Do Something

I have no words.

I am a writer who has no words. But I know that silence is violence, that silence is complicity. Silence is privilege.

Any words I share will surely be insufficient at best, so I will keep this short. 

Hi, I’m Vicki, and I’m a recovering racist. 

I’m not proud of it, and I’m working on my recovery. But I do acknowledge that racism is the culture we swim in, the air we breathe. Racism is one of the founding principals of the United States, from the genocide of Native Americans to kidnapping, trafficking, and enslavement of people from Africa. Systemic racism continues today, in housing, education, finance, law enforcement, courts, prisons, and immigration policy. To think oneself “not a racist” is delusional. To say you’re color-blind is ignorant and offensive. In the words of Carlos A. Rodríguez (follow him on social media):

“I see no color,” is not the goal.

“I see your color and I honor you. I value your input. I will be educated about your lived experiences. I will work against the racism that harms you. You are beautiful. Tell me how to do better.”

… That’s the goal.

Wondering what you can do, where you can start? Today more than ever there are myriad resources to accompany you on your journey toward anti-racism. There is no excuse not to engage.

• Debby Irving’s book Waking Up White, and Finding Myself in the Story of Race is a great place to start.

• 75 Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice. There’s something here for anyone. https://bit.ly/2XTjmuL

• Racism in America: A Learning Journey for White People. This blog from The Global Immersion Project offers a variety of ways to engage in the journey. I recommend starting with the webinars with Andre Henry and Osheta Moore. https://bit.ly/2Aql66L

• Scene on Radio podcast, Season 2: Seeing White. https://bit.ly/2MDpIcf

• Intitutionalized Racism: A Syllabus. https://bit.ly/3haM3fE

• A Reading List of Books by Black Authors. https://bit.ly/3hiRcC4

• For those of you with children in your lives, check out these books. These are not books for black children; these are books for all children. https://bit.ly/2AahQML https://bit.ly/3gIp1ML  https://bit.ly/3eGnlBs https://diversebookfinder.org

• A Timeline of Events that Led to the 2020 “Fed Up”-Rising. https://bit.ly/3eEwMRV

Please engage. Don’t turn away. Do something.

Image Source: Safehouse Progressive Alliance for Nonviolence (2005). Adapted: Ellen Tuzzolo (2016); Mary Julia Cooksey Cordero (@jewelspewels) (2019); The Conscious Kid (2020).

 

 

 

 

 

‘Tis the Season!

Happy Holidays! Those of you who’ve been reading my blog for over a year might know by now that my favorite holiday traditions are the ones when I get to celebrate my international friends, with my international friends. The past few weeks have been full of such joy, and the parties aren’t finished yet!

Thanksgiving is the perfect holiday to celebrate with immigrant friends. Surveys show that Thanksgiving is refugees’ favorite U.S. holiday. It’s no wonder, really. Christmas celebrations are generally too secular for Christian refugees and too religious for non-Christians. The Fourth of July is significant, but all those fireworks and loud noises can trigger PTSD in people who’ve fled war and violence. Halloween is just weird in the U.S., especially for people from developing countries where it really is the devil’s holiday. But almost anyone can get on board with giving thanks for a warm welcome in a new land. Who doesn’t enjoy a huge festive meal with close friends? Despite historical inaccuracies, Thanksgiving is a celebration of gratitude for cross-cultural friendship, survival in a new world, and provision of food.

For the past ten years I’ve been privileged to celebrate Thanksgiving with a variety of immigrants. I’ve had potlucks with ESL students; taught refugee families we’ve mentored how to eat turkey and ham in our home; and feasted on pupusas and flan with a father and son living in sanctuary inside a church. I’ve celebrated with Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists, all of whom were happy to give thanks for food, friends, and life.

A stunning majority of immigrants are never invited into an American home. And 60% of those from non-Christian religious traditions in North America—most of whom are immigrants—say they do not know any Christians. (Center for the Study of Global Christianity, Gordon-Conwell Seminary, 2013) This is neither the way to welcome our new neighbors, nor to show them Christ’s love.

This year’s celebration was a Friendsgiving with six immigrant women, plus a dozen children! After holding hands in a circle for a prayer of thanksgiving, we feasted on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and yams, plus a vegetable noodle dish and several other dishes I did not know the names of. For me, international potlucks have become a Thanksgiving tradition that I especially savor.

