Sign petition to release shoe thrower from prison!

Here is a post that my brilliant friend and coworker, Kate, wrote yesterday about the journalist who threw his shoes at GW. Please read her post which was originally posted on Of Peace and Politics (the FCNL intern blog) and then sign the petition to release Zeidi from jail.

12.16.2008
SIGN PETITION TO RELEASE SHOE THROWER FROM PRISON!

Perhaps the world's most famous shoe-thrower, Muntadhar al-Zeidi is in prison in an "undisclosed location", not authorized to talk to press, and could face seven years in prison for what the White House calls an "audience interruption".

Al Baghdadiya, the TV channel that Zeidi worked for, has reported that an Iraqi parliamentarian has confirmed that Zeidi's hand was broken in jail. (Thanks to Raed Jarrar for the translation. Check back on his blog for more updates.

As to that previous anonymous question asking "what was he trying to accomplish?". The simple answer is in every major paper in the world...when has the U.S. media ever given so much attention to an act of protest by an individual Iraqi?. Iraqis have held countless nonviolent protests, many million person marches, and the vast majority have lived in silent non-violent resistance everyday for almost six years--but of course nothing has ever consumed the headlines like this.

This is the story of an Iraqi journalist reporting from Iraq--one of the few brave souls who would dare to do so in the country where according to Reporters without Borders, more journalists have been killed than other country in the world since WWII.

Zeidi reported from the U.S. onslaught of the air bombing of Sadr City last spring. Sadr City is roughly half the size of Manhattan, or the same size as Southeast DC. Unlike either, this area of Baghdad houses more than 3 million Iraqis. It is one of the most densely populated areas on the planet--denser than Calcutta, Gaza, Rio, or some of the other world's worst slums.

Now imagine you are in such a place and you watch bombs falling from the sky. How do you make sure that no civilians get killed when bombs are dropped on six story buildings with tight alleyways?

You don't.



This two year old boy was killed from an air strike in Sadr City. More than 900 civilians were killed in 6 weeks of clashes between the U.S. backed Iraqi army and the anti-occupation militia of Moqtada al-Sadr's--that's about 150 each week. (Pretty average death toll for the whole of Iraq per week these days.) The official U.S. response to the child's death: “The sole burden of responsibility lies on the shoulders of the militants who care nothing for the Iraqi people."

There is absolutely no way to avoid killing civilians when bombing such a heavily populated area--I don't care how "smart" your bombs are. When Zeidi was reporting from this area of massive civilian casualties, friends of Zeidi said it "emotionally influenced" him. Other experiences that made a lasting impact on his political views included being kidnapped twice--once by a Sunni militant group and then later detained by American soldiers.

"He hates the American physical occupation as much as he hates the Iranian moral occupation," Dhirgham said, alluding to the influence of pro-Iranian Shiite clerics in political and social life. "As for Iran, he considers the regime to be the other side of the American coin."

If you don't think that someone should face potentially seven years in prison for throwing a shoe at Bush, if you believe that there is a good reason why journalism is the only career protected by the U.S. Constitution, if you believe that a journalist's hand--the most important tool of freedom of speech--should not be crushed join Noam Chomsky in signing this petition to the Iraqi embassy to free Zeidi. (No joke--not a forgery).

Raed Jarrar will be hand delivering the petition to the Iraqi embassy, so in the meantime spread the word far and wide to gather more signatures to protect the freedom of speech in Iraq.

Thanksgiving in pictures

Outreach International's video

Outreach International has their new campaign out and it's amazing. Check it out.

Now build a movement

A week has gone by since the election and it seems like everyone is settling in to the idea that we actually have a competent president for the next four years.

As someone who works to get politicians to help and protect the poor and downtrodden, I sincerely hope that the momentum that got Obama elected doesn't slow down. We still have a lot of work to do. And it makes a big difference when society is not indifferent to the many problems we still face in our society. The Friends Committee on National Legislation has their annual meeting this weekend and the front of their program has a big quote from FDR that says "You've elected me. Now build a movement to keep me accountable."

