Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Sower Reframes History.

How much of where we sit spiritually is a function of our history? Do we see ourselves as worthy of God's grace, or as displaced from access to grace due to history? Do we nurture each other in love, or do we perpetuate the rocky soil and fallow ground experiences of others?

During the "down-time" of the week when Tivoli was under fire, I was mostly unable to sleep. I read a lot during that time, and one of the articles I read was about the systematic "breaking" of the African slave, to make the slave more pliant for the plantation economies. We think "history" and we think "a couple of hundred years ago", but the imprint of that breaking process continues to clothe the souls of our post-emancipation population.


In examining what exists now against the backdrop of the history of slavery and christianity, the following was observed: many women of African descent in the lower socio-economic bracket of the greater Kingston area have moved here to find work - often having already had a child or two in the rural parish from which they hail, usually children out of wedlock. Mothers often have children from at least two fathers. The fathers have often been (and in many cases continue to be) mentally, physically abusive and unfaithful to these women. The fathers often have no vested interest in the act of parenting - seeing themselves only as sperm donors, financial or material providers, burying their own emotional and spiritual needs in liquor, smoking, carousing.


Like clockwork, I see the imprint of the methodical, systematic damage on the family unit harkening from slavery days, and on the man-woman relationship. Loyalty and faithfulness are not relationship expectations; commitment, of the form marriage is built on is not an expectation; without such commitment, the entire family unit dangles like an unanchored boat in a tumultuous sea, threatening to capsize with every passing infidelity. The women experience physical violence with fists, board, machete, half-brick all endured with a sense more of expectation than of shock and abhorrence. The sensibilities of these daughters of slavery have not been freed from the expectation of physical abuse and violence as a systematic part of their relationships and their very lives.


The men experience the expectation of financial support, often without the emotional and spiritual support that would be part of a healthy relationship. They are seen only as providers, not as partners. In turn they behave as providers, demanding through violence and unfaithfulness that which they cannot seem to negotiate within their relationships: caring, love, affection.


Bear in mind that for a considerable time in the history of African slavery under the white European colonist, slaves were kept unbaptised and unexposed to the teachings of Christ, for to baptise them would have been to make them equals to the whites, equals under Christ, "neither male nor female, slave nor free" could have existed if all were presented with the pathway of grace. The delineations between slave and free were critical, to blur that line would have upset the apple cart of plantation economics ... so destruction of family and isolation from Christian spirituality became the prongs of the devil's fork that continues to stab us today.


Amidst all that has been cast asunder in the potential magnificence of the intimate male-female relationship, amidst the violence and hopelessness of families adrift,a beautiful thing has happened here in Jamaica. Seeping through the bedrock and cast concrete of systematic destruction of the family unit, seeping through is the word, love and grace of God. Fortunately, because Jamaica is NOT a country in which there has been institutional theological bleaching, these descendents of African chiefs and empresses turned slaves have learnt through whatever schooling, and whatever community involvement, about God. Everybody here had an auntie or granny, if not a father or mother who took them to church - and somewhere in there they understood on some visceral level that God is grace - so the seed had a chance to fall on them. In their hearts there is a yearning for connection to that which is identified as divine. Such a simple human yearning ... like a familiar song calling us home to the arms of a loving father.


The thing is, the Bible also teaches things that are converse to the "teachings" of slavery ... the Bible supports and encourages relationship in marriage, identifying "adultery" as sinful. So many of these women, though yearning for the grace of God made available to all through Christ, feel ashamed to step up to the table of God's grace because they are unwed mothers, have had children, sex out of wedlock - the anti-family ethos of slavery having taught them to earn their worth through their sexuality and child-bearing without the supporting family structures and marriage in place. The same reality applies for the men - their sexuality has become an armour through which they feel grace is held aloft, separated always from cooling the beautiful dark skins with the blood shed for them. This did not just happen without cause or reason - this is the result of the colonial manifesto for control exercised through the destruction of self-esteem and family (the hearth and cradle of self-esteem), the systematic destruction of the black enslaved.


