"I have no words to describe what's going on in here. It's awful. Just know that your solidarity means the world to me. And it does make a difference. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers. Tell the world what is happening."
These words from a friend in Gaza made me feel like absolute shit. One, that it's happening, and two, that I can't really do a thing about it.
I've had several people in the past two weeks or so ask me about what's going on in Gaza. The prevailing sentiment among most all of them is not only a desire to know more, but also a very clear frustration with all the apparent mixed messages there are out there about this conflict.
The frustration is an understandable one that I completely relate to. Especially when I first began to look into the conflict for myself, the disconnect between interpretations is disorienting.
Eventually, though, after you've ingested enough soundbytes from enough different voices, you can get a sense in the middle of a few objective facts:
1. Israel is a state that does not grant full rights to certain citizens on the basis of their ethnicity.
2. Israel is a state that prevents even basic rights to non-citizens living in territory it governs and subjects them to a constant campaign of intimidation, occupation and land-grabbing in the name of "security."
3. Israel is a state whose idea of "proportionality" and "restraint" is, to use the most recent example, >600 dead Palestinians for >30 dead Israelis.
I never want to be in a position of "keeping score" in these matters, but the numbers do show an undeniable imbalance of power and lack of restraint. Allegations of "apartheid" and "ethnic cleansing" are not buzzwords meant just to get attention, or exaggerations made out of baseless insidious hatred of a religious group. They are an accurate assessment of clear policies that have been in effect for decades and have only made things worse.
Those who point toward Hamas and its rockets as the reason why Palestinian civilians are being slaughtered must not have been paying attention to the thousands of Palestinians that Israel needed little excuse to slaughter long before Hamas and its rockets even existed. The fact is that the backbone of Israel's creation in 1948 was a clear agenda of ethnic cleansing. It was the belief put into practice that one group could only be safe in the land if the other was removed, or at least sufficiently removed so as to ensure a demographic supremacy. Until this injustice is addressed, there will never be an opportunity to move forward.
There was a time in Palestine, not even that long ago, when all its inhabitants coexisted. When Jews were safe to flourish and prosper while elsewhere they were being slaughtered by the millions. Today, Israel might just be the most dangerous place for a Jewish person to live in the whole world -- the direct and tragic result of the unsustainable policies of the Zionist movement.
There was also a time when the mention of places like South Africa, Northern Ireland or Brussels conjured up the same feelings of despair and unsolvable conflict we feel now over Israel and Palestine -- and today the mention of these places barely raises an eyebrow. These places and others not only provide hope, but also a helpful model of how this conflict might once and for all be resolved in a way that actually respects the rights of all involved.
We all have our differences, but certain things I really feel are universal. Children playing on a beach. People eating together at sunset. Watching out for your neighbors. Worrying about your family when they are in harm's way.
If you want to get beyond the propaganda, talk to the people. Listen to the stories you haven't heard before. I've noticed humans are so impervious to statistics and so immune to arguments. What we understand, and what I think are most important, are stories and faces.
After all, it's the people who need to live.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Let's talk about "body image."
I grew up chubby. Not anywhere near obese. But enough that people made sure I knew. And I didn't need much help to know.
When I hit 14 I started to slim down. But I never stopped seeing myself as the chubby kid. If you were one too, you'll understand how that changes you.
And now I will admit something publicly that to this point I have only told a few close friends: I am an anorexic.
I would say "recovered anorexic," but through my own experience and reading about others, I really feel like a tendency toward disordered eating is something that sticks with you pretty much forever and can only be managed. I know at least that I never fully got rid of the compulsion. Currently I channel it into being a vegetarian. (When asked, I usually say it's because of environmental or animal welfare concerns -- and certainly that's part of it. But really it's because it's the best way I've found to keep myself eating healthily and enough while still putting parameters on myself that feel necessary to me.)
Looking back on my life, I have found that the times I was most compulsively unhealthy in my relationship with food were the times I felt the least empowered in other areas of my life. Make no mistake, this was never about food for me -- it was always about control. (This makes me a pretty textbook case, I've heard.) I am generally health-conscious in what I eat and I genuinely enjoy healthy food. But when I was in the throes of a disordered phase I did not eat healthy. I remember in high school I went for a stretch of time subsisting on pickles and popcorn. And then I might stop for awhile, and then something would happen and I'd start again. In my freshman year of college it was tomato soup and popcorn. Junior year of college it was V8 juice and carrot sticks, as well as one day a week of total fasting except for water (which I remember totally loving at the time). I can still rattle off exactly how many calories are in each of these items per serving, as easily as I remember my date of birth or SSN.
This is all stuff you've probably heard or read before. But I share this experience to add this hopefully slightly newer angle into the mix:
Not every anorexic is thin to the point that people invite them on Oprah or put them in the hospital. In fact I imagine that there are many like me -- relatively functional and not losing so much weight that it causes real alarm. I'm 5'7" and typically wear a size 6 or 8. My junior year of college, which was probably my worst bout in that I was eating virtually no carbohydrates or protein on top of exercising like a crazy woman (the whole thing initiated by a breakup with someone who had criticized my weight), I still only got down to around a size 2. I remember my classmates telling me how great I looked.
So when you're talking about eating disorders, be really careful about assuming who does and doesn't have one. It's probably a lot more of your friends than you even realize. I was a pro at talking about positive body image, even when my journal was full of entries painstakingly recording what had gone into each day's 200 allotted calories. (The most fucked-up part of this is that most of what I knew about anorexia was from TV specials about girls who had panic attacks over communion wafers, so in a twisted way, I thought what I was doing was okay in comparison.)
This is the kind of "what the hell was I thinking" experience that today gives me compassion for myself, and for anyone who has ever looked in the mirror and thought things like my life would be fine if only I were thinner, or I'm disgusting, or any variant of these horrible thoughts.
This is also the kind of experience that, when people see images of especially thin women and say things like "go eat a cheeseburger" or "real women have curves," I really just want to punch them in the fucking face. I don't understand why this pendulum needs to keep swinging. The whole point is that health, just like illness, has no one specific "look," and frankly people should just know better by now.
I also share my history to say that the secret to preventing eating disorders is not to be found in "awareness campaigns" or on the backs of Dove body wash. I was a precocious kid raised by a badass journalist mom on feminism and organic granola and "all women are princesses" and all that good stuff. I was constantly reminded that every size is beautiful, inner beauty is what counts, etc. etc. etc. And in the end it still didn't keep me from genuinely believing that I would be better/prettier/more liked/more desirable if I only made myself smaller.
I won't pretend to know what the secret is. But I do know that in my worst days dealing with this condition, the bulk of the stuff I remembered were the everyday little ways people show -- not tell -- that overweight people don't matter to them the way thin people do. I remembered quitting dance in 6th grade because my classmate made fun of how I looked in my leotard. But I also remembered being out to dinner and feeling myself nearly ignored while the waiter invested all his enthusiasm in a thinner friend. I remember seeing my naturally thin older sister in her prom dress and thinking I'd never be half that beautiful unless I was thin too.
I've heard the term "microaggression" used in the context of racism, and I think it's an apt term to use for how people sometimes treat overweight individuals as well. So if I can say anything of value here (and I'm addressing this to myself as well), it's this: look at people. Make eye contact. With everyone. I think we have a tendency to avoid looking at people who are overweight because we don't want anyone to think we're gawking.
But it's a little bit like that Louie episode where "fat girl" Vanessa explains to Louie that the worst possible thing to say to a fat girl is "you're not fat." These well-meaning lies, and their subtler sibling the "I'm looking away because of course I'm not noticing you at all because you're not fat" eye dart, carry more hurt in them than any blatant insult. It is the fastest way to confirm to a person who (trust me) already knows or even just thinks they are fat that yes, it really is a shameful thing to be.
I guess like most modern-day ills, the solution basically comes down to "don't be a dick." And that includes to yourself.
Also, my boss just brought me a giant chocolate chip cookie. I ate the whole thing.
YUM.
Here's to Wednesday.
When I hit 14 I started to slim down. But I never stopped seeing myself as the chubby kid. If you were one too, you'll understand how that changes you.
And now I will admit something publicly that to this point I have only told a few close friends: I am an anorexic.
I would say "recovered anorexic," but through my own experience and reading about others, I really feel like a tendency toward disordered eating is something that sticks with you pretty much forever and can only be managed. I know at least that I never fully got rid of the compulsion. Currently I channel it into being a vegetarian. (When asked, I usually say it's because of environmental or animal welfare concerns -- and certainly that's part of it. But really it's because it's the best way I've found to keep myself eating healthily and enough while still putting parameters on myself that feel necessary to me.)
Looking back on my life, I have found that the times I was most compulsively unhealthy in my relationship with food were the times I felt the least empowered in other areas of my life. Make no mistake, this was never about food for me -- it was always about control. (This makes me a pretty textbook case, I've heard.) I am generally health-conscious in what I eat and I genuinely enjoy healthy food. But when I was in the throes of a disordered phase I did not eat healthy. I remember in high school I went for a stretch of time subsisting on pickles and popcorn. And then I might stop for awhile, and then something would happen and I'd start again. In my freshman year of college it was tomato soup and popcorn. Junior year of college it was V8 juice and carrot sticks, as well as one day a week of total fasting except for water (which I remember totally loving at the time). I can still rattle off exactly how many calories are in each of these items per serving, as easily as I remember my date of birth or SSN.
This is all stuff you've probably heard or read before. But I share this experience to add this hopefully slightly newer angle into the mix:
Not every anorexic is thin to the point that people invite them on Oprah or put them in the hospital. In fact I imagine that there are many like me -- relatively functional and not losing so much weight that it causes real alarm. I'm 5'7" and typically wear a size 6 or 8. My junior year of college, which was probably my worst bout in that I was eating virtually no carbohydrates or protein on top of exercising like a crazy woman (the whole thing initiated by a breakup with someone who had criticized my weight), I still only got down to around a size 2. I remember my classmates telling me how great I looked.
So when you're talking about eating disorders, be really careful about assuming who does and doesn't have one. It's probably a lot more of your friends than you even realize. I was a pro at talking about positive body image, even when my journal was full of entries painstakingly recording what had gone into each day's 200 allotted calories. (The most fucked-up part of this is that most of what I knew about anorexia was from TV specials about girls who had panic attacks over communion wafers, so in a twisted way, I thought what I was doing was okay in comparison.)
This is how I looked after maybe two months of subsisting on water, V8 and daily hours-long workouts. I almost look healthy...right?
This is the kind of "what the hell was I thinking" experience that today gives me compassion for myself, and for anyone who has ever looked in the mirror and thought things like my life would be fine if only I were thinner, or I'm disgusting, or any variant of these horrible thoughts.
This is also the kind of experience that, when people see images of especially thin women and say things like "go eat a cheeseburger" or "real women have curves," I really just want to punch them in the fucking face. I don't understand why this pendulum needs to keep swinging. The whole point is that health, just like illness, has no one specific "look," and frankly people should just know better by now.
I also share my history to say that the secret to preventing eating disorders is not to be found in "awareness campaigns" or on the backs of Dove body wash. I was a precocious kid raised by a badass journalist mom on feminism and organic granola and "all women are princesses" and all that good stuff. I was constantly reminded that every size is beautiful, inner beauty is what counts, etc. etc. etc. And in the end it still didn't keep me from genuinely believing that I would be better/prettier/more liked/more desirable if I only made myself smaller.
I won't pretend to know what the secret is. But I do know that in my worst days dealing with this condition, the bulk of the stuff I remembered were the everyday little ways people show -- not tell -- that overweight people don't matter to them the way thin people do. I remembered quitting dance in 6th grade because my classmate made fun of how I looked in my leotard. But I also remembered being out to dinner and feeling myself nearly ignored while the waiter invested all his enthusiasm in a thinner friend. I remember seeing my naturally thin older sister in her prom dress and thinking I'd never be half that beautiful unless I was thin too.
I've heard the term "microaggression" used in the context of racism, and I think it's an apt term to use for how people sometimes treat overweight individuals as well. So if I can say anything of value here (and I'm addressing this to myself as well), it's this: look at people. Make eye contact. With everyone. I think we have a tendency to avoid looking at people who are overweight because we don't want anyone to think we're gawking.