What a remarkable statement. And so true.

It's just an election, what could happen?

ok, i know that i haven't posted in FOREVER. But I cannot go without posting on this historical election. I'm so excited to be in DC with friends who work along side me with our members of Congress. This is one of those days that everyone will remember where they were on this election. Where will you be?

Here's the post I've posted on two other blogs before this one.

Today is a big day. Lines of people are weaving in an out of polling places. "I voted" stickers are the newest fashion accessory of the day. Radio stations, news channels, and blogs are all talking about the election non-stop. Websites like www.fivethirtyeight.com obsessively count and recount the polls and are predicting the winners of the various campaigns throughout the country. This is a pretty big deal (understatement of the year.)

I was watching the Daily Show the other night and Bill Kristol, conservative op-ed writer for the New York Times, muttered (jokingly?) “It’s just an election.” Jon Stewart looked flabbergasted and replied, “Yeah, it’s just an election, what could happen?” Truth is, the person in the White House for the next four years will have a lot of power. And yes Bill Kristol, a lot can happen.

What would I like to see happen, you ask? It would be great if the United States triple its aid to poorer nations and cancel their debts. I'd also hope for a decrease in those little foreign escapades of ours (un-fair trade, war, arms trade, etc) that come with "unintended" effects such as displacement, refugee camps, poverty, disease, civilian deaths, lack of education, lack of water, unfair labor practices, well....the list goes on. Oh, and lets just throw in justice for Native Americans as icing on the cake.

These just happen to be the issues that I live my life for -- and as I stood in line to vote the other day, I touched the name of the person on the computer screen who I thought would be more sympathetic to these issues.

The thing is -- I'm quite the realist and I doubt that whoever the next president will be, he will do enough for the poorest billion people. It would be political suicide for any U.S. politician to give so much time and effort to those who need it most.

That's why it's up to those of us who have no political aspirations to take part in the political process by making our leaders as accountable as possible. If you voted in this election, you took the first big step in the process -- but it's only one step.

Shenandoah Valley

Jeff and I decided to check out the "other" mountain range this past weekend. After three years of hiking in the Rockies we were excited to experience something different but were skeptical of the wow-ness factor we felt these last three years in the west. Nonetheless we were excited to get out in nature. For both of us it is a means of renewal, a time to celebrate the simple things and reevaluate our goals and priorities. (It also makes the futon we're sleeping on this year that much more luxurious.)

After driving about an hour and a half west we reached Shenandoah National Park and began our 12 mile trek. The next several hours Jeff and I talked about our past week and wondered how old these mountains were and how a spider makes that first string of web from one tree trunk to another at least a foot away -- wind? But mostly we walked in silence -- lost in our own thoughts or just zoning, not thinking about anything, just putting one foot in front of another, subconsciously breathing in the fresh air. Each step I took felt like I was walking on something hollow-- the dull and deep sound that comes from stepping on hundreds of years of decomposing leaves and trees and animals. These mountains far exceeded my expectations -- the Rockies felt like a rebellious teenage boy compared to the wise, grandmotherly nature of the Appalachians. The rocks were smooth and rounded and discolored with growing moss. They've witnessed the beavers and deer and the Cherokee. They've witnessed the civil war and the Great Depression. They've witnessed the thousands of people meandering through the trails -- coming from all walks of life -- contemplating their lives -- just the way I was doing. In the Rockies, I felt awed by the expansive views. In the Appalachians, I felt hugged by a wise old woman -- comforted and loved unconditionally.

I was once again reminded how we are all connected. How life can be really simple and complex at the same time. How we live in absolute paradox -- so much so that we can only leave it to mystery. And how I'm fully satisfied with mystery-- one of my gifts....

