Hi Everybody!
I am back at the Internet Cafe. I had some laundry to do, so walked the extra distance to the laundromat near this cafe. While I waited for my laundry to run its course, I spoke English with a couple of guys, about my age, who explained some things to me about Israel and Israelis. The one guy has been in the military for five years, now, two years longer than the mandatory term. He is a demolitions expert and according to his room-mate, gets off on the soldier thing, carrying a gun, blowing stuff up. Needless to say, I played the role of tourist, bumbling through Israel, and kept silent about working at Zochrot. I didn't want any trouble (my sunburn is particularly bad today, and so I am not feeling very energized). In fact, I woke up this morning in excrutiating pain, burning and itching like crazy. I realised, after several hours of near-teary panic, that it hurts so bad because I must be dehydrated. I chugged a coule of litres of water and some glasses of juice. It was four hours until the burning and itching let up enough that I could put a shirt on to go to laundry.
AndyBoy called me today! It was so nice to talk with a friend and have a laugh and he was able to get my mind off my pain, even though I was nearly crying for some of our conversation. We managed to turn it into a big joke and laugh through my agony. He told me that he had been trying for half an hour to call me. I forgot to give the country code. I didn't even realise, so, it is 972. He also said that he only needed to put the "3" of the city code, not the "03." He does live in Denmark, so it might be different rules there for phoning here. Mom, Dad, family and friends, you can play around with the digits until they work, if you so desire!
The following is my journal and reflection of my time last night. Enjoy.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
I hung out with Eitan Reich tonight. He’s a really cool guy and smart as a whip. He’s the same age as my brother Michael, born in 1973. I was really moved by our conversations, ranging from the vision and scope of Zochrot to his nausea over the nationalization of a day in Israel to remember the Holocaust. I’m sitting here in my apartment, twenty minutes shy of midnight, listening to Welkin and I decided that I didn’t want to delay jotting my thoughts about our evening down on “paper.”
He came over to my apartment at about 6ish, bringing with him a wall clock for me. I am very grateful because I was getting annoyed at having to always get up and check my room, or find my cell phone to look at the time. Yes, cell phone; it is somehow necessary for me, both for security purposes and to get ahold of me. I was playing Welkin when he came in, and he was extremely impressed with my brother’s band. I also played him some Flaming Lips cuts and Wilco before heading out to his car.
He drove us to Jaffa, or Yaffo in Hebrew, where we found a nice little cafי on the beach to have a bite to eat and watch the sunset. We had a really good time, sitting there, for a couple of hours, or so. We talked about Zochrot; the various facets of Zionism; the transfer over from Zionism as a revolutionary ideology to Zionism as a Nationalistic force of oppression. I found it very interesting when he was talking about how he didn’t fit in in Israel. He is a secular Jew, born and raised secular, and was telling me that he doesn’t grasp what he has in common with all these Jews. He was telling me about how, to him, it seems kind of anti-semitic to have to round up all the Jews from all over the planet and get them to one place, some kind of a homeland. He even wondered why it is that Jews cannot just live mixed in with everyone else. “I’d almost rather be a Jew living amongst Gentiles,” he told me. “Why do we all have to live here, separate from the rest of the world?” He even made mention of the Nazi propaganda which stated that Jews couldn’t live with Gentiles; ironic, he noted. When I asked him what caused him to be different from most everyone else, he said that the 2000 intafada really shook him up that there was something wrong when the Israeli army killed several dozen Israeli Arab civilians. It broke him, he said, and he has been saved by Tai Chi and Zochrot.
We ate eggs baked in tomato sauce and toasted, seasoned flatbread, dipped in a seasoned yogurt. There are so many dipped foods here in Israel / Palestine, that no one is afraid of Seinfeld’s “double-dipping”! We had a really good time, and started to walk down the promenade, which runs from Tel Aviv to Jaffa, connecting both cities, in a move, which according to Eitan, is kind of cool, in effect, joining the cultures that Israel is attempting to separate. We sat at a strategic point, where Eitan says he likes to sit because there is the most diversity among people and cultures in all of Tel Aviv / Yaffo. You can see European and Oriental Jews (both secular and religious), Arabs, Muslims, Russian Jews and tourists all mixing and sharing the same walking path. Our conversation turned to the Holocaust, when I asked him about relations between Israel and Germany. He had mentioned that his sister married a German girl, and both of them found it strange but very ironic and interesting. I didn’t know how to ask about Germany and Israel and Eitan gently reminded me that Germany wasn’t responsible for the persecution of so many Jews, just the Nazis were. He even told me that the number of Jews who were part of the Holocaust were a definite minority in Israel because it only affected several European nations of Jews, and there are many countries represented in Israel, many people who don’t have relatives connected to the Holocaust. He also told me that he really struggles with how people say “the” holocaust. But, he said, if you only call it “a” holocaust, then people are offended. He told me that it offends him when commemorisation of the Holocaust became nationalized. He said that he feels it robs him and his fellow countrymen and women of their own personal responsibility to mourn and learn to deal with the pain. By nationalizing it, he said, it blankets over the whole nation and keeps people from dealing with the atrocities on a personal and real emotional level. I had no idea how to respond. I have not associated Remembrance Day, for example, with that kind of perspective. I always thought that for a country to recognise something as a nation was a good thing, a step in the right direction. But who am I to disagree with him? I just listened and told him I had never thought of things like that. He talked for sometime on the subject, articulating himself well, and I still don’t understand it enough to put it on paper correctly.
We talked about victim mentality, which he brought up. I was pretty amazed at his insight, which I can easily agree with. When I look back on my life and how I was victimized as a young kid, it really screwed me up. But I didn’t get any better when I constantly dwelt on how I was a victim. It was one of the hardest things for me to get “over”: the idea that I was no longer a victim and needed to respond to my own growth and health by taking initiative with myself and not simply blaming others for my problems. You see, a victim acts with impunity because, after all, they are only trying to survive. Eitan applied this same principle to Israel and told me that in his opinion Jews have never grieved over what happened at the hands of the Nazis. I found that statement astounding and asked what he meant.
He told me that Jews who had come to Palestine after WWII, with all the trauma and accompanying emotional and spiritual baggage were given guns and told that they had to fight for their freedom and that the new enemy was the Arab. He told me about the “transfer” of 40,000 Palestinians from the city of Lydd, over night, in 1948. The Jewish forces had set up roadblocks and were taking all the valuables off of the expelled people: watches, necklaces, jewelry, etc. He was telling me that he was told by someone who was there at the time that the Jews knew where to look for the hidden valuables because they, in Germany, had hidden valuables in clothing and various places, so knew where to find the hidden valuables in the clothes of the expelled Arabs. That is a classic example of the victim becoming the oppressor.
In a Bible college course, several years ago, Gerry, my teacher, was telling the class that looking throughout history, one could see a pattern of the victim becoming the oppressor when given the opportunity. I have never forgotten that statement. Maybe because I don’t want to become an oppressor, maybe because I find it so baffling that people who have seen so much heartache and pain could turn around and inflict it on others. That statement seems particularly cogent here and now.
We sat on the side of the promenade for another couple of hours, talking about our families and life, and I was able to tell him about the centrality of Jesus in my life. Weird, I thought, me telling a Jew about my devotion to a Jew. He was very respectful and polite and I got no hint of condescension or frustration regarding my relationship with (his peoples’) God. I told him about how I do not fit the mold of a typical evangelical Christian, that I never have felt like I really belonged; but that I love Jesus (no matter what) and His Church and am looking forward to attending one here. He asked me what I was looking for and I replied “kick-ass music.” He suggested I might want to go to an African church – he said he could show me where they worship and I could check it out.
We were talking about tourism and Judeo-Christian visions of Israel and how Zochrot is considering the notion of setting up alternative tours. For instance, there is what is called the Orange Tour, where tourists can walk to various destinations in Tel Aviv and see some sights. One of the sights, really horrific I think, he showed me as we walked the path to the car. It is a half-destroyed Arab household, from the original neighbourhood in Jaffa, which has been rebuilt on the top half in a modern style. The building is now a museum commemorating the “liberation of Jaffa.” I asked what that meant and he replied that there were various gangs or terrorist organizations that used to bomb British military vehicles and kill British officers, etc., and they also took Jaffa by storm, expelling 80,000 Palestinians from their homes, who now have lived in refugee camps in Gaza for the last sixty years. “It is interesting,” Eitan said, “that there are all these people around here and probably some family in Gaza wishing they could live again in this very home.” He made a very poignant comment to me regarding the symbolism of the half old, half new architecture of this “museum” – of how Israel moved into and destroyed a very old city (Jaffa is 5,000 years old!) and built their modern existence over top of the ruins.
I asked how tourists could enjoy such a place and he didn’t know either. He said the blatant in-their-face display of Israel over Palestine disgusts him and so he has never been to tour the museum. He told me that it is very fashionable for Jews to live in still-standing Arab houses, they will pay big money for it and flaunt that they are Occupiers! I have a really hard time hearing that kind of thing. Eitan Bronstein, the founder and director of Zochrot, went on a tour of the museum we were standing outside of, and spoke with the curator, who is a living member of this particular gang (some would call them “freedom fighters”). Apparently the man was rather amused at the work of Zochrot. I sighed a very big sigh of overwhelmence. My new friend apologized for telling me so much upsetting stuff and I assured him that I needed to know, that I wanted to know, that it is a responsibility given to me to be informed and to learn how to inform others, even if I’m no good at it. He agreed with me that the only way I can learn about my new home is to talk with many people and ask a lot of questions; then I can really find people’s perspectives.
That’s all Eitan Reich is, a person with a perspective. He told me about his parents’ journey to accepting what he does with regards to Zochrot. He told me about how his grandparents were close personal friends of David Ben Gurion, who, as you may or may not know, was one of the founders of the state of Israel and its first Prime Minister in 1948. He said Ben Gurion was a very powerful thinker with a lot of great things to offer the Jewish people; but who simply had no compassion for Arabs. Eitan has been working on his Master’s Degree for some years. He was nearly finished a Master’s in Religious Studies but two years ago switched it over and is now studying Zionism. He is done and only has two essays due in October. The topic he is pursuing is when Zionism (which he says is not always oppressive – only extreme elements of it) turned from being a revolutionary ideology to an oppressive extremist system. He was telling me about 1977 being very influential, where the Labour party (socialist leanings) was finally overcome by Likud party (still in power, rightist, nationalist). He also said that the major change in Zionism came about in the mid 1930’s, before the War, before the Holocaust. I am very eager to talk with him more. And I will; I get to work alongside him for the next three years – since he is now staff at Zochrot, Zochrot having just got another grant, which is able to pay Eitan to work there. He works part-time, which most of the six employees do, balancing his time with a job to do with education and curriculum planning in the school system. Eitan used to be the chairman of the volunteer board and now is looking forward to the two of us preparing a projected 2006 budget, and both of us learning more about fund-raising.
To comment about Zionism not being all-bad, he was telling me that the very fact that Hebrew is a resurrected language is the work of Zionists. The very fact that he was born in Israel had to do with Zionists. The fact that I could swim at the beach yesterday was because of Zionists. He did say that he never felt like he belonged; that he feels like he can’t really be himself in a Zionist setting. He had a difficult time trying to explain that to me, but I intrinsically understood: I’ve always felt like an outsider of organised, denominational Christianity. I’ve never felt like I could be or would be accepted for who I truly am in organised, denominational Christianity. Maybe that is something we have in common. Maybe I can feel solidarity with him over the feelings of being an outsider.
We had a very interesting discussion about the fears we both have about the institutionalization of Zochrot. It is a grass-roots, counter-current organisation that has never sought money from anyone. The six or seven financial supporters all approached Zochrot because they were so into what the organisation is doing (http://www.zochrot.org). But now, with money comes accountability and tracking and projection and all that. And with that kind of structure comes the temptation to be all systematic and formal and “stable.” How do you involve yourself in something that is rather lofty and improbable (i.e. the right of return for refugees), yet try to make it continuous and sustainable? And how do you do that without becoming institutionalized? These are big vision-type questions and I was greatly encouraged as we grappled with them. He told me that what Zochrot does is foster an environment for people to process their own emotions and experiences; Zochrot does not tell people how to react or how to “remember” (for that is what Zochrot means). As we continued to talk about concepts like “structure,” and “methods,” words that scare grass-roots lovers, he told me that MCC wanted a specific list from Zochrot about my duties and how I will be involved and how that was tough for them to come up with when they talked about it at meetings. Eitan said that it means so much to them that I am even here, giving of my life for three years, to a people that aren’t my own, to a struggle I don’t own, to a country and culture I know nothing about. That really encouraged me! I am honoured to be a part of something so important. I told him that it is I who am benefiting more than Zochrot, even though I am eager to offer anything I can. He did mention that they were rather nervous about the type of person that MCC would provide, but assured me that after spending some time with me I “will fit like gloves.”
I feel very happy about where God has allowed my feet to carry me on this path of life. I am happy about the people I will be learning from, growing with, and seeking to make a difference in an indifferent world. And I am really wanting to learn Hebrew. I am really bothered that I am illiterate and useless when it comes to anything to do with Hebrew. Eitan encouraged me that I should learn fast; after all, he noted, it’s not like I am shy or anything!
I am rather curious about my mother’s mother’s family. Are there Jewish roots? Or do I have to convert, just for the jokes?
That's all for now. The ADSL saga continues. I have to get my landlady to give permission to the phone company before they will procede. it is cheap, though, for even the highest speed, only 70 NIS a month. That is about $20 CDN.
BURRO D BLOCK OUT
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
July 28 - 05
I want to put a blurb on my time with the ICAHD (Israeli Commission Against House Demolition) crew. Chris and Tim picked me up at around 8:00 ish, if I remember correctly. Then we drove down to the site in East Jerusalem, technically part of the Westbank. There were a group of thrity or so Internationals, from Spain, France, and America (and lowly me, too). The internationals were all tennis shoe-wearing grunt labourers, and the actual builders were Palestinian. We moved rocks and garbage, hauled dirt to cover the front yard and did this all with zero tools. Strange, I thought, to myself as I was clawing at hard dirt and putting handfuls at a time into a bucket. There were only five buckets and the rest were using sticks or whatever to pry the hard red soil apart. Nobody really knew what to do and I soon realised that the effort was just as much about community as it was about getting work done. I don't want to give the wrong impression about the re-building. The house had been built in two weeks (from what I could gather). It was a simple design, with nice kitchen cabinets and the ever-present tile floor. I love all the tile and ceramic here and think it rather classy. There was very little for us grunts to do and Chris, Tim and I felt we were kind of in the way (at least I felt that), so we left around 11 and had lunch with Bassem, who is Palestinian and works at MCC in Jerusalem. It was a good time and for the work I did, I sure did sweat alot!
Below is a "journal" entry I wrote yesterday, after returning, really sunburnt, from the beach. As explained in the entry, I am setting up a blog site, so that I will be out of your inboxes. Right now I am in an Internet Cafe and there is an extremely obnoxious man sitting beside me filling out his on-line dating form with his friend, who is Israeli. The man is obviously American (for the accent) and he is annoying the hell out of me. He treated the employee with total contempt and seems to be very full of himself, and lies, as he describes himself outloud, to his friend who is typing the commands. I thought I'd throw that in here, because it keeps me from telling him to shut-up!
When I get ADSL in my home, so I can build / maintain Zochrot's website, I will be able to get this blog site off the ground. I don't know when I will get ADSL and I don't know when I will be at an Internet Cafe again. I start work on Monday, and look forward to that!
Okay, this is from yesterday/Sunburnt!
This morning I woke up at eight. I was planning on sleeping in, but it was too hot to sleep, already. Last night I was up ‘til after one am, I had to go to the store to get some water. Between the hummus sandwich I ate yesterday and the nasty tap water in my apartment, I was in really rough shape. I was feeling the aches and boobely-boops even when just drinking a glass of tap water. I don’t think it was the tap water, alone; I am convinced it was the hummus pita I had for lunch. But it seemed clear to me that the tap water was only exacerbating the situation. So, when I was getting some water from the tap before going to bed, my stomach was screaming at me, and I heard the words of my landlady echo in my head about how gross the water is – she won’t drink it.
My landlady is nice. She’s my age, named Urit (as in Oorit), and was born in Israel. She has a friend staying with her from Toronto.
Last night, after my e-mailing fiascos I continued my walk and dipped my feet in the Med. Sea. (I was feeling very vulnerable and paranoid over who I had sent what to. I was actually trying to catch Porterhus up to speed and I think an e-mail that was supposed to be to Baart and a select few accidentally went to everyone. I can’t be sure until I check my e-mail to see if people are all upset; hopefully I didn’t send it out, like I think I did. I did send out a warning e-mail to delete it if it came to any unintended inboxes; but immediately upon doing that, I realised that would only increase the desire for people to read it. I am coming to hate the send button. I don’t know what it is about it: maybe its finality; maybe that I am expressing myself and feeling vulnerable about people judging me or thinking I need to fit a certain form. Like my pops, the other day, sent me an e-mail saying that the Burnett missions committee might object to some of my uses of language. That annoyed me because what am I supposed to do? Pretend to be someone I’m not? Present myself in a way that is supposed to impress people and communicate piety? I am who I am and it is what it is. I am going to just blog, instead of sending any more e-mails. I will send one last one to tell people my intentions. I just don’t fit in with the category I’m supposed to be in (evangelical Christian on a “mission.” I never have fit in, and I don’t like the feeling of thinking that people are being all offended or whatever. I don’t know what exactly changes in my feelings by blogging instead of e-mailing; I guess it’s the knowledge that people have to desire to read what I say, they have to type in the blog address and I’m not in their inbox, so they can’t blame me for being in their space in ways they find offensive or too strongly worded.)
Last night at the beach there was this van parked on the sidewalk, between the road and the beach and there were a bunch of bearded, tassled, side-curled Jews dancing their asses off to some kind of trance, techno music. Obviously I couldn’t understand the words, but I did enjoy watching them for a minute. There were about five or six of them, in matching clothes. Two were working the table of resources, books, etc., and two were on top of the van, dancing up a storm, then there was either one or two dancing just around the van. I thought of how D-Block back home would have joined right in, groovin’ out with the Jews. Burro D-Block misses you, D-Block.
There are some really cool restaurants right on the beach. They have five-foot high triangular lights all over, giving atmosphere and identifying the spot to people. I am not sure who owns which restaurant because there were several spread along the beach, the same style of lights and setup, but different colours. One had all green lights, another had all pink.
It was pretty packed in the streets last night. I know, now, why it is compared with New York and called the Little Orange in contrast. It, too, is a city that doesn’t seem to sleep. There are heaps of 24 hr places, and even at 11:30 last night, when I was walking to the grocery store to pick up some ketchup for my French toast this morning,and bottled-water to soothe my stomach, I noticed there were tonnes of people out eating dinner. Even old grey-hairs sitting around eating full-on meals at patios or inside restaurants. I haven’t figured out the concept of “weekend” here yet, since Saturday is the Sabbath and Sunday is the first work day of the week. Friday, sundown, begins Sabbath and Saturday, sundown ends it; I know people work shorter days on Friday, and I guess that there simply isn’t a two day weekend. It seems more like a five-and-a-half or six day workweek. Well, if I’m wrong, I’ll find out soon enough.
It’s amazing to me how many pubs and restaurants there are here. It seems like a total holiday getaway destination. It just has that feel.
When I got home at about 11 last night, from my beach tour, I met my landlady, Urit, as I mentioned above. She’s really friendly and showed me how to work my stove / oven, and how to clean the elements with soap and a toothpick – I did that after I got home from the grocery store, which is why I was up so late. My neighbourhood is really quiet, even though there are dozens of cats that live on my street. Someone is feeding them because this morning, when I was leaving to hit up a store to buy an alarm clock and some Internet connection stuff, I saw piles of catfood all along the top of a wallfence, with maybe ten cats havin’ at ‘er. They looked cool, all in a row like that. Skinny, really skinny; and a little creepy looking. Needless to say, I haven’t pet one yet.
