.” I’m so fortunate.

The trip is uneventful until I land in Dallas. I check my phone messages and see that we are landing just a few gates from my connection. Great. I can easily walk to the next gate with time to spare.

But then, I begin wondering. Why isn’t my connecting flight showing on the marque. Oh no, it’s a dreaded gate change. Thank you, not American. Not only is the flight at a new gate, but it’s in a new terminal. No time to get a chair so I’m hoofing it. Terminal A to Terminal C. Ugh, what a walk!  But, I make it...barely. This time, I’m the last to get on the plane. The two passengers sharing my seating row sigh as I fill the remaining seat.   

Bienvenido a Mexico. I’m met by a very energetic personal assistant. As I get into the chair, he says, “Okay, senior, Rapido.” And we’re off. We zoom through a labyrinth of hallways making our way towards Immigration.

He takes care of the paper work and brings me to an imposing podium. But no worries. The official knows my personal assistant and they joke together. “Americano,” and with a quick passport check, I’m in Mexico for the next 4 months. Indeed, it’s RAPIDO.! I thank him with a generous tip and get into a taxi. I’m Ajijc bound.

As often happens….When I say that I teach English, a conversation starts. My driver tells me in a mixture of Spanish and English that he wants to learn more. I compliment him on pronunciation and tell him a want to learn more Spanish. But it’s difficult. “Not for me,” he smiles. Back and forth we converse in broken English and broken Spanish. I say, “I’m tu maestro de ingles and you are my Spanish teacher.” We both chuckle at the idea of teaching each other in a taxi from the airport. Amazing.

I offer to send him my guide for Independent ESL Learning. I developed it during the Covid years. Learning any language requires planning, practice and persistence.  It’s the big 3 Ps of tackling any challenge. With the Internet, we no longer have to depend on a class or teacher. We can become our own teacher using all the resources that are just a click away.

Of course, there's a problem. Hours can be wasted searching the Internet. That’s why I created my Independent Learning Guide. It curates links and gives descriptions of what can be found behind each. Students can choose a comprehensive multi-week course or mix and match. They can focus on any one of the basic skills – listening, speaking, reading, writing with videos, games, songs, movies as well as more traditional worksheets and instructions.

If you or someone you know would like a copy of this Independent Learning Guide, email me at juddolphin@gmail.com

We arrive in Ajijic too soon. Our lessons end. I hope to hear from Abraham again. He promises to update me... in English.

My new apartment is located about two blocks from the main plaza on a side street. It use to be a hacienda. The young owners have converted it into an Airbnb. It’s charming. A large main room has a wall of windows including some with stain glass. Lovely. Another wall includes an ample kitchen in front of a dinning table. Chairs and a small sofa complete a conversation corner. Hooray, I’ll be able to entertain friends. For me this space has Feng Shui. I feel positive and creative here. Wonderful.  

But now for some rest. It’s been a long day and I’m in a good place with memories to be made and  savored. Yes, I’m traveling again….

Ukrainian Holiday Memories

  "Do you have a holiday memory or reflection you are willing to share?"  The email was inviting  me to prepare a talk for the weekly gathering of the Lake Chapala Unitarian Universalist  Fellowship (LCUUF). 
Immediately, I thought of my time in Ukraine as a peace Corps Volunteer.  I have  so many memories.  What a great chance to reflect and share.  So I got to work and began crafting my talk.  

LCUUF during a Social Justice public demonstration

LCUUF characterizes itself as, ..."brave, curious, and compassionate thinkers and doers. We are diverse in faith, ethnicity, history and spirituality, but aligned in our desire to make a difference for the good. We have a track record of standing on the side of love, justice and peace."

I presented my talk on December 18th, 2022.  And with their encouragement, I’m posting it here. The text is below and at the end there’s a link for a video presentation. I hope it's meaningful to you.  

                                        _______________________________

After 40 years working with social change organizations, I retired from AARP and joined the US Peace Corps. I went to Ukraine. What an adventure. 

 Now come with me as I recall holiday memories from Ukrainian and reflect on their meaning.

Resourceful & Courageous Mothers

I’m working with mothers in a new nonprofit. It’s called Hearts of Love. Their mission is to change the way disabled children - their disabled children – are treated. During Soviet times, they were shunned. Why? Because they didn’t fit the Soviet ideal of strong healthy comrades. They were the flawed ones. Kept at home and out of sight. No special services. No playground activities, No friends. Nothing.

