Posts
[submitted as op-ed for class]
It is not, in my opinion, a tragedy that we have not gotten around to building a monument at the site of the Twin Towers, even if it has been now over five years since the attacks. It is not only the recent discovery of additional human remains at the site that leads me to say so.
Nor is the “bickering,” as Reuters puts it (October 26) over funding, security issues, and design, which has delayed plans, terribly troubling to me. I say this, because I believe it is good not to build permanent memorials too soon.
Building a memorial is a process of reconciliation; it is a ritual of choosing how we will remember what has happened, and how we will move forward faithfully. Bob Schreiter, an expert in the field of post-conflict reconciliation, teaches that we cannot start the process of reconciliation until the violence stops. Right now the violence is far worse than it was five years ago. Our soldiers continue to come home in boxes, and the Middle East continues to bleed. Our war is not yet over. And, our internal battles about the war we are waging outside are not over, either.
Right now, we are still concerned about how we will win. Or, if that moment has passed for some, how we can exit this mess without losing face any more than we have. However, we haven't talked quite as much as how we will live with our neighbors into the future. We cannot eradicate our 'enemies,' and our attempts to do so only increase the number of real threats that we have. In reality, they will still be here, and so will we. Yet, 'winning,' and 'losing,' are not the vocabulary of a hopeful future life together. For this we have to look beyond our present discourse.
We have spoken these past five years of the desire for and importance of freedom. The old theological question asks, 'freedom from what, and for what?' We would like to be free from fear, and free from pain. We say we want to be free to live our lives. Granted, for most of us in this country, the particulars of our daily lives have returned to normal.
Yet what kind of lives do we seek to lead? How shall we move forward in a way that does not neglect our dead, but does not entrench us in hatred? Knowing we cannot return to the times before, how will we learn to allow life to continue?
I believe that a monument built too soon, even if it is to be called the 'Freedom Tower,' will imprison us in our own shortsightedness. We may find ourselves stuck forever in the language of 'The evilness of Them and the purity of Us.' A monument built too soon may simply become a national sore spot, regardless of design; over unresolved divisions, or even holding us hostage to one narrow way of remembering this recent and still unfolding history.
Before we progress with this monument, I suggest we need a little freedom from the emotions of the moment; a freedom to look forward toward the kind of world we want our children to have. I believe this is a life not mired in unending war and cycles of revenge.
How then do we best memorialize such an event? How do we mourn our dead, set our eyes forward, and speak hope into the future? I believe the path that will bring authentic freedom for us will be one that acknowledges our own human capacity for evil, and the Other's human capacity for good. It will be the one that affirms the universal desire for peace and works for systematic justice; a path that offers safety and security to the Other as well as for us. These are the foundation on which reconciliation is built.
To do reconciliation on a national scale, requires a national will. It takes time to develop another way of remembering, one that recognizes the full humanity of the Other, beyond the moments of injury which have been done to us. We are not there yet. We have not entered a spirit for rebuilding and restoring. In our public discourse and in our military actions, we are still fueling the fires of war.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Why Still Go to Iran?
I received a tempting invitation this afternoon, to join one of the peace delegations being organized to Iran. I’d go in a heartbeat, although I might check that by my professors expecting me to be in class certain times of the year. And it takes some work to do the fundraising, this also is true. Still, Iran has been a destination important to me these past few years, since Bush labeled it part of the Axis of Evil. (And let us not forget North Korea; but I’ve only seen a trip to the South. And my Persian is better than my Korean, but I digress).
I have been thinking of the amount of time it took for us to build up to a war with Iraq; after we took relatively little time to build up to a war in Afghanistan. Would our nation dare try to invade yet another country, Iran or North Korea? Is there enough time left in Bush’s term for him to take such a step? Would he try?
I want to say Bush couldn't pull it off anymore, but I also don’t want to get too comfortable. And sometimes I wonder if the current scandals in the Republican party are taking up the energy they would have put towards sending us into another war. And then sometimes even yet I wonder those scandals and the party’s weaknesses are all that are holding us back from more war.