Then we saw the bear. Actually we heard it first. It took a quick look at us and we took a quick look at it and then it ran away. After a full minute we started walking again clapping our hands, shouting out "hey bear".... just in case he had other family members close by. It was exhilarating.

When we got to the camp site we realized that I forgot to pack our duffle bag full of clothes and our tent poles. (oops) Jeff showed just how amazing of a husband he was by rallying (he was seriously thinking about driving home right then) and ignoring the fact that I forgot some of the most important things we need for a camping trip (it turns out tent poles are critical to tent formation.) After a great supper of grilled salmon and green beans and hot chocolate we played with the fire for an hour or two. (This is when Jeff reverts to his 11 year old boy phase.) Then we ended up sleeping under the stars with only the sleeping bag separating us from our bodies and the dirt, our bodies and the stars.


This was just before we saw the bear about 20 feet to the right of us.


Great view...




I was stupid and thought it would be fine if I hiked 12 miles with just my chacos. I was wrong. You can see my anticipation of pure bliss right before I put my feet in the cool water



We grilled salmon and fresh green beans for dinner. yum.



our camp site



Not only did I forget our duffle bag of our clothes, toothpaste, and extra shoes, but I also forgot our tent poles. Thank goodness it was a beautiful night so we had a great night sleeping under the stars

Thanksgiving at our place!

I know it's a bit early to be thinking of Thanksgiving but my family (Mom, Dad, Andrea, and her boyfriend Rene) just purchased tickets to fly out to our place for the holiday.

And did you see our apartment? Yep -- it's still tiny. And yep -- we still don' t have a table to eat at. And nope -- our stove and fridge and dishwasher are not as big as normal kitchen appliances. But that makes it all the more exciting. It will be romantic and cozy and fun. We'll all sit around our coffee table -- some of us on the floor. But there will be candles and good wine (provided by the parents) and amazing company. At least that's what I imagine....

Obama's book on race

I just finished reading Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama.

I was expecting a typical book written by a politician --more pontification than actual substance. But those expectations got turned upside down from the very beginning. Maybe it's because when Obama wrote this book, he wasn't a politician yet...maybe it's because he's someone that really can go beyond politics as usual (I'm more cynical about this than most people my age.) I don't know.

What I do know is that Obama was able to deeply probe an extremely complex web of race on a personal, familial, national, and global level...all at the same time. I'm wowed. I finished the book in three days and a little sad it's all over....

Here's a quote from the end of the book

I dropped to the ground and swept my hand across the smooth yellow tile. Oh, Father, I cried. There was no shame in your father's before you. No shame in the fear, or in the fear of his father before him. There was only shame in the silence fear had produced. It was the silence that betrayed us. If it weren't for that silence, your grandfather might have told your father that he could never escape himself, or re-create himself alone. Your father might have taught those same lessons to you. And you, the son, might have taught your father that this new world that was beckoning all of you involved more than just railroads and indoor toilets and irrigation ditches and gramaphones, lifeless instruments that could be absorbed into the old ways. You might have told him that these instruments carried with them a dangerous power, that they demanded a different way of seeing the world. That this power could be absorbed only alongside a faith born out of hardship, a faith that wasn't new, that wasn't black or white or Christian or Muslim but that pulsed in the heart of the first African village and the first Kansas homestead -- a faith in other people.

Click here to listen to an interview on Colorado Matters. It features Dr. Vincent Harding and his views on the correlation between Sen. Barack Obama's acceptance speech coming up at the DNC and Dr. Martin Luther King's "I have a Dream Speech". The acceptance speech will happen on the 45th year anniversary of the Dream speech.

