http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/30/health/research/30aids.html?th&emc=th
Reactions?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
A National Workout Plan
Madeline Albright would probably agree with Caitie Whelan, whose booming voice echoed through the GWU hall on Thursday night at our self-created Truman Public Service Symposium. A few Trumans created the Symposium as a place to reflect on our own experiences in public service, and an as opportunity to explore the winding roads and gray matter between our talents and the accomplishments with which people associate us. Reflecting on the ways in which she has pulled herself out of tough times, Caitie evoked one’s individual potential to climb out of rock bottom situations by exercising three “muscles”: inspiration, creativity, and connection. “The thing I LOVE about muscle,” proclaimed our slender speaker, “Is that no one was born with big muscles, but everyone has the capacity to strengthen them.”
Just one night prior, our group had the honor of hearing from and speaking with former Secretary of State and President of the Truman Foundation, Dr. Madeline Albright. I believe Dr. Albright would have enjoyed Caitie’s Symposium presentation, because in addition to serving as the first woman Secretary of State, managing issues of ethnic cleansing, democracy, human rights, and nuclear proliferation, it turns out that Madam Secretary also loves muscles – she can leg-press up to 400 pounds! Seriously! Dr. Albright offered the expected stateswomanly analysis of the Karadzic arrest (‘a watershed event’), the future of the UN (‘too much nepotism’), and Zimbabwe (‘the South African response is a tragedy’), however she also threw in a few provocative comments, one in response to the wonderful Whelan herself. Caitie asked about the role of empathy in American foreign policy, and Dr, Albright replied that “Americans are the most generous people in the world, with the shortest attention spans.”
She described the difficulty of transforming empathy and intention into deliverable services, because although empathy exists, our current public service delivery systems makes it difficult for people to believe that anything greater than short-term relationships are possible. The ‘systems’ are more specifically national governments and the ‘relationships’ are our international interactions, be they military-, trade-, or relief- focused. It does seem, oftentimes, that our foreign policies are lacking the muscles for which Caitie advocates – destruction leaves us uninspired, bureaucracy sucks away creativity, and corruption creates mistrust and disconnection.
Dr. Albright’s words and Caities's philosophy made my mind immediately zip back to earlier in the week, Monday morning. Stretching out my tired muscles, hearing my bones cracking with every exaggerated twist, I rose at 5:30 am to spend a few hours at Miriam’s Kitchen, conducting research for my second and final Street Sense article. The Deputy Director the Kitchen had worked for many years with HIV/AIDS services. In addition to allowing me an interview as she buzzed across the room, addressing every client by full name and with a smile, she also graciously identified four HIV + homeless men willing to speak anonymously with me about their experiences with social services in DC.
There is a certain disappointment that pulls on one’s heart when you look into a human face and see it become a statistic; another HIV+ person dies, the counter ticks up. But it is a very different feeling, a sudden and disturbing shock, when you look at a statistic and see it morph into a human face. As each man shared with me his story, I forced my eyes not to widen, and my jaw not to drop. These were human voices, scrunching wrinkles around their eyes, rough palmskin inside tightly clasped hands, and deep gazes from behind their eyes into my brain. I sat and listened to the stories I only normally know though the statistics:
• African Americans represent 13% of the US population, yet nearly 50% of the HIV+ US population.
• AIDS is the leading cause of death in black women aged 25 to 34.
• Almost 60% of people receiving their drugs through the federal AIDS Drugs Assistance Program (ADAP) are from an ethnic minority, predominantly African American, yet insufficient funding for ADAP means many states are seeing long waiting lists for treatment.
Statistics sound controlled, specific, aloof, numerical and lifeless. Voices, whether you like it or not, involve you in the issue and commit you to the pursuit of a solution. But Caitie’s metaphor now challenges me. These voices were telling me that even if we all have the same capacity to build muscle, everyone does not have access to the same equipment.
With atrophied muscles it can be impossible to drag ourselves out of rock bottom. Within this one population, the HIV+ and homeless, there are obstacles so high as to completely overshadow inspiration, there are environments that even the most creative mind cannot overcome, and there is a lack of support that rules out the power of connection.
Being prime for inspiration, can seem impossible when one is shackled down – literally into a prison or hospital, or metaphorically stuck in the cycle of drug abuse. A 55 year old black man, an ex-coke addict from south Florida, sighed that, “Being an addict will wear you out. You’ve gotta deal with a lot of low-life people. And you live a lonely lifestyle...it can stress you out! And stress is not good for anyone on medication."
Being creative, or seeing beyond one perspective, goes against the very “rule of the street”, said one 53 year old black man. “You mind your business and don’t ever bother with anyone else’s”, he spoke vehemently, “If you know someone’s HIV + and still having unprotected sex or sharing drugs, you don’t tell anybody.”
Being connected is also difficult if no one will reciprocate your asks with answers. The same man explained to me that in the 1980’s, before services were widely available, “Government and religious leaders were not involved, but should have gotten involved, much earlier on.” He chastised the institutions, that “a great deal of mistrust now exists because of what took place from the offset. The Churches only opened their doors when the grants started coming to them. Or when their family members were dying. Politicians? They helped during election years. That’s the reality of it all. They come around when they want your vote.”
The system is indeed debilitated, and indeed empathy then seems naïve and foolish, as it cannot possibly transform itself into deliverable services. As my interviewees commented on, when the system is weak, people take advantage of what is offered. Those who may not need it as much as others - the asymptomatic HIV+ person compared to someone with full blown AIDS - compete for scarce resources and diminish the available pool of goods. No one is secure that the opportunity to get help will always be available, so with a logical and rational short-term mindset, they take what they can now.
When will the short-term system shift? How will the lifestyles of insecure time horizons change?
Perhaps the least mentally stable man I spoke with had the wisest suggestion – economics. “Smoking crack-cocaine kept me calm,” he said, exasperated, “But it kept me broke! I had to stop using.” But playing out the logic reveals that a market solution is still short-term, temporary, and subject to relapse. This man was clearly still using drugs, and even if he were to stop completely, what next? Where will his income come from? His social support? Any sense of stability and security? How do we make sure that short term successes sustain?
Another man confessed that he took up drugs to deal with his mother’s death, at age 17, and it was not until he had his own son that he had another opportunity to feel unconditional love for someone else, to feel that someone was expecting something of him. His son, he said, changed his life. Not only is he now clean, but he is running the HIV/AIDS programs at a local faith based organization that have changed the lives of many more men in his shoes. When I asked how he references those who come to access services (Guests? Clients? Customers?), he said, “I just call them my friends. That’s what they are.” And so it is human relationships that emerge as a manner of allowing empathy to become effective services.
Problems emerge when there are no stable systems – the homeless have no home, the sick have no health insurance, those looking for a job never had access to quality education – but systems remain unstable because of our inability to form meaningful human relationships within systems. Albright calls the inabilities of our foreign policy a “Rubik's Cube situation”, but ultimately, what does it take to build that muscle?
Any body builder will tell you the same: you need weights or equipment, a disciplined schedule of exercise, repetition of one action again and again, restating old and making new goals each week, having a work-out partner – a coach - to whom you will feel accountable to succeed. Similarly, the HIV + need drugs, a schedule to which they must adhere, a counselor or family member to help make sure adherence is achieved. Checking T-cells and viral loads every week or every three months. On this regimen we have seen The Lazarus Effect, people moving literally from deathbeds to vibrant life again. What will the muscle-building regimen of improving our public service-delivery systems look like?
It will undoubtedly take our inspired, creative, and connected energy. Adam Schmidt, fellow Truman, put it best at our Symposium by claiming that “We have more to offer than is being asked of us.” Among my peers there are any who have grown tired of the ‘systems’ not asking enough, and chosen instead to start their own nonprofits and social enterprises. This is necessary, but Caitie and Dr. Albright now push me to hope that we must also change the systems by working from within. We must start our systems on a long-term regimen, and although Albright set a high bar as a public servant by leg-pressing 400 lbs, I believe my generation’s muscle will be able to bear and lighten the heavy load ahead.
Just one night prior, our group had the honor of hearing from and speaking with former Secretary of State and President of the Truman Foundation, Dr. Madeline Albright. I believe Dr. Albright would have enjoyed Caitie’s Symposium presentation, because in addition to serving as the first woman Secretary of State, managing issues of ethnic cleansing, democracy, human rights, and nuclear proliferation, it turns out that Madam Secretary also loves muscles – she can leg-press up to 400 pounds! Seriously! Dr. Albright offered the expected stateswomanly analysis of the Karadzic arrest (‘a watershed event’), the future of the UN (‘too much nepotism’), and Zimbabwe (‘the South African response is a tragedy’), however she also threw in a few provocative comments, one in response to the wonderful Whelan herself. Caitie asked about the role of empathy in American foreign policy, and Dr, Albright replied that “Americans are the most generous people in the world, with the shortest attention spans.”
She described the difficulty of transforming empathy and intention into deliverable services, because although empathy exists, our current public service delivery systems makes it difficult for people to believe that anything greater than short-term relationships are possible. The ‘systems’ are more specifically national governments and the ‘relationships’ are our international interactions, be they military-, trade-, or relief- focused. It does seem, oftentimes, that our foreign policies are lacking the muscles for which Caitie advocates – destruction leaves us uninspired, bureaucracy sucks away creativity, and corruption creates mistrust and disconnection.