But when the Soviet system crumbled, a group of courageous and resourceful mothers said, “Nyet, No more.” They created the Hearts of Love Center. Regardless of disability – physical, emotional or mental – children were welcomed. They were coming out of the closet and into the light of day.   

Hearts Of Love Center

It’s Friday. That means Art Day at the Hearts of Love Center. It’s become a popular activity to paint with the American. That would be me.

Since the holidays are approaching, I make a huge Christmas tree by taping together blocks of copy paper and painting branches. I explain, with some help from my interpreter, that our art project is to decorate this holiday tree.

All ages and levels of ability soon get busy. Some children draw with careful details. Others are mostly scribbling. No matter, all are handmade and all will adorn our tree.

I tell my young artists, “Your art is unique. Claim it with your name. When you sign your name, you’re telling the world, I made this….LOOK!”

One boy with a muscular palsy surprises me. Instead of his usual scribbles, I see him concentrating with all of his attention. Slowly he produces a design. Wow!

Proudly, he shows it to me. I dig deep into my language learning for the right Russian words to say - Otlichnaya Rabota! Otlichnaya Rabota! Good Job. We both smile.

As I put away art supplies, a little girl bursts into the room. “Chi, Chi !” she insists. Time for tea. I follow her to where a party is being laid out.

Birthday Girl

No Styrofoam here. China cups and plates encircle the table with pots of peppermint tea. It’s the little girl’s Birthday. She’s 8 years old. Her mother has brought in a small cake. It’s a very special treat.

As we settle around the table, a wonderful Ukrainian ritual is repeated. People begin sharing birthday wishes. These are not quick clichés like those printed on a Hallmark card. No, the people share stories - intimate stories about a person’s character, talents and goodness.

Each person takes time to tell their story. No hurry when you’re celebrating a birthday. I love the way Ukrainians are not embarrassed to express kindness. It’s a lesson to copy.

I look at the little girl. She’s wearing a red dress. Red is considered a most beautiful color in Ukraine. This little girl is so sweet and beautiful.

The Birthday Ritual continues. Gentle words of appreciation accumulate like dozens of gifts – but only more valuable. I am touched when her older brother speaks. I don’t know all his words, but I understand his tone and body language. He admires and loves his little sister so much. We all should be so blessed.

Soon it will be New Years. For Ukrainians this holiday is more like our American Christmas, but without all the commercial excess. It’s family time centered around a shared meal. I’m honored to be invited into this family

A whole roasted chicken

We’re gathering at Babushka’s home. Like most Ukrainian celebrations, the living room has been rearranged to accommodate the generations. A grand daughter is so excited to show me the table with food laid out. She especially wants me to see and take notice of “an entire roasted chicken.” I smile and do take notice.

But then...I wonder why does she seem to cherish it so much? Could there be deeper significance - “an entire roasted chicken?”

I believe all people carry collective memories. I learned during Peace Corps training that food shortages are a Ukrainian memory. When the Soviet empire collapsed there were long lines at markets. During the World Wars, Ukraine was the landscape of countless battles. The fertile farm land was scorched over and over again and families were left to sift through ashes.

And even more, Ukrainians endured the Holodomor. Holodomor? Have you heard about it? Like most westerners, I didn’t know. I was ignorant.

Holodomor is a Ukrainian word for death by forced starvation.

In the early 1930s, Stalin targeted opposition for extinction, especially in the rural farming communities. As a result about 6 million men, women and children were slowly killed - starved to death in a man-made famine engineered by this totalitarian regime.

Amazingly, we remember the Holocaust, lest we forget, but shame on us.  The Holodomor is mostly forgotten. Yet among Ukrainians...they never forget.

So maybe, there is a deeper significance in collective memory - a whole roasted chicken

We begin our New Years meal. And the first of many toasts is made. Toasting has a rich heritage going back to Cossack times. Each one is offered with eloquent words, a heartfelt speech and a shot of Vodka, of course.

My family shares five rounds of toasting. First and second rounds are to welcome everyone and honor our friendship together. The third to honor women. The forth to honor men. The fifth is to give Glory to Ukraine. There can be more, but often five shots of vodka is enough. Don't you think?

As we celebrate, a Surprise bursts into the room.

Surprise!

A bouquet of balloons is brought to the table. The granddaughters have inserted poetic best wishes into each balloon. Everyone selects one and squeezes it until it explodes. With a loud bang, out pops a truly hand-made blessing.  What a splendid activity. It costs next to nothing, but is filled with warm regard and love. So simple and thoughtful and lots of fun too.

Annya, an older granddaughter gives me a handmade card. I think she composed the kind message inside. I read it…

Jud & Annya

We wish you health...so you may enjoy each day in comfort.

