"Do these rights count in the home?"

The United Nations Human Rights Declaration: Article 5 - "No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment."

My students understood this article and were quick to state their need for it. They could think of countless examples.

But then one particularly astute student stumbled for his words as he said, "No, I don't know about this. These are all rights for out in public. What about in the home? Do these rights count in the home? If a husband is beating, even torturing his wife, can someone really intervene into the privacy of the home? Don't families have a right to self-determination?"

I held my breath and looked to the rest of the students, thinking one of them would speak. They looked back at me.

Kham Moen, my Shan co-teacher, and I had been teaching this class more in the role of facilitators than instructors, and despite the temptation, I did not want to stop this time. I wanted my students to come to make up their minds on tough ethical quandaries, because they had thought it through, not because an authority figure had told them "the answer."

So we made it personal. We came up with specific examples of domestic violence and sexual abuse. The students listed the rights (even sometimes conflicting rights) of every member of the family in these situations, and we talked about what was the right and moral thing to do in really difficult situations.

And then it continued... for the entire week of the Human Rights workshops. We could not simply talk about human rights in the public sphere, if we did not talk about human rights in the places closest to students' hearts: the home. So we did both: we had examples of government interactions with villages and more intimate interactions within the home. We engaged them both constantly.

I was fully invested in working through the material with my students for two reasons: 1) It is infinitely valuable for these individuals to think through the rights of others, 2) It is the last gift I can give my students.

You see, in two weeks, I will be moving and will begin a new job teaching a fantastic group of Thai second graders. It breaks my heart to think about leaving these Shan young adults, however, and so I've tried in one week to give them everything I could: a sense of compassion, empowerment, and responsibility. Before this class, only one student out of the eighteen had ever heard of the concept "human rights" or even the idea that all people might have certain rights. To talk about the international law, to which Burma is a co-signer, mattered to them.

When I asked the students what they found most interesting to study, I will never forget when a usually meek student, who keeps her head down and rarely speaks, spoke first in the class, lifting her eyes level with the others, "That my body belongs to me." This was in relation to our right to say no to unwanted sexual advances in a discussion the day before. This is what this girl remembered most of all. If that is all she remembers, we have one a huge battle in one young woman's life.

Now, over the next couple weeks, the other English teacher will be giving historic examples of non-violent resistance, as a means others have used to fight for those basic rights. Sometimes I look at my students and wonder if we're throwing fire at gasoline. They are tired of injustice already, and they are just so ready to do something. I can only pray they will have the wisdom to see when and what action is helpful. I also pray that the world will never be black-and-white to them and that they will always see the complexities, even in the midst of choosing action.

Truly I have been privileged to work with these students.

Appreciating now

Change is kind of difficult.

If I calculate it out, in the last ten years, I have lived in 21 bedrooms "long-term" (tells you how long-term anywhere has been), with over 50 different roommate/housemates. Right now, I have been living in the one-room apartment that I currently live in for four months now, and I have actually no roommates (quite an unusual arrangement actually for me). The little bungalow, which I last called home, was the longest I had called anywhere home since I was sixteen, and I stayed there for just barely over a year. As you can imagine, I found it difficult to leave that house.

With this sort of nomadic life, I think I have earned the right to state that change is difficult. Yet, I will add that I would not give up one of these experiences. I certainly hope and pray, by learning to live with so many different types of people, I am a hair's breadth readier for what my dad calls "the ultimate roommate" (that is, marriage). Moreover, I have learned from people and cultures all over the world, and who I am today is layered deeply into these many experiences. I have loved the life I have been fortunate enough to live, and I am simultaneously extraordinarily grateful that I will soon now have someone with whom to share all of life's future transitions.

Yet, despite this gratitude for life's many phases... I must admit, I am struggling with change again. In just over two weeks, I am moving to a new city to start a new job with new students, living in a new house, relying predominantly on a new language (that is Thai, instead of Shan), driving a new car on a new side of the road, and a little over a month after the move will begin my new life as a married woman. It's a lot to take in.

And being who I am, as soon as I know a change is on the horizon, it's my instinct to focus on that, rather than where I am.

