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 December 2000
I'm not Brethren, but my mother went to a Brethren college and we have two family friends who served in BVS. According to my mom, it was an experience that changed their lives and set both on a career path that they still follow to this day. This endorsement helped convince me to join BVS. I had no idea whether my experience would be similar, but I did know from a semester in France that living overseas and learning a new language opens one's eyes and adds a depth of understanding and perspective that one just can't get by staying in the United States. Having just returned from over two years working for Hnuti DUHA, a Czech environmental activist group in Brno, Czech Republic, I've only started to notice some of the many ways the experience has changed me. While there, my thoughts were mostly on the incredible new experiences I was having. As the resident native English speaker, my job was to help with the international work, as it all had to be done in the international language of English. This meant that I proofread, edited, and wrote international correspondence, articles, English-language website texts, reports, and grant applications. But this also meant that I traveled to 14 countries across Europe, from Wales to the former Soviet republic of Georgia. With my mind full of adventures such as tasting new foods, meeting new people, and visiting wind generators in Wales, a princess' chateau in the Austrian Alps, streets filled with mortar craters and crumbling buildings in Bosnia, and a 6th century cliff-side monastery in Georgia, I had no time, or perhaps perspective, to reflect on how all of these experiences cumulatively led to what people refer to as 'growth' and 'maturity.' Instead, my mind focused on all that I learned. In planning how to transfer my work to my successor in my last couple weeks on the job, my thoughts returned to my first few months in Brno. I could suddenly see that all the initial doubts about holding my own in an organization of such brilliant people, with tasks vaguely defined and requiring skills and experience that I lacked, had dissipated without my noticing it. I had pulled off all that I once thought impossible and unrealistic. This led me to wonder whether the most valuable skill I'd learned was the ability to give presentations and lead sessions at international conferences, to write successful grant applications and press releases, and articles good enough to be published in the international environmental press, or whether even more valuable was my belief in myself; that I could now go into any situation no matter how daunting and carve out a productive place for myself. The more time I have to reflect on my time in Brno, the more amazing I realize it was, the more I realize I accomplished, the more I realize all the ways it helped me to grow. Living in Eastern Europe and traveling through so many different cultures and languages I learned to be very patient—with myself, with others, with the way things happen around me—thanks to the unpredictability of life there, the powerlessness of not being able to communicate, and the flexibility of adapting to new cultures and surroundings. I'm now applying this wisdom in culturally adjusting back to the place where I grew up and letting my heart guide my choice of what to do next. Maybe this is the most important thing to learn, and the most fundamentally life-changing.
From the Editor Greetings to you all, and I hope you've had a wonderful holiday season! I have a few things to let you know about this issue of the Volunteer! I'm trying a new format this time, and I hope you all like it. It should be a little more exciting. I'd love to hear any feedback you have for me. Also, this issue is a little heavy on articles from overseas. BVS has been trying to raise the profile of the overseas branch of our program so as to attract more people to serve in Europe, Central America, Africa, and Asia where we are always working to fill more spaces. Still, I would have put in a few more domestic articles if I would have received them. So, those of you serving in the States, please feel free to send me articles about your experiences while serving in BVS. And don't feel bad about sending in articles before I ask for them. I'm always excited to get articles for the next issue at any time. To those of you who sent things in for this issue, I send many thanks. Your response saved me from having to call everyone and beg for scraps. In fact, I got enough submissions that I couldn't fit them all into this issue. Those of you who wrote articles that didn't get printed this time, I've saved them to use as a basis for the next issue. Let me just finish with an invitation for all of the BVS alumni to send in updates on where your life has taken you. I'd love to make the alumni update page that Ginger started a permanent feature! Thank you all and enjoy!
From the Director Recruitment . . ., it's becoming the word around the BVS office. The BVS team has become more focused on recruitment this year as we've had the lowest number of volunteers, come through the program since our beginning in 1948. Also, we've gone from 57, 18 to 25 year old volunteers down to 38 in the past three years. So, we're working at ways to connect with people about the wonderful opportunities available through BVS. We in the office and those of you who are or have been volunteers know the value in serving, our challenge is convincing others. What is it that gets people excited about serving through a program like BVS? I believe it's not just a nice looking brochure, a cute post card or even a great interactive web page. The journey that leads to volunteering is usually a long one—one that involves your formative years, the values you hold, and the way you want to be involved in the world. Serving in BVS is not easy. The sacrifices can be significant, yet many of you answered the call and responded to the need out there. Last time, I wrote to the those thinking about serving in BVS. This time, I'm writing to those of you who have served or are serving in BVS. The BVS team can't do the recruitment alone. We need your help. Our best recruitment comes from current and former volunteers. For some of you, it's been a while since you served in BVS, and, likely, the experience was a good one; maybe even one that transformed you in some way. For others, the experience is as recent as today. Either way, your experiences have the power to get people excited about serving in a way that our materials just can't. So, what can you do? Pass the word on. When's the last time you told someone your experience? Encourage your friends and family to join. Tell others in your community, school or work place about your experience. You might be able to represent BVS at your local college career fair. Invite folks to look at our web site www.brethrenvolunteerservice.org or have them call us at 800-323-8039 for information. Our recruitment volunteer, Anke Pietsch, is often on the road and might be able to stop by in person.
