The following post on the Free Burma Rangers web site (link below) is a tribute to their chief medic, Eliyah. It tells not just his story, but the story about what these teams do, and why, and how, and the ways they serve the people in the ethnic areas of Burma living under the oppression of the Burma Army. A very powerful post worth reading and sharing and not forgetting. Some of the images included at the end are graphic, but they are real.
Author: Teresa Norman
Married to the love of my life and my partner in everything for almost 42 years, proud mother of three amazing adults, grandmother of some high energy little angels. Grateful child of God.
Saffron Revolution-1 year later
Friday was the one year anniversary of the most recent crackdown on peaceful protesters by the Burmese military dictatorship. The first two links below are video of interviews with one of the leading monks involved in the protest. The third link is to a BBC report. Hard for the rest of us to imagine….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5vhNoXsYQc&NR=1
Persistent Love
Today I am celebrating the moment on Sept. 24, 1970 when my church youth group leader came and asked me for probably the 100th time, if I was willing to commit my life to Jesus, and surrender my options to continued self-direction and self-destruction. Because of what had happened to her, I said yes. We prayed together on the steps of the CMA church on a Friday night ’cause that’s where she found this hurting lost sheep. The struggle then went from “Do I choose faith?” to “How do I live out that faith?” Huge step….saved my life.
She had a unique place of credibility to me at that precise moment, having experienced loss of her beautiful 18 month old daughter just two weeks ago in a tragic accident. I watched her in the midst of her struggle and loss and incredible pain as she chose to still turn towards God, and not, in the words of Job’s wife “curse God and die.” If faith in Christ could help sustain her, then maybe, as she had said for so long, and so often, God is greater than we’ll ever know and His love is stronger than we can ever imagine. I also know now, there are some answers to the “why?” questions that we’ll never get. Grace became amazing that day as the journey towards life and hope began.
So, today, I am grateful. I was not always a grateful child. But today, I am grateful to her, and I am grateful to my Dad.
What does this have to do with my Dad? Well, a few years ago, I was asked to come and sing on Father’s Day at the church he had attended for 75 years at that point. I didn’t want to go. This was a setting that held some really mixed blessings in my life, and held some memories I would rather forget, but for Dad I went. And in the doing of the thing, I had one of those moments where the lights came on, and I realized that because my Dad had always taken me to church as a kid, even when he wasn’t sure he wanted to go, even when he wasn’t sure it made any difference, even when he didn’t think I was paying any attention, even when he was tired, or whatever other excuses hardworking grownups can come up with. And even though the church was way imperfect, God’s Word was taught there, and God was present in the prayers of His people. And because of this, there was someone in my life who could offer hope and point the way to faith, even when I might not have been listening to Dad. For this, I am very grateful.
Illusions Fall (a poem)
ILLUSIONS FALL
One I looked upon the world
With glasses colored rose.
I thought peace and tranquillity
Were what I would behold.
I dreamed that having faith
Would be the answer to all needs;
That love would flourish everywhere,
And all men would be free.
What I see, in reality —
Is a world that’s sometimes cold,
Full of people crying, hurting, suffering;
Their stories left untold.
And all too often, we of faith
Walk on the other side.
We shake our heads and scurry on.
We say, “The job’s not mine!”
A woman is abused:
We say, “Go bake your man a pie.”
Our ears are closed.
We cannot hear
The battered children cry!
They pound their heads upon the wall
And cry out to the town:
“Can’t you hear us? Can’t you see?!
IS ANYONE AROUND!?”
The frightened child cries in the night
“Oh, who will rescue me!?”
While all of her deliverers say,
“You surely can’t mean me!
I can’t be meant to take a risk
And venture from my safety!
There might be danger in that move;
It surely can’t be godly!”
And Jesus sees from heaven above —
He weeps with His heart broken.
He longs to comfort those who hurt,
But can’t wake up His chosen!
We stop our ears and cling to fears
From which we can’t be shaken.
But illusions fall
If we heed His call
To change and be forgiven.
Have mercy on us, Lord above,
According to Your kindness.
Continue to open our eyes, oh God!
Deliver us from blindness!