On my errand outing, I bought a kettle for really cheap, some phone cord adapter stuff and an alarm clock. I also spent some of my precious little spending money on a twenty-dollar set of computer speakers. What it has done for my spirits is well worth it! I came home, set the stuff up, ate some peanut butter and jam sandwiches and phoned Eitan Reich from Zochrot, to ask him about ADSL. He is my point-man, so to speak, for the next few weeks, and it is from him I’ll be learning the grant writing stuff this coming week. He said he was about to call me to ask if I wanted to hang out tomorrow evening, get some coffee and chat, etc. I am very glad about that; not that I’m lonely yet (I’m not) but I am looking forward to talking with people and actually having conversation. I kind of like Tel Aviv for the fact that people will totally talk to you if you initiate conversation, but if you don’t, you don’t have to speak to anyone. It’s kind of like Vancouver that way; maybe like any big city.
After lunch, I decided to go to the beach for a swim. I made the horrible mistake of wearing my bathing suit there (and back, which is where I paid for it). Can I say diaper rash? Thankfully it is only one leg and before I left home I swiped my nephew and niece’s zinc cream – I should be healed soon enough. But, boy did that hurt, walking the twenty-five minutes home. On the way to the beach, I went to Dinzengoff Centre, which is a fairly large shopping mall ten minutes from my house (nearly halfway to the beach). To get in, I had to get my bag searched, which I am finding is a common occurrence. I also had to let the dude check me out with his beeping wand. I’ll get used to that, I suppose. I did not like the mall experience. I can’t stand malls. And the smell of McDonald’s, a powerful aroma wafting through the air made me rather uncomfortable – both with covetous desire and repulsive disgust. I steered clear, thankfully. I finally got back outside and before I knew it, I was at the beach.
There were umbrellas and lounge chairs everywhere. I noticed, again, the sign that forbade bathing or swimming. I stopped to ask a guy about it, and he was working for Diet Coke, giving out those little sample cans. It was so cold and I was grateful. I was with enough foresight to bring a bottle of water and a granola bar – but without the foresight to bring sunscreen. As I write this, I look like a lobster! As I was moseying toward the stairs to access the beach, the Diet Coke guy gave me another sample can. The guy told me that signs don’t mean anything in Israel. Okay.
The first thing I noticed about the sand, when I got on the beach was how unbelievably soft it is. I knew that from last night, but it is really dusty, powdery stuff. The second thing I noticed is that it was burning the hell out of my feet-bottoms. I tried to bear it, but in a nearly falling-over panic, had to put my flip-flops back on. I selected myself a lounger chair, under the shade of an umbrella. I turned to the Russian-looking fellow who was only a few feet away and asked him if he spoke English, then if it was safe for me to leave my stuff unattended while I swam. In his harsh Russian accent, he said “You tell me.” I found that rather confusing, but just marked my spot with my mind and went into the sea. It was so refreshing. Warm, but not gross-warm. The gross part is the floating garbage everywhere. Mostly plastic remnants. It’s not as gross as it seems like it should be; maybe the fact that there are heaps of people in the water normalizes the feeling of swimming with garbage.
In the water there was this brownish guy who was really friendly to me, even though we couldn’t communicate with each other, at all. He was a few years younger than me and I was wondering what I was getting myself into when he asked me to follow him. All he did, though, was lead me to his friend to ask his buddy if he spoke English. When his buddy said he didn’t, we all laughed a chuckle and I went back to the sea. The waves were super cool, crashing and providing some good body-surfing. There were a lot of people there, and I didn’t see many people who looked like tourists. There were a lot of really skimpy bathing suits on all sorts of people, male, female, whatever.
After twenty minutes, or so, I wanted to get out of the sun and retreated to my shaded lounger. The Russian dude asked me my name and told me his, Alex. He’s from Dallas, he said. We were having a nice, polite conversation when my brownish friend came running over, saying stuff I didn’t get and laid himself out in the sand beside my chair, talking about stuff. I hauled out my Hebrew dictionary and tried to ask him his name, but he didn’t speak Hebrew. He said something that contained the words, lo (which means no) and yehud (which either means Hebrew or Jewish). Then he said a few Arabic words I recognized and I realised he was Arabic. The guy was hilarious even though I couldn’t understand a word and he kept laughing that we couldn’t understand each other. After a couple of minutes he went back over to his buddy and their chairs.
I started half reading my Hebrew phrasebook and half people watching. I noticed Alex, the Russian, kept pulling out his digital camera and after a few minutes I realised he was taking photo after photo of girls in bikinis. He was hiding himself by keeping the camera between his thighs as he reclined, but I noticed he was doing a lot of zooming. Creepy, creepy, creepy! It reminds me of a documentary I once watched, with Geoff and Heather, about three Russian dudes and their quest for love in Vancouver.
Then I heard some yelling and looked over and it was this Arabic dude pointing at me and giving me thumbs up and laughing. I did the same back and he gets up, started running at me backward, making miming movements like he’s a bus, while both his friend and I laughed, then he makes a screeching sound, uses his right arm to signal the bus coming to a complete stop and crashed into a heap beside me again, in the sand. Man, I wished we could communicate; the guy was hilarious. He was pointing at and touching my tattoo on my right shoulder, but I couldn’t understand him, so I didn’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter, he couldn’t understand me. He touched the praying hands and we both laughed. He got up again and started rolling around in the sand back over by where his buddy was sitting, then ran into the sea to play in the waves. His buddy had jeans on and a t-shirt and just watched him. Eventually they both left the beach. We passed each other as he was leaving the water and I was entering. He gave me this huge high-five and shouted Allah Akbar, which I repeated, agreeing that God is, indeed, great. He kept shouting it as he and his buddy walked up the beach. It was a lot of fun.
I spent two hours at the beach, under shade most of the time, but still burned myself pretty good. Oh, I wanted to add that Allah is not the Muslim way of saying God, it is the Arabic word for God. Even the Palestinian Christians that I met call God Allah. That sure challenges the Sunday school stuff I learned about Allah not being God.
I didn’t realize that the lounge chairs and shade wasn’t free. I had to pay some guy who was working for whoever owns it all. I got my legit receipts, and it was NIS 12 for the lounger and NIS 6 for the umbrella shade. It’s about 4.7 NIS per US dollar, so what is that, four or five bucks? That’s not bad. After I couldn’t bear the sun on me any longer (even though I was in shade), I put my shirt on and started walking along the beach. I learned that there are open beaches for swimming, with lifeguard towers, that are only a hundred yards from where I was swimming. It doesn’t matter, though; everywhere had people, everywhere was packed. There is restaurant after restaurant and bars and pubs all lining the beach. Too rich for my blood, but when/ if friends/ family come to visit, I’m sure we’ll hit up some of those spots. They look so classy, yet comfortable.
I walked home a different route for the most part. I want to keep branching out and seeing more of the city. I carry my trusty map and it keeps me from getting lost. I walked past four different McDonald’s on my half-hour walk home. Crazy! Homogeneity! I was very eager to get home, hitching up my wet swimsuit for much of the walk. The rash I got is on my left thigh, but with a cold shower and some zinc cream (and a touch of hydroquartozone), it is all but healed now. GOOD. Well, I figure I’ll leave you all thinking about my left thigh. I am going to make a gilled cheese, if I can deal with the heat of a stove in my place right now.
Oh, the dairy in this country is so cheap!
D BLOCK OUT
Below is a "journal" entry I wrote yesterday, after returning, really sunburnt, from the beach. As explained in the entry, I am setting up a blog site, so that I will be out of your inboxes. Right now I am in an Internet Cafe and there is an extremely obnoxious man sitting beside me filling out his on-line dating form with his friend, who is Israeli. The man is obviously American (for the accent) and he is annoying the hell out of me. He treated the employee with total contempt and seems to be very full of himself, and lies, as he describes himself outloud, to his friend who is typing the commands. I thought I'd throw that in here, because it keeps me from telling him to shut-up!
When I get ADSL in my home, so I can build / maintain Zochrot's website, I will be able to get this blog site off the ground. I don't know when I will get ADSL and I don't know when I will be at an Internet Cafe again. I start work on Monday, and look forward to that!
Okay, this is from yesterday/Sunburnt!
This morning I woke up at eight. I was planning on sleeping in, but it was too hot to sleep, already. Last night I was up ‘til after one am, I had to go to the store to get some water. Between the hummus sandwich I ate yesterday and the nasty tap water in my apartment, I was in really rough shape. I was feeling the aches and boobely-boops even when just drinking a glass of tap water. I don’t think it was the tap water, alone; I am convinced it was the hummus pita I had for lunch. But it seemed clear to me that the tap water was only exacerbating the situation. So, when I was getting some water from the tap before going to bed, my stomach was screaming at me, and I heard the words of my landlady echo in my head about how gross the water is – she won’t drink it.
My landlady is nice. She’s my age, named Urit (as in Oorit), and was born in Israel. She has a friend staying with her from Toronto.
Last night, after my e-mailing fiascos I continued my walk and dipped my feet in the Med. Sea. (I was feeling very vulnerable and paranoid over who I had sent what to. I was actually trying to catch Porterhus up to speed and I think an e-mail that was supposed to be to Baart and a select few accidentally went to everyone. I can’t be sure until I check my e-mail to see if people are all upset; hopefully I didn’t send it out, like I think I did. I did send out a warning e-mail to delete it if it came to any unintended inboxes; but immediately upon doing that, I realised that would only increase the desire for people to read it. I am coming to hate the send button. I don’t know what it is about it: maybe its finality; maybe that I am expressing myself and feeling vulnerable about people judging me or thinking I need to fit a certain form. Like my pops, the other day, sent me an e-mail saying that the Burnett missions committee might object to some of my uses of language. That annoyed me because what am I supposed to do? Pretend to be someone I’m not? Present myself in a way that is supposed to impress people and communicate piety? I am who I am and it is what it is. I am going to just blog, instead of sending any more e-mails. I will send one last one to tell people my intentions. I just don’t fit in with the category I’m supposed to be in (evangelical Christian on a “mission.” I never have fit in, and I don’t like the feeling of thinking that people are being all offended or whatever. I don’t know what exactly changes in my feelings by blogging instead of e-mailing; I guess it’s the knowledge that people have to desire to read what I say, they have to type in the blog address and I’m not in their inbox, so they can’t blame me for being in their space in ways they find offensive or too strongly worded.)
Last night at the beach there was this van parked on the sidewalk, between the road and the beach and there were a bunch of bearded, tassled, side-curled Jews dancing their asses off to some kind of trance, techno music. Obviously I couldn’t understand the words, but I did enjoy watching them for a minute. There were about five or six of them, in matching clothes. Two were working the table of resources, books, etc., and two were on top of the van, dancing up a storm, then there was either one or two dancing just around the van. I thought of how D-Block back home would have joined right in, groovin’ out with the Jews. Burro D-Block misses you, D-Block.
There are some really cool restaurants right on the beach. They have five-foot high triangular lights all over, giving atmosphere and identifying the spot to people. I am not sure who owns which restaurant because there were several spread along the beach, the same style of lights and setup, but different colours. One had all green lights, another had all pink.
It was pretty packed in the streets last night. I know, now, why it is compared with New York and called the Little Orange in contrast. It, too, is a city that doesn’t seem to sleep. There are heaps of 24 hr places, and even at 11:30 last night, when I was walking to the grocery store to pick up some ketchup for my French toast this morning,and bottled-water to soothe my stomach, I noticed there were tonnes of people out eating dinner. Even old grey-hairs sitting around eating full-on meals at patios or inside restaurants. I haven’t figured out the concept of “weekend” here yet, since Saturday is the Sabbath and Sunday is the first work day of the week. Friday, sundown, begins Sabbath and Saturday, sundown ends it; I know people work shorter days on Friday, and I guess that there simply isn’t a two day weekend. It seems more like a five-and-a-half or six day workweek. Well, if I’m wrong, I’ll find out soon enough.
It’s amazing to me how many pubs and restaurants there are here. It seems like a total holiday getaway destination. It just has that feel.
When I got home at about 11 last night, from my beach tour, I met my landlady, Urit, as I mentioned above. She’s really friendly and showed me how to work my stove / oven, and how to clean the elements with soap and a toothpick – I did that after I got home from the grocery store, which is why I was up so late. My neighbourhood is really quiet, even though there are dozens of cats that live on my street. Someone is feeding them because this morning, when I was leaving to hit up a store to buy an alarm clock and some Internet connection stuff, I saw piles of catfood all along the top of a wallfence, with maybe ten cats havin’ at ‘er. They looked cool, all in a row like that. Skinny, really skinny; and a little creepy looking. Needless to say, I haven’t pet one yet.
On my errand outing, I bought a kettle for really cheap, some phone cord adapter stuff and an alarm clock. I also spent some of my precious little spending money on a twenty-dollar set of computer speakers. What it has done for my spirits is well worth it! I came home, set the stuff up, ate some peanut butter and jam sandwiches and phoned Eitan Reich from Zochrot, to ask him about ADSL. He is my point-man, so to speak, for the next few weeks, and it is from him I’ll be learning the grant writing stuff this coming week. He said he was about to call me to ask if I wanted to hang out tomorrow evening, get some coffee and chat, etc. I am very glad about that; not that I’m lonely yet (I’m not) but I am looking forward to talking with people and actually having conversation. I kind of like Tel Aviv for the fact that people will totally talk to you if you initiate conversation, but if you don’t, you don’t have to speak to anyone. It’s kind of like Vancouver that way; maybe like any big city.
After lunch, I decided to go to the beach for a swim. I made the horrible mistake of wearing my bathing suit there (and back, which is where I paid for it). Can I say diaper rash? Thankfully it is only one leg and before I left home I swiped my nephew and niece’s zinc cream – I should be healed soon enough. But, boy did that hurt, walking the twenty-five minutes home. On the way to the beach, I went to Dinzengoff Centre, which is a fairly large shopping mall ten minutes from my house (nearly halfway to the beach). To get in, I had to get my bag searched, which I am finding is a common occurrence. I also had to let the dude check me out with his beeping wand. I’ll get used to that, I suppose. I did not like the mall experience. I can’t stand malls. And the smell of McDonald’s, a powerful aroma wafting through the air made me rather uncomfortable – both with covetous desire and repulsive disgust. I steered clear, thankfully. I finally got back outside and before I knew it, I was at the beach.
There were umbrellas and lounge chairs everywhere. I noticed, again, the sign that forbade bathing or swimming. I stopped to ask a guy about it, and he was working for Diet Coke, giving out those little sample cans. It was so cold and I was grateful. I was with enough foresight to bring a bottle of water and a granola bar – but without the foresight to bring sunscreen. As I write this, I look like a lobster! As I was moseying toward the stairs to access the beach, the Diet Coke guy gave me another sample can. The guy told me that signs don’t mean anything in Israel. Okay.
The first thing I noticed about the sand, when I got on the beach was how unbelievably soft it is. I knew that from last night, but it is really dusty, powdery stuff. The second thing I noticed is that it was burning the hell out of my feet-bottoms. I tried to bear it, but in a nearly falling-over panic, had to put my flip-flops back on. I selected myself a lounger chair, under the shade of an umbrella. I turned to the Russian-looking fellow who was only a few feet away and asked him if he spoke English, then if it was safe for me to leave my stuff unattended while I swam. In his harsh Russian accent, he said “You tell me.” I found that rather confusing, but just marked my spot with my mind and went into the sea. It was so refreshing. Warm, but not gross-warm. The gross part is the floating garbage everywhere. Mostly plastic remnants. It’s not as gross as it seems like it should be; maybe the fact that there are heaps of people in the water normalizes the feeling of swimming with garbage.
In the water there was this brownish guy who was really friendly to me, even though we couldn’t communicate with each other, at all. He was a few years younger than me and I was wondering what I was getting myself into when he asked me to follow him. All he did, though, was lead me to his friend to ask his buddy if he spoke English. When his buddy said he didn’t, we all laughed a chuckle and I went back to the sea. The waves were super cool, crashing and providing some good body-surfing. There were a lot of people there, and I didn’t see many people who looked like tourists. There were a lot of really skimpy bathing suits on all sorts of people, male, female, whatever.
After twenty minutes, or so, I wanted to get out of the sun and retreated to my shaded lounger. The Russian dude asked me my name and told me his, Alex. He’s from Dallas, he said. We were having a nice, polite conversation when my brownish friend came running over, saying stuff I didn’t get and laid himself out in the sand beside my chair, talking about stuff. I hauled out my Hebrew dictionary and tried to ask him his name, but he didn’t speak Hebrew. He said something that contained the words, lo (which means no) and yehud (which either means Hebrew or Jewish). Then he said a few Arabic words I recognized and I realised he was Arabic. The guy was hilarious even though I couldn’t understand a word and he kept laughing that we couldn’t understand each other. After a couple of minutes he went back over to his buddy and their chairs.
I started half reading my Hebrew phrasebook and half people watching. I noticed Alex, the Russian, kept pulling out his digital camera and after a few minutes I realised he was taking photo after photo of girls in bikinis. He was hiding himself by keeping the camera between his thighs as he reclined, but I noticed he was doing a lot of zooming. Creepy, creepy, creepy! It reminds me of a documentary I once watched, with Geoff and Heather, about three Russian dudes and their quest for love in Vancouver.
Then I heard some yelling and looked over and it was this Arabic dude pointing at me and giving me thumbs up and laughing. I did the same back and he gets up, started running at me backward, making miming movements like he’s a bus, while both his friend and I laughed, then he makes a screeching sound, uses his right arm to signal the bus coming to a complete stop and crashed into a heap beside me again, in the sand. Man, I wished we could communicate; the guy was hilarious. He was pointing at and touching my tattoo on my right shoulder, but I couldn’t understand him, so I didn’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter, he couldn’t understand me. He touched the praying hands and we both laughed. He got up again and started rolling around in the sand back over by where his buddy was sitting, then ran into the sea to play in the waves. His buddy had jeans on and a t-shirt and just watched him. Eventually they both left the beach. We passed each other as he was leaving the water and I was entering. He gave me this huge high-five and shouted Allah Akbar, which I repeated, agreeing that God is, indeed, great. He kept shouting it as he and his buddy walked up the beach. It was a lot of fun.
I spent two hours at the beach, under shade most of the time, but still burned myself pretty good. Oh, I wanted to add that Allah is not the Muslim way of saying God, it is the Arabic word for God. Even the Palestinian Christians that I met call God Allah. That sure challenges the Sunday school stuff I learned about Allah not being God.
I didn’t realize that the lounge chairs and shade wasn’t free. I had to pay some guy who was working for whoever owns it all. I got my legit receipts, and it was NIS 12 for the lounger and NIS 6 for the umbrella shade. It’s about 4.7 NIS per US dollar, so what is that, four or five bucks? That’s not bad. After I couldn’t bear the sun on me any longer (even though I was in shade), I put my shirt on and started walking along the beach. I learned that there are open beaches for swimming, with lifeguard towers, that are only a hundred yards from where I was swimming. It doesn’t matter, though; everywhere had people, everywhere was packed. There is restaurant after restaurant and bars and pubs all lining the beach. Too rich for my blood, but when/ if friends/ family come to visit, I’m sure we’ll hit up some of those spots. They look so classy, yet comfortable.
I walked home a different route for the most part. I want to keep branching out and seeing more of the city. I carry my trusty map and it keeps me from getting lost. I walked past four different McDonald’s on my half-hour walk home. Crazy! Homogeneity! I was very eager to get home, hitching up my wet swimsuit for much of the walk. The rash I got is on my left thigh, but with a cold shower and some zinc cream (and a touch of hydroquartozone), it is all but healed now. GOOD. Well, I figure I’ll leave you all thinking about my left thigh. I am going to make a gilled cheese, if I can deal with the heat of a stove in my place right now.
Oh, the dairy in this country is so cheap!
