Pedals and Seeds

When I first read about the 6^th World conference of Friends in Nakuru Kenya in April 2012, I was mostly excited. My heart palpitated. Then as I heard the theme a cloud descended: Being Salt and Light. Being Salt? What does that mean? Salt wrinkles the skin and all those potato chips causing stomach rolls. As a dyed in the wool Quaker I understand God, the metaphor of Light works for me.

I love Quaker expressions such as Inner Light, Children of the Light, Seed, magnifying, illuminating. But salt ? Sailors are ‘old salts’, and Massachusetts is known for Quaker shipmasters in the past. Paul Cuffe was a venerable Quaker Salt. Salt comes in the form of potato chips; nacho cheese; cholesterol. I wasn’t thrilled about it, so I returned to prayer.

I waited and studied before going to Kenya. At the foundation of our faith, salt was a symbol of the eternal nature of God’s covenant. “The Lord gave the kingdom of Israel to David (and his sons) forever, by a covenant of salt.” 2Chronicles 13:). Salt preserves a relationship just as it preserves food. With salt food tastes better, and salted meat won’t putrefy. For 1,000s of years, salt was wealth. salt was used as money: Soldiers and servants were paid in salt. I know salt, like light, has multiple uses and has been invaluable to humans. The tough part was Being Salt: if you lose your saltiness, what use are you? Matt. 5:13. After months I felt clear, expecting more Light out of the conference than Salt.

As it turned out jettisoning myself, and 70 pounds of luggage to Kenya, was hard work.

I dragged the weight around sweating through airports and buses. Sore muscles and sweat salted my arrival.  Nairobi is a western city with skyscrapers, Barclay’s bank, Cadbury chocolate, therefore despite my Kenyan hosts, I had to keep alert.  I was thirsty to know what Creator had in store for me. I hungered. Here I am Lord, use me. I didn’t just come to eat ugale (type of millet polenta) and goat meat. Some inner saltiness spurred me to Kenya, now what?

Before the world conference, I traveled around Kaimosi, Chwele and Lugari yearly meetings with beautiful days of brilliant sun and sudden downpours. I had a mission to encourage peacebuilding skills. I’ve been teaching peace through Friends Meetings for 20 years; I’ve worked stopping domestic violence. Kenyans have an amazing amount of groups working for peace. I witnessed their power despite family members dying from AIDS and parents walking miles for clean water.

In 1992, in 1997, and recently in 2007 there was much violence as factions vied for the presidential election. In 2008 about 1,500 people were killed, many raped, houses burned and 600,000 internally displaced persons.  How can Friends respond faithfully with another presidential election this year? Many Kenyans Quakers lost their farms (livelihoods) and some lost family members.

In 2009 a program Healing and Reconciliation in our Communities (HROC) was introduced in Kenya by Friends. I participated in a 3 day HROC workshop, altogether there were 20 of us, some Westerners, many Kenyans. Our guest facilitator was Theo Bizimana from Rwanda. The workshop is based on trauma healing so that the first day is building safety and trust. The second day we spoke the painful stories, and mourned.  In 2007 one woman watched her family including her husband killed by a group called the Land Defense Force near Mt. Elgon. They were about to kill her, but a phone call interrupted the killing and the murderers changed their course. Other stories ensued of hiding children in sheets, burning houses and stealing cows and land. I heard someone say, “I called to God day and night and only saw machetes in my dreams.”  It was heart-breaking.

The third day we looked at reconnecting and rebuilding our communities. We were asked to name a person that we trusted and why. We drew a tree of trust. What elements do we need to nourish the roots? People spoke of what steps they could take in the community of trust. One neighbor paid for a child’s school uniform. Someone had extra seeds, and shared them. Children from different tribes played football together.

As a witness to the healing, I stayed curious and encouraged as much as I could. It seemed that as the shameful stories were exposed, the light burned brighter. HROC is a quiet way for those who suffered to take their light out from under the bushel basket.

The world gathering was a wonderful blend of young and old; programmed and unprogrammed Friends. I learned a lot by the sharing from my home group where we had Brits, Kenyans, Americans, one Ugandan, and one Zimbabwean. We shared respectfully our hopes, our loneliness, concerns of gay marriage and Biblical prophecy. We were kind to each other, and sometimes peppery. I heard more stories of violence from each country: broken relationships, drinking excessively while children go without. We looked at the violence of human greed. Everyday Kenyans carry firewood from the forest, while we collectively confessed our dependence on fossil fuels. I vowed to honor Wangari Maathi’s vision of re-forestation.

I came home exhausted and exhilarated. The best part of any world conference is returning back to your own Meeting, where you are loved and known. Now I need to learn how to transplant Healing and Reconciliation in my own community. And I will plant that pear tree I’ve been dreaming of in my yard. The world gathering starts when you get off the airplane, not when you embark.

