Three Stories of Bravery

#1
There has been increased coverage lately about the escalating crime in cities throughout Mexico, predominanly carried out by drug traffickers. Journalists have faced increased pressure to remain silent; reporters and law enforcement officers have been beheaded, shot at, threatened, and more. Yet, many persist in bringing this stories to an international audience and in continuing to work toward safety for their country. I find this sort of determination and commitment incredibly inspirational and humbling... and when I'm praying, these are some of the folks for whom I hope protection will remain and change occur.

#2
I heard an incredibly beautiful and moving story on NPR today about a guitarist who developed such a strong tremor disorder, he had to stop playing. Yet, in that bizarre and twisting fate-like gift of synchronicity the universe sometimes provides, he discovered an mbira on a bus he had been driving for a group of African performers touring the Northwest, and his musical life was reborn. I am a big fan of Ayub Ogada, and Crandell's style is similarly playful, creative, and melodically transcedental. I was really taken by his ability and willingness to immerse himself into this new world in order to reimagine his life as an artist. I think people are often phoenix-like in their resilience, and such triumphs should always be celebrated.

#3
I have posted my thoughts before on gay marriage and the confusion, anger, and frustration I feel at the current attemps by some in society to discriminate against others on the basis of their orientation, sexuality, or gender... all of which are beautifully, frighteningly, wonderfully complicated and intricate things. A friend of mine sent me a link through facebook to a mini-musical created by Marc Shaiman and Adam Shankman. It's about Proposition 8, and even though Prop 8 was passed, it gives me hope such a thing is still being circulated, and that some people might watch it and have a second thought or two about their biases or beliefs in this particular area. It's tongue-in-cheek, to be sure, but there are some great points in there about hypocrisy and the decision to treat one another with love and respect. Such a simple lesson, and yet we seem to struggle with it so much collectively.

Something Rotten....

I am finding it slightly unnerving being inundated with election coverage all atwitter about the approaching conventions, while simultaneously hearing news of suicide bombings and violence in Iraq and Afghanistan every day.

Sometimes the discussions seem disjointed - as if the priority or emphasis of focus has been misplaced. CNN pundits blather on with sound checks in the background while the only discussion of 24 dead and over 29 wounded occurs in a brief snippet on NPR before heading into Irish music for the nighttime playlist.

Perhaps I'm just grumpy. Or maybe I'm not making use of the best news sources. Or maybe things really are out of sync... distorted by distance and demoted in importance because it's easier than feeling truly afraid.

Thoughts Upon the Treadmill @ 6:30am

There is a disconnect
between daily living
and the news cycle
running circles around
"everyday" people on CNN
and the nightly news:
myopia trained on
sensationalized grief.

My grandmother watched
the local 6 o'clock
with fear encircling
her chest - convinced
each tragedy would
find her door,
push it open,
and crush her breath.

I find myself prone to
similar imaginings:
caught in a cycle of
death scenes, muggings,
and home invasions,
wondering what the lives
of others looked like
before their tragedies.

And in that state of
continuous vigilance,
I miss the commonplace
miracles life provides:
hippos and penguins,
ice cream and sprinklers,
best friends, a child's smile,
and simple, unsensational quiet.

(not just the stone, but also the ripples...)

I heard a story this morning about a phenomenal response to school violence in Finland that made my school counselor-in-training ears perk up. The program has been developed by a nonprofit group in the city in response to a November 2007 shooting during which 8 students were killed.

Basically, those who developed the program created a walking tour wherein students retrace the shooter's steps, processing how he felt, what actions he took, and the effects his violence had on those around him.

What stands out to me is not only the direct and very honest way in which the event is being discussed and processed (a very necessary step after any crisis and especially after something like a school shooting), but also what a compassionate and potentially therapeutic approach this offers survivors. Not only does it humanize the perpetrator (something we sometimes miss when seeking to resolve a life-changing act of violence), but it also allows students to discuss their own feelings of sadness, anger, frustration and to give and receive feedback with peers and adults about steps one can take to prevent such reactions to internal conflict (or how to identify and help someone around you who is similarly troubled).

To me, the program is amazingly proactive, intensely brave, and highly innovative. The creators of the program suggested something similar might be beneficial for schools in the U.S. - and I think it would be great if we could find some way for school counselors, community counselors, and other mental health professionals to work together to create something equally empathetic and cathartic. As violence increases in our schools and fear and PTSD become more fixed within our national consciousness, seeking a solution that expands and encourages genuine discourse and greater understanding of others becomes ever-more essential to the academic and personal success of all our students.

Violence on our doorsteps

I woke up this morning to a story on NPR about the most recent bombing in Iraq. The part of the story that sticks with me: a 7 year old boy escaped. I wondered about the rest of his family, whether they were not so lucky, whether he had siblings who did not escape, what will happen to him now. Where did he go? How is he feeling? What happens next time? How have these events shaped his development, his personality, his beliefs and values? When does he feel safe? Does he ever get to feel safe again?

I then entered my day and got wrapped up in the normal chaos of my life... trying to remember how lucky I am when facing random obstacles. The roads are snowy and icy, but I am lucky to have a car to drive to and from campus. My assistantship is often exhausting and dull, but I am lucky to be working, to be able to attend grad school, to have so many opportunities to advance my education and occupational pursuits. Our sink is broken and the hot water turned off, but we have plumbing, we have a home that we own, we have heat and hot water. There are so many things to be thankful for.

This was emphasized even further when I left school today. I ran into a colleague who was visibly upset and stopped to find out what was wrong. Her mother works at NIU and her father had called to let her know there was a shooting on campus. She had not been able to speak to her mother because the campus was on lockdown; she did not know any details about the event, the shooter, her mother's location, or whether the crisis was still going on. And she felt like she was overacting because she was so upset and shaken.

Luckily, her mother was fine. The family will be able to reunite this weekend and take solace in one another, and they will probably all have to deal with the emotional aftermath of feeling so vulnerable.

I think of this event, so close to home and connected to someone I see nearly every day of the week, and I wonder how we would all feel if violence was a part of our everyday living... a possible and likely occurance that would follow us like an ominous, dark stranger... a heightened sense of anxiety, a growing paranoia, an ever-present alertness.

Over time, perhaps that would lessen and the constant sense of fear would subside... but the losses would always hurt. We would always be taken by surprise. The truly devastating events would forever alter our sense of self and shape our concept of the world.

Even if we escaped.