I have heard plenty of people criticize the usefulness of church-wide gatherings and conferences. "They´re just wastes of time," people will say. "People either don´t listen and just go to schmooze and eat catered food, or else they get really excited about new ideas and then not do anything."
I would love to show these skeptics life at Nuestro Salvador in Montevideo after the Vida y Misión Assembly a few weeks ago. Two of the congregants, Juan and Daniela, went to Buenos Aires for the gathering, as did Pastora Wilma, KD, and I. We all had our moments of excitement connected with the asamblea: KD and I got to see our fellow YAGMs for the first time in 2 months, Wilma got to lead one of the small groups and spend time with friends from seminary, and Juan y Daniela had huge "aHA" moments about their role as laypeople in the congregation.
The good times I had with the rest of the group at asamblea are just not that important compared to Juan and Daniela´s epiphanies. Even my "arrival" moment, culturally and linguistically, where at least 2 people in my small group thought I was Uruguayan until I gave my personal faith story and had no problems at all conversing, listening, and even sharing a story with a group, is small potatoes.
One of the big struggles that I´d noticed during my first few months here in Montevideo was the level of work Wilma´s been bearing as the pastor. All church programming was her responsibility - Bible studies, workshops, visitation, mission activities, Sunday worship - everything. People in the congregation seemed to recognize that isn´t the ideal model of church life, the pastor in the center of everything and the congregants just sort of attending, but also seemed reluctant to take on any of her roles. Enter the assembly and the theme of mayordomía, the good stewardship of the gifts we have, those things we can contribute to the life of the kingdom. Juan and Daniela took in the message like sponges.
I´ve been helping out some with the Wednesday evening Old Testament Bible Study since getting here, and on the Wednesday after the assembly, I had my first solo flight with leading the Bible Study as Wilma wasn´t able to make it. We only had a little bit of text to work with, so we decided to do a brief Bible study and then talk about the assembly, since Juan and Daniela were both present and VERY excited to share. I was blown away; everything they said was everything that I´d noticed, that KD had noticed, and that Wilma had, once or twice, verbally expressed frustration over. Juan talked about how the assembly helped him recognize that being a layperson didn´t disqualify him from serving God in the church context; he was particularly taken with Luther´s quote about how a mother changing her baby´s diaper is serving God as much or more than a monk praying in a monastery. Daniela, meanwhile, had an arm-long list of things that could be done to boost member involvement in church programming. She proposed, and has seen realized, a series of workshops to equip the congregation to perform visitation ministry (a vital need at Nuestro Salvador, as there are many "shut-ins" among the older members of the chuch and several other people in need of hospital visitation) and to learn more about the liturgy, worship, and what to do if Wilma can´t be there on a Sunday.
The two of them have also re-ignited the children´s ministry that the church used to have. Juan and his wife, Eva, have several grandchildren living in the city, and Daniela has 2 little nephews here, and accordingly, both of them have been eager to see something come about to provide the kids with Bible/Christian education. Well, Juan and Eva volunteered their house as a meeting place, and last Friday we had our official first children´s time since I´ve been here. It went magnificently; Eva provided the snacks, we put on some VeggieTales en español, and the kids ALL participated, ranging from 4 year old Alejandra, the daughter of our neighbors in the church building (Carlos and Carla) to the oldest of the grandkids present, who is 11-ish. It was beautiful.
The next day, another green bud sprouted on the branch as things at Misión San Juan took a much-needed turn for the better. Wilma had another commitment, so it was up to me to go out to El Cerro, a poorer neighborhood on the other side of the city, and hope/pray that kids would show up. There have been all kinds of problems connected with the ministry in El Cerro since we´ve been here - rumors that after Meredith´s (last year´s YAGM volunteer here) departure the program wouldn´t continue, a rumor about nepotism in the church (completely unfounded), and the cultural reality of people in Montevideo not wanting to go out in the rain or leave the beach/soccer pitch when it´s sunny. In 7 weeks, we´d have one time with the kids. I was not optimistic on the bus ride out, and I was not optimistic when I got to the house which is home to the mission, only to find that no one was home. That, though, changed - Gladis and her daughter were just a little late in getting back from a medical appointment - and then the waiting game began...would any kids show up, other than Gladis´ grandson, Federico?
That answer was, for an incredible change, YES. Only one, but it is a sign of life. Nicolas decided to come, as did several of the mothers in the community (the mission has a children´s program and also one for mothers). The kids and I read a little bit of a Bible story (I´m working my way through the story of Gideon with them), then drew for a little while, and then wrapped up with some fútbol...soccer for you estadounidenses. It was great fun, and more than that, proof of life in a mission that I´d thought was on its deathbed. It may be premature to assume that things at San Juan will be back to the rollicking salad days of last year with 10-15 kids every Saturday, but where there is God, there is life and hope. Take THAT all you workshop cynics!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
It is, once again, time to ponder the eternal mysteries that pour forth from the mind of Franklin Ishida. This month´s theme has already been touched upon somewhat in prior entries, but today´s purpose is to bring in the faith dynamic - where is God in the midst of my estadounidense mind struggles? BTW, has anyone else noticed the "dense" in "estadounidense" before? Canadian friends, feel free to make a joke here.
