Introductions: Myself & Burma

"Please use your liberty to promote ours" -Aung San Suu Kyi

Many years ago theses words of the respected Aung San Suu Kyi stuck with me and I began to use my connections and relationships to promote Burma's liberty. All of my friends know the name of this country; I've hosted documentary events, snuck snippets of information into casual conversation, and brought prayer requests from Burma to my church community. 

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My story is one interwoven with pieces of creativity and education, also of shame and loneliness. As I continually seek to reclaim falsities within my story, they are being replaced with justice, inclusion, and surrender. The start of these has also come with the introduction of a country which now holds a dear and special place within me: Myanmar/Burma.

It was a cold January day in 2010 that I sat down at my desk and began learning the Burmese alphabet. I was a junior in senior high school, living in my small hometown in Iowa, and I was hungry to learn about the wide world beyond the cornfields I was surrounded by. As I struggled between tones and new shapes for letters, I also started to study the country of Burma.

I read all the news articles I could get my hands on that were written in English. I studied the country's complex history with Britain and Japan. I watched footage from student protests of 1988 and 2007. I cried tears of sorrow over the stories and lives influenced under such oppression. Then I cried tears of joy when I found pieces of hope and change. Pictures of Burmese pagodas, monks' robes, and thanaka face cream were the images I carried in my mind's eye throughout the day.

The more I learned about Burma and the people within it, the more my heart grew with compassion and a love that's indescribable. By the time I graduated high school I wanted to move to Burma but instead moved to the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul in Minnesota. Here I worked with and befriended Karen people--refugees from Burma. All my studies of a country on the other side of the world were brought to real life and human relationships in my new neighborhood. These friends have taught me what deep forgiveness looks like and perseverance more than I have ever known.

As I continued my informal Burma studies and also my undergraduate studies I had the honor of living, studying, and teaching for six months in Chiang Mai, Thailand. These were six months of many firsts and much growth. My students and many of my friends there are Shan people--migrants from Burma. Again, I was humbled by those around me as I learned about second chances and the power of education. In my months there I had dinners with people who hold so many connections in Burma that I still have to pinch myself to remember that I know these people. 

Today, once again in the cold Twin Cities of Minnesota, I continue being a student of a country on the other side of the world. I no longer study Burmese but instead study the Thai language, trusting that where I am now and I do now is of great importance for what is to come. I feel honored that such an introduction to a beautiful country has happened in my life. I hope to always continue learning what it means to promote liberty and justice in Burma and for all places and peoples. 

Weaponized Religions

I once was explicitly taught that people of other religions were idol-worshippers, heathens, and going to Hell with a capital "H". At that time I also had a white superiority complex cushioned with my image of white jesus and a sense of duty to convert and change any of these pagans aforementioned. In fact, any and every conversation with a "non-Christian" was to have an underlining purpose of proselytisation. 

There was a distinct "us" and "them": 

We are the saved. We have access to the Truth with a capital "T". We have our pity stories but now we are saved once and for all. They, though, are the doomed--just waiting for us to come. Just waiting for us to tell them who Jesus was. Or, to go to Hell. 

We are the predestined. We do the good. We bring the change. But only the change that we think the Bible teaches. They are, well, it's confusing. They are perhaps predestined, but maybe not. They definitely can't do true good, though, because they don't know the source of Truth and Good with a capital "G". 

My religion was being used as a weapon to cut divides between people.

No longer could I see the humanity in others--I was merely seeing them as a checklist to complete after their conversion. 

In the work of peace, there cannot be divides likes this between people of faiths. It is people with a faith who so often have the endurance to continue through the hard stuff. Religion and faith bring a god (or gods), a belief system, and a community from which people are empowered. Religion and faith provide communal meaning for life which allows for hope that can otherwise be so hard to see in this world. From my experiences, these pieces have been crucial in my ability to engage with all different aspects of the world and to advocate for social justice, change, and peace. 

This is not to say that atheists, agnostic, or antitheists can't do this important work. In fact, one of my dear friends is a firm atheist but aware of social inequalities and changes more than most of my Christian friends. But, when I look through history, the names associated with great change and social justice are people of faith: 

Martin Luther King, Jr., Ghandi, Aung San Suu Kyi, Malcom X, Dietrich Boenhoeffer, Nelson Mandela, Rigoberta Menchu, ... 

These exemplars of the work show the importance of peace within and peace amongst. 

For this to be true in my own life, religion must stop being used as a weapon. 

Don't fear: Putting down the weapon of religion does not have to mean pluralism. But it does mean living into the tension of possibly having an exclusive religion yet an inclusive lifestyle. It also means respecting other people, and that includes the spiritual and religious dimension of life, too. 

As it turns out, "us" and "them" are actually "we". So, let us lay down our weapons, join hands with our neighbors, and do the work of the Love with a capital "L". 

Learning the Divides

The work of being a reconciler is not an easy one. Reconcilers are called to bridging. And bridges get walked on.