When emancipation happened on paper, it did not happen on the soul - hundreds of years later the imprint of slavery remains. That human choice to damage humans has to be consciously undone by the human choice to repair and heal humans, in love.


The practical execution of theology in many Jamaican churches has done nothing to encourage many of these people subject yet to mental slavery with chains from history. Many churches still preach that one must get one's own house in order before entering the house of God (complete rubbish in my humble opinion since Jesus so specifically ministered to those whose houses were in disarray, perhaps as example to us to meet people where they are and walk with them, since he came heal the broken and as disciples we are encouraged to take up the cross and follow him). Anyway, the seed is fallen, but the ground has been made barren so to speak in our case by the teachings that supported slavery. Those teachings have ripped away the topsoil and planted in it's place thorn bushes. Those teachings have become the harsh sunlight that rapes the seed of the moisture necessary to germinate. Who is the sower here? And who takes responsibility for helping the seed to spring up from the unfriendly places created by the hand of man?


See for yourself, clearly, the intentionality of all the dots that create the connections that are at work - preventing the seed from taking root- and consider these dots against the parable of the sower (Mt 13:3-9 // Mk 4:3-9 // Lk 8:5-8 // Gospel of Thomas Logia 9)... where the seed falls on a rock, on barren soil, in places where the sun would scorch it, or thorns would choke it - those in the house of the Lord have a responsibility as their brother and sister's keeper to make the barren fertile; to shelter from the sun, to chop out the weeds and help the fallen seed germinate and take root.


The best asphalt on the road to emancipation from mental slavery is the teachings represented so well in scripture. The path of the disciple is as that of a farmer, supporting the germination and flourishing of all the seed, even those fallen in the harsh ground of man's making. Is God the sower? Or are we? Where we have dominion over harsh and unfriendly soil, can we not make it more suitable to supporting the germination of all the seeds of humanity?


Our modern world, our technological and educational advantage, our claims to awareness, our access to information - don't these oblige us to work towards increasing the fertility of barren soils, towards sheltering the seeds that threaten to die of sunstroke, towards watering the parched, and chopping out the thorn bushes, so that more of the seed strewn about can take root, grow strong, and prosper?

How many mustard seeds need to germinate to shelter all the birds of the world, shade all the weeping and broken-hearted, and feed all the world's hungry?

Can you help a seed, maybe a mustard seed, in barren circumstances, to take root, push up shoot and ultimately bear fruit?



Sunday, July 4, 2010

Jelly Coconut Meditation.

A Jelly Coconut is a gift of hydration from God. The perfect jelly has a big cup, and it's husk gives way readily to the whack of a well sharpened machete. When the water is drunk, "spoons" are cut from the husk, and these are then used to scoop the jelly out of the split coconut. Complete self-sufficient coconut - perfect oral rehydration fluid.

The old time, traditional way of drinking a Jelly Coconut involved putting one's mouth directly on the chopped open nut. In order to not spill a drop, one faces down to place ones lips at the welcoming, heart-washing opening of the slashed Jelly coconut. Slowly tipping up, sipping up, gulping, guzzling as the refreshing water fills one's belly, cooling from the inside out, all the way down.

As the liquid nourishment changes location from jelly to belly, one's face and head move; with the coconut, one's neck arches back, until the final drops are drunk, with eyes facing the heavens, perhaps looking up through the leaves of a tree (if this is a rural refreshment stand); perhaps looking up between the columns of a concrete jungle in the urban setting. But the end of the coconut water included a look at the heavens. Perhaps a moment of thanksgiving, for the nourishment, the break from the rush, the cooling in the tropical heat, the heart being washed clean clean. Maybe on that day, without the jelly coconut, there wouldn't have been a look at the heavens and a moment to pause and give thanks.

Nowadays, the completely environmentally friendly and self-sufficient jelly coconut has been the victim of progress. Most jelly vendors provide you with a plastic, non-biodegradable straw. Lips no longer need to touch the organic husk of the green coconut - they can rest instead on the dubious chemicals in the plastic of the straw. Instead of tipping and sipping, gulping and guzzling the whole refreshment is now consumed via one long suck (or maybe a sequence of sucks). One's face remains face down, peering at the dirt below the coconut. Never rising to the face the heavens as the cup empties, never positioning oneself for an upward look in thanksgiving. When the jelly is drunk, belly full, heart washed yes - but heavenly meditation, environmentally friendly consumerism? No, not in this modern-day jelly coconut drinking dispensation. Not at all. Progress sometimes finds ways to make rubbish out of perfection.