Saying that reading the Bible is dangerous to insular, oft-imperialistic North American thought is an understatement. If there is any other text out there in the world that comes down so hard on capitalism, multinational corporations, imperialism, self-centered thinking, reckless individualism, and pork rinds as the Bible, I have yet to encounter it. Of course, the grand irony is how often the Bible is used to justify those things.
This, however, is not going to be a claws-out assault on biblical misuse or the imposition of one´s politics upon the Bible, forming it to be what you want it to be. After all, that just perpetuates a cycle of scripture wars and hard feelings, which is as counterproductive a thing as there can be. Rather, this is about my own journey, the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, as I´ve grown and been changed by God in my times in the world.
Probably the hardest thing for anyone from the West/North (take your pick on the nomenclature) to see when they´re out of their comfortable country of origin is poverty. Poverty exists in the West, too, but a few people hustling you for change on the street or sleeping on the heat grates is a different experience from seeing children with stomachs distended from hunger and malnutrition, or entire neighborhoods of tin-and-plywood shacks. It´s unsettling and can shake the faith of even the most devout person, especially once you get to know the children or the people living in the shanty town.
I´ve heard many a televangelist and misinformed Christian attribute prosperity, both personal and national, to God´s special blessing, to the idea that God materially rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked with poverty. That, however, does an incredible disservice to a great many people that I´ve met all over the world. I simply cannot believe that Zurqina, a little girl whose mother has a stall in a food market on the University of Ghana´s campus, is living in desperate poverty because she and her mother are just bad people. Conversely, I don´t see Donald Trump as being a great man of God or a towering example of morality simply because he has more money in the bank than most other humans can ever dream of having.
I´ve found that money means nothing regarding how "good" or "bad" a person is. There are rich people who make their money by hurting other people, and there are rich people who make their money by being fair business people, and who typically give back plenty of what they have. There are poor people who are wonderful people, living lives filled with the fruits of the Spirit, and there are poor people who use their poverty as an excuse for alcoholism and domestic violence. People, at the end of a day, are people - they´re not good, they´re not bad, they´re people. Sometimes, people choose to hurt other people, and sometimes they choose to build others up.
When people choose to hurt others, to oppress them, to take advantage of them for a buck, a cycle of poverty is created - I´m going to take your money and resources, then keep you at a level of development that serves my needs, but doesn´t give you much of a chance to break free. This isn´t biblical; this isn´t in line with a Living Word of jubilee years, 31 chapters of Proverbs exhorting care for widows and orphans and standing up for the rights of the oppressed, prophets who identify abuse of the poor as one of the principle sins of their people, a Messiah who chooses to live without wordly comforts but rather only what He needs to live, and a faith community that shares all its goods in common. I raise my voice about the ways things are and the way things could be not because I´m just another 22 year old stereotypical liberal; I do it because it´s my faith.
I don´t think God has a favorite political party, or that God loves one or two nations while pouring contempt on the rest of them. I don´t think God tosses down heaven-sent moneybags to people for not fornicating. I think God gave us a world filled with the good things that we need to live, and that our mission as followers of God, followers of Christ, is to be serious about, and faithful to, God´s call to stewardship - to find ways to ensure that starvation, lack of access to clean drinking water, lack of access to adequate health care, pollution, and the many other ills that too often characterize human life in the world outside the U.S., Canada, and Western Europe become nonexistent, or at the very least incredibly rare. We have the means, but do we have the boldness to say "no!" to comfortable consumerism, to accept the radical call to take up the cross and follow Jesus in His path of vulnerability and rejection of the easy life?
Maybe that´s not a fair question; some days, I´m the kind of person who´s ready to storm the walls and proclaim a year of jubilee, but other times, it´s not so easy. Maybe it´s a process, a dialectical journey requiring patience, commitment, and above all, faith in a God who has called us to something more than living for ourselves and refusing to think of every other beautiful child of God in the world as just that - our brother or sister, created in the likeness of the same God. Maybe, in the words of John Lennon, I´m just a dreamer, but just maybe, I´m not the only one.
Saying that reading the Bible is dangerous to insular, oft-imperialistic North American thought is an understatement. If there is any other text out there in the world that comes down so hard on capitalism, multinational corporations, imperialism, self-centered thinking, reckless individualism, and pork rinds as the Bible, I have yet to encounter it. Of course, the grand irony is how often the Bible is used to justify those things.