But it's a little bit like that Louie episode where "fat girl" Vanessa explains to Louie that the worst possible thing to say to a fat girl is "you're not fat." These well-meaning lies, and their subtler sibling the "I'm looking away because of course I'm not noticing you at all because you're not fat" eye dart, carry more hurt in them than any blatant insult. It is the fastest way to confirm to a person who (trust me) already knows or even just thinks they are fat that yes, it really is a shameful thing to be.
I guess like most modern-day ills, the solution basically comes down to "don't be a dick." And that includes to yourself.
Also, my boss just brought me a giant chocolate chip cookie. I ate the whole thing.
YUM.
Here's to Wednesday.
Monday, June 9, 2014
The Tao of Wilde
I really feel bad for Oscar Wilde. I can't think of another literary giant who is so adored yet, in my opinion, so misunderstood.
I know a guy who is really into aesthetics. I remember one conversation we had when he was trying to convince me of the virtues of appearance vs. substance, where he dropped this gem: "People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial. That may be so. But at least it is not so superficial as Thought is. To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."
The problem with using this quote in this way is that it was completely out of its satirical context. If you're not a huge Wilde dork like me, the quote is uttered by Lord Henry in chapter 2 of The Picture of Dorian Gray. And if you don't know Lord Henry, well, suffice it to say he's incredibly charming and undeniably brilliant, but ultimately doesn't end up being too great an influence on Dorian. Wilde was parodying the sort of person who ultimately would drive Dorian Gray to completely ruin his life. So I don't think it's the kind of quote you'd want to slap on a picture of a sunset and spread all around Facebook.
And this was not the only time I've heard a Wilde quote used in this way. So I feel bad for the guy. He left so many compelling words behind, and yet we seem not to know who he really is. I can't know any better really than anyone else who wasn't alive to know him (which is pretty much everyone now), but I think it's safe to wager he wasn't quite as superficial as he would have us think.
Then again, maybe he was trolling us on purpose.
I think what I find so eternally intriguing and inspiring about Wilde is that he shows evolution: a progression from unashamed materialist and unabashed lover of the superficial (even if his embrace of these things was a bit tongue-in-cheek), to a man broken enough by the world to begin to embody those truly transcendent virtues: compassion, humility, graciousness. Dazzling as his wit is, I am not a fan of Oscar because he was great with words, I'm a fan because of the largeheartedness he had and how it comes through in his writing -- alongside that generous helping of sass.
Perhaps it's because I am so inspired by his progression that it really bothers me when people get so hung up on Oscar 1.0 and parrot his earlier witticisms without a shred of irony (even though most of Wilde's truly sassy sayings were written with some irony, whenever he said them). Because really, guys, there are times when Wilde writes with such searingly beautiful heart that he might as well be Lao-tze. Example:
"...had I not a friend left in the world; were there not a single house open to me in pity; had I to accept the wallet and ragged cloak of sheer penury: as long as I am free from all resentment, hardness and scorn, I would be able to face the life with much more calm and confidence than I would were my body in purple and fine linen, and the soul within me sick with hate.
And I really shall have no difficulty. When you really want love you will find it waiting for you." (Excerpted from De Profundis.)
Right??
So next time you find yourself a nice Wilde quote, do everyone a favor and consider carefully how you use it. It's a shame to see a writer of such glasspane clarity and almost zen-like wisdom be reduced to trifley vagueness about "art" and stuff. For the more purely material content, try Jersey Shore transcripts performed in the style of Wilde -- you're welcome.
I know a guy who is really into aesthetics. I remember one conversation we had when he was trying to convince me of the virtues of appearance vs. substance, where he dropped this gem: "People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial. That may be so. But at least it is not so superficial as Thought is. To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."
The problem with using this quote in this way is that it was completely out of its satirical context. If you're not a huge Wilde dork like me, the quote is uttered by Lord Henry in chapter 2 of The Picture of Dorian Gray. And if you don't know Lord Henry, well, suffice it to say he's incredibly charming and undeniably brilliant, but ultimately doesn't end up being too great an influence on Dorian. Wilde was parodying the sort of person who ultimately would drive Dorian Gray to completely ruin his life. So I don't think it's the kind of quote you'd want to slap on a picture of a sunset and spread all around Facebook.
And this was not the only time I've heard a Wilde quote used in this way. So I feel bad for the guy. He left so many compelling words behind, and yet we seem not to know who he really is. I can't know any better really than anyone else who wasn't alive to know him (which is pretty much everyone now), but I think it's safe to wager he wasn't quite as superficial as he would have us think.
Then again, maybe he was trolling us on purpose.
I think what I find so eternally intriguing and inspiring about Wilde is that he shows evolution: a progression from unashamed materialist and unabashed lover of the superficial (even if his embrace of these things was a bit tongue-in-cheek), to a man broken enough by the world to begin to embody those truly transcendent virtues: compassion, humility, graciousness. Dazzling as his wit is, I am not a fan of Oscar because he was great with words, I'm a fan because of the largeheartedness he had and how it comes through in his writing -- alongside that generous helping of sass.
Perhaps it's because I am so inspired by his progression that it really bothers me when people get so hung up on Oscar 1.0 and parrot his earlier witticisms without a shred of irony (even though most of Wilde's truly sassy sayings were written with some irony, whenever he said them). Because really, guys, there are times when Wilde writes with such searingly beautiful heart that he might as well be Lao-tze. Example:
"...had I not a friend left in the world; were there not a single house open to me in pity; had I to accept the wallet and ragged cloak of sheer penury: as long as I am free from all resentment, hardness and scorn, I would be able to face the life with much more calm and confidence than I would were my body in purple and fine linen, and the soul within me sick with hate.
And I really shall have no difficulty. When you really want love you will find it waiting for you." (Excerpted from De Profundis.)
Right??
So next time you find yourself a nice Wilde quote, do everyone a favor and consider carefully how you use it. It's a shame to see a writer of such glasspane clarity and almost zen-like wisdom be reduced to trifley vagueness about "art" and stuff. For the more purely material content, try Jersey Shore transcripts performed in the style of Wilde -- you're welcome.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Operation Pillar of Cloud and the need for a fresh perspective
Anyone who's been watching the news lately knows that, once again, violence is ramping up in Israel-Palestine. Once again, innocent Palestinians and Israelis are being killed. And once again, ideologues of all stripes are burying their heels in the sand, convinced that their side is completely in the right, stubbornly insistent on "staying the course" no matter what the cost.
Especially here in the West, it's pretty common to hear that "this has been going on for centuries," that "Arabs and Jews just hate each other," that these two sides are just going to keep fighting no matter what. But I have a problem with the narrative that this is merely two "equal" sides battling each other. If that were truly the case, for example, Israel shouldn't act so surprised when Hamas fights back. Israel's stated aim in this recent attack on Gaza, as well as previous ones like Cast Lead and the ongoing siege in general, is to inhibit rocket fire from the Strip. The number of rockets fired in recent days has exploded, so either Israel is failing miserably in its stated goal, or it is trying to accomplish something else entirely.
It is true that Hamas has disgusting anti-Semitic language in their charter. But too often I see people equating all Gazans with that language in ways that are untrue and counter-productive. One of my good friends, for example, is a Palestinian Catholic from the West Bank. He has relatives in Gaza, also Catholics, who voted for Hamas. This was obviously not a vote of fundamentalist Islamist furor. Much like the Republican party here in the U.S. is often more extreme than your everyday conservative Joe, the average Gazan is not out to slaughter all Jews. These relatives of my friend, for example, voted for Hamas because they were building schools and health clinics when the moderate party was doing absolutely nothing to ease hardships for average Palestinians. It was a vote of desperation, not fundamentalism. Israel needs to understand that it cannot pen these people in and restrict their futures forever. Not only is it morally reprehensible, it has only made Israeli citizens less safe. It is not exactly difficult to predict that trapping people in an increasingly dire situation with fading hopes for improvement only breeds more violence. I hope and pray for peace, and that is why my heart breaks to see this dead-end spiral of violence continue.
It is true that there are some who have deep-seated anti-Semitic feelings that inspire them to wish violence against the Jewish people. But there are also those who believe Judaism gives them the right to persecute and kill Palestinians, burn their olive trees, build walls and steal land. This is an ongoing problem that is one of the greatest roadblocks to achieving peace, and all the talk about a two-state solution has done nothing to stop it. The result is that Gaza is basically still ruled by Israel (despite the historic "disengagement"), and the West Bank is no longer viable as a state; the largest settlement blocks now split it into pieces, with settler-only roads essentially turning the West Bank into a labyrinth of checkpoints and areas entirely off-limits to Palestinians. You cannot create a state out of a piece of land that has almost no geographic continuity and that, with the settlements taken out (as Israel consistently refuses to consider shutting down all but the smallest of these settlements -- which is why peace talks are still at a standstill) amounts to less than 20% of historic Palestine.
The inevitable end result of all this is annexation. The two-state solution is pretty much dead. All that really remains to be seen is how the government will treat the current residents of the occupied territory once this finally becomes the reality. It could be continued apartheid, or it could be equal democratic representation. Zionist lingo demonizes the latter as equivalent to the destruction of Israel, as the current demographic reality shows that there simply are not enough Jewish people in Israel to ensure a majority without significant demographic engineering. But it doesn't take a genius to recognize that "demographic engineering" eventually amounts to ethnic cleansing. This is not exactly democratic behavior. And countries that have grappled with past ethno-religious conflicts have been able to find ways to ensure each group has the ability to be represented fairly in government, have their own institutions, develop their own schools and preserve their own culture in the context of bi-nationality. It seems a pipe dream now for Israel-Palestine, but it is possible.
It's a popular talking point that "Palestinians want to wipe Israel off the map." But likewise, there are elements of Israeli society that deeply desire to wipe the rest of Palestine off the map. In fact, many such elements already claim boldly that Palestinians never existed at all. "A land without a people for a people without a land" was not a statement made by people who genuinely had no clue that hundreds of thousands of people, mostly Arabs alongside a sizable minority of Jews, were indeed living there; it was a statement made by people who genuinely just did not believe that most of these individuals counted as people. Palestinians allegedly teach their children blindly to hate Israelis (even though reputable studies of Palestinian textbooks have concluded that such allegations are not true). Yet many Israelis also teach their children that Palestinians' lives are unimportant, that they have no right to exist in Israel as equal citizens. In either case, I'm not sure what makes one more palatable than the other. Right-wing elements in Israeli society glorify militarism in ways I find equally disturbing to those of hardcore Palestinian nationalists like Hamas. I can't support either one.
Meanwhile, the majority of Palestinians are simply trying to live their daily lives in spite of having most all aspects of those lives controlled by a country whose core identity willfully excludes them. And likewise, most Israelis also simply want to be left alone and wonder why the violence continues. The current situation allows the worst elements of both sides to dictate life for the majority. Ultimately, neither side benefits. It is a dead end that desperately calls for a new approach.
No one is saying Jews don't have a right to live in the Holy Land. But I don't see how it's fair for one group to live there at the expense of the other. At the time of Israel's creation, Palestinians owned 92% of the land yet were only offered to keep less than half of it. Hindsight is 20/20, and many Palestinian leaders now admit that they wish this had been accepted. A common argument that Israel was formed through land purchase is a little disingenuous; with the blessing of the U.N., many parcels of land were indeed sold, but only because of legislation formed by the fledgling state of Israel that allowed land purchase if the current owners were deemed "absentee" -- and many of these owners were absent because they had fled the violence in a hurry only to be forcibly prohibited from returning. That's not exactly the same thing as an honest sale. Does that make it OK for anyone to hurl rockets at civilians? Absolutely not. But it does call for acknowledgment that many people still living today have a legitimate grievance against the Israeli government that should not just keep getting swept under the rug.
So if you see Palestinians expressing a desire to abandon the "peace process," do understand that it is not because they don't want peace. It is because every applauded "resolution" and "step forward" has ultimately only offered cover while facts on the ground made their situation worse. They no longer have any faith in the international community, because the international community has repeatedly violated their trust. The PA, for example, merely runs the occupation on behalf of Israel while its top politicians pad their pockets, safe in cozy Ramallah. Hamas claims to offer an alternative, and this is why they have been politically successful -- not because all Palestinians just hate Jews that much. I say this not to speak on their behalf, but simply to tell their concerns as I have heard them expressed to me: Palestinians want to be able to get to school, to move around, to get jobs, to be safe, to have access to places important to them, to travel, to escape from political no-man's land, to have a passport again, to be represented in their country and not marginalized. When these issues are addressed, extremist elements like Hamas will not have the fodder to incite people as they now do. They will not have scores of youth who are facing fewer opportunities and increasingly dire futures willing to do just about anything to resist their situation. Perhaps a belief in compromise is tantamount to "negotiating with terrorists." But I have a hard time seeing how anyone who genuinely wants innocent people on both sides of the green line to have peace can instead keep advocating for strategies that have only exacerbated the situation.