What though, is our duty in preventing another war, which perhaps may never come? I wonder if we are not a tired peace movement that needs more excitement in order to find its adrenaline of three and four years ago. (Lord knows I could use a little adrenaline, a little outrage, to fuel my own writing these days…)
I do believe that even in this interim, in the uncertainty, that our work is in building bridges, making connections, revealing the human face of the ‘Other’ to those closer to home and more familiar to us: our neighbors, churches, and schools. There are so few of us with first-hand experience of these countries; it is too easy for us to dismiss these anonymous millions. The peace movement can get busy learning languages, buying plane tickets, making friends, taking pictures, giving presentations, and writing articles. And all the meanwhile pounding down the doors of our lawmakers.
I saw a t-shirt in the Northern Sun catalog (northernsun.com) this past week: “I’m already against the next war.” Indeed, wherever it may be and whenever it may come.
I have been thinking of the amount of time it took for us to build up to a war with Iraq; after we took relatively little time to build up to a war in Afghanistan. Would our nation dare try to invade yet another country, Iran or North Korea? Is there enough time left in Bush’s term for him to take such a step? Would he try?
I want to say Bush couldn't pull it off anymore, but I also don’t want to get too comfortable. And sometimes I wonder if the current scandals in the Republican party are taking up the energy they would have put towards sending us into another war. And then sometimes even yet I wonder those scandals and the party’s weaknesses are all that are holding us back from more war.
What though, is our duty in preventing another war, which perhaps may never come? I wonder if we are not a tired peace movement that needs more excitement in order to find its adrenaline of three and four years ago. (Lord knows I could use a little adrenaline, a little outrage, to fuel my own writing these days…)
I do believe that even in this interim, in the uncertainty, that our work is in building bridges, making connections, revealing the human face of the ‘Other’ to those closer to home and more familiar to us: our neighbors, churches, and schools. There are so few of us with first-hand experience of these countries; it is too easy for us to dismiss these anonymous millions. The peace movement can get busy learning languages, buying plane tickets, making friends, taking pictures, giving presentations, and writing articles. And all the meanwhile pounding down the doors of our lawmakers.
I saw a t-shirt in the Northern Sun catalog (northernsun.com) this past week: “I’m already against the next war.” Indeed, wherever it may be and whenever it may come.
Luxuries We Cannot Afford
By chance, I ran into a dear former professor of mine, on the day his most recent book was published. We had a few moments to catch up; in a few short months we’ve found ourselves in entirely different worlds.
He wondered how I even happened to be in the neighborhood since I was so rarely there anymore; I responded humbly that I was meeting with my own volunteer editor, in hopes of getting my writings from Iraq published. He mentioned that the market may be saturated already.
I wonder if it is. It’s true, I’ve waited a while before pulling things together; although I don’t think anyone’s written anything like mine. Or, perhaps the bigger question is, are we ‘saturated’ with Iraq? Have we heard so much about it we can’t bear to think of it anymore? And can we afford the luxury of not thinking about it anymore?
Recently Rick Ufford-Chase was here to visit, having recently completed his term as Moderator of the Presbyterian Church (PCUSA). He is now director of the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship, and focusing efforts on direct accompaniment human rights work in Colombia, and possibly now the Philippines. He said to us, “Being overwhelmed is a luxury the world cannot afford.” This must remain true for us. As we insulate ourselves further from frustrating news and retreat into our comfortable homes and lives, the world dies around us, often through methods we quietly fund through our own tax dollars.
Jesus told us about the repulsivity of those who were neither hot nor cold but lukewarm: too comfortable to care; disengaged almost entirely.
Bruce Cockburn sings, “When you think you’ve lost the difference between right and wrong, just go down/where the death squads live.”
The death squads are in Iraq now; we helped them to be there. And death squads are all too often a U.S.-originated weapon of choice throughout the world.
