The Irony

I wake up to the bitter taste of irony. I try to shake it off, like a bad dream, but it stays with me. Can one person’s idea of safety have the power to bring destruction to untold numbers?

800,000 people are working without a paycheck or else not showing up for work at all. These are the people who work security at the airports and control air traffic. They staff our parks and museums. They research disease, care for wildlife and oceans. They inspect chemical factories, power plants, and water treatment plants. They inspect our seafood, fruits and vegetables. They facilitate the distribution of food and medicine for women and children on Native American Reservations. They are FBI agents, Border Control agents. They work in prisons, the Coast Guard and Secret Service. They are government lawyers working on cases that have been waiting for years to go to trial: Immigrants who have been waiting for decades for their Immigration Court case to be decided, are now being pushed to the back of the line and may spend another 4 years in detention, just waiting for a new date. They work for the IRS, or did before this government shutdown. Promised grants for programs that help women survivors of violence are on hold. Read more about who these people are here.

Our family has lived through a season with no paychecks. The stress was all-consuming. We continued to work, care for our sons and do what we could do but our brains were constantly cluttered, full of distraction that seemed to make even the smallest of decisions difficult. So my heart breaks for these families and I fear for us as a nation. We are more vulnerable because of this, than for lack of a physical monstrosity to demarcate our border. If the pursuit of safety cripples those who keep us safe, how safe are we?

The good news is that we don’t need to sit around waiting for things to get better. Every day is an opportunity to create a better reality, right here, right now. Here is a link to a practical list of things you can do to help those affected by this shutdown!

 

 

Welcoming the New Year

2018 was brutal in many ways. Like a charming house guest turned hostile, it felt like it was pummeling us mercilessly in so many different facets of our life. More than once I lay on my back, literally, not wanting to get up again. I couldn’t wait for the end of the year to come, ready to flip the calendar and move on. As the end-of-year hustle and bustle finally started to die down and I had time to feed my starving soul and rest my exhausted bones, I decided to list all the good things that had come to us during this otherwise brutal year. Funny thing is, the list was longer than I would have imagined. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing that undid the brutality, but still, goodness was there. As I gave thanks for all that was good, something inside of me shifted. Like a crack of light filtering through asphalt after a seedling pushes it’s way through, light split through the haze I was in and reminded me that goodness is always here.

Instead of wiping the year from my mind like I had planned to do, I find myself dipping my head in silent salute, satisfied that I have fought well. I am still here, still standing. Stronger than before.

New Year’s Day found me in my favorite spot, my kitchen. As Ethiopian Short Ribs simmered slowly and the laughter of my family danced in the air as they sparred back and forth with each other playing a new game around the table, I held on to my “good list” and I welcomed the new year in the best way I know how. I know in my bones that there will be hard things this year, but I also know that there will be good things too.

This is life. Never quite how we think it will be, but constantly surprising us and wowing us, if we can be still enough to listen and take a really good look.

 

The Takers and the Dwellers

Once upon a time, the Church of England was filled with imperfect people who did some really bad things. Others in the church were so fed up with the impurities they saw, that they separated themselves and eventually sailed for a new place where they had been promised land and freedom to live how they wanted. Those giving the land did not own it but saw it as their right since the dwellers worshiped in a different way and were therefore labeled heathen with no voice or value.  A few days after arrival in the new land, the takers went exploring and found a cache of corn that had been grown, harvested and stored by the dwellers and caretakers of the land. They took the corn and came back later and stole even more corn. They also found graves and stole pretty things out of the graves. This was only the beginning. The takers continued to take and showed no respect for humanity and the earth. In spite of this, the dwellers shared with and taught the takers how to survive in this new land.

Eventually, the takers took the entire land and, in the process, set off the largest genocide in human history, taking the lives of 100+ million dwellers. The genocide continues today, as shown in this video by Truthseeker.

Today the takers celebrate the beginning of all of this with a feast called Thanksgiving. They are in the process of building a giant wall around the borders of their land because they fear more takers will do to them what they did to the previous dwellers.

100 Women!

I am not gonna lie. I woke up Wednesday morning feeling a little deflated and angry that the divide in our country is still so great. I fear for how families I care deeply about will be affected in the coming months and years. I grieve for good people, who worked so hard, had much to offer, yet lost the election. Yet one common thread of hope keeps popping up in my news feed; 100 women elected to the House! Native American Women. Muslim Women. Queer Women. Democrat Women, Republican Women, Women of all ages and backgrounds. Women!