Dr. Albright’s words and Caities's philosophy made my mind immediately zip back to earlier in the week, Monday morning. Stretching out my tired muscles, hearing my bones cracking with every exaggerated twist, I rose at 5:30 am to spend a few hours at Miriam’s Kitchen, conducting research for my second and final Street Sense article. The Deputy Director the Kitchen had worked for many years with HIV/AIDS services. In addition to allowing me an interview as she buzzed across the room, addressing every client by full name and with a smile, she also graciously identified four HIV + homeless men willing to speak anonymously with me about their experiences with social services in DC.
There is a certain disappointment that pulls on one’s heart when you look into a human face and see it become a statistic; another HIV+ person dies, the counter ticks up. But it is a very different feeling, a sudden and disturbing shock, when you look at a statistic and see it morph into a human face. As each man shared with me his story, I forced my eyes not to widen, and my jaw not to drop. These were human voices, scrunching wrinkles around their eyes, rough palmskin inside tightly clasped hands, and deep gazes from behind their eyes into my brain. I sat and listened to the stories I only normally know though the statistics:
• African Americans represent 13% of the US population, yet nearly 50% of the HIV+ US population.
• AIDS is the leading cause of death in black women aged 25 to 34.
• Almost 60% of people receiving their drugs through the federal AIDS Drugs Assistance Program (ADAP) are from an ethnic minority, predominantly African American, yet insufficient funding for ADAP means many states are seeing long waiting lists for treatment.
Statistics sound controlled, specific, aloof, numerical and lifeless. Voices, whether you like it or not, involve you in the issue and commit you to the pursuit of a solution. But Caitie’s metaphor now challenges me. These voices were telling me that even if we all have the same capacity to build muscle, everyone does not have access to the same equipment.
With atrophied muscles it can be impossible to drag ourselves out of rock bottom. Within this one population, the HIV+ and homeless, there are obstacles so high as to completely overshadow inspiration, there are environments that even the most creative mind cannot overcome, and there is a lack of support that rules out the power of connection.
Being prime for inspiration, can seem impossible when one is shackled down – literally into a prison or hospital, or metaphorically stuck in the cycle of drug abuse. A 55 year old black man, an ex-coke addict from south Florida, sighed that, “Being an addict will wear you out. You’ve gotta deal with a lot of low-life people. And you live a lonely lifestyle...it can stress you out! And stress is not good for anyone on medication."
Being creative, or seeing beyond one perspective, goes against the very “rule of the street”, said one 53 year old black man. “You mind your business and don’t ever bother with anyone else’s”, he spoke vehemently, “If you know someone’s HIV + and still having unprotected sex or sharing drugs, you don’t tell anybody.”
Being connected is also difficult if no one will reciprocate your asks with answers. The same man explained to me that in the 1980’s, before services were widely available, “Government and religious leaders were not involved, but should have gotten involved, much earlier on.” He chastised the institutions, that “a great deal of mistrust now exists because of what took place from the offset. The Churches only opened their doors when the grants started coming to them. Or when their family members were dying. Politicians? They helped during election years. That’s the reality of it all. They come around when they want your vote.”
The system is indeed debilitated, and indeed empathy then seems naïve and foolish, as it cannot possibly transform itself into deliverable services. As my interviewees commented on, when the system is weak, people take advantage of what is offered. Those who may not need it as much as others - the asymptomatic HIV+ person compared to someone with full blown AIDS - compete for scarce resources and diminish the available pool of goods. No one is secure that the opportunity to get help will always be available, so with a logical and rational short-term mindset, they take what they can now.
When will the short-term system shift? How will the lifestyles of insecure time horizons change?
Perhaps the least mentally stable man I spoke with had the wisest suggestion – economics. “Smoking crack-cocaine kept me calm,” he said, exasperated, “But it kept me broke! I had to stop using.” But playing out the logic reveals that a market solution is still short-term, temporary, and subject to relapse. This man was clearly still using drugs, and even if he were to stop completely, what next? Where will his income come from? His social support? Any sense of stability and security? How do we make sure that short term successes sustain?
Another man confessed that he took up drugs to deal with his mother’s death, at age 17, and it was not until he had his own son that he had another opportunity to feel unconditional love for someone else, to feel that someone was expecting something of him. His son, he said, changed his life. Not only is he now clean, but he is running the HIV/AIDS programs at a local faith based organization that have changed the lives of many more men in his shoes. When I asked how he references those who come to access services (Guests? Clients? Customers?), he said, “I just call them my friends. That’s what they are.” And so it is human relationships that emerge as a manner of allowing empathy to become effective services.
Problems emerge when there are no stable systems – the homeless have no home, the sick have no health insurance, those looking for a job never had access to quality education – but systems remain unstable because of our inability to form meaningful human relationships within systems. Albright calls the inabilities of our foreign policy a “Rubik's Cube situation”, but ultimately, what does it take to build that muscle?
Any body builder will tell you the same: you need weights or equipment, a disciplined schedule of exercise, repetition of one action again and again, restating old and making new goals each week, having a work-out partner – a coach - to whom you will feel accountable to succeed. Similarly, the HIV + need drugs, a schedule to which they must adhere, a counselor or family member to help make sure adherence is achieved. Checking T-cells and viral loads every week or every three months. On this regimen we have seen The Lazarus Effect, people moving literally from deathbeds to vibrant life again. What will the muscle-building regimen of improving our public service-delivery systems look like?
It will undoubtedly take our inspired, creative, and connected energy. Adam Schmidt, fellow Truman, put it best at our Symposium by claiming that “We have more to offer than is being asked of us.” Among my peers there are any who have grown tired of the ‘systems’ not asking enough, and chosen instead to start their own nonprofits and social enterprises. This is necessary, but Caitie and Dr. Albright now push me to hope that we must also change the systems by working from within. We must start our systems on a long-term regimen, and although Albright set a high bar as a public servant by leg-pressing 400 lbs, I believe my generation’s muscle will be able to bear and lighten the heavy load ahead.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
My Inner Outcast
“Oh, shit,” I worried in my mind, “I didn’t realize we were going to have to tell someone!” I winced as we stood shoulder to shoulder in a long line on the dance studio floor, racking my brain for an alternative story than the one I had chosen for this exercise.
“Now find a partner,” instructs our workshop leader Elizabeth, “And tell your partner your story in one lap across the floor.” Her tiny dancer’s body moved quickly beneath her mass of blond dreadlocks, and she lovingly smiled at our discomfort as we all begin to walk our personal planks.
This past Friday our Truman crew participated in an “Arts and Public Policy Day” at the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. The 9-5 workshop gave us a day off from our jobs, and a chance to explore our own and each other’s creativity and personality through movement exercises, group discussions, role-plays, and interpretive dance. After a session of abstract physical expression, our group was asked to recount a situation in which we had acted unethically and then, in unison, each tell our story out loud and we marched across the studio floor. Easy enough, we reluctantly and collectively agreed: when everyone’s talking, no one is listening, right?
I decided quickly on my most recent feelings of unethical behavior, namely, the time I spend everyday at the Bank corresponding for Keep a Child Alive business, as I feel like our Bank work contributes so little to the big picture of development and poverty relief. Yes, in a bigger picture this is perhaps not unethical, because the positive impact my KCA work is having on poverty relief at our sites outweighs my contributions in my position at the Bank. However in the context of this summer, I feel hypocritical for criticizing the unfocused and unmotivated leadership at the Bank, when I myself am acting unfocused and unmotivated.
DeCarol is my partner, and I firmly cup her left hand in both of mine as I explain to her my dilemma, speaking straight into her attentive eyes. She reciprocates on the stroll back with her story, a tragic tale of never having apologized for a wrongdoing until it was too late. Elizabeth then asked us to assign headlines to each of our stories and come back to join the group in a large circle. “Phew!” I sighed in relief, knowing I held the utmost trust in DeCarol not to ever share my confession that I feared could be so easily misjudged.
Thinking we were moving on to a new exercise, my jaw dropped at Elizabeth’s next line.
“How about those headlines?”
Her eyes smiled devilishly, looking around as a wave of discomfort rippled through our faces. “You can say yours or your partner’s, ready? Who’s first?”
My brain initiated a flurry of thoughts towards an emergency exit strategy. Maybe I can still save myself from this embarrassment!?, I hoped frantically, yes, as long as DeCarol just doesn't…
“Hypocrisy: My Experience at the World Bank”, she proclaimed clearly.
I blinked hard, bit my lip, my heart tightened up, I forced a smile. The entire circle laughed in my general direction, well aware the headline belonged to me, and upon group request, DeCarol retold my tale to the entire group. Busted, I thought, as I tried to mask my shaky spirit with a stolid, calm face. I felt awful for a moment, afraid people would lose their faith in me as the person I try to be; a person of strong character and moral values. I felt concerned the retelling could be misinterpreted, or that all my other work would now be meaningless.
I felt, in short, like Bruce Wayne.
Sitting in the plush seat of an air conditioned movie theater one day later, I stared up at Wayne, Harvey Dent, and The Joker duke it out in a battle to bring ‘true’ justice to Gotham. “You want order in Gotham?” The Joker sneers, “Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Everyday he doesn’t, people will die.”
Our Dark Knight wavers upon the fine line between hero and outcast, nearly incapacitated trying to determine how to weigh the immediate tragedies of standing strong with his mask on against the long term consequences of giving into The Joker’s tactics of terrorism and demoralization. (“Does it depress you how alone you really are?” he snickers to Harvey in the hospital) And on top of that, Batman is immersed in personal hypocrisy. He refuses to kill The Joker because of his stated moral code, but keeps his mask on knowing that innocent people are getting killed because of his choice. How ‘ethical’ is that?
