Words from Halifax

Second-hand Clothes and World Debt

PIcture yourself, trodding down a dusty road. The trees are full and green, the dust is thick and coats your sandals as you kick it into the atmosohere. You’re in the middle of southern africa, Zambia. Some children skip by on their way to the well to fill up their jugs of water. But wait, is that little girl sporting a dirty Simba night gown? It just doesn’t seem to fit in with the scenery.
The story begins in a copper mine in Zambia. For 75 years Zambia had been under British colonial rule. The economy heavily relied on copper, cobalt and zinc mining which employed almost half the workforce and accounted for 80 percent of Zambia’s export earnings. The story takes a shift in 1964 as Zambia is declared independant. The president nationalizes the mines and all the earnings from the copper mines begins to get redirected back into their own country and the possibilities seem endless. The president begins to develop the country; jobs are created, free hospitals are built in every province and all the Zambian children are in classrooms. But things heated up as oil prices climbed and the copper market plumitted leaving them high and dry. Furthur development was going to be pricey. Weighing their options, the goverment of Zambia looked towards the IMF/World Bank to take out a loan. They took the bait. But here’s the hook: high interest and many years of struggle to keep their head above ground, the government finds themsleves digging a pit of debt. So the World Bank (aka the richest countries in the world...aka US of A) drops them some hints to help them get out of debt (based on research completely irrelevant to african economy) that they like to call “structural adjustment lending”. This included implementing “user fees” for health and education, eliminating government subsities to farmers and cutting tarrifs on imports, thus opening up a free market. All of the sudden second-hand clothes from the US came pouring into the country, completely obliterating the Zambian textile industry. They couldn’t compete with cheap imports being sold in local markets by africans who once had aspirations of getting into business. I don’t think they had this kind of business in mind. Think about it: 95% of the clothes we give to good will get sold to african importers and they sell it to local sellers at 300-400% above cost. First of all, I didn’t really think this was part of the deal when i gave clothes to good will. Second of all, how did they think these requirements for reducing debt would actually help anybody, except them.
This really makes me re-think the emphasis we should be putting on debt-cancellation. It’s impossible for Africans to get on their feet when every extra cent they get is going towards paying back the IMF/World Bank instead of making sure their people get education and medicine and food. What we get is a whole generation of african people unable to step up and lead their country because they haven’t been given the same opportunities to learn how.
We’ve managed to overcome political colonization but what about economic colonialism? We’re dumping our garbage in Africa for profit and exploiting Africans in the worst way possible: depriving them of basic needs: food, healthcare (which they need the most right now with HIV/AIDS on the rise), a decent education and an opportunity to hold on to their dignity.
My plan of action: Urge my government to cancel debt (one of many things they can do to step up to the plate: go to www.globalcitizensforchange.ca), make every effort to only buy second-hand clothing (if 95% of it is being exported, there must be some sort of consumer excess in textiles), give as many people as possible the opportunity to watch “T-Shirt Travels”, the documentary from which i gathered the info for this article. Check out http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/tshirttravels/film.html to find out more about African debt and second-hand clothes. Remember that information=obligation. Start to become more aware of where your waste eventually ends up (it doesn’t just go to the dump in the sky). That new tank top from GAP could end up on a little girl running down a dirt road in Africa. Trends are okay but this is not one i would like to support. Ignorance, in a shopping mall full of colorful, fresh pressed threads, is bliss.

it's really winter

yup, winter made it around to my neck of the woods. I've been thinking about my days in Spain more these days as the temperature dips farther and farther below zero. it's been a while since I've written. Life has been pretty hectic and transient. I recently planted myself in a purple house where i live with four roommates (it's nostalgic for me, growing up in a big household). I also changed positions from full time coffee slinger to part-time baker, full-time musician. I've had a lot of time to reflect and a lot of time to interact with the lovely people God has put in my life. At times also having opportunity to share my faith and hope in Jesus. But, at the same time I'm trying to answer these questions and doubts people have about God, I discover tucked away down deep inside of me, questions and doubts that have remained unanswered. I know in my heart that God is just. It's an aspect of His character that He's proven to me time and time again. But it's proof that lacks the language to explain to questioning friends. If i could just plug their brain into mine, it would be easier. But alas, I am limited to the english language as we know it. The people i talk to are really searching for something real and tangible inside of them to grab a hold of. How do I answer the question: Why does God allow innocent children to suffer?. I can and have pulled out the "free will" claim. But if we were to believe that God is All-Powerful, than it's not logical to believe that He couldn't just step in with His big foot and stop all the injustice. This whole issue is something my mind can't seem to wrap around. My heart and spirit seem to be okay with some answer they were given in the past. It's my mind that struggles. I know God suffers to His children hurting because I've felt this as I've gazed through glazed eyes at the ratty haired children and held their skinny bodies in my arms. I know this is the reason why He sent his Son Jesus, to give us all the chance to choose Life again.
It's undeniable, I am born into a flawed existance.
There's a part of you and me that's always putting up resistance.
Why does it take a conscience thought to show kindness to a stranger?
With all the safe tings that I've bought, I still feel like I'm in danger.
As I continue on this path I've choosen and am continually being guided down, I come to find that mysteries lerk in the trees. Sometimes they show their face, other times all I can do is keep my eyes on the One that holds the Truth. It's a struggle for me not to feel apathetic when i come to this point. But my Hope, Faith and Love remains. What more could one ask for?

