Maria Ramos Chertok

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April 29, 2021 By Maria Ramos-Chertok Leave a Comment

Strong Waves: APRIL 2021 Blog Post

I’m called to write about an email I received on April 23rd that was sent to all parents and students at my sons’ high school. I opened it, prepared to scan it quickly, as I do most of these emails, and then delete it.  This email did not allow for such efficiency.  The words on the page made me freeze.  I read it once, read it again, and then decided I could not deal with it, so I filed it in a folder on my computer. But the adage “out of sight, out of mind” did not hold true.  My mind kept wanting to process the highly disturbing information, yet all I could think is that I am on the wrong planet.  

I will describe the email, with the strong advisement that the topic was sexual violence and very disturbing. 

The message was from the school superintendent regarding a story on TikTok declaring April 24th national rape day, making it legal for rape or sexual assault to occur on that date. When I saw that I froze. What kind of person or culture could give rise to this notion? What must it be like to be a student reading these words and heading to school? It made me sad, angry, scared, and disgusted. In my despair, I felt I had no one to talk to about it.  

Instead, for several days: 

  • I kept silent.  
  • I did not reach out to process my sadness.  
  • I did not reach out to get support.  
  • I stuck the email in a folder in an attempt to make it go away.  
  • I wanted to act like it never happened because accepting the truth of the email and the fact that it originated somewhere, meant accepting that I live in this world with others for whom this was a good idea.  

Looking back my response is typical of how many women deal with being harmed.  Society asks, “why didn’t she say anything?” “why didn’t she tell anyone?” “why didn’t she reach out for help?”  My answer:  I felt numb; I felt demoralized and I feel exhausted by the energy it’s taken over my lifetime to think about my safety every time I leave the house alone.  That’s why.

But I don’t want to hold this alone.  It feels too familiar to do so.  I realized I don’t want to collude with the silence that keeps so much violence against women away from public scrutiny and prevents women from seeking support.  So here I am.

Yet, I am not an official statistic.  By that I mean I have never filed a police report for sexual assault.  Although, I’ve had my ass grabbed by male strangers, I’ve been flashed walking down the street, I’ve been at a crosswalk and had a man in his car masturbate in front of me while stopped at a streetlight, I’ve been locked into a car and forced to kiss a man, I’ve been called a cunt by an ex-fiancée who said he loved me.  This has become part of an unspoken backdrop of my life, and experiences of this nature are in the daily mix for many women and girls and transgender folks.  

Along these lines, I watched the Netflix series Bombay Begums, this month without realizing that April is National Sexual Assault Awareness month. The Netflix series is a (fictional) story about five Indian women of varying ages whose lives intertwine as they deal with sexual harassment and assault, all in the larger context of examining what it means to be a woman in today’s society.  I know the TikTok rumor (or not) is backlash to National Sexual Assault Awareness month and I have to remember that backlash is fear combined with a desire to control that which cannot be controlled.

While the actors in Bombay Begums live oceans away, the themes in their lives are deeply familiar to me, reminding me that this series is a form of political action: part of an international movement dedicated to creating a world where women can live lives free from the many forms of violence we experience and, like the strong waves in the oceans that separate me from the five actors in the series, this movement cannot be controlled, this movement cannot be stopped.

Photo by Trey Musk www.unsplash.com

Filed Under: Blog Tagged With: #metoo, Bombay Begums, Sexual Assault Awareness Month, Silence is not consent

April 27, 2021 By Maria Ramos-Chertok Leave a Comment

Imagine: MARCH 2021 Blog Post


As I contemplated this month’s blog post, the murders of eight people in Atlanta, Georgia, six of whom were women of Asian descent, sat heavy on my heart.  Monday, we woke up to another mass shooting of ten people in a supermarket in Boulder, Colorado.  These compounded shootings joined with the desolation I’d been trying to push back when I think about the 2.73 million people worldwide who have died from Covid-19 in the past year.  So, yes, death in its many forms is on my mind.  Grief has become the water we swim in.  

