Leslie Hiebert

Note to Hampshire self

We weren’t nervous about going to Hampshire. Our sister was nervous about going back to her school and she commented on our stoicism with some asperity. I will tell you something you did not know then, you were enraged.  You had to pay attention to the newly broken parts of Family right when you were building a life called “Best Years of My Life.”  The years at Hampshire would be covered with continual tsunamis of the remnants of Family. No, you were never nervous about Hampshire, you had braved living in a tiny Punjabi village for months with far less support than Hampshire provided. 

Hampshire was new country when you were there. The buildings were named AB 1 and 2.  House 3, 4, and 5.  All brand new. And you were newly returned to the U.S. Attempting to narrow down the choices in the context of such a blank slate was hard.  Pick creative writing, and there it goes through the school of Humanities and Arts, David Smith, struggling next to poets and literatiy word smithing and world making?  Maybe third world culture and western influence, enter Social Science, distinguish between Me (female American living in Little America escaped to Village India) and Them (Indian who saw The West Glitter but Debauchery!).  What about the driving forces of religion, from kitchen gods to singular entities, small miracles and great wheels of rebirth.  The best help was conversation with a stunningly empathetic professor, in a field never yet considered, the gentle balm of ethics, integrity, civility. Sorting out some of the key questions was a monumental task, in the end all the schools helped frame and build a platform of understanding from which you could dive ahead.  You left Hampshire feeling  you  had little cohesion around a “major,” a grab bag of ideas, explorations, interests, but appreciation for Lifelong Learning tools.

No surprise really that following the money became a key aspect of your work at Hampshire even though the shocking, brutal truth of poverty in India seemed always inextricably tied to an enormous capacity and appreciation for life. All the ways money was and was not power.  Spending money to make money. Stealing money. Money as bribe, tool, reward, responsibility, charity, punishment, symbol, moral compass.   Money at the root of Big Lies, deceit, manipulation, politics, torture.  I would do a better job now of asking money questions.

You had so many materials available (Miriam Slater, Frank Holmquist, Stan Warner, Penina Glaser, Laurie Nisonoff), a subscription to the UTNE Reader, classes at UMass.  You had some words.  Following the money meant economics, Marx, Adam Smith, Keynes, micro/macro, statistics, capitalism, distribution of wealth, measurements.  Div I exams were in areas related to the question (celestial navigation (key to money making then, no?), the ontological proof for the existence of god (how could East and West both come to need spiritual life even from such different places), always, always making or finding most sense in metaphors and sidebars.  Div III was an amalgam for you, of class, course designing and teaching, endless writing, blurry distortions, and intense focus on small things.  Designing and teaching a 17^th Century studies course recounting the trial of the early feminist Ann Hutchinson – the Salem Witch trials traceable to the changing economy and role of women but expressed in the language of religion. In your heart, questions of religion always mixed in.  You mixed in the thousand incarnations of god in Hindu religion, the embrace of all gods and faces of the gods, acceptance of the god of money.  Hinduism allowed for a perfect co-opting of Brahma.  Brahma, just another avatar, nothing to see here.  Hinduism stole a god and made it its own.  But really you tended the everyday reality of the kitchen shrine, burning offerings to the Mother, setting aside the Father in hopes he be redeemed.  Many primitive offerings on the shrine of Mother, Sister. All the while, not believing.

You might have worked with that very empathetic professor who is still, today, offers gentle insight and extreme kindness.  That path not taken is full of mystery and intrigue.

My thanks for being brave. You knew early that it was indeed actually up to you and did not panic.  Failure was always simply a first try. Trying was the only key.   Hampshire caught us, set us on our feet, gave a little push, and off the high dive into the deep end we went. A gifted school.

That is my letter to you, I hope it is one of encouragement.  Your trick of spreading work all over every flat space, including the floor, yet remembering where everything is was very helpful in big cases.  Your stripping big ideas down to essential elements easily transferable.  The willingness to be outside the box not as appreciated.  Very difficult to find people with shared experiences.

Good luck at the end,

Leslie