Oh Little Town of Bethlehem

A few years ago I was blessed to visit The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, the sacred place widely believed the birthplace of Jesus.

The town of Bethlehem in modern day West Bank suffers from conflict and social deprivation, divided from Jerusalem by a concrete wall. People from this part of the world face immense obstacles, both those that are seen and unseen, often turned away by those people and countries that claim to be guided by righteousness.

Every Christmas I think of this. I remember the Peace Center just beside the church that strives to improve the quality of life for those it serves. I think of their nativity scenes collected from around the world. I remember the poster exhibition for justice.

I think of those people who, like in the story of Joseph and Mary, are turned away.

Today, I am praying for peace.

This next year, may we all work harder than ever for peace.

Peace be upon you and yours. 

Merry Christmas.

2016 US Elections

After this weekend, the citizens of the United States will elect our next president. Now, as in the previous months, I am crippled by anxiety and apprehension for our future. 

Belfast International Peace Wall, January 2008

I was 18 when I encountered my first taste of anti-American sentiment. Of course I knew it was there - but I'm not sure I understood the extent of ridicule until I experienced life abroad. At the time, George Bush Jr. was our President and we were three years into our Invasion of Iraq. I can still feel the shame. I remember meeting fellow American travelers who told people, when asked where they were from, that they were Canadian. Many of us had lost our pride in being American and made some effort to distance ourselves from the politics.  

I so clearly remember people from other countries saying - it's not that we don't like the American people, it's that we don't like the American government. This is a nuance that will be harder to make in the face of public support for the racist, sexist, fascist beliefs voiced by candidate Donald Trump. 

Cork, Ireland 2006

We Americans can no longer hide behind the veil of lies we were fed during the Bush Administrations blunder in the Middle East in pursuit of phantom Weapons of Mass Destruction. During this 2016 election - half of the country has clearly voiced support of anti-Muslim, anti-immigrant, anti-women, anti-disabled, anti-Veteran rhetoric. I fear that the world sentiment may very well be shifting from a discontinuity with our politics to a shock at our values as a nation. Again, I feel the need to justify and qualify my personal Americanism. 

As a young teen in post 9-11 America I recognized the changing climate of our country with the beginning of the War on Terror and the rise of nationalism. It was within this context that I chose my path in Middle East Studies and Conflict Resolution - to build bridges between the US and the Middle East, to mend interfaith relations within our country and beyond. During the first decade of the new millennia, this was one issue that dominated the political and social discourse of the US - and thereby influenced my life in a major way.  

2008 Election signage, The Bahamas

I was 20 years old the first time I voted in the US Presidential Elections. It was an honor and privilege to cast a ballot in support of Barack Obama, a man who had given his life to community service - and whose campaign had made positive impacts on the world. The global euphoria during and following Obama's road to the presidency was unlike anything I had witnessed in politics during my lifetime. If his Nobel Peace Prize was premature, it did at the very least mark the tremendous influence "hope" and "change" can have. When I traveled during these years the conversation was different - the world was again on "our side" - they had some faith in our direction and purpose. 

Border between El Paso, TX and Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, 2008

At the time of the 2008 election I was in college, writing for the school paper. Prior to the election I wrote an OpEd about how a vote for Obama was a vote for the World. Again, the international community is watching our next step. From hastags like #fucksgiving - where humans around the world tell us they care about our vote to #tellAmericaitsgreat - where Canadians praise their southern sibling in the face of fearmongering, the world is speaking up against the possibility of Trump. Again, we have a responsibility to consider the potential outcomes - not just for ourselves, but for others. 

The problem, though, is that people in my country believe so deeply on both sides. 

Western Maryland, 2011

What I have learned in the last 6 months of living in a pro-Trump community is that Trump supporters hate Hillary as much as I hate Trump. They truly, deeply, wholeheartedly feel that Hillary is worse. I try to listen and understand the opinions of Trump supporters and some of their arguments genuinely make sense to me. I worry, however, that in an attempt to elect a non-politician President who will "shake things up", we are at risk of choosing a candidate who has no concern for protecting and defending human rights. 

How can we refuse safe haven to refugees? 

