Shaking off academia

It has been a busy spring break. I finally got to do a bit of research for an independent project I dreamed up for the Sudan Studies Association. I'll be going to Florida mid-May to present a paper on land laws and their effect on resettlement in southern Sudan. It's been a tough project because most of the source material I need is only available in Arabic. I've had to rely on journal articles describing Sudanese legislation to learn about the legislation, itself. Fortunately, I have recently encountered a group of British academics who should be able to get me a full translation.

I've been working as fast as I can, because I won't have time for things like this when I go back to class tomorrow. But for all the reading that I've done, the most powerful lesson thus far has come from my mother.

I make a point of calling home at least once a week. The conversations are comfortable and rejuvenating -- Mom tells me everything the family has been doing, I tell her everything I've been doing. It doesn't matter that she doesn't understand the legal doctrine I'm learning, or that I don't know the co-workers she's describing. This is how we weave our lives together, like any healthy family does.

On this particular call, I started telling Mom about my project for the SSA. I was going over some of the more controversial provisions of the 1984 Civil Transaction Act when she stopped me.

"You mean, if you leave your land for more than a year, the government takes it?"

"Yeah, Mom. And that's a real problem for people who are running to the cities for protection from violence."

"You mean ... your father's land isn't his, anymore?"

That stopped me -- the little break in my mother's voice, more than anything else. I know how much my father has lost. I think about it all the time. Officially knowing he has no home to return to -- that's no surprise. But you have to understand about my mom: She is one of the strongest women in the world. Perhaps because she grew up with bombs falling on the neighbor's house, perhaps because she was born that way, my mother has an inner strength surpassing most. If there is an emergency, Mom handles it. If there is a death in the family, Mom handles it. If there are tears, Mom handles that too. So hearing her voice crack -- I'd imagine watching the planet shatter would be just as surprising.

Maybe it was just the remnants of a cold, maybe that pinprick of sorrow is something I made up. But I realized something. Academia is just as much of a filter for dealing with these issues as self-enforced ignorance. The only real knowledge I will ever have comes from knowing people, seeing places, experiencing life myself. That is not to say research isn't useful; it is a powerful tool. But at some point, I need to cast off my protections and really feel.