Please give us a call if there is something we can do to help you help BVS. We'd also love to hear from you if you just want to chat!
I fear that beginning to write this article will only open up a floodgate of thoughts, and that it will be impossible for me to stop writing once I begin. Summarizing or explaining my experiences in BVS concisely is a challenge for me, as several of my fellow BVSers know from our conversations at retreat. I only hope that I can convey a balance of what I have experienced, since this past year has been one of both tremendous sadness and tremendous joy. One of the things I remember most is that I wasn't nervous before I left for Belgrade. I should have been, and only naiveté and a desire for self-preservation prevented me from seriously considering what I was doing. Everyone remarked at how courageous I was, entering a part of the world so 'fraught with danger.' Although I was very familiar with the situation in Belgrade, Serbia, and was still not afraid, I didn't feel at all like the courageous hero they saw. What I felt was intense curiosity and an excitement about entering a part of the world I had never seen, about becoming immersed in it, and about having my mind opened in ways that I could never accomplish myself. For a while I kept on 'blinders' that prevented me from fully digesting everything. You can see things out of the corner of your eye, you know they're there, but you choose not to look at them directly. It was in December, that the blinders were suddenly gone. I saw the dark streets, the trash strewn about, the grayness, the faces worn down from worry and strife, and the manic-depression that gripped many I knew. Seeing all this and realizing you are helpless to make it go away is an excruciating feeling. All I could do was share in their troubles, let them know that I was there and choosing not to leave, and express with my presence that Serbia is not despised by the whole world. They needed to know that the people of Serbia were not abandoned; that people outside the borders thought of them, cared about them, and didn't necessarily support the actions of their own governments. I found that my just being there was an extraordinary thing for them, and they were glad for the opportunity to show me Serbia: not the government, not the stereotypes, not what is shown on CNN, but the essence of the people, that which really constitutes a country. At that time (August 1999-May 2000) it was getting harder for foreigners to enter the country. The political situation was becoming more tense. Outside, people worried about me, but, inside, life went on. I was learning the language, working with Women in Black, enjoying the spring, and spending time with wonderful people. Life was pretty 'normal,' but I struggled continually to stay in Serbia. Visas were hard to come by. My residency issues finally came to a head in May, when I was denied a visa and told to leave the country. I said casual 'ciaos,' told colleagues I'd be back in 3 weeks, and took some money, a journal, and a few clothes. One colleague told me with a sad face, "I really hope you can come back . . . ." I wasn't worried, though, and there were no teary goodbyes. The day after my departure, the situation became much worse. A new, more intense campaign of persecution was aimed at those who spoke or acted against the government, and Women in Black was all but shut down. They endured daily visits by the police, and members were harassed and questioned extensively. I tried to return in June, as I had promised, but stricter policies were in effect. So I waited, and in July it was clear that I would not be able to return. I went home. Being away from Belgrade and my closest friend there took its toll on me emotionally, and the whole situation had ceased to be about BVS and started to be about my life. In many ways, it would have been easier if Women in Black had remained just a project, but I felt that part of me would always be connected to and affected by events there. This was a painful thing, especially since I couldn't be there to support people I knew. But, I believe we should not only go abroad to help others; we should also become connected with the people and their culture. I believe we are changed for the better that way as it becomes so clear that nationalities and borders are not important in the big picture, that we all share something so elemental that it defies propaganda and stereotypes, something that connects us. Then, the events 'over there' are not so far away and they affect us, no matter how remote they may seem. Realizing that opens up a whole new world, a world with so many more possibilities and so much more responsibility. It's easier to believe we are unaffected by the events in other countries, easier on our consciences, but after the blinders are off, you can never put them on again.