He wondered how I even happened to be in the neighborhood since I was so rarely there anymore; I responded humbly that I was meeting with my own volunteer editor, in hopes of getting my writings from Iraq published. He mentioned that the market may be saturated already.
I wonder if it is. It’s true, I’ve waited a while before pulling things together; although I don’t think anyone’s written anything like mine. Or, perhaps the bigger question is, are we ‘saturated’ with Iraq? Have we heard so much about it we can’t bear to think of it anymore? And can we afford the luxury of not thinking about it anymore?
Recently Rick Ufford-Chase was here to visit, having recently completed his term as Moderator of the Presbyterian Church (PCUSA). He is now director of the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship, and focusing efforts on direct accompaniment human rights work in Colombia, and possibly now the Philippines. He said to us, “Being overwhelmed is a luxury the world cannot afford.” This must remain true for us. As we insulate ourselves further from frustrating news and retreat into our comfortable homes and lives, the world dies around us, often through methods we quietly fund through our own tax dollars.
Jesus told us about the repulsivity of those who were neither hot nor cold but lukewarm: too comfortable to care; disengaged almost entirely.
Bruce Cockburn sings, “When you think you’ve lost the difference between right and wrong, just go down/where the death squads live.”
The death squads are in Iraq now; we helped them to be there. And death squads are all too often a U.S.-originated weapon of choice throughout the world.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
"An Entire Army of Potential Terrorists"
The following is excerpted from NPR this past week, on the assassination of Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya. This is a reading of her final article, left unfinished:
http://guide.real.com/dir/news/world/12035075_a_russian_journalist's_final_story.html
The story she was writing is haunting as it is blunt. She was investigating the treatment of suspected Chechen rebels by the Russian government, in images that will strike us as all too familiar in human rights reports covering our own U.S. government's treatment of Arab and Muslim detainees:
"...subject to humiliation of their human dignity,"
"..on basis of their ethnicity; not allowed out of solitary confinement.."
The conclusions she came to should also have a familiar tone for us:
"They have produced more people who wanted to take revenge, i.e., potential terrorists."
"...an entire army that will return to us with warped lives and warped notions."
How often have I heard it said, or even have thought it myself, that our ‘pre-emptive’ tortures are only creating more people with reasons to hate us and seek revenge against us?
Tens of thousands of Iraqi young men, from young teens to retirement aged men, languish in our numerous desert prison camps, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, and beyond. They are subjected to the daily humiliations of prison camp life, and without access to legal representation, judicial processes, or often, even to letting their families know they are still alive, being held months and now years on end (www.cpt.org; www.hrw.org). Tens of thousands of men with very legitimate reasons to hate us…forget the madrasas; we’ve created our own terrorist training camps, enough to keep us in a senseless war for eternity.
http://guide.real.com/dir/news/world/12035075_a_russian_journalist's_final_story.html
The story she was writing is haunting as it is blunt. She was investigating the treatment of suspected Chechen rebels by the Russian government, in images that will strike us as all too familiar in human rights reports covering our own U.S. government's treatment of Arab and Muslim detainees:
"...subject to humiliation of their human dignity,"
"..on basis of their ethnicity; not allowed out of solitary confinement.."
The conclusions she came to should also have a familiar tone for us:
"They have produced more people who wanted to take revenge, i.e., potential terrorists."
"...an entire army that will return to us with warped lives and warped notions."
How often have I heard it said, or even have thought it myself, that our ‘pre-emptive’ tortures are only creating more people with reasons to hate us and seek revenge against us?
Tens of thousands of Iraqi young men, from young teens to retirement aged men, languish in our numerous desert prison camps, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, and beyond. They are subjected to the daily humiliations of prison camp life, and without access to legal representation, judicial processes, or often, even to letting their families know they are still alive, being held months and now years on end (www.cpt.org; www.hrw.org). Tens of thousands of men with very legitimate reasons to hate us…forget the madrasas; we’ve created our own terrorist training camps, enough to keep us in a senseless war for eternity.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
More Marginalized Than Thou
In class tonight, a discussion began on the status of GLBTQ (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, and questioning/queer) people and why they should be concerned about torture, because both groups have experienced humiliation and oppression. I wholeheartedly agree.
