A Tribute to Those Who Do Not Shrink Back

After landing in Boston at 10:30am, it is 1:30pm and I just returned home after attempting to view Senator Kennedy at the JFK Library. The viewing ends at 3pm but the lines are so long that they are not allowing anyone else to enter. I was planning to publish something I wrote in Brazil but Senator Kennedy’s death has been weighing on me since I found out of his death on Wednesday.

Being a 30-year-old Boston girl, I don’t remember a time before Teddie Kennedy. For my entire life he has been a fixture of Massachusetts and national politics. I have to admit that I was deeply disappointed and conflicted when I saw the PBS special on the Kennedys and learned about Senator Kennedy’s darkest moment. I remember that as a young person I couldn’t understand how a man that had done something like that could be forgiven and allowed to come into such great power. My opinion was clearly shaped by how little life I had lived and the influence of my fairly conservative evangelical school where we were taught that liberals were generally God-hating people.

But then I kept on living and through my own life and the experiences of my friends I came up against the tough reality that life is not so black and white and that good people can make really bad decisions. To this day I find myself making stupid decisions and wondering if I am worthy of the esteem that I am given by friends and colleagues or the grace that I am given by God. In these periods of self-doubt I tend to shrink back from my calling – I tell myself that I am not worthy of doing more or being more. I ignore the voices of people who tell me that I am called to greater ministry and greater public service, believing that they don’t really understand who I am or overestimate my skills.

I am sure that Ted Kennedy struggled with the same kind of doubt when he was going through deep public humiliation. I can imagine there were times that he wanted to shrink back and just live a private life – yet he chose to step into an even more public role. Why? He had enough money that he didn’t need the job. He had enough of a family name that he could have ridden that to ongoing fame.

Teddy Kennedy continued to pursue his calling because his belief in God’s grace, his love of people and his dedication to justice were greater than his self-doubt or his desire for privacy. In the end I think he could keep on going because it was not really about him. For the past few days thousands of people have been in mourning not because he was some royal figure, but because he touched their lives personally. To mothers with a child struggling with ADD to unemployed workers in need of jobs to military families mourning the loss of a loved one – Ted Kennedy showed his love for people in a really real way.

I am nearing the end of my three month sabbatical and so many people have been telling me that it is time for me to take my life and my work to the next level. I have spent the past 14 years of my life and particularly the past two years of my life in conflict about my calling – despite being born into a relatively well known family and being the kind of person who has never been known for being shy, at times I have fantasized about being a behind-the-scenes person who will never be known by many. But the reality is that deep in my soul I yearn for a better world. Like Senator Kennedy I have a deep love for people and I hope that my work makes it easier for people to find their own potential for greatness.

Senator Kennedy, today as I mourn your death I commit to fully embracing two lessons that I have learned from you. First I will learn to forgive myself and to stop allowing my own self doubt to stand in the way of God’s calling to work tirelessly in the pursuit of justice. Second, I will continue to learn always how to work more and more from a place of love and deep respect for all people. It is that love and respect for people that allowed you to reach across the aisle to people who had different opinions than yours and it was because they realized that you operated from love that they could respect your relentless passion for justice.

Senator Kennedy you were not a perfect man – you didn’t claim to be. But I believe that from your own place of brokenness had a deeper compassion for others. From a place of great privilege you developed a deep sense of responsibility. At the end of the day it was not about it you but about the people you were called to serve.

And so in honor of your life, I offer these words from the poetry of Hebrews 10:22 – 11:1

22 let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of father, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. 23 Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we process, for he who promised is faithful. 24 And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. 25 Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us enourage one another – 32 Remember those earlier days after you had received the light, when you stood our ground in the face of suffering. 33 Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those who were so treated. 34 You sympathized with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions.

35 So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded.

36 You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.

38 But my righteous one will live by faith, And if he shrinks back, I will not be pleased with him.

1 Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Thank you Senator Kennedy for allowing me to see what it means to live these words. While I do not know where my path will take me, I am inspired by your willing to embrace your calling in the service of God’s will.

Violence – An Unacceptable Component of Culture

I hope that by this point I have shared enough of the positives of Brazil that I can offer some critique in an effort to tell the whole truth. My time in Brazil has made me feel connected to this country in a way that I have never felt before and I am already trying to figure out how I can come back here; however, last night I was reminded that there is a struggle going on here and it cannot be ignored.