I am no stranger to grief.

In June of 1979, my father died in a county mental hospital.  He had no health insurance and his diagnosis of pre-senility dementia at fifty-four years old meant he required round-the-clock care, but had no money to pay for it.  I visited him in this very sad and scary place: picture a scene from the 1975 movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  He died alone, and to this day that is one of the things that plagues me.  Was he scared?  Who found his body?  What was the last thing he thought or felt before he passed? I’ll never know the answers.    

Years later in May of 2005, my grandmother died alone too.  I’d flown to New Jersey to be with her in the hospital, but the hospital wanted her out and she died as she was being transported to hospice by a couple of orderlies I’d never meet.  Again, questions plague me and have left me unsettled ever since.

Then yesterday I found a worksheet from an online course I took in 2020 where I was asked to answer the question: “I’m scared of…”  I was shocked to see that I had written, “being alone when I die.”  I wasn’t aware of the impact these two deaths had on my psyche.  I only made the connection when I stumbled across the worksheet months after I’d written those five words.

I am left to wonder about the impact that losing a loved-one to a mass shooting will have on the many people whose lives are now forever touched by this madness.  I am left to wonder about the impact of losing an elderly parent and not being able to see them or say goodbye.  There are so many people dealing with loss.  I actually googled “how to become a grief counselor” today.  I never reached out for support and so many won’t, but what if I could touch one heart?  Might the world be a better place?  Sadly, I don’t think so.  I’m at a loss for what to do.  I want to be able to imagine a world where we don’t have guns, racism, sexism, or hate. Yet — like grief – all four have become part of the water in which we swim.  I want to imagine a world where black and brown people are not disproportionately impacted by the economic fallout of pandemics or the pandemic itself, yet it’s sewn into the fabric of our U.S. history. 

So, I’m committing today to not give up.  I am going to force myself to imagine what a world I want to live in looks like.  Each morning when I open my eyes, I’ll have to re-commit to imagining. I will keep donating, coaching, advocating, and loving as if it’s possible to love this world of ours into something that feels unimaginable to me, but is necessary for our survival.

Photo by Belinda Fewings www.unsplash.com

Filed Under: Blog

February 26, 2021 By Maria Ramos-Chertok Leave a Comment

Gemstones: An Interview with Barbara Clifton-Zarate (#MMIWG): FEBRUARY 2021 Blog Post

MDC:  To begin, please tell me a bit about who you are 
 
BCZ:  I am a descendent of the Patawomack Tribe. I can trace my father’s lineage back to before the first invaders to North America to the Powhatan (Chief), of now Virginia, and the tribes of the area that were documented by the invaders.  There are over 500 federally recognized tribes in the U.S. and many more that are not federally recognized, each with their own language, culture, and traditions.
 
My father served in the U.S. military for thirty years. His colleagues would call him “Red” or “Chief.”  He served ten years in the Marines and he was sent to Saigon, China at eighteen to the front lines. He was at Pearl Harbor when it was bombed, oversaw much of the communication work on the Pacific Coast, including the Nike sites and communications towers on Mt. Tam.  
 
My mother lived through WWII in Germany.  She was born in 1921 in a small town in West Germany.  Hitler was formally in power in 1933 when she was twelve.  The War began in 1939 and ended in 1945. She lived through the horrors of that war. My father met my mother when he was stationed in Germany during World War II.  After the war, he returned to the United States and then went back to Germany, married my mother, and they settled in the U.S. I was born at Letterman Army Hospital in the Presidio in San Francisco where my father was stationed at that time. I come from, and grew up with, parents that lived a great deal of their lives in war and war zones.
 
