Cameras, Traveling, and Poverty

Lately I've been struggling with the role foreigners, particularly privileged foreigners, play in visiting or living in communities struggling with poverty. For any of us who have been regulars in this struggle, we know there's always a bit of an awkward factor--and there's also the just downright "bad feeling" that comes with it.

It's awkward to be seen has having dollar signs on your forehead, for sure, and then it's simply painful to walk into a house with simple clothes on your back and feel like a queen for what you're wearing.

I think most people who've been involved in development work or simply Christ-centered "downward mobility" have struggled with this. For me, I didn't shop for a time. My clean clothes always had holes. Forget make-up splurges. And still we might feel like royalty. We get asked for money. And it's such a struggle! How do you answer? Maybe you've been offered a baby and there was no legal way to take that child and bring him/her to safety (I was--back before I even knew my husband, and it affected me deeply).

I have often not known what to do, but one thing I felt compelled to do was take pictures. Of children laughing. Of clouds settling far below the mountain peak where I resided. Of gardens, full of vegetables, conveying hope in the midst of trying circumstances. Of fires blazing during the dry season. Of kids studying at school. These were beautiful moments, and I wanted to record them, and I believed that in capturing them I could, perhaps, explain just a bit of the life I'd chosen to those far away.

That's the context for what I need to write and is the source of a great deal of inner turmoil right now.

You see, there's a certain camp for IDPs (internally displaced persons) that my husband has had the privilege of visiting many times. He has also taken doctor teams to the camp to assist the clinic with training or in other various ways.

On a recent visit, a villager in the camp came up to him and said something along the lines of, "Look, I need the money that the last team raised for me."

My husband understood immediately (I wouldn't have) and had to explain to the man that the team had simply enjoyed taking photographs around the village and with people they'd spoken to when they had finished at the clinic.

This man was still quite confused, because, after all, they had taken photos of him. What's the point of all those photographs, in the midst of his poverty, if not to show the world and raise funds? He did not see the potential beauty worth capturing in his surroundings. In fact, he still felt that funds must have been raised, and either the team or my husband was holding it back from him. He had to be reassured a lot.

To my surprise, this was not the first time my husband has dealt with this issue. Apparently in the village we live in (which is far more comfortable than the IDP camp), there had been several similar events. Westerns come, do their thing, then take pictures, and villagers begin hoping for the help that is not coming.

What I realized is that when Westerners have often felt they were capturing a beautiful place, moment, or event, what so many local individuals have felt was an unpleasant exposure, to which they willingly succumbed, because Westerners have represented monetary hope for them.

Of course, it's the postmodern age, and some of these same villagers are also on Facebook. That means, they also see Facebook campaigns from their foreign Facebook "friends" to raise funds for this or that, sometimes individuals persons. Sometimes accompanied by photos.

And my heart broke when my husband said this to me.

Yes, in most of these cases, monetary support is not the best way to help. Really, it's not. And, yes, a major education campaign needs to occur everywhere to stop viewing foreigners as ATMs, but what hope does such a campaign have when Facebook tells them otherwise?

So what about the camera? Here are my requests of those who may visit me (and probably for anyone who visits similar situations), in no particular order:

1. Only take close-up pictures of people you know the names of and think you might loosely call "friends."

2. Do not take pictures immediately following someone telling you of their struggle, previous persecution, pain, or poverty, unless you actually intend to do something to help them. If not, wrong message. Take pictures of JOY.

3. Take pictures of mountains, lakes, clouds, and rice paddies.

4. Take far away silhouette photos of non-recognizable people doing work, which is beautiful and culturally specific, like rice planting or monks gathering alms in the morning.

5. Be upfront about the reasons for your visit (ie. not to raise funds, unless that is the reason, and even then, state what the funds will be used for).

6. Do not post fundraising campaigns for local-to-here situations on Facebook publicly. Use your privacy settings to determine your audience on Facebook.

7. Do not act like an ATM.

8. Tell people if you intend to use their photos and for what.

Most of all, let's keep working on showing deeper respect for the communities in which we find ourselves, understanding that what we may perceive as beauty (such as clothes on a clothesline) might not be understood that way by someone overwhelmed by the painful reality of their situation. Let's be slow to pick up that camera and quick to listen, love, and laugh together.

