thanking bernd koschland

Some days, I really love the internet. Today is one of those days.

A few years ago, I wrote about how the internet can be a wonderful source multiplier, and a way to connect the unconnectable after a photograph I posted provided answers for a daughter about what had become of her father.

Earlier this week, I heard a riveting story on the BBC world service while driving to work. It was the 75th anniversary of the day Bernd Koschland arrived in England. He was recounting his experience as one of 10,000 Jewish children sent to the UK during the Kindertransport for safekeeping on the eve of WWII.

Newshour: Remembering Kindertransport, a rescue mission for Jewish children before World War II

Just before the outbreak of the second world war in 1938, Britain opened its borders to approximately 10,000 Jewish children who were fleeing the Nazi regime in Austria and Germany, and later Poland and Czechoslovakia. Seventy five years ago, the first of those children arrived in what became known as Kindertransport. Newshour's Razia Iqbal spoke to Bernd Koschland, who aged 7, was put on the Kindertransport from Germany by his parents after Kristallnacht, the outbreak of mass violence against Jews and their businesses which led later to the Holocaust. He told her how he remembered that night ...

I was curious to learn more about the man, and to share the interview with friends via social media, so I set about finding him online. The BBC's web site didn't list his name or have a link to just the 10-minute interview. It took a few minutes of googling-- and getting the spelling of his full name (thanks, Twitter #Kindertransport)-- to find a video interview with Bernd and his sister Ruth. I then found his LinkedIn profile, which listed the schools he had attended. From there, it was easy to figure out which Facebook profile was the right Bernd Koschland.

I sent him the following message on Facebook, hoping to thank him for sharing his story, but never expected a response.

I heard your story on the BBC world service this morning and wanted to thank you for sharing it with the world. I'm a mother of 2 living in Connecticut and it touched me deeply to think about the choice your parents made and how you now live your life. Thank you!

This morning, I awoke to a gracious, humble, and thoughtful response.  The world needs more people like Bernd.  It also needs more people to do the right thing when we encounter injustice.

stop rape culture: teach your sons (and daughters) well

Steubenville and rape culture are horrifying. That two boys decided to treat a girl as a thing and not as a person is awful. But what I have the hardest time understanding is the bystanders who not only didn't intervene, but participated in the event (slut shaming) via social media.

As parents, Leo and I are constantly talking about how to prepare our kids for the world and the tough choices that they'll have to make. We think about how to instill each with ethics and the sense of compassion, coupled with personal and social responsibility, that can make a difference in these kinds of situations.

I found this essay helpful in thinking about how to prepare my son (and daughter) for the unthinkable.  While I hope they never find themselves in a similar situation, I want them to be ready to do the right --and hard -- thing, and to not be just another bystander.

Prevent Another Steubenville: What All Mothers Must Do for Their Sons
Kim SimonMother, Wife, Blogger, mamabythebay.com
posted: 03/18/2013 5:05 pm

When Max was just a few months old, I sat cross-legged on the floor with him in a circle of other mothers. The facilitator for our "Mommy and Me" playgroup would throw a question out to the group, and we would each volley back an answer.

"What quality do you want to instill in your child? What personality characteristic would you most like for your son to be known for?" she asked.

One by one, the mothers answered. "Athletic," "good sense of humor," "brave," "smart," "strong."

The answers blended together until it was my turn to speak. I looked down at the tiny human wiggling around on the blanket in front of me with his perfectly round nose and his full lips that mirrored mine. I stroked the top of his very bald head and said with confidence: "kind."

I want my son to grow up to be kind.

The eyes of the other mothers turned towards me. "That's not always a word that you hear used for boys," one said. "But yes, you're right... so I guess, me too." At the end of the day, we wanted our tiny, fragile, helpless baby boys to grow up to be kind. Strong, resilient, athletic, funny... but above all else, kind.

Max is almost 4 years old. He knows nothing about the horrific things that young men did to a young woman on the saddest night that Steubenville has ever seen. He doesn't know, but I sure do. I know that someone's daughter was violated in the most violent way possible, by someone's son. By many sons. The blame for that night falls squarely on the shoulders of the young men who made terrible choices, but it also falls in the laps of their parents.

Sexual assault is about power and control. But it is also about so much more. While it's true that big scary monster men sometimes jump out of bushes to rape unsuspecting women, most rapists look like the men who we see every day. Acquaintance rape (or date rape) accounts for the majority of sexual assaults that we see among young people. In colleges, in high schools, at parties, in the cars and bedrooms that belong to the men who women trust. These men are your fraternity brothers, your athletes, your church-going friends, the young neighbor who mows your lawn. They are somebody's son. Date rape is often saturated with entitlement. It feeds off of the hero worship that grows rampant like weeds on school campuses and in locker rooms. Young men are taught to be strong, to be athletes, to be feared. Young women are taught to be meek, to be feminine, to be small. As our young people begin to sort out relationships with each other and relationships with alcohol, they encounter an endless menu of ways to hurt each other.