All Souls Day is November 2nd. Protestants wouldn't much know this, either in the USA or in Northern Ireland. It is one of many Roman Catholic Holy Days, its purpose: To offer prayer and Masses for the souls in Purgatory. I guess if your strand of Christianity doesn't include Purgatory, the rite would go unobserved. I was still living in Derry/Londonderry, Northern Ireland on All Souls Day. In this part of the world, being a Catholic or a Protestant still matters. Religion isn't just a personal journey, a private choice of a faithful life: It is a cultural signifier with historical and political weight. In Northern Ireland, religion has consequences—not just the status of your soul but also your physical safety. Yes, the violence has calmed down, and what is on the news these days is about political process and not gun battles. But, the young people I worked with still live with the legacy of those violent years and know the world in terms of two types of people: Catholic and Protestant. Working in this culture of either/or put me often in a place of just keeping silent on anything related to religion or politics. I found it easier to just nod in agreement or cock my head in question when people put forward their opinions. Taking a neutral stance—not being too Protestant or too Catholic—was my way of blurring the divisions. To be opinionated politically shut people down; they might continue a point-scoring conversation with me on issues, but they were less likely to trust me in their company. Disagreeing too much could put me into a category called 'the Other Side.' It was still a war-like mentality with 'Us and Them.' Being an American gave me a buffer when being judged—a fool's pardon. I was allowed a few more 'errors of opinion,' and as my term lengthened into two years, my co-workers, neighbors, and acquaintances started listening beyond what sounded like an American commercial to that which was Holly—a person who wasn't here to 'fix' Northern Ireland but to make sense of it. Two years had passed with only minor ruffles. It was all agreed that I wasn't there to judge or to assert too much influence. It was almost like I was engaging in peace by subversion, quietly undermining their dual categorizing, reducing prejudice by calculating a balance of both cultures, bringing peace through being non-political. I thought this was enough. For awhile, it was quite a lot. The Church of the Brethren of my Southern Ohio childhood had little to say about how exactly we were supposed to put into practice our 'Peace Church' stance. I have always stumbled with being political, but when my 15-year-old neighbor Samuel told me about the protest being held at the City Council office on All Souls Day, I measured my feelings carefully. The protest was against Rathyon, a software company that wants to settle in Derry. It is to bring 500 jobs to Derry—an area with over 12% unemployment. But Rathyon's major contract is with the British military—weapons design software. In a province where the British Army, along side the local police, has committed crimes against its own citizens during the height of the Troubles, this is seen as a conflict of interest. I decided to take my lunch break and go down to the protest. I told my office co-workers I was going. I thought that working at the Peace and Reconciliation Group, I would be supported for taking a stand against growing militarism. I was wrong. "Holly, this place needs jobs. A company like them brings skilled jobs to this area. Half of your friends are unemployed. You can't pick and choose." "Holly, you are from the US where you have so many jobs. You don't realize how this kind of business would be good for the area. It needs a lot of economic regeneration. This company could attract more business. If people keep protesting, no company will want to locate here. They'll just locate somewhere else." "You can't stop the government from making weapons. And besides, the military does good things. Are you saying you don't want to fight against other wrongs in the world? What if there is another Hitler?" I listened quietly to their arguments at first, but I started to get angry. I argued back, but my arguments seemed naive to them. The more they talked, the more I wanted to go, to assert myself as a person who sees peace not as something we protect but as something we bring into being through our commitment to non-violence. My voice got louder. I held on. Even if it wasn't my city, even if I was not a voter, I could still go and show support for local people who believed, like me, that no one should be in the business of war. The world we live in, true, is not without its machines of power and tyranny, not void of selfish countries and greedy people. But what I knew they hadn't opened their eyes to was that our countries, the USA and Britain alike, had used their heavy hands to exploit their influence for their own economic gain. Any look beyond mainstream media would reveal that our countries pick and choose their battles for their own ends. We give weapons to Israelis, not Palestinians. We intervened in Bosnia and Kosova but not East Timor. In Derry, on January 30, 1972, 14 people, unarmed people, were shot dead. Had they not heard? We were all working in a 'peace organization,' and we as a group couldn't agree on what we meant by peace. I went to the protest. Less than 20 people were there. No placards or shouting. We just went into the lobby and collapsed 'dead' in front of doorways to call attention to our message. As we lied there, someone read out our request: That on All Souls Day, we remembered those who had been killed by armed conflict, by innocent people caught between government battles for power, by economic interests of the Western world, in places unknown to us, where our governments play a role to influence power and where our governments ignore suffering. We then stayed there, on the floor, in silence. If we are not Catholic, are we Protestant? If we are for peace, are we against war?