I like it the old-fashioned way, heart-washed, and the grande finale of soul rinsing off with the last swallow of coconut water, hands embracing the green globe of refreshment, and a look at the heavens.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Action & Consequence; Reaction & Responsibility.

Sunday and Monday I followed the news and dealt with the primary reactions to what is happening in Kingston. How to summarize? The past has come home to roost. Inner city communities, turned Garrison in the period of 1979/1980, when Jamaica was looking like it might go the way of communist Cuba. Depending on what you read and who you believe, the USA has been identified as the source of the arms that allowed the bloody election of that era to return the leadership of this country from the left-wing PNP to the right-wing JLP. Communities like Tivoli Gardens were "taken" by force in that election. Nothing comes for free in life - nobody gets to open Pandora's box and skip all the way home ... the past has come home to roost.

In liberation theology we talk about the first moment, and then the second moment. The first moment is the experience itself, the act itself ... the experience of isolation, dislocation, subjugation - whatever-ation it might be. The second moment is the reflection on what happened in the first moment; the opportunity to examine what happened, and why ... how what happened might impact our preconceived notions of life, and how we might need to change those notions to include all the new information of the experience. Consider Sunday and Monday's experience the first moment. When the first moment is so awful as to boggle the very mind, as to threaten to pull one into despair - begin the second moment analysis - begin to look for what there is to learn, the why's and wherefores of the situation. This is what I did today.

I tried to put into perspective the experiences, and the discomforts of those experiences. I took in the debates happening all around me, the news reports, the discussions, the online forums. I observed anger, frustration, fear, hopelessness ... and then in the midst of this I heard echos of responsibility, faith and love.

I think it's fair to say there is a general sense of speculation - people here do not know what is going on and that is because the pieces which we are formally being presented by the media do not make sense. They don't add up. And where there is illogic entwined with propaganda and speculation, it is inevitable that fears escalate. Amidst fear, we are tempted to abandon logic and justice altogether - 9/11 and the War on Terror being prime examples of this ... today I decided not to be terrified ... so on the ground today, here is what I observed:

I'm here for a few months, "visiting" from Canada. I'm staying with my mom in a home that is in "a good part of town". The windows all have grills on them - standard practice in urban Jamaica. The house is surrounded by a 10-plus foot wall. The wall has barbed wire on top of it. We have a large double-gated entrance to this protected property in this good part of town. It is operated by an automatic gate opener. We have a rottweiler (Paris) and a pit-bull (Toby) in the yard. All the grills have vibration sensors on them. In the night we set an alarm. We have panic buttons. If we think someone is on the property and press the button (or the alarm is triggered), a security company (whose services my mom receives for a monthly fee) sends armed personnel to our home. They have a key to open the gate. They check out the premises to keep us safe. My mom pays taxes in Jamaica. When I worked here I too paid taxes. By the time all the deductions are made, these taxes approximate one third of one's salary. This is in "a good part of town." But we are "safe".

My sister, with her husband and children live in a gated townhouse community on Long Mountain. The gated community concept supercedes the need for individuals paying for their own, individual protection. But the windows still have grills on them. The gated community is patrolled by armed guards working with a security company. This is in "a good part of town." But they are safe.

We blithely call it protecting ourselves, but it is our response to crime - and for many of us unfortunately it is our only response to crime - to protect ourselves. We do nothing to address the root causes; operating out of the individualistic, capitalist philosophy of the modern-day western world, we look out for number one. The rest is up to someone else. Conveniently sitting with chains of our own making, staring at the darkness - the shadows cast on the wall of the cave - imagining the shadows to be a reality, imagining the chains to be of someone else's making. Imagining? Or conveniently choosing to see it this way?