There is plenty of room in the Holy Land for all its citizens. I hope one day we can see this happen. One person, one vote. No permits, no demolitions, no Area C, no Jewish-only roads. Settlements and refugee camps can both just become towns, part of the fabric of the land, instead of hotbeds of controversy. Resources should be distributed fairly, so that no one has to have their water turned off so settlements can have swimming pools. Refugees who still hold keys and deeds to existing properties in Israel should have the ability to return, or at least to receive some kind of restitution. Jews from other Middle Eastern countries who were forced to emigrate to Israel in past decades should likewise be able to return if they desire (a few have already done so in Tunisia, actually). Palestinians whose former homes have since been destroyed should still have the option to move to Israel, buy property, and become productive members of society. They should not be excluded because they are not Jewish. And Israelis or Jews or anyone who wants to live in Nablus or Bethlehem or see the seashore in Gaza should have the option to do so fairly and without excluding or causing hardship on their neighbors. That is a true democracy.
I realize this may sound ridiculously idealistic. But I just can't accept a situation that offers no hope of any sort of equitable solution. Previous ethnic and/or religious conflicts like Ireland, S. Africa, Brussels, etc., were also once thought to be intractable, yet history teaches us that reconciliation is possible. Bombing the shit out of Gaza, on top of the continuing occupation, only makes Israel less safe -- not to mention the high civilian casualties make it simply an unacceptable policy. I view every life lost, whether Palestinian or Israeli, as a tragedy. This is why I think it's time to be honest that Israel-Palestine desperately needs a new approach.
Especially here in the West, it's pretty common to hear that "this has been going on for centuries," that "Arabs and Jews just hate each other," that these two sides are just going to keep fighting no matter what. But I have a problem with the narrative that this is merely two "equal" sides battling each other. If that were truly the case, for example, Israel shouldn't act so surprised when Hamas fights back. Israel's stated aim in this recent attack on Gaza, as well as previous ones like Cast Lead and the ongoing siege in general, is to inhibit rocket fire from the Strip. The number of rockets fired in recent days has exploded, so either Israel is failing miserably in its stated goal, or it is trying to accomplish something else entirely.
It is true that Hamas has disgusting anti-Semitic language in their charter. But too often I see people equating all Gazans with that language in ways that are untrue and counter-productive. One of my good friends, for example, is a Palestinian Catholic from the West Bank. He has relatives in Gaza, also Catholics, who voted for Hamas. This was obviously not a vote of fundamentalist Islamist furor. Much like the Republican party here in the U.S. is often more extreme than your everyday conservative Joe, the average Gazan is not out to slaughter all Jews. These relatives of my friend, for example, voted for Hamas because they were building schools and health clinics when the moderate party was doing absolutely nothing to ease hardships for average Palestinians. It was a vote of desperation, not fundamentalism. Israel needs to understand that it cannot pen these people in and restrict their futures forever. Not only is it morally reprehensible, it has only made Israeli citizens less safe. It is not exactly difficult to predict that trapping people in an increasingly dire situation with fading hopes for improvement only breeds more violence. I hope and pray for peace, and that is why my heart breaks to see this dead-end spiral of violence continue.
It is true that there are some who have deep-seated anti-Semitic feelings that inspire them to wish violence against the Jewish people. But there are also those who believe Judaism gives them the right to persecute and kill Palestinians, burn their olive trees, build walls and steal land. This is an ongoing problem that is one of the greatest roadblocks to achieving peace, and all the talk about a two-state solution has done nothing to stop it. The result is that Gaza is basically still ruled by Israel (despite the historic "disengagement"), and the West Bank is no longer viable as a state; the largest settlement blocks now split it into pieces, with settler-only roads essentially turning the West Bank into a labyrinth of checkpoints and areas entirely off-limits to Palestinians. You cannot create a state out of a piece of land that has almost no geographic continuity and that, with the settlements taken out (as Israel consistently refuses to consider shutting down all but the smallest of these settlements -- which is why peace talks are still at a standstill) amounts to less than 20% of historic Palestine.
The inevitable end result of all this is annexation. The two-state solution is pretty much dead. All that really remains to be seen is how the government will treat the current residents of the occupied territory once this finally becomes the reality. It could be continued apartheid, or it could be equal democratic representation. Zionist lingo demonizes the latter as equivalent to the destruction of Israel, as the current demographic reality shows that there simply are not enough Jewish people in Israel to ensure a majority without significant demographic engineering. But it doesn't take a genius to recognize that "demographic engineering" eventually amounts to ethnic cleansing. This is not exactly democratic behavior. And countries that have grappled with past ethno-religious conflicts have been able to find ways to ensure each group has the ability to be represented fairly in government, have their own institutions, develop their own schools and preserve their own culture in the context of bi-nationality. It seems a pipe dream now for Israel-Palestine, but it is possible.
It's a popular talking point that "Palestinians want to wipe Israel off the map." But likewise, there are elements of Israeli society that deeply desire to wipe the rest of Palestine off the map. In fact, many such elements already claim boldly that Palestinians never existed at all. "A land without a people for a people without a land" was not a statement made by people who genuinely had no clue that hundreds of thousands of people, mostly Arabs alongside a sizable minority of Jews, were indeed living there; it was a statement made by people who genuinely just did not believe that most of these individuals counted as people. Palestinians allegedly teach their children blindly to hate Israelis (even though reputable studies of Palestinian textbooks have concluded that such allegations are not true). Yet many Israelis also teach their children that Palestinians' lives are unimportant, that they have no right to exist in Israel as equal citizens. In either case, I'm not sure what makes one more palatable than the other. Right-wing elements in Israeli society glorify militarism in ways I find equally disturbing to those of hardcore Palestinian nationalists like Hamas. I can't support either one.
Meanwhile, the majority of Palestinians are simply trying to live their daily lives in spite of having most all aspects of those lives controlled by a country whose core identity willfully excludes them. And likewise, most Israelis also simply want to be left alone and wonder why the violence continues. The current situation allows the worst elements of both sides to dictate life for the majority. Ultimately, neither side benefits. It is a dead end that desperately calls for a new approach.
No one is saying Jews don't have a right to live in the Holy Land. But I don't see how it's fair for one group to live there at the expense of the other. At the time of Israel's creation, Palestinians owned 92% of the land yet were only offered to keep less than half of it. Hindsight is 20/20, and many Palestinian leaders now admit that they wish this had been accepted. A common argument that Israel was formed through land purchase is a little disingenuous; with the blessing of the U.N., many parcels of land were indeed sold, but only because of legislation formed by the fledgling state of Israel that allowed land purchase if the current owners were deemed "absentee" -- and many of these owners were absent because they had fled the violence in a hurry only to be forcibly prohibited from returning. That's not exactly the same thing as an honest sale. Does that make it OK for anyone to hurl rockets at civilians? Absolutely not. But it does call for acknowledgment that many people still living today have a legitimate grievance against the Israeli government that should not just keep getting swept under the rug.
So if you see Palestinians expressing a desire to abandon the "peace process," do understand that it is not because they don't want peace. It is because every applauded "resolution" and "step forward" has ultimately only offered cover while facts on the ground made their situation worse. They no longer have any faith in the international community, because the international community has repeatedly violated their trust. The PA, for example, merely runs the occupation on behalf of Israel while its top politicians pad their pockets, safe in cozy Ramallah. Hamas claims to offer an alternative, and this is why they have been politically successful -- not because all Palestinians just hate Jews that much. I say this not to speak on their behalf, but simply to tell their concerns as I have heard them expressed to me: Palestinians want to be able to get to school, to move around, to get jobs, to be safe, to have access to places important to them, to travel, to escape from political no-man's land, to have a passport again, to be represented in their country and not marginalized. When these issues are addressed, extremist elements like Hamas will not have the fodder to incite people as they now do. They will not have scores of youth who are facing fewer opportunities and increasingly dire futures willing to do just about anything to resist their situation. Perhaps a belief in compromise is tantamount to "negotiating with terrorists." But I have a hard time seeing how anyone who genuinely wants innocent people on both sides of the green line to have peace can instead keep advocating for strategies that have only exacerbated the situation.
There is plenty of room in the Holy Land for all its citizens. I hope one day we can see this happen. One person, one vote. No permits, no demolitions, no Area C, no Jewish-only roads. Settlements and refugee camps can both just become towns, part of the fabric of the land, instead of hotbeds of controversy. Resources should be distributed fairly, so that no one has to have their water turned off so settlements can have swimming pools. Refugees who still hold keys and deeds to existing properties in Israel should have the ability to return, or at least to receive some kind of restitution. Jews from other Middle Eastern countries who were forced to emigrate to Israel in past decades should likewise be able to return if they desire (a few have already done so in Tunisia, actually). Palestinians whose former homes have since been destroyed should still have the option to move to Israel, buy property, and become productive members of society. They should not be excluded because they are not Jewish. And Israelis or Jews or anyone who wants to live in Nablus or Bethlehem or see the seashore in Gaza should have the option to do so fairly and without excluding or causing hardship on their neighbors. That is a true democracy.
I realize this may sound ridiculously idealistic. But I just can't accept a situation that offers no hope of any sort of equitable solution. Previous ethnic and/or religious conflicts like Ireland, S. Africa, Brussels, etc., were also once thought to be intractable, yet history teaches us that reconciliation is possible. Bombing the shit out of Gaza, on top of the continuing occupation, only makes Israel less safe -- not to mention the high civilian casualties make it simply an unacceptable policy. I view every life lost, whether Palestinian or Israeli, as a tragedy. This is why I think it's time to be honest that Israel-Palestine desperately needs a new approach.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Moving forward
Originally posted on the Make Peace, Build Community blog.
At the tender age of 18, moving from suburban Illinois to the north side of Chicago did not initially seem like something that would challenge my attitudes about race. As far as I was concerned, race didn’t matter to me one bit. It was the 21st century, my parents had taught me always to be loving and progressive and adamantly anti-racist—and anyway, this was supposed to be a post-racial society, right?
Yet after beginning my studies at North Park University, which is located smack dab in the middle of the incredible racial diversity that is the Albany Park neighborhood, I found myself feeling somehow unprepared for what I experienced. I didn’t dislike it—in fact, I was captivated by it. But it surprised me just how much I noticed it in the first place. Again, I had always considered myself a non-racist person. Yet it occurred to me that I still had some preconceived notions that needed to be addressed. I hadn’t experienced enough racial diversity in my community to know just how I “fit” into it. If I had stayed in my hometown indefinitely, those attitudes may never have been challenged. But I was blessed to stay in Albany Park long enough to figure it out.
Often, people are content to insist—as 18-year-old me was—that as long as individuals aren’t actively racist, racism is no longer an issue. But while racism of past eras was a conscious and painfully explicit hatred, today it’s a little more subconscious and a little harder to quantify, and that makes it that much more insidious. Discrimination is less blatant, yet it still exists. Many people agree racism is still a problem, yet individual racists are seemingly nowhere to be found. The result is that even as people of color continue to break through glass ceilings, many of our communities remain effectively segregated. My suburban childhood neighborhood is one of many such communities.
The recent premiere of critically-acclaimed HBO show Girls, to use just one recent example, was marred by its stunning lack of racial diversity—despite being set in NYC, one of the most diverse cities in the world. In response to this criticism, the show’s writer Lena Dunham stated that she genuinely had not meant offense, but had merely written her experiences from a very deep-down, gut-level place. It’s tragic that even in our supposedly “post-racial” society, even in a world of ever-increasing connections, many in my generation have had so few meaningful relationships and interactions with people of other races that their “default” expectation, their gut-level perception of reality, is still essentially segregated. It’s not so much that we actively hate each other—although sadly, there is still some of that. But for the most part, we just haven’t done a very good job getting to know each other.