My name is Matt Messick. I am a BVSer from PA. I am in unit 234, and we had our orientation July 1999. However, I didn't begin my service until August 2000. I arrived at my project in Nigeria nearly 1 year late, not due to the slow visa process that has plagued some other volunteers, but because my pop fell ill a few weeks before I was to leave. When he went into the hospital, I put my plans on hold until he recovered. He did not recover, and I am here. I arrived August 5th and will be finished August 1st 2002. My project is at a secondary school in the Nigerian bush teaching Physics and Technical drawing. Unofficially, I am the expert on American society (Why? Well, I'm American so that makes me an expert), a radio repair man, a computer consultant, a soccer coach, an English teacher, and a few other things. Needless to say, I have found enough to keep myself busy for the two years and beyond. Enough of the vital statistics. I am writing to paint a picture of one of the experiences I've had here in Nigeria. Last night I was writing a letter to a friend in the states, and the lights went out. They often do. Since this is normal, I just lit my bush lamp. This particular lamp puts out a nice bright light. It lit every corner of my living and dining room with a soft white blanket. As I continued to write, I could hear a group of young Nigerian women singing in their native tongue. Their voices mixed with a traditional drum beat in the background to form a slice of perfection that danced through my front window. Out my back window I could hear the children playing. Some game was keeping them busy while their parents worked in their homes. Every so often, one of the groups would break into a beautiful peal of laughter. Laughter every bit as breathtaking as the song the ladies were singing. Laughter that only comes from a soul totally at ease with the world and those around them. Laughter that I don't think I have heard before. Their was no worry for tomorrow. Only the pure bliss of the moment – a chance to lose yourself in the group. Not to be swallowed by its size, but to feel your identity as part of the group. That's something that's hard to find in the world I know as home. I found myself overwhelmed by the utter perfectness of the moment. I tried not to breath; just to allow myself to absorb what was around me. It's a gift that doesn't come around too often; a glimpse into God's design. I have experienced it a few times in the states when I was in the mountains or consumed by the vastness of the Utah landscape. Yet here where the lights don't always work and there is no ring of telephones, this moment of bliss takes on more perfect, pure feeling. I have been blessed in just the short time I have been here, and I'm grateful for the time that remains. Over a year ago, I began a journey that kept me home for a longer time than I expected. A time that brought me closer to my family. Now, I am better able to appreciate what I have at home as well as what I am living in now. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
No one can enter BVS without first considering the lifestyle choices that come with the package. Thoughts about living simply and in solidarity with those being served are crucial in the decision-making process, but don't stop there. At some point during their term, frustration with this issue is a common experience among volunteers. For me, that point is now. Here are a few of my muddled reflections. . . . Can a middle-class white guy really live in poverty? I mean, sure, I can work for $50 a month, but is that poverty? I have insurance, a place to live, and food to eat. It's less than I'd like, but not so different than my life as a college student. When a family pays for a ticket home, or sends a phone card, does it really matter who pays the bill? If I can't buy it, but still have it, is that simple living, or is it just a loophole in the system? Either way I get phone calls. Either way I can go home for the holidays. But do I mock myself if I call this simple living? Is it really that different? The experience is great, the people are awesome, and it's meaningful work. In the present, it works, but what about the future? What happens after BVS? Down-payments, food, rent. That's when the real poverty begins. What do I gain by self-denial? Am I better off with less? Do I make others better off by it? You don't help someone out of quicksand by jumping in yourself. What good would that do? Were I living on $50 outside of BVS, I would have no less than a dozen schemes to get out, get up, and get going. I imagine that the truly poor do the same thing. Is it really so noble of me to give up what I have? Would they think me foolish? Is there arrogance in the fact that I can throw away the things they only hope to have? I'm too much of a competitor to stand still, whether it's on the field, in the office, or on the phone. Maybe I'm missing the point, when I dream of get-rich schemes, of all the ways I could multiply my penance. Maybe I'm not cut out for it. Or maybe it feels a bit like hypocrisy.
Life Among the Coffee Shops The Oakland Elizabeth House sits nestled in between the Oakland Hills and the Bay. It is on a tree-lined, residential street. The bus stop, library, post office, grocery store, restaurants, and coffee shops are close by. There is a lovely flower bed in front and a fenced in playground in the back where the children play. The building was once a convent so it's well designed as a home to 11 adults and lots of children. People often comment about the feeling of peace that surrounds them upon entering the foyer. We believe it is part of the heritage the nuns left for us: a building filled to the brim with love and the spirit of God. Unfortunately, there is also a dark side to this idyllic picture. The pain of drug abuse, of physical abuse, of poverty, of abandonment, of homelessness are all represented in the lives of those who live within the walls of Ehouse. We are a transitional (from homelessness to independent living) home for women and their children. Founded in 1991 in the Catholic Worker model of service the residents, their children, and the staff work together to create a loving home environment. We cook for one another, we share in doing the daily and weekly chores, we share our stories, we help one another, we laugh together, and we cry together. At present, Ehouse is blessed with 3 BVSers. Mandy Shull, Lavonne Grubb, and Dorothy Haner came to Ehouse at different times during this year. Lavonne and Dorothy live at Ehouse. Mandy lives with her husband, Brett, at the Oakland Catholic Worker, where he serves as a BVSer. Each of us currently at Ehouse has written about what Ehouse is in our lives.
