Waging Peace

What is the first thing you think of when you hear “Iraq?”

Judging from the frequency of cautions to “Be safe” I received when explaining my Middle Eastern summer plans, for many of us violence instantly comes to mind. To be fair, this association carries unfortunate truth: in May 2013, the UN estimates sectarian violence claimed the lives of 1,045 Iraqis.

In Northern Iraq, I remain safe, and feel as far removed from that overwhelming number as you do. In my comfortable bubble, I proudly call myself a pacifist, spontaneously cry when viewing even violent cartoons, and enjoy arguing (granted, not usually successfully) the absolute pointlessness of guns. All these nonviolent convictions amount to essentially nothing in my thus-far sheltered circumstances. But what about those who don’t have the luxury of only dealing with violence hypothetically? Does nonviolence really work for them as well?

New conviction, and one I’m prepared to argue: nonviolence works, if it doesn’t mean non-action.

Don’t worry, I’m not advocating a move to Baghdad, stopping guns and bullets in the air. I have zero idea how to stop terrorists from their already irrational, fear-inspiring actions, but I think it takes more than not shooting back.

In military terms, ‘preemptive’ refers to a strike, hitting the enemy hard before they can hit back. Preemptive love instead actively loves someone before they ask, or love back.

Preemptive Love Coalition daily “wages peace.” On the outside, heart surgeries may appear to merely put a band-aid on the effects of violence, instead of healing the source. But preemptive love is creative nonviolence in action. Through PLC’s work, people who view each other as enemies have worked together, entrusted their children into each others’ hands, and let go of hateful stereotypes for the sake of love. It’s not stopping a car bombing from happening today, but preemptive love addresses a much deeper root cause, so that someday maybe band-aids won’t even be needed. I have no idea what kind of band-aid could stop genocides or terrorism in the moment, and confess that obviously these thoughts are idealistic and uninformed. But I’ll take inspiring idealism over paralyzing cynicism any day. I hope to continue to learn from the lives of people like my friends at PLC, who have transformed idealism into action.

Violence is a reality of this world; you don’t have to be in a “dangerous” place to find it. You also don’t have to be in a dangerous place to actively fight it. Someday all violence, whether economic, physical, emotional, or spiritual will all be put right. To get in on God’s plan in all of this, maybe we just all need to be a little more active, and more creative. If heart surgeries can undo terrorism, how can you use your circumstances to wage peace?

 

Violence won't always have the last word... 

Why I may give history class another chance

In the summer of 2009, a young Minnesotan-born, California-educated hiker visited a scenic waterfall on the border of Iraq and Iran. He and his two traveling partners wandered off the beaten path and ventured a bit too close to said border. After a run-in with Iranian border patrol, they found themselves spending the next two years detained for charges of espionage in a prison in Tehran.

On the way to the waterfall. So many trees!

In the summer of 2013, another young Minnesotan-born, California-educated hiker visited that waterfall …but kept her adventurous inclinations under control, and traveled safely home at the end of the day. Under normal hiking circumstances I am all about exploration, especially when tall vantage points beckon and waterfalls are involved. But not today; history was not about to repeat itself.

On the way to our waterfall hike today, I experienced an even more significant desire for history to never be repeated. We visited a memorial dedicated to the 5000 civilians of Halabja that were brutally killed by chemical weapons on March 16, 1988, during the Iraq-Iran War.

Confession: It possibly has taken me until yesterday to admit that history may be useful. I don’t mean to offend those of you who enjoy history, but I often question how practical it is in my daily operations. Yes, I know we should learn from our fellow humans’ mistakes and successes to create a better future. But rarely do dates of wars or AP US History trivia come into consideration when I get up each morning and live out my day.

Between our waterfall hike and time at the memorial, I think I may finally understand why I should give history a chance. Not a chance at a double major, but at some over-due appreciation…

Inside the memorial

Sometimes the caution “history repeats itself” may actually matter like they say it does. Most history we study in school is far removed from my life, and unless I become someone much louder, important, or presidential, my decisions will never be in danger of causing those textbook-scale repetitions. But history on a personal level, as stories of positive or negative consequences of actions similar to my own, has infinite value. Some things, like accidental espionage into Iran, don’t fall into the “learn by trying and failing” category.

