Embassy Visit

I've been a Fulbright scholar in Panama for almost 7 months now, so it's a little bit surprising that I just recently had my first visit to the U.S. Embassy.  (The Embassy is on the bus line between my AirBnB and my office at the Ciudad del Saber, so it's not at all far away nor hidden; also, the Embassy is the local support center for all Fulbright Scholars in Panama.  Those are two reasons why you'd think I'd have gotten the chance to visit earlier . . . but nopers, last week was the first time I'd been summoned.)

At this point, I should definitely do the disclaimer thing:

This post is not an official site of the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State. 

 The views expressed on the site are entirely those of Annalisa 

and do not represent the views of the Fulbright Program, 

the U.S. Departments of State, or any of its partner organizations.

A sign outside the U.S. Embassy in Panama,
promoting the Fulbright program.

Two or three weeks ago, all of the Fulbrighters here were summoned to a meeting, no reason given.  Of course, the rumors started flying: were we being defunded? Eventually we were told the meeting was a delayed, but obligatory, part of our experience, delineated in the vast plentitude of paperwork we'd received long ago: "On the Panama Post handbook, page 13, point IV. Arrival and living in Panama, the second bullet reads 'You will also need to schedule an in-country orientation with U.S. embassy staff'."  We were told that briefing session would be for us to meet the Embassy support staff and the Cultural Affairs Officer, talk about our programs, expectations, policies, current issues in Panama, and for the staff to respond to our concerns or other general information we might need.

We were asked to please arrive at least ten minutes before "and don’t bring any electronics, backpacks or suitcases because you won’t be able to enter with them". That request kicked up questions: how do we uber there without a cellphone?  Ensuing discussion:

• "They don't let you bring ANYTHING electronic. you leave things at the front office in exchange for a badge. (When I came with my kid for passport things, I had to leave her baby bag and just bring one diaper. We're talking about that kind of security.) I'm sure they let you bring pen and a notebook though to take notes."
• "There's so much security you can't really go anywhere without a badge or unaccompanied. The front desk will call [our contact] or her staff."
• "No, actually your cellphones will be kept until you leave. By electronics we mean laptops, tablets etc."

Obviously, I was filled with curiosity about what the experience would actually be like.  I was curious not only because I know the Embassy is well protected and would be a new (and to me, interesting) novel bureaucratic experience, but also because I suspected that the flurry of news coming from the White House might have prompted this long-overdue meeting, and I wasn't exactly sure what that might look like.  

The actual visit.

I showed up at the front gate about a half an hour early for my appointment. The gate attendant radioed my name up to somebody; when he got the OK he let me pass through, walking, with my bag and everything. He gave me directions, and I duly walked past the big Consular Services building to the second building, with a big sign saying "Embassy of the United States". At the front of that building, a clerk behind the bank-style window took my official ID and in exchange gave me a red visitor badge.  She then buzzed the door to let me into the building.

This little building was actually a gateway building. Inside, an attendant had me pass all of my stuff through a TSA-style scanner, and I walked through what I guess was a metal detector. She took my cell phone, my USB, and my keys, tucking them into a cubby and giving me a laminated tag that would allow me to collect my items on the way out. I got to keep my notebooks, my hat, my glasses, my bag, and a sweater. The sweater was crucial; it's like 90° outside, but I was sure that inside the embassy it would be refrigerator temperatures. I was right.

Shortly before my meeting, a staff member who had helped me get my immigration paperwork  (who I'll call "Beatrice"), came to collect me and the other Fulbrighter who was attending the meeting with me. Beatrice took us all up to a gift shop where she bought us chocolate chip cookies and a cappuccino. The gift shop sold a couple of interesting knickknacks, and also lots and lots of bottles of liquor. From there, we wandered through the shiny marble and chrome hallways to a seminar room, with Beatrice and her boss (wrapped up in a sweater much bigger than mine) fired up a slideshow where we discussed the handbook that they had given us, comparing it to our actual experiences, and giving them feedback on how they might update it better.