D BLOCK OUT
July 28 - 05
Hello All,
I’m back. I want to say thank you to the folks who responded to my previous e-mail of clarification. There was an overwhelming majority of people who told me that I had no need to apologise, that I didn’t come across as arrogant, that I was clear in not trying to speak as an authority and that I shouldn’t change how I am writing or the mode or manner in which I do it. So, democracy rules, and sorry to all you sensitive folks. Again, I say, feel free to either read me, delete me, or reply to this message and tell me to get out of your inbox.
I am writing to you on my laptop in my new apartment. By the time you read this, I will have found an Internet café and transferred this from disk to e-mail.
I am really digging my pad; it’s the perfect size for just me. I’ve got a bedroom, a bathroom, and a main room, with kitchen. There are huge windows that open wide and tons of light. From what I can tell, I am on the sixth floor, with only the free-access roof above me. I am very grateful to Sri (MCC) and Talia (Zochrot) for finding me such a great place. I have come to know that they looked at a lot of places, and I’m glad they didn’t stop until they found this one. It’s bright and clean with white walls.
I have already broken my bed. I tried to shift it and it just snapped apart. I am actually really glad that I didn’t flop out on it, it would have collapsed even harder! Oh well; I piled the wooden frame in a stack and set up the mattress on the floor. It is a queen, which is great, I can stretch out. When I got in, I turned on the radio to look for a good station, since I forgot to bring computer speakers to play my tunes without earphones. Well, I can play them, but very quietly on these “stock” speakers. So, I found one station that played some Beatles and then went right into the Grateful Dead’s Uncle John’s Band. I was so happy!
Tel Aviv is Hot and Humid. I’ve been dripping sweat since I arrived five hours ago. I’ll get used to it; right now I am so happy about having my own place and space that I don’t mind at all. I do have air conditioning (luxury), but I am not using it, opting instead for fresh air and a blowing fan.
Speaking of FANS, I went out this afternoon to check out my neighbourhood and buy a fan, some clothes hangers, some drain-declogger (for the shower), and some groceries. I had made a list of stuff I needed and those were the top items. I am SO glad that I brought my map with me because I was definitely lost, and soon! You see, I can’t read Hebrew, I can’t say much other than the basic niceties, and, of course, there are no signs in English here (I’m really looking forward to beginning language study in SIX weeks; illiterate ‘til then). This city is such that I don’t recognise what stores are for what and I kind of started wandering through apartment blocks, feeling a little overwhelmed, but the whole time laughing at myself and praying funny prayers about me being a “dumb” immigrant (not that immigrants are dumb, at all, for you folks who can’t read my humour). Ryan Cienciala and I often talked about how we look forward to being dumb immigrants – I’ve beaten him to it and now I am both enjoying the feeling of total ignorance and I am having a whole lot more understanding for those folks back in Vancouver that looked constantly lost!
Just to interrupt, out of my window I can hear a band going at it. They sound great and I am very curious to know where they are playing. It’s definitely live, and I am digging the drummer’s rolls across his toms. Speaking of BANDS, Welkin is playing This Thursday, August 4th at the Railway Club in Vancouver (see www.welkinband.com for details). I wish I could be there, but the show is being filmed and I’m getting the DVD!!
Okay, back to my errand running. First thing was to locate a Laundromat. There is one not even three minutes walk from my place, which is really cool. Actually, I found out about it by asking the employee at a dry-cleaner and he spoke some English. Outside of my windows I can set up a rope and hang my laundry dry, should I choose to do so. Second thing was to find a fan because it is SO hot and humid here. See, Jerusalem is several thousand feet above sea level, so even though it is hot there, it is a dry heat, which, as we all know is very tolerable. And, of course, Tel Aviv, being right on the Med. Sea is sea-level. I did find that fan; but after about a half-hour of walking in a gigantic square (thanks to my English-version map). In fact, the fan shop, which had a lot of other electrical gadgets, was dark and dusty and the old dude spoke English and was rather nice. I love dark, dusty shops; they have so much cool stuff! It seems that what I read on the Internet about Israelis being pushy and rude was very incorrect. I have had a good dozen interactions so far today, talking with people or whatever, and they all smile just like normal humans. I am really encouraged about that.
I asked the man at the store where I bought the fan if it needed a screwdriver to assemble it and he affirmed that - Phillips. Ha, my KINGDOM for world recognition of the virtues and superiority of ROBERTSON (the true story of global ignorance of Robertson is a sad tale). He directed me to a shop where I could purchase a screwdriver: just down the street (this street where both shops and incidentally the grocery store is just a block over from my street). At the screwdriver shop, I also bought some clothes hangers and some drain de-clogger. I became very encouraged when, on the way back to the fan shop, I noticed a CityMarket AM/ PM 24 HR grocery store. I was so happy because by that time I was beginning to wonder if I’d show up at the office on Monday (when I start) hungry and wan. WAN.
My stock speakers aren’t so bad, especially when I’m sitting right by the computer, and I must say, Pink Floyd’s Animals is my favourite Floyd album – Baart, thanks for opening my eyes to it. And Birch, Northern Ontario!
I toted my fan and my clothers hanger, et al, back to my place, sweating myself up the many flights of stairs. (It was nothing compared to me hauling up all my belongings in one trip when I first arrived. I thought I was going to faint, that time!) I can’t figure out the hallway lights and when I do push a button that looks like a hall light, I get paranoid when it doesn’t work that it is a doorbell, so I book it past the door before getting found out. Yeah, you’d think I’d learn the first time, but alas, I keep trying the red-lit switches. There’s just something about shiny things!
After dropping off my fan, etc., I went immediately back out and to the grocery store. I am not sure if I am going to always shop there, I’d like to find the equivalent of a Vancouver Chinese produce market, if there is something close to that. Anyway, the fine folks at Zochrot had brought me all my basic living stuff, plus some juice, coffee, some cream cheese and crackers, so before I left I did check the prices on those just to compare. The grocery store was the same prices, so I didn’t feel guilty about shopping there. When a grocery shop is done on-foot there is always the consideration of how much one can carry. And, as par for my course, I usually overshoot the prediction. So, by the time I got home, my arms (which were already hurting from volleyball last night with Internationals in Jerusalem) were so sore I could barely keep my hand steady enough to put the key in my door.
Oh, here’s something interesting: there’s absolutely no recycling program here. Not even deposit on glass bottles! I find that so incredulous, I am going to ask, again, just to have that confirmed. Maybe plastic can be sorted? I sure hope so! I know: I only want to recycle so I can feel good about driving my SUV around. Oh, wait, I don’t have an SUV.
Today, on the drive from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, my Canadian presuppositions pulled off another move. You see, as a Canadian, it is a presupposition of mine to smile at people and look them in the eye when I interact with them. Well, we were going through a military checkpoint and I smiled at the soldier and he smiled back, waved us through (which I am sure had nothing to do with the smile) and wished us a nice day. I immediately thought of how these soldiers (early twenties, late teens) are probably rather unaware of the finer points of their own government’s monstrous oppression of Palestine. It reminded me of the American soldiers in Iraq: for the most part, they believe that they are there for liberation; there to help people and be agents of good in a broken world. It seemed to me that it is probably the same for most Israeli soldiers. That seems to make sense when considering some of the stuff I’ve read about how there’s so much Post Traumatic Stress Disorder amongst former soldiers in Israel. Also the disillusionment I’ve seen in US soldiers back from Iraq in some of the documentaries I’ve viewed. What I am trying to say is that these kids (for most of these soldiers really are kids) are not monsters. They are not even intentional oppressors (I know, generalizations are dangerous, I’m sure there are some intentionally oppressive soldiers here). My point is, though, that I would have a really hard time of hating the soldiers themselves, just as I would have a hard time pointing blame at the kids giving their lives for their leader’s bullshit in Iraq. That’s the saddest part, it’s not the kids giving their lives who are evil and oppressive, it is the scheming governments who send them to do their dirty work. Is that a rant? I don’t care if it is; it’s how I communicate and how I see it.
Anyway, I have taken a break to eat dinner, and now it is getting on 8pm. I am going to head outside again and see if I can’t find myself an Internet cafe. So, here I am, twenty mintues later, at an Internet cafe. I decided to head toward the beach. There is a promenade that extends the entire waterfront, from north Tel Aviv, south into Jaffa. I found a cafe, and stopped. They're playing Coldplay videos and the employee must be used to foreigners; his english is great and he's very helpful.
I only want to add that I think I have moved to the hair salon capital of the planet!
Take care, Darren
I’m back. I want to say thank you to the folks who responded to my previous e-mail of clarification. There was an overwhelming majority of people who told me that I had no need to apologise, that I didn’t come across as arrogant, that I was clear in not trying to speak as an authority and that I shouldn’t change how I am writing or the mode or manner in which I do it. So, democracy rules, and sorry to all you sensitive folks. Again, I say, feel free to either read me, delete me, or reply to this message and tell me to get out of your inbox.
I am writing to you on my laptop in my new apartment. By the time you read this, I will have found an Internet café and transferred this from disk to e-mail.
I am really digging my pad; it’s the perfect size for just me. I’ve got a bedroom, a bathroom, and a main room, with kitchen. There are huge windows that open wide and tons of light. From what I can tell, I am on the sixth floor, with only the free-access roof above me. I am very grateful to Sri (MCC) and Talia (Zochrot) for finding me such a great place. I have come to know that they looked at a lot of places, and I’m glad they didn’t stop until they found this one. It’s bright and clean with white walls.
I have already broken my bed. I tried to shift it and it just snapped apart. I am actually really glad that I didn’t flop out on it, it would have collapsed even harder! Oh well; I piled the wooden frame in a stack and set up the mattress on the floor. It is a queen, which is great, I can stretch out. When I got in, I turned on the radio to look for a good station, since I forgot to bring computer speakers to play my tunes without earphones. Well, I can play them, but very quietly on these “stock” speakers. So, I found one station that played some Beatles and then went right into the Grateful Dead’s Uncle John’s Band. I was so happy!
Tel Aviv is Hot and Humid. I’ve been dripping sweat since I arrived five hours ago. I’ll get used to it; right now I am so happy about having my own place and space that I don’t mind at all. I do have air conditioning (luxury), but I am not using it, opting instead for fresh air and a blowing fan.
Speaking of FANS, I went out this afternoon to check out my neighbourhood and buy a fan, some clothes hangers, some drain-declogger (for the shower), and some groceries. I had made a list of stuff I needed and those were the top items. I am SO glad that I brought my map with me because I was definitely lost, and soon! You see, I can’t read Hebrew, I can’t say much other than the basic niceties, and, of course, there are no signs in English here (I’m really looking forward to beginning language study in SIX weeks; illiterate ‘til then). This city is such that I don’t recognise what stores are for what and I kind of started wandering through apartment blocks, feeling a little overwhelmed, but the whole time laughing at myself and praying funny prayers about me being a “dumb” immigrant (not that immigrants are dumb, at all, for you folks who can’t read my humour). Ryan Cienciala and I often talked about how we look forward to being dumb immigrants – I’ve beaten him to it and now I am both enjoying the feeling of total ignorance and I am having a whole lot more understanding for those folks back in Vancouver that looked constantly lost!
Just to interrupt, out of my window I can hear a band going at it. They sound great and I am very curious to know where they are playing. It’s definitely live, and I am digging the drummer’s rolls across his toms. Speaking of BANDS, Welkin is playing This Thursday, August 4th at the Railway Club in Vancouver (see www.welkinband.com for details). I wish I could be there, but the show is being filmed and I’m getting the DVD!!
Okay, back to my errand running. First thing was to locate a Laundromat. There is one not even three minutes walk from my place, which is really cool. Actually, I found out about it by asking the employee at a dry-cleaner and he spoke some English. Outside of my windows I can set up a rope and hang my laundry dry, should I choose to do so. Second thing was to find a fan because it is SO hot and humid here. See, Jerusalem is several thousand feet above sea level, so even though it is hot there, it is a dry heat, which, as we all know is very tolerable. And, of course, Tel Aviv, being right on the Med. Sea is sea-level. I did find that fan; but after about a half-hour of walking in a gigantic square (thanks to my English-version map). In fact, the fan shop, which had a lot of other electrical gadgets, was dark and dusty and the old dude spoke English and was rather nice. I love dark, dusty shops; they have so much cool stuff! It seems that what I read on the Internet about Israelis being pushy and rude was very incorrect. I have had a good dozen interactions so far today, talking with people or whatever, and they all smile just like normal humans. I am really encouraged about that.
I asked the man at the store where I bought the fan if it needed a screwdriver to assemble it and he affirmed that - Phillips. Ha, my KINGDOM for world recognition of the virtues and superiority of ROBERTSON (the true story of global ignorance of Robertson is a sad tale). He directed me to a shop where I could purchase a screwdriver: just down the street (this street where both shops and incidentally the grocery store is just a block over from my street). At the screwdriver shop, I also bought some clothes hangers and some drain de-clogger. I became very encouraged when, on the way back to the fan shop, I noticed a CityMarket AM/ PM 24 HR grocery store. I was so happy because by that time I was beginning to wonder if I’d show up at the office on Monday (when I start) hungry and wan. WAN.
My stock speakers aren’t so bad, especially when I’m sitting right by the computer, and I must say, Pink Floyd’s Animals is my favourite Floyd album – Baart, thanks for opening my eyes to it. And Birch, Northern Ontario!
I toted my fan and my clothers hanger, et al, back to my place, sweating myself up the many flights of stairs. (It was nothing compared to me hauling up all my belongings in one trip when I first arrived. I thought I was going to faint, that time!) I can’t figure out the hallway lights and when I do push a button that looks like a hall light, I get paranoid when it doesn’t work that it is a doorbell, so I book it past the door before getting found out. Yeah, you’d think I’d learn the first time, but alas, I keep trying the red-lit switches. There’s just something about shiny things!
After dropping off my fan, etc., I went immediately back out and to the grocery store. I am not sure if I am going to always shop there, I’d like to find the equivalent of a Vancouver Chinese produce market, if there is something close to that. Anyway, the fine folks at Zochrot had brought me all my basic living stuff, plus some juice, coffee, some cream cheese and crackers, so before I left I did check the prices on those just to compare. The grocery store was the same prices, so I didn’t feel guilty about shopping there. When a grocery shop is done on-foot there is always the consideration of how much one can carry. And, as par for my course, I usually overshoot the prediction. So, by the time I got home, my arms (which were already hurting from volleyball last night with Internationals in Jerusalem) were so sore I could barely keep my hand steady enough to put the key in my door.
Oh, here’s something interesting: there’s absolutely no recycling program here. Not even deposit on glass bottles! I find that so incredulous, I am going to ask, again, just to have that confirmed. Maybe plastic can be sorted? I sure hope so! I know: I only want to recycle so I can feel good about driving my SUV around. Oh, wait, I don’t have an SUV.
Today, on the drive from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, my Canadian presuppositions pulled off another move. You see, as a Canadian, it is a presupposition of mine to smile at people and look them in the eye when I interact with them. Well, we were going through a military checkpoint and I smiled at the soldier and he smiled back, waved us through (which I am sure had nothing to do with the smile) and wished us a nice day. I immediately thought of how these soldiers (early twenties, late teens) are probably rather unaware of the finer points of their own government’s monstrous oppression of Palestine. It reminded me of the American soldiers in Iraq: for the most part, they believe that they are there for liberation; there to help people and be agents of good in a broken world. It seemed to me that it is probably the same for most Israeli soldiers. That seems to make sense when considering some of the stuff I’ve read about how there’s so much Post Traumatic Stress Disorder amongst former soldiers in Israel. Also the disillusionment I’ve seen in US soldiers back from Iraq in some of the documentaries I’ve viewed. What I am trying to say is that these kids (for most of these soldiers really are kids) are not monsters. They are not even intentional oppressors (I know, generalizations are dangerous, I’m sure there are some intentionally oppressive soldiers here). My point is, though, that I would have a really hard time of hating the soldiers themselves, just as I would have a hard time pointing blame at the kids giving their lives for their leader’s bullshit in Iraq. That’s the saddest part, it’s not the kids giving their lives who are evil and oppressive, it is the scheming governments who send them to do their dirty work. Is that a rant? I don’t care if it is; it’s how I communicate and how I see it.
Anyway, I have taken a break to eat dinner, and now it is getting on 8pm. I am going to head outside again and see if I can’t find myself an Internet cafe. So, here I am, twenty mintues later, at an Internet cafe. I decided to head toward the beach. There is a promenade that extends the entire waterfront, from north Tel Aviv, south into Jaffa. I found a cafe, and stopped. They're playing Coldplay videos and the employee must be used to foreigners; his english is great and he's very helpful.
I only want to add that I think I have moved to the hair salon capital of the planet!
Take care, Darren
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
July 26 - 05
Folks,
It has come to my attention that I need to clarify some things with you. I am sorry if I have appeared arrogant, one-sided, over-simple and unable/ unwilling to listen to things I disagree with in my e-mails to you all. That, by no means, is my intention.
I want to say several things:
I have been writing hurredly for a lack of computer and Internet availability thus far. I thought I clarified that; perhaps not clear enough.
I thought I also communicated, and will again now, that I think that the situation here in Israel/ Palestine is very complex, with deeply-rooted beliefs and opinions all across the political / theological spectrum. Please don't misinterpret my immediate perceptions as an attempt to sound conclusive, or that the matter is a simple one that I, the Great All-Knowing Darren, have special insight into. I'm just a dumbass trying to sort out everything that is overloading my senses. In the words of the Dude and Walter Socheck, "I'm a real reactionary!" right now.
If my e-mails reflect an inability / unwillingness to listen to things I disagree with, then it is only because I have not wrote about the internal struggles I face as I prepare to live in an Israeli context, making friends and relationships - seeking to KNOW people and be known - and also balance this 1st world life with the people I will be seeking to serve (Palestinians), who live in less-than legitimate conditions/ situations. I am dealing with an entanglement of cultures, traditions, not to mention the complexity added of me being a Canadian, trying to come to some sort of managability of being able to live here.
I hope I have not communicated that I am anti-Israel or anti-Semitic; I am trying to communicate that I am pro human rights, all across the board, regardless of ethnicity or nationality. I believe it is wrong for civilians to be killed no matter which civilians, white, brown, black, yellow, red, whatever! I am all for an Israeli state, I am also all for a Palestinian state; and I want to make clear that although I have leanings as to how that should be worked out, I do not presume to be an authority on the subject. I am just learning, and learning a lot. Sorry if I come across like a know-it-all.
I am sorry that I am not as diplomatic as I should be. I realise it is a personal weakness that I need to work on. Ten years in the Movie Industry has made me cyncial and had the effect on me of wanting to cut through all the fluffy crap, and just get to the point. It has come to my attention that I may be a little too extreme in the manner and mode in which I communicate. I want to make it clear: I am by no means an authority, an expert, or having any unique solutions or answers. I am simply a student, who chooses to write letters as I sort things through, my own flaws are apparently evident.
Again, I want to apologise if I have come across like I am riding some kind of a political or spiritual high-pony. I also want to make clear that no one is under obligation to put up with me or keep "membership" of my newsletter. Feel free at any time to cancel, full money refund!
I also realise that there is a huge task of trying to communicate humour through words - that I may not be so good at. I fear that much of my satire or sarcasm has been misconstrued as me being a closed-minded, one-sided jerk. Sorry for that. And for those of you who really love the symbolism and religious significance of the Holy Land, I want to say, Give'r! I just, personally, am such a Protestant that much ceremony and symbolism is lost on me. Not that I am a willing or eager Protestant; I just have been affected by what I have been affected by.
That's all for now,
D BLOCK OUT
It has come to my attention that I need to clarify some things with you. I am sorry if I have appeared arrogant, one-sided, over-simple and unable/ unwilling to listen to things I disagree with in my e-mails to you all. That, by no means, is my intention.
I want to say several things:
I have been writing hurredly for a lack of computer and Internet availability thus far. I thought I clarified that; perhaps not clear enough.