I don’t think many of us will ever be in the position to make a decision with potential to lead to a tragic event like the bombing of Halabja. But all of us humans battle against the same fallen-world motivations that led to this horrific event…greed, pride, power, retaliation, injustice. So history shouldn't lead to shallow hate-causing blame, or far-removed pity, or despair. It can instead remind us that although for a time we will all repeat these mistakes on many scales, there is another type of repetition in history: the infinite chances to listen, learn, and next time choose differently.

Not your typical 21st...

Yesterday I walked into the kitchen, said good morning to Emma and Micah (my early-rising, castle-building, ever-energetic 5 and 7 year old housemates), and was commanded, “Miss Acadia, don’t you even think about looking over here!” Micah rushed to the counter and indignantly spread his arms, in a quite valiant attempt to hide the large bowls of fruit in plain view.

Someone knows me well…Ridiculous quantities of my favorite fruits and surprise ‘A’ shaped pancakes began the most atypical, and wonderful, birthday ever.


Sometimes pancakes and bananas are better than birthday cake and ice cream (especially if you mercilessly stuff the bananas with chocolate and nutella and stick them in the oven til gooey delicious). Sometimes the best gifts aren’t in wrapping paper. Sometimes catchphrase is a better birthday party game than…uh, any number of more typical 21^st festivities.

Banana smores, Kurdistan edition

That ‘sometime’ was yesterday. My wonderful friends here didn’t ascribe to the traditional birthday customs. They made the effort to incorporate my unique quirks and wishes I didn’t even express. They prepared a surprise fruit breakfast even though a cake mix and candles would’ve been much more simple. They could’ve wrapped up some nice sparkly jewelry for a gift, but instead took the time to (sneakily!) set up a fundraiser for a child’s surgery on the upcoming Remedy Mission.

These dear friends know me well, and showed me that we weren’t celebrating my birthday, but celebrating me.

Spiritual application time: Last night at home group we compared different ways of knowing Jesus. On one hand, memorizing stories, hearing other people speak, and knowing facts (like the date of a birthday) all provide important insights to who a person is. This “head knowledge” requires minimal commitment.  But you can get to know endearing quirks and wishes, and true birthday cake preferences, and favorite activities, and it's a whole different story. This heart knowledge requires daily life together.

I want to know Jesus well enough to truly celebrate him. The Creator God knows each of us that well, and thanks to His Son, it is a two-way road.

That road can be quite beautiful, sometimes a terrifying adventure, and often difficult. Yesterday, I was blessed to take a step down the road by witnessing in my friends the generous spirit of a God who celebrates us. I must thank Him, and them, because it’s the best birthday gift I could ask for. (Banana smores and lifesaving heart surgeries close after…)

Flowers and Mirrors

Once upon a time there was a tragically poetic flower. This pink flower grew among twenty gun-laden combat vehicles in various states of dusty disrepair. These vehicles rested between bullet-ridden buildings and barbed wire frosted walls: the Amna Suraka, Saddam’s past intelligence center and prison for Kurdish rebels (and civilians). The Amna Suraka shared its city block with many homes and workplaces, smack dab in the middle of a bustling city currently growing out and up. Across the street lay Parke Azadi. Occupying the green square of “Freedom Park” were running paths, ice cream stands to motivate said running, pomegranate shaped benches, the most unstable roller coaster I’ve ever been tempted to ride, and…a mass graveyard.

Each of these layers of our tour of the Amna Suraka alone tells a completely different story. The compound now stands as a museum of Kurdish culture and the crimes committed before the prison was liberated by guerilla fighters in 1991. It was a powerful and challenging afternoon, and I wish I could accurately tell you its story, or at least one insightful take-away.

But I hesitate; I’m too afraid.

I’m afraid that my words and limited interpretation of my time here can only communicate one side of the story. The city blocks that house the Amna Suraka and Parque Azadi tell not one story, but many. Last week we discussed a Ted talk (http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html) about the danger of believing a ‘single story.’ In my short description above, I’m sure I’ve perpetuated stereotypes, oversimplified, and focused on what I want to see. A single story tricks us into putting an idea into a predictable box. A single story allows me to assume that I know more than I do about pink flowers and history and people I meet and God.