How can we tear apart immigrant families?

How can we punish women for making decisions about their own bodies? 

How can we persecute people based on their religion? 

How can we deny that Black Lives Matter? 

How can we ignore Native Rights at Standing Rock? 

How can we disagree with healthcare for all? With a living wage? With dignity for all? 

These issues are not political - they are and should forever be guaranteed human rights that are defended and ensured by all candidates - Republican or Democrat! In this election, they are only defended by one candidate. 

Pine Ridge Native American Reservation, 2009

There will be no victory party for either side on Wednesday, because regardless of the outcome - there will be a very real feeling of loss for one half of our nation. It is a deep conflict that the election itself has no hope to resolve.

We will need to rebuild relations internally and foster faith internationally. And it will be down to us, on the ground to do the work. Grassroots efforts. Supporting our families and our communities and giving and doing all that we can to continue striving for the changes we believe will sustain us. 

My greatest hope is that on Wednesday we don't wake to find that the issues, rights and justice we're fighting for aren't the essential human truths that Trump threatens to destroy. 

The EU Referendum

Like many of you, the EU referendum is deeply personal to me.

I moved to Northern Ireland to study peacebuilding, as it is and has been one of the most inspirational models for the world. The EU has been responsible for supporting this process since before the Good Friday Agreement and has allocated funds (in the billions...) along with non-monetary resource to tiny wee Northern Ireland for peace projects which have and continue to transform the place and the people who live there. I have had the pleasure of working and volunteering on these projects, and I can testify to their vast potential.

This vote has divided Northern Ireland again on sectarian lines, and the implications for the province, the island of Ireland, the Union and the EU are massive. The future is uncertain. It is likely the Protestant-Unionist-Loyalist (PUL) community who vastly voted ‪#‎leave‬, have precipitated huge changes for their wee country. Changes they have voted and struggled against for decades. They thought they were voting for better healthcare, less immigration, and more accountability from their elected representatives. They will see how grievously they were lied to.

Like many of my closest friends, I lived in Northern Ireland (the UK) on EU rights (as a family member to an EU citizen). There was no UK path available to me. These EU rights allowed me to remain in the UK with my partner (now husband), to continue my work, and to build a life in a place I love. 

If I had a penny for every bigoted, hateful person that told me I wasn't the immigrant they had a problem with, I would be a richer person than I am. Sure I am American, they would say... I reply to these people: Please, travel. Meet people who are different from you. Your mind may (hopefully) change on immigration. And also, you are keeping me out, whether you meant to or not.

Finally, I have my best friends in the world in Northern Ireland because of the open flow of people within the EU to study and work. They are from across the EU member states or they are from Belfast and the surroundings and are rich in experience because of their work, travel and study abroad. I met many of my closest friends working in a multinational company that invests in Belfast as a hub for its European business. I can't imagine what the atmosphere will be like in that office today, where thousands have relocated from around the world, bringing economy, diversity, and positive change to Northern Ireland. 

You have told me and my friends we don't matter to you and your country. You have no idea. 

Let this be a wake up call to my own country! We cannot allow right-winged politics and politicians to fear monger their way into power and policy change with hateful rhetoric and targeted scapegoating against Muslims, Migrants, Refugees, and other world leaders. 

Closing borders and building walls has no place in a global world. 

We cannot. 

I will not.

Alhambra - Dreaming of return

This August I had the great fortune of visiting Alhambra in the hills of Granada. I understood Alhambra was the best preserved medieval Islamic Palace in the world and I longed to bask in its glory. An enthusiast of the Arabic language, the religion of Islam, and history of the Middle East and North Africa region; I had romantic notions of smoking shisha by the reflecting pool, drinking mint tea in the gardens, and discussing philosophy with 14^th century Sufi mystics and scholars (this is a romantic fantasy that historian, Robert Irwin, systematically rejects in his book The Alhambra).   

What I’m only just beginning to realize is that Alhambra, above all else, is a reminder of how cruel we can be to one another, it is what Robert Irwin describes in his book “as an icon for exile and loss” (Irwin, 181).