At my former school one of our community dynamics was "my marginalization is greater than yours" and we couldn't move forward because we were too busy tearing each other down and competing for space at the table. Faculty and administration were just as guilty as students at playing this go-nowhere game, and it interfered with the dialogue that needed to happen to reduce the margninalization of all groups in that place. I really think the opposite has to happen: I in my marginalization and you in your marginalization now have something in common. Maybe we don't go so far as to 'worship our wounds' (as Dr. Moore would say), but we see the need to work together to restore a more just and reconciled order that recognizes the abundance of room to be.
Similarly, in keeping us activists from burning out, maybe I can't organize on every issue, but 'I can show up to your rally if you show to mine. '
At my former school one of our community dynamics was "my marginalization is greater than yours" and we couldn't move forward because we were too busy tearing each other down and competing for space at the table. Faculty and administration were just as guilty as students at playing this go-nowhere game, and it interfered with the dialogue that needed to happen to reduce the margninalization of all groups in that place. I really think the opposite has to happen: I in my marginalization and you in your marginalization now have something in common. Maybe we don't go so far as to 'worship our wounds' (as Dr. Moore would say), but we see the need to work together to restore a more just and reconciled order that recognizes the abundance of room to be.
Similarly, in keeping us activists from burning out, maybe I can't organize on every issue, but 'I can show up to your rally if you show to mine. '
Monday, October 09, 2006
Torture and Theodicy
(I wrote this tonight after the lecture in my class on Reconciliation at Catholic Theological Union, in which we discussed a common cry of those being tortured or subjected to extreme trauma. The emphasis which must be made is that even the most devout people, when subjected to this kind of suffering, will say that God was not there; not that they merely felt blinded to God's presence. Rather, it is the feeling of being utterly absent, isolated, alone.)
Torture and Theodicy
October 9, 2006
“In the darkest night of torture,
God was not there.”
Where did God go?
It is true, that
Sometimes evil gains the upper hand.
This we cannot deny.
Torn out of homes
Disappeared
In the middle of the night
On every continent
Those to whom we cry,
“Mother!” “Father!”
Are no longer there with us
a comfort
but separated by miles, chains, soldiers, fences, and walls
and the things that happen within.
In that moment,
Evil reigns.
When electrodes are fitted
To the body
Or water forced into lungs
And politely explained away to the public, then
Evil is reigning.
But, not forever.
For even like family
Who, though ripped from us
Still love us;
Even when the fullness of evil
Rips us from God,
Our Mother-Father
Will not stop loving us
Watching, waiting
Holding vigil
Agonizing
In that moment
When we find ourselves utterly alone,
abandoned
Like Christ, the Abandoned One before us
Who cried,
"My God, My God
Why have you forsaken me?"
Alone to die;
and God in God's own despair
tore the Temple curtain
and blocked the sun itself.
Hours of torture until death;
Still this was not the end:
God found a last Word
a restoration
a Resurrection
even if the scars still showed
And so I believe
Even if we are to die
We will be reunited
Even if we share
In the same dreadful Death
As the Tortured Christ
We will be reunited
At the last.
Torture and Theodicy
October 9, 2006
“In the darkest night of torture,
God was not there.”
Where did God go?
It is true, that
Sometimes evil gains the upper hand.
This we cannot deny.
Torn out of homes
Disappeared
In the middle of the night
On every continent
Those to whom we cry,
“Mother!” “Father!”
Are no longer there with us
a comfort
but separated by miles, chains, soldiers, fences, and walls
and the things that happen within.
In that moment,
Evil reigns.
When electrodes are fitted
To the body
Or water forced into lungs
And politely explained away to the public, then
Evil is reigning.
But, not forever.