That time I balanced a cake while sitting side saddle

Last night around midnight, I had one of those "Aha" moments, where I thought to myself, "I think I can possibly write about my current ordinariness." I also thought to myself, this makes me that Westerner--who think it's funny to write about ordinary events. Okay, forgive me.

You see, I was at that moment sitting side-saddle on the back of a motorbike that my husband was driving, slipping and sliding over a muddy path, with my weekend bag, my purse, and a carrot cake (which I am quite proud of having made) on my lap--that is without tupperware... In fact, the carrot cake was still on its ceramic dish, with a plastic bowl over it and a grocery bag wrapped around the whole thing. Then there was the enormous bag of blankets and linens, as well as the computer bag, between my husband's feet, which he balanced while driving, in addition to the bananas and grapes in the front basket. We relatively comfortably slid our way through the muddy path and under frighteningly low electrical lines, made our way to the church, and were in bed not too far after midnight.

I am writing about it now, because until the moment when I thought of all of you, who might read this, it had not occurred to me that it was all that strange of an event. I mean, there was the part about it being midnight, and our evening had not exactly been planned this way. Certainly, it's not how every Friday night goes. So, in all those ways it was unusual, but it felt only normally unusual--not particularly daring or the least absurd... until I thought of you all.

The lead up to that moment was that we were helping a young woman in the church, who had been renovating her father's house. She'd asked us to pick up a truckload of furniture for her on our way up to the village yesterday. We did, little knowing that our truck would, several hours later, get stuck on the road to her house. This led to an amusing burst of help from rather tipsy neighbors and family (and thankfully some sober help as well), who helped carry all the quite heavy furniture to her house. Meanwhile, without thinking twice about it really, we left the truck in the road and traded it for the young woman's motorbike to get home. We emptied the truck of all the belongings we'd need, piled them high on ourselves/the motorbike and took off back to the church. Naturally, I was still in my meticulate professional dress, which I had worn in the morning to teach--hence the sitting side saddle.

My approach might easily have been one of annoyance, but I really have all of you to thank for changing that. When I thought of you all, I just suddenly felt like such a dare devil on an adventure that I positively wanted to laugh at the absurd image of my husband and me on that bike, with all that stuff, in that midst of that midnight, at that time of night! So thank you for transforming such an ordinary moment into one of excitement and intrigue! It is therefore in honor of you and out of gratitude that I have written this entirely frivolous blog post. Hopefully you smiled at the mental image anyway.

Now, let's hope we get the truck out!

Lights and Traffic

Right now I'm sitting in my guesthouse room on a soft bed (by my adjusted standards anyhow) with a fan over my head. Earlier I took a hot shower, scrubbing myself down, and felt in the complete lap of luxury.

But I also feel weird here. Last night I couldn't even sleep between the sounds of traffic and the lights shining into my room. I am used to no more than the sounds of frogs and crickets and the light of the moon seeping into my room.

Today I just feel like a space cadet. I find myself moving at a sluggish pace next to the rush of the city. I suppose I realize that Chiang Mai doesn't have the rush of most cities, but it feels overwhelmingly sensory stimulating at the moment nonetheless. I find myself stepping back from it all and watching. Quietly. At a distance. Like I am currently incapable of being a part of it.

None of this really bothers me per se. For I do not live here, and it does not disturb to watch Chiang Mai as a curious outsider. Right now it is more than appropriate that the village/camp feels most like home to me or that other places feel quietly "otherly" to me. The village is my home for now.

Yet, as I write these words, I am forced to face the inward change. I've slowed down. I've quieted. I've poured myself into a new community, and I have changed because of it. There's no going back. This is my community, and these are my friends.

Eight days and I return "home."

listening to the rain

I seem to sleep in 3 hour chunks right now. 4:30 PM to 7:30 PM (oops!). 11:30 PM to 2:30 AM. I'm not sure when the next sleep shift is coming, but it's hard to be upset to be awake right now when all around me outside I hear the sound of a soft rain on tin roofs everywhere. It's a beautiful sound. There's a light breeze carrying with it other wonderful smells of Chiang Mai into my room through the open windows, and in this sleepless moment, I am happy to be here and happy to be awake and able to store this moment in my memory.