Give us hearts to reach out
In Your mercy and Your grace
To those who need to know
You bear their shame
And their disgrace.
(From “Tamar’s Prayer” 1988)
On using words (ramblings)
My mother made me a poet. Not necessarily by inspiring me to read fine literature, but by her unique ability to string words together in ways you never forget. I learned from her the power of words at an early age. She had a well developed sense of meter and timing. She taught me never to take words for granted and to carefully measure the effect of the ones I used. I learned to be careful and sparing-that words could build up or tear down, and that even after attempting to take them back, their impact can remain, their sound resonating in your memory like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Writing has always been my passion, at least since I was a third grader in Mrs. Bosshard’s class. Every day that year, I’d present her a new story first thing in the morning. Although considered quiet and much too shy at that stage, I had discovered words could express things just fine if they were put on paper.
In high school, the creative writing class was taught by an “old hippie” with a gift for bringing out the creativity in people. At one point, after reading my rather dark poetry, she called me in for a conference; she was the only person who noticed the depression in process. She paid attention. Years later, two of my children were also blessed to have also had her for a teacher.
When it comes to using words, (both in conversation and in writing), I prefer the short version. Having to add enough detail, and box car enough thoughts to make something longer than a paragraph seems a bit of a challenge, but once the train gets rolling it’s kind of fun.
Writing things out on paper instead of letting them chase each other around in my head makes them easier to edit. I like the “delete” button, the drag and drop technique, and the bold print of emphasis much better than arguing or screaming. Emphasis by italics feels more civilized than clarity by decibel level and can express strong feelings just as well. There’s nowhere left for words to hide when they are displayed in black and white on the screen, hidden in plain sight. I can move sentences and ideas around, try new things, and reformat my opinions (both internally and externally). Making the ideas stand still long enough to be looked at objectively and cut down to size is exhilarating.
Poems and songs are to writing what photographs are to full-length films. They give a glimpse of a moment but they do not articulate the depth, the character development, background conflicts or the interconnectedness of events the way longer narratives do. The fight to add detail continues. I am drawn toward the guerilla tactics of poetry—select the target, plant the explosives, then run for cover before it detonates. I need to learn more patience for the process of development, strategy and written dialogue. Perhaps if I continue to work on written communication and doing the “long version,” verbal communications will become less draining and intimidating? One can dream that being comfortable with words in one setting will make them more comfortable with words in other settings….
How do you find new neighbors?
It was a strange coincidence that our last day at our home church was September 25, 2003–“Friendship Day.” As our church celebrated reaching out to their neighbors and shared a salmon barbecue with the community, we were saying goodbye. The past six weeks had happened so fast we hadn’t even gotten to tell our pastor until that day that we were leaving the community we had spent 26 years in and moving to Seattle that week with our two college-aged kids. It was a good day to celebrate the friendships we’d enjoyed, and to say goodbye to people we loved. It was good but it sure wasn’t easy.
Our whole family was in a time of transition at that point: our son graduated high school in June, our oldest daughter got married in August, the house we had built from scratch and raised the kids in sold, our son and middle daughter were going to start college and needed somewhere to live…and it goes on. It was like the pot was getting stirred but I didn’t always feel in control of the spoon. Sometimes I felt more like a little mouse tossed in the toilet after the handle had been pulled to flush it. My husband had lived in different places, but moving was a new experience for me and for the kids.
What bothered me most about moving was leaving my church. These people had been my neighbors. Kai Erikson in “Communal Trauma: Loss of Communality” defines a neighbor as “… someone you can relate to without pretense, a familiar and reliable part of your everyday environment; a neighbor is someone you treat as if he or she were a member of your immediate family” . I had raised kids with these neighbors. We’d helped each other build houses, shared weddings and births, made music together, home schooled kids together, and experienced life together in major ways. It was disorienting. I didn’t know who my “neighbors” (in the communal sense), were going to be now, what my connections and point of reference were supposed to be. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to find out.