Understanding who I am in the world is an exploration that is important to me. My father’s lineage has called to me for a long time, so to understand my history has been eye-opening. Living in both my father’s world and my mother’s world meant that I had to learn how to code-switch.  Growing up, depending on where I was, I’d censor a part of who I was. For example, in grade school the kids would play cowboys and Indians and the Indians always got killed, so I got the message it was not cool to be the Indian. 
 
Throughout my childhood, my father told stories that I wish I had paid more attention to.  When he was gone, I realized there were some things lost, and other things I would not be able to know unless I reached out to members of our tribe.  I was on a journey to understand who he was and what his life was like. I discovered there was a lot of history and politics that I did not understand and had to learn. I could not simply walk into Indian Country and say, “Hey, I’m Indian!”  I had to learn about the different cultural traditions and ways of being in order to connect more fully to my heritage. I have been fortunate to meet a lot of amazing elders along the way that have guided me. One elder from the Salish Flathead Reservation, Gen Huitt, gave me the name Yoyoot Simmu’em, which means Strong Woman.
 
MRC: Tell me about the connections you make between genealogy, epigenetics, and healing
 
BCZ:  Genealogy and epigenetics are fascinating to me and can help us understand a lot about ourselves.  The nature versus nurture debate is curious and I find there are behaviors that show up in my life that seem more connected to an ancestor’s life experience.  For example, once when I was walking through Union Square in San Francisco the emergency sirens sounded. I had an extreme visceral negative physical reaction that I believe is connected to the fear my mother experienced. I believe that until we heal the traumas of our ancestors, we carry them, repeat them and pass them on to the next generation. So for me, healing ancestral trauma is really important. 
 
I have ancestors on my father’s side that have endured the traumas of how Native people have been treated in this country.  That has not been my direct experience.  As a bi-cultural person that is white-passing, I have had the privilege to bypass much of that trauma.  Yet, it has been passed down and I have physical reactions and triggers that make me think that I re-experience the trauma my ancestors have experienced.  
 
I am part of an all-women intertribal and intergenerational drum group, the White Buffalo Woman Council. When I drum and engage in other Native spiritual practices, I do this for the healing of our Mother Earth, for the healing of the People, for healing of the Ancestors.  I do this for the future generations, born and unborn. I believe that my father’s, mother’s, and grandparent’s traumas that were not healed, were passed on to me. I pass any unhealed trauma onto my children, and they to their children. Healing is important work.
 
Growing up I always felt that things were not right, but I had no understanding of our world. I was a kid.  Now, I know the history and realities of how our systems and structures were formed and who benefits and who doesn’t, and some of the horrors of humankind. I am also in awe of the amazing strong women who do the hard heart work that make things right for future generations.  So, I am called to serve and to do healing work. I feel it is my responsibility as an elder. 
 
MRC:  You share that you are an elder.  Say more about how you hold that responsibility
 
BCZ:  Most of my ancestors have passed — all of my family’s elders: aunties, uncles, parents, and grandparents have passed on. Two of my siblings and I are now the elders.  In my family, I am the holder of the family history and I keep the family connected.  My responsibility as an elder is to offer care and compassion to my family and community. 
 
In Indigenous cultures, elders are respected and honored. Elders are first to eat, then the children, and so on. When I was at Standing Rock in 2016, I was in a community room at Sitting Bull College on the Reservation. I was sitting talking to the person next to me. It was time to eat and I noticed the room got quiet and the person next to me said, “you know they are waiting for you.”  I had to stop and process that and take in the incredible responsibility that comes with being considered an elder.  This was a profound moment. At Standing Rock the life expectancy is 52 years, in Marin County, it is 88 years. That reality and my new status as elder was a lot to process. It is deep and it has changed me.
 
MRC:  You are working to raise awareness about Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (#MMIWG).  Please tell me about this.
 
BCZ:  The history of violence against Native women dates back to the history of invaders to this continent. Traditionally in Native communities, women were always respected as givers of life. Women have power. When colonizers wanted to exploit the earth, they created a false narrative that women were evil and had evil powers to discredit women and take their power. This was used to open the doors to the destruction of the earth.  
 