This, however, is not going to be a claws-out assault on biblical misuse or the imposition of one´s politics upon the Bible, forming it to be what you want it to be. After all, that just perpetuates a cycle of scripture wars and hard feelings, which is as counterproductive a thing as there can be. Rather, this is about my own journey, the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, as I´ve grown and been changed by God in my times in the world.
Probably the hardest thing for anyone from the West/North (take your pick on the nomenclature) to see when they´re out of their comfortable country of origin is poverty. Poverty exists in the West, too, but a few people hustling you for change on the street or sleeping on the heat grates is a different experience from seeing children with stomachs distended from hunger and malnutrition, or entire neighborhoods of tin-and-plywood shacks. It´s unsettling and can shake the faith of even the most devout person, especially once you get to know the children or the people living in the shanty town.
I´ve heard many a televangelist and misinformed Christian attribute prosperity, both personal and national, to God´s special blessing, to the idea that God materially rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked with poverty. That, however, does an incredible disservice to a great many people that I´ve met all over the world. I simply cannot believe that Zurqina, a little girl whose mother has a stall in a food market on the University of Ghana´s campus, is living in desperate poverty because she and her mother are just bad people. Conversely, I don´t see Donald Trump as being a great man of God or a towering example of morality simply because he has more money in the bank than most other humans can ever dream of having.
I´ve found that money means nothing regarding how "good" or "bad" a person is. There are rich people who make their money by hurting other people, and there are rich people who make their money by being fair business people, and who typically give back plenty of what they have. There are poor people who are wonderful people, living lives filled with the fruits of the Spirit, and there are poor people who use their poverty as an excuse for alcoholism and domestic violence. People, at the end of a day, are people - they´re not good, they´re not bad, they´re people. Sometimes, people choose to hurt other people, and sometimes they choose to build others up.
When people choose to hurt others, to oppress them, to take advantage of them for a buck, a cycle of poverty is created - I´m going to take your money and resources, then keep you at a level of development that serves my needs, but doesn´t give you much of a chance to break free. This isn´t biblical; this isn´t in line with a Living Word of jubilee years, 31 chapters of Proverbs exhorting care for widows and orphans and standing up for the rights of the oppressed, prophets who identify abuse of the poor as one of the principle sins of their people, a Messiah who chooses to live without wordly comforts but rather only what He needs to live, and a faith community that shares all its goods in common. I raise my voice about the ways things are and the way things could be not because I´m just another 22 year old stereotypical liberal; I do it because it´s my faith.
I don´t think God has a favorite political party, or that God loves one or two nations while pouring contempt on the rest of them. I don´t think God tosses down heaven-sent moneybags to people for not fornicating. I think God gave us a world filled with the good things that we need to live, and that our mission as followers of God, followers of Christ, is to be serious about, and faithful to, God´s call to stewardship - to find ways to ensure that starvation, lack of access to clean drinking water, lack of access to adequate health care, pollution, and the many other ills that too often characterize human life in the world outside the U.S., Canada, and Western Europe become nonexistent, or at the very least incredibly rare. We have the means, but do we have the boldness to say "no!" to comfortable consumerism, to accept the radical call to take up the cross and follow Jesus in His path of vulnerability and rejection of the easy life?
Maybe that´s not a fair question; some days, I´m the kind of person who´s ready to storm the walls and proclaim a year of jubilee, but other times, it´s not so easy. Maybe it´s a process, a dialectical journey requiring patience, commitment, and above all, faith in a God who has called us to something more than living for ourselves and refusing to think of every other beautiful child of God in the world as just that - our brother or sister, created in the likeness of the same God. Maybe, in the words of John Lennon, I´m just a dreamer, but just maybe, I´m not the only one.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Ich kann hablar en several languages
Since I´ll be on retreat in Colonia Valdense next Monday, this entry is next week´s entry served up a little early. I´ve been thinking a lot this week about language and the process (and, at times, struggle) I´ve been through over the past two months or so. When I first got here, I frankly overrated my ability to recall immediately and without trouble my six years of Spanish classes; I figured after a week or two, once I got used to the new accent, I´d be cooking with gas and chattering away.
Not so much. The first month was linguistic torture, and I am only slightly exaggerating in calling La Obra my personal foreign language Abu-Ghraib. It was a scenario practically designed to be about 10 fathoms over my Spanish-speaking head - kids who don´t all get that I don´t speak Spanish like a native speaker, adults who like to make constant jokes and talk very rapidly, teaching teens English and having to explain the idiosyncracies of my crazy native language while not grasping all the idiosyncracies of THEIR crazy native language, and so on. Pair that up with the church´s free-for-all Bible study conversations and a generous amount of conversation with new friends, and you can understand why I literally had a headache at the end of every day for my first two weeks.