Dr. Harding is a wise man that worked with King and I've had the privilege to be in class with him at Iliff.

our latest dinners

these are the tomatoes and basil we bought at the farmers market yesterday. The best tomatoes I've had in a long time...




they had several different kinds of tomatoes to try and they all tasted unique in their own tomato-y way. It was fascinating!




this was a different dinner that we made -- spring rolls. Good friends of ours gifted us with rice noodles and spring roll wrappers. We had lots of spring rolls filled with shrimp, lettuce, cilantro, mint, cucumber, and rice noodles. Then we dipped into a peanut sauce. yum.

after pics

before pics

Happy Birthday to Nelsen Mandela!

sweeping up the homeless

I just saw a headline on Yahoo! news about Denver trying to entice the homeless to sleep elsewhere during the Democratic Convention. Sleep elsewhere?!!

It frustrates me that a convention that is supposed to be based on the PEOPLE, all people, would try to sweep away the homeless for the week -- as if they could pretend these people do not exist -- and at the same time pontificate how much the Democratic party is for the poor.

You can't help people that you refuse to see.

Volunteering for The Gathering Place helped me to learn that. Once a week I worked at the computer lab helping women navigate the internet, look for jobs, and learn how to type. I was nervous at the beginning because I didn't know what these women would be like or how they would react to me. But my connection with these women was tremendous. I will never look at a woman on the streets the same again.

My compassion for women and the poor is much more real now. If the democrats continue to talk about helping the poor while at the same time refuse to meet them eye to eye -- how much can really change?

Attacking birds!

Help! Our neighbors that live in the bush right outside of our front window attack us every time we want to step in or out of our apartment! Have you ever seen Hitchcock's movie "Birds"? It's exactly like that! It's the scarriest thing to see two birds start dive bombing straight at you, and then swoop around only to do it again. I stand on the sidewalk looking like a crazy woman with my arms waving in the air trying to defend myself.

I have often thought of myself as a nonviolent person but I've found myself wishing I had a BB gun lately. And I take the hatred these birds have for us a bit personally.

Hopefully our neighbors get used to us soon....

old friends in a new city

We've been in Arlington for over a week now but we're still working on making this place our home. I called the moving company today and it doesn't sound like they're in a big hurry to make it this far east so I'm not expecting our furniture, etc. anytime soon. We also don't have internet yet so I'm a new member of the Arlington public library and using the free wifi.

Believe it or not, we've been quite the social butterflies since we've been here. Friends from Denver, Pittsburgh and Graceland have been around so we've all been exploring the city together. This has been great way to "transition" into a new place. Old friends guiding us into a new city...it's poetic in some ways.

Last night we went on a cheap date. We made a salad and ate frozen dinners at home then we went to Gravelly Point Park -- a park right next to the Ronald Raegan Airport. We watched airplanes land just a few feet away from us after they rushed over our heads. It was quite the thrill...but I had ambiguous feelings while plugged my ears and looked up to the nearer-than-ever belly of a plane. Money, pollution, the fast paced life that so many Americans live are in someways symbolized by those planes. And yet, I use them all the time. They've sent me all over the world, helped me meet the most interesting people, experience some things that I otherwise would never experience, not to mention allow me to see my parents for Christmas. Ahh....complexity of values and morals makes life interesting doesn't it?

Speaking of (not complex moral making but friends it takes a big long plane trip to see,) tonight Jeff and I will be visiting Lackings Banda, our friend from Malawi. He and his family hosted Jeff during his World Service Corps stint as well as a week or two on our second trip to Malawi. He's one of our favorite people in the world and he just happens to be in Virginia this weekend.

new city, new resolve to blog

yep, that's right. I'm here in a new city (which means a new coffee shop) and a new chance to make good on this whole blog thing. wish me luck....

Jeff and I are now living in our nation's capitol. Actually, that's a slight lie. We sold out and live in Arlington, Virginia. It ended up being a better choice for our commutes into work and back. I'm happy with our cute little apartment. I'll put up pics soon. It's a one bedroom that's been recently renovated and it's TINY! Even though we left a bunch of stuff with our friends in Denver (including our big queen bed made by my grandfather and one of our couches and a bunch of books and much much more) it will still be a tight fit. We're close to a metro stop so I'll walk a few blocks and ride the metro into DC for my job.