Humanity’s history of racial hatred has left us with quite a lot of baggage to sift through. It’s not the sort of thing you can just sweep under the rug and say “that’s over, we can move on now.” People have tried. But it’s obvious that, for the sake of our communities, we still have a lot more work to do.
When I was younger and living in an area where race was a fairly taboo subject to bring up, I tended to view racism as a sort of “on/off” switch. Either you were, or you weren’t. It wasn’t until later that I understood that not being racist involves so much more than that. It’s a constant process of reaching out to other people, re-affirming your belief in our common humanity, and re-evaluating your own individual prejudices and shortcomings. And whatever kind of community you live in, one of the best things we can do for one another is to each engage ourselves fully in that process.
Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Baha’i Faith, often compared humanity to the flowers of a single garden, in which individual flowers’ varying hues make the whole garden that much more beautiful. I know that we are on our way to truly recognizing that our differences, however big, small, tangible or imagined, are what beautify this world and make it worth inhabiting.
I hope this realization comes soon—and with grace, I think we can help each other make it even sooner.
At the tender age of 18, moving from suburban Illinois to the north side of Chicago did not initially seem like something that would challenge my attitudes about race. As far as I was concerned, race didn’t matter to me one bit. It was the 21st century, my parents had taught me always to be loving and progressive and adamantly anti-racist—and anyway, this was supposed to be a post-racial society, right?
Yet after beginning my studies at North Park University, which is located smack dab in the middle of the incredible racial diversity that is the Albany Park neighborhood, I found myself feeling somehow unprepared for what I experienced. I didn’t dislike it—in fact, I was captivated by it. But it surprised me just how much I noticed it in the first place. Again, I had always considered myself a non-racist person. Yet it occurred to me that I still had some preconceived notions that needed to be addressed. I hadn’t experienced enough racial diversity in my community to know just how I “fit” into it. If I had stayed in my hometown indefinitely, those attitudes may never have been challenged. But I was blessed to stay in Albany Park long enough to figure it out.
Often, people are content to insist—as 18-year-old me was—that as long as individuals aren’t actively racist, racism is no longer an issue. But while racism of past eras was a conscious and painfully explicit hatred, today it’s a little more subconscious and a little harder to quantify, and that makes it that much more insidious. Discrimination is less blatant, yet it still exists. Many people agree racism is still a problem, yet individual racists are seemingly nowhere to be found. The result is that even as people of color continue to break through glass ceilings, many of our communities remain effectively segregated. My suburban childhood neighborhood is one of many such communities.
The recent premiere of critically-acclaimed HBO show Girls, to use just one recent example, was marred by its stunning lack of racial diversity—despite being set in NYC, one of the most diverse cities in the world. In response to this criticism, the show’s writer Lena Dunham stated that she genuinely had not meant offense, but had merely written her experiences from a very deep-down, gut-level place. It’s tragic that even in our supposedly “post-racial” society, even in a world of ever-increasing connections, many in my generation have had so few meaningful relationships and interactions with people of other races that their “default” expectation, their gut-level perception of reality, is still essentially segregated. It’s not so much that we actively hate each other—although sadly, there is still some of that. But for the most part, we just haven’t done a very good job getting to know each other.
Humanity’s history of racial hatred has left us with quite a lot of baggage to sift through. It’s not the sort of thing you can just sweep under the rug and say “that’s over, we can move on now.” People have tried. But it’s obvious that, for the sake of our communities, we still have a lot more work to do.
When I was younger and living in an area where race was a fairly taboo subject to bring up, I tended to view racism as a sort of “on/off” switch. Either you were, or you weren’t. It wasn’t until later that I understood that not being racist involves so much more than that. It’s a constant process of reaching out to other people, re-affirming your belief in our common humanity, and re-evaluating your own individual prejudices and shortcomings. And whatever kind of community you live in, one of the best things we can do for one another is to each engage ourselves fully in that process.
Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Baha’i Faith, often compared humanity to the flowers of a single garden, in which individual flowers’ varying hues make the whole garden that much more beautiful. I know that we are on our way to truly recognizing that our differences, however big, small, tangible or imagined, are what beautify this world and make it worth inhabiting.
I hope this realization comes soon—and with grace, I think we can help each other make it even sooner.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Music ed and stepping stones
These days, people typically seem to associate me with the stuff I find myself talking about all the time: interfaith activism, the Middle East, global events, human rights, religious tolerance and understanding in America. They are often surprised to find out that my actual diploma suggests a very different set of interests. The conversation usually goes something like this:
"I love that piece you wrote about [insert interfaith/global events issue here]!"
"Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"So what did you study in college again? Global studies? Poli sci?"
"I have a B.A. in music, with a minor in French."
"Wait, what? I had no idea you were a musician."
But if you had talked to me a few years back, I doubt that the fact that I majored in music at university would have been a surprise in the least. Indeed, it's safe to say that I didn't think about much else. I was the biggest choir nerd you'd ever seen. I walked around humming whole tone scales and analyzed Bach chorales in my sleep (at least, according to my freshman year roommate). It wasn't until a little ways into my junior year that I finally realized that, passionate as I was (and still am) about music education, it just wasn't where I ultimately wanted to end up as a career. I didn't feel I had the patience or skills set to do it full time. Admitting this to myself was difficult, but eventually it just had to happen.
Music geeks like me have often said that music is basically our significant other. I'm ashamed to say, then, that I cheated. I started seeing other classes. My music coursework was basically already finished, so I decided next to simply dive into as many electives as I could get my hands on. That turned into a French minor, a transformative semester of conflict transformation studies, and a year of Arabic that ended with me heading to Jordan for intensive language study.
It was also during this time that I discovered, fell for and officially became a member of the Baha'i faith -- one of those times when you "discover" that what you always believed already had a name and an amazing community behind it. A chance meeting with Eboo Patel at an interfaith event turned into me applying and being accepted as a community ambassador at his organization, the Interfaith Youth Core. I made new friends in many circles. I got addicted to social media and socially conscious hip-hop. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I began to really understand that loving people means getting to know them, caring for them, maybe even fighting for them, all of them, even if they don't "look" or "act" like you.
These days I spend my time writing for an editorial firm, being a writing advisor at my alma mater, and occasionally contemplating how my random and haphazard background led me to become whatever I am these days. And it's recently occurred to me that, on second thought, maybe it's not so haphazard after all.
It's often said that the first step towards the oppression of a group of people is to demean their culture. Make them appear as "other" as possible, and suddenly doing terrible things to them doesn't seem so unreasonable.
Conversely, then, I would posit that the first step towards uplifting humanity is to cultivate appreciation for its many cultures. Music is one of the easiest and most effective ways to do this. Long before "moral courage" and "social justice" became terms I now find myself using in ordinary conversation, I remember listening and connecting to world music: raags from India, South African gospel choirs, Latin American grooves and the unique scales and rhythms of the Middle East. I sang songs in other languages in choir and weirded out numerous roommates with my "eclectic" musical tastes. Feeling a little more connected to a culture besides my own through their music made me that much more curious to get to know them more, to try to see things as they do, to care about the issues that affect them. I know it might sound a bit orientalist, but I was doing my best to be authentic about it. It wasn't about appropriating anything, just appreciating.
At any rate, this is to say that my musical education was an absolutely pivotal stepping stone to becoming someone who cares about people outside her obvious or immediate community. At least in my own experience, this was an essential part of learning to be a global citizen, to love the rest of the world as much as I love my own backyard. It helps put a human face, expose a human soul beyond the statistics of "other"s that bombard us daily.
So here's to music's power to make us smile, lift us up and help us remember our common humanity. And though I ultimately decided not to become a music educator myself, I know I would never have become the person I am without the support and guidance of music teachers who taught me to embrace cultures besides my own, to appreciate, to create and to care.
Now if only I could explain all this on my resume... maybe my music major would help me get some more employment! :)
"I love that piece you wrote about [insert interfaith/global events issue here]!"
"Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"So what did you study in college again? Global studies? Poli sci?"
"I have a B.A. in music, with a minor in French."
"Wait, what? I had no idea you were a musician."
But if you had talked to me a few years back, I doubt that the fact that I majored in music at university would have been a surprise in the least. Indeed, it's safe to say that I didn't think about much else. I was the biggest choir nerd you'd ever seen. I walked around humming whole tone scales and analyzed Bach chorales in my sleep (at least, according to my freshman year roommate). It wasn't until a little ways into my junior year that I finally realized that, passionate as I was (and still am) about music education, it just wasn't where I ultimately wanted to end up as a career. I didn't feel I had the patience or skills set to do it full time. Admitting this to myself was difficult, but eventually it just had to happen.
Music geeks like me have often said that music is basically our significant other. I'm ashamed to say, then, that I cheated. I started seeing other classes. My music coursework was basically already finished, so I decided next to simply dive into as many electives as I could get my hands on. That turned into a French minor, a transformative semester of conflict transformation studies, and a year of Arabic that ended with me heading to Jordan for intensive language study.
It was also during this time that I discovered, fell for and officially became a member of the Baha'i faith -- one of those times when you "discover" that what you always believed already had a name and an amazing community behind it. A chance meeting with Eboo Patel at an interfaith event turned into me applying and being accepted as a community ambassador at his organization, the Interfaith Youth Core. I made new friends in many circles. I got addicted to social media and socially conscious hip-hop. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I began to really understand that loving people means getting to know them, caring for them, maybe even fighting for them, all of them, even if they don't "look" or "act" like you.
These days I spend my time writing for an editorial firm, being a writing advisor at my alma mater, and occasionally contemplating how my random and haphazard background led me to become whatever I am these days. And it's recently occurred to me that, on second thought, maybe it's not so haphazard after all.
It's often said that the first step towards the oppression of a group of people is to demean their culture. Make them appear as "other" as possible, and suddenly doing terrible things to them doesn't seem so unreasonable.
Conversely, then, I would posit that the first step towards uplifting humanity is to cultivate appreciation for its many cultures. Music is one of the easiest and most effective ways to do this. Long before "moral courage" and "social justice" became terms I now find myself using in ordinary conversation, I remember listening and connecting to world music: raags from India, South African gospel choirs, Latin American grooves and the unique scales and rhythms of the Middle East. I sang songs in other languages in choir and weirded out numerous roommates with my "eclectic" musical tastes. Feeling a little more connected to a culture besides my own through their music made me that much more curious to get to know them more, to try to see things as they do, to care about the issues that affect them. I know it might sound a bit orientalist, but I was doing my best to be authentic about it. It wasn't about appropriating anything, just appreciating.
At any rate, this is to say that my musical education was an absolutely pivotal stepping stone to becoming someone who cares about people outside her obvious or immediate community. At least in my own experience, this was an essential part of learning to be a global citizen, to love the rest of the world as much as I love my own backyard. It helps put a human face, expose a human soul beyond the statistics of "other"s that bombard us daily.
So here's to music's power to make us smile, lift us up and help us remember our common humanity. And though I ultimately decided not to become a music educator myself, I know I would never have become the person I am without the support and guidance of music teachers who taught me to embrace cultures besides my own, to appreciate, to create and to care.
Now if only I could explain all this on my resume... maybe my music major would help me get some more employment! :)
Friday, June 8, 2012
Extremist who?
A complaint I hear (or read) on just about every platform for discussing Islam's role in America goes something like this:
"If the majority of American Muslims are moderate, why don't we see more of them speaking out against extremism?"
The implied meaning, of course, is that despite the earnest attempts of countless American Muslims to intone their peaceful views until they are blue in the face, despite those who continue to jump through hoops in an attempt to make an increasingly hostile wider society accept them, despite the fact that nearly half of all arrests made in terrorism cases here in the States are directly based on tips from within the Muslim American community, somehow American Muslims still "aren't doing enough."
So in the interest of objectivity, let's observe a few facts:
1. Though estimates are notoriously difficult to come by, there are somewhere between 1 and 8 million Muslims living in the United States.
2. That number is further complicated by the diversity of practice that exists within the Muslim community. Not all of those who identify as "Muslim" would consider themselves terribly religious. Moreover, those who do consider themselves religious are hardly monolithic in their practice and beliefs.
3. In 2009, 47 Muslim Americans committed or were arrested for terrorist crimes. In 2010, that number dropped to 20. Out of 1-8 million. That's about .001% of the American Muslim community, depending on what estimate you're using. Can you think about that please?