Today, four out of five Native women are affected by violence and Native women face murder rates that are ten times that of non-native women. When I look at who goes missing and who gets raped, I connect the power we have as women as threatening to many men.  
 
We are hearing more about Missing, Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (#MMIWG) here in North America, AND it is a global issue. For example, in the Philippines women are being trained to protect themselves against the increasing violence against them.  In Mexico the femicide near the border and in border towns is increasing.  I connect what is happening to Indigenous women and women of color, here and across the globe, to the culture of the patriarchy and the threat our power is to men. 
 
Corporations are putting oil pipelines through and around reservation lands where workers are housed in “man camps.” Men are recruited from across the country and with their presence, there is an increase in rape and homicide in these areas.  This is one factor increasing the violence against Native women. A sister will go out to the store and never come back. There still is no accountability for the increasing number of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (#MMIWG).  Even though there is information, authorities are not taking action or holding those responsible accountable.
 
Violence against women and girls may happen on native land but if the perpetrator is non-native, tribal governments do not have jurisdiction over them. There would need to be a coordinated response between local, state, federal, and tribal jurisdictions, but there is a long history of mistrust that tribal communities have against governmental law enforcement. 
 
MRC: What is the Red Dress Project?
 
BCZ: The Red Dress project provides a visual focus on the issue of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (#MMIWG). The art installation of red dresses has been installed across Canada and the United States as a reminder of the staggering number of women and girls that are missing or have been murdered. The art is meant to draw attention to the gendered and racialized nature of violent crimes against Indigenous women. 
 
The RED-painted hand on the face represents the silencing of Indigenous women and girls.  A red handprint across the mouth has become a symbolic representation of the violence that affects Indigenous women and girls across the Americas. There is deep respect and meaning to the symbol.
 
Another connection to this culture of violence has to do with the sacred Bear and the connection to women. The Bear is a powerful being on the earth.  The ability for man to hunt and kill a bear as a sport and not feel remorse is the similar space from which a man can kill a woman.  It is not a coincidence that there is an increase in the killing of Bears, other Beings, and women. The disconnect from our Mother Earth that was created to exploit her, is the basis of this disregard for life. I read that several of the men that sieged the Capital on January 6, 2021, to “hunt” lawmakers, appear also to have a trend of violence against women.  
 
We have a lot of work to do, but I am optimistic that we women are reclaiming our power and will make things right on Earth again. I believe we will still experience more chaos, as so many are still asleep, and others are holding on to a false pretense of power, but there are natural laws far greater than the ones we humans have created. I believe the heart of women and the power of love will override the negative in the end. 
 
MRC: What can readers do to gain more knowledge and/or take action?
 
BCZ: To learn more and to find out what you can do to get engaged and support organizations
(calls to action, education, movement building, educating yourself, sharing data and articles, engaging in training) visit The Coalition to Stop violence against Native Women 
 
A few good books to read are An Indigenous People’s History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz and Columbus and other Cannibals by Jack Forbes

Filed Under: Blog Tagged With: #MMIWG, Indigenous Women, Native Women, Red Dress Project

January 28, 2021 By Maria Ramos-Chertok Leave a Comment

The Art of Letting Go: JANUARY 2021 Blog Post

My son was accepted into college in December 2020 and will be moving to the East Coast in the fall. With all the excitement that entails, I feel scared. For the past two days, I’ve participated in a workshop with Rockwood Leadership Institute called The Art of Navigating Change. Participants were asked to bring a “wicked problem” to the session. Having given some thought to what to choose, I kept coming back to the same one:  my fear, maybe better described as terror, at letting my oldest son go out into the world alone.  There are many dimensions to my fear, which I won’t get into here, but the crux of it is that I don’t trust the world. I do trust mother earth, but not necessarily her inhabitants. 
 
