Death in Search of Freedom, of Truth

A tribute to Benazir Bhutto. Title links to her NYT obituary.

The coverage, though mournful of her assassination and the ensuing chaos, describes her as "complex" and "contradictory." They say her lifestyle was hypocrisy to her populist stance. That her politics were clandestine, her ignorance of weapons programs during her rule dubious.

And yet, more than 100 people died upon her return to Pakistan in October. More than a score killed with her yesterday. She stood for freedom, hope of basic human dignity for oppressed people. And people believed in her. It seems wrong to paint a woman innocent people died for as "contradictory."

Similarly, the people of Haiti believe in Aristide, still protesting in throngs for his return. He too struggled for basic human dignity. He too was repressed, removed twice from power amidst charges of corruption. The second time, he was kidnapped on a U.S. military jet, overrun by paramilitaries empowered courtesy of my country smuggling weapons through the Dominican Republic. The evidence of a coup d'etat fostered by the U.S., France, and Canada is incontrovertible. And yet in every current news article about Haiti, STILL the press refers to a "popular uprising" that drove Aristide from power in 2004. Every time I read that obligatory phrase, I scowl: frivolous words demeaning thousands of Haitians' deaths and hundreds of wrongful imprisonments.

For both these leaders, we throw around epithets of "controversial" from our comfortable lives, while the people who matter stand and die in futile search for freedom. Our dishonesty keeps it beyond their grasp.

The poor and oppressed don't even have the luxury of truth. Power creates the stories.

100 Suggestions for Being a Catholic Worker

Okay, so I won't list all 100, but these are from a flyer on the refrigerator at Bethany House. Life instructions, as many have learned from living with our downtrodden brothers and sisters:

-take the sermon on the mount very seriously.
-don't take yourself too seriously.
-convene the kingdom of god over soup.
-compel them to come in.
-ask how far the line goes back.
-reside in the margins.
-draw a line. stand on it. get arrested.
-persevere in non-sequitur conversation.
-bless those who curse you, including guests.
-honor conscience, in yourself and others.
-be skeptical of forms, bureaucracies, institutions, and people who put you on hold.
-refuse to be called a saint.
-rage against patriarchy
-find love a harsh and dreadful thing.
-find love.
-be civil when answering the phone at 3 am
(you may swear if it rings again immediately)
-discern the times. take time. give time. do time. add thyme.
-build a new society in the shell of the old.
-try and figure out who is pilfering the toilet paper.
-study the faces of folk down and out.
-curse the filthy, rotten system.
-marvel at the survival skills of your guests.
-weep quietly in your room when necessary.
-stay in touch.
-sweat
-beg
-practice non-violence.
-argue economics over coffee.
-argue over economics and coffee.
-scrub soup pots as an exercise in contemplation.
-visit prisoners. be one.

-celebrate the incarnation.

Se fini

Creole for "it's finished," meaning the journals on Cambodia. I could post a lot more, but I think I should stop, to offer new thoughts from the moment. But to everyone who wanted to hear: thank you. Awwquun jraan (thank you very much). I often would rather listen than speak, but it means a lot to be asked to share something so raw in me.

So final thoughts:
Thursday August 9, 2:35 am (somewhere)

"Now I am really out of Southeast Asia, on the plane, suspended in time. I will sleep. But now, I am churning. Following my friend's suggestion again to ask 'how am I feeling today?' before journaling...today I feel split in pieces.

Part of me is calm about my return. My friend also told me I was going to Cambodia for a reason, one I may not have known at the time. I think I've seen this reason now, in a deeper way, though I guess it's not far from my original thoughts. In the book, "Their Eyes Were Watching God," Janie Crawford says, 'You got to go there to know there." I went to Cambodia to know Cambodia, as much as I could in eight weeks anyway. I read the terrible history, and I wanted to see people rebuilding from it.

I admit that my selfish reason for wanting to go abroad so badly was to see if I could live and work in a poor country maybe long term. Also to continue to discern that medical call I keep hearing. I think I found both. At least I took a step. I'm open to being led, but I'm also ready to continue this path, however slowly I may go.

From Michael Himes, I learned that vocation is about joy, though not always happiness. From Pope JPII and Romero, I learned that solidarity may require great personal sacrifice. Being a doctor in a country like Cambodia...or Haiti doesn't feel like a sacrifice to me. It sure as heck isn't 'saving the world,' as people joke. I just feel as if I'm being pulled in a certain direction. I love the learning and the praxis. But I don't think I've started on any path on my own, without being pushed. And I don't think I can just forget about it.

My family's motto, 'from those to whom much is given, much is expected.' The Gospel for this coming Sunday (Luke 12:48): 'Much will be required from those entrusted with much, and more will be required from those entrusted with more.' Coincidence? Wow.