Speaking about the loss of community experienced due to a disaster, Erikson states, “… within so tightly knit a community…where most residents spent their entire lives without ever leaving, the sense of self was so closely tied to a sense of belonging to the community as a whole that loss of community meant loss of personal identity. The closeness of communal ties is experienced…as a part of the natural order of things, and residents can no more describe that presence than fish are aware of the water they swim in. It is just there, the envelope in which they live, and it is taken entirely for granted”. She goes on to add “…those neighborhoods were like the air people breathed—sometimes harsh, sometimes chilly, but always just a basic fact of life”. The residents in Erikson’s essay had lost their community due to a disaster. I was being transplanted for happy reasons, but the sense of loss and lostness was similar.
I was leaving neighbors to whom I was that kind of close to. The closeness I’m talking about didn’t come from all being Republicans (we weren’t—although the media would probably assume otherwise), or having the same income level, identical theology or similar family backgrounds. The church included folks with a variety of marital statuses, drug addicts and alcoholics in various stages of recovery, pastor’s kids, business owners and the unemployed. Some were on public assistance and some were wealthy. There were folks counting the days to retirement and stuffing their 401ks and folks just trying to figure out how to survive if they lived long enough to get old. Some wrestled quietly with secrets they did not yet feel safe to share. There were a lot of kids. Closeness and a sense of community came from sharing values bigger than our own lives, and when there was conflict, unity (in spite of diversity) was maintained, by choosing to “treat other people the way you would want to be treated.”
Starting over gives you a chance to reevaluate what you’re looking for, to see with new eyes, to write a new script for how you want things to go. Seattle was definitely not Whidbey Island—the choices seemed endless.
We tried several churches the first few weeks we were here, but weren’t really sure how we fit. One Sunday morning, I did a web search and found Quest, a fairly new church in Ballard, which is where we work. The web site gave a glimpse of a church where justice and compassion were part of the foundation, not an afterthought. For the past few years, we’ve been involved with World Aid, a non-profit group based here in Ballard that sends medical and humanitarian relief supplies to folks in Burma. Our hearts are strongly pulled towards doing justice in practical, hands on ways. We figured it was worth checking out.
Like Andrea Lowenstein wrote, “For me, as for most people in modern society, the question of identity is a complex one. Some of my identities are old, others are new or in transition”. Although some of the roles in my life were the same as many of the women at Quest, (wife, mother, daughter, sibling, Christian,citizen, musician, poet, songwriter, employee), other roles were a significant contrast. Quest was composed of an ethnically diverse group of mostly single (70%+), college educated people under age 35, who were in good shape. I’m over 45, uneducated by comparison, slightly round, a mother of three grown children, and have been married to the same wonderful man for 26+ years.
Still, in spite of the differences, it seems like our place in life is similar to many others in the congregation. We’re trying to figure out what’s next for this stage of our lives, to find ways to use the skills and gifts we’ve been given to do justice and compassion in a world that has needs wherever you look. In their reading of the story of the Good Samaritan in the Bible (Luke 10:30-37), the vision at Quest seems to be to become the ones who pick up the guy off the street instead of walking by on the other side, who offer acceptance, love and a listening ear, and meet practical needs both here in our city and in other places. Even though we are in many ways different than the majority there, the principles we form our life around are the same. Quest seems like a good place to find new neighbors.
(wrote this for an English class in 2005-reflecting on it again as we approach our 5th year anniversary of being in Seattle….)
Update on Refugee Rice Crisis
The information below is taken from the web site of the Thai Burma Border Consortium: (the folks that provide food to the 130,000+ refugees in the camps on the border). They sent an appeal in May for funds, and here’s how the response that came followed:
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TBBC launched this appeal on 30th May when it was almost USD 7 million short of funds to feed the refugees in 2008. Cuts to refugee rations looked almost inevitable and the target set was baht 1.6 million by 30th June (USD $50,000, EUR €32,000, GBP £25,000). The response was tremendous; the appeal reached its target on time and donations have continued to come in, passing baht 2.67 million (USD $79,000, EUR €53,000, GBP £42,000) by 26th August. As anticipated, this appeal created a positive fund-raising environment and encouraged other institutional donors to respond. Based on current rice prices and refugee numbers we now expect to be able to fully meet the basic refugee food basket cost at least through 2008. The appeal will remain open since the challenge of feeding the refugees will continue into 2009 when we will have to face a whole year of high food prices. TBBC expresses its sincere appreciation to everyone who has contributed. Interested in supporting other initiatives within our programme? Please visit our gift catalogue. |
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Examples of how you can help
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Justice or “just-us”?
