Sedition, 2021

There were so many days in 2020 that I should have blogged. I don’t know why I couldn’t write about the pandemic. Hopefully one day I will. But I read someone say they wanted to write about this week before it was too far in the distance, and I agree.

On Tuesday evening I turned to Austin at the dinner table and said, “You will remember this day for the rest of your life. Your children will ask you about this day.”

“I don’t want to have children, Mommy.”

And thus, the perspective of a six year old on one of the darkest days in American history. This was the day the Capitol was stormed by fascists, and a not-so-feeble attempt to overthrow our democracy happened. I say not-so-feeble , because we all knew these jerks were coming to DC. However, we all also thought that other than breaking a few store front shops in downtown there wouldn’t be much of an interruption beyond that. We knew to stay away from the typical spots of protest in DC, and who wanted to bump into this angry, maskless, racist trash bedecked with symbols of hate and toxic masculinity?

I contemplated Austin’s schedule and knew that he’d be ok, because he wouldn’t be out in the open at Sherwood, the quiet park and oasis on 9th street. I knew he’d be at science class at Becca and Joe’s, in a quiet, private alleyway, sequestered and safe. Then I dismissed those fleeting calculations as ridiculous and slightly paranoid, even for a mom.

When the news of the riots at the Capitol started coming in, I was not worried. There were but a few hundred cretons, and DC handles protests of thousands with ease. But then it escalated, and as I tried to be present and engaged in a 2pm meeting, I thought about Austin. I told Hayden that maybe we needed to get him. He was closer to the Capitol than we were, much closer. At 3pm and in near panic, I demanded Hayden go and pick him up on the Rad bike. I tried to be on another work call. No dice. I apologized and frantically texted Joe and Hayden, unable to shake visions of the nasty mob spilling East of the Capitol and overrunning our neighborhood. Responses were slow and when Hayden didn’t pick up his phone, I called Joe. “He already left to return home.” 

 

Sure enough I spotted Hayden’s orange helmet above our gate in the alleyway and knew they were safe. I ran down to meet Austin walking in the door, my heart pounding as I grabbed him in a hug.  He sighed and said, “we only got to do one experiment.” I didn’t stop hugging him, but I asked what Ms. Michelynne thought of his book of inventions. "She said the carbon dioxide (for his CO2 vacuum backpack idea) would get absorbed into the ground and help trees and plants grow.”

At 4pm, I wondered without irony or hyperbole if a military coup was occurring. Like, the real deal that many countries I have traveled to have had. Where was the National Guard? These fuckers had breached the Senate floor!

At 5pm, once it was clear that back-up was present and securing the building, I started to get angry and that defines my present state. 

 

Some of it is personal. Those of us who live in DC had a myth busted: we all thought Capitol Hill was impenetrable. We have access to the grounds and use those grounds on a regular basis. Austin bikes in the ellipse where Presidential motorcades park. He and I race down the Hill and then take breaks half way up the north side of the Hill, because we simply can't bike the whole way back up. Perhaps it turns out that it was all based on our decorum and respect rather than security? We just never dared to imagine anything else.

The rest of my anger is the shared anger of (hopefully) most Americans. This was treasonous and hateful. This violence was the inevitable consequence of the stain of this current President's unending narcissism, racism and grift. He has achieved his singular goal of making it all about him, at the peril of 400,000 dead Americans from Covid, and, well, the future of democracy for the United States.

Austin and I went the 3,158 feet from our house to the Capitol on Saturday morning. The scene was as expected. The fortifying of the perimeter was being finalized, with visible military stationed everywhere. The 7-foot steel fence of shame that has been popular since 45 took office was everywhere. 

When will we bike its grounds again? When will it return to being the people's house? Will it?

Before:

After:

The Nobel Peace Center

I haven't blogged in so long...

Today, I remembered that the Nobel committee is based in Oslo when I found myself suddenly upon the Nobel Peace Center and the Nobel Prize Hall in downtown Oslo. I didn't have to go inside, but simply stood in front of the building absorbing the awe of peace. They had an interesting caricature portrait of Abiy Ahmed Ali out front. He won the peace prize only last week for his bold overtures of peace towards Eritrea. This was a good decision by the committee.