I thought I also communicated, and will again now, that I think that the situation here in Israel/ Palestine is very complex, with deeply-rooted beliefs and opinions all across the political / theological spectrum. Please don't misinterpret my immediate perceptions as an attempt to sound conclusive, or that the matter is a simple one that I, the Great All-Knowing Darren, have special insight into. I'm just a dumbass trying to sort out everything that is overloading my senses. In the words of the Dude and Walter Socheck, "I'm a real reactionary!" right now.
If my e-mails reflect an inability / unwillingness to listen to things I disagree with, then it is only because I have not wrote about the internal struggles I face as I prepare to live in an Israeli context, making friends and relationships - seeking to KNOW people and be known - and also balance this 1st world life with the people I will be seeking to serve (Palestinians), who live in less-than legitimate conditions/ situations. I am dealing with an entanglement of cultures, traditions, not to mention the complexity added of me being a Canadian, trying to come to some sort of managability of being able to live here.
I hope I have not communicated that I am anti-Israel or anti-Semitic; I am trying to communicate that I am pro human rights, all across the board, regardless of ethnicity or nationality. I believe it is wrong for civilians to be killed no matter which civilians, white, brown, black, yellow, red, whatever! I am all for an Israeli state, I am also all for a Palestinian state; and I want to make clear that although I have leanings as to how that should be worked out, I do not presume to be an authority on the subject. I am just learning, and learning a lot. Sorry if I come across like a know-it-all.
I am sorry that I am not as diplomatic as I should be. I realise it is a personal weakness that I need to work on. Ten years in the Movie Industry has made me cyncial and had the effect on me of wanting to cut through all the fluffy crap, and just get to the point. It has come to my attention that I may be a little too extreme in the manner and mode in which I communicate. I want to make it clear: I am by no means an authority, an expert, or having any unique solutions or answers. I am simply a student, who chooses to write letters as I sort things through, my own flaws are apparently evident.
Again, I want to apologise if I have come across like I am riding some kind of a political or spiritual high-pony. I also want to make clear that no one is under obligation to put up with me or keep "membership" of my newsletter. Feel free at any time to cancel, full money refund!
I also realise that there is a huge task of trying to communicate humour through words - that I may not be so good at. I fear that much of my satire or sarcasm has been misconstrued as me being a closed-minded, one-sided jerk. Sorry for that. And for those of you who really love the symbolism and religious significance of the Holy Land, I want to say, Give'r! I just, personally, am such a Protestant that much ceremony and symbolism is lost on me. Not that I am a willing or eager Protestant; I just have been affected by what I have been affected by.
That's all for now,
D BLOCK OUT
Sunday, July 24, 2005
July 24 - 05
Hey Folks,
Have I ever had a day! I started out by going to church in the Lutheran Church, in the Old City of Jerusalem. Sri and I walked through the Damascus Gate (one of seven gates going into the Old City). I cannot even begin to describe what the Old City is like. A labrynth, to be sure; stalls and stores everywhere. People buzzing all around, speaking words that sound more to me like music than anything, because I cannot understand anything, yet. There are four quarters: the Christian quarter, the Jewish quarter, the Muslim quarter and the Armenian quarter.
Church was held in the Nave of a huge Cathedral. It was Lutheran, but in English. The music was much livlier than I was expecting. Nice choice of songs. There was a dude on piano, and a set of brothers managing the guitar and hand-drum. The acoustics were amazing. The thirty of so congregants, nearly all ex-pats (internationals), sounded like a choir of hundreds. Apparently, the nave was an old Crusader's chapel. I have rather mixed feelings about that. The special music was sung by a sweet-voiced blackman, who sang "the answer my friend is blowing in the wind...." I couldn't help but smile to myself; damn hippie music, even in church in Jerusalem! I took communion and drank from the common cup, remembering the words of my friend Ken from orientation that the alcohol in the wine will kill all the germs in potential backwash. Thanks, Ken; you did me a great service with that tidbit!
After church, Sri went home and I met Tim and Chris, a married couple who live in Bethlehem, where I now am. We hooked up with three of their friends (from World Vision) and took the marathon walking tour of Jerusalem's Old City. We walked parts of the Via DolaRosa (pardon the butchering of the spelling), which is the path that Jesus was driven down as He carried the cross. We spent time in the HOly Sepulchre, which is the most commonly agreed place upon where He was crucified and buried. It is undisputedly the most holy site in all of Christendom! It was overwhelming and awe-inspiring to say the least. I am not particularly swept up in the religiosity of it all, but I knew full-well that I was on holy ground. There are thirteen major Christian bodies continuingly jostling for control of the various wings and parts of this huge cathedral (?) and representatives are on "guard" at all time, so their claim stakes don't get taken over. There is a muslim family that actually holds the keys, because it would cause way too much trouble to decide which Christian body gets control. If you think that's crazy, that is only the frost on the tip of the iceberg that is the insanity of the Holy LAnd.
As we were walking, the World Vision people had some friends notice us and bring us into their home. They are Palestinian Christians (2% of Palestinian population). They are Coptic, which is the Egyptian Orthodox. We had Arabic coffee, which kicks the crap out of espresso. They served us juice, fruit and bread with cheese and I watched as my hosts struggled to get out of the invite for food. Hospitality! They sent us away with a care package of food.
We stopped at the one World Vision girl's apartment, in the Old City, and hung out on the roof, looking around for a bit. We continued on, where I ate felafel (for the care package was meat products) from a fabulous little place. We passed the Wailing Wall, which is the most holy place for all of Judaism. I was speechless; not swept up in the sentiment, but just taking in all around me. We walked to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prayed and I touched the rock where He was said to actually have prayed at. This rock is in a bascilica (?) which is called Church of All Nations. The olive trees growing in the garden are easily 2000 years old. That was really cool. We all sat, very quietly, with out thoughts and our reflections, inside the church for several minutes before moving on again. I was actually moved to tears, which surprised me. I saw Mary's tomb (Jesus' momma), too, on the way back to the cars.
Once we got back to the cars, we had to go to a Westbank neighbourhood to pick up Chris' (from MCC) cellphone, which she left at a house she and her husband were helping to rebuild. This neighbourhood is part of Area B (which is too confusing for me to quickly explain, although I will say there are three areas: A, B, and C). Area A is forbidden to Jews, Area C is forbidden to Arabs, and Area B is confusing to me. I think it is under Israeli military control but Palestinian administration. If I am wrong, then don't hold me to it. There is so much to learn here. I feel totally overwhelmed!
So, in this area B, I saw houses which had been destroyed. I saw the looks of mistrust and pain in the faces of Palestinians as we drove by. One young kid even opened up my car door, which startled me, and his buddy threw a little pebble at my window. I think I look a lot like a Jewish Settler, with my red beard. At least I keep being told that. I was not angry about the youngster's behavior. If I was living in a place where a foreign occupier was continually oppressing me and demolishing either my house or those of my friends', I would have a really hard time dealing with it.
I passed through several military checkpoints today, with my passport being looked at by armed soldiers. When Chris and Tim and I drove out to their apartment in Bethlehem, we actually drove through the wall to get here. This separation wall is much more upsetting in real life than the theoretics in which I imagined it before seeing it. It is so degrading to lock people up. Palestinians with green license plates are not even allowed on Israeli roads. Christians who live in Bethlehem are not allowed to go into Jerusalem to worship. It is worse than apartheid here. I am totally filled-over-the-brim with just how much turmoil is here. Chris and Tim are very supportive and encouraging, explaining much to me. They drove me past the Church of the Nativity, which is where Jesus was born. I ate dinner at the Tent Restaurant, just outside of Bethlehem, where the Shepherds were visited by angels announcing the birth of Messiah. It is so much; seemingly too much right now. I am not freaking out; just taking it all in and not being afraid of asking questions, even if my voice cracks with emotion at how much suffering and turmoil there is. There is such a disparagement between what the West thinks about Israel as the holy land and the horrid political situation here. I do'nt even know the tip of it, I realise.
I should go. I am sorry for not taking time these latest days to really explain, I just seem to be hurredly jotting thoughts out. When I get settled into my own place and feel like people aren't waiting on me, I will relax more and be able to sit and spend a longer time accurately weighing my thoughts and reflections. Right now, it is overwhelming. I am NOT caught up in the religiosity and the sentimenalism; I am overwhelmed by the steamrolling of human rights and the oppression that exists all around me. I feel like I know nothing and have never known anything about anything. All my years in the film industry make me feel like a fool, like I have been living in a cheesy dreamland, that is totally unrealistic and out of touch with the real suffering that is so vivid here.
DOn't cry for me, Canada; I will learn, I will grow; I will seek my Strength and my Shield, and the Lord is my Shepherd. And, for those of you who want pics, I hate to disappoint you but I don't even own a camera, let alone taking photos. Cameras and me don't really get along. If you want to see stuff, then go to google "images" and type stuff in. Other folk get 'er done better than I would.
Peace in the MIddle Eass??? Pray it is so!
D Block OUT
Have I ever had a day! I started out by going to church in the Lutheran Church, in the Old City of Jerusalem. Sri and I walked through the Damascus Gate (one of seven gates going into the Old City). I cannot even begin to describe what the Old City is like. A labrynth, to be sure; stalls and stores everywhere. People buzzing all around, speaking words that sound more to me like music than anything, because I cannot understand anything, yet. There are four quarters: the Christian quarter, the Jewish quarter, the Muslim quarter and the Armenian quarter.
Church was held in the Nave of a huge Cathedral. It was Lutheran, but in English. The music was much livlier than I was expecting. Nice choice of songs. There was a dude on piano, and a set of brothers managing the guitar and hand-drum. The acoustics were amazing. The thirty of so congregants, nearly all ex-pats (internationals), sounded like a choir of hundreds. Apparently, the nave was an old Crusader's chapel. I have rather mixed feelings about that. The special music was sung by a sweet-voiced blackman, who sang "the answer my friend is blowing in the wind...." I couldn't help but smile to myself; damn hippie music, even in church in Jerusalem! I took communion and drank from the common cup, remembering the words of my friend Ken from orientation that the alcohol in the wine will kill all the germs in potential backwash. Thanks, Ken; you did me a great service with that tidbit!
After church, Sri went home and I met Tim and Chris, a married couple who live in Bethlehem, where I now am. We hooked up with three of their friends (from World Vision) and took the marathon walking tour of Jerusalem's Old City. We walked parts of the Via DolaRosa (pardon the butchering of the spelling), which is the path that Jesus was driven down as He carried the cross. We spent time in the HOly Sepulchre, which is the most commonly agreed place upon where He was crucified and buried. It is undisputedly the most holy site in all of Christendom! It was overwhelming and awe-inspiring to say the least. I am not particularly swept up in the religiosity of it all, but I knew full-well that I was on holy ground. There are thirteen major Christian bodies continuingly jostling for control of the various wings and parts of this huge cathedral (?) and representatives are on "guard" at all time, so their claim stakes don't get taken over. There is a muslim family that actually holds the keys, because it would cause way too much trouble to decide which Christian body gets control. If you think that's crazy, that is only the frost on the tip of the iceberg that is the insanity of the Holy LAnd.
As we were walking, the World Vision people had some friends notice us and bring us into their home. They are Palestinian Christians (2% of Palestinian population). They are Coptic, which is the Egyptian Orthodox. We had Arabic coffee, which kicks the crap out of espresso. They served us juice, fruit and bread with cheese and I watched as my hosts struggled to get out of the invite for food. Hospitality! They sent us away with a care package of food.
We stopped at the one World Vision girl's apartment, in the Old City, and hung out on the roof, looking around for a bit. We continued on, where I ate felafel (for the care package was meat products) from a fabulous little place. We passed the Wailing Wall, which is the most holy place for all of Judaism. I was speechless; not swept up in the sentiment, but just taking in all around me. We walked to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prayed and I touched the rock where He was said to actually have prayed at. This rock is in a bascilica (?) which is called Church of All Nations. The olive trees growing in the garden are easily 2000 years old. That was really cool. We all sat, very quietly, with out thoughts and our reflections, inside the church for several minutes before moving on again. I was actually moved to tears, which surprised me. I saw Mary's tomb (Jesus' momma), too, on the way back to the cars.
Once we got back to the cars, we had to go to a Westbank neighbourhood to pick up Chris' (from MCC) cellphone, which she left at a house she and her husband were helping to rebuild. This neighbourhood is part of Area B (which is too confusing for me to quickly explain, although I will say there are three areas: A, B, and C). Area A is forbidden to Jews, Area C is forbidden to Arabs, and Area B is confusing to me. I think it is under Israeli military control but Palestinian administration. If I am wrong, then don't hold me to it. There is so much to learn here. I feel totally overwhelmed!
So, in this area B, I saw houses which had been destroyed. I saw the looks of mistrust and pain in the faces of Palestinians as we drove by. One young kid even opened up my car door, which startled me, and his buddy threw a little pebble at my window. I think I look a lot like a Jewish Settler, with my red beard. At least I keep being told that. I was not angry about the youngster's behavior. If I was living in a place where a foreign occupier was continually oppressing me and demolishing either my house or those of my friends', I would have a really hard time dealing with it.
I passed through several military checkpoints today, with my passport being looked at by armed soldiers. When Chris and Tim and I drove out to their apartment in Bethlehem, we actually drove through the wall to get here. This separation wall is much more upsetting in real life than the theoretics in which I imagined it before seeing it. It is so degrading to lock people up. Palestinians with green license plates are not even allowed on Israeli roads. Christians who live in Bethlehem are not allowed to go into Jerusalem to worship. It is worse than apartheid here. I am totally filled-over-the-brim with just how much turmoil is here. Chris and Tim are very supportive and encouraging, explaining much to me. They drove me past the Church of the Nativity, which is where Jesus was born. I ate dinner at the Tent Restaurant, just outside of Bethlehem, where the Shepherds were visited by angels announcing the birth of Messiah. It is so much; seemingly too much right now. I am not freaking out; just taking it all in and not being afraid of asking questions, even if my voice cracks with emotion at how much suffering and turmoil there is. There is such a disparagement between what the West thinks about Israel as the holy land and the horrid political situation here. I do'nt even know the tip of it, I realise.
I should go. I am sorry for not taking time these latest days to really explain, I just seem to be hurredly jotting thoughts out. When I get settled into my own place and feel like people aren't waiting on me, I will relax more and be able to sit and spend a longer time accurately weighing my thoughts and reflections. Right now, it is overwhelming. I am NOT caught up in the religiosity and the sentimenalism; I am overwhelmed by the steamrolling of human rights and the oppression that exists all around me. I feel like I know nothing and have never known anything about anything. All my years in the film industry make me feel like a fool, like I have been living in a cheesy dreamland, that is totally unrealistic and out of touch with the real suffering that is so vivid here.
DOn't cry for me, Canada; I will learn, I will grow; I will seek my Strength and my Shield, and the Lord is my Shepherd. And, for those of you who want pics, I hate to disappoint you but I don't even own a camera, let alone taking photos. Cameras and me don't really get along. If you want to see stuff, then go to google "images" and type stuff in. Other folk get 'er done better than I would.
Peace in the MIddle Eass??? Pray it is so!
D Block OUT
Saturday, July 23, 2005
July 23 - 05
Hi Everybody!
I always laugh when I write "hi everybody."
Okay, what to say, now that I have had my sleep? I went for a walk last evening, not leaving the Lutheran Hospital compound. Sri was off at someone's house and I was able to stretch out and have some time alone. I watched the BBC for a bit, too, before crashing hard at 20:30. I didn't have a clock in my room and woke up when it was very dark. I laid in bed for what seemed close to an hour and a half trying to get back to sleep; it finally came and I slept until 8:00.
After breakfast, we walked across the street to Sri's office. Sri is the Jerusalem Representative for MCC, and also my primary authority-type, go-to-guy for MCC related things. His office overlooks the Golden-roofed Dome of the Rock. I have seen it in pictures, but now can say I've laid my eyes upon it.
We took a bus and a sheroot (hebrew, for shared taxi - basically a van that waits until it fills with people before going) to get to Tel Aviv. Today is Sabbath, so the streets were very literally empty. The ride to Tel Aviv took no more than 40 minutes.
We walked from the Central Bus Station to Zochrot's office, but were an hour and a half early to meet some of the staff, so Sri and I shared a bottle of Guava drink in an open store with a patio. It was hot in Tel Aviv, probably thirty degrees, or so.
At 13:00 we met three members of Zochrot and toured the office. Then we all went for lunch. I had a veggie quiche and a salad. I noticed the director of Zochrot had a ham sandwich. I found that interesting! Talk about blowing stereotypes, eh?
The folks at Zochrot are so warm and kind and seem really pleased to have me here. They have a very relaxed manner and are wanting me to get settled in to life in Tel Aviv before worrying about too much with Zochrot. We talked about the gradual inclusion of me and how we'd work it all out. I am so excited and feel no more pressure. I made myself rather paranoid that they'd want me to be an expert in Internet building and fundraising, etc. That paranoia was completely unfounded and I was very encouraged by them. They will teach me what tasks they have in mind for me and I am glad to learn!
Then we went and visited my apartment! Oh, Man, I can hardly believe how wonderful it is. Even Geoff, my fresh-air junkie brother, would be deeply satisfied. There are huge windows that open right up: two in the living room and one in the bedroom. There is a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and a bedroom. There is also free roof access, which Talia (Zochrot) says is beautiful at night because of all the lights in Tel Aviv. I was so encouraged and excited to start life there. I will be in Bethlehem tomorrow (Sunday) until Monday evening and will get more orientation by Sri, here in Jerusalem, Tuesday and Wednesday. I will go and move into my place on Thursday. Sri has been really friendly, encouraging and helpful. He will even go with me to grocery shop on Thursday and probably help haul my bags up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. I am on the final floor before the roof and have view, since on the side of the windows, there is no other building right beside! I am so grateful to Sri and Talia, who found me the place. They said they looked a lot and there were a lot of total dives. This one is close to the grocery store, close to a laundrymat and close to the "cinemateque"; in fact, this is the name of this particular area of the city. I have a home phone already hooked up and will give out that number when I get it. I'll check into it, it might be cheaper for me to buy phone cards to call home. We'll see.
We retraced our sheroot and bus steps back to Sri's neighbourhood, buying some fresh figs on the way. They are in season right now.
Have a great weekend; I'll write again, soon.
Love Darren
I always laugh when I write "hi everybody."
Okay, what to say, now that I have had my sleep? I went for a walk last evening, not leaving the Lutheran Hospital compound. Sri was off at someone's house and I was able to stretch out and have some time alone. I watched the BBC for a bit, too, before crashing hard at 20:30. I didn't have a clock in my room and woke up when it was very dark. I laid in bed for what seemed close to an hour and a half trying to get back to sleep; it finally came and I slept until 8:00.
After breakfast, we walked across the street to Sri's office. Sri is the Jerusalem Representative for MCC, and also my primary authority-type, go-to-guy for MCC related things. His office overlooks the Golden-roofed Dome of the Rock. I have seen it in pictures, but now can say I've laid my eyes upon it.
We took a bus and a sheroot (hebrew, for shared taxi - basically a van that waits until it fills with people before going) to get to Tel Aviv. Today is Sabbath, so the streets were very literally empty. The ride to Tel Aviv took no more than 40 minutes.
We walked from the Central Bus Station to Zochrot's office, but were an hour and a half early to meet some of the staff, so Sri and I shared a bottle of Guava drink in an open store with a patio. It was hot in Tel Aviv, probably thirty degrees, or so.
At 13:00 we met three members of Zochrot and toured the office. Then we all went for lunch. I had a veggie quiche and a salad. I noticed the director of Zochrot had a ham sandwich. I found that interesting! Talk about blowing stereotypes, eh?
The folks at Zochrot are so warm and kind and seem really pleased to have me here. They have a very relaxed manner and are wanting me to get settled in to life in Tel Aviv before worrying about too much with Zochrot. We talked about the gradual inclusion of me and how we'd work it all out. I am so excited and feel no more pressure. I made myself rather paranoid that they'd want me to be an expert in Internet building and fundraising, etc. That paranoia was completely unfounded and I was very encouraged by them. They will teach me what tasks they have in mind for me and I am glad to learn!