A friend recently challenged me to articulate what the most important issues to me are this election, and to explain why, as a Christian, I feel those issues are important. Whew! I confess to usually being somewhat politically lazy (not feeling like my vote makes any difference…not always doing the actions for responsible citizenship), but after watching friends from Burma who have attained citizenship in the US demonstrate anew to me the PRIVILEGE I have of being a citizen and being able to have a voice and a vote, I repent.
Decisions for me usually revolve around to trying to find the principle to base the action on. The belief and principle that most impacts my coming vote is the firm belief that God calls us to seek justice, and that justice is not spelled “just-us.” I believe I/we need to interact with the world, our society, our churches, our communities, and our families following the principles spoken of in Micah 6:8, “… What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God,” and by Jesus in Matthew 7:12, “Always treat others as you would like them to treat you.”
I believe God is prolife. Consistently pro-life…“pro everyone’s life,” not only the lives of the unborn (and their parents), and not only those who are demographically, economically, racially, culturally, or religiously most similar to us. Putting my faith into practice might mean being more actively engaged trying to make sure human rights such as life, liberty, physical security, education, access to affordable medical care, food security, clean water, and affordable shelter become available to everyone. I am convicted this is not optional.
Equal access to education, jobs with a living wage, childcare and after school programs, are important to me. Jesus said the gospel was supposed to be “good news for the poor.” How do the economic policies we support affect those on the bottom of the economic ladder, both in the US and to those affected by our trade policies in other countries? How do these policies affect children and families?
I agree with those who say we need to protect and strengthen marriages. But maybe if we look first at our own lives and the lives of those we love, and then do what we can to strengthen, encourage, love and serve each other, maybe this will do more to protect and stabilize families than scapegoating other people and throwing stones at them ever could?
I value religious freedom. Therefore, I need to be respectful to those who practice other faiths, or no faith. If I want tolerance and respect, I may have to give it.
We need national policy that supports the human rights standards of international law and strongly opposes torture and inhumane treatment of anyone. Sorry, can’t say that one gentler. Torture is wrong!
I believe our power as a nation should be used in advocating for justice and respect for human rights in places like Darfur, Burma, and Palestine (and others) and exposing and bringing to justice those who commit ethnic cleansing and other crimes against humanity. Matthew 5:9 says “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God,” but can peace and democracy really be effectively promoted by starting a war that leads to more people dying and being in poverty, and will leave their country (and ours) paying the price for years to come?
Mother Theresa said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” So, the action part….guess I need to commit to being prayerfully, actively engaged in the system, not taking my liberty for granted and living as though I really really believe that the justice God is concerned about is not for “just-us”.
You gotta read the book!
Last week in Alaska, I had time to sit and read “Three Cups of Tea: One Man’s Mission to Promote Peace….One School at a Time,” by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. This is my new all time favorite (takes my breath away with hope) book. It tells the story of Mr. Mortenson helping to build schools in rural villages in Afghanistan and Pakistan, learning from those who know their needs, their culture, and know how to proceed with wisdom appropriate to their communities. It gives me hope that more of us in more ways can make creative partnerships like this. We in America have been hugely blessed with resources, but we have SO much to learn from listening to those in communities and cultures we do not understand and that are unfamiliar to us. Seems like I always learn more by listening than by talking….asking, “How can we serve you?” gets some amazing answers. Coming into places with our plan of how it’s going to be leads to those we’d like to “help” being left cleaning up our messes behind us. (At one point in the book the village headman lovingly comes to him in the midst of a mutual project and says, “You’re driving us nuts! Slow down!) He has the grace to listen and learn. The other cool thing with this book…all the experiences of his life that maybe didn’t add up in a conventional way, or fit the average “career path”….. but they all helped him (a mountain climber familiar with places where people ordinarily wouldn’t go who ends up where nobody in their right mind would ever be), to do what he ended up finding to do that mattered. I’m a real sucker for those kinds of stories!