Since we have none of our stuff, preparing meals will require a great deal of creativity. How does one cook without pots and pans and spatulas? It will be an interesting challenge for a week or two.

Because all of our money will be going in to rent, we will be simplifying our lives -- affecting our eating habits more than anything. We will eat out only on very special occasions and limit meal planning to more basic recipes that don't require fancy condiments that we can't afford. Meals will be simpler. Lots of stews and pastas. And just like anything, simplifying our meals will help us to appreciate the "little things". The earthiness of wheat bread with a little butter, the power of sea salt on my tongue, the crispness of a granny smith apple.

I hope to sense the Spirit in all of these things.

I pray for courage this year. Jeff and I are both stepping out and risking quite a bit (namely financial security) to shape the careers we are passionate about. We are so fortunate to have an opportunity like this.

And with my new sign off....
May your stomachs and souls be full.

Vagina muff-ins!

What a great Vagina Monologues refreshment!

food and friends

It's been awhile since I've written anything about food and since this is theoretically a blog about food -- I apologize for my delinquency. We just recently had good friends come to stay with us and had a wonderful time. Here's one of several really great food moments. This is at a restaurant in Boulder called The Sunflower. yum.

this is exactly how I feel about academia sometimes...ok, most of the time

gotta love jesus jokes

i've found another heroine

click on the title and it will send you to a link where there's a video of Isabel Allende. She's a novelist and feminist, funny and passionate. My spiritual director told me about her. I want to read her books some day....

a memoir of my hips

Here are parts of a paper I wrote that inspired my thesis. (My thesis is entitled "Dancing toward Justice: Embodying a counterculture religious self and ethic" -- but that's a different story)  I actually wrote this as part of a different paper for a different class called Strategic Peacebuilding.  The title of this paper was "embodied justice: a memoir of my hips". This kind of paper normally wouldn't fly for a typical graduate class -- but I got by with it for Dr. Sharon Welch (a former RLDS'er)  Here are some excerpts:


She taught me to swing my hips.
I had only been in Malawi, a small country in southeast Africa, for a couple of days. My senses were completely overloaded. My tongue, skin, eyes, ears and nose were running on overdrive in order to learn this new world of earth tones and clapped rhythm. My body was desperately trying to keep order, like an overhead system in emergency mode – “Everyone stay calm, walk don’t run, form lines and share the duct tape”. That’s when Kathy grabbed me by the hand, pulled me to the middle of the floor in her house and let go. She began swaying her hips… then her arms… then her head, beckoning me to join. Very much an amateur in the ways of swaying, I began moving my hips side to side. Mere inches. But it wasn’t long before I began to feel my hip joints stretch into a sense of release and freedom that I had rarely experienced before. With gentle encouragement my hips swung further, caring less about straight lines, gravitating to circular motions. It felt sensual. It felt freeing. My body went from a stiff code red to a fluid, relational source of strength.
The next two months of my stay I was most often not dancing to my hearts content and constantly attuned to bodily wisdom. I was in fact often plagued with uncertainty about my body. My arms and back were not strong enough to pound the maize into flour like the other women and girls could. The pot I attempted to hold on my head never found its comfortable groove and would wobble too much when I walked. I couldn’t wash my clothes by hand to the yes nod of my host mother. But more than my obvious weakness and inability to take care of myself without the conveniences I was used to, guilt and shame were seeping into my white skin. I tried to comfort myself by thinking about all of the things that I could do because of my education and American privilege but this comfort was superficial and short lived…
Now, I am more and more convinced that true justice making that provides enduring peace must come about in ways that are truly embodied. Of course, thinking, writing, and speaking are all embodied activities. Thinking requires chemicals in our brain to release and flow. Writing requires hand and eye coordination with the brain. Talking uses vocal chords, brain chemicals, lips, tongue, etc. All of this could not happen without being embodied and somewhat healthy. We must not be starving. We must have rest. We must have brain chemicals and hand muscles and vocal chords that work properly, have been exercised and not damaged too badly. But the embodied act of writing, speaking and thinking should not be privileged over other embodied ways of knowing. Dancing, singing, gardening, painting, walking, nursing are all ways that help us gain insight for creating justice and peace.
At face value, this understanding of epistemology seems rather benign and obvious. Yet, the deep wisdom of these thoughts has actually been hard fought. At its base, these ideas go against much of what elite, masculine culture, religion and academia have instilled in me.
It is just in the last year that I have become interested in embodiment and the religious, ethical and political implications of taking our bodies more seriously in cultivating justice. But it was not until our Art and Ethics of Strategic Peacebuilding class discussions and readings that I learned focusing on the body in these ways does not have to be dictated by issues of pain, suffering, destruction and despair. In fact, embodiment, following the Navajo Beauty Way, gratitude and a symbolic of natality are ways that truly provide an enduring peace and a realistic way to live and work. They offer possibilities that do not preclude an empire of power and oppression, which obsesses over dualistic ways of thinking and death, but instead celebrates life, multiplicity and nature.
Little did I know that Kathy was practicing for a wedding when she was encouraging me to loosen my hips. In their wedding ceremonies, all the children and attendants dance down the aisle and throughout the service throughout the day and night. I didn’t know it at the time but Kathy was recruiting me to dance in this wedding as well, requiring weekly rehearsals and a new dress to accentuate my hips and shoulders. Every week, my hips would swing and celebrate new beginnings to singing harmonies and stomping feet. Despite my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy, these rehearsals were a time when my hips could celebrate to their bones’ desire.
*****************************************************************************************************************************