I think back to my Bank debacle. Maybe I’m doing my job by not doing my job – breaking the rules in order to create order. The Joker, as anarchic as he is, reveals this paradox of chaos creating order. He questions the incredibly skewed nature of our own purported ‘logical’ perceptions: does it really make ‘ethical’ sense that, as he references, we can accept groups of human soldiers being destroyed but are distressed when a city Commissioner is shot? Does it make ‘ethical’ sense that we knowingly allow thousands of humans to perish everyday from underfunded quick fixes like diarrhea, but mark history when 3,000 people die in a single attack? How orderly is our order? And do I have before me now an advantage working within an institution if I want to fundamentally change the way it functions?
“You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”
Does becoming the villain indeed bring the positive change? Must we be cast out from an institution in order to give them something to push against? As Batman realizes, if you want to make a real difference, people will hate you. You will have to allow them to chase you and to vilify you, in order for society to have a reason to band together and demand justice, rather than turn yourself in ('ethically'), and watch them crumble under the intimidation of the truly immoral villain.
Maybe the systems and institutions that frustrate us actually have this all figured out, and are in fact promoting positive social change at a grassroots level (i.e. frustrating even its employees to be more satisfied by grassroots work than bureaucratic projects and reports). But more likely, we are facing a slew of institutions fallen to corruption and crime. Either way, there must be at least two different kinds of villains: the Dark Knights and the fallen White Knights. The Batmans and the Two Faces. The deliberate outcasts and the accidental outcasts. Those who are villains as a sacrifice to give people the chance to be good in retaliation, and those who are villains having given in to a greater evil.
We could all use an Alfred in our lives sometimes (although I have one, his name is Dad), someone to answer our rhetorical anxieties when we do not know what role to choose.
I legitimately think Wayne’s worries, every day: “People are dying! What do I do?”
“Endure,” Alfred replies, “You can be the outcast. You can make the choice that no one else will face, the right choice, Gotham needs you.”
“Now find a partner,” instructs our workshop leader Elizabeth, “And tell your partner your story in one lap across the floor.” Her tiny dancer’s body moved quickly beneath her mass of blond dreadlocks, and she lovingly smiled at our discomfort as we all begin to walk our personal planks.
This past Friday our Truman crew participated in an “Arts and Public Policy Day” at the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. The 9-5 workshop gave us a day off from our jobs, and a chance to explore our own and each other’s creativity and personality through movement exercises, group discussions, role-plays, and interpretive dance. After a session of abstract physical expression, our group was asked to recount a situation in which we had acted unethically and then, in unison, each tell our story out loud and we marched across the studio floor. Easy enough, we reluctantly and collectively agreed: when everyone’s talking, no one is listening, right?
I decided quickly on my most recent feelings of unethical behavior, namely, the time I spend everyday at the Bank corresponding for Keep a Child Alive business, as I feel like our Bank work contributes so little to the big picture of development and poverty relief. Yes, in a bigger picture this is perhaps not unethical, because the positive impact my KCA work is having on poverty relief at our sites outweighs my contributions in my position at the Bank. However in the context of this summer, I feel hypocritical for criticizing the unfocused and unmotivated leadership at the Bank, when I myself am acting unfocused and unmotivated.
DeCarol is my partner, and I firmly cup her left hand in both of mine as I explain to her my dilemma, speaking straight into her attentive eyes. She reciprocates on the stroll back with her story, a tragic tale of never having apologized for a wrongdoing until it was too late. Elizabeth then asked us to assign headlines to each of our stories and come back to join the group in a large circle. “Phew!” I sighed in relief, knowing I held the utmost trust in DeCarol not to ever share my confession that I feared could be so easily misjudged.
Thinking we were moving on to a new exercise, my jaw dropped at Elizabeth’s next line.
“How about those headlines?”
Her eyes smiled devilishly, looking around as a wave of discomfort rippled through our faces. “You can say yours or your partner’s, ready? Who’s first?”
My brain initiated a flurry of thoughts towards an emergency exit strategy. Maybe I can still save myself from this embarrassment!?, I hoped frantically, yes, as long as DeCarol just doesn't…
“Hypocrisy: My Experience at the World Bank”, she proclaimed clearly.
I blinked hard, bit my lip, my heart tightened up, I forced a smile. The entire circle laughed in my general direction, well aware the headline belonged to me, and upon group request, DeCarol retold my tale to the entire group. Busted, I thought, as I tried to mask my shaky spirit with a stolid, calm face. I felt awful for a moment, afraid people would lose their faith in me as the person I try to be; a person of strong character and moral values. I felt concerned the retelling could be misinterpreted, or that all my other work would now be meaningless.
I felt, in short, like Bruce Wayne.
Sitting in the plush seat of an air conditioned movie theater one day later, I stared up at Wayne, Harvey Dent, and The Joker duke it out in a battle to bring ‘true’ justice to Gotham. “You want order in Gotham?” The Joker sneers, “Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Everyday he doesn’t, people will die.”
Our Dark Knight wavers upon the fine line between hero and outcast, nearly incapacitated trying to determine how to weigh the immediate tragedies of standing strong with his mask on against the long term consequences of giving into The Joker’s tactics of terrorism and demoralization. (“Does it depress you how alone you really are?” he snickers to Harvey in the hospital) And on top of that, Batman is immersed in personal hypocrisy. He refuses to kill The Joker because of his stated moral code, but keeps his mask on knowing that innocent people are getting killed because of his choice. How ‘ethical’ is that?
I think back to my Bank debacle. Maybe I’m doing my job by not doing my job – breaking the rules in order to create order. The Joker, as anarchic as he is, reveals this paradox of chaos creating order. He questions the incredibly skewed nature of our own purported ‘logical’ perceptions: does it really make ‘ethical’ sense that, as he references, we can accept groups of human soldiers being destroyed but are distressed when a city Commissioner is shot? Does it make ‘ethical’ sense that we knowingly allow thousands of humans to perish everyday from underfunded quick fixes like diarrhea, but mark history when 3,000 people die in a single attack? How orderly is our order? And do I have before me now an advantage working within an institution if I want to fundamentally change the way it functions?
“You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”
Does becoming the villain indeed bring the positive change? Must we be cast out from an institution in order to give them something to push against? As Batman realizes, if you want to make a real difference, people will hate you. You will have to allow them to chase you and to vilify you, in order for society to have a reason to band together and demand justice, rather than turn yourself in ('ethically'), and watch them crumble under the intimidation of the truly immoral villain.
Maybe the systems and institutions that frustrate us actually have this all figured out, and are in fact promoting positive social change at a grassroots level (i.e. frustrating even its employees to be more satisfied by grassroots work than bureaucratic projects and reports). But more likely, we are facing a slew of institutions fallen to corruption and crime. Either way, there must be at least two different kinds of villains: the Dark Knights and the fallen White Knights. The Batmans and the Two Faces. The deliberate outcasts and the accidental outcasts. Those who are villains as a sacrifice to give people the chance to be good in retaliation, and those who are villains having given in to a greater evil.
We could all use an Alfred in our lives sometimes (although I have one, his name is Dad), someone to answer our rhetorical anxieties when we do not know what role to choose.
I legitimately think Wayne’s worries, every day: “People are dying! What do I do?”
“Endure,” Alfred replies, “You can be the outcast. You can make the choice that no one else will face, the right choice, Gotham needs you.”
Monday, July 14, 2008
memorializing priorities
My mother’s voice floated into my bedroom as she sauntered by in the hallway. “Wake uuuu-uup!” she crooned towards my sister and I, both pleasantly face-planted in our pillows. For a split second - after waking up but before opening my eyes - I was a younger version of myself immersed in the comfort of home. I could have been five years old, about to get up and wriggle into my mom-made dress and patent leather shoes for church on this Sunday morning. I could have been fifteen years old, about to get up and slip into a Speedo for an early morning swim meet. I could have been any Kate, but this morning, after a few forceful blinks and exaggerated body stretches and bone-cracking, I remembered that I was merely passing through home, once again, and would soon be on my way back to Washington, DC.
I Amtraked home for about 24 hours this weekend to celebrate a few occasions: the return of my sister from a school trip to Egypt, the shared one-year anniversary of my reaching the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro and of my father quitting smoking, and the general desire to be away from the DC vibe for a bit. I lingered in bed and only my eyes moved around, body entirely exhausted from the previous night's John Mayer concert with the siblings. Seeing that it was still dark outside, I remembered we had a task at hand and jumped out of bed!
Last week I had proposed an adventure to my father: in honor of my climbed mountain and of his kicked habit, why don’t we take a sunrise hike to the top of Diamond Hill, the highest point in Cumberland? Not quite comparable to Uhuru Peak, but an acceptable local equivalent!
And as per usual, the entire Otto crew was up for such a random celebration. So at 4:45 AM Dad was waiting downstairs in his tangerine and tropical flowered Hawaiian button up shirt, sporting the Vodacom cap I brought him home from Arusha last summer. In his celebration he is subtle and not all at once. Mom is ready to go, sleeves rolled up on one of her many oversized tye-dye swim meet shirts, emanating, “This is nothing for me!”, as a woman who wakes up every morning to walk at 5:00 AM. Diana and I tumble downstairs in our mismatched pajamas, without a thought of brushing teeth or hair, and we groggily, but loyally, lace up our sneakers and hop in the minivan to get to the park.
The air is crisp and cool as we march up the hill, the terrain deserted except for our motley crew. No one actually knows “the” way (although I believe there rarely every is one) and we keep walking uphill finding narrow, pebble ridden trails weaving through the long grass and clustered trees. At just about 5:30 the sun emerged a fiery orange orb from behind a horizon full of crowded black clouds, and we squinted as her rays broke through the massive crisscross of branches atop the hill. We watched her rise, and then as nonchalantly as we trudged up, we descended together, dad stopping every minute to test us on tree identification, Diana interrupting with ridiculous jokes, Mom and I laughing helplessly at the entertainment (one of many ways I’m turning into her!) An informal yet deliberate recognition of our reasons to celebrate, unannounced yet obvious ceremonial action.