An example of how this works in another context is the Karen Teacher’s Working Group. These folks provide teacher training, curriculum and school supplies to IDP schools in Burma. Not an easy task. Some of the videos on their web site, and the links to the reports from last year’s material distribution, where people are walking days through enemy territory to get to the mobile trainings or to get supplies for their schools, and very humbling. It’s worth a look. Education is hope in contexts of violence, oppression and poverty. Reading “Three Cups of Tea”, and having had the privilege of meeting some of the folks at the Karen Teacher’s Working Group, convicts me to look for ways to support what they do in a greater way. The Seattle Burma Roundtable does a raffle every year (this fall) to raises money to help support purchasing school supplies for IDP kids in Burma. Two dollars buys school supplies for a child for one year. Pretty good bargain, huh? For less than the price of one well-loved latte, I could help educate a kid? Sounds like an investment to me, and I really love coffee. (Will post more when the raffle starts….)
PS Before I read “Three Cups of Tea,” actually, ever since I was a kid, my favorite book has been “Hinds Feet On High Places,” by Hannah Hurnard. Amazing allegory about the “Chief Shepherd” leading “Much Afraid” on a journey to become more like Him and to grow in faith and grace, in spite of her past, her failures, her present circumstances, her inadequacies, her relatives, her financial situation, or her disabilities….(anyone see where I’m going with this?). I didn’t know ’til I did a web search on her tonight that she’s considered to have gone off the theological deep end later in life. But, since I’m not a theologian, I think I’ll still treasure the hope that book has given me for years, that God knows my weaknesses, and has a purpose for my life anyway-that I’m not the sum total of my failures. I’ll try to pay attention to how the journey unfolds so in case something good happens, I don’t miss it. (Her actual life story proves God is bigger than our fears and that you can do some things for the love of God or of a group of people that you wouldn’t even consider doing for any other reason!)
Cyclone Relief Update
The following is taken from a report written by a friend who recently came back from the parts of Burma hit by Cyclone Nargis:
“Arriving in Rangoon after two decades away, it’s sad to see how the country hasn’t changed for the better for most people with the exception of few “well-connected citizens.” Weapons traders, gemtraders, good exporters and drugtraders are the well-to-do in New Burma. Tayza and the likes may be living in 150,000+ square foot castles with 20 cars parked outfront (including 2 humvees, a yellow Lamborghini, a red Ferrari, a black Cadilliac Escalade, a Mercedes S class, amongst many others). Our modest hotel in the central Rangoon witness many street kids, homeless people barely struggling to make it through the day. The pothole-ridden roads of the capital and broken down sidewalks are obvious examples of the nonexistent infrastructure. Justice Building is over taken by trees growing out of it’s clock tower, and the clock is broken. The state of justice from Burma is apparent by looking at the chief justice building. Hotels are given electricity for the illusion of a normalcy for the tourist. Most citizens of Burma rarely experience continuously sustained electricity for more than a few hours every few days.
Strategic coordination amongst UN agencies, international agencies and local NGOs and CBO group seem to be lacking. Due to UN and NGO’s close affiliation with military regime and USDA (kyant-phut), many smaller local CBOs are hesitant to work in ways that would make them well known.
Some villages located close range of Yangon/Laputta, where many NGOs are based out of, seem to get repeated donations while harder to reach areas such as Ngaputaw doesn’t see regular aid.
Distribution of aid is not transparent. Many villagers including monks in the Ngaputaw township is taught to say to the junta leadership “we got rice, we got condensed milk,” even when they didn’t receive the aid nor the aid received was not from the government.
Many companies and government officials are making money from the Nargis related foreign donations. Companies are getting contracts from government/UN/ASEAN body charging $500-600 per hut that they are building in cyclone ravaged areas when we talked to local CBOs that confirm that it should not cost more than $150 per hut. Building of these over-charged huts are done with forced labor. Another community based organization had built 75 huts for $150 each, but was being pushed out by the new rules of SPDC on cracking down the donor sources and by high costs imposed by big NGOs. This group has enough funding to continue to build another a thousand huts, however they are being pushed out slowly with new rules every week.
Clean water is not a problem for cyclone survivors at the moment. Due to heavy rain, rain water is the most efficient clean water accessible to most people. It will be something to be of concern when the rainy season is over.