Thomas Owen Aotearoa Yearly Meeting spoke in a keynote at the world gather of Quakers attempts to “overcome our divisions and attain unity. The work of the United Nations, Friends’ international peace work, the inter‐governmental panel on Climate Change, to name just  a few, are recent international examples of this (peace-building). The African Great Lakes Initiative’s AVP, HROC, and mediation work happening right now here in Kenya, Rwanda and Burundi is another – which, to my mind, is some of the most important work Friends are doing right now. It is a privilege to be here to witness it.

Thank God for small salty acts.

Occupiers, like our sisters/brothers in the Arab Spring are determined to spring forward with democracy. The Occupy movement is making a difference. We have delayed the XL  pipeline and fracking (hydraulic fracturing). We are shaking down the US oligarchy, the US plutocracy which is no less than a plutarchy. (Don’t you love my newest vocab word?–plutarchy?)  The tectonic plates of the Middle East are changing. I am seeing a surprising Spring in the West.

I go into a General Assembly of OccupyBoston (OB) and see tall, short; curly and straight; pale and dark-eyed. Some, with a smile, are more polite to me, some are bluntly more honest with me. I like it. OB has a friendly grittiness.

I write about OB to focus our lens on 3 issues: decision-making, image, and tactics. As a Quaker wedded to equality, I’m the last to complain about OB’s commitment to consensus.  Occupiers and Quakers use 2 variations of consensus: both are sticklers for process. For instance if you overspeak in Quaker Meeting, the room becomes full of porcupines, with quills about to dart.

What form of decision-making is fair?  As Process Queens OccupyBoston spends a lot of time accepting every proposal (value of egalitarianism), putting 3-5 proposals on the ‘stack’ each general assembly (1^st working groups and then individual proposals). Thirdly, Occupiers scrupulously deal with anyone who ‘blocks’ a proposal. Blocking can be mostly an attention-getter for those who disagree. But blocking a well-reasoned and well-seasoned proposal is a serious move.

Blocking isn’t baring your teeth or growling because you disagree.  You block because the proposal is damaging, like a bear trap that will hurt. Examples of blocking consensus is when a march excludes trans gender folks or a proposal asks for money already assigned for the May 1^st strike. If I don’t want to participate or I am ambivalent about pouring blood on the floor of a bank, that’s not a reason to block. If 10% or more are on principle opposed, then the proposal is sent back. Then there are clarifying questions, small group discussions, objections, checking to see if there’s a 75% in favor, adding friendly amendments, going back to clarifying questions, and trying again for 75% approval.

At OB General Assemblies, we need to find a less time consuming way to communicate our ideas. Yes, work on decision making, and find ways during General Assembly to anchor our trust and common values.  Consider whether anonymous masked people with black robes at a public hearing on cutting transportation communicates the right message.  Of these values: creative, distrust, solidarity, dead-seriousness, freedom, child-friendly, I don’t think the Direct Action black disguise communicates what we want. The Guy Fawkes disguise at OB reminds me more of Darth Vader than Dan Berrigan.  Guy Fawkes was hung in Britain after trying to blow up the Parliament. Does he stand for revenge and retaliation?

I have another bone to pick with my sister Occupiers. What is this commitment to a diversity of tactics which overrules a commitment to no violence? Why don’t we have both? We can shut down military recruiter offices, start a love-fest in the JP Morgan lobby, and send Scott Brown a gallon of tar sands crude oil for his birthday. There are soooo many tactics. Of course we want diversity. Nonviolence is more of an approach that says, I will not harm another being. I will preserve the sacredness of all life. Is this confining? I think not.

The cliché, ‘God Bless America’ echoes of patriotism and supremacy. The Occupy movement shakes us off the altar of nationalism. I honestly fear that collective patriotism becomes fascism. We have changed the discussion away from butchering public transportation in the MBTA, we have stopped for a while nuclear energy and odious oil pipelines.  We

Mural of OB Vision

Occupiers live in an orchard with exotic seeds and nutty doctors. We are apples and pears; mangos and papayas. I am a nonviolent Quaker, and I want us all to grow. When I tell Dick Cheney or Whitey Bulger you can’t Occupy the orchard because you are evil, then I’m an OB snob. We welcome kiwis and watermelons. If the watermelon rolls over my strawberry, then OB has to restrain the watermelon.  Welcome melons, immigrants, circus acts and donkeys. And an absolute whistle-blowing to any violence committed.