For even like family
Who, though ripped from us
Still love us;
Even when the fullness of evil
Rips us from God,
Our Mother-Father
Will not stop loving us
Watching, waiting
Holding vigil
Agonizing
In that moment
When we find ourselves utterly alone,
abandoned
Like Christ, the Abandoned One before us
Who cried,
"My God, My God
Why have you forsaken me?"
Alone to die;
and God in God's own despair
tore the Temple curtain
and blocked the sun itself.
Hours of torture until death;
Still this was not the end:
God found a last Word
a restoration
a Resurrection
even if the scars still showed
And so I believe
Even if we are to die
We will be reunited
Even if we share
In the same dreadful Death
As the Tortured Christ
We will be reunited
At the last.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Beyond Theological Tourism
So I came across, and read, the book 'Beyond Theological Tourism,' edited by Dr. Thistlethwaite. I found it exciting, but it also left me a little bit sad.
I was so excited because the premise of the book was that professors and students traveled to several places throughout the world to learn about the troubling realities of our global neighbors, then returned to engage in activism with troubling realities closer to home. After all, it all connects. Folks who witnessed child sex workers overseas came home to work with at the Kovler center for treatment of torture survivors here, or in battered women's shelters, and so on. Then they wrote about the experience. For the time in which it was written, it seems pretty revolutionary.
Still, I said, it made me sad. I wonder if this was not an era of initial enthusiasm in seminary education that already has passed. There seem to be so few opportunities like this available for seminarians on the whole, that are truly affirmed and promoted by the schools. Living among the seminaries in Hyde Park, I know that it is really hard to do say, a semester abroad, and the options available for January terms seem rather limited. It also troubles me that so few students who enter the Hyde Park seminaries actually engage in the realities of the City. Speaking of the six seminaries in this area as a group, it seems that far more often students are shuffled off to 'safe' white neighborhoods in the suburbs to do their practicum work. Meanwhile, most are warned not to explore, let alone set foot in, the distressed neighborhoods surrounding our island of wealth and 'security.' And generally, students need to wait until their second year, a crazy busy year, before the seminaries have programming available to support their entry into cross-cultural ministry settings.
I do take hope in the programs that CTS has, between DEPTH and the Center for Community Transformation (CCT), which certainly attracted me to the campus; although I am a little concerned that I need a PCUSA site to complete my denominational requirements. There is a nearby Presbyterian church, but it's not part of the program, and neither is the Woodlawn neighborhood immediately to our south, which I've spent some time in and really care about. So, dunno, what's a seminarian to do?
And I have to cautiously critique that even for a seminary that markets itself as activist and progressive, we talk a good globalization, social justice talk in the classroom, but beyond the confines of these limited-access programs, it's hard for me to see how students and faculty together are really walking all that talk.
By comparison, the undergraduate Lutheran school I attended had about the same number as all our Hyde Park seminaries combined; our professors in the religion department taught us during the regular terms, supported us in our social justice organizing, and traveled with us on spring break service trips and May Terms alike. And our school had more offerings for May Term cross-cultural immersions than all of these seminaries combined. And our college was not unlike many other private liberal arts colleges across the country; and our lives were no less busy than they are now. Wartburg had an ethos of hands-on servant leadership that seminaries mostly don't seem to quite get, not even my newly beloved CTS.
Meanwhile, I have been working on a project and want to take the next steps. What has been an informal network of friends, (in which I function as I wander the various campuses to introduce as many to each other as possible), could be so much bigger. What if students from all the seminaries here started working together to gain just such an education, globally and locally? What if we as students forged the relationships needed to help us learn from Woodlawn? Or the rest of the world?
www.seminaryaction.org is the site I started last spring, and now that I'm getting settled in at my new school well enough I'm also finding the courage to move it forward. And yes, dear friends, there will also be a student newspaper...