4. Roughly 150,000 Americans have been murdered in the years since 9/11. 33 of those were killed in terrorist attacks carried out by 11 Muslim Americans. That's .022% of all the murders in the past 10-ish years.
Does that excuse any of those attacks that did occur? Of course not--but it does offer some much-needed perspective. Personally, I abhor violence, no matter who does it. That's why it's important to me to know where the majority of it is coming from, and in this case, it seems I have a lot more to be afraid of from wider American society than from the American Muslim community. The majority of terrorist attacks in the U.S. are perpetrated by white, right-wing radicals. In my hometown of Chicago, I've witnessed the number of children killed in school shootings reach alarming levels; dozens of students have died in recent years. Gang-related violence claims thousands nationwide. So why is the outcry on a few dozen terrorists getting so much more airtime than the outcry against skyrocketing numbers of dead schoolchildren? Where are the Peter King-style Senate hearings on those shootings? Where are the self-made "experts" making millions on books, blogs and speaking engagements about the threat of creeping white supremacy in America? The lack of logical priorities boggles the mind.
But back to the "American Muslims aren't speaking out enough" premise. Have any of the individuals who continue to assert this ever stopped to consider that, if Muslims make up only 1-8 million of a 308 million-strong population, they're going to have a hard time being heard simply by virtue of being a minority? More importantly, have any of these "concerned" individuals considered that, just because they may not be personally acquainted with the efforts of American Muslims to combat extremism, they are still occurring? Because at least in my experience, I see and hear Muslim friends of mine, both here in the States as well as abroad, speaking out against injustice and violence on a day-to-day basis. Who'd've thought that having actual human relationships with members of a marginalized community can help you hear what they actually think?! Shocking, I know.
And moreover, not every American Muslim is going to make a full-time job of policing their community, or addressing the constant barrage of Islamophobic speech from outside--nor should they be expected to. As we know, those who continue to rail against the American Muslim community are, well, kind of overwhelmingly shrill, and at least in my experience, don't take very kindly to being challenged. It takes a pretty strong stomach and a lot of free time to effectively address that level of poisonous discourse while maintaining one's own sanity. It takes so much time and effort to make oneself heard above the clatter, in fact, that I would hardly be surprised if most people simply throw up their hands and try instead to lead by example. I think it's safe to say that a majority of the American Muslim community are, much like the rest of us, just trying to go about their daily business, do their jobs, feed their families--you know, human stuff. To blame them all for the actions of a proportionally miniscule faction of nutjobs seems silly, and to expect the entire community to singlehandedly shoulder the burden of babysitting them is just downright unfair.
Indeed, the responsibility for dealing with extremism from within any particular religious community doesn't fall only to that community. If we all have a mutual interest in preventing extremism, any kind of extremism, then we all share in that responsibility. We have the freedom to shape our own culture, not with dominance and hate speak, but with free thought and flow of ideas. That is one of democratic society's greatest traits: any lasting cultural ideology not only has to be compatible with that society's constitution, but it has to stand up to a Socratic method of evaluation. Instead of having one power source inflict its views on a captive majority, we get to be one another's checks and balances. When ideas can't stand up to scrutiny, they fizzle out from their own lack of merit. No segregation, no guns, no battles. They're not necessary.
And though the ubiquitousness of half-truths and mudslinging in today's public discourse often tempts me to give up on the notion of human intelligence and civility, I still believe that human beings can do better than stupid and hateful. When they say stupid and hateful things, it's probably because they don't know the whole story. If they did, they'd probably come to more prudent, logical and balanced conclusions. That is the beauty of being human: to be able to understand, appreciate and work for things that are bigger than we are as individuals. To be one step up from basic fear response when confronted with something "different." To think critically and rationally and cultivate an attitude of embrace. To seek understanding and reconciliation with the "other," and perhaps in the process find that they were not as "other" as you originally thought.
This is why, though I myself am not a member of the American Muslim community, I have taken a particular interest in the issues that pertain to them--particularly when I continue to see that community demonized for "not doing enough," when that assertion has been soundly and repeatedly debunked. I do it because I value my neighbors and I value my freedoms, and because I know the importance of putting things in perspective. I have seen what misinformation and dogma have done to the world, and conversely I believe in the potential of understanding and tolerance to fundamentally challenge that unfortunate reality.
We all want to be safe. We all want to feel secure in our communities. We all want to enjoy our freedoms and see our societies prosper. So can we please look at the facts beyond the prejudices and make it happen?
"If the majority of American Muslims are moderate, why don't we see more of them speaking out against extremism?"
The implied meaning, of course, is that despite the earnest attempts of countless American Muslims to intone their peaceful views until they are blue in the face, despite those who continue to jump through hoops in an attempt to make an increasingly hostile wider society accept them, despite the fact that nearly half of all arrests made in terrorism cases here in the States are directly based on tips from within the Muslim American community, somehow American Muslims still "aren't doing enough."
So in the interest of objectivity, let's observe a few facts:
1. Though estimates are notoriously difficult to come by, there are somewhere between 1 and 8 million Muslims living in the United States.
2. That number is further complicated by the diversity of practice that exists within the Muslim community. Not all of those who identify as "Muslim" would consider themselves terribly religious. Moreover, those who do consider themselves religious are hardly monolithic in their practice and beliefs.
3. In 2009, 47 Muslim Americans committed or were arrested for terrorist crimes. In 2010, that number dropped to 20. Out of 1-8 million. That's about .001% of the American Muslim community, depending on what estimate you're using. Can you think about that please?
4. Roughly 150,000 Americans have been murdered in the years since 9/11. 33 of those were killed in terrorist attacks carried out by 11 Muslim Americans. That's .022% of all the murders in the past 10-ish years.
Does that excuse any of those attacks that did occur? Of course not--but it does offer some much-needed perspective. Personally, I abhor violence, no matter who does it. That's why it's important to me to know where the majority of it is coming from, and in this case, it seems I have a lot more to be afraid of from wider American society than from the American Muslim community. The majority of terrorist attacks in the U.S. are perpetrated by white, right-wing radicals. In my hometown of Chicago, I've witnessed the number of children killed in school shootings reach alarming levels; dozens of students have died in recent years. Gang-related violence claims thousands nationwide. So why is the outcry on a few dozen terrorists getting so much more airtime than the outcry against skyrocketing numbers of dead schoolchildren? Where are the Peter King-style Senate hearings on those shootings? Where are the self-made "experts" making millions on books, blogs and speaking engagements about the threat of creeping white supremacy in America? The lack of logical priorities boggles the mind.
But back to the "American Muslims aren't speaking out enough" premise. Have any of the individuals who continue to assert this ever stopped to consider that, if Muslims make up only 1-8 million of a 308 million-strong population, they're going to have a hard time being heard simply by virtue of being a minority? More importantly, have any of these "concerned" individuals considered that, just because they may not be personally acquainted with the efforts of American Muslims to combat extremism, they are still occurring? Because at least in my experience, I see and hear Muslim friends of mine, both here in the States as well as abroad, speaking out against injustice and violence on a day-to-day basis. Who'd've thought that having actual human relationships with members of a marginalized community can help you hear what they actually think?! Shocking, I know.
And moreover, not every American Muslim is going to make a full-time job of policing their community, or addressing the constant barrage of Islamophobic speech from outside--nor should they be expected to. As we know, those who continue to rail against the American Muslim community are, well, kind of overwhelmingly shrill, and at least in my experience, don't take very kindly to being challenged. It takes a pretty strong stomach and a lot of free time to effectively address that level of poisonous discourse while maintaining one's own sanity. It takes so much time and effort to make oneself heard above the clatter, in fact, that I would hardly be surprised if most people simply throw up their hands and try instead to lead by example. I think it's safe to say that a majority of the American Muslim community are, much like the rest of us, just trying to go about their daily business, do their jobs, feed their families--you know, human stuff. To blame them all for the actions of a proportionally miniscule faction of nutjobs seems silly, and to expect the entire community to singlehandedly shoulder the burden of babysitting them is just downright unfair.
Indeed, the responsibility for dealing with extremism from within any particular religious community doesn't fall only to that community. If we all have a mutual interest in preventing extremism, any kind of extremism, then we all share in that responsibility. We have the freedom to shape our own culture, not with dominance and hate speak, but with free thought and flow of ideas. That is one of democratic society's greatest traits: any lasting cultural ideology not only has to be compatible with that society's constitution, but it has to stand up to a Socratic method of evaluation. Instead of having one power source inflict its views on a captive majority, we get to be one another's checks and balances. When ideas can't stand up to scrutiny, they fizzle out from their own lack of merit. No segregation, no guns, no battles. They're not necessary.
And though the ubiquitousness of half-truths and mudslinging in today's public discourse often tempts me to give up on the notion of human intelligence and civility, I still believe that human beings can do better than stupid and hateful. When they say stupid and hateful things, it's probably because they don't know the whole story. If they did, they'd probably come to more prudent, logical and balanced conclusions. That is the beauty of being human: to be able to understand, appreciate and work for things that are bigger than we are as individuals. To be one step up from basic fear response when confronted with something "different." To think critically and rationally and cultivate an attitude of embrace. To seek understanding and reconciliation with the "other," and perhaps in the process find that they were not as "other" as you originally thought.
This is why, though I myself am not a member of the American Muslim community, I have taken a particular interest in the issues that pertain to them--particularly when I continue to see that community demonized for "not doing enough," when that assertion has been soundly and repeatedly debunked. I do it because I value my neighbors and I value my freedoms, and because I know the importance of putting things in perspective. I have seen what misinformation and dogma have done to the world, and conversely I believe in the potential of understanding and tolerance to fundamentally challenge that unfortunate reality.
We all want to be safe. We all want to feel secure in our communities. We all want to enjoy our freedoms and see our societies prosper. So can we please look at the facts beyond the prejudices and make it happen?
Monday, April 16, 2012
"Please, don't help us": On humanitarian aid
Imagine a neighbor was going through his garage and decided that you, his needy non-golf-playing neighbor, could use his old golf clubs. Unsolicited by you, he leaves them on your doorstep. Maybe he really did it to be nice, and that's great. But you still now have to deal with the stuff he didn't want that you also cannot really use. It seems silly, yet it's essentially the premise behind a lot of aid groups -- and because I believe that people really do deep down want to help, I think it's important that we have the conversation on how to do aid better, difficult as it might be.
When it comes to humanitarian aid, there's an interesting tension between giving freely from one place and encouraging economic prosperity in another. Disaster relief is one thing. An earthquake or a flood strikes, of course people need to get food, water, healthcare, etc. from somewhere, and there are plenty of programs that facilitate this. But programs that move around "SWEDOW" (aid jargon for "stuff we don't want") are expensive, inefficient, and sometimes do no more than make the donors at home feel like they did something. It takes a lot of time and money to move that stuff around. "Yoga Mats for Haiti" is perhaps the most aptly lampooned example of this. The money it took to collect, ship and distribute those mats could have been much better spent buying crops from Haitian farmers in order to get people fed. Instead, the influx of foreign food and donations outsold those farmers who otherwise would have been able to salvage enough crops to make a living. It put them out of business and took that money out of an economy that needs to conserve and re-circulate every penny it can. So as someone who genuinely wants to help, I would have a hard time supporting an initiative like that, because while it might get people fed for a day or a week, it has actually made things worse for them in the weeks, months and years down the road.
Yoga mats? Really?
Thankfully, there are many other ways to give freely as well as mindfully. Perhaps the most critical, but also arguably the least warm and fuzzy for the donor, is giving money. There are many organizations that are already a part of communities that need help, that have the local connections to get things done, and a more complete understanding of what is really needed -- after all, those communities would know what would benefit them better than we would. It would be better for them to receive money which they can spend locally and allocate more wisely than mountains of other people's unwanted stuff.
My biggest concern is that people who seem to mean all the good in the world settle for championing initiatives that are, at the very best, only a superficial fix to complex problems. I don't blame people for wanting to help, I applaud it! But we seem to have this idea that doing "something" is always better than doing "nothing" -- and that is just not true. Sometimes doing "something" just makes things worse, and no one wants that. All the good intentions in the world are only as good as what we do with them, and we will never be perfect at it, but if we genuinely want to help heal the world, we need to be constantly vigilant about what our well meaning projects actually accomplish.
