Remembering 8888

Today is the 23rd anniversary of the 8888 (as in August 8, 1988) student protests in Burma. Students and citizens of all walks of life (monks, lawyers, farmers, etc.) desiring democracy successfully toppled three consecutive dictatorships in 31 days. Protests continued every single day all over the country on into September. On September 18, 1988 General Saw Maung retook control of the country, leading to the deaths of an estimated 1,500 students, monks, and schoolchildren in the first week of power. Five hundred of those were slaughtered in front of the US Embassy, as protesters appealed to the US and UN to take a stand. In all, it is estimated that 10,000 individuals died during the protests and unrest.

Today I honor the dreams of the protesters of 8888. I hope for the day when Burmese citizens will see the dreams of 8888 fulfilled. I pray for the citizens of all democracy movements, such as we see with this year's Arab Spring, to see success more immediately than Burmese citizens have yet felt. Most of all, I hold onto hope, for I truly believe "the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice" (MLK).

Remember 8888.

August has arrived

I bought my ticket to Thailand back in January. At the time, I remember thinking how long I had before August would come, and it was true. I still had left 1/2 a year of teaching (a whole 1/4 of my TFA experience). I needed to focus on my Louisianan students and be present for them. I had to also tell them I wouldn't be coming back and tell them that I loved them.

Those months have soared past, and August has finally arrived. In 22 short days, I board an airplane to Doha, from there I take an airplane to Bangkok, and finally an airplane to Chiang Mai, where I will spend a few days before heading to the border.

People have lately been asking "How do you feel about leaving?" It's really a strange sort of question. Truthfully, I'm in action mode. At the beginning of the summer, I was in reflection mode and felt a lot of different things, but now it's action time. I have tie up all loose ends, buy any last minute items (ziploc bags!), and pack it up. Mostly, I guess I just feel ready. I've been preparing, and it's time to go. But, yes, I will miss people, and, yes, my parents are sad to have both their daughters so far away. Please comfort them if you see them. These are the questions asked most often, but the other side of it is also, yes, it's time for August to be here.

the painful stuff

Today requires a discussion of some tough stuff. My thoughts and prayers remain with Norway, as they weather one of the world's deadliest shooting sprees and a bombing ("Scores Killed in Norway Attacks"). The evil behind the extreme right wing efforts that led to this shooting breaks my heart. God help the victims.

Unfortunately, Norway has not been the only country to be in the news for very depressing reasons this week. As many of you know, I am going to be living and working among the Shan, an ethnic group on the Thai-Burma border. I will be teaching English to displaced youth and adults on the border. According to the Voice of America, Maj Gen Aung Than Tut, the man responsible for all Burmese military operations in the Shan state has given the command to kill all men and rape all women while in conflict with the Shans. I encourage you strongly to read "Burma Army's War against Shan: License to Rape plus License to Commit Genocide?".

The organization with whom I will be serving has also published a report ("Report on Shan IDP Situation") regarding the situation and their response, which may be of interest.

Before I finish, I must admit that I hesitate to publish these links. For all of us, it is so easy to become paralyzed in the face of unimaginable evil. We see the news about Norway, and we read about what is happening to the Shan and many other ethnic groups in Burma. It's all too much. If my words cause this emotion in you, then I will have done wrong in publishing today's links. The reality remains that evil acts occur in the world, and I believe we should remain educated on them so that we can see opportunities to make a difference when they come. However, for the vast majority of the world, on an individual basis, there is a minimal amount that can be done in response to repeatedly negative news coverage, and that can cause a level of callousness to distant pain to develop. However, I believe when we approach the news this way, we miss the opportunities that are in front of us. Many of us confront in a minor way at least the racism and/or messed up thinking that becomes the roots for the kind of attacks that happened in Norway. Do not be silent. When religion becomes an excuse for racism and fascism, confront it lovingly. When it comes to Burma, it may be harder to see action around, but an educated populace about a situation like that of the displaced persons is a very powerful thing. Talk about it. If refugees are in your community, reach out to them. Be educated, though, because unexpected doors occasionally open. Just do not become frozen in despair.