For families where head of household is a single mother, there are no financial assistance coming to them to restart their lives. Farming and fishing supplies provided by NGOs is not enough to go around at the moment that providing some startup seed money to these families for a small business of paan stand or small home made food stand, etc….”
Working with small community based organizations, they were able to deliver resources donated to purchase food for 13 villages, provide a water reservoir that 13 villages can access, pay costs for medicine and transportation for medical teams for four weeks, provide roofing for a monastery/community center, and pay the salary for a teacher for 9 months in a community where there would otherwise be no school.
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To those who have donated to World Aid, Inc., (or any other group helping with needs in Burma!), thank you. Your donations do make a difference to those needing some help.
Why I Love My Husband
Got your attention, huh? My girls asked me one time, when they were teenagers, to describe what I would consider a hot guy. I described their dad–they listened well enough to know exactly who I was talking about:) We’ve been married 30 years, as of last month. I am still amazed at the gentleness and kindness this wonderful man demonstrates in his life and in all of his relationships. Especially with me.
I’ve had a unique opportunity to observe him this week, getting to fly up to Alaska with our son, Corey, and spend a week with him on his gillnetter. We fished for two days (something he and Corey had talked about since Corey was old enough to know what a salmon was, I think), and then headed back into town to wait for the next opening. The seiners were going to fish Wednesday and us little guys would have to wait until Thursday and Friday. Then the steering went out.
Now, if you’re going to have your autopilot and your steering go out, this is actually a pretty good time for it. We weren’t in little tight areas like we had passed through on the way from Juneau to Sitka….we were in a big pretty sound looking at a volcano with some snow still on it. We crept into town, and the next morning found a guy who could get the part (and didn’t have to fly in from another town). Since there was nothing we could do besides wait for parts to arrive, we spent a few days hanging out reading, exploring, and enjoying. Nice.
We are very different. I work a 7-5 job in Seattle. For this year, at least, he’s returned to fishing (what he did before he got married and had kids that he didn’t want to miss raising). He likes google maps, I like mapquest. He came to faith as an adult, I was raised in church. I’m from the COUNTRY, and he was raised in the city (then lived in Alaska). He can make friends anywhere (as we saw this week, again), I’m awkward in crowds. He likes taking new routes, I prefer ones where the exit sign is marked and memorized and I’m not as likely to get lost. He reads and remembers the details, I skim and then go back and read it again and take notes if it was good. He can organize a project, I’m overwhelmed by sorting through the options…..
BUT even in our diversity, in the important things, we are united. Both brought back from destruction by the grace of God, both hold faith to be central to our choices and our hopes, both passionate about advocating for justice, both really want to help in practical ways, both willing to be flexible on the not so important things so we can make room for the ones that matter most. Both willing to honor the gifts each of us have that are different but complimentary to what we can do together. Both crazy about our kids and each other.
So, guess my point is, even though we approach a lot of things differently, that step of faith that took us from planning our lives, to planning our life together was so worth the risk! A long ways down the road, I realize I am even more blessed than I suspected was possible, to still have this wonderful partner in my life.
A stupid little post
In a world with big needs that need big solutions, this is going to be a stupid little post. Maybe I’m depressed, or maybe I’ve been reading the news too much lately, but somedays the little tiny things I can contribute to make anything better seem so pathetically small I wonder “why bother?” BUT, then I read something like this post I saw the other day on http://simplymissional.com/2008/07/29/what-is-standing-in-the-way-of-your-dream/ about “What Is Standing in the Way of Your Dream?” And then I pick myself up off the mat, and am reminded again, as Chris Marlow says in that post, God cares a lot more about people in extreme poverty than I do, and that God’s heart is broken by the needs that are out there that we are all called to help meet.
I was graphically reminded of that lesson a few years ago when I came home from work and walked in, and my husband (who is amazing!), had come up with a great idea on how to raise money to help support IPDs in Burma (where our hearts are connected to). “Let’s do a food booth and sell chicken curry at the local county fair.” My tired brain had two thoughts: a) Cool, a way to help, and b) Where’s the money going to come from? Now, not being totally stupid, I decided to go upstairs and have a chat with God about thought B (the money issue). While I was on the way up the stairs to go think about this, the phone rang. My husband picked up and it was the attorney that had closed the deal on our house six or seven years earlier, and he said he was retiring, and, go figure, he owed us money. The check was in the mail……he had sent us $800. (Jeremiah 33:3 paraphrased: “…while you’re still asking, the answer’s already on the way…..)