The night prior, before the Mayer concert, I spent some time sifting through old albums with my mother in search of some material for my Tuesday night Truman presentation. Curled on in the comfort of my parents’ queen size bed, we flipped through photo after photo of moment and memories from my childhood, most of which I would never remember otherwise. But some of the photos, though I forgot they happened, were not particularly surprising. The three oldest munchkins ruthlessly burying a toddler Andrew in the sand, lovingly mischievous grins on our faces. A photo of me in a sparkly, bright ballet outfit, eyes wide, enormous smile agape, staring brightly in the camera, mid-dance-move, tiny arms reaching out wide. I know we always teased Andrew. I know I have always been a dancing fool.
But part of me was upset that I otherwise would never have remembered that trip to the beach, or that impromptu dance recital. There are so many moments I have never recorded in any medium! I felt angst from the part of me that requires an understanding of the past before I can move forward.
Because it’s not just good memories I want to remember, it’s the bad ones too. Another friend at the House of Compassion, the AIDS home at which I have been volunteering since high school, passed away last week. Frank. I haven’t reacted as strongly as I did to Patrick’s recent death but part of me was infuriated that another person has been lost to HIV/AIDS who will probably never be remembered. How do we honor his memory? Or those of the thousands more worldwide who perish everyday from a disease we know how to treat and prevent? How do we properly remember the past, with or without physical evidence that anything actually happened?
On our simple sunrise hike this morning we were celebrating two monumental occasions, yet this subtle and simple action seemed to suffice as recognition of how much my father and I had both accomplished in attempting the feats we had set out before us. A celebration of grandeur would have seemed insincere and distracting. Besides the loud Hawaiian tee, it was just another walk in the park, yet meant so much more.
I think memory is a lot about incorporating heavier memories into lots of little pieces in our everyday lives. I have my little tricks to keep important moments fresh – my blackberry and laptop desktops are photos are people of phenomenal importance to me, one a KCA child and one my grandfather. I keep small cards in my wallet of every funeral or wake I have ever been to. And there are the reminders I don’t ask for – at least one e-mail a week from friends in Ghana or Tanzania, asking me to fund a college education or help rebuild a burnt down orphanage. Little reminders that sneak into my everyday life - my wallet, my desktop, my inbox - that keep concepts otherwise too immense fresh and light and omnipresent.
But it's got to be more than things, than photos and video clips and physical reminders. I think real memory is an ability to act on the past. So that my actions – whether a trek up Diamond Hill or an attempt to publish a thesis on HIV/AIDS - allow me to memorialize a person or an experience. And so I think even harder now about what it is I am doing here in DC...really 'doing'... and whether or not that sits soundly with what my past, my experiences, and my memories, tell me is the right thing to be doing.
As I sign off my Keep a Child Alive e-mails with a deliberately customized signature,
"Action expresses priorities." -mohandas gandhi
I Amtraked home for about 24 hours this weekend to celebrate a few occasions: the return of my sister from a school trip to Egypt, the shared one-year anniversary of my reaching the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro and of my father quitting smoking, and the general desire to be away from the DC vibe for a bit. I lingered in bed and only my eyes moved around, body entirely exhausted from the previous night's John Mayer concert with the siblings. Seeing that it was still dark outside, I remembered we had a task at hand and jumped out of bed!
Last week I had proposed an adventure to my father: in honor of my climbed mountain and of his kicked habit, why don’t we take a sunrise hike to the top of Diamond Hill, the highest point in Cumberland? Not quite comparable to Uhuru Peak, but an acceptable local equivalent!
And as per usual, the entire Otto crew was up for such a random celebration. So at 4:45 AM Dad was waiting downstairs in his tangerine and tropical flowered Hawaiian button up shirt, sporting the Vodacom cap I brought him home from Arusha last summer. In his celebration he is subtle and not all at once. Mom is ready to go, sleeves rolled up on one of her many oversized tye-dye swim meet shirts, emanating, “This is nothing for me!”, as a woman who wakes up every morning to walk at 5:00 AM. Diana and I tumble downstairs in our mismatched pajamas, without a thought of brushing teeth or hair, and we groggily, but loyally, lace up our sneakers and hop in the minivan to get to the park.
The air is crisp and cool as we march up the hill, the terrain deserted except for our motley crew. No one actually knows “the” way (although I believe there rarely every is one) and we keep walking uphill finding narrow, pebble ridden trails weaving through the long grass and clustered trees. At just about 5:30 the sun emerged a fiery orange orb from behind a horizon full of crowded black clouds, and we squinted as her rays broke through the massive crisscross of branches atop the hill. We watched her rise, and then as nonchalantly as we trudged up, we descended together, dad stopping every minute to test us on tree identification, Diana interrupting with ridiculous jokes, Mom and I laughing helplessly at the entertainment (one of many ways I’m turning into her!) An informal yet deliberate recognition of our reasons to celebrate, unannounced yet obvious ceremonial action.
The night prior, before the Mayer concert, I spent some time sifting through old albums with my mother in search of some material for my Tuesday night Truman presentation. Curled on in the comfort of my parents’ queen size bed, we flipped through photo after photo of moment and memories from my childhood, most of which I would never remember otherwise. But some of the photos, though I forgot they happened, were not particularly surprising. The three oldest munchkins ruthlessly burying a toddler Andrew in the sand, lovingly mischievous grins on our faces. A photo of me in a sparkly, bright ballet outfit, eyes wide, enormous smile agape, staring brightly in the camera, mid-dance-move, tiny arms reaching out wide. I know we always teased Andrew. I know I have always been a dancing fool.
But part of me was upset that I otherwise would never have remembered that trip to the beach, or that impromptu dance recital. There are so many moments I have never recorded in any medium! I felt angst from the part of me that requires an understanding of the past before I can move forward.
Because it’s not just good memories I want to remember, it’s the bad ones too. Another friend at the House of Compassion, the AIDS home at which I have been volunteering since high school, passed away last week. Frank. I haven’t reacted as strongly as I did to Patrick’s recent death but part of me was infuriated that another person has been lost to HIV/AIDS who will probably never be remembered. How do we honor his memory? Or those of the thousands more worldwide who perish everyday from a disease we know how to treat and prevent? How do we properly remember the past, with or without physical evidence that anything actually happened?
On our simple sunrise hike this morning we were celebrating two monumental occasions, yet this subtle and simple action seemed to suffice as recognition of how much my father and I had both accomplished in attempting the feats we had set out before us. A celebration of grandeur would have seemed insincere and distracting. Besides the loud Hawaiian tee, it was just another walk in the park, yet meant so much more.
I think memory is a lot about incorporating heavier memories into lots of little pieces in our everyday lives. I have my little tricks to keep important moments fresh – my blackberry and laptop desktops are photos are people of phenomenal importance to me, one a KCA child and one my grandfather. I keep small cards in my wallet of every funeral or wake I have ever been to. And there are the reminders I don’t ask for – at least one e-mail a week from friends in Ghana or Tanzania, asking me to fund a college education or help rebuild a burnt down orphanage. Little reminders that sneak into my everyday life - my wallet, my desktop, my inbox - that keep concepts otherwise too immense fresh and light and omnipresent.
But it's got to be more than things, than photos and video clips and physical reminders. I think real memory is an ability to act on the past. So that my actions – whether a trek up Diamond Hill or an attempt to publish a thesis on HIV/AIDS - allow me to memorialize a person or an experience. And so I think even harder now about what it is I am doing here in DC...really 'doing'... and whether or not that sits soundly with what my past, my experiences, and my memories, tell me is the right thing to be doing.
As I sign off my Keep a Child Alive e-mails with a deliberately customized signature,
"Action expresses priorities." -mohandas gandhi
Friday, July 4, 2008
A 3-D 4-July
Ask my mom for verification- I am as patriotic as they come. Before I was actually allowed to march in my hometown July 4th parade as a Brownie Girl Scout, I used to escape her motherly (iron) grip, as she balanced 3 other toddler-Otto's, and I would scamper into the festivity, eager to join the celebration and wave my flag proudly.
I love my country and because of that love I think it's only fair to be honest with my country.
Traditionally, we celebrate July 4th to commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776.
Dutifully, we celebrate July 4th to honor all those who have served and who have died for our nation.
Patriotically, we celebrate July 4th to uphold the truths upon which we founded our own sovereign nation, as Jefferson so powerfully wrote:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."
With respect for tradition, duty, and patriotism, I also feel our celebration is a bit dimensionally skewed; it is all very Past-tense. I want to suggest that (Responsibly), we start celebrating July 4th on a 3-D level: an appreciation for the (accurate) Past, an assessment of the Present, and a commitment to the Future.
The accurate Past would tell us that there is not much significance to placing the celebration on the 4th of July. On the actual day of July 4, only 9 of the 13 colonies voted in favor of the Declaration. The accurate past would also reveal that it has taken centuries to approach fulfillment of even just the Preamble.
Let us momentarily put our past in a different light, and make a comparison, (though I know it is imperfect!)
Consider that Ghana was the first African nation to declare independence from her colonial government in 1957 ; (all African nations - except Ethiopia and Liberia - were colonized after the 1884/5 'scramble for Africa.') Today, 51 years into independence, Ghana certainly bears burdens of poverty and disease, yet boasts a thriving economy, effective democratic government, and strong, peaceful leadership in West African and throughout the Continent.