My prayers are with the victims of terror and brutality today and also with every person looking on the terror and brutality and trying to figure out how to respond.

Betty

Many of you who know me know that I have always enjoyed spending time with those in the last quarter of their lives. I have even considered what a great summer job being a senior citizen bus tour guide would make. When it comes to my use of CouchSurfing.org, I make no excuses for the fact that most of my hosts belong to the 50+ crowd, and I thoroughly enjoy that fact. I think I am more likely to forgive a person's occasional rudeness if they happen to be over the age of 70 (probably due to some early training in respecting my elders), though certainly some individuals make it easier than others. I also get my own personal exhilaration from making the quiet elder chuckle. The excitement level triples if there exists a significant language barrier or the elderly person involved has a speech impediment. After all, communication challenges provide a strange sort of vibrancy to life... I never liked the easy problems in school.

However, this week I have met someone who reminds me of what aging can look like for all of us, and I pray that when I am 83 I have the spirit and sweetness of this woman. Partially, she's had a few lucky breaks, because she remains very healthy and alert, though she will also remind you that though good genes have played their role, she goes to the gym to exercise three times a week still. Yet it's not Betty's physical health that causes you to suspect that Betty is in fact only 50 or 60. She's got spirit and spunk. It's not the kind though that some people develop as they age that borders on rudeness and runs all over people because aging causes a loss of inhibitions. No, Betty is graceful, tactful, and not afraid to politely disagree at the right moments. If her son is discussing some expensive purchase, looking at Betty will reveal her rolled eyes--as if she were were 23, not 83. If someone tells her what to do, she will inform you that nobody has ever successfully told her what to do, so it's best not to start.

Betty also carries the ability to artfully tell stories of the past from decades we all wish we could remember. Of course, everybody has known the story tellers that forget the present and fall into distant monologues with unconnected details and little to no beginning or end. With those story tellers, we eventually excuse ourselves as we walk off trying to figure out what the story was all about. This is not Betty. She knows the present moment and knows which story or snippet applies, and she tells them the way a 30 year old would tell a story from 3 or 4 years ago. She can talk about living all over the world, as well as growing up in Oklahoma, or getting engaged in Wilmington, NC. When Betty jokes with the others in the crowd or lightly teases her son, it is not hard to still see in her the 20-something that has in no way disappeared from her countenance. I suspect the only frustration is that others do not expect this from her. They expect her to act old and decrepit, and these words are entirely wrong for Betty.

For those of us, who have a long ways to go and are still consciously and unconsciously making the choices that determine whether or not we age as gracefully, here is to reading challenging books that keep our minds alive and exercising rigorously to keep our limbs active. Here is to aging better than a fine red wine in an oak barrel. Here is to those that have already made their choices and made the right choices, clearly, to the delight of all of us.

hope

Right now I'm relishing the cool, warm sensation of resting indoors after hours of sun, wind, and waves at Oak Island. I've been reading good books and quietly enjoying the conversations of my mom's friends--frequently reminded of how young I am. My mind soars during times like these, and I think of all that could be. I suppose that's why we all need "vacation" time--to free our minds up from what is to open it to the winds of what might be one day.

There of course have also been conversations of justice. We've discussed human trafficking and the problem that exists in America and the rest of the world. We've discussed the criminal justice system and the death penalty. We've discussed Burma and refugees. Everyone wants to know every detail I can provide about where I am going and what I'll be doing (these are the adults that watched me grow up). They especially care about knowing why I am going into this particular situation. To answer their questions, I must paint a picture of the current moment--a frequently frustrating picture of injustice.

But still the waves beat another song of what might be someday...