Then we went and visited my apartment! Oh, Man, I can hardly believe how wonderful it is. Even Geoff, my fresh-air junkie brother, would be deeply satisfied. There are huge windows that open right up: two in the living room and one in the bedroom. There is a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and a bedroom. There is also free roof access, which Talia (Zochrot) says is beautiful at night because of all the lights in Tel Aviv. I was so encouraged and excited to start life there. I will be in Bethlehem tomorrow (Sunday) until Monday evening and will get more orientation by Sri, here in Jerusalem, Tuesday and Wednesday. I will go and move into my place on Thursday. Sri has been really friendly, encouraging and helpful. He will even go with me to grocery shop on Thursday and probably help haul my bags up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. I am on the final floor before the roof and have view, since on the side of the windows, there is no other building right beside! I am so grateful to Sri and Talia, who found me the place. They said they looked a lot and there were a lot of total dives. This one is close to the grocery store, close to a laundrymat and close to the "cinemateque"; in fact, this is the name of this particular area of the city. I have a home phone already hooked up and will give out that number when I get it. I'll check into it, it might be cheaper for me to buy phone cards to call home. We'll see.
We retraced our sheroot and bus steps back to Sri's neighbourhood, buying some fresh figs on the way. They are in season right now.
Have a great weekend; I'll write again, soon.
Love Darren
Thursday, July 21, 2005
July 21 - 05
Hi Everybody!
Today my world will drastically change, yet again! I leave the familiarity of North America today and will arrive in Israel Friday, 14:55h local time. Before going to my new apartment, I will spend upwards of a week in East Jerusalem, getting my in-country orientation. I am nervous, excited and find that I can barely concentrate on my book to read. In fact, last night, when I was reading before bed (trying to calm myself down), I found I had to constantly re-read sentences, because my mind kept wandering.
And, funny enough, do you know what I was reading? The "Peace in the MIddle East" section of that GOD'S POLITICS book by Jim Wallis. And, as the chapter would have it, it contained a blow-by-blow account of all the violence and struggle, on both sides of the Palestine / Israel conflict. At one point, I closed the book, put my hands over my face and moaned, "I'm gonna die there!" Sorry, Mom, don't mean to freak you out; but truth be told, I'm a little freaked out. It's ONE volatile situation over there. Wallis was even telling stories about North American peacemakers being killed, whether run over by tanks, or shot in the head. Gulp. I find it particularly comforting that Psalm 23 has been in my head for about 20 years now!
Right after sending you guys this e-mail I am off to the doctor. Yes, the doctor. Last night, while reading, I was listening to music and during Canned Heat's "Harley Davidson Blues" I heard a distinct buzzing in my left ear. I figured it was just typical downloaded music buzzing but heard it again in Canned Heat's "Woodstock Boogy," right at the beginning of the song. I rewound it and played it again, with no buzz at the same spot. I took off my earphones and heard the distinct insect buzz in my ear. Obviously I freaked! I pulled on my ear and shook my head around, panicking and having my life flash before my eyes! It was after midnight, but I had to wake up my friend Matt. He was more freaked out than I was. In my panic, I shoved a Q-tip in there and apparently killed the bug because there was no more buzzing. We talked about what to do and agreed that waking up anyone would be too much. He looked in my ear with a light but couldn't see anything; so the plan was to flush it out with the telephone shower. I had at 'er; but nothing came out, still.
I slept with my left ear to the pillow as much as possible, to attempt to drain it. This morning I woke up with built-up pressure in my left ear, deep in, too. It hurts a little bit but the fear of the unknown seems to hurt more. I sought some counsel and will be going to hospital this morning, before my flight, to try to remedy the situation. I certainly don't want to fly with this already annoying pressure in my ear and I don't want to have some maggots suddenly crawl out of my ear in a week or so! Yeah, I'm a little freaked out!
Enough of that.
Last night I went to the Lancastor Barnstormers baseball game with the other two men who are going the the Middle East. Their wives didn't come; I suppose it was male bonding time. Ken is going to Jordan and Mark to the Westbank. Both are to teach english. We find it amazing that even though we will be so close to each other, geographically, with the various checkpoints and borders, it will make it several hours apart from each other. Those of you who know me can have a laugh that I was at a baseball game; but I had such a good time. The three of us chatted the whole time and really bonded. I am really glad that the two dudes are going to be my Middle East compatriots; they're awesome guys and we have a lot in harmony. I say harmony over common because even though we are all rather different personality-wise, in my opinion we mesh really well together, complimentary-like, you know. I respect them both and am very grateful to God that I can get along so well with the people who I'll be retreating with and seeking local support from, while we serve our terms. I'll be the first one there; Ken and his family (wife and three great kids) come in the middle of August; Mark and his wife come at the beginning of September. We will definitely see each other in October, at our first bi-annual retreat. I'm looking forward to the ping-pong championship of the MIddle East. Mark Leaman is going down hard!! Ken will topple, too! (watch me not even win a match)...
Orientation is over, now, and people are moving out to their various projects. We had over fifty participants and I'd say close to twenty different countries of destination. I will value this time very much as I look back on it; although I can unequivocably say that I am glad to have the sessions over with!
I should get going. Please pray for my safety, or burn some incense, whatever kind of incense that may be!
Much love and with some (hopefully healthy) fear and trembling,
D BLOCK OUT
Today my world will drastically change, yet again! I leave the familiarity of North America today and will arrive in Israel Friday, 14:55h local time. Before going to my new apartment, I will spend upwards of a week in East Jerusalem, getting my in-country orientation. I am nervous, excited and find that I can barely concentrate on my book to read. In fact, last night, when I was reading before bed (trying to calm myself down), I found I had to constantly re-read sentences, because my mind kept wandering.
And, funny enough, do you know what I was reading? The "Peace in the MIddle East" section of that GOD'S POLITICS book by Jim Wallis. And, as the chapter would have it, it contained a blow-by-blow account of all the violence and struggle, on both sides of the Palestine / Israel conflict. At one point, I closed the book, put my hands over my face and moaned, "I'm gonna die there!" Sorry, Mom, don't mean to freak you out; but truth be told, I'm a little freaked out. It's ONE volatile situation over there. Wallis was even telling stories about North American peacemakers being killed, whether run over by tanks, or shot in the head. Gulp. I find it particularly comforting that Psalm 23 has been in my head for about 20 years now!
Right after sending you guys this e-mail I am off to the doctor. Yes, the doctor. Last night, while reading, I was listening to music and during Canned Heat's "Harley Davidson Blues" I heard a distinct buzzing in my left ear. I figured it was just typical downloaded music buzzing but heard it again in Canned Heat's "Woodstock Boogy," right at the beginning of the song. I rewound it and played it again, with no buzz at the same spot. I took off my earphones and heard the distinct insect buzz in my ear. Obviously I freaked! I pulled on my ear and shook my head around, panicking and having my life flash before my eyes! It was after midnight, but I had to wake up my friend Matt. He was more freaked out than I was. In my panic, I shoved a Q-tip in there and apparently killed the bug because there was no more buzzing. We talked about what to do and agreed that waking up anyone would be too much. He looked in my ear with a light but couldn't see anything; so the plan was to flush it out with the telephone shower. I had at 'er; but nothing came out, still.
I slept with my left ear to the pillow as much as possible, to attempt to drain it. This morning I woke up with built-up pressure in my left ear, deep in, too. It hurts a little bit but the fear of the unknown seems to hurt more. I sought some counsel and will be going to hospital this morning, before my flight, to try to remedy the situation. I certainly don't want to fly with this already annoying pressure in my ear and I don't want to have some maggots suddenly crawl out of my ear in a week or so! Yeah, I'm a little freaked out!
Enough of that.
Last night I went to the Lancastor Barnstormers baseball game with the other two men who are going the the Middle East. Their wives didn't come; I suppose it was male bonding time. Ken is going to Jordan and Mark to the Westbank. Both are to teach english. We find it amazing that even though we will be so close to each other, geographically, with the various checkpoints and borders, it will make it several hours apart from each other. Those of you who know me can have a laugh that I was at a baseball game; but I had such a good time. The three of us chatted the whole time and really bonded. I am really glad that the two dudes are going to be my Middle East compatriots; they're awesome guys and we have a lot in harmony. I say harmony over common because even though we are all rather different personality-wise, in my opinion we mesh really well together, complimentary-like, you know. I respect them both and am very grateful to God that I can get along so well with the people who I'll be retreating with and seeking local support from, while we serve our terms. I'll be the first one there; Ken and his family (wife and three great kids) come in the middle of August; Mark and his wife come at the beginning of September. We will definitely see each other in October, at our first bi-annual retreat. I'm looking forward to the ping-pong championship of the MIddle East. Mark Leaman is going down hard!! Ken will topple, too! (watch me not even win a match)...
Orientation is over, now, and people are moving out to their various projects. We had over fifty participants and I'd say close to twenty different countries of destination. I will value this time very much as I look back on it; although I can unequivocably say that I am glad to have the sessions over with!
I should get going. Please pray for my safety, or burn some incense, whatever kind of incense that may be!
Much love and with some (hopefully healthy) fear and trembling,
D BLOCK OUT
Sunday, July 17, 2005
July 17 - 05
Hello Everybody!
That is my favourite greeting now. I had a teacher in college who always opened every class with that greeting and I found it hilarious! You have to say it kind of like a Sesame Street character for it to work well. So, thanks Erv; I attribute this greeting to you.
If you want off this list, let me know. If you're new, then I should tell you that I am in Akron, Pa, at orientation for MCC (www.mcc.org) before going to Tel Aviv this coming Thursday, to work with/ for Zochrot (www.zochrot.org). Okay, that's that.
Yesterday I went to Washington DC. Please take a moment to pause and imagine me all alone walking around a packed-out Mall area! And not shopping mall, Mall.
Here's how it went. The Fehrs, who are a Jordan-bound Manitoban family had worked it out with Andrea (West Bank bound) to take them into DC and show them the sights. I heard about it and used my smiling charm to get on board. The drive was really cool. We got to see a bridge that was burned out from the civil war, still in Pa. From my understanding it is all tied up in the Gettysburg deal (also in Pa.). We stopped at a rest-area in Maryland and I have never seen so many people taking a break at the same time. There were well over a hundred cars; it really reinforced to me how empty Canada is. If you think the "Grouse Grind" is a cheesy overpopulated place, get a load of tourist destinations in America!
One thing I really noticed was how many highways there are here! We must have taken ten or so different highways to get where we were going. No wonder Andrea was required; we would have been sunk without her. There was a really cool lightning and thunder storm on the drive in and I mostly listened to Pink Floyd albums, which a friend of mine recorded on an mp3 disc for me. I was also reading God's Politics by Jim Wallis, which I will get into later.
We arrived at the furthest outpost of the GreenLine metro station, parked the maroon minivan and proceeded to the station. After several minutes of totally futile attempts by me to buy myself a ticket from the machine, Andrea helped me do it. I felt really dumb because I couldn't even figure that out. I remember being humbled at my couch-sitting criticism of those in the Amazing Race television game show. The subway ride into DC's center was interesting. I was speaking with one lady, whom I could barely understand. She was complaining about the horrible music out there today and how graphic and dirty and terrible it is. She was bringing up all these old-school Soul and R/B names, most of whom I didn't recognise. Well, I know who Aretha Franklyn is. She's from Chicago and had some really cool "mmmhmmm" sounds and "tsk"s. Boy was she full of passion! I was trying to tell her about wilco from Chicago and she snapped, "I ain't gon rememba that; gimme the name of a hit they had." I told her they were not top 40 and she kept saying "whey dey now?" She was saying that for nearly everyband that she mentioned, most of whom, as I already said, I hadn't heard of. When I'd say, "doesn't ring a bell," she'd say "mmmhmmm; whey dey now?" She was cool though and let me laugh with her. She repeated herself a lot, which I thought was also rather funny. But she didn't mind me laughing. She just got more energised! She got a kick out of me getting a kick out of her punchline.
She eventually got back to "that one from Chicago...Whey dey now?" (wilco) and asked me to tell her the name of an album. I told her the newest one is The Ghost is Born and she said "Oh, I like dat; I'll rememba dat!" It was a lot of fun. Then she started complaining about the dirtiness of music and how it all is the same lyrics of "$%#$ that $#%$# and $%^# my $#@# and ..." Then the very next sentence she says, "do you know whos really good? Eminen! You listen to him? I mean, you really listen? mmmhmmm, heh heh, that boy is fine!" That, I found, was extremely confusing, but prudence deterred me from challenging the contradiction. She didn't really want me to talk anyway; so it was a good partnership, taking up the twenty minute ride.
We changed trains, I wished my new friend a good day, and sooner than I realized we were coming up into the muggy muggy air. Downtown DC! I felt weird! It is amazing: the first hour or so I felt so uncomfotable and so unsafe. I was scared to look at anyone, except of course my train friend - she started the conversation.
As I came up to the main ground, we were right smack in the middle of the huge mall area between the enormous Washington monument and the Capitol building. Excuse my total ignorance, here; but I had no idea that the Whitehouse was not the Capitol building. I always thought that congress and the Senate all met at the Whitehouse. Before you start laughing at me, remember that I am an America-phobic Canadian who has specifically shunned knowledge of America for the last half-decade (in other words, give me a Break!). One thing I remember impressing itself upon me was how much power existed in the immediate buildings around me. And also the grand majesty of it all. I found it irrellevant how I FEEL about America, I was totally swept up in how I was in the hub of where it all goes down! I started to laugh. I am not sure if it was nerves or just the irony that I, Darren, was in DC.
We decided that we needed lunch first, before going to the various Smithsonian museums. Andrea, who had lived ten years in DC, knew it well and took us to the old Post Office, which is now a tourist site and a food court. On the walk there, there were two dudes setting up their garbage cans and 5-gallon pails and pulling out their "drumsticks" which were thicker than timpani mallets. They busked on a corner the ENTIRE five hours we were at the Mall area. I could hear them from several kilometers away, at one point. I'm serious!
So, we turned off of Constitution Ave and started to walk in a side door of the Post Office, because of less line-ups. What we gave up in majestic entrances, we gained in not waiting in lines. There was an X ray machine and a metal detector we had to go through and myriad gun-toting security guards. Andrea said it's normal for security guards in America to carry guns. I told her that our security guards in Canada can't even have pepper spray. What different realities.
While the kids ate hot dogs, which I internally struggled over not protesting (for American hotdogs are notorious), I had a veggie sandwich which was overpriced and undertasty. I decided enough was enough and got a stack of onion rings, just to add to my own feelings of gross. Everything felt germy and I washed my hands before lunch, after lunch, and after our elevator ride to the look-out. One thing I will give credit for in DC is how all the attractions are FREE. Just the right price for me. There were the typical gimmics, like getting your picture taken with a digital camera that imposes you shaking Georgie Porgie's hand or giving the thumbs up with him. One thing I noticed right away was just how many people had Pro America shirts on. I did a rough count of the food court, then again, outside at the Mall and realized that it must be at least one in ten people, maybe even more.
We took an elevator up to the top floor, above the bells that Britain gave America on 1976 (200 yr anniversary). From our vantage point we could see the Pentagon, a glimpse of the Whitehouse, the various plethora of monuments and government buildings. I was still feeling unsafe and overwhelmed at this point; yet felt a profound sense of importance (?) at seeing such notable centers of American power. I was down and waiting ten minutes for the others because I got weirded out. One thing that I did notice which amazed me was how close Dulles airport is to everything governmental. Planes were coming in so low and close to the Pentagon, I coulndn't help but recreate the scene of 9/11 in my mind. It was rather sobering.
Andrea took us along Pennsilvania Ave (although we didn't go to the Whitehouse itself) and I stood kitty corner to the J Edgar Hoover building (FBI headquarters), with the IRS just behind me. I thought of Geoff Baart and how he could so easily climb up the IRS building. Andrea told me that he'd make it five feet before being given an ultimatum to come down or get capped. We saw the Department of Justice with their lies proudly inscribed into the walls (all men are equal...that kind of crap). Then we went into the Smithsonian museum of Natural History. It was so packed. I don't think I have ever seen that many people crammed into one place. Not even at Canada's Wonderland. Maybe at some big concerts I've been to, could it ever compare.
I started to panic and we set a time, 5:45, to meet back at the metro station. I got a free map from an info lady and prepared myself to join the throng. I had four and a half hours to see what I wanted to see. The only problem is, I had NEVER thought about what I wanted to see and realised that I didn't actually care about seeing anything. I just came so I could say I've been!
Okay, I thought, I'll check this museum out. I started on the first floor at the mammals section. I had no idea how much looking at dead stuffed animals would really depress me. All I could think about was white dudes in knee socks and cheesy tan clothes killing animals so they could take 'em home to show everyone. What was really hard for me were the displays with whole families of animals, even little teeny-weeny baby cuties, obviously trapped by the whities, 'cause the bullets would have just torn them to bits. There was a blue whale hanging from the ceiling, full-sized elephants, giraffes, Grizzlies, Moose... Noah's Ark Called!
Well, that was depressing, and I sped through it in five or ten minutes. I was full-on zigging and zagging through people, pushing my way past summer-camp groups and Boy Scouts and raging parents and heaps upon heaps of Asians and distraught mothers who were literally screaming the names of their lost children. It was intense! SO many people. And it was like a maze. I got all turned around and kept looping and looping, like DAvid Bowie's Labrynth. Finally, I made it back to the lobby again and took the elevator to floor number two. I saw the Hope Diamond and gave it the Canadian salute, along with hundreds (I mean hundreds) of precious gems, jewels and stones. I gave them all the Canadian salute as I raced around, muttering to myself how I could barely see for the blood soaking through the display cases. Tourists were taking pictures of everything and little kids were begging their parents to take a photo of them with this shiny thing or that. It was horrible. I booked it through there faster than anyone had ever gone through, I am positive. I was speed-walking and again, always with the zig-zag, 'cause of all the peeps everywhere.
Then I made it to the Ice-Age, Dinosaur, Evolution, Science exhibit and thought of KP and my brother and how they would have eaten it up (KP especially). I totally wanted to see it, but the crowds overwhelmed me and I panicked in only the way I can panick. I was harsh pushing and tripping and nearly fell into the T-Rex monster looming at me. I was nearly running to be clear of the madness. Madness! I got out of the museum in like 25 minutes, having seen every display and stopping only to give the finger to the OOOh and Ahhh stuff, like the HOpe diamond.
I busted it outside to the humidity and the sweat trickling down my back. I decided, from my map, that the only other museum that held any interest for me was the American History museum. Face my enemy, I told myself. Grin, bear it, and know thyself, D Block! I spent nearly an hour and a half in the American History museum, seeing EVERYTHING and being amazed, disgusted, angrified, frustrated. I wasn't miserable, I was just interacting with myself. I laughed a lot, too. I even went into the First Ladies section, looking at their fine china and their hideous evening gowns. And I have got to say, that the fact that Barbie Bush was first lady in the '80's aside, she dressed in couches, man! I mean couches! Hideous! I was rather enthralled with the Civil Rights showcase display section, slowly walking through the roads of slavery and looking at just how America's economy really was built on the broken backs of Stolen Africans.
I saw the first ever American Flag, in its temperature sensitive room, with the missing star and the write-up of how no one knows where it went or to whom. I saw the enourmous flag that was draped over the bombed-out section of the Pentagon after 9/11. I saw the Agriculture section, the Motor Vehicle section, and had a good laugh at the 1930 motorhome. I saw some American Icon lady's kitchen, whose name I can't remember (but she predates Martha Stewart). I walked through the "Whatever Happened to Polio" section, which looked more like a sad tribute to an old friend than anything. The Presidental section was of particular interest and I carefullly gave the finger to every president's photo; even though I hid that extended finger inside my other hand to avoid me being lynched.
I saw the music and the sports and the pop culture. I saw Kermit the Frog, looking like he does. I saw Mr Rogers' Red sweater. And some famous folk's sporting items. I saw some really cool pianos and guitars and was surprised to see that there was not a single drum in the music instrument section.