We are not blockaded into our communities against our will - we choose instead to blockade ourselves, in order to keep ourselves safe in an urban area rife with criminal activity. Understand though that crime, like addiction, is a symptom of a problem - not the problem itself. A drug don, an arms dealer - these too are symptoms of bigger problems - not the problem itself. When weapons are being moved, someone is buying them, someone is using them, someone is selling them ... someone is benefiting from the power advantage that the weapons bring them. When drugs - marijuana, cocaine are being sold - someone is buying them, someone wants them, someone is numbing something they don't want to feel by taking a substance that takes them out of their reality for a little while. The illegality of trading guns and narcotics is the icing on a cake of the hollowness people seek to fill with power and drugs. If there is no cake, there is nowhere to put the icing. We attack the icing - the criminality - without addressing the cake - the spiritual and economic hollowness that comes from this unbalanced pyramid of values in which money and an imagined security is our god, and we place our faith in a panic button, crying "corruption" when the house of cards falls down around our ears.

Toby, our pit-bull, is a haunted beast with an appetite for plastic. On Sunday night, he gnawed a wire out from under my mother's car in hot pursuit of a rat (or the sheer pleasure of chewing on plastic - he's a haunted beast so who knows what his motivation was). So today my mom got a drive to work, and I went to pick her up at lunch time. I opened the electronic gate to drive out (in my little Samurai which Toby is also trying to consume); an ambulance sped by with a JDF (Jamaica Defense Force - the Jamaican Army) vehicle in front and behind - soldiers with large guns in all three vehicles. I drove to my mom's workplace which is on the University Hospital premises. It was quiet on the roads, with very little traffic for a working day (when according to Bruce Golding we should be resuming "business as usual"). As we were leaving the Hospital premises, another ambulance sped past us, again with JDF vehicles in front and behind. This time I could see the patient who was in the ambulance. We got back home, closed the gate behind us. Safe? You figure? How long is the rope called "individual safety" in a community that is under fire?

I checked online, listened to the radio news. What is happening here, is it a war on terror? or is it a war of terror? My sister and I talked about the responsibility that the people in West Kingston had to leave the area when the offer was made to them. I don't imagine it is a simple choice, if they had the choice at all. Some allegations are that they are being kept there by force, by the criminal element. News reports show residents who are claiming loyalty to the Don. Understand this - the Don provides the order in the community. He speaks into actualization crime management in these communities. On his word, robberies, rapes and assaults stop. Or go. People in these communities are always (and I don't mean just since the recent uprisings) complaining about police brutality. Police in turn always claim the assaults were initiated by the gunmen. Who do we trust?

And if we hold the people in these communities responsible for keeping the criminal element aloft, do we hold ourselves responsible when we did nor provide them options of other places to live where they could feel as safe as the Don makes them feel, even if only part of the time? Isn't a slice of cake with icing on it better than none at all? I never offered anyone any cake; never took the time to examine too closely their hunger and my capacity to bake something to fill their hollowness, so who now am I to complain that they took the cake from someone who took the time to offer it to them? Even if they did also take advantage of the disadvantaged in the process. Whether I blame today's Don, Bruce, Seaga or the CIA, it matters not; there is only one face guaranteed to look back at me in the mirror every day.

As an "upper St Andrew browning", I've experienced my own share of inappropriate police behaviour; enough to believe that people less empowered than I am would experience far worse than I have. I am lucky, I am blessed. I grew up in a home with two educated parents who were both employed, who put our education first; I grew up in a community of middle-class economic status, in a community where each home had it's own yard, with running water and light. Having been educated though, having received the opportunities, and furthermore, having read far outside my range of study and being aware of the situation in Kingston, what have I done?

When I taught at UWI, and encountered a student who came from West Kingston, who told me how he had to leave his books with a friend on hall, as people in his community would not have let him leave to come to university had they known that was his destination, what did I do? Not enough.

When I worked on electrifying inner-city housing projects in Trenchtown and Tivoli Gardens, and realised that our safe passage into and out of these communities depended on getting the Ok from the area Don, what did I do? Not enough.