I'm in Oslo for the GEF meeting. This is my meeting. I organize every inch of it - every talking point, every speaker, every guest, the agenda, etc. The Norwegians hosted it for me, but with the promise that I would do the heavy lifting. So, I'm too tired to type, because the meeting ended a short while ago.

It was a rousing success if I do say so myself. One of the things I worked very hard on was fundraising among the partners. Without naming names, there was an incredible outpouring of increased support. It was so cool to watch as partners tried to grab the spotlight from each other to announce their commitments.

I'd like to take full credit, because I am shameless in my quest for support. However, what drives me are the activists who need it. My credit evaporates quite quickly, because it is the voices of these activists that swayed the crowd. Their incredible stories of defending human rights in some of the toughest places in the world got peoples' attention and lit up their compassion. They risk their lives for rights. It is inspiring and amazing. Many guests in the room had never heard these stories before, and I could see that they were stunned by these brave people.

The weather is cold and rainy, and nothing like my last trip to Cyprus where it was hot and dusty, and certainly nothing like my ridiculous (but still important) trip to Barbados before that.

I am lucky, not because I travel to these places, but because my work supports people doing the absolute best and most important work there is: defending the rights of all people.

Thank you, Oslo, for being a hallowed city in your own right, and, thus, a natural location to welcome bravery and brilliance from around the world.

The Interfaith Circle

In my current job, I can't post too many details. 

This week, I traveled for work to Kenya and went to a conference. Where it was and what it was about, I will not write here. It was a really good conference, filled with fascinating sessions and good people. My boss came, so there was good facetime with her too. She and I tried to and nearly did meet everyone there…all 300 people!

A favorite unexpected moment during the conference was being invited to a discussion on interfaith and human rights. This is something that greatly interests me. Religion can, rather unfortunately, amplify and instigate discrimination and even violence, using God as an excuse to hate rather than love all people. Having been raised a Christian in a loving and supportive environment accepting of all people and focused on social justice, I take personal affront at this form of “religion.” It is fiction. It is hate. And, it is not what Jesus Christ would do.

Instead of discussion, I arrived at a circle of chairs with a pitcher of water in the middle. Toni, someone I admire and who I am trying to find a way to support, was there and asked us to sit. There were about 15 of us who came – from across Africa, well, and me.

She started the meeting by settling us in to silence and asking us to take breaths and relax into a space of solitude and reflection. As someone who used to lean Quaker, this was at once a familiar and deeply spiritual practice for me.

The next hour was not a discussion, but a deeply personal sharing amongst us about faith, God and human rights. Everyone around the circle had been persecuted and hated for who they are – by their communities, their preachers or imams and even by their families. When a person finished sharing, we poured water on their hands to signify life and continuity and whatever else water signifies.

I thought about what I would share, in the face of these sad but resilient stories. I thought about my dad and wished he was here in that moment. My dad is the President of the Interfaith Network of Care, a group that volunteers to drive elderly and sick people around to run errands or fulfill other needs as a practice of their faith and love for God. I thought he would love to meet the people who were sitting with me and that he would love to pray with them. I thought he would be as eager as I felt in that moment to share with them a message of love and allyship.

I told this to those gathered in the circle. I apologized to them for the fear and hate spurred by evangelicals in my country. I shared that there are other messages too: of love and tolerance, of people like my dad and his interfaith network, and of his church. They love and accept them for who they are.

I wanted these brave people, who have been so excluded from their churches and mosques and temples, to know that. I hoped it might add even a drop of solace and peace to their lives as they travel back home.

Staycation, All I Ever Wanted

Today is the last day of a staycation that Hayden and I planned, because I had to burn some leave time before I officially start my "new" job and he has been traveling nonstop for work. Austin was in school for the week, which meant we were able to really get down to the business of cleaning and purging the house.