I was, quite frankly, disappointed in and depressed over, my level of Spanish. I even considered, for at least a few days, looking into classes. Even once or twice I caught the little voice in my head saying that I should have lied, or been more modest (take your pick) on my YAGM app, listed my Spanish as tourist-level, and consequently been sent somewhere non-Spanish speaking for the year. I started reading my Greek New Testament every day, if just to remind myself that at least I had one language other than English under my belt.
And then, sometime in the first week or so of October, it happened. That week, Dorothea had started to teach me a little German, and the headaches had been gone for a week or so. I went to bed, and I started to dream....but not in English. My dream was in SPANISH, with the exception of a few sentences in English, and a very memorabl sentence or two in German. I had a trilingual dream. When I woke up, I just started laughing.
That was the event I needed to spur me on. Once the battle in my sub-conscious was won by the forces of castellano, the war´s end was at hand. I felt encouraged that I COULD learn to speak Spanish (and German, too, evidently), and that confidence helped me begin to break out of my linguistic shell. Conversations suddenly began to happen with frequency and with fewer awkward pauses while I tried to think of a response. I kept on dreaming in a delightful mix of languages, and now it´s almost exclusively en español. I bought a little book to write new words in to help me increase my vocabulary.
Then, I broke down and did the smartest thing I´ve done in two months. Every morning, I like to read my Bible before heading out to work, and on the bus, I typically take advantage of the 30 minutes or so of sitting still and not having things to do and make it my main prayer time of the day. I had been doing it in English, but then the thought came to me - "why not do it in Spanish?" So, one day, I did. That day, I had markedly less trouble with my Spanish. I did it again the next day, with the same basic results. I kept it up, and after a week realized that I was, on the whole, thinking in Spanish rather than English.
Now, over the past few weeks, it´s gotten to the point that English words sound, and feel, weird to me when they come out of my mouth, and I actually prefer to go through the day without using English. I´m not exactly soaring in my Spanish, but it´s better than it was and is getting better everyday. My German, too, is growing (slowly), and I´m getting the hang of biblical Hebrew in my spare time. This year, the church season´s name has been particularly apt - it really HAS been Pentecost.
Not so much. The first month was linguistic torture, and I am only slightly exaggerating in calling La Obra my personal foreign language Abu-Ghraib. It was a scenario practically designed to be about 10 fathoms over my Spanish-speaking head - kids who don´t all get that I don´t speak Spanish like a native speaker, adults who like to make constant jokes and talk very rapidly, teaching teens English and having to explain the idiosyncracies of my crazy native language while not grasping all the idiosyncracies of THEIR crazy native language, and so on. Pair that up with the church´s free-for-all Bible study conversations and a generous amount of conversation with new friends, and you can understand why I literally had a headache at the end of every day for my first two weeks.
I was, quite frankly, disappointed in and depressed over, my level of Spanish. I even considered, for at least a few days, looking into classes. Even once or twice I caught the little voice in my head saying that I should have lied, or been more modest (take your pick) on my YAGM app, listed my Spanish as tourist-level, and consequently been sent somewhere non-Spanish speaking for the year. I started reading my Greek New Testament every day, if just to remind myself that at least I had one language other than English under my belt.
And then, sometime in the first week or so of October, it happened. That week, Dorothea had started to teach me a little German, and the headaches had been gone for a week or so. I went to bed, and I started to dream....but not in English. My dream was in SPANISH, with the exception of a few sentences in English, and a very memorabl sentence or two in German. I had a trilingual dream. When I woke up, I just started laughing.
That was the event I needed to spur me on. Once the battle in my sub-conscious was won by the forces of castellano, the war´s end was at hand. I felt encouraged that I COULD learn to speak Spanish (and German, too, evidently), and that confidence helped me begin to break out of my linguistic shell. Conversations suddenly began to happen with frequency and with fewer awkward pauses while I tried to think of a response. I kept on dreaming in a delightful mix of languages, and now it´s almost exclusively en español. I bought a little book to write new words in to help me increase my vocabulary.
Then, I broke down and did the smartest thing I´ve done in two months. Every morning, I like to read my Bible before heading out to work, and on the bus, I typically take advantage of the 30 minutes or so of sitting still and not having things to do and make it my main prayer time of the day. I had been doing it in English, but then the thought came to me - "why not do it in Spanish?" So, one day, I did. That day, I had markedly less trouble with my Spanish. I did it again the next day, with the same basic results. I kept it up, and after a week realized that I was, on the whole, thinking in Spanish rather than English.
Now, over the past few weeks, it´s gotten to the point that English words sound, and feel, weird to me when they come out of my mouth, and I actually prefer to go through the day without using English. I´m not exactly soaring in my Spanish, but it´s better than it was and is getting better everyday. My German, too, is growing (slowly), and I´m getting the hang of biblical Hebrew in my spare time. This year, the church season´s name has been particularly apt - it really HAS been Pentecost.
Monday, November 5, 2007
¡Fotos!