I think that across the aisle, the commonality we find is that we all want change. The beauty of this movement, of these 100 women, is that women innately know in the marrow of our bones that, while change can be sparked in a second, delivery of that change first requires a long time in a safe womb. This understanding is in our DNA and it gives us the strength to persist, to endure, to carry,  to bring forth and to nurture. These women give me hope because I know that they have it within them to birth change, to be forces that are life-giving in a life-threatening world.

I think back to those precious moments right before the birth of my sons. The moments I hurt so badly that I wanted to die were also the moments I was the strongest. As women, we are the strongest when we are in the most pain, because we choose to push through that pain until a new reality is born. That is who we are and that is what gives our country hope.

 

Reasons to Vote

Weary, so weary. Stories of injustice clog my ears. My tears turn to lead as I hang my head and wonder how we got here, to a place where beautiful souls are gunned down in a place of worship, where cries of greatness have turned into building walls and ripping children from parents. A place where protecting the life of the unborn is more important than caring for those who already breathe in the air we share, where we incarcerate African Americans at a much higher rate than “white” Americans for the same offense. Where thousands in my city are not registered to vote, convinced that their voice would not make a difference. Where women are squashed like unwanted bugs and choose to stay silent because they are not believed, where abusers are protected and victims are shamed.

So I am not going to vote in hopes that some greatness will find us. The greatness is already here; we have just shut it down and hidden it in a box or a cage or a cell. The greatness we seek is best seen in the least of these. So I am going to vote for the sake of these –

  • For the woman on the other side of the wall who ran to keep her children safe from gang-lords. For the boy who works the night shift then goes to school all day to care for his family because of what ICE has done in my city. For the families in hiding, though for years have been trying to be legal like me, whose hard working tax dollars benefit everyone but themselves and now they wonder where their next meal will come from.
  • For the families in my district who cannot own homes or borrow a dime to improve their spaces. This ensures that property values and taxes stay low, so low that not enough goes to fund the schools and their children are fought instead of taught by teachers who exhausted and under-equipped.
  • For the African Americans unjustly incarcerated who line the cells of private prisons while the owners line their pockets with billions. For the black bodies laying on the ground through no fault of their own, silently screaming for us to take note. For the daughters of the woman who remembers her uncle being tarred and feathered and hung from a tree for just being who he was. For the same woman whose last words to her daughters were, “Don’t ever stop.”

I will not stop. I will remember these and I will vote for their sake.

 

Columbus Day – To Celebrate or Lament?

In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue, but he certainly did not discover America. Instead, he landed on one of the Bahama Islands. For months, he went from island to island, searching for the gold and riches that he had promised to the Spanish Monarchy in return for funding his journey. One of his ships was wrecked off the coast of what we now know as Haiti, forcing him to leave some of his men there when he returned to Spain with only a handful of gold and six indigenous people as slaves, who were paraded up and down the streets of Spain.

He returned to Haiti on his second voyage and discovered the makeshift settlement in ruins and all the men he had left there murdered by angry locals for raping their women. On this voyage he captured 500 Native Americans and sent them to Spain as repayment to the monarchy for their investment.  While Queen Isabella was horrified and sent many of them back to the Caribbean, insisting they were Spanish subjects and not slaves, Columbus continued to capture locals and is said to have enslaved 5,000 of them. In addition to this, he and his men forced them to convert to Catholicism or be burned at the stake. He also ate so much of their food that a famine was created, forced them to dig in mines to search for gold, and introduced European diseases that wiped many of them out. In less than 20 years, the population had decreased by more than 50%.

Guacanagari, one of the five kings of the island at the time, who had also showed kindness to Columbus when his ship had wrecked, is quoted to have said the following before escaping the genocide Columbus was responsible for –

“I’d rather eternally burn in hell, than to go to a heaven where I would find people of your kinds”

These words haunt me and I find no celebration in my heart for the destruction and carnage this man is responsible for. Today, I honor the brave men and women who were the first to discover and settle this land. Women and men who gave their lives being kind to those who came after them in greed and stole this land, nearly wiping them out and calling it a great victory. I lament on this ground stained with the blood of millions who once lived here and truly cared for her. If history teaches us anything at all, it should be that, once again, those who were taken advantage of are the true heroes.

Today, I honor them.