Some real life tid-bits

All poetry aside, I wanted to let you know what's going on in life as I know it. The church I attend here in Halifax called "The Agora" has been becoming more and more actively involved in social justice issues. Many of our members are passionate about these issues. As a community, we just spent the month of October fasting, praying and seeking direction with the question in mind, "what can one small church do to aid in the HIV/AIDS pandemic?" The first Sunday of October we held a "dessert and discernment" night. We hosted a 'community brainstorming' about what God had been showing us in the past month, and ended with some delicious desserts (it kept people there for its entirety). The night was filled with very valuable perspectives and ideas. Some things we discovered were:
The importance for us to:
Unite with other local churches to combine efforts
Keep love at the centre of our intentions
Educate ourselves about the HIV/AIDS issues so we can make informed decisions
Just to name a few.
We also must realize we need to address real problems of AIDS education in Africa, for example, and not forget the connection between AIDS and poverty. They are both a part of the endless cycle; disease preventing them from being able to work, not having the income to pay for medication etc. there's so much to do and get involved in if we simply get our heads out of the sand. One important thing I realized is that AIDS and poverty a lot of times are symptoms of deeper spiritual disease and darkness. If we want to heal their bodies, we also need to heal their souls. And that's something only God can do. But like Jesus, we can walk the streets they walk and let the hand of God reach through us and touch them, making them whole in body and soul.
The cool thing about the "dessert and discernment" was to see everybody involved. As a young passionate person in the church, sometimes you feel like no one else is getting it like you are. Boy was I wrong. It’s so exciting to see the prospect of working together as a community to make an impact, however big or small. We will all play different roles. Some will be the brains, some will be the heart, some will be the hands and some will be the feet. No part is more or less important than the other. We must work this out together if we want to see our dreams become reality.
I want to encourage you churchgoers to bring up a subject like this in your congregation and opt to have a time of prayer for all those who wish to be involved in some way. The number of people that show up or show interest may surprise you.
Our brainstorming session was only the first step. Now we must press forward with the inspiration we've gathered and make it reality. Now it's up to each of us to seek out where we fit in. I see myself as the feet, as one who goes and treads on the same ground the orphans and widows tread on.
Where do you fit in to the solution?

The Face

I’ve been asking myself the question, "what can I do". There’s a pandemic, I’m painfully aware, and I feel hopeless to do anything to change that. After all, it’s happening way over there and I’m way over here. The only things that are there to even remind me is the photographs that pass through my head and the white band on my wrist.
I need to give Africa a face. A face that’s three dimensional, flesh and blood. I need to remember that real people are dying and not just another photo that lacks a soul.
I see this beginning to take shape in my life. A woman who has been living in West Africa for many years came to our small church congregation to tell us stories of hope and perseverance in the face of poverty and death. A woman, an AIDS worker, from Swaziland also came to speak to us about HIV/AIDS in her country. She told us the first people to help them out were a local Mennonite church. I met a man from Sudan who cooks me traditional African food and tells me stories of growing up in an African village. All the joy and pain, music, poverty and richness of life in a culture and society so completely different from the one I’m surrounded (bombarded) by.
All of the sudden this face is beginning to take shape in my mind’s eye. One with deep, longing eyes, round cheeks and a smile on its face. The language that comes forth from it’s mouth is teaching me how I can help. It’s telling me I can do something. It’s pushing me forward into an unknown world of dirt roads, mud huts, crowded market places, beautiful people and needy hands reaching out for a touch of Love. But this voice also tells me to look around. It says to me, "Open your heart where you are right now. Don’t wait until you’re with me. I tell you the truth, anything you do for even the least of my people where you are, you also do for me."