A few months ago, I was sitting hunched over in the library full of books, full of words. I was immersed in postmodernism and postcolonial theory when I received an email. News had spread from contact to contact until it had reached me, saying that Kathy passed away from cerebral malaria. She had contacted it soon after my husband and I visited her and her family a second time. She was plagued with neurological damage that caused her to have life-threatening seizures and eventually die. She died. From malaria. I shut my books and steadily walked outside of the building, called my mother and cried. I no longer believed in any kind of theology that could help me cope with this news. Nor did my hips know how to shift in comforting and empowering ways. Instead pain and anguish nestled in between my hipbones. My uterus cradled despair like an unborn fetus.
It has been tempting to obsessively focus on the injustices that brought about Kathy’s death. No doubt, it has been tempting to think about ways in which I am implicated in these injustices. I have done both of these things multiple times. But much attention has been given to the injustices of our time and it is easy to become overwhelmed and debilitated by the complicated web of power and oppression that we live in. Furthermore, just because those of us who are privileged might “know” that oppression occurs doesn’t automatically translate in “knowing” how to work against it. Often times I am personally too depressed and emotionally tired to partake in true peace work (even if I did know what that really was).
On the other hand, if injustice is embodied, then cannot justice equally be embodied? The obvious answer is yes, but questions still abound. What does this embodied justice look like? Will we know it when we see it? What will be the criteria?
How do I swing my hips now?

*******************************************************************************************************************************

So I will continue to swing my hips to writers and poets like Toni Morrison and Audre Lourde; I will swing my hips to singer/songwriters like Ani Difranco and the Indigo Girls; I will swing my hips to Kathy’s beckoning body; but just as important, I will swing my hips to my own tune and rhythm, creating justice and enduring peace with each sway.

faith and science

I'm kind of a salon.com freak.  Here's a great article.

It really gets to the heart of some of the discussions I have with my science leaning friends about the fact that science and religion aren't necessarily opposites of each other.  They are just two ways of looking at the world -- and both can do a lot of good and a lot of bad -- hence both are amoral.  It's what we do with science and/or religion that creates justice or injustice to this world.