The Divide

Imagine you’re standing on the street corner and a young man comes running up to you with blood running down his face, screaming and crying because of some trauma he just endured. Would you sit him down and school him in the proper way of asking for help or would you call 911 and start screaming a bit yourself, trying to get help for the person in need?

Schooling someone in the proper way of asking for help shows that you care more about the way things look than about the raw and very real pain of the individual in front of you.
It is time we stop telling black people the proper way to ask for help. Do you think another way of protesting would be better? Please keep that thought to yourself. It is not helpful. You may think you have good intentions but it makes you look heartless and creates a bigger divide between us as people.

Let’s not be more concerned about appearances than about the reality.

Let’s be a part of a solution, not the divide.

This Land

She lay quietly, waiting, until they found her. Like a treasure, they cared for her and she, in turn, birthed the deer, elk, and buffalo, while berries ripened on her branches and birds filled the space of her breath with song. The bushes, trees and grass burst out in all vibrant shades of green and flowers danced daily in her light. She swelled with life under their care. And they multiplied and soon chubby little feet caressed her face and she laughed at their joy.

But then, the pale ones came. Some were kind, and tired, and grateful for her. They settled in and cared for her. But many others – they tricked, and killed, spread disease and reduced the ones who treasured her from a mighty number to a frail few. They spilled blood quickly to demand more and more of her. They brought in others in chains and shackles and forced them to pull from her what little life she had left so they could feast and sit in ease. Generation after generation they grew, and consumed, and hoarded until an empire emerged.

Then they built walls around her and said, “No More!” to those standing at their doors. They took what was never theirs, hoarded it and turned their eyes away from the tired, the hungry, the ones running for their lives. They shut their eyes and put their hands over their ears and would not share her. But what they did not see was when they shut their eyes and closed their ears, they shut down her life as well. The empire they made for themselves alone, the one that could have fed all the hungry and brought healing to millions, distorted into a poison that consumed them, and they dried up with her. Too late, they realized that their self-protection had become their suicide.

But still she whispers her secret to those who can hear.

I belong to no one; I am both gift and treasure. My bounty multiplies when I am loved and shared. Share me so that I can come back to life and dance again.

 

 

Walking Inside the Story

I put my hands on my ears to block the callous cheers of those rejoicing at the deportations that have been ongoing. There is a rending inside of me as something fierce, something long trapped, seeks release. I cannot give voice to the scream of anguish that I feel rising in me as bone and limb holding families together are torn apart. You see, it’s personal now; I’m on the inside of this story. I have the privilege of walking with him for a bit.

His shoulders hunch under the weight of years, though he has not lived two decades.

He barely meets my gaze, and I feel his grief encircle my heart.

Separated from his mom.

Unwelcome by dad, he does his best to manage…alone.

Siblings scattered across the nation.

Taken advantage of by those who should be caring for him.

He survives on little more than noodles.

He pays the rent.

He goes to high school.

He sends what little is left to Mom, the one he loves more than life itself.

Our nation created this. We are creating orphans. Misery. Chaos. Abandonment. Child Labor. Desperation. Unimaginable pain.

Not a great America. Not a cleaned-up country. Enforcing pain, not laws, we are creating our next disaster.

Can you hear the roar?  Can you feel the excruciating pain of families being torn apart, limb from limb? Our inclination towards self protection does us no good until we can learn to protect all of US.

 

Be Love

I gotta be honest with you. Sometimes the fight for justice for the oppressed takes more than I have. Some days the cost of it all leaves me spent and I’ve got nothing left. But I realized something yesterday, as my husband was being arrested for taking part in an act of Civil Disobedience. Fighting for justice is costly but allowing injustice to go unchecked is the greatest cost to us all.

When we are more concerned about the law than we are about the safety and basic human rights of others, we all lose dignity. When we are turn our backs to the break up of families, essentially creating orphans and widows, the impact on the next generation is profound. When we deny prisoners and detainees communion, prayer and a listening ear, we lose bits of our own soul. When we are don’t bat an eye at the millions of tax dollars being spent in the deportation process of many who have been trying for years to become citizens and have been paying taxes into a system they will never benefit from, we subtly give the message to the next generation that ethnic cleansing is okay.

Injustice unchecked creates monsters. Ignorance feeds them. A society that cares about itself more than others opens the doors and lets them out. But love is greater and always finds a way to push back.

Be love. Let it define every thing you do. It will pick you off the floor and grow you into something so much bigger than the monsters.