In 1492, the same year Columbus subjugated and committed genocide against the native peoples in the New World; Ferdinand and Isabella expelled the Muslims and Jews from Spain, most of whom had family ties in the region for centuries. The Christian rulers moved into Alhambra, and claimed and re-imaged other Moorish buildings across the province. This period of torture, violence, and suppression is not exclusive to Spain, however, it is easily ignored or forgotten when enjoying the rich quality of life Andalusia offers to holiday-makers today.

Reflecting on my experience of visiting Alhambra has transformed the meaning of this beautiful palace into something more powerful, and indeed more painful. It has forced me to concede that the terrible period of Inquisition and Expulsion is not history from five centuries ago, it is the experience that has been and continues to be shared with many others.

Those who were banished and exiled, those who fled to the mountains, across the sea, to North Africa and beyond, brought with them the keys to their homes and the deeds to their lands in Al-Andalus. I wonder how many believed this exile to be temporary. I wonder how many ever saw their homes again. I wonder how many never relinquished hope that they would one day return.

In this memory of Alhambra I hear other stories.

I hear Jews around a Passover seder praying “next year in Jerusalem,” millennia after the fall of the Temple. I hear Palestinians who fled following the violence of al-naqba in 1948. I hear Holocaust survivors who longed to return to their homes across Europe. I hear generations of immigrants speak of their right to return. I hear stories from West Belfast residents where “they” are living in “our” homes and sitting on “our” couches, decades after the internal displacement during the Troubles in Northern Ireland forced many to relocate to segregated single-identity enclaves. I hear Syrian refugees who are still making their journey to safety, bringing with them the keys to homes they may never see again.

Others too have seen this connection. Robert Irwin quotes the acclaimed Palestinian author, Mahmoud Darwish, who saw that “Andalus became a lost place, then Palestine became Andalus, we lost Palestine just as we had lost Andalus.” (Irwin, 184). Again and again, the pain we inflict upon one another, in different places and in new times, reappears. Alhambra, in one of its many forms, is a shrine to this suffering.

When I returned home from my trip to Alhambra, like thousands of others have done before me over the centuries of tourism, I shared the beautiful images of the reconstructed buildings on Facebook. My friend, a Palestinian who was born in Jordan after her family were forced to flee, shared the album with the message to express look what we have lost. It was only then that I could truly view Alhambra through a new lens.

Towards the end of his book, Irwin quotes the French author Chateauxbriand saying, “man goes to meditate on the ruin of empires; he forgets that he is himself a ruin still more unsteady, and that he will fall before these remains” (Irwin, 165). With this quote I was transported back to Alhambra, standing before the fountains and facades, thinking of civilisations gone by. It is only after this further reflection on my experience and on the meaning Alhambra has for others that I am able to begin to understand what he means.

In reflecting on “ruins”, in the form of old buildings, lost civilisations, and most importantly human failings, we can begin to understand where we went wrong and how we can re-build in a better way. 

Refugees Welcome - Mostar and Belfast

Earlier this month we visited the Balkans, moving between Croatia, Montenegro and Bosnia & Herzegovina. Over the course of 2 days during our trip, Alan and I passed through 12 border crossings, taking in some of the most stunning natural beauty in the world while exploring a very complicated history of conflict and suffering. 

As we were passing through borders with relative ease, thousands of others were (and are) waiting behind barbed wire for their chance to move freely to safety. Others are being pushed across borders into unknown territories and makeshift camps.The "refugee crisis," Syrian asylum seekers fleeing for their lives en mass across Europe, the Middle East and beyond, has become central to social action and political discourse over the past several months. Sadly, many of these conversations have focused on issues of the resource and security of host counties, rather than of those vulnerable people in great need of safe haven.

Mostar Bridge

One of the main aims of our trip was to visit the divided city of Mostar in the present day Bosnia and Herzegovina. A local resident explained that in the early 90s the city was completely destroyed by war. She compared their reality at the time to the images we're seeing today of decimated Syrian cities. She described the 1993 divide, when the city was separated by an unseen interface and individuals were forced to take sides - tearing neighbours and families apart. 