Anarchy arises with the Occupy movement, and has been a vocal voice for centuries. Here’s a poem by Shelley written as a tribute to the British citizens after Manchester massacre. We are all dependent on ‘one mighty mother’ which is the movement, the homeland. Notice the poem names slavery as an echo of our own name. (stanza XL). Are we are slaves to a tyrant today? Isn’t the 21^st century tyrant Bank of America, Read the rest of this entry »

I spent 30 days in Kenya, mostly working with Friends groups, scrutinizing and worshiping, and singing. Part of the trip was investigating whether to do future peace work in East Africa. 20 of us Friends from New England also joined in the World Conference of Friends April 16-27 which was remarkable. Here are some stellar points.

*I had my socks knocked off at the Sheldrick elephant orphanage Nairobi where baby, teeny-tiny elephants shorter than me are nursed to health, after abandonment (due to illness, traps or the poaching of mothers). We petted, laughed and played soccer. Also healing is a hurt black rhino, one of the most endangered species. If we don’t change our consumption, these large beasts will die out much to our dismay.

Jess Klassen from Canada, Mary Lord and I roomed in Kaimosi. Jess was a dancing partner who helped revolutionize the Kenya slow undulating at the women’s conference. Actually I didn’t see any conversions to Jess’ Charlestown dance but the Quaker women totally loved how we danced with them. We also slipped off the main stage of the women’s conference a lot to help prepare food and ride into town.

*In Lugari Nancy Shippen and I were roomates at the Lake Basin Peace Centre. We had an AVP refresher course with mostly young adults. Before practicing our skills, we would sing Kiswahili songs for 30 min. Monkeys and jacaranda trees abounded there. Beauty and poverty are transposed.

* In Chwele, Iattended my first HROC workshop that is Healing and Reconciliation. The 35 Kenyan folks attended were still suffering from the aftermath of the 2007 violent eruptions. These folks were burnt out, raped and displaced (IDP is a household term there). This was the most powerful workshop led by a Rwandan Quaker , Theoneste Bizimana. The stories were horrific, and he was quite skillful in building safety without much details of the Rwandan genocide.

v The world conference had 51 countries represented. I knew there were Friends in Moscow and Philippines, but did you know there were Tibetan Friends? The toilets leaked and the millet ugali gets dry. But the speakers and plenary worship were so respectful. Cody and Wendy Sanford’s name were up on the wall with the FLGBTQ epistle-along with many epistles. The YAF presence was strong and eased my fatigue on many occasions. We took more fotos than hairs on your head.

I learned that God speaks in many tongues and that many of the peace, simplicity, justice and environmental issues are ripe for all Friends. I sometimes was lost even when I knew where I was, or where I had been standing. We didn’t argue very much. I learned to wait more, to bridle my tongue more. I think I came away a better person.

v Lastly I slipped away from the stampeding herds of Quakers and went for 3 days to Lake Baringo with my sweetheart. I can handle hippos and even Nile crocodiles better than the petty issues that Friends tangle themselves in. It was refreshing and we were able to pray for guidance as to how to use our gifts. Hurray. Right on the last day I got a terrible attack of jumbley intestines but I’ve recovered enough to eat lots of icecream on arrival. Asante sana.

I saw the bird in passing, as I loped across the intersection. I hopped up the curb to the sidewalk and I saw it in my mind’s eye–the head contorted, the legs splayed out, the lower beak jerked out like a huge thorn. It was a robin: it must have been a road kill. If you can imagine The Scream with the mouth of a robin, that was what I saw.

I hate the idea of jogging but that’s what I was doing when I passed the dead robin. I prefer to see myself running. But, actually, I’m mostly plodding through life. The river is beautiful with the waterbirds skimming the water’s edge.

My darling towheads are teens now. They shrug when I suggest we eat a special meal together. My sisters live too far away. Jupiter! I dodge a mud puddle: I put away any guilt for not visiting my Mom down on the farm. That bird, stranded by the curb, was distressing. The black rhinos and the Indian tigers are not long in this world, my Dad gloomily predicted.

I want to blot out that bird; I want to scoop it up and bury it by the riverbanks. It’s a grey day, full of the moist promise of spring. I could feel smug about running instead of jumping in the car to drive to the gym. But the bird, a witness to fossil fuels consumption kills off many species.

This run is not releasing me. Days ago Doris confided in me that she was being knocked around by the father of her children. That bothered me, the worry shot up my back, lodging somewhere below my trapezius.  That night I nodded sympathetically. There’s not a dam thing I can do but listen. That’s too negative. I rephrase it saying metalically, “The best thing I can do is the gift of listening to her. I didn’t ask Doris detailed questions.

I want to know, but Jesus, I don’t really want to know.  How many shades of grey can one sky hold? Knowledge is responsibility. I feel heavy with death. My body puffs and legs leaps over muddy bike tracks. I’m free of death, yet physically I am moving towards dying. The dark riverwater lugubriously rolls toward the Atlantic Ocean. Does the Boston marathon really start at the headwaters of the Charles River?