Teaching taught me about the real need for connection and partnership. My students can do great things...they don't really need our help to heal Cambodia's wounds...they just need us to allow them the resources they deserve.

Everything--especially the hospice--is showing me what it might mean to be a doctor. I love Phalla, my sister; all I did with her was talk and laugh and make flowers and cuddle. And my dear Malis....I guess I changed her and dressed her bedsore and stuff. I held her hand and sang and looked into her beautiful eyes. Did I help either of them? Really help? No. But these women, and so many like them, need real help.

Right now, I want to keep feeling these pieces. I want to love in humble awe. I had to leave Cambodia...so feeling is the very least I can do."

Magic

Thursday July 12, 10:06 p.m., Phnom Penh, Cambodia

"I have felt so inept and useless at my hospice placement. I can't listen [language barrier], so I feel I can't share, that my being with them is not really being with.

But today was magical. I went Tuesday, at Sr. Regina's suggestion, to Boeung Tumpun to learn to make these silk flowers--as an idea for an activity for the five hospice ladies who are feeling pretty well. So I went to the hospice today. Yungsaw has gone home, and a new lady named Dany is here. I sat on Soreun's bed, and showed Chunty and her the sample flowers I made. I am continuously learning and practicing new Kemi, so I can understand and communicate superficial ideas pretty well. I asked if they wanted me to teach them. When I sat down with the materials, Phalla (who's blind from CMV retinopathy, who told Adel that being here is the first time in her life she's been happy) sat down next to me. She felt the flowers, said "sa-at" (beautiful) and motioned for me to teach her.

I guided her hands for the first part and handed her materials, but she caught on really quickly, working intently on her own as I watched. Soon, the caretakers, Saman and Hyup, came to join in, making little silk petals. Soreun and Chunty weren't feeling well, so they watched, laughing at Phalla's visible pleasure. We ended up with a community-effort bouquet, but it was mostly Phalla. she's so resourceful and sheepish at the same time. She still teases me about the way I pronounce "neak" (you), but she's getting more satisfied with my attempts. It was a beautiful afternoon with the bawng srays (ladies)."

Live...from one of the most hellish places on earth

Stung Meanchey: the Phnom Penh garbage dumps....where hundreds of families live to pick throught trash for recyclables. Imagine wading through your own waste for that one aluminum can you forgot to recycle, so you can turn it in for a few cents. Imagine doing it at age 6, barefoot, every day, instead of school, sick and hungry.

More Cambodia...

As it snows, and I again have an exam tomorrow and mountains of "important" things to do, I can't resist opening my Cambodia journal. More, by anonymous popular request.

Saturday July 14, 12:04 am

"I was at the netcafe lesson planning until 11:30 and still thinking and agonizing over plans for next week. It's so hard. Ed did Mass tonight. Gospel was on the Good Samaritan. Ed challenged us with the question the smart lawyer (as Ed was as an NYC DA) asked, "who is my neighbor?" All are our neighbors, as the children believe. Children raise the bar of compassion Ed spoke of. How far AM I willing to go in compassion? When I want nothing, no feel-good and no recognition, in return?

We went back to Stung Meanchey, the garbage dump, this morning. This time, the lady Kevin works with arranged to have 5 kg rice for each of the 70-95 families in that area. Everyone huddled as they started distributing rice. Meg & I brought candy, which we gave to the kids. A random ice cream cart went by (right next to a dump?) so for $5, we bought ice popsicles for dozens and dozens of kids.

They were all jumpy and clingy and wanted to play. I loved it. I basically wrestled with and gave piggy back rids to a brother and sister for an hour. Held a beautiful little girl with a rash around her face and sores on her arms. An older girl, maybe 11, wearing the dirtiest old McDonald's shirt, taught me hand slap games AND "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands" in Khemi. Not kidding.

Some of them led me back through their shack homes.
I had so much fun playing with them.
But at the end, we saw the girl with the McDonald's shirt headed out to the dump to work in the filth.

She is my neighbor.

Meg and I had thought about giving the community water filters. Doy, a lay missioner, didn't recommend it--the people might sell them. We then turned to the idea of bednets and roofs. In Khemi, Kevin was talking about this with a group of St. Vincent de Paul society people. I stood nearby, hugging a little girl to my side. She said something to me I didn't understand. I asked Kevin to translate.

"Please one bednet and one roof."

Christ, this little girl asked me for a bednet and a roof.

I will make sure we do it. Roofs and bednets to the group, all the families in that cluster of hellish shacks. They are my neighbors. She's my neighbor. I am responsible for the inhumanness of her life.

I later found she lives outside that little area we were in, and I don't have a picture of her or anything. Please let me be able to find her.

Do I really have compassion for my neighbors, for her?"

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Now on to the less important things I'm supposed to do.