Last night I was observing the 7pm DJ class at CUFA (Central Única das Favelas). This organization which I will blog about in detail later has transformed the space under a highway overpass into a youth center and they offer classes in everything from basketball to arts & crafts. On Monday I participated in the graffiti class so Tuesday was the DJ class. The day’s lesson was on mixing and the students were using old US disco tunes and learning how to match up the beats so that one song could be played at the same time as the other.

Somewhere in the middle of an Angelina disco tune I heard what sounded like gunshots but neither I nor anyone else reacted and we just kept spinning. About 30 min later I left the class to connect with the CUFA staff person who has been taking me around. She told me that there were indeed shots fired and she asked me to walk to the train quickly and to be careful. I told her not to worry and that I was used to this in my own neighborhood.

On my walk to the train I passed two people sleeping underneath the overpass trying to find shelter from the rain. In one case I would barely have known that the person was there was it not for one small dirty foot protruding from a misshapen cardboard box. I walked past the box and headed to the train platform.

As I waited on the train platform I was careful to herd with other people. When my train came I got on a car that was supposedly designated for women. I wasn’t quite sure why that was necessary, but as I got on I saw that I was one of three women on a care that had 11 or so men. As I looked down the corridor to the train car on the left and on the right I realized that there were very few women riding the train at this hour. I focused on reading my book making sure that no one would notice that it was in English and I was constantly looking out for the movements of the other women. It was one of those moments where I remembered that no matter how liberated I feel I am still a woman living in a man’s world and the threat of physical and sexual violence becomes real when you are by yourself after the sun goes down.

As I thought about this for myself I was also questioning the sexuality of one of the other women on the train. As I saw her more closely I became pretty sure that she was a woman, but I wondered what challenges she might have looking a little androgynous. It reminded me of an earlier conversation I had with another staff person at CUFA who is doing work around GLBT issues in Rio. In previous conversations with Americans he had been very impressed by the progress we have made in terms of civil rights for gay people. He said that while we are struggling over issues like gay marriage, folks in Brazil are working to get support for young people whose parents kick them out of the house for being gay. While I assured him that we are a long way from being a tolerant society, from his description it seemed like the US had made significant progress in comparison to Brazil. I told him that I felt like Matthew Shepard’s death had had a profound impact on our country in a way that got some people to think differently. On the other hand the young man who was killed this June after the Gay Pride parade in Sao Paulo did not seem to have the same effect on Brazilians.

While we talked in depth about this problem we came to a point where he offered a simple and astute assessment of the problem – Brazilians have come to think that violence is normal and we can’t make change until people realize that violence is not okay.

Until gunshots at 7:30pm are considered a cause for concern and not an every day rush hour occurrence…………………..

Until sunglasses and concealing makeup are not considered essential accessories for a woman in love…………………….

Until cardboard boxes are only acceptable containers for shipping things and not for housing people…………………….

Until a woman can walk at night not concerned that her cries of rape will be ignored by people who “don’t want to get involved”…………………..

Until young gay people are not muzzled into silence because coming out is a death sentence……………………..

Until every child knows what it is to be smothered with hugs and not lashed with belts or clinched fists………………..

Beyond government slogans and campaigns we saw a deep need for more voices to be raised against violence – and I think it is essential that we begin to create space for people to imagine and practice what it means to live with each other in peace. People need to not only hear that violence is wrong but they need spaces where the central paradigm comes from a place of love. Spaces where people hold you accountable not because they are angry but because they want to see you rise to the fullness of your capacity. Places where hugs and affirmations are more common then critiques and slaps.

On Monday night I watched the film Quilombo. It tells the history of Africans who ran away from slavery and created their own communities in the mountains of Brazil. They were willing to fight and die to preserve these places because they were places where they did not have to be subject to the violence of slavery. In our organizations and churches, we must have the same mentality. Our spaces must be refuges from the culture of violence where people learn a new way and are free to live peacefully. Churches need to champion marriage without turning a blind eye to domestic violence. Hip hop needs to create a place for Black men to feel important without being violent towards women. Community associations need to work to clean up their neighborhoods without sanctioning police violence against people who live on the streets. In each realm of life we have a responsibility to work against violence.

While I have seen this struggle in a more pronounced way in Brazil this is truly a global struggle for all around the globe there are women and children who are walking on egg shells in hopes “not to upset daddy” – there are young people using weapons to take each other’s lives – there are people suffering under the violent weight of hunger. This has been part of human culture for thousands of but it is not okay and we must live our lives everyday in a quest for peace.