Where was America 51 years into independence? In 1827, the Creek Indians lost all of their property to the federal government, and only a few years later all Native Americans east of the Mississippi were forcibly resettled to the west. Slavery raged on, not to be Constitutionally abolished until 1865, and women still had nearly 100 years to wait for suffrage. Dr. Thomas Cooper, then-President of South Carolina College, responded to the bitter bickering between the North and South over tariff laws on manufactured goods: ". . . what use is this unequal alliance by which the South has always been the loser and the North always the gainer? Is it worth our while to continue this union of States where the North demands to be our master?" Decades later, bloody Civil War would break out across the nation, leaving nearly 700,000 dead in the wake.
What I'm saying is America was from having her together 51 years into independence, and we should appreciate that it takes time to implement such a lofty mission statement as the Preamble. I venture to think we still have far to go, which requires us to celebrate July 4 from the second dimension, an assessment of the Present.
Unlike understanding the Past there is little researching required, just observe of what is around you on the walk to the parade floats or beneath the fireworks. Yes there is 'victory' to be claimed in that thousands of Americans, of all races and religions, sat together on Lincoln's lawn to behold the rockets' red glare. But what about the hundreds of homeless folks (and nearly a quarter of the homeless population in America are war veterans) asking for spare change from the torrent of tourists? Or what about the gay soldier in the brigade that just marched by whose very identity is illegal in his everyday life?
The morning after the fireworks, a Vietnam War vet sold me a morning paper - Street Sense - a special publication produced by a team of homeless folks. “I’m not homeless anymore though” he smiled at me in conversation, and attributed his success to the help of his Church. It was Church, not State, that gave him life, liberty, and the ability to pursue happiness: the social and medical services he needed, the employment assistance to help him find a job, and the encouragement that pushed him to write beautiful poetry. He handed my my copy, already creased and folded open to a specific page, and pointed a firm finger at a poem, tapping and saying "You're really going to like this one, I can tell."
Random Acts of Kindness by Foster B. Jarvis
"The people who reach out to those who are less fortunate or to those in need
of random acts of kindness, these are the true unsung heroes of our society.
The one who has enough courage and compassion to assist a complete stranger while passing him on life’s road.
The one who stops to assist one helplessly in need.
The one who shares his substance instead of devouring it all in greed."
From a man who has been to hell and back, and given little if any support or gratitude for his service, comes this clear message, pointed and purposeful.
Now, I know we've got to be competitive to stay in the game -- of trade, of defense, of power -- and I do not intend to sound naive. But I would be proud to be an American if America truly - as Foster says - shared her substance instead of devouring it all in greed. Sharing our substance (life, liberty, pursuit: LLP) might mean agreeing to new rules that would allow for a fair game to be played. It would not just mean amping up foreign aid from an abysmal .7% of our GDP, or just ending export subsidies and canceling debts that keep poor nations locked into their poverty. These are all essential moves but part of a greater endeavor for America as a world superpower. We claim to want to bring the 'light' of democracy around the globe. But are we ready and willing to provide and ensure that LLP comes with it as well? Because as of now, even those we help democratize are still suffering because we makes rules that don't allow them to play at all.
The last lens through which we must celebrate is our commitment to the Future, which requires using an understanding of the Past and Present to set goals and plans needed to reach them. This lens is especially important to those already engaged in promoting LLP across the world, particularly those who have ever claimed to want to "save the world."
A plea to you: Please stop saying that. You never will.
What does that term even mean? What does it accomplish besides, arguably, motivation? It's distracting and unclear. Instead of "saving the world", we must focus on making small changes to fulfill the mission of LLP for those with whom we interact.
For example, although slavery persisted 51 years into our independence, 1827 also brought Freedom's Journal, the first African-American owned and operated newspaper published in the United States. That was an integral piece of the puzzle to bringing LLP to African-Americans, and required vision, tireless labor, and tenacity. Instead of looking to the future with lofty goals of "saving" anything, figure out what you can tangibly contribute to a greater picture of LLP...and do it! As the great Edmund Burke put it, "No one could make a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little."
So rather than sell ourselves short, I think the best way to celebrate any holiday fully is to live in 3-D: to recognize the honest history that has thus followed from LLP, to work tirelessly to make the small changes we are capable of making on a small scale, and to envision (but do not expect to immediately see) change on a large scale.
Whether or not July 4 is an arbitrary date, our nation indeed deserves a celebration, and a deliberate opportunity for us to take a closer look into that reflecting pool, a deeper look into the shimmering marble walls of the Vietnam memorial, and to see ourselves for what we are.
And what we are capable of becoming.
I love my country and because of that love I think it's only fair to be honest with my country.
Traditionally, we celebrate July 4th to commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776.
Dutifully, we celebrate July 4th to honor all those who have served and who have died for our nation.
Patriotically, we celebrate July 4th to uphold the truths upon which we founded our own sovereign nation, as Jefferson so powerfully wrote:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."
With respect for tradition, duty, and patriotism, I also feel our celebration is a bit dimensionally skewed; it is all very Past-tense. I want to suggest that (Responsibly), we start celebrating July 4th on a 3-D level: an appreciation for the (accurate) Past, an assessment of the Present, and a commitment to the Future.
The accurate Past would tell us that there is not much significance to placing the celebration on the 4th of July. On the actual day of July 4, only 9 of the 13 colonies voted in favor of the Declaration. The accurate past would also reveal that it has taken centuries to approach fulfillment of even just the Preamble.
Let us momentarily put our past in a different light, and make a comparison, (though I know it is imperfect!)
Consider that Ghana was the first African nation to declare independence from her colonial government in 1957 ; (all African nations - except Ethiopia and Liberia - were colonized after the 1884/5 'scramble for Africa.') Today, 51 years into independence, Ghana certainly bears burdens of poverty and disease, yet boasts a thriving economy, effective democratic government, and strong, peaceful leadership in West African and throughout the Continent.
Where was America 51 years into independence? In 1827, the Creek Indians lost all of their property to the federal government, and only a few years later all Native Americans east of the Mississippi were forcibly resettled to the west. Slavery raged on, not to be Constitutionally abolished until 1865, and women still had nearly 100 years to wait for suffrage. Dr. Thomas Cooper, then-President of South Carolina College, responded to the bitter bickering between the North and South over tariff laws on manufactured goods: ". . . what use is this unequal alliance by which the South has always been the loser and the North always the gainer? Is it worth our while to continue this union of States where the North demands to be our master?" Decades later, bloody Civil War would break out across the nation, leaving nearly 700,000 dead in the wake.
What I'm saying is America was from having her together 51 years into independence, and we should appreciate that it takes time to implement such a lofty mission statement as the Preamble. I venture to think we still have far to go, which requires us to celebrate July 4 from the second dimension, an assessment of the Present.
Unlike understanding the Past there is little researching required, just observe of what is around you on the walk to the parade floats or beneath the fireworks. Yes there is 'victory' to be claimed in that thousands of Americans, of all races and religions, sat together on Lincoln's lawn to behold the rockets' red glare. But what about the hundreds of homeless folks (and nearly a quarter of the homeless population in America are war veterans) asking for spare change from the torrent of tourists? Or what about the gay soldier in the brigade that just marched by whose very identity is illegal in his everyday life?
The morning after the fireworks, a Vietnam War vet sold me a morning paper - Street Sense - a special publication produced by a team of homeless folks. “I’m not homeless anymore though” he smiled at me in conversation, and attributed his success to the help of his Church. It was Church, not State, that gave him life, liberty, and the ability to pursue happiness: the social and medical services he needed, the employment assistance to help him find a job, and the encouragement that pushed him to write beautiful poetry. He handed my my copy, already creased and folded open to a specific page, and pointed a firm finger at a poem, tapping and saying "You're really going to like this one, I can tell."
Random Acts of Kindness by Foster B. Jarvis
"The people who reach out to those who are less fortunate or to those in need
of random acts of kindness, these are the true unsung heroes of our society.
The one who has enough courage and compassion to assist a complete stranger while passing him on life’s road.
The one who stops to assist one helplessly in need.
The one who shares his substance instead of devouring it all in greed."
From a man who has been to hell and back, and given little if any support or gratitude for his service, comes this clear message, pointed and purposeful.
Now, I know we've got to be competitive to stay in the game -- of trade, of defense, of power -- and I do not intend to sound naive. But I would be proud to be an American if America truly - as Foster says - shared her substance instead of devouring it all in greed. Sharing our substance (life, liberty, pursuit: LLP) might mean agreeing to new rules that would allow for a fair game to be played. It would not just mean amping up foreign aid from an abysmal .7% of our GDP, or just ending export subsidies and canceling debts that keep poor nations locked into their poverty. These are all essential moves but part of a greater endeavor for America as a world superpower. We claim to want to bring the 'light' of democracy around the globe. But are we ready and willing to provide and ensure that LLP comes with it as well? Because as of now, even those we help democratize are still suffering because we makes rules that don't allow them to play at all.
The last lens through which we must celebrate is our commitment to the Future, which requires using an understanding of the Past and Present to set goals and plans needed to reach them. This lens is especially important to those already engaged in promoting LLP across the world, particularly those who have ever claimed to want to "save the world."
A plea to you: Please stop saying that. You never will.
What does that term even mean? What does it accomplish besides, arguably, motivation? It's distracting and unclear. Instead of "saving the world", we must focus on making small changes to fulfill the mission of LLP for those with whom we interact.