As I gave more thought to this, I realized that it’s a mindset largely influenced by how one experiences the world. My primary concern for safety is based on my gender. I, for example, don’t feel safe walking alone, at night, anywhere, ever. I do not experience the world as a safe place.
 
When discussing my “wicked problem” the people in my small group reminded me that I must also take in the joy he’s about to encounter: the opportunity to come into himself in a new way, to make lasting friendships, to explore relationships, and to experience the East Coast. I tried to take in their wise council. I want to turn off that part of my brain that knows too much. How can I entrust my baby to the world when I don’t trust it? My son has had a good life – I want to protect that for him, and I can’t.  
 
I remember the day in 1980 when my mother said goodbye to me at the airport as she returned to New Jersey, leaving me in Berkeley, California. I can picture the tears in her eyes. I had no patience for them. I was ready to begin my new life and I’ve been on the West Coast ever since.  I’ve always thought of myself as footloose and fancy-free when it comes to relationships of all kinds.  Now I’m all tears.  
 
As a parent, I have to let go and understand that the “wicked problem” might simply be not having my worries define his experience and giving him the freedom to learn about the world with all the good and bad that entails. I have to let him find his own joy and his own sorrow and that, right about now, feels wicked hard. 

Photo by Nick Fewings www.unsplash.com
 

Filed Under: Blog Tagged With: art of change, college, college applications

December 31, 2020 By Maria Ramos-Chertok Leave a Comment

2020 Year-End Reflection


 Well, 2020 is coming to an end. As I look back on this year, it’s filled with strategies for coping. I consider myself lucky to be healthy and have the luxury of working from home.  And within my small world here I, like many, have had bouts of anxiety, mild depression, boredom, sadness, and fear.  I’ve tried various things to help calm my mind and my soul:  walking, exercising, assembling puzzles, meditating, listening to podcasts, watching the Queen’s Gambit, signing up for Zoom events, donating to causes, creating a storytelling YouTube channel for kids, and writing a blog.  Of all these things, one instance stands out that I want to share.

Several weeks ago, as my mind was in a flurry of agitation and I wasn’t able to quiet it down, I decided to listen to a guided loving-kindness meditation (metta meditation) that my sister had sent me. I laid down on my rug and followed the steps of sending love, wellbeing, and peace to myself, then to someone I love, then to someone I’m neutral about, and finally to someone for whom it’s hard for me to send good wishes, ending with sending wishes of wellbeing to all in our universe. When I got to the part about someone neutral, I chose my mailman. This human who touches my life daily, but whom I never thank or think about. I brought his face to mind, I sent him love, wellbeing, and peace. It felt a bit odd, yet I followed the instructive prompts.

At the end of my experience, my mind did feel calmer, my soul had settled.  I was grateful for the teaching.  I continued on about my day.

A few days later as I was on my daily walk, I passed the mailman. I looked in his direction. For the first time ever, he smiled and waved at me. I was struck by the change in his demeanor. I smiled. I waved back. I was jittery with what I experienced as magic.  

Now we wave each time we see one another.

When I shared this story with my friend, a practicing Buddhist, she explained that the purpose of the mediation was to open my heart, implying that his sudden 180-degree change of demeanor was not the point. I was grateful for her wisdom while also holding onto my belief that by opening my heart I created the invisible conditions for him to receive my good wishes and respond in kind.  

I’m ending the year by enjoying the simple possibility that I tapped into another plane by doing that guided mediation. That’s where I want to live more and learn from in 2021. 

From my heart to yours, Happy New Year!

Filed Under: Blog Tagged With: 2020, covid 19, loving-kindness, meditation

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About Maria

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A graduate of UC Berkeley and the University of Pennsylvania School of Law, Maria was a fellow with the National Hispana Leadership Institute, where she attended the Center for Creative Leadership and Harvard School of Public Policy. She received her mediation training from the Center for … Read more...

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