That is the song that we all live to be a part of--maybe not all in Burma, but in the situations that surround us. We must go on believe that "what is" is not the final answer.

my Louisianan students

I did not appreciate my students enough the last two years. Oh, I suppose it's all quite cliche to make a statement after the fact, but what I'm trying to say is actually more important than the cliches. Sometimes I became so overwhelmed by the experience, by a very real experience that could also be terrifying at times, that I survived on only my time away from work. That was wrong.

I went into Teach for America and into my position specifically, because I believed every child deserved an excellent education, and I still believe that. Yet today, in reflection, I have become overwhelmed with the truth of my frequent attitude. I forgot to repeat to myself and to my students how much I loved them often enough. I let violent threats and assaults control my emotions and my attitude. I was wrong for that.

My students deserved better. My students were fantastic kids who have the real potential to not just do well, but also to impact the world for good. When I let a threat shake me up or when I became overwhelmed by the facts of my school, I did not make the best choice for my students. I, of all people, needed to be their best advocate. I loved my students, and I still love them with my whole heart. My students can succeed. My students have a chance at a good life. My students will be productive citizens.

Yet these mantras do not simply become true by saying them after the fact. I am not confident that I convinced my students of them always, because I escaped emotionally. I learned something about burnout this last year. Its risk is the greatest when you attempt to escape it the most. I did not face the emotions. I did not take time to meditate and pray. I ran. I watched TV. I surfed the internet. I tried not to think about school or the overwhelming grief I felt over what I watched my students experience and do to each other. In doing so, I prevented myself from appreciating them fully. I certainly developed thicker skin, but it was the wrong sort--the type that is cold and distant. I'm not saying that I was this person all the time, and I think most of my students did in fact know another version of me (a kinder, warmer version), but I regret how often I did distance myself from the pain of the situation. I regret that I did not appreciate their young lives and youthful expressions of the image of God everyday. I regret that I ever feared them even for one second. In my fear, I held back a bit of the love that they so desperately needed.

Rosenwald Elementary is getting a new principal this year, and the school will be receiving a significant shake up. I pray for the absolute best for Rosenwald. This is the year for turning things around and showing the community what an excellent education can mean. This is the year for determining that our students have the potential to reach for the highest positions in American society. Rosenwald, I wish you all the best, even as I will not be there for this part of the journey. Most importantly though, Rosenwald teachers and all teachers who find themselves in the particularly challenging schools in this country, I wish for you the deepest and most profound appreciation of your students, no matter what. Cultivate it, because your students so desperately need your appreciation.

As for myself, I am committed to growing in this area. Escape is not a mechanism I want to embrace.

church

I'm choosing to be bold today, despite a few inner qualms. I've decided, given that it's Sunday, to post today about what I did not do. I suppose I've thus far envisioned this blog as mostly a means of allowing people to follow along with the things that I see and think about as I move to the Thai-Burma border. However, since I've already entertained a few off-subject posts (and will likely continue to do so), this one may be permissible. You see, there's something I really want to say and get off my chest. It's something I'm generally afraid of saying, because I'm afraid of people's reactions, but I want to be honest about it this time.

Today I did not go to church. In fact, I was trying to remember the last time I went to a church service. Despite a very real, persistent, and honest faith, I'm afraid I cannot even claim to be a holiday church goer. Perhaps the last time I attended a "church" service (that is, a service that would have self-claimed such a distinction) would have been about a year ago when I visited my German family and that having been the first time again for several months. I rather imagine my readers, confused by my directness and openness, will likely miss the sadness in these words. Yet, to be clear, there is something I miss.

So here's the truth: I have not belonged to a church for five years. FIVE years. Half a decade. While for some readers who have never attended church, this seems a minor thing, to a person who grew up faithfully in the church (generally 2-3 times a week), half a decade is quite notable. And, honestly, I have made far less efforts to place myself back in one then I usually try to let on. When talking to others, I generally emphasize that I've been out of church for the last TWO years while living in rural Louisiana. And I mention how in college I attended a Christian college, where I was surrounded by Christian community. I also discuss all the many different churches and types of churches I visited during those college years. I seem so afraid of people knowing the truth about my absence in church. I almost never really use the number FIVE. It's like if I say five years, then I will have to relive in my mind all the events that unfurled five years ago that left me without a church. I'll have to remember why applications that asked for a pastor's reference reopened old wounds, because I simply did not know who to ask. Yet, that fear reduces the ongoing choice I've made to a single series of events, over which I had no control. This is not that. I've made my choices, and I've not chosen to wander into just any old church and commit to regular attendance.