So I must remind myself as a writer, and you as a reader (to whom I’m so grateful for caring about my jumbled thoughts and experiences!) that no matter how many layers of description I can fit in a blog post, it is still only one interpretation of the story. Maybe setting foot in Iraq entitles me to have an opinion of the sounds I hear, the sights I see, and the feelings I personally experience. But in no way am I qualified to tell an accurate story of Iraq or its people or history.

Inside the Amna Suraka, 180,000 mirrors remember the Kurdish victims of genocide-like violence of the 80s. Each light on the ceiling represents a village destroyed. Each mirror belongs to a unique face, story, life. That’s easy to forget, as I saw hundreds of my own reflection staring back, my one interpretation of this story. But these mirrors show a different image to each passerby, reminding me that there are countless stories involved. Oversimplification leads to pity instead of progress and assumption instead of understanding. That makes it quite difficult to write a blog, or share my experiences, or find motivation to begin the daunting task of meaningful understanding. But hearing more than a single story can only happen one step, or one day, or one pink flower, at a time.

Worth 8000 Words

 

 

 



Photo collage inspiration thanks to Alex! Check out her blog at www.somewherenearbabylon.blogspot.com. Sorry about the watermark I can't get rid of; my limited technology skills barely made it this far. :) 

Bucket Showers

You know those situations or ideas (or people, every once in awhile) that manage to be perfectly rational and utterly illogical, at the same exact time?

Bucket showers: utterly illogical. Imagine a large and flimsy bucket of water, a very stationary and grounded sort of vessel, too small to be a bath and too large to be effectively poured. Although the water in that bucket does (supposedly) possess hygienic qualities, it in no way acts or rinses or falls like any sort of shower I know.

Bucket showers: perfectly rational. Perfectly, that is, when 12 people in one household must conserve enough water for showers, dishes, cooking, clothes, toothbrushing, and most importantly, squatty potty flushing. Thus the toasty mornings in which I don’t resort to dry shampoo begin with this awkwardly executed but necessary ritual.

Pedestrians have no right away: utterly illogical. There is NEVER a time when it is your designated turn to walk across the street. What bustling urban traffic system operates like that??

Pedestrians have no right away: perfectly rational. Only a few life-threatening walks to work until I realized that actually, it is always your turn to cross the street. No waiting for signals or green lights. Just walk out into the 6 lane busy road and stare down a hopefully attentive driver. He’s 99.9% likely to choose slamming on the breaks over a hit-and-run charge.

And because I’m overseas and feel like finding meaning in every little experience is the thing to do, it makes me think…

There are a lot of ‘bucket showers’ here, situations in which I first label the completely illogical, but know that deep down it must make sense to someone. On the flip side, I’m sure there are countless things I do or say every day that seem rational to me, but appear ridiculous to everyone else. Some mornings Alex and I wake up early and run in the park (despite the heat, wearing the same amount of clothes I would for a run in late November in MN), and every man we pass gives us quite the confused look. To them, two women running early in the morning are not one but three baffling bucket-shower-sort-of-situations. What is a perfectly normal activity for Alex and me raises eyebrows of people for whom it is completely out of place.

I suppose the insightful takeaway is… people aren’t stupid. None of us act or think in ways that don’t make sense to ourselves. I suppose that’s one thing we all have in common, even if that doesn’t guarantee we share the same definition of commonsense.

Cross-cultural living and decoding each situation to find the hidden logical explanation sometimes feel like an exciting game. (Tiebreaker round if you’re up to a challenge: how to possibly think that eating goat tongue soup is a quality culinary idea. Still has me stumped). But attempting to see the logic underneath what I label as ridiculous is not a merely a game; it’s a very important habit called empathy. Whether walking in another’s shoes to understand their water conservation tricks, or pedestrian manners, or beliefs, or values, empathy is the only hope we have to really understand each other, and why we all do what we do. Still won’t motivate me to ever eat another bite of goat tongue soup; no force is that strong…