For example, although slavery persisted 51 years into our independence, 1827 also brought Freedom's Journal, the first African-American owned and operated newspaper published in the United States. That was an integral piece of the puzzle to bringing LLP to African-Americans, and required vision, tireless labor, and tenacity. Instead of looking to the future with lofty goals of "saving" anything, figure out what you can tangibly contribute to a greater picture of LLP...and do it! As the great Edmund Burke put it, "No one could make a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little."
So rather than sell ourselves short, I think the best way to celebrate any holiday fully is to live in 3-D: to recognize the honest history that has thus followed from LLP, to work tirelessly to make the small changes we are capable of making on a small scale, and to envision (but do not expect to immediately see) change on a large scale.
Whether or not July 4 is an arbitrary date, our nation indeed deserves a celebration, and a deliberate opportunity for us to take a closer look into that reflecting pool, a deeper look into the shimmering marble walls of the Vietnam memorial, and to see ourselves for what we are.
And what we are capable of becoming.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Follow in the Footsteps
Throughout childhood my parents taught me to mitigate conflict and solve problems with a simple technique: "Put yourself in their shoes!"
"Katie was really bossy and yelled at me today at recess"
"Well, did you do anything to her first? Maybe you started it? Maybe she was just having a bad day herself? Put yourself in her shoes!"
I was taught to think through the circumstances that may exist outside of what I could immediately see and experience, and to be sensitively responsive to those forces.
Now here in DC, when I think of the Bank's mission of poverty-alleviation, I witness a bit of this empathy on the part of the Bank. Having evolved past controversial structural adjustment plan strategies - forcing the market as a solution to all problems - the Bank is employing new "put yourself in their shoes!" strategies, emphasizing community consultation socially sustainable development. I witness everyday the hard work of the Bank in truly understanding the communities in which they work. Projects are well planned and approaches rigorously researched, run by an incredibly intelligent body of employees. Especially in my capacity on the Panel I am part of a meaningful community consultation process in our every inspection.
But I know that not everyone and every Project is free from the corruption and inefficiency that most associate with the Bank. These human failures also exist, and persist. Exposes like John Perkins' "Confessions of an Economic Hitman" will tell you that the Bank is a far cry from empathetic, like other criticisms that accuse the Bank of fostering corruption, further screwing the poor into deeper cycles of poverty, and perpetuating the system in which the money-less don't matter.
Somewhere between the sensation pieces of Bank-produced-PR and disgruntled employee publications, there is a truth to the workings of the beast. And everyday at work I find myself battling back and forth between appreciating and vilifying all the Bank does, or sometimes, does not.
Trying to understand how the leadership techniques of the Bank effect the movement to end poverty, I am reminded of a document called "The Denver Principles" that illustrates leadership techniques in the movement to end AIDS in 1983.
The Denver Principles articulated the viewpoint of the HIV positive community at a time when they were being consistently spoken for instead of spoken with. People living with HIV/AIDS refused to be considered victims or scapegoats, and instead asked to be fully accepted for who they were as people living with AIDS. Among other economic factors, it is reasonable to say that the AIDS movement in the US was so intense and goal-reaching, because the people creating these Principles and fighting the fight were literally fighting for their lives. These 'Activists' had no other choice than to be intense, urgent, and immediate,when they and their friends were dying at frightening rates.
The dying has not stopped but rather transferred to new communities. But we are not hearing as much unified 'AIDS activism' in any concentrated way like the NYC/San Fransisco communities of the 1980's/1990's. In fact perhaps the only worthy comparison of unified AIDS activism would be the Treatment Action Campaign, who founder Zackie Achmat is HIV positive himself. He's already in the shoes from the get-go.
I am pretty confident declaring that no one who works in my Bank office lives in poverty. It is tempting to think we could exponentially increase the motivation and energy of the atmosphere if we really tried to put ourselves in the shoes of the poor (although that would necessitate them having shoes and they often do not -- a complicated endeavor from the start with immense metaphorical implications!). We might take a hint from the recent wave of Obama supporters speaking up to adopt Hussein as their middle name to campaign in solidarity with our own Barack H. Obama. Taking on and understanding the burden of others in order to be better advocates ourselves.
And in many ad campaigns and powerful speeches I think we have tried to do so with certain issues:
But what's our alternative? What if, instead of making sure leaders of poverty-relief institutions could empathize with the poor, we just hired more qualified leaders? Ones with lived experiences of poverty, who know the real issues and real obstacles?
What I am asking is, why is the leadership of UNAIDS not HIV positive? Although the UN offers many services and support to their own HIV + employees, are leaders who do not intimately know the destruction and complication of HIV as qualified to do this job? When leadership has lived through the trials of development, they understand the need for urgency and hard work as a moral obligation to address issues of poverty.
But would it be acceptable or would it be dicriminatory to hire on credentials of real experience? World Bankers raised in poverty get extra points on the application?
This past weekend a few Trumans attended two matches of the Homeless World Cup qualifying tournament t where players had to be homeless in order to make the team. I found the atmosphere so satisfying because no one in the stands - presumably a mix of strangers from the street like us and friends of the players and coaches - absolutely no one cared about the word 'homeless.' They cared about a good soccer game. While players were homeless and the tournament subtly raised attention to an issue of importance, it did so not at the expense of the players' dignity, but rather in celebration of their own agency.
I wonder if and how this day will ever come -- when we see leadership positions within international development filled not exclusively by rich white American men (as EVERY Bank President has EVER been), but with those who have uniquely valuable knowledge to solve the issue.
I feel as though solidarity is far more than just metaphorically putting yourself in the other person's shoes from your position of power. Sometimes you can be a more effective leader by just giving power to and then following those who know better.
xo kho
"Katie was really bossy and yelled at me today at recess"
"Well, did you do anything to her first? Maybe you started it? Maybe she was just having a bad day herself? Put yourself in her shoes!"
I was taught to think through the circumstances that may exist outside of what I could immediately see and experience, and to be sensitively responsive to those forces.
Now here in DC, when I think of the Bank's mission of poverty-alleviation, I witness a bit of this empathy on the part of the Bank. Having evolved past controversial structural adjustment plan strategies - forcing the market as a solution to all problems - the Bank is employing new "put yourself in their shoes!" strategies, emphasizing community consultation socially sustainable development. I witness everyday the hard work of the Bank in truly understanding the communities in which they work. Projects are well planned and approaches rigorously researched, run by an incredibly intelligent body of employees. Especially in my capacity on the Panel I am part of a meaningful community consultation process in our every inspection.
But I know that not everyone and every Project is free from the corruption and inefficiency that most associate with the Bank. These human failures also exist, and persist. Exposes like John Perkins' "Confessions of an Economic Hitman" will tell you that the Bank is a far cry from empathetic, like other criticisms that accuse the Bank of fostering corruption, further screwing the poor into deeper cycles of poverty, and perpetuating the system in which the money-less don't matter.
Somewhere between the sensation pieces of Bank-produced-PR and disgruntled employee publications, there is a truth to the workings of the beast. And everyday at work I find myself battling back and forth between appreciating and vilifying all the Bank does, or sometimes, does not.
Trying to understand how the leadership techniques of the Bank effect the movement to end poverty, I am reminded of a document called "The Denver Principles" that illustrates leadership techniques in the movement to end AIDS in 1983.
The Denver Principles articulated the viewpoint of the HIV positive community at a time when they were being consistently spoken for instead of spoken with. People living with HIV/AIDS refused to be considered victims or scapegoats, and instead asked to be fully accepted for who they were as people living with AIDS. Among other economic factors, it is reasonable to say that the AIDS movement in the US was so intense and goal-reaching, because the people creating these Principles and fighting the fight were literally fighting for their lives. These 'Activists' had no other choice than to be intense, urgent, and immediate,when they and their friends were dying at frightening rates.
The dying has not stopped but rather transferred to new communities. But we are not hearing as much unified 'AIDS activism' in any concentrated way like the NYC/San Fransisco communities of the 1980's/1990's. In fact perhaps the only worthy comparison of unified AIDS activism would be the Treatment Action Campaign, who founder Zackie Achmat is HIV positive himself. He's already in the shoes from the get-go.
I am pretty confident declaring that no one who works in my Bank office lives in poverty. It is tempting to think we could exponentially increase the motivation and energy of the atmosphere if we really tried to put ourselves in the shoes of the poor (although that would necessitate them having shoes and they often do not -- a complicated endeavor from the start with immense metaphorical implications!). We might take a hint from the recent wave of Obama supporters speaking up to adopt Hussein as their middle name to campaign in solidarity with our own Barack H. Obama. Taking on and understanding the burden of others in order to be better advocates ourselves.
And in many ad campaigns and powerful speeches I think we have tried to do so with certain issues:
But what's our alternative? What if, instead of making sure leaders of poverty-relief institutions could empathize with the poor, we just hired more qualified leaders? Ones with lived experiences of poverty, who know the real issues and real obstacles?
What I am asking is, why is the leadership of UNAIDS not HIV positive? Although the UN offers many services and support to their own HIV + employees, are leaders who do not intimately know the destruction and complication of HIV as qualified to do this job? When leadership has lived through the trials of development, they understand the need for urgency and hard work as a moral obligation to address issues of poverty.
But would it be acceptable or would it be dicriminatory to hire on credentials of real experience? World Bankers raised in poverty get extra points on the application?
This past weekend a few Trumans attended two matches of the Homeless World Cup qualifying tournament t where players had to be homeless in order to make the team. I found the atmosphere so satisfying because no one in the stands - presumably a mix of strangers from the street like us and friends of the players and coaches - absolutely no one cared about the word 'homeless.' They cared about a good soccer game. While players were homeless and the tournament subtly raised attention to an issue of importance, it did so not at the expense of the players' dignity, but rather in celebration of their own agency.