I saved the War Floor for last. It was hardest for me because it was so full of propaganda. at one point, I had to rest because of how much my back was killing me and I sat in a little theatre, watching footage from all the wars and listening to the wonderful, noble efforts of America and how they continue to save the world, even right up to Operation Iraqi Freedom. Judging from the exhibits, you would think that America single-handedly fought the Germans and single-handedly won the war. I think it's kind of funny that they didn't even enter WWII until after Japan bombed Pearl Harbour. I wonder if most Americans think that's when the war started.... I saw kids younger than me, walking around wearing their Operation Iraqi Freedom Verteran shirts and chills went down my spine. I stared at one kid from a safe distance and studied him for several minutes as he carefully looked at the various weapons of war proudly on display. I felt so much compassion for him because he was probably a really good kid, with a family, friends and a playful spirit. But he also probably saw buddies die, face down in the sand. He probably had to shoot at brown people and maybe even hit some with his government bullets. He was caught right up in the rightness of it all by the way he and his friend looked everything over.
It made me sad. Not angry, mind you; just sad. Sad that this young lad had invested so much that to tell him it was all for a greedy lie would make it meaningless, or even worse. Sad that Christian America couldn't convince their leaders not to have a war of prevention and aggression. Sad that so many people in America think that to be Christian means to go along with the Republicans and all that crap.
I had to leave. Enough was enough. On the way out, I stopped in the music store and picked up a free card on some momentous, and extremely famous Grateful Dead show held in the '70's at RFK stadium. I saw this dude's shirt where on the back it listed how many songs the Dead played and how many shows, etc., The only one I could read before he was out of my range was the songs: 36,000 some-odd songs! I had no idea!
I went across the street to sit and have a coffee and some gross smoking lady with her sticky kids were all whining about their ice-cream. I saw the lady throw a piece of plastic on the ground and nearly snapped at her, until I realised it wasn't my country and my accent would probably give me away, so I just got up an mosied off. I know this is going to sound really prejudiced, but I am so sick of hearing American Accents and their drawlish talk. It really grates my nerves. Weird, eh?
I walked toward the Washington monument, along the grassy Mall. For those of you who don't know, the Washington monument is that juge gigantic cement penis in downtown DC. I walked up and slapped it, then asked a National Parks Serviceman about it and had a pleasant conversation. I was surprised to see that the National Parks Service have jurisdiction of the Mall area, maintaining it and providing security for it. Just as I was continuing on my way, thunder clapped, and the sky opened up. I had a good laugh at the hundreds of fat people running for cover under trees (hey, I'm fat, too), which always makes me laugh when people hide under trees during lightning storms. I took off my shirt, stuffed it into my pocket, threw my hands in the air and started singing my own tune to Psalm 23, which I sing a lot, and walked onwards, toward the WWII memorial and the Lincoln Memorial.
As cheese would have it, the thought of Forrest Gump came to my mind when staring over the reflective pool. I called out to the Canadian Geese to go home, but they ignored me, as did the people who overheard me pretended to do. I walked through the pooring rain all the way to the Lincoln memorial, thoroughly happy and thoroughly drenched. Even my shirt in my pocket was soaked. I only had a little paper and some cash, with my ID, and put that in a lower short pocket on the side where the rain was not so bad and it fared alright.
When I got to the Lincoln Memorial, I quietly and solemnly climbed the stairs, thinking more about Dr King and less about Lincoln. When I got to the top I was amazed at how big that statue of old Abe really is. There are 32 Roman columns, representing the 32 states at the time of Lincoln's deal. On the inside walls, North and South, are two speeches Abe gave. The first is the "Four Score and Seven Years Ago..." deal, which took up one concrete slab. On the North wall was a speech he gave at Gettysburg, or after, or something, where it was all noble and talked about the equality of everyone in this "great land" and how the civil war was being fought over the freedom of slavery, etc. I marveled at how even here, in the Capitol, at the lincoln memorial, where DR King gave his "I have a dream" speech, was propaganda etched into the concrete. This speech was long and took up all three concrete slabs. It took me five minutes to read. It is common knowledge, now, that the freedom of the slaves was an afterthoght to make the Union look good. It was by no means any starting motivator for the civil war. Even my friends here at orientation have affirmed that they have learned in school that it had nothing to do with it. Yet, there was the propaganda, physically etched in concrete, for all to marvel at. I suppose many people don't know that and can't "harumph" at the sad irony of it all.
I searched and searched for the spot where Dr King stood. Iwanted to stand in the exact spot and look out with the same eye-line as he. I knew from the museum that there was a four foot by four foot concrete slab marking the spot where he stood and I tried in vain to find it. Finally, I went to the gift shop and asked some dude. He told me that it was very hard to see but didn't seem slighted by it or anything. He took me there and showed it to me. I was appalled. The letters were less than an inch high, two or three mm thick and two or three mm deep. I had to get right down just to read what it said! And it was only put there in 2001. I later found out that the memorial museum, which smelt like urine, had been made more conservative, even adding a photo of Charlie Heston, because the "conservatives" were upset at all the "liberal" photos, like those of Dr King, interfaith rallies, gay pride parades, etc. So strange.
So I stood on Dr King's spot and again quietly sang Psalm 23. Some white dude who had that drawly accent also remarked how appalling it was that you could barely see it. I was impressed because he definitely was alive when segregation was, too. I looked out over the tourists and tried to disengage my ears from the screeching of kids and Boy Scouts and the loud chattering of Asians taking pictures of EVERYTHING.
As I descended the stairs, I heard the loud sounds of a helicopter and turned and saw the Presidential helicopter heading towards the whitehouse. I could even read the words on the side. I raised my arm to shake my fist but then quickly pulled it down, remember the horrified reaction I got from Andrea when I shook my fist at a car that nearly hit us going across a cross-walk when we first arrived. I guess you just don't do that here.
I mosied my way back home and had a good laugh when some tourists were posing beside what they must have thought was something important, for photos, but I noticed it was only a round cement structure of bathrooms.
When I got back to the metro, I hung out for twenty minutes before meeting up with my company and we headed out of the city. Plans to see the whitehouse were forgotten because the kids were so dogged tired. I remember being a little kid and so had compassion on them and pretended not to care about not seeing Georgie's home.
On the way home I continued reading this God's Politics book by Jim Wallis. The book is amazing. It takes the shame out of being evangelical and pulls no punches at the bad theology of Bush, Falwell, Robertson and various "family values" groups. It says that protest is useless because it presents itself as weakenss, not able to have the answers to provide an alternative. Wallis is head of Call for Renewal and puts out the magazine Sojourners.
After such a visit, and while reading the book, I found that my anger stayed with me but hatred gave way to compassion and I realised that I have been very wrong in my approach to this new war on terrorism. I have tended to soften the villainy of Hussein and BIn Laden, downplaying their monstrousness because of the reactions of Bush and pro-war groups. I have realised that bitching and complaining about America or their Foreign Policy only adds to the problem. I have a lot to learn and now have more questions than answers; but this book has really challenged the way I have thought about America, moralism, the separation of Church and State and how every person in their own country gets a say.
And as for the excuse that religion is a crutch for the weak, Wallis effectively gives examples to make that excuse seem rediculous. Ghandi, Dr King, Melson Mandella; they were all deeply religious and a hell of a lot stronger than these grandstanding cynics and anti-religious leftists. Just because I believe in Jesus doesn't make me a part of the right and just because I am against war and for issues that really matter (not the popular "religion" issues of abortion and gay marriage), doesn't make me leftist.
I am going to write the ISBN number so you can contact your local library and get the book in: 0-06-055828-8. It is by Jim Wallis, written in 2005 and called God's Politics, put out by Harper, San Francisco.
Well, it is now supper time and I haven't had a chance to edit this; so please forgive the mistakes and try to make sense of what I am saying. And if I used stronger language that I should have, please see the intent.
That's all for now,
D BLOCK OUT!
That is my favourite greeting now. I had a teacher in college who always opened every class with that greeting and I found it hilarious! You have to say it kind of like a Sesame Street character for it to work well. So, thanks Erv; I attribute this greeting to you.
If you want off this list, let me know. If you're new, then I should tell you that I am in Akron, Pa, at orientation for MCC (www.mcc.org) before going to Tel Aviv this coming Thursday, to work with/ for Zochrot (www.zochrot.org). Okay, that's that.
Yesterday I went to Washington DC. Please take a moment to pause and imagine me all alone walking around a packed-out Mall area! And not shopping mall, Mall.
Here's how it went. The Fehrs, who are a Jordan-bound Manitoban family had worked it out with Andrea (West Bank bound) to take them into DC and show them the sights. I heard about it and used my smiling charm to get on board. The drive was really cool. We got to see a bridge that was burned out from the civil war, still in Pa. From my understanding it is all tied up in the Gettysburg deal (also in Pa.). We stopped at a rest-area in Maryland and I have never seen so many people taking a break at the same time. There were well over a hundred cars; it really reinforced to me how empty Canada is. If you think the "Grouse Grind" is a cheesy overpopulated place, get a load of tourist destinations in America!
One thing I really noticed was how many highways there are here! We must have taken ten or so different highways to get where we were going. No wonder Andrea was required; we would have been sunk without her. There was a really cool lightning and thunder storm on the drive in and I mostly listened to Pink Floyd albums, which a friend of mine recorded on an mp3 disc for me. I was also reading God's Politics by Jim Wallis, which I will get into later.
We arrived at the furthest outpost of the GreenLine metro station, parked the maroon minivan and proceeded to the station. After several minutes of totally futile attempts by me to buy myself a ticket from the machine, Andrea helped me do it. I felt really dumb because I couldn't even figure that out. I remember being humbled at my couch-sitting criticism of those in the Amazing Race television game show. The subway ride into DC's center was interesting. I was speaking with one lady, whom I could barely understand. She was complaining about the horrible music out there today and how graphic and dirty and terrible it is. She was bringing up all these old-school Soul and R/B names, most of whom I didn't recognise. Well, I know who Aretha Franklyn is. She's from Chicago and had some really cool "mmmhmmm" sounds and "tsk"s. Boy was she full of passion! I was trying to tell her about wilco from Chicago and she snapped, "I ain't gon rememba that; gimme the name of a hit they had." I told her they were not top 40 and she kept saying "whey dey now?" She was saying that for nearly everyband that she mentioned, most of whom, as I already said, I hadn't heard of. When I'd say, "doesn't ring a bell," she'd say "mmmhmmm; whey dey now?" She was cool though and let me laugh with her. She repeated herself a lot, which I thought was also rather funny. But she didn't mind me laughing. She just got more energised! She got a kick out of me getting a kick out of her punchline.
She eventually got back to "that one from Chicago...Whey dey now?" (wilco) and asked me to tell her the name of an album. I told her the newest one is The Ghost is Born and she said "Oh, I like dat; I'll rememba dat!" It was a lot of fun. Then she started complaining about the dirtiness of music and how it all is the same lyrics of "$%#$ that $#%$# and $%^# my $#@# and ..." Then the very next sentence she says, "do you know whos really good? Eminen! You listen to him? I mean, you really listen? mmmhmmm, heh heh, that boy is fine!" That, I found, was extremely confusing, but prudence deterred me from challenging the contradiction. She didn't really want me to talk anyway; so it was a good partnership, taking up the twenty minute ride.
We changed trains, I wished my new friend a good day, and sooner than I realized we were coming up into the muggy muggy air. Downtown DC! I felt weird! It is amazing: the first hour or so I felt so uncomfotable and so unsafe. I was scared to look at anyone, except of course my train friend - she started the conversation.
As I came up to the main ground, we were right smack in the middle of the huge mall area between the enormous Washington monument and the Capitol building. Excuse my total ignorance, here; but I had no idea that the Whitehouse was not the Capitol building. I always thought that congress and the Senate all met at the Whitehouse. Before you start laughing at me, remember that I am an America-phobic Canadian who has specifically shunned knowledge of America for the last half-decade (in other words, give me a Break!). One thing I remember impressing itself upon me was how much power existed in the immediate buildings around me. And also the grand majesty of it all. I found it irrellevant how I FEEL about America, I was totally swept up in how I was in the hub of where it all goes down! I started to laugh. I am not sure if it was nerves or just the irony that I, Darren, was in DC.
We decided that we needed lunch first, before going to the various Smithsonian museums. Andrea, who had lived ten years in DC, knew it well and took us to the old Post Office, which is now a tourist site and a food court. On the walk there, there were two dudes setting up their garbage cans and 5-gallon pails and pulling out their "drumsticks" which were thicker than timpani mallets. They busked on a corner the ENTIRE five hours we were at the Mall area. I could hear them from several kilometers away, at one point. I'm serious!
So, we turned off of Constitution Ave and started to walk in a side door of the Post Office, because of less line-ups. What we gave up in majestic entrances, we gained in not waiting in lines. There was an X ray machine and a metal detector we had to go through and myriad gun-toting security guards. Andrea said it's normal for security guards in America to carry guns. I told her that our security guards in Canada can't even have pepper spray. What different realities.
While the kids ate hot dogs, which I internally struggled over not protesting (for American hotdogs are notorious), I had a veggie sandwich which was overpriced and undertasty. I decided enough was enough and got a stack of onion rings, just to add to my own feelings of gross. Everything felt germy and I washed my hands before lunch, after lunch, and after our elevator ride to the look-out. One thing I will give credit for in DC is how all the attractions are FREE. Just the right price for me. There were the typical gimmics, like getting your picture taken with a digital camera that imposes you shaking Georgie Porgie's hand or giving the thumbs up with him. One thing I noticed right away was just how many people had Pro America shirts on. I did a rough count of the food court, then again, outside at the Mall and realized that it must be at least one in ten people, maybe even more.
We took an elevator up to the top floor, above the bells that Britain gave America on 1976 (200 yr anniversary). From our vantage point we could see the Pentagon, a glimpse of the Whitehouse, the various plethora of monuments and government buildings. I was still feeling unsafe and overwhelmed at this point; yet felt a profound sense of importance (?) at seeing such notable centers of American power. I was down and waiting ten minutes for the others because I got weirded out. One thing that I did notice which amazed me was how close Dulles airport is to everything governmental. Planes were coming in so low and close to the Pentagon, I coulndn't help but recreate the scene of 9/11 in my mind. It was rather sobering.
Andrea took us along Pennsilvania Ave (although we didn't go to the Whitehouse itself) and I stood kitty corner to the J Edgar Hoover building (FBI headquarters), with the IRS just behind me. I thought of Geoff Baart and how he could so easily climb up the IRS building. Andrea told me that he'd make it five feet before being given an ultimatum to come down or get capped. We saw the Department of Justice with their lies proudly inscribed into the walls (all men are equal...that kind of crap). Then we went into the Smithsonian museum of Natural History. It was so packed. I don't think I have ever seen that many people crammed into one place. Not even at Canada's Wonderland. Maybe at some big concerts I've been to, could it ever compare.
I started to panic and we set a time, 5:45, to meet back at the metro station. I got a free map from an info lady and prepared myself to join the throng. I had four and a half hours to see what I wanted to see. The only problem is, I had NEVER thought about what I wanted to see and realised that I didn't actually care about seeing anything. I just came so I could say I've been!
Okay, I thought, I'll check this museum out. I started on the first floor at the mammals section. I had no idea how much looking at dead stuffed animals would really depress me. All I could think about was white dudes in knee socks and cheesy tan clothes killing animals so they could take 'em home to show everyone. What was really hard for me were the displays with whole families of animals, even little teeny-weeny baby cuties, obviously trapped by the whities, 'cause the bullets would have just torn them to bits. There was a blue whale hanging from the ceiling, full-sized elephants, giraffes, Grizzlies, Moose... Noah's Ark Called!
Well, that was depressing, and I sped through it in five or ten minutes. I was full-on zigging and zagging through people, pushing my way past summer-camp groups and Boy Scouts and raging parents and heaps upon heaps of Asians and distraught mothers who were literally screaming the names of their lost children. It was intense! SO many people. And it was like a maze. I got all turned around and kept looping and looping, like DAvid Bowie's Labrynth. Finally, I made it back to the lobby again and took the elevator to floor number two. I saw the Hope Diamond and gave it the Canadian salute, along with hundreds (I mean hundreds) of precious gems, jewels and stones. I gave them all the Canadian salute as I raced around, muttering to myself how I could barely see for the blood soaking through the display cases. Tourists were taking pictures of everything and little kids were begging their parents to take a photo of them with this shiny thing or that. It was horrible. I booked it through there faster than anyone had ever gone through, I am positive. I was speed-walking and again, always with the zig-zag, 'cause of all the peeps everywhere.
Then I made it to the Ice-Age, Dinosaur, Evolution, Science exhibit and thought of KP and my brother and how they would have eaten it up (KP especially). I totally wanted to see it, but the crowds overwhelmed me and I panicked in only the way I can panick. I was harsh pushing and tripping and nearly fell into the T-Rex monster looming at me. I was nearly running to be clear of the madness. Madness! I got out of the museum in like 25 minutes, having seen every display and stopping only to give the finger to the OOOh and Ahhh stuff, like the HOpe diamond.
I busted it outside to the humidity and the sweat trickling down my back. I decided, from my map, that the only other museum that held any interest for me was the American History museum. Face my enemy, I told myself. Grin, bear it, and know thyself, D Block! I spent nearly an hour and a half in the American History museum, seeing EVERYTHING and being amazed, disgusted, angrified, frustrated. I wasn't miserable, I was just interacting with myself. I laughed a lot, too. I even went into the First Ladies section, looking at their fine china and their hideous evening gowns. And I have got to say, that the fact that Barbie Bush was first lady in the '80's aside, she dressed in couches, man! I mean couches! Hideous! I was rather enthralled with the Civil Rights showcase display section, slowly walking through the roads of slavery and looking at just how America's economy really was built on the broken backs of Stolen Africans.
I saw the first ever American Flag, in its temperature sensitive room, with the missing star and the write-up of how no one knows where it went or to whom. I saw the enourmous flag that was draped over the bombed-out section of the Pentagon after 9/11. I saw the Agriculture section, the Motor Vehicle section, and had a good laugh at the 1930 motorhome. I saw some American Icon lady's kitchen, whose name I can't remember (but she predates Martha Stewart). I walked through the "Whatever Happened to Polio" section, which looked more like a sad tribute to an old friend than anything. The Presidental section was of particular interest and I carefullly gave the finger to every president's photo; even though I hid that extended finger inside my other hand to avoid me being lynched.
I saw the music and the sports and the pop culture. I saw Kermit the Frog, looking like he does. I saw Mr Rogers' Red sweater. And some famous folk's sporting items. I saw some really cool pianos and guitars and was surprised to see that there was not a single drum in the music instrument section.
I saved the War Floor for last. It was hardest for me because it was so full of propaganda. at one point, I had to rest because of how much my back was killing me and I sat in a little theatre, watching footage from all the wars and listening to the wonderful, noble efforts of America and how they continue to save the world, even right up to Operation Iraqi Freedom. Judging from the exhibits, you would think that America single-handedly fought the Germans and single-handedly won the war. I think it's kind of funny that they didn't even enter WWII until after Japan bombed Pearl Harbour. I wonder if most Americans think that's when the war started.... I saw kids younger than me, walking around wearing their Operation Iraqi Freedom Verteran shirts and chills went down my spine. I stared at one kid from a safe distance and studied him for several minutes as he carefully looked at the various weapons of war proudly on display. I felt so much compassion for him because he was probably a really good kid, with a family, friends and a playful spirit. But he also probably saw buddies die, face down in the sand. He probably had to shoot at brown people and maybe even hit some with his government bullets. He was caught right up in the rightness of it all by the way he and his friend looked everything over.
It made me sad. Not angry, mind you; just sad. Sad that this young lad had invested so much that to tell him it was all for a greedy lie would make it meaningless, or even worse. Sad that Christian America couldn't convince their leaders not to have a war of prevention and aggression. Sad that so many people in America think that to be Christian means to go along with the Republicans and all that crap.