I also cherish the friendships that we nourish and celebrate. The families at this year’s Friendsgiving came from southeast Asia, the Middle East, and Africa. The women enjoyed cooking together, while the kids played frisbee, the piano, and colored on paper and with sidewalk chalk. Selfies and group photos were the primary entertainment for the adults. My favorite was watching the women share phone numbers, addresses, Facebook info, and photos. They enjoyed their time together and want to stay in contact. It’s important for newcomers to make friends in their new community not just with “Americans,” but also with immigrants from other countries. Community matters, to all of us. We’re all in this crazy, messy, beautiful life together. And for that I’m grateful.

 

 

 

Beloved Partners

To all my friends in and from Latin America:

May I tell you how I feel about you? You are human beings created in the image of God and loved by God. You are my friends, my neighbors, my brothers and sisters, my surrogate niece and nephews. I love you. I thank God for you, for who you are, and for placing you in my life as beautiful gifts.

To Sara, Tim, and Andrew, my surrogate family when I desperately needed one: you continue to teach me what it means to be a person of color living in the U.S., especially in a very white region. You will always hold a special place in my heart.

To the women in El Salvador who witnessed and participated in my prophetic call to missions: you helped me hear God more clearly and see God working in my life.

To the immigrants I met in Agua Prieta, who changed my life and my work: your courage and devotion to your families inspire me still.

To Carmen and your two beautiful daughters, the first family I worked with in Baby Jail: you trusted me with your horrific story of rape and gang extortion, and two years later we still call and text each other. Your tenacity for the safety and well-being of your children overwhelms me.

To Elmer and David and your lovely family: you welcomed me into your home and your lives when they were contained within a church building as you sought sanctuary. You shared your food and your lives with me, showing me true hospitality.

To my ministry partners in Guatemala: you’ve shown me what it looks like to live out one’s faith, to work for change in the face of incredible odds, to love your neighbors beyond what is safe or sensible. You fight for justice and the flourishing of all people, not just your own family members and friends. You are bringing glimpses of God’s kingdom to earth.

To Anna, Jose, Gloria, and all the other clients I’ve worked with in the immigration legal office: you’ve shown me what courage and persistence look like.

To Nayda, Luis, and all the other Dreamers: you work harder than most people I know. You’ve shown me what commitment, tenacity, and love for family look like. May all your dreams come true.

To all of you, you are created in God’s image and loved by God, and I say to you: you are beloved human beings. You are my friends, my family, my neighbors, my sisters and brothers. And I love you.

 

 

Nevertheless, We Persisted

2017 wasn’t a pretty year—nevertheless, we persisted. The weather today wasn’t pretty either—20F with a wind chill around 5F—nevertheless, we persisted in our march. “Why I Marched” has been my most-read post to date, and to observe the second annual Women’s March, it’s time for a repost. I marched again today for pretty much the same reasons as last year, many of which have since been intensified. Thanks for reading.

Why I Marched

I’m a progressive Christian, and I’m pro-life. Many people think people like me don’t exist. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one, but I know I’m not alone. Many Christians think that all progressives and liberals are pro-abortion. And many liberals think that all Christians are backward, hateful hypocrites. I’ve heard that the Women’s March didn’t allow pro-life women to march, but nobody asked me to leave. All I felt was love. I’m pro-life, and in a much fuller sense of the word than simply pro-birth. Jesus came to give us life, and life ABUNDANT.

Life begins with conception. Yes. But as a follower of Jesus, my obligation to protect life does not end with a baby’s birth. Jesus calls me to protect life by providing decent healthcare, education, and housing for ALL. Jesus calls me to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and imprisoned. I take Him at His word in Matthew 25. Jesus tells us that whatever we do for the least of these, we do for Him. He calls me to welcome the stranger, the foreigner, the DACA recipients, the refugees and asylum seekers; to protect those who are fleeing war, torture, and violence. Jesus calls me to stand for the rights of women and girls the world over, for people of every color. He calls me to stand for the life and dignity of people with disabilities. I’m even pro-life and pro-equal rights for LGBTQ folks. I take Jesus at His word when He says, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.”