So in honor of all this change, I want to take some time to appreciate all that has been (and is) in this rather short phase in which I have found myself in Chiang Mai. Here's my incomplete list of appreciation for my Chiang Mai time:

1. I have fallen in love with a wonderful man, who will soon be my husband.
2. I have been privileged to join hands with Partners and Shan Youth Power as we began the new migrant resource center, which is today Seed (This is a video of Seed, and if you look, you'll even see me teaching in this video!).
3. I have come to know the most wonderful Shan staff at Seed, who have been at times my students and at times my teachers, but always dear friends on whom I have often relied (and enjoyed their cooking).
4. I have had the chance to get to know the other Partners staff that I did not have the opportunity to get to know so well while working in the village on top of the mountain.
5. I have developed dear and lasting friends, who had no connection to Seed, Partners, or any other work related activity.
6. I have had a comfortable bed, a hot shower, a spacious bathroom, and air conditioning for quite some time now.
7. I have had the most amazing students ever (for proof, check out this past post).
8. I have enjoyed exploring Chiang Mai, whether through slow meals at the vegetarian restaurant at Wat Suan Dok or through walking around the Shan parts of town.
9. I have had the pleasure of walking/bicycling through the flower market everyday on the way to work.
10. I have been refreshed by the daily sight of the Doi Sutthep (a mountain).

Where are you all? Where are you headed? What are you grateful for right now? I'd love to hear from you.

Fruitfulness and Marriage

DISCLAIMER: For those of you who read my blog for the purpose of reading about things related to Thailand, Burma, and the Shan, this post isn't that. As I enter this new phase of life, I hope you will occasionally walk with me on some more marriage-related posts.

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I basically don't like rules. Especially when people make them regarding expressions of faith. They bother my core and make me suspect insecurity more than a deep regard for their Creator.

But then again, I can't create a rule about rules either actually... I would, in fact, admit there do seem to be a few concretes in scripture that don't confuse me on cultural grounds that I do think make fairly good rules to live by: "Do not murder." is a fine example. Being faithful to one's spouse falls in that category, as well. A long with quite a few others. Some rules are okay with me.

Yet, mostly, I see exceptions everywhere, and I am bothered by blanket statements. I certainly see family planning as an impossibility for hard fast rules, which is why it surprised me so much when I was quite bothered yesterday by an article on Christianity Today's Her-Meneutics: The Fruitful Callings of the Childless by Choice. I read it, and I couldn't pinpoint what it was that bothered me, so I went to sleep.

So let's begin with admitting my own oddness: I am not very likely to take something at face value, just because someone told me so. I remember when in my senior seminar in college, my professor told all the graduating seniors that what he most wished for is that we had developed a fine-tuned "BS detector," and I thought to myself, mine might have gotten a bit hypersensitive. Basically, I am highly skeptical and approach assumptions through the back door.

Which is to say that when I first began to realize I would be getting married this year and thus needed to start thinking about birth control, I did not come in with many ready assumptions. Of course, I did the usual research about birth control methods. Pros and cons. Effectiveness. Side effects. The usual.

I could cite that stuff, but something inside me kept calling me deeper in my questioning. There was nothing wrong with birth control really. At all. But... I did not like the way it seemed to be discussed online, nor the way others were discussing it with me in person. Then, as well as last night, I could not put my finger on why right away, so I also slept on it. And slept some more on it. For weeks. And I listened to people and listened to when it was that I felt they had something beautiful to say about families and family planning and when it was they expressed something that elicited that same uncomfortable feeling inside me. 

Then I did something else quite unusual: I figured if the reason I could not express myself regarding birth control was because it was totally taken for granted in our society, I needed to go back only a hundred years in my reading to see what people were expressing when it was still new. So I began reading both defenses of and attacks against birth control dating from the 1880s through the 1920s. (Thankfully, Kindles are wonderful sources of free reading of the older sort.) I noticed something: many strong, courageous women felt that the availability of birth control was a necessity, BUT... they thought it highly unwise for a newly married couple to delay having their first child. In fact, everybody seemed to be in agreement on this one fact (I'm sure if you dig, you will find the exception, but I did not), during the era when birth control first entered our society. Those who delayed, they referred to as "voluntarily sterile," and they considered it a failure to realize the fullness of the marriage. To them, it was a terribly sad and selfish state of being.