I have no job description here at Ehouse for the demands of each day are different. I may clean and organize rooms or closets, do gardening or worm composting, write and send out thank-you letters to our many donors, cook, run errands, spend time with the women and children, etc. It is not really exciting work, and I'm not changing lives. But I am glad for the challenge and opportunity to be here and contribute what I can. For me, this is a way to express my gratitude for the many blessings I have received.
From my understanding of the Catholic Worker movement and the Brethren concept of service, the idea of being a presence in the suffering of others as well as being an active agent of change are both founding principles. As Lavonne said, we have the opportunity to do both.
I'm in my 2nd year of BVS as a workcamp coordinator in the Youth/Young Adult Office. Though I've had many meaningful experiences that I could share, I find myself taking a more philosophical look at my time in Elgin. This was spurred on by criticisms that reached my ears, and I realized that I wanted my voice to be heard. For almost nine months of the year, I have a desk job. I sit in my office either talking on the phone or staring at the computer, managing an endless flood of details. According to some, that means I'm not experiencing the 'real BVS.' My initial reaction when I heard that was one of anger. Any-one who agrees to live on $50/month deserves some sort of affirmation. However, my frustration with those criticisms goes much deeper. I believe that there are two schools of thought in dealing with social problems. Using the analogy of a broken sidewalk, you can either apply Band-Aids to people who trip and fall or you can fix the sidewalk. I have much respect for those who apply Band-Aids. People who are hurting need help. My brothers and sisters volunteering in soup kitchens and homeless shelters are amazing people. But that's not where I feel called. Somebody needs to fix the sidewalk. Somebody needs to mix and pour cement, level it off, and wait for it to harden. That's what those of us working to educate are trying to do. This work requires living for the long term, because it may take years to see any results. If you're only looking for immediately visible results, you miss the importance of fixing the sidewalk. So those are my thoughts. Here, I am working for an organization that I believe in. I help shape the world view of 450 young people each summer. I help to educate a bunch of middle class white kids about the diversity that exists and the social conditions that can either empower or cripple. And I don't want to be anywhere else. So to those people who say I should try the 'real BVS,' I hope you reconsider. Most of all, I hope you decide to support all people who commit themselves to strive for justice on whatever front they feel called.
Before I entered the Washington Office, I questioned how effective this form of service would be. This work would matter more than scooping ice cream at a minimum wage job; it would matter more than summer factory work. But I wondered if it was really significant. So, I decided to check it out. I signed a petition distributed by the COB Washington Office supporting a national moratorium for the Death Penalty. I gathered signatures for the next month as I journeyed from Elgin, IL to Young Adult Conference near Johnstown, PA to BVS orientation in New Windsor, MD. The journey and signature gathering ended when I landed in the Washington Office. Now, I'm compiling hundreds of Church of the Brethren signatures in order for the new Presidential Administration to consider the petition. My journey allowed me to see the entire process. From the hands of a constituent to the hands of a legislator, I see faces at both ends of the process. They ask questions and show concern. Yes, my call to serve is well received in Washington DC. Our office breaks bread with many other organizations as well. I work in the Washington City Church of the Brethren building, which also houses The Hill Preschool, the 'TGIF' after school program, vocal lessons, dance classes, advanced fencing, The Nicaragua Friendship Office, and The Brethren Nutrition Program. These programs are as diverse and effective as the people who manage them. I see these people every day, and we are concerned citizens serving a significant community. Looking back on my old jobs, scooping ice cream may have served the small town kids who wanted a hangout. Factory working effectively provided tools for manufacturing plants, easing the jobs of other workers. Now, I serve in the role of volunteer, but I have been serving all my life. What my BVS experience adds to this call to service is understanding. I now recognize this as work for the public, for the church and for the Spirit. That knowledge adds enthusiasm to the journey of service, and, yes, this bread nourishes me greatly.