Where I start and end...

I'm in DC, and tonight I get on a flight that will begin the journey to the Thai-Burma border.

Documents and anxiety...

Today is my final full day in North Carolina. It frightens me to think that tomorrow I load my suitcase into a car and drive with my parents to DC. Thankfully, nearly every new life experience (minus just a few) has started in DC for me, and the ritual will bring about its own calmness.

At the moment, however, I don't feel the calmness of my DC ritual. I keep staring at my duffel bag and thinking I've got too much stuff and thinking about weeding out still a little more. Then I run through my list of documents that I need on the airplane: Qatar Airways itinerary, Qmiles membership card... wait, what airline is it that I'm flying from Bangkok to Chiang Mai? My mind freezes and for a few horrible seconds I wonder if it's all in my head that I've even purchased a ticket from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. Being stuck in Bangkok without any plans sounds horrid, but, good news, I'm flying Bangkok Airways. I will also need the paper with my membership to that airline's frequent flyer list. Additionally, I need the address of the couple I'm staying with when I get to Chiang Mai, and I should probably have the address of Partners. Oh, and my virtual insurance card. I definitely need to print that. Somehow, all of this makes me feel slightly anxious that I might forget any one of them and then reminds me that I'm not coming back, which scares me, even as I'm simultaneously so excited to be going.

Of course, there's also all the things I'd like to copy for my parents before I leave (passport, itinerary, vaccination records, etc.), and still all the other things I'd like to accomplish. For example, I'd really like to see my mom's new food blog set up and ready to go: Grandma's Gone Global (she's hasn't written anything yet, but I cannot imagine a better chef for a global food blog).

And then in that rare moment, when my thoughts are not focused on all that I must accomplish, I remember why I'm doing this. I'm going for people like this one:

Not So Different from Partners Relief & Development on Vimeo.

And these:

War Refugee from Partners Relief & Development on Vimeo.

The first video is of a Karen girl, and the next video is of a Kachin refugee camp, which are both different than the Shan, with whom I'll be working, but I cannot find a better way to explain why I'm going, because all three groups have been victims of the same military regime. And when I remember these, I feel strangely very focused, and all anxiety about the details of this document or that falls away in light of the purpose of going.

Journey without an end date...

In the last few days I have most undoubtedly begun procrastinating the very final touches that would allow me to zip up my bags and call them packed. It's not that I am any less excited to go, because I am excited... but... there's something final in those last actions that reminds that this time I do not know when I'll return. In five days I get on an airplane and fly to Thailand. This time my itinerary doesn't have "round trip" checked in the little box, and there's not a return ticket saved somewhere in cyberspace. For once I am not planning with an end date looming.

I've lived a rather nomadic life for the last eight years, and each experience has always come with a specified amount of time and commitment. I've welcomed those end dates, knowing that I could plan based on them. Paging - 9 mos. Germany - 11 mos. College - 4 years. Egypt - 4 mos. Thailand (the first time) - 4 mos. Teach for America - 2 years. During this time, I've lived with 35 different people, and each housing/rooming experience likewise had a start and end date, sometimes a fact I mourned and other times a fact I hung onto.

One distinctive part of my life has, therefore, necessarily become planning for the "thing after this thing." On the one hand, I have a real strength for long-term planning and casting vision. On the other hand, my futuristic dreams have also pulled me away at times from the present moment. Sometimes I wanted that and admittedly used the future as an escape, and sometimes that's just how life worked, because I had some application or resume to work on.

But now: Thailand (the second time) - indefinite.

So here's to the present and living life, for a little while, without leaning on my knowledge of what comes next. :)

What if I had never been a Page?

When I was 16, I left home to travel to DC and spend my junior year of high school working for Congress as a U.S. House of Representatives Page. During this time I attended school from 6:45 AM to an hour before Congress went into session or 11:30 AM at the latest. I frequently worked late nights, often after midnight, and when I didn't, I still had homework to do until midnight and then got up at 5am the next day. I was exhausted all the time, and yet I consider it the best choice I ever made, and I know I would not be who I am today, were it not for the Page Program. I learned discipline there, in a way I could not have learned anywhere else, and a passion was lit in me for people and places that I never imagined. Sadly, yesterday the Speaker of the House, John Boehner (R-Ohio), announced the ending of the Page Progam, a 235 year tradition, due to the prohibitive costs. I cannot tell you the travesty this is for all the young high schoolers of every economic background that the program accepts and gives the opportunity of a lifetime to. In fact, I cannot tell you the travesty this is for the country who gains far more than the annual $5 million it pays to run the program from the kinds of individuals that the program produces.