Please feel free to share your own reflections. This blog is meant to be a dialogue.

Be Slow to Judge - The trickiness of race and class

Last night I went out for my last walk through Pelourinho before my early flight for this morning. On my way to say goodbye to a friend I ran into a couple that was struggling with very limited Portuguese to find a 24-hour ATM. I stopped to do a little translation and then gave them some recommendations for how they could stay safe late at night.

After running some of my last errands I ran into them again and they invited me to have a drink. I was in a hurry to get to a 2nd birthday party for a friends son so I could not really join them but the man mentioned that Salvador was not what they had expected. He commented that the worlds seemed so “separate”. While I have known that Brazil can be a very segregated place, I had gotten pretty comfortable and had stopped noticing the fact that Pelourinho is the downtown center of African descendants while other popular hang outs like Rio Vermelho and Barra are much lighter. You see white people around Pelourinho, but they are mostly tourists – not elite Bahians. In contrast, my one experience at a bar in Barra had me feeling pretty dark.

The couple was from New York and LA and they were more used to living in a diverse world. I think they had heard the official Brazilian line that there was not racism and maybe they though there was no classism either? Or maybe they thought that Pelourinho would be gentrified at this point – I mean if it is a major tourist attraction that must mean good property values and plenty of yuppies to flood in and buy up the great historical houses. Isn’t that how it gets down in Harlem or the South End? Or maybe they thought it was like LA where the parties have people of all colors and it feels like you are living in the world as it should be, while not thinking about the folks living under highway overpasses or children dying on the streets of Compton.

The reality is that we live in a world where racism and classism still exist and in many ways they are deeply connected. A conversation with another Brazilian reminded me of the importance of remembering that we must confront both of these oppressions not privileging one over the other.

So instead of having this deep conversation with the guy, I told him that he would probably have a better time in Barra. I couldn’t really name any good places (since Barra is not really my cup of tea) but he said he would consult his Lonely Planet for suggestions. As we said goodbye I wished that I had a minute to talk because I could tell that this issue had made him pause to think and we could probably had an ample discussion about the very things I reflected on. However, I had a party to get to and friends to say goodbye. So I left feeling like I didn’t have time to get deep with him.

I could close the blog here with me being the omniscient expert on race and class, but this morning I was riding on the bus to the airport. I felt proud of myself for not needing to take a $35 taxi and for knowing the city well enough to get on the $2 bus. I felt very baiana (the term for a woman from the Bahian region) and I looked forward to my last glimpse of Salvador being along the beach route of the bus rather than the highway route that the taxis take.

As I looked out the window at the beach and the waves crashing I saw so many people out walking and running along the beach. I felt a pang of guilt that I had not done any running while in Salvador and I realized that I would have to train that much harder to get ready for my half marathon in October. I remembered that part of the reason that I didn’t run is that the area where I stayed was not close to the beach. Things could get a little sketchy at night and I didn’t think it that safe to run at night or even maybe in the morning and definitely not with my Ipod.

I have been thinking about the possibility of living in Salvador in the future and for a moment I thought about how great it would be to be able to live close to the beach, have a great view and be able to run along the beach every morning. My husband has been mentioning that he is tired of living in a city so I know he would much prefer to be close to the ocean in a relatively quiet area where it was not too loud at night. It would be great.

But then I had a quick panick moment when I realized that there were not too many Black folks living in the areas and that if we were to move to Barra or Ondina everytime I was in the hood and people asked me where I lived there would come that moment spoken or unspoken when we would realize the major class difference between us. As a activist who works with folks who are sometimes struggling to get by this moment of class distinction is awkward for me. It is that moment when a child who might be impressed by my confidence or the way that I talk or my ideas suddenly feels that those things are unattainable because they won’t have access to the middle class family I grew up in or to the private high school or elite university where I was educated. It is in the quick moments that I feel my own privilege and sometimes I see folks sink back into their own “disadvantage.”