An eight-year-old young Romani girl approaches a typical table in a restaurant in Bosnia. She is begging for money. As usual, the music is loud, and people sip their coffee slowly, most with cigarette in hand, enjoying themselves after a day of work, study, or job hunting in the once well-known industrial city of Zenica. The city now has a large number of unemployed inhabitants as bombing and the fall of the Former Yugoslavia destroyed the steel factory that was its livelihood in 1992. Some of the people begin conversing with the young Romani (i.e. gypsy) girl. Someone asks her if she goes to school, and she says, "no." When asked why, the young girl responds, "'cuz I don't have any money, and I have to beg." The waiter tells her bluntly that he thinks she's made enough money to pay for school supplies, and she responds, "Look at me! I'm dirty!" He offers her five German/Bosnian marks (enough for school supplies and soap) each day if she will go to school. She says she'll sign up. He implies she's lying, and she says matter-of-factly, "Yeah, I'm lying. It's none of your business if I go to school or not. I have to beg, and then I'll get married. Plus, when would I have time to go to school and do my homework and beg?" A woman asks the girl if she likes begging and if she'll make her children beg when she becomes a mother. The girl answers yes by shaking her head, reiterates that her begging is none of their business, and threatens to steal from them. In the end, they tell her to get lost. I work in the informational center of Medica Infoteka in Zenica, Bosnia-Herzegovina, a local women's organization founded during the war in 1993 in response to the mass rape of women. When I arrived, I helped Holly Peele edit her research project on the prevalence of violence against women in the Zenica municipality. No one expected me to do my own research project, and I vowed that I would not because of the enormous amount of work. So, for the first six months, I edited texts in English, and learned the language and culture. I made some very good friends and learned more about the history of the Balkans and the war from people who grew up there. Then, I learned about Roma (a more positive name for Gypsies), and I began my own research. For one year, I gathered information about the condition of the Roma in Bosnia-Herzegovina through informal interviews, and I discovered that the Roma were very often labeled with negative stereotypes. Further, I was shocked to find that not only had Medica, arguably the most successful women's organization in the country, failed to address attitudes about Romani women, they held the same stereotypes of Roma as the community in general. So, two assistants and I interviewed 112 Romani women in Zenica about their standard of living and the prevalence of domestic violence. We also did 23 oral history interviews with local Romani women about traditions, customs, history, and other things. Recently, I put out my analysis under Medica's name, in hopes that one day Medica will speak about the correlation of race, class, gender and violence. Now, the end of my service is approaching, and I have mixed feelings. Some days I can't wait to get home, to leave this environment where I have to explain my opinions in terms of the causes and consequences of racism and its correlation to class, gender, and violence. But other days, when I see a glimpse of change in my colleagues, when they say 'Roma' and not 'Gypsies' or mention my project in future terms; I know that it has been worth while. So, I can leave knowing that one day Medica will address the problems of Romani women. I have listened to horrendous war stories, encouraged my colleagues to challenge each other, learned the Bosnian language and met people from all over the former Yugoslavia; and I am a different, stronger person for having been here.
Four large families made the waiting room look much smaller than on previous nights at the Washington clinic. As part of my work at the homeless shelter, I drive new residents to the clinic so that everyone can receive free tests for tuberculosis. This particular night, one of the men who boarded my large red van had consumed a good deal of alcohol. Had I known this, I would have asked him to leave the shelter, preventing further emotional and physical damage to himself and others. The twenty-two year old resident threw his cigarette on the ground when I told him he needed to board the van and swore at another resident when she asked his age. He had come to the shelter with his pregnant girlfriend and her son from a previous relationship. I sat across from the couple in the waiting room, observing their actions and expressions. Both were silent and tense, and the face of the twenty-one year old woman looked aged and withdrawn—similar to a movie I had seen in which one of the women was a victim of domestic violence. At one point, the man looked up and tried to grab a piece of paper that was in his girlfriend's possession. He was unsuccessful and violently made another grab. She turned away, pulling her arms to her chest and crossing her legs to protect herself. She stood up to switch chairs, and he grabbed her wrist and twisted her body around as she struggled to get free. She broke loose just as another resident screamed, "don't you dare touch her!" The man raced out of the room, slamming the door, and the woman burst into tears, sobbing, "why does he always have to do this to me?" When it all started, I became a wide-eyed child. I had to do something. Thoughts raced through my mind—the only part of me not paralyzed by what I had seen. My self-image as a person who could handle any crisis while maintaining a calm, articulate manner disappeared, and my idealistic dreams of saving the world from suffering were forgotten. I had thought that I would call 911 immediately with a detailed description of such a situation and would have the clerk call security so the man didn't escape, but all I could do in the moment, was dial the number of the shelter where I worked. Even then, speaking to a familiar co-worker's voice, I could barely articulate who I was, let alone what I needed. After several broken sentences in what would barely pass for English, my co-worker dialed 911 for me. Five minutes later, the police entered the waiting room and grilled me with questions, only a few of which I could answer confidently. The woman denied having been abused in any way and was upset that her boyfriend had to leave the shelter because she was afraid no one would take care of him. For days, all I could think about was how weak and how paralyzed I'd felt. I hadn't been the strong hero I'd envisioned, holding myself together during any crisis, but maybe G-d had a lesson for me to learn that night. As I reflected on my attitude, I saw arrogance and selfishness. To think that I could put an end to the domestic violence that was probably part of a larger cycle was naive of me, and to put myself above the victim, trying to 'save her,' was condescending. G-d probably saw that my concern for people was clouded by self-righteousness. Had I remained in the moment without drowning in emotions, I might have prevented the man from grabbing his pregnant girlfriend. That evening, though, I wanted to be a hero for the sake of being a hero, and that mind set doesn't allow for real care giving. G-d showed me that carrying individuals to where I think they should be is not care giving either. Rather, I must stand beside individuals; silent, listening genuinely to their needs, and learning from them as I travel on my spiritual journey. That is real care giving.