So fact: churches are messy. Also fact: what we call churches are not the only expression of the Body of Christ. I'm trying to start something new by being open and honest about where I come from and how long I've been on this journey. And I am on a journey. God continues to woo me, and through the events that propelled me from the safe place I had grown up under, the image of God that I see is so much greater (and kinder) than ever before. I've come to experience the corporate silence of an unplanned Quaker meeting and the beauty of global unity in the scripted prayers of the liturgical churches. But, at the end of the day, I think this journey has truly been about dropping the religious baggage of my past and keeping my eyes open for other ways in which the Body of Christ lives and breathes. We exist in game nights in which we encourage the friend in despair, we exist in listening ears to the friend in love, and we exist in service to each other and others. This can happen in existing church institutions, but we are not limited to there, and, in fact, the institutions of church that we have imagined may even be fatally flawed. So, in hopes of spreading the desire to think outside of the box, I am choosing to be honest from this day forward: I haven't belonged to a church in five years.

I say this even as I intend to absolutely plug myself into church community in Chiang Mai next year, because I will need those individuals. But I'm going to do it differently this time. I will not ever worship the institution again (and I fear my former loyalty to my old church bordered on such at times), and I will recognize Church everywhere it occurs: in conversations, relationships, meals, and service. In fact, as this Sunday comes to an end, while I cannot say that I would wish for the events of the past to have occurred, I can say that I am grateful for the gap away from church, forcing me to face my own religious/evangelical upbringing, personal arrogance, and narrow vision of God. This is a road that I must continue down. Yet, I know I am not alone in this experience, and it is my prayer that each of us on this journey gains the courage to be more open and together to think through new (and old) ways of expressing the Body of Christ to each other and the rest of the world. On that note, have a happy Sunday!

I've just spent the last week hosting two dear friends from college: one my roommate my senior year and the other her sister. As they drove off a few minutes ago, I realized how different goodbyes are now than usual. Fact: I'm leaving the country. I am so grateful for how relatively easy visits have been for the last two years. It's so much harder knowing how very difficult and expensive any future visits will be. In reality, most of the people that I know and love I will not likely see for many years.

These are the moments when I have to steel myself for what I am choosing to do. These are the days when I imagine the other life I could make for myself: the comfortable one. I could teach or go to grad school somewhere near where so many of my other friends have settled, like DC. I could be in an urban setting, able to attend a place of worship that I really understand and get. I could have lots of young, like-minded individuals around me, as well as the ones who consistently challenge me. I could go hiking with others, without worrying about land mines. I could have the life of a young, single 20-something.

Sometimes, though, we have to act in a big way on the things we care most about. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering why I did nothing. I am willing to give that life up for the simple reason that I get to choose it. I suppose I believe there is a beauty to be found in joining someone else in the middle of their suffering and taking on challenges that are not our own. In the end, I do not believe I am missing out, but I am aware of the experiences that are part of most young people's collective memory that I will never fully understand. I am okay with that.

Here is are a few words I have spent a lot of time dwelling on lately:

⁶ “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
⁷ Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
⁸ Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness^[a] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
⁹ Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
¹⁰ and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
¹¹ The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
¹² Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

-Isaiah 58

After spending some time in Asheville last weekend, the inner rebel in me was inspired to change my clothing styles, if temporarily. I want to shock, cause people to question my sanity just by looking at my clothing, and get everyone's respect for looking unique and eccentric. Hipster will not do it. Outdoors/rustic will not do it. Not even the long flowy skirts of the hippies will produce these sentiments in towns like Asheville (I believe the idea could be generalized to Flagstaff, NM and Krabi, Thailand, I should add). No, it has been decided: next time I go to Asheville, it will have to be in a SUIT. Only then can I stand out and collect the stares.