Walk a day in my shoes

"Hey hey! Ho ho! Poverty has got to go!" Various phrases on big white signs, some people in white, some in purple t-shirts, megaphones and impassioned souls surrounded me on Tuesday morning. The International Day for the Eradication of Poverty was the inspiration for the rally and the issues were homelessness and poverty in Nova Scotia. We marched around the Legislature in Downtown Halifax and placed a pile of old shoes on the doorstep to urge the government to walk a day in the shoes of the poor. It was satirecal as a man dressed in a business suit stuffed with cotton and a big Irving logo on his breast, made the state of our economy into an irony. But the undertones were that of a desire for justice, a need for recognition of the problems and a demand for real solutions.
I’ve been realizing how important, essential it is that we let our government know what bothers us, what makes us cringe when we walk down the street and see a woman panhandling in the crisp fall air. They don’t walk down the streets we walk down. They don’t live in our neighborhoods. They don’t look into the windows of a home that’s too small for one, let alone a family of three. The same goes for poverty worldwide. Our politicians have not lived in the middle of a crowded slum city. They have not seen the women who walk for miles for a bucket of water. When they go to buy their latte at StarBucks, they don’t think about the small farmer struggling to survive on the income that his one-crop, coffee bean farm provides.
I do think about these things. I have seen these things and it’s my job to make them think, let them see. That’s the only way things will change. You can’t expect someone to be passionate about something they’ve never experienced. I've lived under the poverty line my whole life, but poverty never really effected me until I stepped out of that plane and was thrust into the midst of it and experienced it on such a large scale. That’s when it became real. That was the moment that drove me to do something.
So, Rodney MacDonald, walk a day in my shoes. Stephen Harper, take my eyes for a day and see what I see.

excerpts from India

I'm going to start off with a journal entry from my touchdown in Pune, India in April of 2006. I spent a month in India with YWAM during a DTS i was doing in Spain. I feel to share some of my initial reactions and maybe in the future, some closing thoughts, just so you can get a sense of where I'm coming from and where my heart is.

April 19th, 2006- Pune, India
Arrived today in India. It was hard to know what to expect. When i first got off the nicely air-conditioned plane, it hit me. The humidity is like that humid July night that happens once in a blue moon back in Nova Scotia. Only it's April. There's just so many people. You can't drive 10 minutes without seeing a huge coloy of shacks made of scrap metal, tarps, straw, whatever's available. It's so primitive. People parked beside a busy street under a hung sheet, raising families, cooking food...I've never seen anything like this. Seeing all the children with their ratty hair and pleading eyes was harder than i thought. You see it on TV and the movies but it seems surreal, like it's depicting "a long time ago in a land far away". But here I am in the midst of it all. I feel so white. Everywhere we drove we turned people's heads. They're not used to foreigners and i see why. No road signs, no lines on the road...but good on them. They're not homogenizing like the rest of us. They're feeling the heat too i suppose (no pun intended) "learn english, get an education, you can't get an education unless you learn english. be successful, you can't be successful unless you learn english." But I feel like their culture is being sucked away by an even more subliminal message, "trade, investment, mass production, over-consumption." I see a family being raised beneath a massive billboard with some happy white people on it. (these are ideas i'm still processing, i hate to draw conclusions). Needless to say, it's hot! Our living quarters are not exactly 5 star but i'm positve we've got it better than most people in this neighborhood. oh there's buildings being built but they've been "being built" for quite a few years now. The kids at the orphanage are sooo cute and i can predict a very fun time with them. I just want to pray that i can touch them with the hand of Jesus Love. If i can't give them money or chocolate, i want to pass on the Love and healing of Christ through a simple touch of my hand.

This experience was the beginnings of a newly discovered sensation of compassion. I learned that compassion is more than feeling pity. Compassion goes beyond emotional response and initiates an action. Pity is fleeting and disapates as we become inveloped in our everyday lives. Compassion is a continually burning ember that is fueled by seeing people in desperate situations and is ignited by an opportunity to participate in positive solutions. Since my time in India, i have never been so liable to shed a tear simply by hearing of an unjust act on the radio. If you think you want to travel to an under developed country, please do it, but be careful. It'll turn you into a softy and there's no turning back!