I did not come to the same conclusion. Not entirely. But it helped me understand.

Finally, I began to verbalize to others and to my fiance (who was light years ahead of me in this area... he needed no convincing at all!) what I was feeling--that we live in a society that does not value children. We generally want "us" time, more than we want the natural blessings of married life. And we certainly do not want too many of them! They are a threat to our way of living, and birth control has become more closely related to the fear of the arrival of a child than with the excitement of planning for the arrival of a child. I do not want that. Whether we delay or not, our reasons should be more about the excitement than about the loss (and yes, every time we choose one thing, we do lose another, I realize... the honeymoon phase must change into something else eventually).

Sooo... back to the article yesterday... There was nothing I found technically wrong with it, and I appreciated the author's honesty. I would not want to apply a rule to her, which I would find unfair. But... I still question the basic presuppositions... that children might ever take us away from our purpose. Perhaps, God has not called this particular couple to have children, and that is fine, and perhaps a few who have likewise been called into a unique lifestyle will find encouragement in what she has written. Yet, I am concerned for the many, many others, who simply fear the losses. That's what bothered me: not the article itself, but that it may so easily build on the already existing cultural supposition that children are a burden upon our "deeper" purposes and desires. Are children not often the very inspiration for the additional gifts and purposes God gives us?

Admittedly, I now write as only an engaged woman, who has never yet gone through the transitions of either marriage or motherhood, but my critique is on an accepted societal view. When my chance to welcome a new child into the world comes, I want it to be exactly that: an exciting welcoming, not something I feel frustrated about because he/she showed up before I had properly planned for them. 

What do you all think?

Talking about the Holocaust and reconciliation

Some days I am pretty sure I teach the most incredible students ever. Seriously.

Last week we had a conversation that I still have not gotten out of my head. You see, it started off by reading a story that just mentioned a "senator's wife." But these students are from Burma, and you can't explain even a simple political word without really talking about.

So we talked.

We worked through the different parts of government in the American system as a point of comparison, and then we talked about Burma. So far, I had not had any political conversation with my Shan students, and I was a little nervous about opening it up, but I also felt it was necessary. Because politics in Burma, to migrant workers in Thailand, means everything. It's what determines whether they ever return to the places where they were born.

Amazingly, as I began to ask about the constitution, my students demonstrated incredibly maturity and insight. I asked them what they thought would happen at the next election (when a majority of the seats are going to be contested), and they tackled the issues of whether Aung San Suu Kyi's NLD party might win and what that could mean for the country. They went on to discuss their fears and how sometimes they feel inside Shan State, Burma, as second class citizens.

If we had stopped there, I would have felt the lesson a great success. My goodness, they were incredible--seriously, incredible. They came from many different walks of life with so many different experiences, and yet they held a conversation with mild debate in a respectful and considerate manner.

But the story doesn't finish with talking about government.

One of the more thoughtful students had something he needed to tell the class: you see, on the way to class that day, he had seen a man stranded on the side of the road after a motorbike accident, and he stopped to help him, only to discover this man was Burmese. For my student, who has suffered deeply by the Burmese in the past, he had a decision to make. He wanted to turn away and leave this man to suffer alone, but this student really and truly is incredible. He did not turn away. He stepped in and helped him.  He looked at the class, fresh from the emotions and asked, "Did I do the right thing? I wasn't sure if it was right, because he was Burmese, and the Burmese have hurt our people so. But he was just a person."

The students stared back at him. They did not rush to tell him he had done the right thing, because I suspect all were wondering if they would have done the same thing. After a short silence, I told him that I thought what he had done was extremely brave and good, but I would tell them a story and see if my story helped them decide for themselves.

I told them about growing up, knowing of my Jewish heritage and therefore learning early on about the Holocaust and all those that died. Since my students did not know what the Holocaust was, I gave them a history lesson and showed photographs. As I paused, you could hear only the constant whir of the fans in the students' silence.

Then I confessed the fact that I came to know sometime later than I came to know my Jewish heritage: that's the Nazi war criminal past as well. That "other" cousin.