I was so excited because the premise of the book was that professors and students traveled to several places throughout the world to learn about the troubling realities of our global neighbors, then returned to engage in activism with troubling realities closer to home. After all, it all connects. Folks who witnessed child sex workers overseas came home to work with at the Kovler center for treatment of torture survivors here, or in battered women's shelters, and so on. Then they wrote about the experience. For the time in which it was written, it seems pretty revolutionary.
Still, I said, it made me sad. I wonder if this was not an era of initial enthusiasm in seminary education that already has passed. There seem to be so few opportunities like this available for seminarians on the whole, that are truly affirmed and promoted by the schools. Living among the seminaries in Hyde Park, I know that it is really hard to do say, a semester abroad, and the options available for January terms seem rather limited. It also troubles me that so few students who enter the Hyde Park seminaries actually engage in the realities of the City. Speaking of the six seminaries in this area as a group, it seems that far more often students are shuffled off to 'safe' white neighborhoods in the suburbs to do their practicum work. Meanwhile, most are warned not to explore, let alone set foot in, the distressed neighborhoods surrounding our island of wealth and 'security.' And generally, students need to wait until their second year, a crazy busy year, before the seminaries have programming available to support their entry into cross-cultural ministry settings.
I do take hope in the programs that CTS has, between DEPTH and the Center for Community Transformation (CCT), which certainly attracted me to the campus; although I am a little concerned that I need a PCUSA site to complete my denominational requirements. There is a nearby Presbyterian church, but it's not part of the program, and neither is the Woodlawn neighborhood immediately to our south, which I've spent some time in and really care about. So, dunno, what's a seminarian to do?
And I have to cautiously critique that even for a seminary that markets itself as activist and progressive, we talk a good globalization, social justice talk in the classroom, but beyond the confines of these limited-access programs, it's hard for me to see how students and faculty together are really walking all that talk.
By comparison, the undergraduate Lutheran school I attended had about the same number as all our Hyde Park seminaries combined; our professors in the religion department taught us during the regular terms, supported us in our social justice organizing, and traveled with us on spring break service trips and May Terms alike. And our school had more offerings for May Term cross-cultural immersions than all of these seminaries combined. And our college was not unlike many other private liberal arts colleges across the country; and our lives were no less busy than they are now. Wartburg had an ethos of hands-on servant leadership that seminaries mostly don't seem to quite get, not even my newly beloved CTS.
Meanwhile, I have been working on a project and want to take the next steps. What has been an informal network of friends, (in which I function as I wander the various campuses to introduce as many to each other as possible), could be so much bigger. What if students from all the seminaries here started working together to gain just such an education, globally and locally? What if we as students forged the relationships needed to help us learn from Woodlawn? Or the rest of the world?
www.seminaryaction.org is the site I started last spring, and now that I'm getting settled in at my new school well enough I'm also finding the courage to move it forward. And yes, dear friends, there will also be a student newspaper...
The Practice of Enemy-Loving
A friend posed the question of what loving one's enemies meant in the context of human rights violations, or abuses of any kind.
I struggle with this issue incredibly. In fact, I do in the more painful parts of my life have a few enemies that I continue to try and figure out how to deal with.
But, at this moment, this is where I am:
Remember the bumper sticker that says, "When Jesus said, 'Love your enemies,' I think he probably meant don't kill them." (It's a good song well capitalized on by the Quakers--the FCNL has come out with some of the best peace paraphernalia lately anyway)
but I digress. I got to thinking:
I cannot say 'I love you' and kill you.
I cannot say 'I love you' and seek vengeance against you.
I cannot say 'I love you' and seek to destroy your life.
I cannot say 'I love you' and seek dominance over you.
However,
I can say 'I love you' and report you.
I can say 'I love you' and ask you to be accountable for your actions.
I can say 'I love you' and that I will not be silent.
I can say 'I love you' and seek your transformation, and mine, past the injury into a more hopeful future--even if I cannot in my current hurt imagine what that future may be.
I struggle with this issue incredibly. In fact, I do in the more painful parts of my life have a few enemies that I continue to try and figure out how to deal with.