I wonder if and how this day will ever come -- when we see leadership positions within international development filled not exclusively by rich white American men (as EVERY Bank President has EVER been), but with those who have uniquely valuable knowledge to solve the issue.
I feel as though solidarity is far more than just metaphorically putting yourself in the other person's shoes from your position of power. Sometimes you can be a more effective leader by just giving power to and then following those who know better.
xo kho
Friday, June 20, 2008
A Rock for a Bag of Gold
Last week the Washington D.C. Department of Health and the CDC reported that over HALF of AIDS-related deaths in DC from 2000-2005 were NOT reported.
Half! After a thesis-full of lamenting the lack of AIDS data collection in aid-receiving nations, I see the same problem in my own backyard. I would have assumed DC’s notoriously high prevalence rates - estimated between 3% - 5% -- are cause for above-average vigilance. If AIDS' impact is so tragic, how was DC not ready and able to receive the AIDS deaths information?
According to Shannon Hader, senior deputy of the health departments HIV/AIDS Administration, the information was missed partly because they discovered boxes of unexamined paper records signifying that “our surveillance system wasn't complete enough."
‘Routine’ can breed discipline and enforce preparedness, but as Hader demonstrates, it can breed complacency and trick us into not paying attention, not being fully awake. My fellow Truman, Christine, and I have developed our own morning routine, strolling onto the street at 8:30, stopping for Starbucks, changing her flip-flops to heels at the sidewalk corner before the World Bank, and walking through the sun lit lobby to the NE elevator up to our office. The initially breathtaking photography and local artistry from communities in which the Bank works has become part of the anticipated scenery, as has the enormous World map in the hall just outside our quarters (which still says Zaire, but that’s the least of our concerns). Last Tuesday, turning the corner, we were unexpectedly intercepted by our co-worker next door.
"I need ONE vole-une-teer," announced our beloved Chilean ex-Panelist and now Consultant to the Panel. "There is a Congressional Hearing today and I need someone to come with me."
I quickly held back an instinctual jaw drop, being a complete rookie to the Hill scene and dying to see Congress in some type of action. But before we could fight for the chance, as loyal friends we politely replied that he would have to make the choice, as we both were equally eager to take the opportunity. Thankfully our boss approved a double team, and together as three we headed right back downstairs and caught a cab up to First St.
The aggregate knowledge I've gathered between C-SPAN, politics textbooks, policy professors and DC tours could never have prepared me for the Hearing ahead. Sitting wide-eyed and open-eared, I sat fully awake as the session started in the House Committee on Financial Services, expecting a discussion on replenishment of International Development Association (IDA) and World Bank loan conditionality...
***
In a slight digression I want to revisit a key conclusion of my senior thesis on AIDS-aid efficacy. More key than realizing the inefficacy of top-down aid, and more key than than realizing the US uses AIDS dollars to fight terror, I observed an enormous data deficit. My most valuable observation was the most simple, involving no logit regressions, no Heckmann selection model, no marginal effects. Simply, there is an abhorrent lack of data available around HIV/AIDS, and the deficit runs across aid sectors (recently argued by Bill Easterly "Where Does the Money Go?")
Just like DC carried on healthcare with such a knowledge deficit, I wonder how are we approving, disbursing and investing billions of dollars every year for AIDS when the descriptive statistics available are merely prevalence rates, and underestimated at that? At least the prevalence data is skeptical; incidence and AIDS-related mortality are oftentimes unreported and unavailable. Further exacerbating the missing data are we the donors, who do not send a clear message that we expect them. Over $100 million to Afghanistan for AIDS programs when it stands as one of the only countries who does not submit annual progress reports to UNAIDS? There certainly is an AIDS problem and I am not suggesting cutting funding because of the government's poor monitoring behavior. But when do donors start setting standards, expectations, conditions? Or should we not? Or should we, but tied together with a promise to help conduct monitoring and evaluation? How do we promote and enforce a culture of constant knowledge cultivation? How do we create an environment in which people must be fully awake and aware?
****
...Back on the Hill I sit wide-awake at the hearing, and quickly realize there are some pieces missing. 3 Representatives are present. 4 more eventually trickle in, and all leave and return at some point of the 2-hour hearing. Briefed extensively by staffers in the sidelines, everyone is scripted. Despite the topic of conversation, Representatives blatantly if not disrespectfully veer off course to make a specific statement, presumably of importance to them or their constituency. One Rep's cell phone even kept ringing and she made no effort to turn it off.
The Assistant Secretary of the Treasury testified with a thorough, fact-filled introduction covering all facets of IDA and why it must be replenished to $3.705 billion over three years. But the raised voices seemed to not have been listening to a word. Instead they were screaming the scripts:
"I was just in Haiti and there are food riots. People have no water in Africa. What are you doing about those things?"
"Tell me what you’ve done to stop aid disbursement to Iran!”
" There are people just off the shore of our own country literally starving to death. I just found out about this today.”
These are unbelievably important and courageous questions that I commend these Congress-people for bringing up. But these questions are only truly courageous and important when they are asked in the correct context to the appropriate people. Otherwise they are a waste of precious time, a distraction from the task at hand. In this hearing they were tangential and sensational, not focused and logical, causing any agenda that may have existed to crumble statement by statement.
If these smart people had been listening and awake they might have asked a few clarifying questions in place of their soapbox statements, and may have found each other sharing a vision instead of interrupting each other’s to promote their own. Food riots are, sadly, nothing new to Haiti. Instead of feigning furor for 5 minutes straight the Rep could have asked for details on how IDA accounts for different scales of aid-worthy situations and how the aid increase to IDA would have outcomes in Haiti. And even if they wanted to, IDA does not have the authority to stop aid disbursements already decided on. Instead of raging on about how aiding Iran fuels terror, perhaps the Rep could have listened to the Secretary’s explanation that, “We have a problem with the Iranian government not the Iranian people." Starvation is also nothing new. Sensationalizing poverty will not fix poverty. Attempting to care more about poor people living meters away from Florida than poor people in the Himalayas is pretty insulting to the poor and revealing of your character, or lack thereof.
I walked out a bit deflated, feeling like I did when I realized Santa was no longer real. There was no "hearing" in the Hearing. Perhaps my judgments are harsh but I do expect immense intelligence, character, and vigilance from my Members of Congress. I was surprised not just at the amount of information they did not come to the hearing with, but also at their inability to extract useful, meaningful data from the opportunity before them to ask.
Reflecting throughout the day with concern, I conjured up the always-comforting voice of my beloved boss, the warrior woman Leigh Blake. Speaking in her trademark mature urgency and deep focus, Leigh shared this story with me over the phone last week when I ducked out of the Bank for a breather:
"Shiva and Shakti, the divine couple in Hinduism, are in their heavenly abode watching over the earth. They are touched by the challenges of human life, the complexity of human reactions, and the ever-present place of suffering in the human experience. As they watch, Shakti spies a miserably poor man walking down the road. His clothes are shabby and his sandals are tied together with rope. Her heart is wrung with compassion. Touched by his goodness and his struggle, Shakti turns to her divine husband and begs him to give the man some gold. Shiva looks at the man for a long moment. "My dearest wife," he says, "I cannot do that." Shakti is astounded: "Why, what do you mean, husband? You are Lord of the Universe. Why can't you do this simple thing?" "I cannot give this to him because he is not yet ready to receive it," Shiva replies. Shakti becomes angry. "Do you mean to say that you cannot drop a bag of gold in his path?" "Surely I can," Shiva replies, "but that is quite another thing." "Please, husband," says Shakti. And so Shiva drops a bag of gold in the man's path.
The man meanwhile walks along thinking to himself, "I wonder if I will find dinner tonight-- or shall I go hungry again." Turning a bend in the road, he sees something on the path in his way. "Aha," he says, "Look there, a large rock. How fortunate that I have seen it. I might have torn these poor sandals of mine even further." And carefully stepping over the bag of gold, he goes on his way."
Leigh finished speaking and we connected in silence over the cell phone, meditating on the message. "You have to be AWAKE, Katie, you MUST be AWAKE for what is going on around you. We all have to be."
In Shiva and Shakti's case, the man perpetuates his own suffering by not being awake to the world around him. If he had just examined that ‘rock’ for a second longer he may have realized in it lay his salvation! When failing to look closely, to notice, to pay attention to detail what I find most dangerous is that anyone in power necessarily has the ability to perpetuate not only her/his own suffering, but also the suffering of those under their jurisdiction.
What distracts us from being present in the moment and awake to what the true opportunities are around us? Why are we losing our senses instead of using our senses?
I think of Congress as that poor man, except I have to imagine that that poor man also has an enormous community to support as well. As my time in DC passes, I understand mores specifically how many pressures and challenges and distractions our Congresswomen and men face every day. Zipping between hearings, connecting with their constituency, handling the Press. The mission of public service is daunting, and the expectations are many. However I think a necessary ability of any leader must be an ability to keep an active mental inventory. To be able to see all that is in one's mind, and utilize that knowledge to overcome obstacles.
(And I see now why Staffers are so important! Some people even forget the basics sometimes, like being unsure that condoms prevent HIV)
Such an open mind requires the ability to find peace and clarity amidst the chaos going on outside. The ability to organize and map out all the knowledge to see how it works together. Internal surveillance systems.
‘Receiving’ as a verb implies something is handed to us, unmistakably given to us. And indeed this is the case, but sometimes the gift comes in disguise, requires questions to be asked or conversations to be had or a closer look to be taken. A rock for a bag of gold? I can only cringe to imagine the immense wealth our public leaders may be walking over by failing to seek out full data and information when they have the opportunity to do so.