Although the city has largely been rebuilt, the visible legacy of conflict remains in the form of bullet holes and ruined buildings. The government remains divided among Bosniaks, Croats and Serbs - where no decisions can be made on even the most essential issues because there is no conciliation or compromise. 100,000 people lost their lives during the three years of conflict, a short period in what has been a long history of struggle and war in the region. Unsurprisingly, the social reality of the the breakdown of Yugoslavia, civil conflict and limited external funding (eg: as Bosnia & Herzegovina is outside of the EU) manifests in crushing youth unemployment, political corruption and community division. 

In the city of Mostar, beside the Unesco protected Stari Most bridge across the river Neretva, I noticed a small sign which read, "REFUGEES WELCOME be human because we care." This message was a reminder that those who remember all too well the horrors of conflict, show an empathy beyond what other countries, with far greater resource and privilege, have shown. It's a small sign, in the midst of a complex political context, but it was a moving testament to the grassroots support for refugees. 

Belfast Underground

Last month in Belfast, Amnesty International arranged a rally to support the Refugees Welcome movement and to say to the UK government that what they have promised to do is not nearly enough. This event had a disappointing turn out, given the severity of the crisis and the potential Belfast has shown in the past to organise in support of other issues of human rights. That aside, the event did provide an important platform for asylum seekers and refugees living in Belfast to share their stories. For example, Isan, a Syrian refugee in Belfast, talked about his experience, his life before war and his excellent academic successes in our city. In sharing his reality, he was able to confront myths and preconceptions that separate us from them in the discourse of refugees. 

The people of Belfast and Mostar have known (and many still know) conflict. The expressions of humanity in these cities is evidence that those who have suffered have great capacity for feeling empathy with others. If we continue to find positive ways to harness these feelings of connectedness into political action, as in the efforts of the refugees welcome movement, perhaps humanity can find its way into decision making and help us to share resource and security with those who need it most. 

Garden of Reflection - Tullycarnet

Earlier this month we happened upon The Garden of Reflection in Tullycarnet, a tribute to those fallen during WWI, WWII and global conflicts. The tribute was comprised of a dedicated garden, sculptures and benches. The international link to global conflict and the focus on peace have differentiated this space from many other war memorials across East Belfast and other Loyalist communities in Northern Ireland.

The Garden of Reflection was unveiled in 2010 as part of the Arts Council’s Re-imaging Communities Programme with local participation from Charter NI and Tullycarnet Action Group Initiative Trust (TAGIT) in partnership with Ground Work Northern Ireland. Re-imaging this mural and space, was part of a larger programme on-going across Northern Ireland to make transformative changes to deeply deprived areas across Northern Ireland, where conflict related imagery defined the landscape. 

The murals on the homes nearby reflect the dynamism of the area, reminders of the troubles intermixed with hopeful messages for young people and cross-community links. Of note, there stands a mural of James Magennis, a veteran of WWII and the only person to return to Northern Ireland with a Victoria Cross. He was also a Catholic man from West Belfast. Incorporating this imagery into the murals of the area highlights the focus to build bridges cross-city and cross-community. Not far away is a UFF mural detailed with a group of masked men, a reminder that change is not linear nor immediate. 

Although Tullycarnet is a few miles outside of the city centre and very near the rolling hills of Dundonald and beyond, it has not been immune from the negative impacts of the Troubles. Although many residents believe it to be a quiet neighbourhood, as recently as 2013 evacuations were required because of suspected dangers related to the legacy of the past and broader social issues continue to impact the area. 

  

When we walked by the entrance to the garden, I couldn’t immediately see that it was a unique space. The imagery and symbolism was similar to other Memorial Gardens across the province, and although they warrant respect, they also carry connotations of loyalism which can be seen as territorial and in some cases exclusive. I noticed a painting behind the garden that said “Time for Peace,” and I was drawn in.

The language of the plaques and the nature of the memorial reflects a Northern Ireland transitioning into peace. Although we are 15+ years into the Good Friday Agreement, this language is all too often missing from commemoration sites, which can often be deeply rooted in hurt and blame. The hope and empathy that are central to this Garden of Reflection are the elements required for broader social transition to a fuller peace. 