So before I am judgemental of this guy I had to reflect on myself. On my own desire to live in a safe neighborhood where I can run outside, get healthy food and appreciate nature. While my life mission is to build a world where everyone has access to those things, the reality is that world will probably not come in my life time. So until then – what do I do about the fact that sometimes I want to have a nice space and not live on top of 50 people and worry about my kids – and on the other hand I want to live in solidarity with the same people I am fighting with. I have seen how the flight of Black middle class has been part of the deterioration of so many Black communities around the United States. I have at times been angry with those folks when I was living in my neighborhood and we were the only kids outside whose parents were professionals and I felt like one example was not enough to balance the parents who had to work 3 jobs to make ends meet or had given up trying and were just living on welfare.

I don’t pretend to have answers I just realize how complex the situation is. In the Black community in the United States I think we get used to holding up the banner of racial solidarity so we don’t have to deal with issues of class, but I guess Brazil has made me see in an even more concrete way how much the two are connected. So I am glad that I don’t have the answer right now, but I guess I do wonder – am I committed enough to liberation of my people that I would be willing to live in a favela? Would people living in the favela think that was just being foolish? Would it make more sense for me to use my privilege to deal with and challenge those folks who are removed from the reality of poverty? If you have any answers, or even more questions – feel free to leave a comment.

We are finally in Salvador

This is the view from our window in Salvador. After a struggle to get a visa for Rahn and him missing his connection for Rio and me having to pay an arm and a leg to change my flight to finish up a grant for one of our sister organizations in Brazil - WE ARE FINALLY HERE. Last night we went out to Moqueca (a traditional Bahian seafood dish) and Caiparinhas (the Brazilian national cocktail made from Cachaca, the official Brazilian liquor made from sugar).

Walking through the streets of Pelourinho I actually felt at home. We ran into friends of mine sitting out having a discussion on the street. So far we are just taking it easy and enjoying not having to be in the rat race in Boston. For a more reflective blog check out what I have been doing the past couple of days!

A moment to celebrate progress!

I landed in Salvador about 30 mins ago and as I accustomed to doing I pulled my phone out right away and tried to sync my email. I was in Salvador about 6 weeks ago and was able to get a phone signal but my phone couldn’t access a data network the entire time I was here. So you can imagine my surprise when my phone download one email from a friend who is watering our plants and another from my husband telling me that he had rebooked his flight in Rio and would be getting in two hours after his original date. In the 6 weeks since I was last her the signal has gotten better in Sao Paulo and they now have a data network Just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming I just synced my phone again to be sure – and it still works, which means that I will be able to post this with little problem as an email from my phone if I so desire.

Yesterday I was talking with two young adults about the fact that the iPhone is supposed to be released in Brazil this month because the network has been upgraded to sustain it. The cell phone is a fairly standard item here. On my last visit I stayed with a 80-year-old+ couple who didn’t have regular phone service in their village but who had a cell phone attached to the wall as their house phone. After payday you see lines of people waiting to add money to their pre-paid phones.

Nonetheless cell phone minutes are still relatively expensive and people have the kind of etiquette here that you don’t see in the US. I rarely see people driving while talking, I am sitting in the airport surrounded by 40 or so people and while folks are holding cell phones, there is no one talking incessantly. In other words – Brazilians have a measure of cell phone etiquette that is not present in the United States.

I wonder what the growth of the smartphone will mean for Brazil. Will it turn everyone into incessant picture takers, bloggers, texters, tweeters, and Facebook addicts? Will it mean that people here begin to live more and more virtually and slowly neglect the great communal traditions that have led me to go hours without thinking about my phone as opposed to the minutes I go in the United States. Will people stop going by each others houses for a cup of coffee and instead just send messages through Orkut (the Google version of Facebook which is much more popular in Brazil.)

Well we will have to see. So far all of my Brazilian friends are on Orkut and many are on Hotmail Messanger but we still spent hours hanging out. The truth is that while I have my concerns I also have some faith that Brazilians will exercise more constraint then we will. In a country where people still great each other with kisses on the cheek, where it is not strange to hug someone you just met, where being a good host is considered a matter of character, I have hope that people will take advantage of the positives of this technology while not letting the visual senses replace all of the other senses. This is still a country that believes in the importance of smell of fragrant flowers, the touch of embracing a new friend, the taste of dende in a stew and the sound of drums in the street. In the rush to become an economically strong country, Brazil cannot afford to give away these treasures!

I am Heading Back to Brazil

I am on the plane full of anticipation for new lessons that I will learn, for the deepening of relationships that I formed in June and for the forming of new relationships.

For those who believe in prayer of any kind - join me in hoping that my husband is able to get a visa to join me. There have been some bureaucratic challenges in getting him through the visa process.