I have learned the hard way that this kind of constructive critical approach makes some people extremely uncomfortable. People really are kind, and really want to help, but tell them that their favorite organization is actually making things worse, and it touches a lot of raw nerves.
I've been there too -- I actually participated in TOMS A Day Without Shoes several years ago, long before I learned to my horror how counterproductive those kinds of aid programs can be. Though more or less unconsciously, I had bought into the false premise that all us rich kids need to do to "fix things" is just buy the right shoes and cool t-shirts, or swoop into any far-flung place and start a program to "save" it. The world's problems seemed no more than a puzzle that could be solved by "awareness," hip and intrepid social entrepreneurs, and the steady purchase of free-trade coffee. I was oblivious to the ways that other people's suffering is basically turned into products that I bought without many questions asked. I was unaware of all the incredible things that so many people are quietly and patiently accomplishing in their own countries, in more sustainable and locally beneficial ways. My own goal for myself now is simply to stand behind local people in their own initiatives, help to spread their stories, basically to be a bridge between their work and folks around the world who want to help it succeed. Because the last thing we need is another program -- there are plenty of worthy ones that need support. And it's not about me. I'm just a pair of hands.
Aid groups have done something really fantastic in recent years: they've gotten really good at raising awareness on issues. They do an excellent job of encouraging people who want to help and enforcing the idea that every person can make a difference. Every person can "get involved." And that is true, but I think one of the biggest trade-offs is that the latest generation of humanitarians and activists have a tendency to throw all their weight behind shock campaigns and quick fixes, without due diligence in understanding the global power dynamics and economic realities that create so much need and suffering in the first place; I know I am a long way off from understanding them myself. And when aid organizations stress simple -- or downright simplistic -- means of involvement without pushing for the diligence that comes from nuanced understanding of complex humanitarian issues, quantity of involvement starts to take precedence over its actual quality.
The result is that organizations set up to work on worthy causes can take on a life of their own in a way that is counterproductive. Kony 2012 is a perfect example. An extremely worthy cause is marketed in a way designed to get people to care. That is a good thing. However, the "plan" advocated in the video -- military intervention by the U.S. government -- is definitely not a good thing. And worse, this marketing is done in a way that basically says "support our organization and how we think we should deal with the situation, or you obviously don't care about Ugandan kids." Meanwhile countless Ugandan and other African voices critiquing the video for being outdated and overly simplistic are more or less ignored, condescended to, rendered "voiceless" and "helpless." The campaign and the organization become detached from the very people it claims to support. Millions of actual Ugandans have not even seen this video, yet it's supposed to be about them, for them even, and would affect them most directly. That, to me, is unacceptable.
And even worse, without diligence and understanding, without thinking about the big picture or simply listening to what people actually need and want, well-meaning individuals can become pawns for industry, politicians and the like who exploit people's humanitarian concerns to expand their economic empires and consolidate more power. Aid that's supposed to fill bellies and build schools instead goes to pad the pockets of corrupt bureaucrats the world over. Governments pat themselves on the back for providing a few million in aid to the people of a foreign country with one hand, while the other closes a far bigger arms deal with their oppressive leaders. It's clear that this top-down approach is ineffective at best and downright detrimental at worst.
People's response to that criticism, I've found, is often something along the lines of "I give up then, I guess I can't do anything." This makes me incredibly sad because it is also not true. We (myself entirely included) need to learn how to separate worthy causes from worthy plans and programs. A good aid campaign is designed to render itself obsolete. Programs that essentially put band-aids on important causes, on the other hand, can be merely fronts for the continuation of the real root causes of that situation. That's not cynicism, it's just common sense. Throw enough money and stuff at a population without addressing structural problems, and you essentially make and keep them subservient. I don't think that's quite what most people intend when they set out to "make a difference."
So we shouldn't be asking ourselves "how can we get them stuff?", we should be asking them why they can't afford what they need in the first place, and working with them to address it. That's why I am such a fan of micro-finance, for example, because it allows people who wish to donate to "put their money where their mouth is" in a way that directly stimulates local economies in the places receiving aid, yet still feels a little more personal than just writing a check. I understand that people want to feel good by doing good -- I just don't think that should be our litmus test for what's a good project to get behind. It's not about us. It's about creating a fairer world for everyone to prosper in.
Being more responsible consumers here at home is a key part of correcting the imbalances of privilege and power that perpetuate and exacerbate need and suffering in the first place. Affluent society's expectations for what constitutes a reasonable standard of living are completely unsustainable. This is a huge part of what necessitates the wholesale pillage of other continents' resources that make those other economies so problematic in the first place. (I don't excuse myself from this by any means, because I live here too and am part of the same grid.) Cultivating an understanding that there are plenty of resources in this world to go around, and that we owe it to our human brothers and sisters to make sure everyone has access to them, is one of the most important things we could possibly do. Consuming less in one continent obviously means more for another. Governments cannot, and should not, enforce that -- the onus is on us as individuals to live as ethically and mindfully as possible, and to put our weight behind structural solutions to the issues we care about, instead of quick fixes.
Spiritual solutions to economic problems. I know it's a lot of talk that's much easier said than done. But I'm having trouble figuring out a better way to do it. :)
When it comes to humanitarian aid, there's an interesting tension between giving freely from one place and encouraging economic prosperity in another. Disaster relief is one thing. An earthquake or a flood strikes, of course people need to get food, water, healthcare, etc. from somewhere, and there are plenty of programs that facilitate this. But programs that move around "SWEDOW" (aid jargon for "stuff we don't want") are expensive, inefficient, and sometimes do no more than make the donors at home feel like they did something. It takes a lot of time and money to move that stuff around. "Yoga Mats for Haiti" is perhaps the most aptly lampooned example of this. The money it took to collect, ship and distribute those mats could have been much better spent buying crops from Haitian farmers in order to get people fed. Instead, the influx of foreign food and donations outsold those farmers who otherwise would have been able to salvage enough crops to make a living. It put them out of business and took that money out of an economy that needs to conserve and re-circulate every penny it can. So as someone who genuinely wants to help, I would have a hard time supporting an initiative like that, because while it might get people fed for a day or a week, it has actually made things worse for them in the weeks, months and years down the road.
Thankfully, there are many other ways to give freely as well as mindfully. Perhaps the most critical, but also arguably the least warm and fuzzy for the donor, is giving money. There are many organizations that are already a part of communities that need help, that have the local connections to get things done, and a more complete understanding of what is really needed -- after all, those communities would know what would benefit them better than we would. It would be better for them to receive money which they can spend locally and allocate more wisely than mountains of other people's unwanted stuff.
My biggest concern is that people who seem to mean all the good in the world settle for championing initiatives that are, at the very best, only a superficial fix to complex problems. I don't blame people for wanting to help, I applaud it! But we seem to have this idea that doing "something" is always better than doing "nothing" -- and that is just not true. Sometimes doing "something" just makes things worse, and no one wants that. All the good intentions in the world are only as good as what we do with them, and we will never be perfect at it, but if we genuinely want to help heal the world, we need to be constantly vigilant about what our well meaning projects actually accomplish.
I have learned the hard way that this kind of constructive critical approach makes some people extremely uncomfortable. People really are kind, and really want to help, but tell them that their favorite organization is actually making things worse, and it touches a lot of raw nerves.
I've been there too -- I actually participated in TOMS A Day Without Shoes several years ago, long before I learned to my horror how counterproductive those kinds of aid programs can be. Though more or less unconsciously, I had bought into the false premise that all us rich kids need to do to "fix things" is just buy the right shoes and cool t-shirts, or swoop into any far-flung place and start a program to "save" it. The world's problems seemed no more than a puzzle that could be solved by "awareness," hip and intrepid social entrepreneurs, and the steady purchase of free-trade coffee. I was oblivious to the ways that other people's suffering is basically turned into products that I bought without many questions asked. I was unaware of all the incredible things that so many people are quietly and patiently accomplishing in their own countries, in more sustainable and locally beneficial ways. My own goal for myself now is simply to stand behind local people in their own initiatives, help to spread their stories, basically to be a bridge between their work and folks around the world who want to help it succeed. Because the last thing we need is another program -- there are plenty of worthy ones that need support. And it's not about me. I'm just a pair of hands.
Aid groups have done something really fantastic in recent years: they've gotten really good at raising awareness on issues. They do an excellent job of encouraging people who want to help and enforcing the idea that every person can make a difference. Every person can "get involved." And that is true, but I think one of the biggest trade-offs is that the latest generation of humanitarians and activists have a tendency to throw all their weight behind shock campaigns and quick fixes, without due diligence in understanding the global power dynamics and economic realities that create so much need and suffering in the first place; I know I am a long way off from understanding them myself. And when aid organizations stress simple -- or downright simplistic -- means of involvement without pushing for the diligence that comes from nuanced understanding of complex humanitarian issues, quantity of involvement starts to take precedence over its actual quality.
The result is that organizations set up to work on worthy causes can take on a life of their own in a way that is counterproductive. Kony 2012 is a perfect example. An extremely worthy cause is marketed in a way designed to get people to care. That is a good thing. However, the "plan" advocated in the video -- military intervention by the U.S. government -- is definitely not a good thing. And worse, this marketing is done in a way that basically says "support our organization and how we think we should deal with the situation, or you obviously don't care about Ugandan kids." Meanwhile countless Ugandan and other African voices critiquing the video for being outdated and overly simplistic are more or less ignored, condescended to, rendered "voiceless" and "helpless." The campaign and the organization become detached from the very people it claims to support. Millions of actual Ugandans have not even seen this video, yet it's supposed to be about them, for them even, and would affect them most directly. That, to me, is unacceptable.
And even worse, without diligence and understanding, without thinking about the big picture or simply listening to what people actually need and want, well-meaning individuals can become pawns for industry, politicians and the like who exploit people's humanitarian concerns to expand their economic empires and consolidate more power. Aid that's supposed to fill bellies and build schools instead goes to pad the pockets of corrupt bureaucrats the world over. Governments pat themselves on the back for providing a few million in aid to the people of a foreign country with one hand, while the other closes a far bigger arms deal with their oppressive leaders. It's clear that this top-down approach is ineffective at best and downright detrimental at worst.
People's response to that criticism, I've found, is often something along the lines of "I give up then, I guess I can't do anything." This makes me incredibly sad because it is also not true. We (myself entirely included) need to learn how to separate worthy causes from worthy plans and programs. A good aid campaign is designed to render itself obsolete. Programs that essentially put band-aids on important causes, on the other hand, can be merely fronts for the continuation of the real root causes of that situation. That's not cynicism, it's just common sense. Throw enough money and stuff at a population without addressing structural problems, and you essentially make and keep them subservient. I don't think that's quite what most people intend when they set out to "make a difference."
So we shouldn't be asking ourselves "how can we get them stuff?", we should be asking them why they can't afford what they need in the first place, and working with them to address it. That's why I am such a fan of micro-finance, for example, because it allows people who wish to donate to "put their money where their mouth is" in a way that directly stimulates local economies in the places receiving aid, yet still feels a little more personal than just writing a check. I understand that people want to feel good by doing good -- I just don't think that should be our litmus test for what's a good project to get behind. It's not about us. It's about creating a fairer world for everyone to prosper in.
Being more responsible consumers here at home is a key part of correcting the imbalances of privilege and power that perpetuate and exacerbate need and suffering in the first place. Affluent society's expectations for what constitutes a reasonable standard of living are completely unsustainable. This is a huge part of what necessitates the wholesale pillage of other continents' resources that make those other economies so problematic in the first place. (I don't excuse myself from this by any means, because I live here too and am part of the same grid.) Cultivating an understanding that there are plenty of resources in this world to go around, and that we owe it to our human brothers and sisters to make sure everyone has access to them, is one of the most important things we could possibly do. Consuming less in one continent obviously means more for another. Governments cannot, and should not, enforce that -- the onus is on us as individuals to live as ethically and mindfully as possible, and to put our weight behind structural solutions to the issues we care about, instead of quick fixes.
Spiritual solutions to economic problems. I know it's a lot of talk that's much easier said than done. But I'm having trouble figuring out a better way to do it. :)
Monday, December 5, 2011
عزيزي الأردن | Dear Jordan
I miss you.
I miss your warm weather and bright sunshine.
I miss your hills and beautiful wadis.
I miss the guy who was always herding his goats on the slope next to our hostel.