We wish you love of friends and family...and piece (sic) within hearts.

We wish you beauty of nature ...that you may enjoy the work of God.

We wish you wisdom to choose priorities...for those things that really matter in life.  

We wish you generosity so you may share....all the good things that come to you.

We wish you happiness and joy...and blessings for the New Year.

We wish you the best of everything that you so well deserve.

As I leave this loving home, it begins to lightly snow. Nostalgia drifts into my mind and heart.   I remember home, family, and friends. Many memories from America and now more are here in Ukraine. It's a Wonderful Life….

May you too be blessed during this holiday season and cherish the deeper significance of your memories.

Link for the LCUUF Service 12/18/2022

Keeping Sane During COVID

For more than two years, I’ve stayed close to my home, in Washington, DC. In fact like many, you might say I'm cocooning. 

No impromptu visits with friends. No dinner parties. No crowded restaurants. No human contact except from behind a mask while peering into eyes of others at the supermarket. You never know where COVID might be lurking.  I'm trying to live a sanitized and vaccinated life.

I think going digital is keeping me sane. 

My passion for teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) has beamed me into a new online world. 

I've become digital with Zoom.

Of course there is a learning curve. I had never used Zoom and now I’m about to use it for teaching.

First I had to teach myself so I went to “Google University.” That’s my name for the plethora of information delivered via text and videos online. Since I’m mostly a self taught ESL teacher, I’m accustomed to learning new skills on line. 

Before too long I’m creating break-out rooms, projecting videos, using online games, sharing my whiteboard and testing students via a chat box. That’s kind of good for an older guy like me if I do say so myself.

Oh sure, I make plenty of mistakes getting lost on the various levels of the software. Several times, I click on the wrong icon and end a Zoom meeting abruptly. Fortunately, my students know enough to rejoin.

I try to celebrate mistakes in class. I tell my students, mistakes are the doorway to more learning. 

My first group of Zoom students motivate me. Thank you Dzung, Ahn, Fang, Mahmoud, Jehan, Abid, Quinquin, for your patience and encouragement. We discovered that Zoom English and friendship can connect us beyond national boundaries. It’s a wonderful blessing during this age of COVID.

Sunset on Lake Chapala, Mexico

Since October I have been teaching ESL in Mexico. This time it’s in person! One of my classes has 8 students from the local Technical School (like a community college). In order to graduate, they need to pass an intermediate level test and give a speech in English.

I’ve been promoting the idea of becoming Self Guided Learners. Instead of a teacher, I introduce myself as a Coach. I explain, “Just like a coach, I can help you learn to play the game. And our game is English.” I supply curated links on the Internet and show them how to maximize practice time.

I found a great video that set in motion a lot of quality practice. It’s called JAM or “Just A Minute.” Students select a random topic – travel, friendships, favorite foods or whatever. If they get stuck for a new topic, they ask Google to produce “topics for conversations.” After all, they are becoming Self Directed Learners.

Then with no preparation, they set a timer for 60 seconds and start talking without pausing. The genius of this activity is that it forces a learner to stop mentally translating and start using English to think. Sure it’s hard to stretch the mind in this way, but thinking in English is an important step towards fluency.

Recently, I started a new project. It emerged during a Zoom conference about refugees with Unitarian Church leaders.

Many Afghan refugees are coming into the Washington, DC area. Typically, the men know some English since they worked with Americans in Afghanistan. 

But the woman do not. They stayed at home and now are in a strange land with an even stranger language.

Of course when they heard of my ESL experience, they wanted to set up tutoring sessions. I soon realized that one on one tutoring or even a class was not a sustainable solution given the numbers. 

 I got to thinking how do people learn a new language?

Often they hope for magic. If only we have a class or a tutor….they say to themselves...we’ll understand. But in reality, there is no magic, rather it’s a slow steady process that relies more on their own practice, patience and perseverance.

That’s when I decided to produce a guide. It’s entitled Yes, You Can Learn English. I began sharing it with churches and agencies. My hope is that refugees and new immigrants will be empowered to become Self Guided Learners. 

If you would like a copy to share with others, email me and request “Yes, You Can Learn English.” My only request is that you share it freely.

During these COVID years, I’ve learned that we can in fact turn lemons into lemonade. We pause and assess the situation. We see where there are still needs and discover ways to help. We risk making mistakes and learn a few new skills. Along the way we find unexpected friendships. 

 I think we’re not only keeping sane, but we’re finding ways to thrive.