There are a TON of these, but I am still going to, a month after posting them, go through them all and tell you about each one. Hope you brought a snack; this might take a while. From top to bottom...
1. The obligatory conversational pose between the two YAGM volunteers; this was pretty early on in our time in Montevideo.
2. Dorothea, our favorite German flatmate, with Carlos, Carla, their nephew, and their daugher, Alejandra.
3. KD and Dorothea enjoying the sun out on the lower level of our roof; I prefer the upper level, as it is shadier and catches the breeze.
4. The view from the roof - we live on a pretty busy street, Avenida 8 de Octubre. Its a mostly commercial neighborhood with lots of shops - we live next door to a supermarket!
5. Speaking of supermarket, it is the large, red building in this photo, taken from my bedroom. My room looks out over the patio (hence the trees) toward MultiAhorro. Multi looks really cool when the sky is clear blue and the sun is on the other side of the church.
6. Karin and Fafre, two of my Uruguayan friends, getting ready for Un Trato Por El Buentrato. Karin painted Fafre´s face up in mime-like fashion; she has a peace sign on her cheek.
7. After the face painting session (I´m sporting the Uruguayan flag on my cheek), we went out into the neighborhood to "vaccinate" people against child abuse with candy, banners, and (of course) silly hats.
8. Our choir in the Iglesia Valdense (well, the tenors and basses), working hard at learning a song for the Fiesta de Canto back in October.
9. For those of you wondering what mate looks like, voìla. Canarias is THE brand of yerba to buy here; this is an ad poster seen at the Prado Exposition.
10. La Ciudad Vieja (The Old City) as seen from the end of the very long jetty at the entrance of the harbor.
11. Probably the most famous building in Montevideo, the sits right on the Plaza Independencia.
12. Kirsten, Milton, and I enjoying the free entertainment provided by a dance party at La Obra...this the surreal day I wrote about back in October.
13. Fortunately, this see-saw has been taken out of commission...it´s an absolute death trap. Predictably, that meant it was a great hit with the kids at La Obra.
14. Geanny and Marcos climbing on the cross in the courtyard/recreation area at La Obra...I´ll let you debate the theological significance of this one.
15. The afternoon crew at La Obra (Alejandra in orange, Roman, Natalia in the lab coat-ish uniform), plus KD, Dorothea, and Ana the cook enjoying the last moments of peace before the kids arrive.
16. Me with Geanny (he´s a big fan of "el caballito," horsie rides); I´m talking to another kid, Aldo. Suffice it to say that days when they show up are seldom dull...
17. Machaela (pink jacket) and Ximena posing at the music museum...awwwww.
18. This picture IS Club de Niños in a nutshell - kids running and in general acting goofy in an environment designed to let them do that, in a safe learning context, despite their home lives and socioeconomic positions. Posing for the picture, we have one of the Christians (there are three), Carolina, and Laura, with Denis making a guest appearance in the background.
19. Roman either talking to the kids, or sneezing - take your pick.
20. During our time at the music museum, the kids got to take to the dancefloor and do a little folk dance, and they ate it up. In the center of the picture are Emilia and Romina.
21. The kids also got to play around with all kinds of musical instruments from all over the continent...here they are getting to play a little Andean music with the help of the museum´s curator, who seriously broke it down on the two flutes. It was COOL.
22. Some of the craziest people you could ever hope to meet - Rafael (our choir director), a girl whose name I don´t recall, Silvia, and Lucia. We know all of them through the grupo de jóvenes at the Iglesia Valdense.
23. Madness on the bus: Kirsten smiling away, Sebastian (Wilma´s son) and Tiví/Juliocésar doing I-don´t-know-what, and Rafa and Karin just sort of looking on cluelessly. My shoulder makes a cameo appearance in the corner.
24. Lucia blowing out her birthday candles; the cake involved dulce de leche and was thusly delicious.
25. Conversational poses at grupo de jóvenes with Silvia, Tiví, Jorge Mal, Natalia, and again, part of my arm in my blue plaid shirt.
26. Back to orientation: the group wandering around the colorfully painted houses of La Boca, the old immigrant neighborhood in Buenos Aires. Think tango in seedy bars and whorehouses...oh yeah.
27. The group with two of the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. They shared their stories with us just that evening; it was an incredibly moving experience.
28. The Madres on their weekly march in the Plaza de Mayo.
29. The old steel bridge across the Riochuelo in La Boca.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Estadounidense, Redux
So, I promised the positive side of my struggle with my identity as a U.S. citizen who is extremely conscious of his country´s extremely shoddy record in international relations, and of the perceptions (several of which are probably very right-on) that much of the rest of the world has concerning the U.S., and not even 24 hours after part one, I feel ready to bring my thoughts on this matter to some degree of completion.