You see, I share in my blood the blood of many who died but also of one who did much to assure that more died. That's my heritage. Both.

I have since lived in Germany and come to speak German fluently, and my sister lives in Israel and has married an Israeli. We never walk away from the understanding of humanity's deep capacity for incredible good or evil, and, knowing that terrible evil has existed even within our family, we have no choice but to walk in forgiveness. That is why I went to Germany, and that is why I learned German. That is also why I chose to love what is German. Forgiveness is my heritage.

And it's precisely that understanding of my heritage which has translated into a passion for justice and reconciliation and sent me off to work with those who have suffered most by the Burmese regime's discriminatory and violent practices. I then turned to my student, who had helped the Burmese man, and asked him if he understood why I was telling the class this story.

"Yes," he responded and smiled. "I believe in helping him too."

The next day the class continued the conversation, adding that the only chance Shan State has for true freedom exists through forgiveness and valuing all people. I was floored. This is not normal Shan speech, and my students said it, not I. This may sound like ordinary Western meaningless fluff, but this kind of speech is completely foreign here and most definitely has meaning. We watched some videos about the Holocaust, and the students talked about both what was similar and different to what the Burmese have attempted against the Shan and the incredible risk of what the Shan could attempt against its minorities if ever given independence, if they do not first deal with their own hate, fear, and other issues. I. have. never. heard. anyone. actually. say. that.

I have hope today, because my students will one day be leaders, and these leaders will lead well.

As I said, I have incredible students. I am so incredibly privileged to be their English teacher.

An awkward confession

So I have a bit of a confession to make: I'm a little proud. Actually, quite possibly a lot. In fact, I generally think I'm right. As in, I always suspect I'm right. After all, why believe something at all, if you aren't going to believe you are right in believing it? Or so I've always philosophized my way away from humility.

But I'm beginning to learn something: there is nothing like even just the preparations for marriage to begin to make me gulp and question the above philosophy... I mean, here's quite a shocker: my fiancé does not think the exact same way as me on everything. I know, you all will need to pick your jaws up off the floor and let out a sigh in deep sympathy now, but it's true. And even more, sometimes he looks at me and actually suspects he might be able to see an area in my life in which I need to improve. I generally assure him quickly that he need not worry about such things.

Alas, my half-joking words are so much more true than not, and my heart constricts in pain as I realize just how much suffering I have the capability of causing by my mere know-it-all attitude (one long cultivated by the age of two). So here's something I am also now learning: I might be right. It's true. I might be, but generally it doesn't matter one bit. My rightness is totally unimportant to the orbit of the world around the sun, but my valuing of my future husband's views can change history. Maybe I'm still over-inflating any single decision of my own, including a good decision, but I'm beginning to think that that's possibly the kind of power we all hold when we affirm one another and lay down our rightness. We set a precedence that may last forever.

So, y'all, I am proud. And I enjoy displaying my rightness. Pray for me to be better than I am today. I don't want to be that person (and all my family who has suffered under my know-it-all-ness for two decades probably wants to kiss my fiancé's feet right now).

Some heavy news

My heart is heavy today. I've been reading a lot of news lately:

"Zimmerman is aqcuitted of murder and manslaughter charges." - NY Times

• I don't think I need to explain this one... you all have been probably watching the story of George Zimmerman far more closely than I have on this side of the world.
• An interesting point of comparison from 2007 in the NY Times: Man Convicted of Shooting Teenager 

"Monk threatens politicians over interfaith marriage" - Irrawaddy News

• This is about setting up a law to make it difficult or impossible for a Buddhist girl to marry a Muslim man... or any other religion, though it's for the purpose of alienating the Muslim population. 
• It is referred to as the "national race protection" law.

"Police attacked with petrol bombs in Belfast" - BBC News

• That again? I thought this ended, when I was just a small child. Nationalists and Royalists.

And there's more, not to mention the number of fearful Facebook posts, from people who thought one way or the other about Zimmerman's verdict. People swearing that the only response is for every "responsible" human being to carry a gun. God, help us.

All I see is all of this is that the world is full of people who are afraid of the other. And it's a deadly fear. I pray we all learn to face our fears and see the human, the image of God even, in the eyes of those we fear.