After Slobodan Milosevic was deposed, a friend wrote me an email with 'VIVA KOSTUNICA' in all caps, and I nearly fell out of my chair at the Internet café trying to cover it up. Here, Kostunica is the same as Milosevic. In the local newspaper, a commentator said the difference between Kostunica and Milosevic is like the difference between Coke and Pepsi. At a local NGO seminar, a participant jokingly added 'having Milosevic back' to a list of what the group wanted for an ideal society in Kosovo. While in jest, this comment plays on an underlying fear here that the international community may leave Serbia now that it is 'democratic.'
The immediate reaction of the Kosovars to the uprising in Belgrade was unbelievable. No one paid attention at all. It was amazing how little interest there was in the events in Belgrade. As I walked through the city centre, the young people were heading to cafés and bars, ignoring the televisions that showed Kostunica speaking to a crowd in Belgrade. The next day, while visiting NGOs and Serb enclaves, we tried to feel people out about what was going on in Belgrade. In one Serbian enclave in Rahovec, a city southwest of Prishtina, the Serb woman who worked for the [Office of Security and Cooperation in Europe] had no clue what had unfolded in Belgrade. None of her international contacts had told her. When we broke the news, she had no response. Her face stayed absolutely blank. Maybe she feared the change because Serbs in Kosovo/a had ties to Milosevic's regime, and his fall from power could mean the end of support like pensions to the community. The enclaves are very isolated in general, and that's part of the reason why Milosevic is so important to many. In the Albanian community, we met with some people who were working to have the Kosovar Albanians who had been picked up by the Serb police released from prison in Serbia. One woman from the Association for Political Prisoners had a helpless, dramatic air to her. With the change in government in Belgrade, there was an opportunity to link the plight of political prisoners to the lifting sanctions and the normalization of relations with Serbia. Rather than taking an active approach, this woman was waiting for the Special Envoy from [United Nations (Interim Administration) Mission in Kosovo] to deal with the prisoner issue. She said, "someone else has our voice," meaning that only internationals have the power to lobby on this issue. She seemed paralyzed, unable to use her voice—however loud or soft it may be. One good thing in all this is a lull in the political violence of August and September. There may be some level of harassment still going on, but the outright attacks on LDK (Democratic League of Kosovo/a) candidates have stopped. Still, silence here is ominous. Before the change in Belgrade, many people projected an increase in violence if certain parties don't feel that they have the power they want. I guess we'll find out. To say the least, this is the most interesting time to be in Kosovo/a. Every day, I take the chance to go out and talk to people about the situation here. It's a nice excuse to try to find out what people are thinking. Right now, one of our projects involves interviewing youth about their thoughts on the situation and future of Kosovo/a. We hope to talk with youth from a broad range of ethnic and geographical backgrounds and distribute a report including the various viewpoints. Since, these youth have limited contact and no real means to make communication possible, we are working to facilitate the communication process. It's the first of several steps that we hope will assist inter-ethnic and interregional dialogue.