The Bible calls me to steward the environment, which sustains human life on earth. If we don’t take care of the home God gave us, there will not be any life for much longer. Climate change is real.

I’m for Fair Trade. I’m for a living wage. I’m for treating others as I would want to be treated. I’m for loving my neighbor—all my neighbors on this entire planet. I’m for LIFE ABUNDANT, FOR ALL.

Jesus was at the Women’s March. I saw Him. I saw Jesus in the women and girls of all ages. I saw Jesus in the people with tattoos and piercings. I saw Jesus in the men young and old who marched to support women’s rights. I saw Him carrying a sign that read “Undocumented and Unafraid.” I saw Him in the black man who applauded our march with tears in his eyes. I saw Him in the police officers who blocked traffic for us to march safely, and in the people who thanked them for doing their job well. I saw Jesus at the March.

The Women’s March was not a gathering of victims, complainers, or whiny women. It was a demonstration of strength in unity, asking that ALL people be treated with love, care, and respect. The most common chant I heard was: “No hate. No fear. Everyone is welcome here.” It was a demonstration of inclusion, equal rights, education, and health care for ALL. Documented estimates of how many people marched range from 3-5 MILLION. There were hundreds of marches across the country and around the world. Thank God that they were PEACEFUL. No arrests were made at the Women’s March.

Those friends I walked with? Also followers of Jesus. These sisters are women who have slept on floors with me mentoring young teens, inside the local rescue mission. We have eaten together with youth at the local soup kitchen. We have taken young people to the same park where we marched, given sack lunches to homeless people there, and listened to their stories. These women serve with me as volunteers for refugees, teaching them English, mentoring families, and watching the children so their moms can be together and sew. They join me monthly in prayer, and they serve on church committees, trying to teach others how to serve. None of us does these things to earn a reward. Faith without works is not faith at all. Jesus’ followers will be known by their love. Jesus came to:

preach good news to the poor…

proclaim freedom for the prisoners

and recovery of sight for the blind,

to release the oppressed,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

If we’re following Jesus, that’s where He’s leading.

I marched for my gay friends who love Jesus. I marched for my refugee friends. I marched for my friends who have lived through rape and abortions. I marched for my Muslim friends. I marched for the women who are groped and abused and underpaid every day. I marched for the girls and boys who are marketed and sold for other people’s pleasure and profit. I marched for Native Americans, the only Americans who are not immigrants. I marched to bring liberals and Christians together—the two terms are not mutually exclusive. Jesus told me to love my neighbor, and that’s why I marched. My loyalty is to Jesus, not to any political party. We’re all broken and in need of a savior, and Jesus came for all of us, to bring us life—life abundant.

The Newcomers

“I found myself surrendering to the joy I was experiencing in Room 142, which began to feel like an end in itself. I wasn’t as interested in determining our collective guilt or innocence in causing one or another part of the global crisis; the refugees I had gotten to know simply felt like a gift.” (Helen Thorpe, The Newcomers, p. 298)

This is precisely how I feel about the refugee families I call my friends. Simply knowing them and sharing life with them is a joyous gift. Helen Thorpe’s newest book, The Newcomers: Finding Refuge, Friendship, and Hope in an American Classroom, is another joyous gift. It is a story of transformation, in which Thorpe discovers the stories, the humanity, and the joy of refugee students in a Denver high school.

“The students and their families saved each of us from becoming jaded or calloused or closed-hearted. They opened us up emotionally to the joy of our interconnectedness with the rest of the world.” (p. 300)

In The Newcomers, Thorpe embeds herself in an English Language Acquisition (ELA) classroom populated mostly by refugees. The students are an accurate representation of the millions of refugees the world over, but Thorpe soon gets to know them and their families on a personal level. Language nerds like myself will appreciate the tidbits of ELA wisdom that Thorpe includes in her story. I learned that in the Karen language, there are no hard consonant sounds at the end of words. For several years I had thought that my Karen friend had her very own difficulties pronouncing English words in their entirety, beyond the initial consonant and vowel. But it turns out that’s common among Karen English language learners, because their first language doesn’t have such sounds. Beyond TEFL insights, Thorpe explores the process of refugee resettlement, the horrific reasons why people flee their countries in the first place, and other refugee realities.