The messages speak for themselves. 

"DEATH RECOGISE'S NO RELIGION"

"Orange and Green it doesn't matter, United now,
Don't scatter the seedsof peace over our land,
So we can travel, Hand in hand across the
bridge of hope. - Sean McLaughlin"

"Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorry."

Drielandenpunt - Dreiländereck - Trois Frontières

Last week I returned back to Belfast after a whirlwind roadtrip adventure with my friends and former colleagues, Elodie and Lisanne. During our trip, while passing from the Netherlands to Belgium to Germany to Luxembourg in one day, we stopped at Vaalersberg, a small mountain in a forested park, home to the famous Three Countries Point. 

The photo above is of the borders between Germany, the Netherlands and Belgium. 

Our visit to this tourist attraction was hilarious. We parked (somewhat illegally) in a parking lot we believed to be just beside a small memorial plaque to the borders. What we found was that when the German hiking family joked with us about it being an hour away, it was a very subtle joke, as it took us nearly an hour to reach the main attraction, which we had very little awareness of. 

Of course we didn't think to bring money to ride to elevator to the top of a look out (because who knew that was there) and of course I fell down on our walk back to the car because I was woefully unprepared for any type of forest trails... 

The experience itself, standing across three countries, is somewhat hard to describe. Because it didn't actually feel like anything. The small children laughing playfully as they jumped from one country to the next were precious, but for me the experience presented a difficult reality to wrap my mind around. 

Again I'm left pondering borders - abstract and exact; metaphorical and literal; imagined and physical. Amidst the ruins of battlefields where so many have fought and died lives this stone in the ground as evidence that the boundaries that divide (and connect) us all, are only as meaningful as we make them. 

Lithuanian Passion - The Hill of Crosses

A few weeks ago Alan and I visited the Baltics for a few days for my birthday. Although we loved the food exploration through Riga's Central Market; feasting like Medieval kings in a 12^th century alehouse lit by the glow of candlelight; and experiencing the very serious and dry nature of the people we met – the highlight of the trip was definitely our visit to the Hill of Crosses.

We had a private guided tour with our Riga born guide and our Russian speaking driver. We took in the Soviet architecture and the old Russian Orthodox Churches past the mini-hockey-uniform and the Orthodox rosary, both hanging for our protection, from the rear view mirror. We sped past the unmanned border house and moved onto the smoother roads of Lithuania. Houses were painted yellow, green and red like the Lithuanian flag – and farms were left unattended in the late winter weather. What we found when we got there was something like what my friend, Raisa, describes as a "spiritual high." To me, it was a feeling of complete connectedness to my surroundings, and particularly to my fellow people. 

When we reached the Hill of Crosses, we entered the sacred pilgrimage site that has long witnessed unrelenting faith. Thousands of large crosses, many constructed in a detailed wooden style local to the region, and several hundreds of thousands of relics and smaller crosses adorn the small mound. 

The exact origins are not entirely clear, however, the narrative shared with us relates to the lost lives of local Lithuanians during the 1831 rebellion against the Russian rulers of the time. When many bodies disappeared during the warring, local families brought crosses to the site to honor their loved ones. Overtime, the site continued to symbolize resistance and religion for the people of the area. Most notably, during the Soviet times (1944-1990), the hill was bulldozed several times, wooden crosses burned and metal crosses recycled into railway tracks. Every time, new crosses were brought back to the site and gradually it was rebuilt.

People could not be stopped from expressing their faith. 

We heard stories of young newlyweds visiting the site on their wedding day with all of their guests to hang a cross in the hopes of a long and happy marriage. 

We saw the additions made to the space in preparation for the visit of Pope John Paul II who made pilgrimage there in 1993, as a tribute to the strength of the Catholic faith, visibly preserved in that sacred space. 

Finally, we hung our own crosses for our own hopes and prayers, knowing that a place that holds so many well wishes and has the power to provide solace to those in times of need, was a place of great respect. 