During the time that I've spent in Chiapas over the last few years, I have been struck by the generosity of the indigenous people I have gotten to know. No time of the year is this more apparent than All Saints Day, or the Day of the Dead, as November 1st is commonly referred to in Mexico. This is the day that deceased loved ones are honored and remembered by feasting on the things that they liked to eat when they were alive. The celebrations last several days, and it's one of the few times that there seems to be enough food for everyone to eat their fill. I arrived in the community of X'oyep on October 31st and preparations were well underway for the celebration. Lorenzo invited me into his home to taste some of the cane he had pressed and boiled down to a honey like substance. He gave me a chu'm te, a small, squash-like fruit to dip in the sweet liquid. I watched as Rosa patted corn dough and ground beans into tamales. I helped cut some of the banana leaves that would be used to wrap the tamales before they would be boiled. As I was leaving, Lorenzo gave me several small bananas, one of the fruits that his land produces. Lorenzo is one of the few people living in X'oyep before over 1000 members of the pacifist, Christian organization, Las Abejas, fled there in fear of paramilitary violence about 3 years ago. In spite of the lack of adequate housing, water and food, it seemed like everyone went out of their way to bring me various kinds of food. By the end of the day, I had a pile of oranges and tamales big enough to feed several people. Going anywhere during these days is often hard because you are invited in and offered food virtually everywhere you go. I traveled to Acteal the next day, where a mass was held to remember the 45 Abejas who were killed there 3 years ago. The mass ended with the traditional burning of flowers and candles on the graves of the deceased in the memorial building where the 45 people are buried. Smoke filled the building and rose is a cloud from the windows as people remembered their lost loved ones. As I was returning to X'oyep, Manuel invited me into his home, and although it wasn't time for the meal, he offered me a sweet corn porridge. As I was drinking the thick liquid, I noticed that there was a table, set for 6, filled with bowls of chicken soup, coke, oranges, bananas and all the other foods people like. This table was set for the six members of Manuel's family who were killed in the massacre his mother, sister, wife, sister-in-law, and two of his children. I felt honored to be present and to partake in a piece of the remembering of those Manuel loved. The next morning in X'oyep, I was invited to Antonio's house, where we feasted on chicken soup, tamales, chu'm te, and coke. As I was sitting there, wondering how I would eat everything already on the table, someone brought small, sweet breads, then oranges, and bananas, all for me to take with me when I left. I couldn't help feeling a bit guilty taking all this food. Most of the year, people eat beans and tortillas, but only if there are enough beans to last the whole year, yet I, with access to resources beyond the imagination of many people, was being offered the best that people had, and lots of it. Would I do the same?
Editor's Note: Christian Peacemaker Teams is an initiative among Mennonite and Church of the Brethren congregations and Friends Meetings that supports violence reduction efforts around the world.
I II III Now, will you follow these rules? Probably not. Okay, I know you won't, but I'd love to hear from you even if you are not sick or injured (especially if you are not sick or injured). Thank you for all you do! Sending you blessings and hugs. BVS Momma - Kim Bickler Link to Church of the Brethren General Board Site | Link to Church of the Brethren Official Web Site © 2001 Church of the Brethren All rights reserved |
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Speaking of Anke, she's new in the office along with some others. Our team for this year is pictured to the left. Anke Pietsch, recruitment volunteer and Torin Eikenberry, assistant to the director, are the two new faces. We welcome them to the staff. Also, Kristin Flory, not pictured, faithfully continues in her work as the coordinator of Brethren Service in Europe.
Lavonne speaks: BVS was a very important part of my young adult years. While in Europe in the 50's, I worked with East German and Hungarian refugees and learned about the pain and insecurity associated with their transitional lives. This experience greatly impressed me. Now, forty-five years later, I am a BVSer again, working with women in transition at Oakland Elizabeth House, seeing their struggles as they strive to become independent and self-sufficient. This experience is teaching me a lot about homelessness in America.
Dorothy speaks: It seems to me, this passage from Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott where she writes about her unsuccessful attempts to help her son to feel better speaks to what is the foundation of Ehouse and its success. She writes, 'I was desperate to fix him, fix the situation, make everything happy again and then I remembered this basic religious principle that God isn't there to take away our suffering or pain but to fill it with his or her presence . . . and keep [us] company.'
Mandy speaks: I've looked forward to BVS for many years. I finished my Peace Studies degree at Juniata, married my partner of six years, and when Brett and I left North Manchester for our orientation in New Windsor, it was truly the beginning of the rest of our lives! Learning, sharing and growing together with our fellow Stumbling Porkshoulders (unit 239) was a very moving experience that I will forever cherish. And so here we are in Oakland, California! I coordinate volunteers at Elizabeth House, build shelving, cook, plan activities, do Tae Bo, answer the phone, and hang out with the kids. Brett works very hard doing ten times as much, and in Spanish no less!!! We are very fortunate that we are each a part of two communities. That means twice the friendship and twice the food, which translates to love, whether it's Consuelo making Salvadoran papusas or Sherry serving ten dishes for dinner! We take advantage of the diverse opportunities in the area for music, dance, activism, spiritual community, and awesome natural surroundings. Our work is challenging, but I am grateful for the chance to share in the lives and struggle of those we live and work with. I am learning a lot about myself and realizing ever more clearly my own goals of community living.
