Monday, April 17, 2006

Exodus

Excerpt from the April 13th Speaking of Faith episode:

"Let's talk about the very mysterious name of God, when Moses encounters God in the burning bush he says 'Who shall I tell them I saw?' and the name that comes back now, it's often translated in English 'I am who I am,' I've also heard it translated 'I am becoming who I am becoming.' How do you read what is said?"

Avivah Zornberg: "Literally it just means 'I will be who I will be,' and I think there's no getting around it--some of these translations are just mistranslations...In fact God is being evasive. God is saying I'm not giving you a handle. You want a handle, to say 'I've got Him'--that's a name.
Instead it means I am the very principle of becoming; of allowing the possible to happen."

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Sunday, April 16, 2006

this Easter, do we serve a risen Christ?

or do we continue to crucify him?

FY 2007 US federal budget projected defense spending: $439.3 billion


  • Ethiopia


  • Somalia


  • Zimbabwe


  • Sudan


  • Kenya


  • "East Africa: Pastoralist Crisis Will Not Be Solved With Food Aid - UN Officials"

  • Zambia (article is NYtimes select)

    Zambia's Plight Goes Begging in Year of Disasters

    by MICHAEL WINES. Published: February 23, 2006
    NANGWESHI REFUGEE CAMP, Zambia - Hundreds of refugees from Angola's civilwar have walked away from this remote United Nations outpost where most havelived for years, many roaming on foot as far as the Namibia border, 85 milesaway. The journey was not by choice. The refugees were looking for food.
    In January, to stretch its thinning supplies, the United Nations cut itsalready basic food rations to war refugees in Zambia by almost 40 percent --not just for the Nangweshi camp's 15,100 residents, but also for 57,000refugees from Congo in four other camps.
    The cuts were made after the developed world did not respond to UnitedNations' pleas for help to feed the refugees. Like similar appeals, theywent unheeded in a year of many disasters and what aid specialists call agrowing malaise among donors about such emergencies.
    That thousands of war refugees cared for by the United Nations should gohungry for want of about $8.5 million, what amounts to a rounding error inthe budgets of wealthy countries, may seem surprising. But the international system that is supposed to protect refugees from hunger and privation isprone to breakdowns like this one, which has rendered 72,000 war victims inZambia hungry for weeks on end.
    The food reductions in the camps prevented the United Nations' World Food Program from running out of rations. But even a brief visit to Nangweshi, agrid of wide dirt roads and thousands of mud huts beside the Zambezi River, makes the cost of the move painfully evident. Only a month after rationswere reduced, refugees have left to seek food and money to feed their families. Malnutrition among the camp's remaining children has risen by more than one third.
    One Nangweshi family of 10, its monthly ration exhausted, weathered January's final days by eating leaves plucked from plants growing outside its hut. Other families resorted to begging in villages outside the camp, but the drought last year left local residents so bereft that food or money for needy refugees is scarce. ''It's a matter of priorities for the international community,'' David Stevenson, the Canadian who leads the WorldFood Program's Zambia operations, said in an interview in Lusaka, the capital. ''What could be more obvious than refugee camps?''
    Mr. Stevenson said that lapses in international food aid to refugees hadbeen a recurring problem in Rwanda, and that after the earthquake inPakistan last October the World Food Program came within hours of groundingits food airlifts because it was out of cash.

    Lapses in aid are often temporary. In February, nearly four months after the World Food Program first sought emergency aid for Zambia's refugees, theUnited States, Britain and Germany made pledges totaling $2.3 million towardthe $8.5 million shortfall. The infusion will eventually allow the programto restore many, though not all, of the cuts made on Jan. 1.Even temporary shortfalls, however, have consequences. The same Zambiancamps that suffered ration cuts in January ran short of food in late 2004,officials here say. At that time, some of the women in the camps turned to prostitution to feed their children.