The upswing is that, for the first time in my life, I don´t feel apathetic about my identity and citizenship. That little blue passport, and the country it represents, isn´t just a tool to get me in and out of all the countries of the world; it´s an integral part of who I am. I might criticize, I might be outraged, I might be angry, I might be desperate for a change, but by God, I am a passionate United States citizen who cares about his country and wants it to make just, right-minded decisions about its actions in the world. When I hear about liberty and justice for all, it´s not just the end of a pledge; it´s the beginning of a journey. If this is what we are going to stand for as a nation, and it is a glorious ideal to pursue, then we need to be committed to understanding what that means and how then we are to live in the world as a nation. I don´t think that imperial-minded relations with the rest of the world promote liberty or justice; in fact, I tend to seem imperialism as the opposite of those things. It undercuts those very things, at home and abroad, in the name of more wealth, more power, and more prestige.
So, where´s the good news in this? The good news is that we always have a choice - a choice as people, a choice as communities, a choice as a nation. We can genuinely try to understand what peace and justice mean in a global context, or we can ignore the question and then try to shut up our collective conscience with more meaningless consumerism. We can protect ourselves and our citizens from harm, or we can behave recklessly, using our force to pre-emptively terminate threats that probably don´t exist, all the while considering the other possible benefits of this use of force. We can promote fair global economic policies that encourage, rather than exploit, developing nations, or we can pretend that those people over there are only starving because of their own corrupt governments. We can be a republic that defends the civil liberties of its people and balanced economic development of its states and that only uses its military power in times of absolute global crisis when not using force would be suicide or irresponsible, or we can be an empire that puts right-of-government above right-of-citizen, puts reckless global corporate capitalism above fair, equitable economics, and that flexes its military muscle whenever it so desires. That choice is in our hands - in my hands, in your hands. I know which one I want, which one leads to genuine national security, prosperity, and liberty.
If you´ve had the patience to wade through all of this, I salute you, and I´ll reward you next week with HUMOR...you know, that thing I like but haven´t really employed this week? Yeah, ít´ll be back next time - promise!
The upswing is that, for the first time in my life, I don´t feel apathetic about my identity and citizenship. That little blue passport, and the country it represents, isn´t just a tool to get me in and out of all the countries of the world; it´s an integral part of who I am. I might criticize, I might be outraged, I might be angry, I might be desperate for a change, but by God, I am a passionate United States citizen who cares about his country and wants it to make just, right-minded decisions about its actions in the world. When I hear about liberty and justice for all, it´s not just the end of a pledge; it´s the beginning of a journey. If this is what we are going to stand for as a nation, and it is a glorious ideal to pursue, then we need to be committed to understanding what that means and how then we are to live in the world as a nation. I don´t think that imperial-minded relations with the rest of the world promote liberty or justice; in fact, I tend to seem imperialism as the opposite of those things. It undercuts those very things, at home and abroad, in the name of more wealth, more power, and more prestige.
So, where´s the good news in this? The good news is that we always have a choice - a choice as people, a choice as communities, a choice as a nation. We can genuinely try to understand what peace and justice mean in a global context, or we can ignore the question and then try to shut up our collective conscience with more meaningless consumerism. We can protect ourselves and our citizens from harm, or we can behave recklessly, using our force to pre-emptively terminate threats that probably don´t exist, all the while considering the other possible benefits of this use of force. We can promote fair global economic policies that encourage, rather than exploit, developing nations, or we can pretend that those people over there are only starving because of their own corrupt governments. We can be a republic that defends the civil liberties of its people and balanced economic development of its states and that only uses its military power in times of absolute global crisis when not using force would be suicide or irresponsible, or we can be an empire that puts right-of-government above right-of-citizen, puts reckless global corporate capitalism above fair, equitable economics, and that flexes its military muscle whenever it so desires. That choice is in our hands - in my hands, in your hands. I know which one I want, which one leads to genuine national security, prosperity, and liberty.
If you´ve had the patience to wade through all of this, I salute you, and I´ll reward you next week with HUMOR...you know, that thing I like but haven´t really employed this week? Yeah, ít´ll be back next time - promise!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Estadounidense
Despite concerning the same theme as my Franklin´s Choice entry of the month, this is not, in fact, that entry...this month, you get TWO heady entries for the price of one! Happy Reformation Day (a day late).
Monday, when I should have been updating (this is, after all, Mate Mondays), I was instead at the Embassy of the United States of America to the Oriental Republic of Uruguay. Say that ten times fast. Good. And now in Spanish - La Embajada de los Estados Unidos de América a la República Oriental del Uruguay. You can say that ten times fast as well, if you so desire. Silliness aside, I had to go to the embassy to get extra pages added to my passport. If you absolutely must go to a U.S. embassy while abroad, this is the reason to have to do it - it´s (for a goverment-run office) fairly quick and painless and does not involve interrogation; the same cannot be said about procedures for lost/stolen passports, tax concerns, etc.