At my university I am beginning this work and have the great honor of learning under amazing professors and alongside some fabulous people. This field of study doesn't require hours of studying for exams, but it does demand major paradigm shifts and deep hitting application points. The work of the heart, in conjunction with the mind, is not simple nor easy.

I am training to be continuously aware of power dynamics, the voices heard, and the voices not heard.  New stories, popular music, friends' anecdotes, and textbooks are all pieces of the work which I take in and analyze with the lenses I've learned to see through. When conflict arises in my own life or others' I am scouring for multiple perspectives, cultural pieces, and next steps that can lead towards greatest redemption. I am learning to be acutely aware of inequities and injustices.

In the work of bridge building, it is important to learn the divides.

There are many pieces that make me who I am, but there are key ones I have to keep in mind as I approach this work: I am a heterosexual white woman who is English-speaking, a U.S. citizen, and college educated. Many of the systems in place which have created divides are systems and divides which benefit me. I have many privileges, one of which is the ability to be apathetic towards divides and societal injustices. If I am not extra intentional, society has been set up so I can return to apathy and still be benefitted.

So, I am learning how to fight this apathy and learn the divides. These divides are not pretty. They are often systematically set up for oppression and privilege to persist. They are deep and heavy issues, filled with brokenness:

Racism.  Homophobia.  Sexism.  Classism.  Xenophobia.

The list goes on.

Each divide has had profound impacts on individuals, families, communities, and society as a whole. Below is how I've started learning the divides with the hope of being able to do the work of building bridges:

Listening up. What are those around me experiencing? What have they experienced? To learn the divide from listening up I have to remember to:
--shut up and listen
--not take things personally
--compassion in towards the pain and dump my own crap out away from the pain

Reading up. Fiction and nonfiction books alike can be valuable mediums for understanding social systems from different perspectives. To learn the divide from reading up I have to remember to:
--be aware of the perspectives and power from which the authors come
--vary the perspectives (Most of my book shelf and blogs read are by white people...what message is that sending?)
--engage with topics that may make me uncomfortable

Thinking in. In all situations there is culture and history being played out. As I engage with those around me I need to use my knowledge to inform my interactions. To learn the divide from thinking in I have to remember to:
--consider all four "I's": societal ideas, institutions, interactions, and internalisations that are at play
--check myself for what pre-conceived notions and power dynamics are happening
--ask myself when, where, why, and how silence needs to broken

Educating out. To learn the divide from educating out I need to remember to:
--put the narrative back on the one(s) oppressed from the divide, and not keep it about the one(s) privileged because of the divide
--keep mental notes of how the responses go to see the divide from their lens
--offer grace because I've been offered much grace


What about you? How do you learn the divides? What is another divide you need to learn?

silence

Words are powerful. But, perhaps even more, silence is powerful. 

On Thursday I went to the cinema with my classmates and watched the new movie Dear White People. One piece that struck me was the silence in the midst of micro- and even some macro-aggressions. 

As I mull over this idea of silence, I see two variances, each with different potency for differing reasons: choosing silence vs. being silenced. 

AKA: who has the power? 

Here are some ways I'm exploring and understanding silence, especially as it relates to power and privilege structures. 

Silence as a weapon of privilege. Those with privilege can use silence as a weapon to defend their privilege and as an offense to kill conversations. Gloria Landson-Billings writes about the silence of her white students in her article "Silence as Weapons: Challenges of a Black Professor Teaching White Students". Silence can be a weapon because it can shut down conversations. It's especially potent when the dialogue is necessary. White students, especially in a race conversation, have the privilege of leaving the conversation. Popular media and even school curriculum can speak to the white experience allowing white students to resort to silence.

Silence due to lack of power. The [white, male, heterosexual, Christian, etc.] U.S. has created some narratives to be heard while others are silenced and given a one-sided portrayal. This can be seen through K-12 curriculum, popular media, and so forth. Silence is sometimes the only option given because of a lack of societal power.

Silence as ignorance. When this is the case, my first reaction is to roll my eyes and wish them good luck. Then I remember how "them" is often me and I pray for all the patience and grace I've been shown in the mist of my ignorance and silence because of it.  From experience, sometimes people are silent because they don't know any better and don't even know how to formulate a question or anything to add. 

Silence because the "other" is ignorant. At a ReNew Parenterships conference this weekend a woman of color stood up and told the group "we don't all want to be educators". Her words have stuck with me. In Dear White People I watched a lot of ignorant whites offend blacks and then watched the silence. This is a new lens for me to begin understanding because, for me, a lot of my narrative is told through media, etc. so I don't often need to do educating about my culture. 

There are more reasons and motives behind silence:

Silence as cowardice.

Silence as a means to protest.

Silence as the atmosphere for internal processing. 

Silence as a spiritual discipline.


Why are you silent? When don't you want to be silent? How can spaces be created for silence to be broken in redemptive ways?