As a community, we give our athletes free reign. Young men are filled with the heavy power of triumph, their heroism illuminated by the bright lights of a brisk Friday night football game. Young cheerleaders spend hours painting signs for them, adorning hallways with fluorescent notes of encouragement. Young men are known by their football number, their last touchdown pass, their ability to get any girl they choose. Young women fill the stands with hopeful smiles, dying to be noticed.

We have created this. We have allowed this. We choose not to demand more from our young men, because we see how big they grow in the spotlight. We give them adult power, without instilling in them an adult sense of responsibility and ethics.

Moms, it is time. Now is the time to make this stop. If you are the mother of a son, you can prevent the next Steubenville.

It doesn't matter if your boy is 4 or 14 or 24. Start now.

We must teach our boys to be kind. Teaching empathy, compassion and awareness needs to begin as early as possible. A toddler can learn how to use words of kindness: "Friend, are you OK?" "I'm sorry friend, did you get a boo-boo?" Encourage tiny boys to be aware of how others are feeling. Name what they see. "Mommy is sad right now, honey. Our friend G is sick, and I want her to feel better."

Give children tasks that they can do to help someone in need. Write letters of gratitude to take to the local firehouse. Bring dinner to a mother on bedrest. Choose a toy to share with the new child that just joined your preschool class. Teach your child to go towards a child who is upset, instead of walking away. When I picked Max up from school the other day, his teacher remarked on how "kind" he was. He checks in on other students. He runs to them when they get hurt. At first, I was embarrassed... oh, how my husband will tease me for instilling my "Social Worker" traits in our son. He must be brave and tough instead. But I am so proud that he is kind. That he is a helper. That he sees the emotions of those around him. Would he have hurt for the girl in Steubenville? Would he have felt her fear and said something? Teach your sons to tune in. Name emotions for them. Give them words to match their feelings.

We must teach our boys what it truly means to be brave. Bravery doesn't always feel good. I've heard it said that "courage is being afraid, and doing it anyway." How many of those young men in Steubenville knew in their sweet boy hearts that what was happening was wrong, but still they remained silent? They were afraid to ruin their own hard-earned reputations, afraid of what their peers would think of them. They were afraid of getting in trouble, afraid they wouldn't know what to say. Teach your boys that bravery can be terrifying. Courage can be demanded of you at the most inopportune times. Let them know that your expectation is that they are brave enough to rise to the occasion. And show them how.

We must not shy away from telling our sons the truth about sex. Of course this looks different in a conversation with a 4-year-old than it does with a 12-year-old. In our house, we are still working on giving body parts their appropriate names. Making family rules about how we always wear clothes when people come to visit (OK, Sean and I are good on that one, but Max keeps answering the door in his underwear.) As uncomfortable as it is, the conversation needs to evolve as your boy gets older. Sex feels good. Sex is overwhelming. Sex is confusing. Sex tricks you into thinking that you are receiving what you need (physical satisfaction, comfort, companionship, love, respect). Sex education is more than just giving your child condoms and reminding them about STDS. As parents, we need to worry about our sons being respectful of their sexual partners, not just about them getting someone pregnant. Our boys need to know that they will find themselves at a crossroads one night, or on multiple nights. Their body will be telling them one thing, and their partner may be telling them another. It is a young man's responsibility to listen to his partner. Explain to your son what consent looks like (and doesn't look like). They need to know what sex looks like. Not the Playboy/online porn version, but the logistics of how it actually works. Teach them to ask their partners. Teach them to check in as they take the next step with someone. Teach them to stop if they don't think they're getting a clear answer.

We must give our sons the tools they need to protect themselves and each other. Can your teenager call you in the middle of the night, no questions asked? Can they tell you the truth, without you flipping out and getting angry? Do they trust that you are on their team, that you will sit down and talk things through with them, making a calm plan together? Role play with your son about how to find help, who to go to for help, what numbers to call. An embarrassed, terrified bystander in Steubenville could have quietly snuck outside to call the police for help. Or to text an anonymous tip. Or to call a parent or older sibling for advice. Instead, at least a dozen sons were paralyzed by fear. And intoxicated. And probably overwhelmed by the sexual feelings of their own that they were experiencing... feelings that they were never given the context for.

Give your son the tools they need to understand that their sexuality is a powerful thing, one that they are solely responsible for. Give them a framework for understanding that sex carries an enormous responsibility, not just to themselves, but to their partners. Does your son know what rape is? Does he know what it means? Does he know that it's not just creepy smelly guys who hide in alleys who are responsible for rape? That it's his peers? That in someone else's eyes, it could be him? Discuss the ways that a woman can give consent. Pull the curtains back on the grey areas, and demand that your son learns how to communicate with his partner... whether it's his first time or his 50th time.

When I found out that I was having a son, I was relieved at first. I thought I had dodged a bullet, not having a daughter who I would have to protect from the big, scary, violent world that is still so unkind to women. This will be so much easier, I thought. But it's not.

It's harder.