While making a pit stop on the way home from the mountains yesterday, I had an epiphany. I decided I'd like an electric brander in the shape of a Z. Then I could spend hours sitting in bathrooms with my purse or jacket just barely hanging over the edge of the stall door, waiting for some little hand to creep over, ready to nab. Then BAM. Mark of Zorro. Imagine the urban legends.

I very rarely have violent fantasies... does this make me a bad person? or undermine my pseudo-pacifist tendencies? But, seriously, who wouldn't want to start a Mark of Zorro urban legend?

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.

Some of you may know, but it has been my intention to take some sort of "retreat" for several years. Since the events that shaped my life between my first year of college and my sophomore year, I have craved silence and solitude. I have wanted to simply get away and pray, to listen away from all the distractions and noise that my daily life fills up with.

Yet for the five years in which I have experienced that longing, each summer I have faced the reality of not being able to fulfill that dream. Perhaps it was good for me to not be able to, because it became imperative that I introduce silence and solitude into my day-to-day life. I created shorter mini-retreats for myself on the weekend, in which I would choose not to socialize. I would choose not to play music or watch television many, many evenings after school, embracing instead that silence which is both frightening and healing. I think I've learned a lot about the discipline of solitude. We don't all get to be monks, and we don't all have the freedom to disappear for a month, but we can make the choices to retreat for minutes or hours at a time (I must admit, this is much easier for me than for my friends who are married and have children).

This summer, however, something beautiful and different has finally happened. I am finally retreating. My heart soars just writing these words, because it has been so good and healthy. It is not complete, because I still see people, but it is what I have longed for. I am at my family's mountain cabin (near where my dad works), and I have my days to myself. In the last two days of solitude, I have hiked along Roan Mountain's balds, strolled along this mountain neighborhood, played my psaltery to the wind, and most importantly spent a lot of time in deep silence--the kind of silence that fills you with love and mercy. It has been too long since I had the space to simply breathe in creation all around me, and I feel myself returning to who I am supposed to be. I feel the weight of having been so tough for so long while teaching drop off, and I remember who God is and the smile that comes from silent communion with God.

Today, after only two days of solitude, I will be returning to High Point to spend time with family (the only time that would work for them) and then once again coming back to the mountains on Saturday. There is something ironic in the broken up way of my retreat. I dream of the monks who disappear for weeks at a time, but that's not the real world for me. Family, friendships, commitments, etc. are, and those too demand their time. As my days in this country come to an end, I would not for any reason neglect those people that I will soon miss very much. So I find myself on the middle road--balancing retreat with relationships... and I appreciate this strange in between. As I retreat, I hope I become a better listener, and I hope I value the people with whom I interact better.

I suppose to all those who've begun reading this blog again, returning to North Carolina deserves a post.

My two year commitment to New Roads, Louisiana is over.

Even typing those words feels strange. How could it be that I will never again puzzle over how to help BL make friends? or CJ to count backwards? or TD to control his anger? or TB to be brave going home everyday? From this point on, I have no further control over their education. I cannot change whether their next teachers think they're smart or not. I cannot control whether they feel safe at school. Even as my focus needs to steadily turn increasingly to preparing for my work along the Thai-Burmese border, my mind falls ever out of habit on the names and faces of my community in New Roads. I have so many hopes and dreams for them, and I pray that their lives will be full of teachers who also carry their hopes and dreams.

Returning to North Carolina is also something. I haven't spent an entire summer here in five years, and I haven't spent longer than a summer here in eight years. This prolonged returned (such as 2 1/2 months feels to me) carries the added weight of all the bittersweet memories from past summers, when old friendships still provided laughter, conversation, and activity. That is not to say in any sort of melodramatic way that there is none of the above now. Certainly I find laughter, conversation, and activity through my parents, brother, and family friends, but things have changed, and time spent here is now a lot quieter and emptier than ever in times past. I suppose that's the thing about growing up and leaving. Some things you can never return to.