The embassy, quite frankly, is a shabby testimony to what I would call the American ideal, but is probably a wonderful example of what the U.S. has become in the eyes of the rest of the world since 1898. You wouldn´t have thought that a little old affair like the Spanish-American War (a 6-month or so struggle between the U.S. and, in the words of Dave Barry, "a nation with the military prowess of a tuna casserolle") would be a defining moment in U.S., and world, history, but it is. The day we sailed into Manila Bay with guns blazing was the day that the Republic died and the Empire was born.
Earlier in my time here, I read a rather tedious, although brief, book on protecting Christianity from imperialism. I can´t say that I fully agreed with the author, and he did an incredibly poor job of proving to me that he really believes that the current U.S. government is just another in a string of imperialist administrations rather than somehow an enormous aberration, but he had his good points, too. We decided 109 years ago that our God-given duty is to meddle and dominate, and so we meddle and dominate away, not particularly caring that the rest of the world doesn´t particularly care to be meddled with or dominated.
The U.S. embassy here in Montevideo is a beautiful, or tragic (take your pick) piece of that history. It makes no effort whatsoever to appear like more typically Uruguayan buildings in the city, which is a shame when you consider that Montevideo is an architectural gem. Nope, we came in and built an ugly, square gray concrete building that looks exactly like every other goverment office building ever put up by the U.S. Entering the building is the next affront to the sensibilities. It´s one of the very few buildings in central Montevideo to have a wall around it, and I´ve not seen a wall that tall since leaving the U.S. The capitols of both Argentina and Uruguay are more accessible than the U.S. embassy - no mean feat in countries with histories of political violence and instability. To enter, you have to wait until a security guard decides to give you access, and if you´re in line for a visa, I recommend wearing comfy shoes, as you´ll be there a while. In another nod to good ol´ American government bureaucracy, the embassy only allows entry up until noon-ish, takes about 30 holidays during the year, and isn´t open on the weekends. In other words, if you have a 9-5 Monday to Friday job, you´ll be taking the day off to do your business with Uncle Sam.
Once you´re let inside, you´re given a number for your wait in the consular section, go through security two times, and then, after surrendering your cell phone and all other signal-receiving electronic devices, are allowed into the consular office. At least they have reading material....IN ENGLISH. If you´re Uruguayan and not in the mood for U.S. News and World Report, The Economist, or Popular Mechanics, then you´re going to be bored. Oh wait, if you´re Uruguayan, you´re filling out visa paperwork while being bossed around and sent back and forth. As a U.S. citizen, one of my inalienable rights is apparently to a magazine and a relatively peaceful wait. They took care of my business without being too rude (shocker), and that was that.
I think my favorite moment came after the embassy of fun and adventure. It´s located right on La Rambla, the beautiful seaside path in the city (at least they did a good job of picking prime real estate to ruin with such an ugly building), so I decided to walk for a while and enjoy the sunshine. The natural curve of the coastline resulted in a spectacular view of the city skyline...and the embassy, sticking out like a drab concrete middle finger against the backdrop of Parque Rodó. And then, it was gone. I walked around the bend, and I didn´t have to look at it any more.
I don´t want to seem like an unpatriotic, America-bashing, Dixie Chick-lovin´ ex-pat. I love my country, and I love the ideals - life, liberty, equality before the law - that are layed out in so many of the foundational documents that we hold dear. At the same time, I know how we act - arrogant, self-absorbed, brutal. We´ve backed military dictators over freely-elected leftists to spite the Russians, not caring that those military dictators were more brutal killers than the socialists we overthrew in places like Chile and Nicaragua. We´ve hamstrung the economies of many a developing nation with the World Bank and IMF´s restructuring programs. We´ve let ourselves become ignorant of global issues and never give a thought to our impact on other peoples because our money gives us the luxury of not having to think about it - when you´re on top, you don´t have to think about the other 99 people in a heap beneath you. If they squirm too much, you can always give them a swift kick to get them to stop shaking your TV around and messing up the reception. If there´s just one thing I want to bring back home with me from all my time abroad (nopt just my time in Uruguay), it´s this - empires decline and fall because, in their time of need, they don´t have any friends. Maybe it´s time to start thinking a little more about who we really are, and what we really ought to be.
PS - This is the "Bad Cop" entry, born of frustration, exhaustion, and maybe even an oncoming cold or virus of some sort. My next musing on this subject will be the "Good Cop" spin - ideals and hope rather than cold, gray buildings on a beautiful white sand beach.