When I came back from school in Canada in 1999, and realised that people were being held up at their gates in "the good parts of town", beyond installing an electronic gate opener, what did I do? Not enough. Certainly nothing to address the cake - just the icing on the cake.

So when I react now with empathy to the situation of my brothers and sisters in the communities of West Kingston now, I react also with the responsibility of realizing that, as a responsible, educated, aware Jamaican, I have not done enough to try to solve the problems I long knew existed here. I have not been my brother's keeper. I have not done enough to try to represent the under-represented, to try to defend the undefended. I have, like so many others, just worked towards maintaining my own comfort zone. So now, as I lay my head down to sleep tonight, for another restless night, wondering if we might be assaulted by gunmen in the night, I recognize too that my reaction of fear stems partly from my own lack of taking responsibility. No one person can do it alone, but also no one person can expect to see and know a wrong and, doing nothing about it, expect the wrong to peacefully go away. It must come home to roost. Pointing a finger leaves three more pointing right back at me.

In all this sense of responsibility I feel, tonight in Kingston we are blessed with rain. It is a gentle rain, falling like forgiveness, reminding us one and all that there is a Creator whose grace surpasses all understanding, whose night-time lightening illuminates the sky, and whose thunder rumbles loudly to remind us that not all rumbles are taking life ... not all rumbles are gunfire and mortar; in the new day that comes tomorrow we have a new opportunity to react with responsibility for the society, community and world we live in - rather than just looking about our individual security ... for the individual pursuit of happiness cannot create a peaceful country for us to live in. In this, my second moment on this subject, God reminds me that forgiveness and renewal is possible with this rain.

(And please dear God, speak to Toby so he doesn't eat my car again tonight).

Monday, May 24, 2010

Kingston Update - 9.30 pm, May 24, 2010 local time - Kingston Jm

We just came back from a drive to Long Mountain.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the layout of Kingston, we have a harbour. There is a strip of land called "Palisadoes" which is where Norman Manley International Airport is located. There is only one road leading to the airport after the Harbour View roundabout ... but the place where the police were shot last night is on Mountain View Road - one of the roads that gives access to the Harbour View Roundabout. Almost all International Media has reported the police shooting as though it was on the sole road leading to the airport - this is not accurate, as you will see from the map below.

http://maps.google.com/?ie=UTF8&ll=18.000121,-76.781216&spn=0.079671,0.135784&t=h&z=13&pw=2

Security forces came under heavy fire on Red Hills Road. The news footage this evening showed the police and army clearing the road blocks and returning the fire of the gunmen in the area. This is good number of miles north of the barricaded areas.

Coronation Market has been set on fire by "thugs" (report from TVJ). We could see that fire from Long Mountain. A bigger fire rages close beside it - which verbal reports claim are the Denham Town Basic (or Primary) school. The discussion amongst people who were looking at the scene from the hills suggested these fires had been set by gunmen on the ground in order to prevent the helicopters from dropping explosives on the blockaded areas.

From Long Mountain we could also see what appeared to be smaller fires in the areas of Spanish Town; there are few media reports and little camera footage from these areas; this might be because most media personnel are focused on the action in the Kingston area.

Although our local media has identified pathways (via Industrial Terrace) for persons residing in the areas that have been barricaded, a news report on TVJ tonight had a lady speaking from within Tivoli Gardens, claiming that she could not safely leave her home to get to the government provided transport, due to all the gunfire around her. She was in her home with her son. We could hear the gunshots in the background of her call, and she said explosives were being dropped on the area, blowing up places close to her. The media referred to this as an unconfirmed report - perhaps because it is happening in an area of Tivoli Gardens where the media houses currently have no access.

From where I am right now, sporadic gunshots can be heard to the north. The blockaded areas of the city are to the south of where I am. Helicopters are flying fairly low every so often. We are about ready to tuck in for the night - it's amazing how exhausting a day of following news like this can be, and I am sure our exhaustion is incomparable to that of the innocent residents of West Kingston who are perhaps too intimidated to even try to leave their homes to get to safer areas.