    Meager Rations Are Cut

    Few would call the monthly stipend given to most African refugees overly generous. Before the reductions in January, a Nangweshi resident's average meal consisted of 4.7 ounces of nutrient-fortified ground corn, 2 ounces of beans, half an ounce of vegetable oil and a pinch of salt. Three servings a day provided 2,207 calories, the minimum the World Food Program recommends for adequate nutrition among Zambian refugees.Then in January, the diet was pared to 1,400 calories -- the equivalent, roughly, of subsisting each day on one Big Mac, large fries, ketchup and a Coke. Most of Nangweshi's 4,100 families reacted predictably to the cuts. To stretch out their rations, they moved to two meals a day from three, eliminating breakfast. But it was still not enough. In family after family, January's rations were exhausted a week or more before the February food delivery was due. In the camp's medical clinic, a chalkboard tallied the fallout from the cuts: moderate malnutrition was diagnosed in 106 children in January, up from 69 in December; 2 other children had acute malnutrition, compared with none earlier. The clinic recorded a similar jump in late 2004, the last time rations were reduced. Outside, amid the camp's stick-and-mud-walled, thatched huts, virtually every family had a story about hunger. Even before the cuts, ''what we normally receive was not enough,'' said Gabriel Vunonge, the 62-year-old, one-legged patriarch of a refugee family of 13. The reduced ration, he said, ''won't reach.''Virtually all Angolan war refugees have returned home under a United Nations repatriation program. The remainder, all in Nangweshi, are mostly former rebel supporters and guerillas like Mr. Vunonge who fear retribution and are awaiting the outcome of Angolan elections this year before deciding whether to return. In the Vunonge family, the January rations ran out a week before the February distribution was to began. So, Mr. Vunonge took his crutches and, with his wife, hobbled several miles outside the refugee camp to look for work. Three days of weeding a farmer's cornfield -- Mr. Vunonge working with one hand on his crutch, the other on a hoe -- bought the couple 26 pounds of wheat. That fed the family until February rations arrived. Many men ranged much farther afield. In January, the United Nations issued 176 passes for Nangweshi residents to leave the camp. Most walked to Sesheke, a town 85 miles away where a sawmill has long attracted job-seeking refugees. Many more refugees left without passes. In January, for the first time, Sesheke officials arrested 10 newly arrived illegal refugees in the town.''There are still a great many refugees in the area, and the worry at the moment is food allocation,'' said Princess Nakatindi Wina, who represents Sesheke in the Zambian Parliament. ''We hope the government will get a move on and repatriate them soon, back to Angola and Congo, to where they came from.''

    Vital Aid Is Left to Chance

    Why shortfalls of aid to refugees and other equally vulnerable groups occur at all is vexing. The system that funnels food to the world's needy rests almost wholly on the generosity of the well-off, and each donor's impulse is subject to different forces.''The system is basically a crapshoot,'' Larry Minear, who leads Tufts University's Institute on Humanitarianism and War, said. Fluctuations in food prices, the size of crop surpluses in donating nations, politics in donor and recipient nations, and the inefficiencies of the global aid bureaucracy can all play a role in what aid specialists euphemistically call ''pipeline breaks.''Food shortages have become so regular in parts of Africa that some governments consider them normal, rather than emergencies -- an attitude many aid officials say was at the root of the sluggish response last year to widespread hunger in Niger.Often, as in Niger, money comes only belatedly, after wealthy donors have been harangued by the United Nations or embarrassed by news media coverage of hungry masses.
    That is the crux of the problem, many aid specialists say. Support for global emergencies is purely voluntary, forcing humanitarian agencies to gohat in hand to governments, not just to sustain continuing programs likerefugee camps, but for new emergencies like the 2004 tsunami.
    ''We are professional beggars,'' said one Europe-based United Nationsofficial on condition of anonymity for fear of angering donor nations. Headded: ''Some activities, you can decide whether you want to voluntarilyfund or not. But things like Darfur, like refugees -- for that sort ofthing, we should have a system that produces money faster.''

    Coke news

    The latest on Coca-Cola--University of Michigan resumes contract

    Thursday, April 06, 2006

    commodification conquered part 2

    By now, I know the stages well. The weeks and days preceding an important event or deadline--I know my emotions, my jubilations, my moments of stress. Each moment has its place and purpose. Yesterday was the eye of the storm; today the wind started whipping my face and the trees starting falling. A time for doubting, when you seem to have jumped into a lake of ice and wonder how you could have forgotten that not only do you not know how to swim, but the rope intended to pull you out isn't tied to anything. You begin thrashing and can only think about you, your impending doom, and the trees crash along the shore. You're angry that you're stressed, you waste all your time trying to de-stress, and meanwhile the new ice forms around you.

    This time it's a series of events, projects, and unfinished conversations. The smallest: Dartmouth Ends Hunger meals week is next week and it's time to fear that we might not accomplish, philosophically, what I would dream to accomplish. Tabling outside of the dining hall is miserable and I'm worried the publicity guy isn't coming through. I start doing things myself, taking on all the loose ends and promising myself I can do it.

    I sense the storm. I want to stand up and be a rock.

    I recall when souls converged during conversation last night and I order a smoothie. My to-do list buries me. My smoothie slips from my bike and I stop three lanes of traffic, backed up two blocks, to pick up the remains.
    I laugh and dare the clouds to rain. I climb a tree I haven't climbed in months; I reach each tricky spot and my shoes slip and I think "this is the storm, this is your test, have you forgotten how to climb?" I think of community and the tree becomes the anchor for my rope; it pulls me from the lake of its own strength and warms me softly.

    Brian asks what I'm doing and I think he's too smart to ask such a strange question. I've forgotten most people no longer eat peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches perched 40 feet above ground. Wholewheat has never tasted so good, and eating has never been so fulfilling. Storm Stage is conquered in record time: 2 hours, 33 minutes.