We cleaned out the closet in the middle room, which is now filled again, but less with Hayden’s childhood memorabilia (there’s still 2 boxes) and more with current-day suitcases. We went to IKEA to buy patio furniture and eat Swedish meatballs. I packed for Kenya and Hayden used his new power drill. My crowning staycation moment was replacing the bathroom air conditioner duct vent (say that 3 times fast), which used to drive me nuts because it collects dirt and is not easily cleaned. The new one is dark and will hide the dirt :)

Some staycation promises were not kept. I still have figured out an accessible exercise scheme. I didn’t read much. I still need to stealthily hack away at Bob and Doug’s Little Shop of Horrors backyard. But we were hardly sat still this entire week. I paused briefly to watch the US Women’s soccer team trounce Thailand (13-0), but then it was back to clutter removal. Mind you, the house is still cluttered, but a little more organized.

I’m off to Kenya tomorrow and as always have mixed emotions before I depart…irrational fear of flying, worries about Austin whose last day of school was today and who will have camp next week, etc. etc. But they will be fine and hopefully I will too.

New Zealand, with deep thanks

A child helps you remember the beauty of the beach. For hours in St. Lucia last month, Austin was indefatigable as he explored shells and waves and sand. This morning in Picton, New Zealand I discovered with glee a sandy beach with loads of clam, mussel and snail shells. I scooped up a few, delighted that these would be the legitimate New Zealand treasure that would accompany the innocuous store bought knickknacks from anywhere I had already purchased for Austin.

I had wondered how to spend my morning before ferrying back to Wellington. There were several boat tours on offer, but my ferry ride seemed to scratch that itch. By chance, the table I sat at for dinner at Oxley's had a map on it that included several walking trails or "tracks" as they're called here.

Perfect.

I set out to walk in the winding, lush hills and dip my toes in the brisk, crystal clear water. I walked in solitude among the fragrant cedar trees and occasional glimpses of the turquoise blue bay below. I hummed Dvorak's 9th Symphony out loud and thought about Lord of the Rings, because everywhere in New Zealand looks like LOTR.

I thought about my beautiful day of wine tasting yesterday. We had a lovely guide, David, who was the friendliest guy in the world and took us to nice places. On the way back, he gave an earnest and passionate lecture on ceding vegetation, endangered indigenous species, and the shifting realities of life on this island. He spoke without drama or politics, but instead he presented climate change as reality upon us, undeniable and worrisome for all.

I cleared the steep slope and came upon Bob's Bay. I had the stunning views to myself. An occasional boat passed. Two ducks floated by. I felt deep peace in New Zealand before the long journey home.

Leitis in Waiting

In the Kingdom of Tonga, there is the cultural tradition of Fakaleitis, “like a lady,” who are transgender women sought after by the church and royalty for their service. Joey Joleen Matele told her story and the story of the leitis of Tonga in a documentary called, “Leitis in Waiting,” about the lives of these transgender activists. Words fail me to capture the effect of having heard her story and her struggle to convince her community that her congenital transgenderness is rooted in the culture of Tonga. 

Her life as a leiti is not an import “from the West,” as the evangelical anti-hero pastor in the film claims. He happens to have a USA-sponsored radio program that spews hate. But unlike a vast majority of us who sit at our armchairs and complain about the right wing, Joey invites the pastor into her movie, into her story, into her life, because she doesn’t want to give up on him and give in to hate.

When you grow up in suburban New Jersey, places like Tonga or Georgia (the country) or Libya or Cote d’Ivoire are not places that you know about, dream of visiting or imagine the people living in. Yet, in my profession, I know these places and the people who live and love like you and me. I have had the privilege of being reminded over and over again in my travels of the utter commonness of our humanity. 

One of the leitis in the film has a stage name of “Lady Gugu,” because she wants to be like Lady Gaga, but also have her own persona. What teenager in suburban New Jersey couldn’t relate to that? Joey, herself, spoke about having a 13 year old who acts like a 20 year old and a 20 year old that acts like a 13 year old. If that’s not a universal parenting observation, I don’t know what is.

Of course, in observing the commonness of our humanity, I do not want to conflate our life experiences. Indeed, the leitis have suffered harassment, violence and even death for their otherness. But it is because of our commonness and our right to all have fundamental freedoms and live in dignity that we must fight for the Leitis of Tonga. As Prime Minister Ardern here in New Zealand has said in her deeply empathetic response to the terrorist attack in Christchurch, “they are us and we are them.”

Joey Joleen Matele ended the screening of her movie with a song. Her gorgeous silky voice sang out, “You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains…” and I floated out of the room bonded to her for life.