Let's not fool ourselves. We all have the agency to be ready to receive, to be awake to our surroundings. The immense amount of information that must be gathered, read, understood -- yes perhaps this is daunting. But we need to do it if we want to make any progress in our intended areas of change.
Half! After a thesis-full of lamenting the lack of AIDS data collection in aid-receiving nations, I see the same problem in my own backyard. I would have assumed DC’s notoriously high prevalence rates - estimated between 3% - 5% -- are cause for above-average vigilance. If AIDS' impact is so tragic, how was DC not ready and able to receive the AIDS deaths information?
According to Shannon Hader, senior deputy of the health departments HIV/AIDS Administration, the information was missed partly because they discovered boxes of unexamined paper records signifying that “our surveillance system wasn't complete enough."
‘Routine’ can breed discipline and enforce preparedness, but as Hader demonstrates, it can breed complacency and trick us into not paying attention, not being fully awake. My fellow Truman, Christine, and I have developed our own morning routine, strolling onto the street at 8:30, stopping for Starbucks, changing her flip-flops to heels at the sidewalk corner before the World Bank, and walking through the sun lit lobby to the NE elevator up to our office. The initially breathtaking photography and local artistry from communities in which the Bank works has become part of the anticipated scenery, as has the enormous World map in the hall just outside our quarters (which still says Zaire, but that’s the least of our concerns). Last Tuesday, turning the corner, we were unexpectedly intercepted by our co-worker next door.
"I need ONE vole-une-teer," announced our beloved Chilean ex-Panelist and now Consultant to the Panel. "There is a Congressional Hearing today and I need someone to come with me."
I quickly held back an instinctual jaw drop, being a complete rookie to the Hill scene and dying to see Congress in some type of action. But before we could fight for the chance, as loyal friends we politely replied that he would have to make the choice, as we both were equally eager to take the opportunity. Thankfully our boss approved a double team, and together as three we headed right back downstairs and caught a cab up to First St.
The aggregate knowledge I've gathered between C-SPAN, politics textbooks, policy professors and DC tours could never have prepared me for the Hearing ahead. Sitting wide-eyed and open-eared, I sat fully awake as the session started in the House Committee on Financial Services, expecting a discussion on replenishment of International Development Association (IDA) and World Bank loan conditionality...
***
In a slight digression I want to revisit a key conclusion of my senior thesis on AIDS-aid efficacy. More key than realizing the inefficacy of top-down aid, and more key than than realizing the US uses AIDS dollars to fight terror, I observed an enormous data deficit. My most valuable observation was the most simple, involving no logit regressions, no Heckmann selection model, no marginal effects. Simply, there is an abhorrent lack of data available around HIV/AIDS, and the deficit runs across aid sectors (recently argued by Bill Easterly "Where Does the Money Go?")
Just like DC carried on healthcare with such a knowledge deficit, I wonder how are we approving, disbursing and investing billions of dollars every year for AIDS when the descriptive statistics available are merely prevalence rates, and underestimated at that? At least the prevalence data is skeptical; incidence and AIDS-related mortality are oftentimes unreported and unavailable. Further exacerbating the missing data are we the donors, who do not send a clear message that we expect them. Over $100 million to Afghanistan for AIDS programs when it stands as one of the only countries who does not submit annual progress reports to UNAIDS? There certainly is an AIDS problem and I am not suggesting cutting funding because of the government's poor monitoring behavior. But when do donors start setting standards, expectations, conditions? Or should we not? Or should we, but tied together with a promise to help conduct monitoring and evaluation? How do we promote and enforce a culture of constant knowledge cultivation? How do we create an environment in which people must be fully awake and aware?
****
...Back on the Hill I sit wide-awake at the hearing, and quickly realize there are some pieces missing. 3 Representatives are present. 4 more eventually trickle in, and all leave and return at some point of the 2-hour hearing. Briefed extensively by staffers in the sidelines, everyone is scripted. Despite the topic of conversation, Representatives blatantly if not disrespectfully veer off course to make a specific statement, presumably of importance to them or their constituency. One Rep's cell phone even kept ringing and she made no effort to turn it off.
The Assistant Secretary of the Treasury testified with a thorough, fact-filled introduction covering all facets of IDA and why it must be replenished to $3.705 billion over three years. But the raised voices seemed to not have been listening to a word. Instead they were screaming the scripts:
"I was just in Haiti and there are food riots. People have no water in Africa. What are you doing about those things?"
"Tell me what you’ve done to stop aid disbursement to Iran!”
" There are people just off the shore of our own country literally starving to death. I just found out about this today.”
These are unbelievably important and courageous questions that I commend these Congress-people for bringing up. But these questions are only truly courageous and important when they are asked in the correct context to the appropriate people. Otherwise they are a waste of precious time, a distraction from the task at hand. In this hearing they were tangential and sensational, not focused and logical, causing any agenda that may have existed to crumble statement by statement.
If these smart people had been listening and awake they might have asked a few clarifying questions in place of their soapbox statements, and may have found each other sharing a vision instead of interrupting each other’s to promote their own. Food riots are, sadly, nothing new to Haiti. Instead of feigning furor for 5 minutes straight the Rep could have asked for details on how IDA accounts for different scales of aid-worthy situations and how the aid increase to IDA would have outcomes in Haiti. And even if they wanted to, IDA does not have the authority to stop aid disbursements already decided on. Instead of raging on about how aiding Iran fuels terror, perhaps the Rep could have listened to the Secretary’s explanation that, “We have a problem with the Iranian government not the Iranian people." Starvation is also nothing new. Sensationalizing poverty will not fix poverty. Attempting to care more about poor people living meters away from Florida than poor people in the Himalayas is pretty insulting to the poor and revealing of your character, or lack thereof.
I walked out a bit deflated, feeling like I did when I realized Santa was no longer real. There was no "hearing" in the Hearing. Perhaps my judgments are harsh but I do expect immense intelligence, character, and vigilance from my Members of Congress. I was surprised not just at the amount of information they did not come to the hearing with, but also at their inability to extract useful, meaningful data from the opportunity before them to ask.
Reflecting throughout the day with concern, I conjured up the always-comforting voice of my beloved boss, the warrior woman Leigh Blake. Speaking in her trademark mature urgency and deep focus, Leigh shared this story with me over the phone last week when I ducked out of the Bank for a breather:
"Shiva and Shakti, the divine couple in Hinduism, are in their heavenly abode watching over the earth. They are touched by the challenges of human life, the complexity of human reactions, and the ever-present place of suffering in the human experience. As they watch, Shakti spies a miserably poor man walking down the road. His clothes are shabby and his sandals are tied together with rope. Her heart is wrung with compassion. Touched by his goodness and his struggle, Shakti turns to her divine husband and begs him to give the man some gold. Shiva looks at the man for a long moment. "My dearest wife," he says, "I cannot do that." Shakti is astounded: "Why, what do you mean, husband? You are Lord of the Universe. Why can't you do this simple thing?" "I cannot give this to him because he is not yet ready to receive it," Shiva replies. Shakti becomes angry. "Do you mean to say that you cannot drop a bag of gold in his path?" "Surely I can," Shiva replies, "but that is quite another thing." "Please, husband," says Shakti. And so Shiva drops a bag of gold in the man's path.
The man meanwhile walks along thinking to himself, "I wonder if I will find dinner tonight-- or shall I go hungry again." Turning a bend in the road, he sees something on the path in his way. "Aha," he says, "Look there, a large rock. How fortunate that I have seen it. I might have torn these poor sandals of mine even further." And carefully stepping over the bag of gold, he goes on his way."
Leigh finished speaking and we connected in silence over the cell phone, meditating on the message. "You have to be AWAKE, Katie, you MUST be AWAKE for what is going on around you. We all have to be."
In Shiva and Shakti's case, the man perpetuates his own suffering by not being awake to the world around him. If he had just examined that ‘rock’ for a second longer he may have realized in it lay his salvation! When failing to look closely, to notice, to pay attention to detail what I find most dangerous is that anyone in power necessarily has the ability to perpetuate not only her/his own suffering, but also the suffering of those under their jurisdiction.
What distracts us from being present in the moment and awake to what the true opportunities are around us? Why are we losing our senses instead of using our senses?
I think of Congress as that poor man, except I have to imagine that that poor man also has an enormous community to support as well. As my time in DC passes, I understand mores specifically how many pressures and challenges and distractions our Congresswomen and men face every day. Zipping between hearings, connecting with their constituency, handling the Press. The mission of public service is daunting, and the expectations are many. However I think a necessary ability of any leader must be an ability to keep an active mental inventory. To be able to see all that is in one's mind, and utilize that knowledge to overcome obstacles.
(And I see now why Staffers are so important! Some people even forget the basics sometimes, like being unsure that condoms prevent HIV)
Such an open mind requires the ability to find peace and clarity amidst the chaos going on outside. The ability to organize and map out all the knowledge to see how it works together. Internal surveillance systems.
‘Receiving’ as a verb implies something is handed to us, unmistakably given to us. And indeed this is the case, but sometimes the gift comes in disguise, requires questions to be asked or conversations to be had or a closer look to be taken. A rock for a bag of gold? I can only cringe to imagine the immense wealth our public leaders may be walking over by failing to seek out full data and information when they have the opportunity to do so.
Let's not fool ourselves. We all have the agency to be ready to receive, to be awake to our surroundings. The immense amount of information that must be gathered, read, understood -- yes perhaps this is daunting. But we need to do it if we want to make any progress in our intended areas of change.
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