I miss my beautiful teachers at Qasid. I miss their spunk, sweetness and smiles--and their patience. Such incredible patience.
I miss how excited I'd get when a cab driver told me I spoke good Arabic, even though we both knew I was terrible!
I miss the adorableness that is Hanin and Nada.
I miss the guy who made my coffee every morning. I always ordered it medium sweet, but he always made it way too sugary! :-P
I miss the toothless Arab Christian mystical man who read my palm in his carpet shop in Madaba.
I miss Haneen and our dabkeh troupe. Except for those uber-hot afternoon rehearsals....
I miss Petra and Wadi Rum.
I miss all the camels.
I miss all the delicious fruit!
I miss the way every day felt like an adventure.
I even miss sneaking sips of water in corners during Ramadan (I know, I know. Totes haram.)
Probably shouldn't admit this, but I miss the cheap cigarettes.
Heck, I even miss the khalijiyyin! Sort of. ;)
Yes, Jordan, I miss you, and I hope I will be back soon. Inshallah. :)
Lots of love,
Erin
I miss your warm weather and bright sunshine.
I miss your hills and beautiful wadis.
I miss the guy who was always herding his goats on the slope next to our hostel.
I miss my beautiful teachers at Qasid. I miss their spunk, sweetness and smiles--and their patience. Such incredible patience.
I miss how excited I'd get when a cab driver told me I spoke good Arabic, even though we both knew I was terrible!
I miss the adorableness that is Hanin and Nada.
I miss the guy who made my coffee every morning. I always ordered it medium sweet, but he always made it way too sugary! :-P
I miss the toothless Arab Christian mystical man who read my palm in his carpet shop in Madaba.
I miss Haneen and our dabkeh troupe. Except for those uber-hot afternoon rehearsals....
I miss Petra and Wadi Rum.
I miss all the camels.
I miss all the delicious fruit!
I miss the way every day felt like an adventure.
I even miss sneaking sips of water in corners during Ramadan (I know, I know. Totes haram.)
Probably shouldn't admit this, but I miss the cheap cigarettes.
Heck, I even miss the khalijiyyin! Sort of. ;)
Yes, Jordan, I miss you, and I hope I will be back soon. Inshallah. :)
Lots of love,
Erin
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
On Islamophobia and defending Muslims: Why it matters
Every now and then, I get asked why I, a non-Muslim, non-Arab American, am so vocal in my defense of Muslims and Arabs. So I guess I'll put it on the record. How did I, a corn-fed Midwestern girl, come to care so much about these often marginalized communities that I don't personally belong to? I'm more than happy to explain.
On September 11, 2001, I was only twelve years old, a seventh-grade student. Even then, I wondered if the growing perception of Muslims as being exclusively violent and destructive was missing the mark: at best, it seemed incomplete, and at worst, patently and insidiously false. I could not understand why the violent Muslim image that persisted in the public eye seemed to so contradict the Muslim community that always greeted people with the words "Peace be upon you." So when I started my undergraduate degree at an evangelical university, I resolved to study Islam for myself, to view different sides and try to understand the faith as its practitioners do. Along the way, I got involved with interfaith work, befriended many Muslims of various backgrounds and political stripes, and even learned to speak, read and write in Arabic.
I also became aware of the work being done by countless Muslim activists, work we never seem to hear about on the mainstream media: Muslims like Eboo Patel founding the Interfaith Youth Core to inspire dialogue and service, and to push for mutual respect between different faiths; or Rami Nashishibi, who founded the Inner City Muslim Action network to address the daunting needs of residents in the heart of Chicago's South Side; or Irshad Manji, a writer and professor inspired by her faith to challenge dangerous cultural trends that sometimes exist in Muslim communities though they have no root in Islam itself; or myriad bloggers and writers of the Arab Spring who are currently fighting for democratic ideals in their own countries. What I learned from my studies and from these amazing people cemented what I had intuited even at twelve years old: contrary to what I had been taught, the enemy of freedom and justice is not Islam, but ignorance, and that countless Muslims reflect this reality in their deeds as well as their words.
If you're reading this blog, you probably know that I spent last summer in Jordan with the U.S. State Department's Critical Language Scholarship program. I will be honest and say that, despite my widened perspective, I initially kept quiet about my Baha'i faith, fearing persecution. So maybe I'd grown to love and trust my Muslim neighbors at home, but I was a religious minority in a Middle Eastern country with Shariah on the books -- since I'd been raised in a country that fears such situations, I had no idea what to expect. Yet the openness and kindness of the society that embraced me was utterly beyond my expectations. I discovered Baha'i and Christian communities thriving amidst this conservative Muslim society. I myself was warmly embraced by Muslims, both liberal and conservative, just as I had been in the States. I was treated like family, and quite frankly, I felt ashamed that my expectations had at first been so low.
Upon my return to the States, I was again confronted with the popular myth that Islam is inherently evil, its followers inherently violent -- but this time, it was personal, an attack against members of my own adopted family. I realized that the people who had so generously opened their hearts and homes to me in the Middle East would, in all probability, be treated with disdain and suspicion were they to visit the USA, thanks to today's environment of ever-increasing Islamophobic sentiment. Frankly, I am embarrassed and horrified by this, because it utterly dishonors the American values I was raised on. I was taught to value freedom and to embrace diversity, because "all men [and women!] are created equal" and they should always be treated with respect and courtesy in spite of perceived differences.
Therefore it seems to me a basic courtesy to ensure that any criticism of a group of people is based in honest, balanced and diligent study of facts, and not in paranoia and half-truths. Islamophobes have created an industry in which they spread misinformation for profit. Scholars both Muslim and secular have widely refuted the claims made by Robert Spencer, Pamela Geller, Kamal Saleem and other Islamophobic speakers -- yet these individuals continue to draw in millions of dollars and widespread attention for the lies they spread. This is no small matter: When propagated, these stereotypes are extremely harmful not only to American Muslims, but to all Americans who believe in the constitutional right to practice their faith in safety.
The assertion that Muslims are bent on taking over the United States and instituting hardline Shariah law is based on misinformation, baseless paranoia and downright terrible "theology." It is absurd propaganda that certainly does not represent the real views of the overwhelming majority of kind, law-abiding American Muslims. They are doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers, public servants, community organizers, artists and musicians. They are our neighbors, our co-workers, our friends, and our family -- not to mention our first line of defense in rooting out those individuals within the Muslim community who do become radicalized. We truly need to understand that the enemy is ignorance, not Islam.
This is not to romanticize the Muslim community; I respect them more than to do that. There are some issues that exist within Muslim societies that I take serious issue with--but conflating a cultural problem with that culture's religion is a mistake that too many people make. For example, the practice of "honor" killing that sometimes occurs in Muslim societies is something that I find utterly horrifying -- but so do most Muslims, who will be the first to tell you that it is not condoned in either the Qur'an or the Sunnah, and instead has its root in cultural practices that predate Islam. I am also deeply troubled by discrimination against the Baha'i community in some Muslim countries, particularly in Iran, but then, so are the wonderful folks at the Muslim Network for Baha'i Rights. To blame these trends on Islam itself, as do those in the Islamophobia circuit, is dangerously simplistic and outright ridiculous. We know better, for example, than to judge all Christians on the actions of the Westboro Baptist Church or Anders Breivik, because we can recognize that their actions do not truly represent biblical teaching. We know better than to blame Jesus for European colonialism and "heretic"-burning, even though some of its worst perpetrators claimed to be devout Christians. Why in the world would we not grant the same grace to our Muslim neighbors?
The Qur'an stresses peacefulness, justice, and respect to human rights and dignity, and these virtues are upheld by the vast majority of the world's over 1 billion Muslims. They need us to support them as allies, not to be constantly alienated by those who seek to demonize their entire religious community based on its worst elements. It says in the Qur'an quite plainly that, if anyone takes a life except in self-defense, it is as if they have murdered all of humanity. Those "Islamic" terrorists who commit crimes against innocent people (and more often than not, against innocent Muslims) are, in reality, violating the standards of their own professed religion. The countless Muslims who are inspired by their faith to contribute positively to our shared society need our support and for their voices to be heard. It is our privilege, as well as responsibility, for all of us to ensure that our neighbors are respected.
Also, this:
"Can't nobody be free unless we're all free. There's no 'me' and no 'you,' just 'us.'"
On September 11, 2001, I was only twelve years old, a seventh-grade student. Even then, I wondered if the growing perception of Muslims as being exclusively violent and destructive was missing the mark: at best, it seemed incomplete, and at worst, patently and insidiously false. I could not understand why the violent Muslim image that persisted in the public eye seemed to so contradict the Muslim community that always greeted people with the words "Peace be upon you." So when I started my undergraduate degree at an evangelical university, I resolved to study Islam for myself, to view different sides and try to understand the faith as its practitioners do. Along the way, I got involved with interfaith work, befriended many Muslims of various backgrounds and political stripes, and even learned to speak, read and write in Arabic.
I also became aware of the work being done by countless Muslim activists, work we never seem to hear about on the mainstream media: Muslims like Eboo Patel founding the Interfaith Youth Core to inspire dialogue and service, and to push for mutual respect between different faiths; or Rami Nashishibi, who founded the Inner City Muslim Action network to address the daunting needs of residents in the heart of Chicago's South Side; or Irshad Manji, a writer and professor inspired by her faith to challenge dangerous cultural trends that sometimes exist in Muslim communities though they have no root in Islam itself; or myriad bloggers and writers of the Arab Spring who are currently fighting for democratic ideals in their own countries. What I learned from my studies and from these amazing people cemented what I had intuited even at twelve years old: contrary to what I had been taught, the enemy of freedom and justice is not Islam, but ignorance, and that countless Muslims reflect this reality in their deeds as well as their words.
If you're reading this blog, you probably know that I spent last summer in Jordan with the U.S. State Department's Critical Language Scholarship program. I will be honest and say that, despite my widened perspective, I initially kept quiet about my Baha'i faith, fearing persecution. So maybe I'd grown to love and trust my Muslim neighbors at home, but I was a religious minority in a Middle Eastern country with Shariah on the books -- since I'd been raised in a country that fears such situations, I had no idea what to expect. Yet the openness and kindness of the society that embraced me was utterly beyond my expectations. I discovered Baha'i and Christian communities thriving amidst this conservative Muslim society. I myself was warmly embraced by Muslims, both liberal and conservative, just as I had been in the States. I was treated like family, and quite frankly, I felt ashamed that my expectations had at first been so low.
Upon my return to the States, I was again confronted with the popular myth that Islam is inherently evil, its followers inherently violent -- but this time, it was personal, an attack against members of my own adopted family. I realized that the people who had so generously opened their hearts and homes to me in the Middle East would, in all probability, be treated with disdain and suspicion were they to visit the USA, thanks to today's environment of ever-increasing Islamophobic sentiment. Frankly, I am embarrassed and horrified by this, because it utterly dishonors the American values I was raised on. I was taught to value freedom and to embrace diversity, because "all men [and women!] are created equal" and they should always be treated with respect and courtesy in spite of perceived differences.
Therefore it seems to me a basic courtesy to ensure that any criticism of a group of people is based in honest, balanced and diligent study of facts, and not in paranoia and half-truths. Islamophobes have created an industry in which they spread misinformation for profit. Scholars both Muslim and secular have widely refuted the claims made by Robert Spencer, Pamela Geller, Kamal Saleem and other Islamophobic speakers -- yet these individuals continue to draw in millions of dollars and widespread attention for the lies they spread. This is no small matter: When propagated, these stereotypes are extremely harmful not only to American Muslims, but to all Americans who believe in the constitutional right to practice their faith in safety.
The assertion that Muslims are bent on taking over the United States and instituting hardline Shariah law is based on misinformation, baseless paranoia and downright terrible "theology." It is absurd propaganda that certainly does not represent the real views of the overwhelming majority of kind, law-abiding American Muslims. They are doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers, public servants, community organizers, artists and musicians. They are our neighbors, our co-workers, our friends, and our family -- not to mention our first line of defense in rooting out those individuals within the Muslim community who do become radicalized. We truly need to understand that the enemy is ignorance, not Islam.