ON A SIDE NOTE: I will be sending out the first trial "update" e-mail for my list for while I'm out of the country to make sure all the e-mail addresses I've collected are correct. If you have not given me your e-mail address and would like to be added to my list, please send me your e-mail address asap. Thanks!

Three months from today I will arrive in Bangkok. The next chapter begins...

Two quotes on my TFA farewell poster by two students that I love that caused me to tear up:

"Last year I wasn't reading good. Miss Kara helped me grow in reading." - TD

"My favorite memory is a picture of me and Miss Kara." -BL

(only I know, and now by default all of you, that for this child with autism, who refers to memories in pictures, he means that his favorite memory is the picture in his mind of the two of us)

I truly love these students, and I am consistently surprised by how many more tears there are left when thinking about them. I hope and pray they have more teachers who encourage them to become all that they can be and give them the skills to be successful. I hope they make the right choices. I hope they defy every dooming statistic. I hope they lead meaningful lives that they can feel proud of. I hope that one day I hear from and about them. They have meant the world to me.

Today I said my final goodbyes to my students. I actually lost it sitting next to one particular student with autism, whom I've had for the last two years and to whom I've grown particularly close. He kept wanting to talk about the arcade, while tears ran down my face. Eventually he understood this was the last time I would see him, and he became upset, and he told me he'd miss me. I could not control my emotions as I told him to help his mom with using e-mail. Another student I couldn't find until he was on the bus, and the best I could give was a wave through the window. It's rough. I've truly loved these kids and given my last two years to them. They'll never really know how much I've loved them and how much I will always care for them. I hope and pray for the best. This is the end of one chapter.

As most of you know, I live in a rural parish in Louisiana called Pointe Coupee. As you may also know, there has been serious flooding all up and down the Mississippi River, and the crest is slowly rolling toward us. At the moment, the eyes of the state are on this parish due to the existence of two important flood control components: the Old River Control Structure and the Morganza Spillway. If everything goes according to plan, there will be significant flooding just to the West and East of us, but we will be spared, as will Baton Rouge and New Orleans. The levees have to hold, and the control structure has to hold. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers, as we hang tight and wait.

Here are some interesting links:

About the opening of the Morganza Spillway -
http://www.nola.com/weather/index.ssf/2011/05/morganza_spillway_might_be_ope.html

From a neighboring parish expected to flood significantly -
http://www.houmatoday.com/article/20110508/OPINION01/110509612

After my last update, I couldn't help but notice the spike in visits to this website, so I decided to explore the "stats" on my page. I must say, I've been quite frankly surprised by my global audience. Who is my reader in Singapore? Or more suprisingly, Iran?! Goodness, I can't think of anyone I know in Iran. Anyhow, welcome to all my new global readers. I appreciate you. We will journey together.

Just as a reminder, I've gotten a lot of e-mail addresses in the last few days since posting my last update, but be sure to give me your e-mail address if you want to be included in my e-mail updates. :)

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

As little as I've been posting (none since August!), I'm guessing I've lost the majority of my readership. Perhaps, that's good. It used to exhaust me when I could count on over a 100 people reading my posts, back when I lived in Germany. I had to constantly think about all the different readers and who I might offend with each little comment. Yet, I have to realize something else has been lost, because now, as I suddenly feel re-inspired to write, I can't help but realize my words are more than likely going off into cyberspace emptiness where a couple individuals will likely stumble on my page, but there are few too concerned.

Yet, inside me lately, I've felt my "narrator voice" turning back on, that is to say the inner monologue that I have at times kept narrating my experiences for some outer audience... in other words, what has made blogging possible in the past. And now I have a few things to say. Whereas for so long, I was simply deep in the murky mud of teaching, now, as my time in Louisiana comes to end, I feel myself suddenly better able to reflect on my experiences and to grab a few bites of wisdom here and there.