Something worth giggling over

I think it is pretty well known enough among my friends and loved ones that I can take up the somewhat more public pen and announce: I am getting married! It is an exciting fact that will occur in November to the man that makes it exciting. His name is Mong (actually, people here often have a few names, but that is the easiest one for English speakers), and he is a pastor in a small village.

Actually, when I get this far along in telling about this exciting news, my hands tend to go to my face to cover my smile and a slight giggle comes from my belly. I am in love. These are normal reactions to being in love. But... I've become a bit reticent about telling new acquaintances about this fun, new chapter in my life (it may have contributed to even how long I took to tell some friends I have not seen in a while and certainly to post in public spheres). Even as I write now, I am gulping and plunging forward with a sense of determination, rather than excitement.

Why is that? Friends who have known us well have spoken nothing but encouragement. If they have occasionally asked questions about how we will face some cultural leaps that are necessary, it was in the context of love and understanding of who we are. Yet, some others--people who do not even know either of us--seem to have felt it necessary to inform us that we come from different cultures, and that will be difficult. Point blank. Nothing more. And then there's that disapproving look. Towards me, it's the look of being foolish and stupid, of not knowing what I'm about. Perhaps they see me as trying to rescue, as if my fiancé needed rescuing by anybody, just because he was born to a different culture.  Towards him, the look is often slightly more menacing, as if he were trying to take advantage of me or get to my money (which I do not have) or my citizenship (we plan to live in Thailand). Some have even worried about how our children will look, when blending two different races.

Gulp.

In case anyone was feeling self-righteous, these statements have all been from Westerners.

I go to a Thai church that has a few regular Westerners and the occasional visitors. This last Sunday there was a group from Oklahoma Baptist University, and I ended up in a small group with them (we do small groups every week). They were visiting a family that knows me and goes regularly to The Light (my church), and the man asked me to share a bit about the person I am marrying.

I paused.

I should have been excited.

If they were Thai or Shan, I would have been excited.

But I am coming to dread telling white strangers (is this racism on my part?). Yes, this group seemed nice enough. But they had the option of telling me I was crazy to marry a man from another culture, and it seems people so often feel free to do that with a stranger.

Then I opened my mouth and talked. And then they told me they were excited for me, and they shared encouraging scriptures.

I breathed a sigh. I don't know what they said when they went back to their rooms that night, but I was encouraged that not everyone lets their fear of the other dominate them.

It's probably because of them that I have the courage to tell you now. I invite you to come alongside me as I begin this new journey we call marriage.

(My mom took this photo in front of the tea gardens near the village Mong lives in)

After a long silence

I have started and stopped a new blog post or update e-mail so many, many times over the last many months. Every time I stop, by the time I come back, even a few days later, things have changed too drastically to make the post even relevant anymore. That's a difficult place to be and one that has kept me learning.

So I figure I had better write this one quickly! I can only speak for right now, at this moment, because I never know what change might be in store for me a few days later.

As of a few days ago, for reasons that do not matter here, the English program in the village where I have lived up until now has been canceled. There's something sad in saying goodbye to a place I've called home for so long. Yet, though I did not choose it ultimately, it feels right and like I am being pulled into a new phase of my life here, which I actually quite look forward to. Besides, hot water and constant electricity are a pleasant luxury.

So I find myself back in Chiang Mai for what will be a longer stint. This means a few things for me right now: First off, I can spend this time actually getting to know the people in the organization that I have worked for for over a year but only infrequently saw while living up in the mountain. Secondly, I also get the opportunity to work with some rather incredible Shan who've been making their homes in another culture (Thailand) and working at often some very challenging jobs. I will be teaching and training in some fashion at a Migrant Resource Center, which will be visited most likely by nearly all Shan members of the community. This excites me, because it also means using my Shan language skills. Third, I can really plug into a special church that has already been there for me in some tough times.

So that's life for now. Now that we've covered the basic changes, I'm sure there will be many more blog entries in the future. I will later update you on some of the things going on in Burma, but this time, I hope you have not been to bored with a simple update on my life. I wish you all the best, love you, and have in no way forgotten you!