Monday, when I should have been updating (this is, after all, Mate Mondays), I was instead at the Embassy of the United States of America to the Oriental Republic of Uruguay. Say that ten times fast. Good. And now in Spanish - La Embajada de los Estados Unidos de América a la República Oriental del Uruguay. You can say that ten times fast as well, if you so desire. Silliness aside, I had to go to the embassy to get extra pages added to my passport. If you absolutely must go to a U.S. embassy while abroad, this is the reason to have to do it - it´s (for a goverment-run office) fairly quick and painless and does not involve interrogation; the same cannot be said about procedures for lost/stolen passports, tax concerns, etc.
The embassy, quite frankly, is a shabby testimony to what I would call the American ideal, but is probably a wonderful example of what the U.S. has become in the eyes of the rest of the world since 1898. You wouldn´t have thought that a little old affair like the Spanish-American War (a 6-month or so struggle between the U.S. and, in the words of Dave Barry, "a nation with the military prowess of a tuna casserolle") would be a defining moment in U.S., and world, history, but it is. The day we sailed into Manila Bay with guns blazing was the day that the Republic died and the Empire was born.
Earlier in my time here, I read a rather tedious, although brief, book on protecting Christianity from imperialism. I can´t say that I fully agreed with the author, and he did an incredibly poor job of proving to me that he really believes that the current U.S. government is just another in a string of imperialist administrations rather than somehow an enormous aberration, but he had his good points, too. We decided 109 years ago that our God-given duty is to meddle and dominate, and so we meddle and dominate away, not particularly caring that the rest of the world doesn´t particularly care to be meddled with or dominated.
The U.S. embassy here in Montevideo is a beautiful, or tragic (take your pick) piece of that history. It makes no effort whatsoever to appear like more typically Uruguayan buildings in the city, which is a shame when you consider that Montevideo is an architectural gem. Nope, we came in and built an ugly, square gray concrete building that looks exactly like every other goverment office building ever put up by the U.S. Entering the building is the next affront to the sensibilities. It´s one of the very few buildings in central Montevideo to have a wall around it, and I´ve not seen a wall that tall since leaving the U.S. The capitols of both Argentina and Uruguay are more accessible than the U.S. embassy - no mean feat in countries with histories of political violence and instability. To enter, you have to wait until a security guard decides to give you access, and if you´re in line for a visa, I recommend wearing comfy shoes, as you´ll be there a while. In another nod to good ol´ American government bureaucracy, the embassy only allows entry up until noon-ish, takes about 30 holidays during the year, and isn´t open on the weekends. In other words, if you have a 9-5 Monday to Friday job, you´ll be taking the day off to do your business with Uncle Sam.
Once you´re let inside, you´re given a number for your wait in the consular section, go through security two times, and then, after surrendering your cell phone and all other signal-receiving electronic devices, are allowed into the consular office. At least they have reading material....IN ENGLISH. If you´re Uruguayan and not in the mood for U.S. News and World Report, The Economist, or Popular Mechanics, then you´re going to be bored. Oh wait, if you´re Uruguayan, you´re filling out visa paperwork while being bossed around and sent back and forth. As a U.S. citizen, one of my inalienable rights is apparently to a magazine and a relatively peaceful wait. They took care of my business without being too rude (shocker), and that was that.
I think my favorite moment came after the embassy of fun and adventure. It´s located right on La Rambla, the beautiful seaside path in the city (at least they did a good job of picking prime real estate to ruin with such an ugly building), so I decided to walk for a while and enjoy the sunshine. The natural curve of the coastline resulted in a spectacular view of the city skyline...and the embassy, sticking out like a drab concrete middle finger against the backdrop of Parque Rodó. And then, it was gone. I walked around the bend, and I didn´t have to look at it any more.
I don´t want to seem like an unpatriotic, America-bashing, Dixie Chick-lovin´ ex-pat. I love my country, and I love the ideals - life, liberty, equality before the law - that are layed out in so many of the foundational documents that we hold dear. At the same time, I know how we act - arrogant, self-absorbed, brutal. We´ve backed military dictators over freely-elected leftists to spite the Russians, not caring that those military dictators were more brutal killers than the socialists we overthrew in places like Chile and Nicaragua. We´ve hamstrung the economies of many a developing nation with the World Bank and IMF´s restructuring programs. We´ve let ourselves become ignorant of global issues and never give a thought to our impact on other peoples because our money gives us the luxury of not having to think about it - when you´re on top, you don´t have to think about the other 99 people in a heap beneath you. If they squirm too much, you can always give them a swift kick to get them to stop shaking your TV around and messing up the reception. If there´s just one thing I want to bring back home with me from all my time abroad (nopt just my time in Uruguay), it´s this - empires decline and fall because, in their time of need, they don´t have any friends. Maybe it´s time to start thinking a little more about who we really are, and what we really ought to be.
PS - This is the "Bad Cop" entry, born of frustration, exhaustion, and maybe even an oncoming cold or virus of some sort. My next musing on this subject will be the "Good Cop" spin - ideals and hope rather than cold, gray buildings on a beautiful white sand beach.
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