I had to leave. Enough was enough. On the way out, I stopped in the music store and picked up a free card on some momentous, and extremely famous Grateful Dead show held in the '70's at RFK stadium. I saw this dude's shirt where on the back it listed how many songs the Dead played and how many shows, etc., The only one I could read before he was out of my range was the songs: 36,000 some-odd songs! I had no idea!
I went across the street to sit and have a coffee and some gross smoking lady with her sticky kids were all whining about their ice-cream. I saw the lady throw a piece of plastic on the ground and nearly snapped at her, until I realised it wasn't my country and my accent would probably give me away, so I just got up an mosied off. I know this is going to sound really prejudiced, but I am so sick of hearing American Accents and their drawlish talk. It really grates my nerves. Weird, eh?
I walked toward the Washington monument, along the grassy Mall. For those of you who don't know, the Washington monument is that juge gigantic cement penis in downtown DC. I walked up and slapped it, then asked a National Parks Serviceman about it and had a pleasant conversation. I was surprised to see that the National Parks Service have jurisdiction of the Mall area, maintaining it and providing security for it. Just as I was continuing on my way, thunder clapped, and the sky opened up. I had a good laugh at the hundreds of fat people running for cover under trees (hey, I'm fat, too), which always makes me laugh when people hide under trees during lightning storms. I took off my shirt, stuffed it into my pocket, threw my hands in the air and started singing my own tune to Psalm 23, which I sing a lot, and walked onwards, toward the WWII memorial and the Lincoln Memorial.
As cheese would have it, the thought of Forrest Gump came to my mind when staring over the reflective pool. I called out to the Canadian Geese to go home, but they ignored me, as did the people who overheard me pretended to do. I walked through the pooring rain all the way to the Lincoln memorial, thoroughly happy and thoroughly drenched. Even my shirt in my pocket was soaked. I only had a little paper and some cash, with my ID, and put that in a lower short pocket on the side where the rain was not so bad and it fared alright.
When I got to the Lincoln Memorial, I quietly and solemnly climbed the stairs, thinking more about Dr King and less about Lincoln. When I got to the top I was amazed at how big that statue of old Abe really is. There are 32 Roman columns, representing the 32 states at the time of Lincoln's deal. On the inside walls, North and South, are two speeches Abe gave. The first is the "Four Score and Seven Years Ago..." deal, which took up one concrete slab. On the North wall was a speech he gave at Gettysburg, or after, or something, where it was all noble and talked about the equality of everyone in this "great land" and how the civil war was being fought over the freedom of slavery, etc. I marveled at how even here, in the Capitol, at the lincoln memorial, where DR King gave his "I have a dream" speech, was propaganda etched into the concrete. This speech was long and took up all three concrete slabs. It took me five minutes to read. It is common knowledge, now, that the freedom of the slaves was an afterthoght to make the Union look good. It was by no means any starting motivator for the civil war. Even my friends here at orientation have affirmed that they have learned in school that it had nothing to do with it. Yet, there was the propaganda, physically etched in concrete, for all to marvel at. I suppose many people don't know that and can't "harumph" at the sad irony of it all.
I searched and searched for the spot where Dr King stood. Iwanted to stand in the exact spot and look out with the same eye-line as he. I knew from the museum that there was a four foot by four foot concrete slab marking the spot where he stood and I tried in vain to find it. Finally, I went to the gift shop and asked some dude. He told me that it was very hard to see but didn't seem slighted by it or anything. He took me there and showed it to me. I was appalled. The letters were less than an inch high, two or three mm thick and two or three mm deep. I had to get right down just to read what it said! And it was only put there in 2001. I later found out that the memorial museum, which smelt like urine, had been made more conservative, even adding a photo of Charlie Heston, because the "conservatives" were upset at all the "liberal" photos, like those of Dr King, interfaith rallies, gay pride parades, etc. So strange.
So I stood on Dr King's spot and again quietly sang Psalm 23. Some white dude who had that drawly accent also remarked how appalling it was that you could barely see it. I was impressed because he definitely was alive when segregation was, too. I looked out over the tourists and tried to disengage my ears from the screeching of kids and Boy Scouts and the loud chattering of Asians taking pictures of EVERYTHING.
As I descended the stairs, I heard the loud sounds of a helicopter and turned and saw the Presidential helicopter heading towards the whitehouse. I could even read the words on the side. I raised my arm to shake my fist but then quickly pulled it down, remember the horrified reaction I got from Andrea when I shook my fist at a car that nearly hit us going across a cross-walk when we first arrived. I guess you just don't do that here.
I mosied my way back home and had a good laugh when some tourists were posing beside what they must have thought was something important, for photos, but I noticed it was only a round cement structure of bathrooms.
When I got back to the metro, I hung out for twenty minutes before meeting up with my company and we headed out of the city. Plans to see the whitehouse were forgotten because the kids were so dogged tired. I remember being a little kid and so had compassion on them and pretended not to care about not seeing Georgie's home.
On the way home I continued reading this God's Politics book by Jim Wallis. The book is amazing. It takes the shame out of being evangelical and pulls no punches at the bad theology of Bush, Falwell, Robertson and various "family values" groups. It says that protest is useless because it presents itself as weakenss, not able to have the answers to provide an alternative. Wallis is head of Call for Renewal and puts out the magazine Sojourners.
After such a visit, and while reading the book, I found that my anger stayed with me but hatred gave way to compassion and I realised that I have been very wrong in my approach to this new war on terrorism. I have tended to soften the villainy of Hussein and BIn Laden, downplaying their monstrousness because of the reactions of Bush and pro-war groups. I have realised that bitching and complaining about America or their Foreign Policy only adds to the problem. I have a lot to learn and now have more questions than answers; but this book has really challenged the way I have thought about America, moralism, the separation of Church and State and how every person in their own country gets a say.
And as for the excuse that religion is a crutch for the weak, Wallis effectively gives examples to make that excuse seem rediculous. Ghandi, Dr King, Melson Mandella; they were all deeply religious and a hell of a lot stronger than these grandstanding cynics and anti-religious leftists. Just because I believe in Jesus doesn't make me a part of the right and just because I am against war and for issues that really matter (not the popular "religion" issues of abortion and gay marriage), doesn't make me leftist.
I am going to write the ISBN number so you can contact your local library and get the book in: 0-06-055828-8. It is by Jim Wallis, written in 2005 and called God's Politics, put out by Harper, San Francisco.
Well, it is now supper time and I haven't had a chance to edit this; so please forgive the mistakes and try to make sense of what I am saying. And if I used stronger language that I should have, please see the intent.
That's all for now,
D BLOCK OUT!
Thursday, July 14, 2005
July 14 - 05
Hello Everybody!
Here are some ramblings for your reading pleasure.
Tonight our group went to Nav Jiwan Tea Room, at the MCC Ten Thousand Villages store, somewhere out here in America. I am telling you, the food was incredible. There is something sooo good about jasmine in a dish. There were five or six different dishes from different countries: South Africa, Cameroon, Mexico, China, India.... I didn't eat the meat dishes, but the vegetable ones made my taste buds explode.
While bumming around the store, before dinner, looking at $4000.00 rugs and $250.00 chess tables, I actually had a game on one of them with an Ache, Indonesia-bound dude named Matt. He's a really good guy, even though he beat me in chess. We were a couple of minutes late for dinner because I was dying slowly, so when we went in, there was a back-table available. I was glad to have it because it was the low-table deal, where you sit on the big pillows and feel all cultural. After half an hour, though, my quads were burning good. After we sat down, this kid, Hans, came and sat beside me. Imagine that, some nine-year old thinking I'm cool. He's a really good kid (obviously, he thinks I'm cool). During dinner, conversation went around between the four of us sitting at the table (a South African-bound lady, Valerie, was sitting with us, too). Like always, I brought up music and Matt and I started talking about Wilco. I found that astounding because last week when I was grooving out to the Mermaid Avenue tunes, I remember thinking that I must be the ONLY person at orientation who loves Wilco. matt was telling me that the only Wilco cd he brought was YHF (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, for all you non-wilco folks).
You might think this story sucks; that it has no point; but HEY, most of my stories have no point. That's why I ramble so much - I spend so much time looking for a point. 'So,' you think to yourself, 'why am I wasting my time reading this'? I don't know. Delete me!~ See if I care!
The point is, Wilco is awesome; and like other "w" bands (www.welkinband.com) you might want to check them out (www.wilcoworld.org).
Earlier today, we did the Meyers-Briggs personality deal and I am an ENFP: an Extroverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Perceiver. And the thing that encouraged me, was when I was reading the "key" that goes along with it, one strong characteristic is that ENFP's can do anything they set their mind to, regardless of past experience. That meant a lot to me. Preparing to enter a whole new culture and a whole new deal, I have been feeling a little insecure about what could I possibly offer. Heather, my sister-in-law, was very encouraging to me before I left, countering every single one of my self-debasing statements with "You will do great," kind of encouragments. Thank you Heather, I hold your words dear to me, especially when I'm feeling chawbay chawbay ('useless' in phoenetical Nyanga).
So, now that we've weeded out the people who are bored and feel like I wasted their precious time (just like Wilco does, I feel it's important to alienate your audience to find your true "fans"), I've got a really interesting story about our session yesterday afternoon. It was the anti-racism workshop. I don't even know where to begin. Okay, from the start. I'm having a hard time, because I am trying to put things "nicely," so that you readers don't get all offended. Let me begin by saying that it was very difficult to sit through; very frustrating to be a white male, sitting through it; and even more frustrating because I am Canadian (I'll explain, I hope).
The session was three hours long; but the first thing that was told to us by the presenters was that they usually do a two-and-a-half day seminar and that they wouldn't be providing us with any answers or solutions; just a "glimpse of the complexity of the problem." It started out really fascinatingly and gut-wrenching. The two presenters were male and female, middle-aged. The man was black and urban; the woman was a white farm-girl "from around these parts." Conrad, the man, started out by telling us how his son was wrongfully accused and convicted of murder. After spending three years in state prison, the star witness came forward to say that she had lied and fingered an innocent man. We were not given all the ins and outs and what-have-yous; but Conrad told us that the judge threatened to give the woman 14 years in prison for perjury if she changed her testimony. Courageously enough, or maybe to assuage a troubled conscience, she did change her testimony. Conrad's son was taken from state prison and put in county jail, to await the legal proceedings on the new evidence. Two years later, still in county jail, waiting for results, Conrad's son was murdered.
Conrad then proceeded to tell us that he, too, had been framed by the coppers and convicted on trumped up charges when he was a young man. What had been so disconcerting for him was that he believed that because he truly was innocent, the system would prove that, or at least find it out, and justice would be served in his favour. First his experience, then the murder of his son made him "a very angry black man."
Sharon began to speak, telling us statistics and facts about racism and the history of profiling. She went over the MYTHS of the "oids": caucasoid, mongoloid, negroid, autraloid. She told us how these were racist distinctions and that DNA blew these categories away. It would have been nice to have some sources because, as far as I know, National Geographic still refers to these distinctions. She asked us if we knew why blacks played basketball better than whites (generally - sorry to Nash) and whites played hockey better (generally - sorry to Iginla). I remembered what this guy Michael Masse had told me once, about how blacks had extra leg muscles, from the evolutionary wonders of adaptation, etc. and that whites had better joint construction for lateral movements. Sharon said those, too, were racial MYTHS, and completely unfounded. The reason why blacks play basketball better, she said, was because of the availability of it in inner-cities and urban areas. And the reason why Canadian farm boys play hockey better is because it is simply more common for Canadian farm boys to play hockey. Okay, I thought; I am learning new things; this is interesting. I remember talking with KP many times about the genetic divisions, about how Indo-Canadians are caucasoids, sharing the DNA with whities. So, I found it very interesting to see the anti-racist people throwing these distinctions out entirely.
They also threw out the concept of "race." They gave us a history of the exploration of the "unknown world" by the Euros and told us about the measuring, the class definitions, the skin charts, etc. Their overwhelming point was that these explorers were all racist bigots who only had to address the question of the humanity of "people of colour" when people of colour started being Christians. I wanted to ask if all of this "exploration" was totally racist or if it is just as "primitive" as using leeches for medicine, like they did at that time. I was NOT about to ask, though, for several reasons. First, racism is serious business; especially in America. Second, the opening stories kind of set the tone of not questioning anything they were telling us. What I thought was interesting, as well as extremely frustrating was how they kept coming back to how the white person cannot enter into the discussion of healing or reconciliation because they are white. Again, my friend, Anne, (she's as boisterous as me and together we throw them 'Mericans for a real loop) and I wanted to ask why whites couldn't enter in, especially when their point was that "race" distinctions are false and "race" doesn't even exist as a concept. It seemed a little hipocritical.
OKAY, stop calling me a bigot in your head! I am aware of how white America treat(ed) black america, so I realise there are certain tensions. Just hear me out....
Sharon was giving facts about how racist Canada is, too. Now, I have no doubt about the real issues of racism in Canada - but the pair NEVER once mentioned either the Native American Indian or the Canadian First Nations. They only ever talked about white vs. black. So, when Sharon was giving her "facts" about Canada, she said "Canada, in 1792, issued a decree that negroes could be brought as property, into Canada." She also cited "studies" done in Toronto, about how 1 in 10 white kids in school were in the slower classes, but 1 in 5 black kids were. On the break, I went up to Sharon and said this: "I am very much aware that racism is alive and prevalent in Canada - please know that I am not saying it is not a problem there. But facts are facts, and Canada wasn't a country until 1867; so your statistic would be referring to the British Empire." When I told her that the British started the slave trade and ended it, I told her about wee Willy Wilburforce and she hadn't heard of him! I also suggested that the Toronto studies may be as a result of immigration. I remember my friend, Marvin, from Stratford, who was an immigrant from Jamaica and he was put in the slow class because he had a hard time understanding our fast speech, had a difficult time with our pretty advanced educational system. So, I said, it could be because of bigotry, or there could be other factors that the "statistic" does not take into account.
Well, she certainly didn't like that. She told me that I needed to be more sensitive. I told her that I am sensitive to racism, but that racism in Canada takes on different forms than it does in the States; and, for example, Canada has been much crueler and racist to the aboriginal community than that black community, which is all they were talking about. She was so offended and said again that I can't even talk about it because I am not sensitive and, in fact, I do not have the ground knowledge to even discuss this with her. SERIOUSLY FOLKS. So, I told her, politely, that she didn't know me - that she had told us she was a farm girl from these parts; but she had no idea where I was from, what I have seen or experienced, so she might want to listen to me as an equal.
Anne and a fellow Canadian man, Clarke, tried as well to explain to Sharon that although we are not denying racism, it is a different kettle of fish in CAnada - has different manifestations. The three of us, eventually walked away from a square-jawed Sharon and I explained to them the mystery of the pippie. The pippie makes issues so big that to even talk about them is impossible because they are enlightened and we are insensitive. If you've ever met pippies, you know EXACTLY what I mean.
Okay, break over. The next part of the session was talking about the systemic causes and not the individual causes. One example, given by Conrad, was how a bunch of insult-slanging Kluxers aren't nearly as racist as Texaco a couple of years back, who refused to promote people of colour even though they were qualified. A class-action law suit ensued.
When someone brought up systemic solution and wanted to discuss it, the presenters made a very firm point that we are in no place to even discuss with them because we didn't have the groundwork necessary to dialogue with them. We need to just listen to them because we haven't taken the two-and-a-half day course and we don't have a common language, so all we would do is "speak past them." Then they say, "any questions"? Like that makes any sense!
Well, a couple of super sweet Canadian ladies, who didn't know all the ins and outs of being black in America (and why should they) asked questions about political correctedness and how it seems to becoming more difficult to even talk about the issues because people are offended at the words used or not used. As a Canadian, their questioning comments made perfect sense. Julie asked Conrad, "how are we supposed to speak"? Upon which he went into such a tirade about how racist it is to worry about the words! Talk about confusion! First they say we don't have the common language, so we can't even talk to them about it - then they get mad when asked how we should address it. Being the sensitive dude that I am, and liking Julie and Eve very much I attempted to clarify to Conrad what they meant. He was very rude and made a melodramatic point of shaking my hand and saying "I don't say, 'hey white guy,' so why would you call me black"? I was pretty annoyed and not ready to back down.
First off, he does say "white guy" like crazy. He made SO many racist jokes about whites and blacks, et al. but because he's black, it's fine. As a white person, I can't say anything to him. Anne tried to come to my rescue by saying that she feels like her hands are tied because she's white. She said she has experienced systemic discrimination because she's female, so does that give her some leeway to enter the forum? She then said that she feels bad for white men because no matter what, we're wrong. Conrad wasn't done with me, yet and was going off about how I cannot individually respond because there is not a systemic change happening, so my individuality is useless.
Well, as Paul Simon says, "I've got that ace in the hole." I looked him straight in the eye and said "I don't want to be part of your systemic change because I'm canadian and so are these three women and we want to be a part of the systemic change in Canada. I am here to learn and ask questions, which you keep getting offended over - but I'm CANADIAN and don't share the same issues. So, yes, I can speak, I can offer my perspective and I can ask for others because I don't even want to be a part of change in America." Then I said to everyone in the room, "I DON'T EVEN CARE ABOUT AMERICA; IF ANYTHING I SHOULD CARE ABOUT CANADA. I CANNOT BE APART OF SYSTEMIC CHANGE, SO BECAUSE I'M WHITE, DON'T LUMP ME IN WITH THE REST OF WHITE AMERICA. IT DOESN'T APPLY!"
You know that pissed him off in a whole new way. Listen my dear readers, I am not trying to be a prick or cause problems or be a bigot. here's the deal: I am totally judged and assumptions were made of me and each of the three women because we're white. They assumed we were American and assumed we were totally incapable of carrying on a conversation about systemic racism. I'm not calling all of America ignorant - it's not about that; but I have noticed that Canadians are pretty up on our knowledge of general things. In fact it was me who told the group about Jim Crow laws when we were brainstorming about racism key-words- some of the Americans didn't know and heard it from ME!
Anyway, for the next half-hour there was TENSION and defensive talk, where we Canadians were trying to express that racism is real in Canada but different, and the presenters kept telling us that we can't even talk about it because "we don't have the background."
So, then, I was really interested in this dude's perspective about Dave Chappelle. So, I mustered up the words, "What do you think of what Dave Chappelle is doing"? Okay, a bomb went off in this dude's head. He said that I was unwittingly racist for even asking the question. He said "do you know what bothers me about white people? They watch Dave Chappelle, think it's funny, then think they can laugh." I was not intimidated by him, although I was totally frustrated. What I thought was interesting was the only ones asking questions and attempting to enter dialogue were Canadians. The Americans just sat there, looking straight ahead, not saying boo.
Let me get this straight. Race doesn't exist. But I'm white, so I cannot enter into the dialogue. And because I'm white I cannot watch Dave Chappelle. But race doesn't exist.
It makes me think of Ephesians 3. Jesus Messiah broke the dividing wall and made Jews and Gentiles one. Jesus gave us ACCESS together. But this anti-racism session was so busy making the problem so big and complex that they made the problem insurrmountable.
Finally, this guy from Paraguay, named Korny, put up his hand and said "all we've been talking about for the past two-and-a-half hours is the problem. Can you offer us any solutions?" Conrad and Sharon were still all ruffled and upset and said that they weren't here to offer any solutions, just to explain a "glimpse" of the problem. Then good ol' Korny, in his total Low-German accent, said, "Well, can you offer us a 'glimpse' of the solution"? At that point, Conrad stormed over to the flip chart and pointed at the words 'systemic problems' and said that the solution is "individual change plus sytemic change equals the solution."
Oh, so now individuals do have a voice and do matter. Just not white people?