For me, Paging snowballed into a series of events that fundamentally changed my life direction for infinitely better. So, in light of that, and in honor of the program that this country should truly grieve, I ask what if I had never been a page? If I had never been a Page, then I, who entered with a desire to go into medicine, would never have encountered the hard questions that eventually led me into the humanities. I would never have known a self-proclaimed communist friend or a socialist government teacher. I would have maintained a black-and-white view that such ideas lacked no merit or logic, rather than see them in a three dimensional understanding. I would also have not met a gay friend until sometime in college and probably would have been still firmer in my black-and-white stance on that one, showing little understanding and finding no need to address the issue. I would also not have encountered the feelings of facing beggars on a daily basis and trying to juggle compassionate and sustainable responses. I wouldn't have met a man on the streets from my hometown and realized how quickly one's privilege can disappear in a few short bad choices or bad luck. I would today be far less of a compassionate individual than I am, and I would not have met my dearest friend, Mike, who has walked with me through all of life's twists and turns and challenged me into being a better me. In short, my views would not have been stretched, and I would have remained fully enmeshed in a conservative, evangelical subculture without any opportunity to see the greater world or understand another perspective.

Moreover, I certainly would not have ever learned of the Congress-Bundestag Youth Exchange, so I would never have gone to Germany on a full scholarship. I would never have become fluent in a second language, meaning my brain would be far less developed and I would be culturally less understanding. I would not have developed a deeper compassion for immigrants into America or some understanding of minority-hood. I probably would not have paid so much attention to racism in the church in America, and I would not have gotten involved in groups to help compassionately bring understanding of white privilege in college. I would also not have met my German friend, Judith, who grew up in Egypt and challenged my biases about Arabs. I wouldn't have experienced those conversations or have been nearly as open to the possibility of one day traveling to Egypt myself, having only a very negative stereotypical (and racist) view of that part of the world. I wouldn't have experienced my German family or friends, who taught me what real cultural immersion meant and have proven to me that true immersion is possible and not a frightening thing to be avoided. I wouldn't have been nearly as courageous about travel later.

Of course, not having been a Page and not having gone to Germany, I would not have looked nearly as impressive on college applications either. I would likely have continued through my last two years of high school taking classes at the community college. Even with strong SAT scores, I would not have been so exciting for the College Honors Program at Messiah College and probably would not have gotten a 60% scholarship. Being surrounded by North Carolinians, who all went to state schools, I would likely have done the same and attended school in Chapel Hill, because it was more affordable. I would have found myself involved campus ministries that affirmed my faith, but I would not have had theology classes that gave me the space to question everything or forced me to ask myself if my faith had become more American than loving. I probably would have kept God in my religious, evangelical box.

Of course, having stayed at the community college throughout high school, I would have had only two years of college left and would not have had time to study abroad. I would not have ever participated in the Middle East Studies Program, traveling to Egypt, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, and Israel, and the Arab Spring that occurred this past spring would have meant nothing to me, save for how it affected my sister's security. I would also not have gone to Thailand, because, even if a program was offered at the state school of my choice and I had the time to participate, it would have been far too exotic for a first-time overseas experience. I might have studied in a place like England, where I wouldn't been really forced so much to face the fact that people of deep faith commitments practice different religions than me. I wouldn't have noticed how much I respected certain faith leaders, regardless of religion, and how much others disgusted me--that this fact remained as true for other religions as for Christianity. Most definitely, I would not have ever made it to a refugee camp on the Thai-Burma border, where a long-term commitment would form for the victims of the Burmese regime.