After I quit crying, jumping up and down and shrieking in disbelief and gratitude, I was left with the lesson–God cares SO much more than we do. And if we will do our part, He’ll help us find creative ways to partner with Him. The food booth did happen. We had never done this (not sure we’d ever do it again:), but we worked with 40 volunteers from all parts of the community, some who might never have met each other otherwise, and sold huge quantities of chicken curry at a local very country fair and were able to send $1800 profit to those who needed what that money could provide through World Aid, Inc. A small thing, but I hope to never lose the reminder it provided to me….show up. Do what you can. Do SOMETHING! Giving up or quitting is not an option. We are blessed, so we’ve got to find ways to use our blessings to help others.
Mother Theresa quote for the day: “We are called to do small things with great love”.
God help us!
Forced Returns of Karen Refugees to Burma
On July 17th, Thai paramilitary forces rounded up 52 Karen from two refugee camps in Thailand’s Mae Hong Son province along the Burma border and, while they permitted 17 students to stay on the Thai side, sent 35 of the refugees across the border to Ei Tu Hta relocation site in Burma. (See link from Human Rights Watch). http://hrw.org/english/docs/2008/07/18/thaila19401.htm
a) This is wrong! It is called “refoulement” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Refoulement) . These civilians fled the fighting in Burma in early 2008. Now they are being forced back into an active war zone with the Burma Army.
b) According to an announcement sent out by Partners Relief & Development, “the camp committee arranged 2 weeks of food rations (rice, salt, fishpast and cooking oil) as well as 20 large plastic sheets from their emergency stock and these items were allowed to be sent with this group of people. However the Thai Rangers did not allow any other NFIs such as blankets, mosquito nets, mats, cooking pots, etc to be sent, the reason being given that they have a very limited budget and cannot afford an extra boat for this trip“.
According to local refugee sources, more forced returns are threatened. There are currently an estimated 20,000 unregistered people out of the 148,000 in the nine Karen and Karenni refugee camps along the border.
Help in meeting the basic needs of internally displaced people in Ei Tu Hta can be provided through Displaced Persons Response Network, Partners Relief & Development or World Aid, Inc.
Certain Inalienable Rights….
Wikipedia describes “inalienable rights” as follows: “Inalienable (Individual) Rights are: natural rights, among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They are the most fundamental set of human rights, natural means not-granted nor conditional. They are applicable only to humans, as the basic necessity of their survival”. wikipedia
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (linked below) is pretty breathtaking reading. http://www.un.org/Overview/rights.html I wonder how many people are like me and have heard about it and never read it, until now. Wonder if those writing it thought it would help end genocide-that never again would the world have to figure out how to respond to the nightmare war and massacre and ethnic cleansing could become. Wonder if they could imagine that Rwanda, Bosnia, Darfur would happen anyway. Wonder if nations would still talk, instead of act. Wonder if they could imagine an illegal military dictatorship blocking aid to those suffering a disaster like Cyclone Nargis, hoping a natural disaster would finish what their disastrous policies had already been working on. Wonder what would happen if all of us everywhere held our governments to the standards set out in that document, not just as they apply to our countrymen and women, families, friends, religions or ethnic groups, but as the inalienable rights of all people everywhere? What if we lived, acted and voted, like human rights were for everyone?
Front Films-“Prayer for Peace-Relief & Resistance in Burma’s War Zones”
“Prayer for Peace” http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=80614341076993397&hl=en shows the struggle of the Karen in Burma. (This is only a 3 minute excerpt from the 28 minute film). Their blog is SO worth the read http://blog.frontfilms.com/. Words are sometimes inadequate and easily glossed over. This isn’t.
“This is Our Land” http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5273089644495608550&hl=en (also by Front Films) is a 4 minute documentation of the IDP situation.
Jewels in the Ashes 