I am now pregnant with my second son. As a feminist and a mother, a survivor and an activist, a human and a writer, I have discovered that my job in preventing sexual assault is even bigger than it would be if I had a daughter. Because every rapist is someone's son. We have the chance to fix that, one little boy at a time.

an open letter to my son, who yesterday was called a 'nerd'

Joanna Schroeder's open letter to her son is a heartfelt, funny, and generally awesome take on what to say to children when someone else darkens their spark and their self-esteem. I'm filing this one away for future reference...

An Open Letter To My Son, Who Yesterday Was Called A 'Nerd' | Posted: 03/14/2013 3:58 pm EDT | Updated: 03/15/2013 11:38 pm EDT Written by Joanna Schroeder for The Good Men Project

Dear Izz,

The hardest thing to do, as a parent, is to let your kid go out into the world on his own, even if it’s just to kindergarten. Dad and I may talk a tough game about loving that you guys are getting bigger, but if we’re honest, it’s pretty scary.

See, we were here before you. We remember when there was no you at all, and then one day we watched the teeniest flutter on a screen when you were just 9 weeks into being something other than ether. You were only a few millimeters long, but we already loved you.

And when you were born, you were a mysterious and helpless little lump who needed us so entirely that you weren’t even conscious of yourself as an entity yet. And that was a heady experience for Daddy and me. Never before had we known what it was like to create life, and suddenly you were here -- both separate and a part of us.

Yesterday I watched you skip into school, eyes full of sparkle, so proud of your new glasses and haircut. We got you the same black Ray Ban frames that both Daddy and I wear, by far the coolest ones they had at Lens Crafters. We also got you a super short haircut just like the one Dad wears, so that your hair wouldn’t get in the way of your new specs.

All weekend long, our friends and family were enamored of your new look and told you how awesome you looked, how much you looked like Dad, so you felt really good about now being the second kid in your class with glasses.

But everything changed with one word from a boy in your class.

Nerd.

And your spark went dark.

“Mom, I thought ‘nerd’ just meant ‘smart’? Why did Billy say it to be mean?”

And so I explained it all to you. How some people think calling someone a nerd makes them seem cooler, but that nerds are the ones who do all the cool stuff that he loves. Nerds invented the iPad, discovered dinosaurs, have gone into space, and make the coolest movies. Nerds are the bosses, the ones who worked hard to get what they wanted, and who have the coolest lives as grown-ups.

You liked the idea of inventing the iPad, and of making a lot of money, and making cool movies like Star Wars. But you were still hurt.

And so I told you about the people who love you. Jake, Kian, Bebe and Franklin who are your best friends, who think you look cool in your glasses. Your cousin Petra who considers you her most trusted friend. Your brother who wants to be exactly like you in every way. Your aunts and uncles who love you like you’re their own child, your grandparents and mom and dad who would step in front of a bus at any moment to spare you pain.

And I told you to tell that kid Billy to mind his own business and find something better to do than be a jerk. But I know you won’t do that, because you’re too sweet and you don’t want anyone to be upset.

And there are also things I wish I could tell you that I know I can’t: That kids who are mean to other kids could be messed up inside. There are kids that have pain that is so great they don’t know what to do with it except be mean to other kids. That doesn’t give them a right to be mean to anyone else, but someone is hurting them, and that’s why they choose to be that way to you.

I can’t tell you this, but if you punched that Billy kid in the face, Daddy and I wouldn’t be mad. The fact that he took your spark of pride away from you makes him the lowest of the low in our book, and even though he’s just a kid, being knocked down a few pegs would serve him well.

I also can’t tell you this, but your dad has glasses and he got laid like crazy, well before he ever met me. I mean, more than you should probably ever know. He may have been the valedictorian of his graduating class, but that certainly didn’t stop him from dating the hottest girls.

I’m not saying that’s what you should do in your life, but if you can figure out how to adopt your daddy’s swagger, I guarantee you that kids like Billy are going to be tagging along after you, hoping to catch the tail end of the trail of women (or men, if that ends up being your thing) that will end up following you around.

And maybe you don’t want that, and will never have Dad’s too-cool-for-school aura or my big personality and no-bullshit attitude. That’s OK. We love you for who you are, and who you’re going to be.

The truth is, we don’t always understand you. When we were kids, we didn’t like the same stuff you like, and for some reason we continue to be surprised that you’re not a carbon copy of us. You’re a sensitive, curious, goofy guy who at 8 years old loves reptiles, rocks and video games more than skateboards or surfing. But we see you for who you are, and we think that’s great. Even though sometimes we have no idea what you’re talking about.

And know that Mom and Dad and your family love you, and we think you’re one of the most awesome human beings ever to be put on this earth. And be assured that we will fight for you, for your happiness, safety, and sense of self, for as long as we’re alive. Because you’re worth it, just for being the kid that you are.

Love, Mama

quotable

"I call upon you to draw from the depths of your being to prove that we are a human race. To prove that our love outweighs our need to hate. That our compassion is more compelling than our need to blame. That our sensitivity to those in need is stronger than our greed. That our ability to reason overcomes our fear. And that at the end of each of our lives, we can look back and be proud that we have treated others with the kindness, dignity and respect that every human being deserves." - Elizabeth Taylor, in her 1993 Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award honorary Oscar acceptance speech.