Should I listen to rumors that my muscle soreness might be a sign of early diabetes?  I want to care for myself and I long to be carefree. I want others to fawn all over in love with me and I want to be alone to listen to my inner path. I remain thick with desire.

The river seemed elastic, never tarrying over indecision. It doesn’t wait for dead birds. God’s promise is like that. Even as we pollute and scream; even if we ignore the vultures circling, the earth moves. Doesn’t love embrace the carrion?. If I knew come hell and highwater, what my purpose on earth is, I’d be glib and unbearable. How boring to know exactly what Creator has in mind for me. A 5 year old gets as much pleasure in opening the rusty treasure box as in finding a jewel within it.

I finish the running by the Anderson Bridge. My body sweaty, my mind cleared of morbidity. Grey skies are a blanket, warming the dark earth. I will stay open to the promise. And there inscribed on the bridge in 1912 the passage in Revelations 22:2, often called the River of Life:

On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing
twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month.
And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.

I.   The West is obsessed with Islamophobia. Look at Indonesia, the largest Muslim nation, which had democratic elections in 1955, and, despite a period of dictatorship, had returned peacefully again. Are we fighting wars in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan for justified reasons? ‘The most important struggle is with the dictates of conscience: what is morally wrong cannot be politically right’, quoted Anwar Ibrahim, Malaysia

II.    I’m a patriot. I’m committed to nonviolence. the Occupy Movement is not a me-generation, let’s all get jobs and go home. Occupy Movement is mobilizing many of us to change. The US is no longer a democracy but it’s not apartheid (not yet!). I hate to say it, dear friends, but this last decade congress has eroded our hard-fought rights. The Patriot Act, The National Defense Authorization law passed the last day of 2011 violates our 4^th 5^th, 8^th  amendments in the Bill of Rights. Police in the Occupy movement have infringed on our 1^st amendment right for free speech and peaceful right to assembly. And then there’s the drain of our income, with 50% of our budget going into the military. Supposedly we pulled out of Iraq in November, ludicrously declaring success. More than 70 Iraq Shias were killed the first week of 2012. Obama built up troops in Afghanistan to keep.

III.

Obama is a war lord throughout the world. He wants to maintain troops in Afghanistan, as if the US could be a supreme war lord among the tribes. The USA wants to control Latin America with a pointless embargo on Cuba, with CAFTA/NAFTA which controls trade; and the SOA or WHISNIC in GA training military officers in abusive military tactics.  And I benefit by having a warm house at 62o in the winter and a hot water heater which keeps 20 gallons hot on demand for my daily shower. Do I really need all this natural fuel?

IV.

For their own sanity, I hope US soldiers believe what Defense Secretary Panetta told troops, “You will leave with great pride — lasting pride,” Leon Panetta said in January 2011, “Secure in knowing that your sacrifice has helped the Iraqi people to begin a new chapter in history.” He described the mission as “making that country sovereign and independent and able to govern and secure itself.”

Iraqi citizens don’t see the rosy glow of freedom. “The Americans are leaving behind them a destroyed country,” said Mariam Khazim of Sadr City. “The Americans did not leave modern schools or big factories behind them. Instead, they left thousands of widows and orphans.” Not to mention decimated towns and a weaker health, education and commerce. You judge for yourself, Is US need to control oil, worth the costs of war?

V.  For me, I bathe in the sun drenched winter days lamenting the US tragedy. The tragedy is that we can’t extract ourselves from being the Top Gun and the devastation caused in 2011 in Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, Iraq, Palestine and Bahrain. Where did I miss? I have to pinch myself to say “the US is at war. I am contributing to many deaths in the Middle East.”

In the cold, the squirrels chase each other in circles above in the canopy of tree fans. The blue jay for random reasons screeches ruffling a posy of sparrows on the smoke tree. An obscure beauty calls out to us. Nature is violent and beautiful. My pet cat loves to catch innocent mice. Killing mice does not violate my moral code. I don’t allow mice to eat my stored food. Mice in my flour turns me into a mouse murderer. Yes, I can be violent, but I won’t call mice terrorists because they invade.

My world is still intact despite all the rawness of life around me. I do not plan to kill Murdoch, Romney or lavish billionaires even though their lifestyle is killing the planet, our home. Only greed and senseless killing is ugly.

I thank g-d that day-by-day in my streets there are no gunshots nor robberies. I live surrounded by a bubble of peace even though my world is full of violence. I don’t love mice, but I won’t kill them if they’re outside. I won’t begrudge the squirrels and blue jays. I love their quirks and flashy tails. The law of love is different than the law of nature.  Don’t invade countries for control and oil. You, I, in the name of freedom, must not intervene in another country. Divine Presence, may it be so.