In Canada, or at least in BC, I have come to recognise the pattern that it is uncool to bitch unredemptively. So, I found it very hard to be continually blasted with how the white man is a sonofabitch but there was no redemptiveness at all. I REALISE THAT RACISM IS HUGE AND COMPLEX AND CANNOT BE SOLVED IN A THREE-HOUR SESSION. IF YOU ARE CAUGHT UP IN THAT, THEN YOU ARE MISUNDERSTANDING ME. What I am saying is that as Canadians, we can learn principles to take with us; but
My friend Anne, looking over my shoulder wants to add that in that room, there was a movement of the Spirit, which was present and there were a number of people (mostly internationals), who were ready to take the issue deeper and really learn and interact; but this movement was stopped dead in its tracks because the presenters could not stray from their own agenda. Anne believes that the presenter, Conrad, has been so deeply hurt in his experience of racism, that he's not ready to really talk about it with white people. A number of people of colour approached both Anne and I after the session and thanked us for our input. Mari, an hispanic lady said sorry to me (Darren) afterwards. When I asked her why she should say that, she responded that she could clearly see the presenters putting up a brick wall and refusing to engage us. It's not Conrad's message, or what he's saying, it's that he believes he would get hurt in an honest discussion. This is not an assumption, they were actually his words, given to Anne, after the session, outside.
He said to Anne, afterwards, he felt that he needed permission to be honest in order to be safe. But Anne wanted to be honest also and Conrad, who held the position of authority, being the presenter, had the power to be honest; but refused us the same privilege.
WOW, what a tiring afternoon. When I went to my small group to evaluate and discuss, which we do for most sessions, I was talking with Jerry (the 1963 Birmingham civil rights guy), asking him what he thought, being virtually an expert of anti-racism himself. He said that he usually hates and avoids all kinds of anti-racism seminars and dreaded this one because they get so polemical. Then he said that this was the least polemical session on anti-racism he's been a part of. He said that he felt the presenters were well educated in their topic and knew what they were talking about.
Yes, of course they knew what they were talking about; I just wish they'd have let us enter in and participate. It's really frustrating and draining to be talked at, not with. And to be prejudged MYSELF because I'm white (even though I'm canadian and my skin colour is a moot point when it comes to racism in the UNITED STATES). The very discounting of "race" or "racial categorisation" by the presenters of people of colour was APPLIED to us as white folks. Sure, maybe they tried to piss us all off so that we could feel a taste of what they felt. I just think there's more effective ways to get the point accross.
Bottom line? I don't think that one needs to be filled with knowledge to love. I don't think I need to have a common language to be able to help heal. And I am NOT convinced that the idea of seeking a common language FIRST before entering into dialogue is practical or even possible. The common language is love, forgiveness, compassion; not statistics and loaded terms.
On a lighter note, we were talking about Gender in another session and Anne and I were talking quietly about how gender, these days, goes beyond male and female. There are real-live transgendered and transsexual people; so Anne raised the point that it may be helpful for Christians learning about "gender" to also include discussion about these valid and real humans. The sweet mennonite lady had no idea what to do with that and totally dismissed Anne, which bothered her. You have to understand that Anne and I have the exact same Meyers-Briggs personality and the same enneagram type so you can picture the two of us together! Two times the fun! She turns to me and says "dismissed," rather funnily, then leaned in and said "I'm dying to stand up and say that I am a gay man trapped in a woman's body." Man, I lost it; I started giggling so bad I had to leave the room; I was scared I was going to involuntarily fart!
The two of us together have had so much fun that several Americans have approached some of the other Canadians commenting that were "supposed to be Canadian!" HA HA HA
Well, if you made it this far, then you deserve to hear the words, well done, and I love you (to whom this applies).
D BLOCK OUT
Here are some ramblings for your reading pleasure.
Tonight our group went to Nav Jiwan Tea Room, at the MCC Ten Thousand Villages store, somewhere out here in America. I am telling you, the food was incredible. There is something sooo good about jasmine in a dish. There were five or six different dishes from different countries: South Africa, Cameroon, Mexico, China, India.... I didn't eat the meat dishes, but the vegetable ones made my taste buds explode.
While bumming around the store, before dinner, looking at $4000.00 rugs and $250.00 chess tables, I actually had a game on one of them with an Ache, Indonesia-bound dude named Matt. He's a really good guy, even though he beat me in chess. We were a couple of minutes late for dinner because I was dying slowly, so when we went in, there was a back-table available. I was glad to have it because it was the low-table deal, where you sit on the big pillows and feel all cultural. After half an hour, though, my quads were burning good. After we sat down, this kid, Hans, came and sat beside me. Imagine that, some nine-year old thinking I'm cool. He's a really good kid (obviously, he thinks I'm cool). During dinner, conversation went around between the four of us sitting at the table (a South African-bound lady, Valerie, was sitting with us, too). Like always, I brought up music and Matt and I started talking about Wilco. I found that astounding because last week when I was grooving out to the Mermaid Avenue tunes, I remember thinking that I must be the ONLY person at orientation who loves Wilco. matt was telling me that the only Wilco cd he brought was YHF (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, for all you non-wilco folks).
You might think this story sucks; that it has no point; but HEY, most of my stories have no point. That's why I ramble so much - I spend so much time looking for a point. 'So,' you think to yourself, 'why am I wasting my time reading this'? I don't know. Delete me!~ See if I care!
The point is, Wilco is awesome; and like other "w" bands (www.welkinband.com) you might want to check them out (www.wilcoworld.org).
Earlier today, we did the Meyers-Briggs personality deal and I am an ENFP: an Extroverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Perceiver. And the thing that encouraged me, was when I was reading the "key" that goes along with it, one strong characteristic is that ENFP's can do anything they set their mind to, regardless of past experience. That meant a lot to me. Preparing to enter a whole new culture and a whole new deal, I have been feeling a little insecure about what could I possibly offer. Heather, my sister-in-law, was very encouraging to me before I left, countering every single one of my self-debasing statements with "You will do great," kind of encouragments. Thank you Heather, I hold your words dear to me, especially when I'm feeling chawbay chawbay ('useless' in phoenetical Nyanga).
So, now that we've weeded out the people who are bored and feel like I wasted their precious time (just like Wilco does, I feel it's important to alienate your audience to find your true "fans"), I've got a really interesting story about our session yesterday afternoon. It was the anti-racism workshop. I don't even know where to begin. Okay, from the start. I'm having a hard time, because I am trying to put things "nicely," so that you readers don't get all offended. Let me begin by saying that it was very difficult to sit through; very frustrating to be a white male, sitting through it; and even more frustrating because I am Canadian (I'll explain, I hope).
The session was three hours long; but the first thing that was told to us by the presenters was that they usually do a two-and-a-half day seminar and that they wouldn't be providing us with any answers or solutions; just a "glimpse of the complexity of the problem." It started out really fascinatingly and gut-wrenching. The two presenters were male and female, middle-aged. The man was black and urban; the woman was a white farm-girl "from around these parts." Conrad, the man, started out by telling us how his son was wrongfully accused and convicted of murder. After spending three years in state prison, the star witness came forward to say that she had lied and fingered an innocent man. We were not given all the ins and outs and what-have-yous; but Conrad told us that the judge threatened to give the woman 14 years in prison for perjury if she changed her testimony. Courageously enough, or maybe to assuage a troubled conscience, she did change her testimony. Conrad's son was taken from state prison and put in county jail, to await the legal proceedings on the new evidence. Two years later, still in county jail, waiting for results, Conrad's son was murdered.
Conrad then proceeded to tell us that he, too, had been framed by the coppers and convicted on trumped up charges when he was a young man. What had been so disconcerting for him was that he believed that because he truly was innocent, the system would prove that, or at least find it out, and justice would be served in his favour. First his experience, then the murder of his son made him "a very angry black man."
Sharon began to speak, telling us statistics and facts about racism and the history of profiling. She went over the MYTHS of the "oids": caucasoid, mongoloid, negroid, autraloid. She told us how these were racist distinctions and that DNA blew these categories away. It would have been nice to have some sources because, as far as I know, National Geographic still refers to these distinctions. She asked us if we knew why blacks played basketball better than whites (generally - sorry to Nash) and whites played hockey better (generally - sorry to Iginla). I remembered what this guy Michael Masse had told me once, about how blacks had extra leg muscles, from the evolutionary wonders of adaptation, etc. and that whites had better joint construction for lateral movements. Sharon said those, too, were racial MYTHS, and completely unfounded. The reason why blacks play basketball better, she said, was because of the availability of it in inner-cities and urban areas. And the reason why Canadian farm boys play hockey better is because it is simply more common for Canadian farm boys to play hockey. Okay, I thought; I am learning new things; this is interesting. I remember talking with KP many times about the genetic divisions, about how Indo-Canadians are caucasoids, sharing the DNA with whities. So, I found it very interesting to see the anti-racist people throwing these distinctions out entirely.
They also threw out the concept of "race." They gave us a history of the exploration of the "unknown world" by the Euros and told us about the measuring, the class definitions, the skin charts, etc. Their overwhelming point was that these explorers were all racist bigots who only had to address the question of the humanity of "people of colour" when people of colour started being Christians. I wanted to ask if all of this "exploration" was totally racist or if it is just as "primitive" as using leeches for medicine, like they did at that time. I was NOT about to ask, though, for several reasons. First, racism is serious business; especially in America. Second, the opening stories kind of set the tone of not questioning anything they were telling us. What I thought was interesting, as well as extremely frustrating was how they kept coming back to how the white person cannot enter into the discussion of healing or reconciliation because they are white. Again, my friend, Anne, (she's as boisterous as me and together we throw them 'Mericans for a real loop) and I wanted to ask why whites couldn't enter in, especially when their point was that "race" distinctions are false and "race" doesn't even exist as a concept. It seemed a little hipocritical.
OKAY, stop calling me a bigot in your head! I am aware of how white America treat(ed) black america, so I realise there are certain tensions. Just hear me out....
Sharon was giving facts about how racist Canada is, too. Now, I have no doubt about the real issues of racism in Canada - but the pair NEVER once mentioned either the Native American Indian or the Canadian First Nations. They only ever talked about white vs. black. So, when Sharon was giving her "facts" about Canada, she said "Canada, in 1792, issued a decree that negroes could be brought as property, into Canada." She also cited "studies" done in Toronto, about how 1 in 10 white kids in school were in the slower classes, but 1 in 5 black kids were. On the break, I went up to Sharon and said this: "I am very much aware that racism is alive and prevalent in Canada - please know that I am not saying it is not a problem there. But facts are facts, and Canada wasn't a country until 1867; so your statistic would be referring to the British Empire." When I told her that the British started the slave trade and ended it, I told her about wee Willy Wilburforce and she hadn't heard of him! I also suggested that the Toronto studies may be as a result of immigration. I remember my friend, Marvin, from Stratford, who was an immigrant from Jamaica and he was put in the slow class because he had a hard time understanding our fast speech, had a difficult time with our pretty advanced educational system. So, I said, it could be because of bigotry, or there could be other factors that the "statistic" does not take into account.
Well, she certainly didn't like that. She told me that I needed to be more sensitive. I told her that I am sensitive to racism, but that racism in Canada takes on different forms than it does in the States; and, for example, Canada has been much crueler and racist to the aboriginal community than that black community, which is all they were talking about. She was so offended and said again that I can't even talk about it because I am not sensitive and, in fact, I do not have the ground knowledge to even discuss this with her. SERIOUSLY FOLKS. So, I told her, politely, that she didn't know me - that she had told us she was a farm girl from these parts; but she had no idea where I was from, what I have seen or experienced, so she might want to listen to me as an equal.
Anne and a fellow Canadian man, Clarke, tried as well to explain to Sharon that although we are not denying racism, it is a different kettle of fish in CAnada - has different manifestations. The three of us, eventually walked away from a square-jawed Sharon and I explained to them the mystery of the pippie. The pippie makes issues so big that to even talk about them is impossible because they are enlightened and we are insensitive. If you've ever met pippies, you know EXACTLY what I mean.
Okay, break over. The next part of the session was talking about the systemic causes and not the individual causes. One example, given by Conrad, was how a bunch of insult-slanging Kluxers aren't nearly as racist as Texaco a couple of years back, who refused to promote people of colour even though they were qualified. A class-action law suit ensued.
When someone brought up systemic solution and wanted to discuss it, the presenters made a very firm point that we are in no place to even discuss with them because we didn't have the groundwork necessary to dialogue with them. We need to just listen to them because we haven't taken the two-and-a-half day course and we don't have a common language, so all we would do is "speak past them." Then they say, "any questions"? Like that makes any sense!
Well, a couple of super sweet Canadian ladies, who didn't know all the ins and outs of being black in America (and why should they) asked questions about political correctedness and how it seems to becoming more difficult to even talk about the issues because people are offended at the words used or not used. As a Canadian, their questioning comments made perfect sense. Julie asked Conrad, "how are we supposed to speak"? Upon which he went into such a tirade about how racist it is to worry about the words! Talk about confusion! First they say we don't have the common language, so we can't even talk to them about it - then they get mad when asked how we should address it. Being the sensitive dude that I am, and liking Julie and Eve very much I attempted to clarify to Conrad what they meant. He was very rude and made a melodramatic point of shaking my hand and saying "I don't say, 'hey white guy,' so why would you call me black"? I was pretty annoyed and not ready to back down.
First off, he does say "white guy" like crazy. He made SO many racist jokes about whites and blacks, et al. but because he's black, it's fine. As a white person, I can't say anything to him. Anne tried to come to my rescue by saying that she feels like her hands are tied because she's white. She said she has experienced systemic discrimination because she's female, so does that give her some leeway to enter the forum? She then said that she feels bad for white men because no matter what, we're wrong. Conrad wasn't done with me, yet and was going off about how I cannot individually respond because there is not a systemic change happening, so my individuality is useless.
Well, as Paul Simon says, "I've got that ace in the hole." I looked him straight in the eye and said "I don't want to be part of your systemic change because I'm canadian and so are these three women and we want to be a part of the systemic change in Canada. I am here to learn and ask questions, which you keep getting offended over - but I'm CANADIAN and don't share the same issues. So, yes, I can speak, I can offer my perspective and I can ask for others because I don't even want to be a part of change in America." Then I said to everyone in the room, "I DON'T EVEN CARE ABOUT AMERICA; IF ANYTHING I SHOULD CARE ABOUT CANADA. I CANNOT BE APART OF SYSTEMIC CHANGE, SO BECAUSE I'M WHITE, DON'T LUMP ME IN WITH THE REST OF WHITE AMERICA. IT DOESN'T APPLY!"
You know that pissed him off in a whole new way. Listen my dear readers, I am not trying to be a prick or cause problems or be a bigot. here's the deal: I am totally judged and assumptions were made of me and each of the three women because we're white. They assumed we were American and assumed we were totally incapable of carrying on a conversation about systemic racism. I'm not calling all of America ignorant - it's not about that; but I have noticed that Canadians are pretty up on our knowledge of general things. In fact it was me who told the group about Jim Crow laws when we were brainstorming about racism key-words- some of the Americans didn't know and heard it from ME!
Anyway, for the next half-hour there was TENSION and defensive talk, where we Canadians were trying to express that racism is real in Canada but different, and the presenters kept telling us that we can't even talk about it because "we don't have the background."
So, then, I was really interested in this dude's perspective about Dave Chappelle. So, I mustered up the words, "What do you think of what Dave Chappelle is doing"? Okay, a bomb went off in this dude's head. He said that I was unwittingly racist for even asking the question. He said "do you know what bothers me about white people? They watch Dave Chappelle, think it's funny, then think they can laugh." I was not intimidated by him, although I was totally frustrated. What I thought was interesting was the only ones asking questions and attempting to enter dialogue were Canadians. The Americans just sat there, looking straight ahead, not saying boo.
Let me get this straight. Race doesn't exist. But I'm white, so I cannot enter into the dialogue. And because I'm white I cannot watch Dave Chappelle. But race doesn't exist.
It makes me think of Ephesians 3. Jesus Messiah broke the dividing wall and made Jews and Gentiles one. Jesus gave us ACCESS together. But this anti-racism session was so busy making the problem so big and complex that they made the problem insurrmountable.
Finally, this guy from Paraguay, named Korny, put up his hand and said "all we've been talking about for the past two-and-a-half hours is the problem. Can you offer us any solutions?" Conrad and Sharon were still all ruffled and upset and said that they weren't here to offer any solutions, just to explain a "glimpse" of the problem. Then good ol' Korny, in his total Low-German accent, said, "Well, can you offer us a 'glimpse' of the solution"? At that point, Conrad stormed over to the flip chart and pointed at the words 'systemic problems' and said that the solution is "individual change plus sytemic change equals the solution."
Oh, so now individuals do have a voice and do matter. Just not white people?
In Canada, or at least in BC, I have come to recognise the pattern that it is uncool to bitch unredemptively. So, I found it very hard to be continually blasted with how the white man is a sonofabitch but there was no redemptiveness at all. I REALISE THAT RACISM IS HUGE AND COMPLEX AND CANNOT BE SOLVED IN A THREE-HOUR SESSION. IF YOU ARE CAUGHT UP IN THAT, THEN YOU ARE MISUNDERSTANDING ME. What I am saying is that as Canadians, we can learn principles to take with us; but
My friend Anne, looking over my shoulder wants to add that in that room, there was a movement of the Spirit, which was present and there were a number of people (mostly internationals), who were ready to take the issue deeper and really learn and interact; but this movement was stopped dead in its tracks because the presenters could not stray from their own agenda. Anne believes that the presenter, Conrad, has been so deeply hurt in his experience of racism, that he's not ready to really talk about it with white people. A number of people of colour approached both Anne and I after the session and thanked us for our input. Mari, an hispanic lady said sorry to me (Darren) afterwards. When I asked her why she should say that, she responded that she could clearly see the presenters putting up a brick wall and refusing to engage us. It's not Conrad's message, or what he's saying, it's that he believes he would get hurt in an honest discussion. This is not an assumption, they were actually his words, given to Anne, after the session, outside.
He said to Anne, afterwards, he felt that he needed permission to be honest in order to be safe. But Anne wanted to be honest also and Conrad, who held the position of authority, being the presenter, had the power to be honest; but refused us the same privilege.
WOW, what a tiring afternoon. When I went to my small group to evaluate and discuss, which we do for most sessions, I was talking with Jerry (the 1963 Birmingham civil rights guy), asking him what he thought, being virtually an expert of anti-racism himself. He said that he usually hates and avoids all kinds of anti-racism seminars and dreaded this one because they get so polemical. Then he said that this was the least polemical session on anti-racism he's been a part of. He said that he felt the presenters were well educated in their topic and knew what they were talking about.
Yes, of course they knew what they were talking about; I just wish they'd have let us enter in and participate. It's really frustrating and draining to be talked at, not with. And to be prejudged MYSELF because I'm white (even though I'm canadian and my skin colour is a moot point when it comes to racism in the UNITED STATES). The very discounting of "race" or "racial categorisation" by the presenters of people of colour was APPLIED to us as white folks. Sure, maybe they tried to piss us all off so that we could feel a taste of what they felt. I just think there's more effective ways to get the point accross.
Bottom line? I don't think that one needs to be filled with knowledge to love. I don't think I need to have a common language to be able to help heal. And I am NOT convinced that the idea of seeking a common language FIRST before entering into dialogue is practical or even possible. The common language is love, forgiveness, compassion; not statistics and loaded terms.
On a lighter note, we were talking about Gender in another session and Anne and I were talking quietly about how gender, these days, goes beyond male and female. There are real-live transgendered and transsexual people; so Anne raised the point that it may be helpful for Christians learning about "gender" to also include discussion about these valid and real humans. The sweet mennonite lady had no idea what to do with that and totally dismissed Anne, which bothered her. You have to understand that Anne and I have the exact same Meyers-Briggs personality and the same enneagram type so you can picture the two of us together! Two times the fun! She turns to me and says "dismissed," rather funnily, then leaned in and said "I'm dying to stand up and say that I am a gay man trapped in a woman's body." Man, I lost it; I started giggling so bad I had to leave the room; I was scared I was going to involuntarily fart!
The two of us together have had so much fun that several Americans have approached some of the other Canadians commenting that were "supposed to be Canadian!" HA HA HA
Well, if you made it this far, then you deserve to hear the words, well done, and I love you (to whom this applies).
D BLOCK OUT
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