This Lenten season I have been particularly reflective on issues of forgiveness and spirituality. It was a privilege to have shared the experience of the Hill of Crosses with so many others who have gone there to pray, dream, hope, and resist. It as an inspiring place to reflect, a place with special significance - not only for its unique folk art status - but also for its ability to connect us to others. As I looked around at each cross and statue, I thought of the person who left that there and imagined what they may have wished for. There were some public statues, including one with a Star of David to symbolise an apology made by the Germans for the Holocaust. Some paid tribute to lost lives. Mothers. Love. Others had no clear meaning, but surely bore witness to many instances of mourning and celebration both. 

One thing that gets me through in my life is the Lakota saying, Mitakuye Oyasin, We are all Related. Standing in places like the Hill of Crosses, it's easy to believe that we are all related. All with experience of struggle and hopes for joy. Each cross reminded me of that. 

It was an honor to make this visit for myself, particularly as I transitioned to the next year of my life and especially during a holy season for the Catholic faith. Until the next "spiritual high," I will carry the memory of those thousands of crosses and hope that all those who have visited have received an answer to their prayers. 

St Paddys Day in a Divided City

Less than an hour after the parade had cleared, the main event kicked off at Belfast City Hall. 

Flag protestors had gathered, as they still often do on Saturdays and special occasions, although in far smaller numbers than at the start of the protests in December 2012. Ironically they gathered beneath the Union Jack flying high, as St Patrick's Day is one of the 18 designated days when Belfast City Hall raises the flag. 

Opposite the road, and behind two lines of armoured police vehicles, stood a small group of young people wrapped in tri-colours. As both sides of protestors antagonised one another, sang political songs, and on occasion threw items across the barricade; the symbolic division of Belfast was literally colouring two sides of the road. 

In the end the counter protest of young people with tricolours, and without permits, were moved on by the PSNI as young people chanted "F the RUC." Ironically again these young people seemed younger than the Good Friday Agreement and therefore without a living memory of the old police force, the Royal Ulster Constablary.

All in all, many people will have only experienced the positive elements of St Paddy's Day in Belfast, before the public drunkenness of young people and open flag wars ensued. Although in many ways the city's transformation has come a long way, the recent flag wars have brought us one step back in terms of community relations on contentious days. As always, there's more to be done. 

"Finding Peace in a Time of War" - A trip to the D-Day Museum in Southsea

Last month we visited family living in Portsmouth, a beautiful English seaside town with centuries of naval history, the world's oldest dry dock, and a quirky charm. The city itself is diverse - a University town, Royal Navy base, and holiday destination. 

It is also a city of memorials to those who have lost their lives to the sea and war, in service of their country. Alongside the promenade, inside the churches, and throughout the city there are tributes to those lost, those serving and those remembered. Because of the vital role the city and its people (natives and relocaters alike) have played in England's military and maritime history, the memorials act as a reminder of the great sacrifices made. It felt like a sacred place. 

On our first day, we visited the D-Day Museum in Southsea. One particular exhibit focused on local narratives to provide a living history of World War II for the people of Portsmouth. This form of history and storytelling, in addition to preserving memory and raising the voice of people directly affected by war, has great potential to humanize history. One excerpt that struck me was the memory from Sheila Foy, "child in Portsmouth," who shared: 

"When it was a raid above us we used to sing as loud as we could and Mum used to have a little present for the one that could sing the loudest. You had to really shout and sing loud so you couldn't hear the bombs coming over."

I felt profound respect for Sheila's mother, who found a way to bring some kind of peace in that time of war. This, to me, felt like another type of memorial to those who sacrificed and suffered during the war. It added another dimension to the character of the city and the people who did their duty during wartimes. 

In my experience of collecting narratives from the Troubles with the Five Decades Storytelling Project, I have found that this form of everyday heroism existed throughout times of conflict. Stories of mothers and fathers protecting their children and children continuing to play despite the war outside exist across conflicts in different times and places. Ultimately these stories and collections are memorials to the life that continues in the face of so much loss and pain. 

In a world of memorials and tributes to those lost, I find it essential and meaningful to also remember those who fought, in many different ways, to find peace in times of war. Memorials like these can pay respect to the women, like Mrs. Foy, who found a way to elevate music above the sounds of war.