And Teach for America? Well, at that point, I would have been just an ordinary student with an ordinary educational background. Perhaps I would have been very successful in my couple years of college, and perhaps I would have taken a couple leadership positions that would have made me stand out in the areas that mattered most to Teach for America. Perhaps I would have had a chance of acceptance, but, most likely, I would never have developed a passion or deep interest in alleviating the achievement gap formed out of my own privilege, so I probably wouldn't have even applied and would probably be finishing up medical school or something like that right now. I would not have met Kalanda or Braylen or Coddie or Travis or Lederricka or Camisha or Trevis or Chris or Crystal or so many other students who fundamentally changed my approach towards youth. I wouldn't know now about loving others, regardless of the returned sentiment. I wouldn't know how to lead or manage the way I learned in controlling my classroom.

I would not be a teacher. I would not have found this calling, and I would not have given back to society in that way or be about to head over to the Thai-Burma border as a teacher. Perhaps I would plan on doing medical missions one day, but probably those would be distant dreams. I would be leading a good life, even a compassionate life, but my world would be small, and I would not know the kind of deep caring that I have discovered in far away places.

I will never put a price tag on what the Page Program gave me or any of the other thousands of students who had the opportunity to serve in DC under its auspices. We are who we are because of this opportunity. I am so grateful and so deeply grieved that future students will never have this opportunity again. Ending it simply does not make good economic sense, for we will always give back more than we received in mere dollar amounts.

Slowly I am going through my pre-Thailand checklist...

-purchase good Swiss Army Knife - CHECK
-line up CouchSurfing hosts for when I first arrive in Thailand - CHECK
(P.S. - CouchSurfing is one of my favorite things... check out why: http://www.couchsurfing.org)
-make a prayer rope to begin a routine of saying the Jesus Prayer (Eastern Orthodox tradition that I appreciate) - CHECK
-vaccinations and medications - CHECK (I think?)
-make plans with Thai friends - ONGOING
-write long-term plan for teaching ESL - NOT BEGUN
-practice bowed psaltery, so I don't make all the IDPs' ears quiver with the equivalent sound of a five year old on bagpipes - ONGOING
-unpack - ONGOING
-organize - ONGOING
-pack - does this really have to happen?
-study for the GRE - seriously? I've been saying this for several summers in a row: #1 Reason to Study Overseas
-write first "update" to my e-mail list to check that all e-mails are correct and working - CURRENTLY PROCRASTINATING BY WRITING THIS BLOG

In the meanwhile, if you would like to be on my e-mail updates, please send me your e-mail address, and I will add you. My internet access will likely be quite limited, making a lot of individual e-mails challenging. However, there are things that I will not be posting in this blog that I will be e-mailing.

Dear all,

I've spent several weeks considering when, what, and how to write these following words. I used to announce every new transition in life with some relish, caring to update all, and drag along hundreds of readers through every change in life. That's changed. I'm not sure why, but, instead, this time I finalized the next phase of life and have been steadily preparing for it while actually telling relatively few of my plans. Likewise, I've all but stopped writing in my blog (http://glance.blogspot.com for those of you reading this elsewhere), and I've frequently considered deleting it, preferring to become more anonymous, not less. Attempting to spill out the words of where my future is headed, I find myself fumbling for half an hour over a few words, wishing instead for fewer followers, rather than asking for more.

Yet friends have been frequently reminding me of late that my desire for anonymity has a degree of selfishness attached to it. The reality is, for whatever reason, there appears to be a whole list of people who deeply care about receiving updates from me at least next year, and I would be arrogant to think all their care was directed at me. They care to hear from me, because they care about the issues I will be facing. I increasingly realize that the stories and concerns that I could voice to the public over the next year are not my own, and I do not promote justice in my silence. So, followers, though I may have seemed to attempt to lose you in the last two years, if you are still with me or joining me for the first time now, I ask that you journey with me now so that we can together journey with victims of all mass atrocities.

In short: I am returning to the Thai-Burmese border, where I will be working with individuals fleeing the ongoing ethnic slaughtering by the Myanmar government (I will refer to the government as Myanmar, but the country and its people as Burma, in solidarity with all those who never elected the government that demanded its name change).

Three years ago today I arrived in the Mae La Refugee Camp near Mae Sot, Thailand, on the border with Burma. We did not yet know that the day before (May 2, 2008) one of the worst and most broadcast cyclones (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyclone_Nargis) had just hit Burma or that the remnants were headed toward us that evening. By the time it had crossed the mountains and arrived at the refugee camp, it merely felt like a bad storm, and we mildly lamented having been wet all night long. Yet, removed from all media, we remained unaware for a few days longer of all the destruction that had just occurred.