This is not to romanticize the Muslim community; I respect them more than to do that. There are some issues that exist within Muslim societies that I take serious issue with--but conflating a cultural problem with that culture's religion is a mistake that too many people make. For example, the practice of "honor" killing that sometimes occurs in Muslim societies is something that I find utterly horrifying -- but so do most Muslims, who will be the first to tell you that it is not condoned in either the Qur'an or the Sunnah, and instead has its root in cultural practices that predate Islam. I am also deeply troubled by discrimination against the Baha'i community in some Muslim countries, particularly in Iran, but then, so are the wonderful folks at the Muslim Network for Baha'i Rights. To blame these trends on Islam itself, as do those in the Islamophobia circuit, is dangerously simplistic and outright ridiculous. We know better, for example, than to judge all Christians on the actions of the Westboro Baptist Church or Anders Breivik, because we can recognize that their actions do not truly represent biblical teaching. We know better than to blame Jesus for European colonialism and "heretic"-burning, even though some of its worst perpetrators claimed to be devout Christians. Why in the world would we not grant the same grace to our Muslim neighbors?
The Qur'an stresses peacefulness, justice, and respect to human rights and dignity, and these virtues are upheld by the vast majority of the world's over 1 billion Muslims. They need us to support them as allies, not to be constantly alienated by those who seek to demonize their entire religious community based on its worst elements. It says in the Qur'an quite plainly that, if anyone takes a life except in self-defense, it is as if they have murdered all of humanity. Those "Islamic" terrorists who commit crimes against innocent people (and more often than not, against innocent Muslims) are, in reality, violating the standards of their own professed religion. The countless Muslims who are inspired by their faith to contribute positively to our shared society need our support and for their voices to be heard. It is our privilege, as well as responsibility, for all of us to ensure that our neighbors are respected.
Also, this:
"Can't nobody be free unless we're all free. There's no 'me' and no 'you,' just 'us.'"
Monday, October 24, 2011
On olive trees, and hope
Recently, my mother and I watched a documentary called With God on Our Side, a critical look at Christian Zionism and its leadership and theology. As usual, I ended the documentary in tears, while my mother, an evangelical Christian, looked at me and said "I feel so helpless. I feel like my faith is being hijacked to serve a political agenda." To this I replied, "Sounds eerily familiar, doesn't it?" It's true that Islam is too often manipulated to support hateful purposes--but as in this case, Christianity often suffers from the same affliction.
Indeed, much of the current uncritical support for the policies of the Israeli government comes from professed Christian elements in U.S. society who have swallowed the narrative that this is an ancient conflict whose only solution is "to bless Israel" -- whatever that means. Even more bizarre, it is the Christian Zionist belief that the second coming of Christ will only come after the re-establishment of a political Israel -- whatever that means. Indeed there are so many holes in their logic that it's hard for me to understand how it's managed to have so much sway in U.S. policy.
And the result of such uncritical support is a continued Israeli occupation in the less than one quarter of historic Palestine that still remains ostensibly under Palestinian control, stealing land, building walls and preventing the return of the world's largest refugee population. "They" insist this is a "security" measure. I suppose if you genuinely believed that every single Palestinian is a potential terrorist, that fallacy would hold some water. Yet though some have resisted the occupation of their lands using regrettable and violent tactics, the vast majority of Palestinians are trying, simply and steadfastly, to go on existing in spite of a hostile foreign government that wants them exiled or dead. No matter how you want to spin it, the U.N. and countless human rights organizations have called the occupation out for what it is: dehumanizing and illegal. It has nothing to do with race or religion--it is simply unethical to allow this kind of situation to continue without protest.
There are days when I wonder why I even care so much about this, seeing as how I am neither Israeli nor Palestinian. But ultimately that makes no difference, because in the end we are all just people. I know that I am blessed to live in a situation where all my needs are more than accounted for. I have never had to feel the sting of terrorism or the constant dehumanization of living under occupation. I have never had to watch a relative die because they could not get through a checkpoint in time to receive the medical treatment they needed. I have never wept with my arms wrapped tight around the skeletons of my olive trees after a settler attack, the trees that represent my identity as well as my livelihood. I have never had to cope with blackouts, dry water pipes, or being utterly cut off from the world. Though my own government has committed some of the worst human atrocities in history, I have never been taken for a terrorist simply because of my national identity. But no one should have to experience these things. I know that as a young woman who is blessed to be educated and free, I have the responsibility and privilege of advocating for those who deserve no less than the same peace and opportunities for which I am so grateful.
A Palestinian woman weeps for her olive trees after they were stripped in an attack by extremist Jewish settlers.
And as intrenchable as it often seems, the movement to recognize the rights of all people involved in the conflict is indeed growing and moving in a positive direction. Just this week, a prominent Washington Post writer with a decades-long career actually dared to question US aid to Israel in an op-ed; that would have been journalistic suicide even a few years ago. And while the US government still adapts AIPAC policy without question, more and more individual citizens are learning about the reality of the occupation. Most importantly, more and more people are challenging the myth that criticism of Israeli political policy is akin to antisemitism, including many young American Jews, who are more likely now than ever to differ from their parents' traditional views and understanding of Israel. People are seeing more and more that uncritically supporting Israel is ultimately not being a very good friend to them, and that the Israeli government's policies are not only destroying Palestinian livelihoods, but also marring millennia of Jewish heritage and putting their own citizens in very real danger. Simply put, the occupation ultimately benefits no one. It is out of love for Jews as much as Arabs that I believe Israel should respect international law and pursue a very real peace process--instead of the cover for increased settlement building, more land-grabbing, and continued occupation that it has been until now. I believe a better future is possible.
The Torah emphasizes ethical humanity, especially towards the "other" and the "strangers in your land." So it rightly begs the question as to why this situation has been allowed to escalate to the point that it has, especially in light of all the evidence of Jews living in peaceful coexistence alongside Palestinians for centuries while they were being massacred in Europe and Russia. I see nothing "pro-semitic" about coming to the conclusion that that the only way for Jews can be safe is by segregating them from the rest of the world, as if they cannot prosper freely or integrate into society. It doesn't help anyone to respond to one humanitarian atrocity by creating another one, and thus I agree with the growing number of Jews and Israelis who believe that to pursue peace and reconciliation in the Jews' (as well as Palestinians') historic homeland honors the legacy of those who perished in the Holocaust far better than an indefinite occupation ever could.
The extreme Zionist vision of an ethnically pure Israel is at odds with human rights, with international law, and even with Israel's own political policy of secularism, and despite Israel's attempts to manipulate its demographics in order to maintain a Jewish majority, it is clear that Israel cannot indefinitely remain both a Jewish state and a democracy. And why does it need to? Why must Jews "return" to a Palestine that has been rid of its other indigenous populations? Why can't the land be shared?
These are two peoples inextricably bound to the same land, and since settlements, the refugee crisis and the issue of Jerusalem have basically rendered partition impossible, it seems like they are going to have to learn to share. It's easy to despair, but I have hope that once both sides truly realize that their mutual prosperity lies in reconciliation, things will improve. I am thankful for the many examples in history where truth and reconciliation won out over sectarian conflict and cyclical violence. In the meantime, the best I feel I can do is continue to educate people and advocate for peace to the best of my ability. This problem is obviously way too big for one person to solve, but we can all at least try to support those affected while striving to be part of the solution. I love the people on both sides far too much not at least to try.
Indeed, much of the current uncritical support for the policies of the Israeli government comes from professed Christian elements in U.S. society who have swallowed the narrative that this is an ancient conflict whose only solution is "to bless Israel" -- whatever that means. Even more bizarre, it is the Christian Zionist belief that the second coming of Christ will only come after the re-establishment of a political Israel -- whatever that means. Indeed there are so many holes in their logic that it's hard for me to understand how it's managed to have so much sway in U.S. policy.
And the result of such uncritical support is a continued Israeli occupation in the less than one quarter of historic Palestine that still remains ostensibly under Palestinian control, stealing land, building walls and preventing the return of the world's largest refugee population. "They" insist this is a "security" measure. I suppose if you genuinely believed that every single Palestinian is a potential terrorist, that fallacy would hold some water. Yet though some have resisted the occupation of their lands using regrettable and violent tactics, the vast majority of Palestinians are trying, simply and steadfastly, to go on existing in spite of a hostile foreign government that wants them exiled or dead. No matter how you want to spin it, the U.N. and countless human rights organizations have called the occupation out for what it is: dehumanizing and illegal. It has nothing to do with race or religion--it is simply unethical to allow this kind of situation to continue without protest.
There are days when I wonder why I even care so much about this, seeing as how I am neither Israeli nor Palestinian. But ultimately that makes no difference, because in the end we are all just people. I know that I am blessed to live in a situation where all my needs are more than accounted for. I have never had to feel the sting of terrorism or the constant dehumanization of living under occupation. I have never had to watch a relative die because they could not get through a checkpoint in time to receive the medical treatment they needed. I have never wept with my arms wrapped tight around the skeletons of my olive trees after a settler attack, the trees that represent my identity as well as my livelihood. I have never had to cope with blackouts, dry water pipes, or being utterly cut off from the world. Though my own government has committed some of the worst human atrocities in history, I have never been taken for a terrorist simply because of my national identity. But no one should have to experience these things. I know that as a young woman who is blessed to be educated and free, I have the responsibility and privilege of advocating for those who deserve no less than the same peace and opportunities for which I am so grateful.
A Palestinian woman weeps for her olive trees after they were stripped in an attack by extremist Jewish settlers.
And as intrenchable as it often seems, the movement to recognize the rights of all people involved in the conflict is indeed growing and moving in a positive direction. Just this week, a prominent Washington Post writer with a decades-long career actually dared to question US aid to Israel in an op-ed; that would have been journalistic suicide even a few years ago. And while the US government still adapts AIPAC policy without question, more and more individual citizens are learning about the reality of the occupation. Most importantly, more and more people are challenging the myth that criticism of Israeli political policy is akin to antisemitism, including many young American Jews, who are more likely now than ever to differ from their parents' traditional views and understanding of Israel. People are seeing more and more that uncritically supporting Israel is ultimately not being a very good friend to them, and that the Israeli government's policies are not only destroying Palestinian livelihoods, but also marring millennia of Jewish heritage and putting their own citizens in very real danger. Simply put, the occupation ultimately benefits no one. It is out of love for Jews as much as Arabs that I believe Israel should respect international law and pursue a very real peace process--instead of the cover for increased settlement building, more land-grabbing, and continued occupation that it has been until now. I believe a better future is possible.
The Torah emphasizes ethical humanity, especially towards the "other" and the "strangers in your land." So it rightly begs the question as to why this situation has been allowed to escalate to the point that it has, especially in light of all the evidence of Jews living in peaceful coexistence alongside Palestinians for centuries while they were being massacred in Europe and Russia. I see nothing "pro-semitic" about coming to the conclusion that that the only way for Jews can be safe is by segregating them from the rest of the world, as if they cannot prosper freely or integrate into society. It doesn't help anyone to respond to one humanitarian atrocity by creating another one, and thus I agree with the growing number of Jews and Israelis who believe that to pursue peace and reconciliation in the Jews' (as well as Palestinians') historic homeland honors the legacy of those who perished in the Holocaust far better than an indefinite occupation ever could.
The extreme Zionist vision of an ethnically pure Israel is at odds with human rights, with international law, and even with Israel's own political policy of secularism, and despite Israel's attempts to manipulate its demographics in order to maintain a Jewish majority, it is clear that Israel cannot indefinitely remain both a Jewish state and a democracy. And why does it need to? Why must Jews "return" to a Palestine that has been rid of its other indigenous populations? Why can't the land be shared?
These are two peoples inextricably bound to the same land, and since settlements, the refugee crisis and the issue of Jerusalem have basically rendered partition impossible, it seems like they are going to have to learn to share. It's easy to despair, but I have hope that once both sides truly realize that their mutual prosperity lies in reconciliation, things will improve. I am thankful for the many examples in history where truth and reconciliation won out over sectarian conflict and cyclical violence. In the meantime, the best I feel I can do is continue to educate people and advocate for peace to the best of my ability. This problem is obviously way too big for one person to solve, but we can all at least try to support those affected while striving to be part of the solution. I love the people on both sides far too much not at least to try.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
On April 21, 2011, I donned hijab (the headscarf worn by many Muslim women) as a participant in International Scarves in Solidarity Day, an ...
-
Real talk: I was in Mexico this weekend, studiously avoiding my phone, but all I could think about was Anthony. Something about ...