But, at this moment, this is where I am:
Remember the bumper sticker that says, "When Jesus said, 'Love your enemies,' I think he probably meant don't kill them." (It's a good song well capitalized on by the Quakers--the FCNL has come out with some of the best peace paraphernalia lately anyway)
but I digress. I got to thinking:
I cannot say 'I love you' and kill you.
I cannot say 'I love you' and seek vengeance against you.
I cannot say 'I love you' and seek to destroy your life.
I cannot say 'I love you' and seek dominance over you.
However,
I can say 'I love you' and report you.
I can say 'I love you' and ask you to be accountable for your actions.
I can say 'I love you' and that I will not be silent.
I can say 'I love you' and seek your transformation, and mine, past the injury into a more hopeful future--even if I cannot in my current hurt imagine what that future may be.
On coping with an atmosphere of torture
Our professor asked me this week how I was coping in my classes, just after I said I spent half my week absorbed in the study of torture and its impact on the human psyche. Three of my five classes address the issue: Ministry to Survivors of Human Rights Abuses; Reconciliation (these two at Catholic Theological Union) and Public Theology at CTS, through which I now try to blog intelligently and more frequently.
I answered partially, by saying that to cope with the intensity of this ongoing discussion, I have invested far more time in my friendships and connections with others. These images and stories are not ones to be left with in isolation. This makes a certain amount of sense; since torture is all about the destructive power of isolation.
The other two classes I'm in, on pastoral care and counseling, do much to keep me going through the semester. I think in any good pastoral care class, or any good counseling class, even a little healing will rub off on you in the course of study.
I also write. I've been writing volumes ever since I went to Palestine, if only to keep experiences from playing continuously in my mind. And also to remind myself of the good, all the beautiful experiences in between moments of grisly human rights abuses.
'Secondary trauma is a phenomenon only recently discussed among aid workers and activists who work in places of intense suffering. A few short years ago, the belief was if you had enough faith, you could get through it; and to need treatment for PTSD, or even breaks for your own balance, was a sign of weakness. While this attitude still persists in places, I am glad for the change.
I've been aware for a while now, that I may not be able to go back to direct human rights work for much longer in the future. I may well have absorbed enough in the four years I was doing it--and there was a lot. Recruiting for more new human rights workers is getting easier in our global society; however, I think there is a severe need for pastoral caregivers attending especially to the workers in these places--trained in PTSD treatment as well as spiritual counseling. I notice the stirrings of energy and vision for this type of work; energy that I find hard to muster in many other situations. And this, really, is how I cope.
I answered partially, by saying that to cope with the intensity of this ongoing discussion, I have invested far more time in my friendships and connections with others. These images and stories are not ones to be left with in isolation. This makes a certain amount of sense; since torture is all about the destructive power of isolation.
The other two classes I'm in, on pastoral care and counseling, do much to keep me going through the semester. I think in any good pastoral care class, or any good counseling class, even a little healing will rub off on you in the course of study.
I also write. I've been writing volumes ever since I went to Palestine, if only to keep experiences from playing continuously in my mind. And also to remind myself of the good, all the beautiful experiences in between moments of grisly human rights abuses.
'Secondary trauma is a phenomenon only recently discussed among aid workers and activists who work in places of intense suffering. A few short years ago, the belief was if you had enough faith, you could get through it; and to need treatment for PTSD, or even breaks for your own balance, was a sign of weakness. While this attitude still persists in places, I am glad for the change.
I've been aware for a while now, that I may not be able to go back to direct human rights work for much longer in the future. I may well have absorbed enough in the four years I was doing it--and there was a lot. Recruiting for more new human rights workers is getting easier in our global society; however, I think there is a severe need for pastoral caregivers attending especially to the workers in these places--trained in PTSD treatment as well as spiritual counseling. I notice the stirrings of energy and vision for this type of work; energy that I find hard to muster in many other situations. And this, really, is how I cope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)