My nieces' school (which is north of the Tivoli Gardens / Denham Town area) has sent out word to the parents that they will be closed "until further notice". My sister's business place will not open tomorrow. These despite the Prime Minister claiming tomorrow will be "business as usual." Of course, one might debate what is usual for a Prime Minister who has been through all that Bruce Golding has been through since the extradition order came for Christopher "Dudus" Coke from the US Government in 2009 August. An extradition order that was only signed officially early last week.

There have been conflicting reports in the media about meetings between Dudus' attorney and the US Embassy here. Some claims were made of a meeting that should have happened this morning; counter claims were made by someone from the US Embassy that no such meeting had been scheduled. The US Embassy is about five minutes walk from my family home.

Kingston Update - 4 pm local time - Monday May 24, 2010.

Here are the reports we are getting on Jamaican local media:

Limited state of emergency across Kingston & St Andrew.

A statement from the Airport Authorities of Ja says that flights arriving and departing are doing so on schedule.

The Blood Banks are calling for blood donations.

We have NO LOCAL REPORTS about bodies lying unattended on the streets, although BBC online is reporting this (unsupported by photo evidence).

We in Kingston 6 & Kingston 7 areas are hearing explosions; from Long Mountain one can see smoke coming from the Tivoli Gardens and West Kingston area. Friends in Mannings Hill Road, Red Hills Road area have reported roads blocked and gunfire.

3 Jamaica Defense Force soldiers reportedly shot and killed in West Kingston a short while ago. The soldiers were shot about an hour after the security forces launched their operation. (JNN)

The USA Embassy in Kingston says there is no meeting planned for today with Attornerys for Christopher Dudus Coke. (JNN)

A JNN news article about 30 minutes ago reported sniper activity shooting into the Mexico area (near Jungle and Rema). The reporter and cameraman were safe but a member of the community had been shot.

In St Catherine, the Spanish Twon Police station came under heavy gunfire last night. there were no reports of injury. A police team was fired on near the Spanish Town bridge.

Friday, April 30, 2010

The Common Zit.

On the bus today - faces of different colours, shapes, sizes genders - high school youth getting on the bus - the common zit connecting them all.

They all look different: hoodies, blouses, tank tops, t-shirts, one guy in a brown corduroy jacket with dark denim patches on the backs of the elbows - making a fashion statement with their differences, but the message within the statement being the same:
- I need to be me.
- Will I be accepted for who I am?
- Does anyone love me exactly as I am?
- Will I make it in this cold, spiritless, misunderstanding world?

The worry lies under the common countenance of nonchalance.
Who me?
I don't care what you think.
I'm cool regardless.

Like their zits, some covered carefully with makeup, some lonely - the first pinpricks on otherwise flawless skin - the first break in the perfection of youth - the first bubble of the world's imposition on the innocence of which we all are born.

My eyes move over these youthful faces, their common coolness, their common yearning to fit in, their common zits - new to the landscape of their skins...

My eyes move over these youthful faces, resting on the face of a middle aged woman. No zits on her face but the signs of age - pits, just a few, where zits had been in her erstwhile days of hopefulness. She looks tired. And it's just morning. She is slumped in her seat. Staring straight ahead. Mind elsewhere ... oblivious to the frenzy of hope around her, and the life abundant waiting to spring forth from those faces ... this lady looks tired ... having long forgotten her own days of hopefulness, believing herself now to be not loved, not accepted, making it in this cold, spiritless, misunderstanding world ... yet wondering whether the making it she defined really was a making it. Or whether it, like her ancient pit, represented a long lost hope from a far away youth, a hope bursting forth in the common hormonal zit.


Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Blister on the Finger of God.

If God were writing always in his book - writing our transgressions,
Imagine the size of the blister on the fingers he would be using to hold the pen.

If God were holding always in his heart - holding the memories of our transgressions,
There would be no space left in his heart to love us!

If God kept records - of all humankind's travails against nature and Mother Earth,
His filing cabinets would overflow,
There would be no space for him to rest his feet,
Or even tiptoe towards us.

Is the concept of Rapture really a concept from God?
Or a concept from man, imagining:
Blistered fingers,
Loveless heart,
Overflowing filing cabinets,
Divine feet on tiptoe trying to get
Divinity a little closer to us?