About a half an hour into the appointment, the cultural attaché came in.  This was where we got to talk about all the scrambling that has had to happen because of everything that you and I have been reading about orders from the White House. 

Yes, payments had been frozen for 15 days – an unprecedented freeze in our history – these payments were unfrozen yesterday. Everybody is still scrambling to figure out how to process the backlog. The Fulbright program is congressionally mandated, and it has been in place since the 1960s, so it is in better shape than many of the other programs that the embassy supports. I myself am doubly fortunate in that I'm far enough along in my stay here that (a) I have already received all of my award money, and (b) even if I hadn't, I'm financially stable enough to shrug it off. For my fellow Fulbrighter--somewhat fresh out of graduate school and early enough in her program that she hasn't yet received all of her funding checks--the delay in funding has been worrisome and possibly even critical. She and I were both reassured to hear she wouldn't be having to gut her meager savings to continue the research she's funded to do here.

Then came the DEI talk . . . or rather, the talk about not-talking-about-DEI.  This, really, was the reason we were meeting in person.  It was so much better to talk frankly than to put the discussion into writing: so good to be able to speak openly, to hear the frustration, to acknowledge that an office named "cultural affairs" has been ordered by its boss to do what is essentially a 180 when it comes to thinking about how to do outreach. I think much of the undercurrent of this part of the conversation was echoed the next day in a New York Times article with the title, "These words are disappearing in the new administration" (link here)

A screen shot showing a partial list of the disappearing words;
the entire list doesn't fit on one screen.

An aside: Making a statement

I tend to be a law-and-order kind of a person, and so I totally get that the people who work for the government are obliged, by the reason and rules of their employment, to follow the regulations their employer gives them. I can't imagine how hard it is to be a federal employee right now: personally wondering whether your job will exist tomorrow, debating whether you can be of more use within the system or without, trying to make sense of pronouncements that come with almost whiplash speed. 

But as for me, I find the anti-science, anti-diversity mandates that are taking over federal government to be both morally repugnant and terrifying.  I cringe that the effects of these pronouncements are spreading to non-governmental agencies like the Howard Hughes Medical Institute, which just abruptly canceled a huge science education grant aimed at helping multiple institutions improve their approach to entry-level classes; they did so while in the middle of this project, even erasing all mention of it on their websites, leaving many of my colleagues reeling.  

It is hard to know how to respond or what to say amid the swirling and erratic changes.  I am intensely thankful that my own professional society -- The Mathematical Association of America -- not only maintains inclusive wording on their website here, but has made public pronouncements that these values remain at the heart of our mission.  I don't tend to use words describing people or communities in my own math presentations, so I don't face the dilemma of whether to scrub words or phrases from my slides, but my professional website tries to emphasize how these ideas motivate my teaching.

Both my career and my personal life have been driven by what I believe is a moral obligation of outreach, of serving those who have been denied justice in the past, of reaching beyond my own very privileged experiences and trying to create bridges to the experiences and lives of others.  My religion is similarly grounded in such ideas: that a measure of our faith is the extent to which we extend hospitality to strangers, help those in need, cry out for justice for the oppressed, deny ourselves and love our neighbors. How to do so most effectively, at this particular moment in time, I'm not sure. 

End of the aside: Back to the Embassy visit

We also collectively breathed sighs of relief that the Trump administration's threats to usurp control of the Panama canal haven't seemed to result in hostility to the U.S. citizens visiting and living in Panama.  On the contrary, my own experiences here continue to be one of being made to feel extremely welcome and indeed almost imploringly invited back.  

My fellow Fulbrighter and I got all the time we need to ask and answer questions; then the attaché left and we continued the bureaucratic review of the handbook.  

Almost two hours after our meeting began, Beatrice's boss walked me back to the guard house, where I exchanged my laminated card for my keys/cellphone/USB, and then the guard reminded me (thank you!!!) to swap my visitor's badge for my I.D. card.  I walked back down the winding road to the gate house, passed through, and hopped on the bus (820 Ciudad del Saber/El Canal es Nuestro) that led me past fences upon fences of Panamanian flags.