“Meeting people whose life trajectories were so different from my own enlarged my way of thinking. Outside the school, arguments over refugees were raging, but the time I had spent inside this building showed me that those conversations were based on phantasms.  People were debating their own fears. What I had witnessed taking place inside this school every day revealed the rhetoric for what it was: more propaganda than fact.” (p. 391)

Thorpe is a journalist who writes narrative non-fiction, which means that she thoroughly researches important topics and writes about them as compelling stories. I read her book Just Like Us in 2010, shortly after a formative trip to the US/Mexico border to learn about immigration, when I was only beginning to learn about immigration and refugees. In that book Thorpe follows four Mexican girls coming of age in Colorado high schools. Two have legal status; two do not. What does a teenager do when she graduates from high school but doesn’t have a social security number? She can’t complete federal financial aid forms to apply to college; nor can she get a job. She might not even be able to get a driver’s license. The book was an eye-opener for me, and set me on a course to learn more about and do more to help immigrants in my community. It’s still a timely read, a fascinating personal look at why the DREAM Act is so important to pass.

Thorpe does her homework. Within The Newcomers, Thorpe references books she’s read about the conflicts these students and their families have fled, books that are now on my own to-be-read pile. Undaunted and For Us Surrender is out of the Question about Burma, Strength in What Remains about Burundi, and King Leopold’s Ghost about Congo will help me to better understand the families I’ve most recently mentored from Burma, Burundi, and Congo. Thorpe even traveled to Congo and visited a refugee camp in Uganda. This is no easy feat in war-torn countries.

Thorpe’s books are timely, well-researched, and compelling. I learned from them, but also laughed and cheered, and was encouraged by her own transformation as she spent time with refugees and immigrants. Her books catalyzed and affirmed my own experiences mentoring refugees, teaching them English, and working with other immigrants.

“I felt buoyed up every time I returned to South. A few hours with students struggling to learn English served as a reliable tonic; as soon as I stepped inside an ELA classroom, I could imagine a completely different future ahead. What was happening around the globe, which was invariably reflected at South, called for us to redouble our efforts, called for us not to let ourselves be defined by the last election. At least while I was at the school, I could envision what it would be like for the United States to realize its true potential—for my country to become what the world needed it to be. . . .

“Despite how fear-based the national conversation had turned, there was nothing scary about what was happening at South. Getting to know the newcomer students had deepened my own life. . . . I would even say that spending a year in Room 142 had allowed me to witness something as close to holy as I’ve seen take place between human beings. . . .  The plain, irreducible fact of good people being made nomad by the millions through all the kinds of horror this world could produce seemed likely to prove the central moral challenge of our times.” (p. 390-1)

I concur.

 

 

World Refugee Day

June 20th is World Refugee Day, and our local refugee resettlement agency always celebrates near that date. This is one of my favorite parties of the year. There’s a bounce house and other games for the kids, face painting, free t-shirts, and a potluck lunch. Refugee potlucks are the best, because the food comes from the traditions of a multitude of countries. It’s truly authentic international fare. I don’t even know the names of most of the food I eat, but it’s always delicious.

The table centerpieces are all patriotic: miniature American flags, red, silver, and blue beads, sparkly red and blue stars.

Refugees attend our party from about a dozen countries of origin, mostly from the Middle East and Africa. A representative from each country stands in front and introduces him- or herself and says hello in their native tongue.

One year we had the choir from the local African refugee church sing for us. It was beautiful! They sang “Alleluia Amen!” and prayed to Jesus in Swahili. After the choir we were treated to a performance on the djembe drum by a man from Ghana. Whoo-ee! He got people out of their seats and dancing. After his riff, someone put on an iPod, and like every refugee party I’ve ever been to, the celebration turned into a dance party. Africans from many different countries danced with Iraqis, Afghans, Kurds, Cubans, Karen people, and Chin. It doesn’t get much better than that. Even if you’re not much of a dancer, the beauty of the unity in diversity is clear for all to see. We’re all celebrating freedom.

The UNHCR just released new, updated numbers. At the end of 2016, there were 65.6 million displaced people in the world, more than at any time ever in history. The numbers can be overwhelming, and undoubtedly are even higher now. But those numbers represent individual people, created in the image of God and loved by God. When you get involved personally and get to know individually people who are refugees, the story changes. And so do you.