So here are some things, I've learned...

First off, I am incredibly arrogant (perhaps it's good that not many will read this blog). Kids have really taught me this.

Secondly, parents have the scariest jobs in the world.

Thirdly, and the one I've been thinking about most lately, pacifism is... incredibly audacious. I talked so much about pacifism in college and how I was an "almost pacifist" back then, while attending the most wonderful anabaptist college. But I didn't understand it at all. I couldn't have, because I had never yet really experienced violence. Sure I'd listened to stories and witnessed the survivors of violence. I understood genocide occurred (which is what made me only almost a pacifist), but I positively did not understand violence. I did not know how a violent world changes the psyche of everyone around. I simply could not understand violence or understand the simple craziness of non-violence.

Which is why I am more committed to nonviolence and pacifism today than I ever could have dreamed of in college.

Suddenly, I've seen violence, and I have sobbed over violence, and I've experienced fear. Now let me clarify that many, many individuals in this world, including sadly many of my students, experience far worse violence and unimaginable fear. Those surviving wars know far, far more on this subject than I can ever imagine. Yet, even my taste of this life has completely shaken me.

[On a side note: I realize this is the point in which you want to know the specifics about my experiences. Stop and realize that I cannot tell you. Can you trust me? It's been tough, and sometimes things happen in elementary schools that we would never otherwise imagine. Kids grow up fast. Kids, who are victims, often become perpetrators. But they're still kids--kids who deserve a childhood and a future. So do not let a single word on this subject alter your perception that every child can be successful and deserves the chance at a high quality education and teachers who love them. They are, after all, still children. Nevertheless, it comes as a shock for many of us with comparatively innocent backgrounds.]

When violence is assumed the norm, nobody feels safe and all must fight. They feel they must fight for every item they needs (pencils, chicken nuggets, girls, etc.) and for their pride (their place in line, their mamas, somebody who made a face at them). It becomes a "fight better or be beaten" society. Even teachers sometimes implicitly accept this mindset with phrases like, "I hope so-and-so hits back, just to show him!" I am fully guilty in this respect. Many times I've wished the kids would gang up on the bullies to show them what it felt like to be bullied, what it felt like to be afraid. There is nothing Christ-like in this desire. It has not been difficult to discover my angry, retributive side in this job.

Lately, I've begun reading Gandhi's autobiography, and his discussion on the Sermon on the Mount has really struck me as incredible. I simply had not realized how dangerous pacifism was until my teaching experience. In this world of violence, to not fight back, even for these kids could really mean getting beat up... or perhaps worse. Yet, what hope is there for the bully except that he be moved to guilt over the senselessness of his actions? Will being "ganged up on" like I sometimes retributively wish actually teach him anything, except to fear his actions and make sure he's stealthier in his bullying? If you want to end bullying, you must expose the bully's weakness--the fact that the bully beats even one who does nothing but show love to him. Of course, I realize there are sociopaths in the world, but since I am not God and cannot determine for sure who is forever beyond the point of experiencing compassion or guilt, I must continue to give each person a second chance... and third chance... and four hundred ninetieth chance...

What kind of teacher would I be to tell my kids to love their enemies and turn their cheeks? To tell them to allow themselves to be beat up? I don't know. I haven't quite said that, but I'm beginning to realize that perhaps the only way to stop the chain of violence is through a bit of insane, radical nonviolence, and I certainly believe this applies to adults as well. I don't know what this means at a national and international level, and I don't know what the right response to genocide ever is. I'm not ready to generalize my experiences that broadly, but I will say that I see nonviolence as both more insane and more powerful than I ever imagined. I am convinced, if any movement will ever truly change the world for better, it will have to be a nonviolent movement. All others... will, at best, only be temporary bandages on gaping wounds, even if occasionally necessary.