    Wednesday, April 05, 2006

    commodification conquered

    Pajamas under rainpants bring home with me when I bike across campus
    The ambience is cool spring showers and the sound track is Amelie.
    All of life is lived in this moment.
    soft couches and laughter, underpinned by our communal conviction to fight that which is destroying life.
    Across the street to pack course one of dinner--a salad--hi Tiger, hi Stephanie, bye Marissa, you make my world beautiful.
    Just chillin’ at Dartmouth? she asked, and we watched Garden State on a Monday night to guard against schedules becoming obstructions to living.
    Reading on a soft cover of fallen pine branches, hearing the rain coming, covering book with t-shirt and taking a nap, waking wet having reached perfection.

    Sunday, April 02, 2006

    experiencing commodification

    Oops. I wrote this a week ago but forgot to post it.

    Warning: this post doesn’t hold the answer, or the question, about life, the universe and everything, and it definitely doesn’t draw any conclusions. See my other posts for those. This post is about ordinary, every day life. One of those most important things we forget to question sometimes. It’s also hopelessly long, confusing, and shouldn’t be read into too much, just like some ordinary days.

    I went through all the usual motions—grabbed my water bottle, set my red bag within reach, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and stretched out on the couch, laptop resting on crossed legs. I turned it on, smiled at the seven applications running, and had just double clicked to check my email when I remembered. I was at my uncle and aunt’s for the night; no wireless. For a full thirty-nine seconds I was paralyzed. I maximized and minimized my Spring Break To-Do List four times, stared at my eight open Microsoft word documents with glazed eyes, their titles rendered meaningless. How can I write those essays for that scholarship until I’m certain nobody’s awaiting my reply to an urgent email? How can I settle down to work on that resolution until I know whether or not I’ve heard back from about our latest philosophical problem?

    I had tried to prepare myself for this. I refrained from sending any momentous emails in order that I wouldn’t expect any back. Three full days ago I had marked non-internet To-Do List items with ****; I had opened several internet explorer windows in advance so come netless time I could read their content offline. I had even selected classical guitar music on my Itunes to remind myself, come THE MOMENT, to relax and pretend I was in the woods. But when THE MOMENT came, nothing helped. It’s been four full minutes now, and I’m writing this blog entry as some twisted sort of therapy. I don’t think it’s working.

    Why do we become so dependent on certain comforts that their absence or malfunction can cause us this much distress?

    Earlier today I entered the Mall of America for the first time in years. It was culture shock, to say the least. At Dartmouth we joke about the Dartmouth Bubble; Park Rapids is pretty much the Dartmouth Bubble without the Dartmouth. In both places, I do a good job of ignoring the parts of society I detest—the consumerism, the objectification, the commodification. Sure they’re present, I just don’t have to look at their most obvious manifestations. Walking into the Mall, it occurred to me that I’ve never felt more like an alien. I watched people shuffle, bumble, and hustle, some looking like they were having genuinely good times; most looking like they (a) had forgotten how to smile, (b) wished they were somewhere else, (c) were considering breaking their leg so they could ride around in one of those nifty scooter things (although even those in scooters didn’t have much luck with the crowds). OK, maybe I was reading into them a little too harshly. I know plenty of people who really enjoy shopping—I’ll never figure them out, and I’m trying to be OK with that. But what about the rest of the population, those of us who don’t go every weekend, but don’t mind hitting up the drum shop, or the tool shop, or the mall, every few months?

    To paraphrase a wise friend, (that's you, Eric) I wonder how often we do things because we like the idea of us liking to do them.

    Our comforts and our habits. These are two phenomena that have been hashed and rehashed by many people more articulate than me. I don’t need to tell you that our culture values quantity over quality (four AIM conversations as opposed to one phone or lunch conversation, for example?). And I don’t need to tell you that we’re good at fooling ourselves into thinking we’re getting quality, when we’re not. (Sure, it’s nice to chat simultaneously with four different people about our latest philosophical/introspective/political/theological musings, and sure, maybe it’s better to at least get to talk to them a little while doing homework etc., whereas otherwise I wouldn’t get to talk to them at all. But maybe in an AIMless world I’d put more effort into making time to talk to them. And maybe that shared space would prove much more valuable in the long run than a few IM chats here and there).

    What I do need to ask you, is what impact these comforts, habits, foolings, whatever you call them, have on our sense of community. Walking in the mall—even alongside a friend and inspiration—drew out of me a penetrating sense of loneliness I’ve ever felt. It wasn’t Big City Bustle Loneliness, or Different Culture Loneliness—I’m used to those, they’re even nice sometimes—it was a pervading melancholic loneliness that actually made me want to curl up in a ball and be alone some more. It made me want to start fires, by myself, just to watch them destroy everything in their path. It made me want to ride my mountain bike down the side of a mountain, by myself, just to see where I’d land. It made me want somebody to hold me, but not so that we could be together; rather, so that I could continue being alone and laugh in the face of attempted community.

    Sometimes I think modern society will make me a Marxist yet. But even Marx limited the human experience to the material. I’m willing argue there’s more to us than that; I’m willing to hope that maybe a Beloved Community could (and is) help(ing) us discover a more full way to be human. What about our everyday, ordinary lives, is getting in the way of experiencing that Beloved Community? And why on earth don’t we do something about it?