In the meanwhile, my friends and I, who had been seemingly randomly invited to the school in the camp, began interviewing refugees and recording their stories every chance we got. We spent time visiting an orphanage, where the children played games, sang songs with us, and drew us pictures. Their pictures were almost universally of family members being murdered by the Myanmar army (otherwise known as the SPDC). We hung out in the "Care Villa," a home for male victims of land mines, many of whom were once captured by the SPDC and forced to be porters or human land mine detectors, eventually resulting in the explosions that nearly cost them their lives and left generally blind and missing limbs. These men created the richest, most beautiful, and moving chorus I have ever experienced in my life. I think these men gave me a picture of heaven.

We spent evenings with college students like ourselves, who took turns playing volleyball with us and telling us stories of the SPDC pouring boiling water of their friends' heads alive, so that their hair would come out faster.

We read literature. We wrote stories. We laughed and had fun. We sobbed. We were shocked. We were stunned. We were confused. I really don't have words for the emotions of that week. We had just finished four months in Thailand, but the emotions of that single week stand out to me far more than all the emotions of the other four months combined. Interacting with the survivors of what more and more fear to be an all-out genocide (http://www.genocideintervention.net/educate/crisis/burma) changed everything. How does a person ever forget that level of suffering? That level of horror? Each of us spread out across the country after our return to the State, and we all dealt with what we had seen differently, though it affected each of us deeply. Some of my friends started a non-profit (http://lovemine.org/), another dove headfirst into the American Burmese refugee population in Harrisburg, and others like myself have been at least temporarily removed from it all with an inner promise to return when a chance arose. For the last three years, my involvement with the situation in Burma has been reduced largely to obsessively following all news from the region (check out: http://www.irrawaddy.org/).

Two years ago, as I was graduating college, I came very close to taking a teaching position on the border with the Burma Volunteer Program (http://www.burmavolunteers.org/). However, I ended up deciding that I was not yet ready to face the issues of the refugee camps and that I did not yet have skills to be an excellent teacher. I remembered clearly a nurse in Egypt admonishing all of us (young college students on a study abroad program) to not come back until we could honestly claim to be excellent in our fields and have something worth giving to the Egyptian people. Though the Thai-Burmese border is not Egypt, I felt the advice held, and I ended up signing on to two years with Teach for America (http://www.teachforamerica.org/), through which I have taught special education in rural Louisiana. I could write another five posts just about this experience, but let it be said that I made the right choice, and I am very glad I took this opportunity. I have learned more than simply the teaching skills that I felt I needed. I've learned something about suffering, hoping in a hopeless situation, and most importantly the idea of longevity.

I considered for a long time going immediately back to school for a graduate degree after Teach for America, but, as is obviously clear by this point, my passion for the situation occurring inside and along the borders of Burma has become to great to simply study it from afar. I have never felt more strongly about any life decision, nor have I ever felt this level of confidence about the "rightness" of this. Sometime in the Fall it became quite clear to me that I needed to go. In October and November, I began putting out feelers to many of the organizations that exist, both within Burma and Thailand, and I was offered several positions by several respectable organizations. For all those, I was both humbled and grateful. However, in the end, I chose an organization named Partners Relief and Development (http://www.partnersworld.org/index.html) that a friend of a friend had recommended because of where and with whom they will have me working. I will spend the summer primarily in North Carolina and then leave for Thailand August 23. I will be working primarily with the Shan ethnic group, one of the ethnic groups targeted by the military.

In the meanwhile, I am now putting out the feelers for all the e-mail addresses of those who want e-mailed updates. I will not be putting all updates on this blog. I will continue to use the blog, and it will contain some things that e-mails will not have (such as random tidbits that I don't want to wait to put in a regular update), but there are details I will always leave out in this very public realm. I already have a sizeable list of individuals, but I wanted to open it up to those of you I don't see on a regular basis. Please let me know if you would like to be added to this list. You can e-mail me or facebook me your address. Wish you all the best!

Always,
Kara