Michele La Morte-Shbat

Michele La Morte-Shbat
Saudia Arabia

“I was gratified by the deferential response I received from the Saudi men I met on that trip, treatment which flew in the face of all that I had heard before about the Kingdom.”    

***

Interestingly enough, it was my idea to live and work in Saudi Arabia. It was late 1999, and although I had a wonderful life as an economist in Washington, DC, where I lived with my husband and two miniature poodles, much of my daily routine had become stale and rather ordinary. I had greatly enjoyed and appreciated 17 years in the nation’s capital, which included a dream home complete with white picket fence, bike rides along the Potomac River, and weekend drives through the picturesque Virginia countryside, but these aspects of Washington life were being overshadowed by what had become tiresome two hour long workday commutes into the city where I worked in a nondescript building as a government employee. I hungered to expand my perspective and worldview. Although my husband was originally from Lebanon, a beautiful and vibrant country that I had the good fortune to visit in 1996, the place I longed to experience was Saudi Arabia.

Friends and family, including my husband, were surprised by my peculiar hankering. It was not uncommon for friends to make comments, or send me dubious magazine clippings, about the religious police smacking western women on the ankles for showing too much leg, or worse yet, tales of incarceration. The fairly limited media reports, at the time, only served to add to the level of intrigue surrounding the Kingdom. None of these stories and reports would dissuade me, however, but rather strengthened my resolve to see this mysterious place and form my own opinions and judgments. Fascinated by, yet somewhat wary, myself, of, the images of long black abayas, white thobes, and bustling marketplaces in this distant land, I was determined to find out why my western compatriots and I were so puzzled by, and, circumspect about, this Gulf nation.

Serendipitously, around this time I had the opportunity to accompany my husband, his firm, and the U.S.-Saudi Business Council on a trip to Saudi Arabia to explore joint venture activities between Saudi and northern Virginia companies. Actually, not an easy undertaking as my husband was told by U.S. officials from the organization before the trip was underway that there was no way that I, a woman, would be able to go on the trip. The long and short of it – women were not allowed!  I wondered if this was a harbinger of things to come, and whether I would ever make it to Saudi Arabia. Fortunately, my husband, undaunted, was able to exercise sufficiently persuasive measures, (indicating he wouldn’t go without me), allowing me to join the group in mid-February 2000 as an auxiliary member.

Shortly after arriving in Saudi Arabia, and when attending a Riyadh Chamber of Commerce meeting, not only was I, the lone woman in the room, swiftly guided to a seat by a Saudi official alongside the American contingency of businessmen, but I was encouraged by another Saudi representative to launch the session by disclosing my initial impressions of Saudi Arabia. After divulging my views, which were direct, from the heart, and included an acknowledgement of several gracious Saudi gentlemen who in the early days of our trip aided my efforts in trying to find a job in the Kingdom, I received an ovation by the Saudi delegates. I was similarly treated when we met with Saudi officials in the east coast city of Dhahran, and Jeddah on the shores of the Red Sea.

I was gratified by the deferential response I received from the Saudi men I met on that trip, treatment which flew in the face of all that I had heard before about the Kingdom. The media and others had led me to believe that women were second-class citizens, suppressed by men, discouraged to express their views. What I found, instead, from the first few days of our time in Saudi Arabia in February 2000, through to visits of other Gulf countries and my eventual relocation to Qatar in 2004, where I presently reside, is that men of the Gulf region are predisposed to view, and treat, women, particularly in professional and business settings, as “sisters.” 

Michele outside Riyadh

This is not to say that restrictions for women are not a reality particularly in Saudi Arabia. For example, when I lived in Riyadh from 2000 to 2004, women were limited to work in academia, women’s banks, and hospitals and were not allowed to drive. (Women are allowed to drive in other Gulf countries.)  But within the existing confines, Saudi women were given opportunities to prosper and advance. A Saudi member of the U.S. Saudi Business Council and higher level management at the esteemed King Faisal Specialist Hospital (KFSH) in Riyadh were responsible for placing me in the position of Supervisor of Financial & Management Reporting, a newly formed unit within the Finance Department, at KFSH. There were several Saudi, and other Arab women, as well, in midlevel management positions at KFSH.

Being employed at the massive 800-bed hospital, (served by 8,000 employees), allowed me the unique opportunity to work with, and come to know, Saudi men and women from a professional and more personal standpoint. The Saudi women, especially, were well-informed, dedicated to a high level work effort, and very appreciative of, and determined to use, their advanced degrees to better themselves in the work world and their lives outside the hospital. It was of utmost importance, however, to balance work life with family life, and women who had small children at home were given the opportunity to work part-time.

The importance of family, and more generally, fellowship, regularly impacted work life at the hospital. Impromptu offers of cardamom coffee or mint tea during the workday, and Wednesday morning “women only” functions that included feasts of mezzah and freshly baked pita bread in locked conference rooms, where women were able to let their scarves, and their guard, down, were as important an element of the  workday as was completing that critical financial report. While my “American mindset” had me focused on the deadline, I would come to find that this emphasis on “people time” allowed for greater camaraderie and enhanced teamwork among the staff.

Far from censoring themselves or being timid when communing with workmates, as I presumed would be the case before arriving in the Kingdom, it was not unusual for my female Saudi colleagues to come to my office and inform me of marital or other personal issues, fishing for seasoned advice from an older female colleague. I would always indulge them, but would be far more uncomfortable in talking about these intimate matters than my younger Saudi colleagues. And instead of being aloof or somber as suggested by their ebony cloaks and reserved behavior, the sense of humor amongst my Saudi female cohorts was enchanting. On one very dusty day in Riyadh, a colleague and I were in the women’s restroom, and my female coworker remarked with a slight grin, “You know, Michele, it’s a ‘Dusty’ Hoffman day today,” referring to the American actor, Dustin Hoffman.

Although I had an open mind about Saudi Arabia, the abayas, mystified me, both before and after first arriving in Saudi Arabia. However, it quickly became clear, style of clothing aside, that the women behind the abayes were very much like me and my western friends in simply wanting a satisfying and healthy life for themselves and their families. Saudi women were quite vocal about issues regarding their children’s schooling, where they could buy the freshest food, and how best to maintain happy and flourishing households. These were, and are, the central matters in the daily lives of Saudi, Qatari, and other Gulf women; geopolitical, regional, and global issues are all secondary. And worries over how they are perceived (in their abayas) half way around the world are even less important.

With culture and tradition dictating that women wear the abaya in public, an exquisite sense of fashion is often manifested underneath. At gatherings of women, and particularly women-only weddings, ladies forego the abaya and revel in their femininity with displays of haute couture gowns and immaculately coiffed hair and makeup. While feeling thankful for being invited to these momentous events, and despite being clad in my finest ball gowns, I always feel underdressed at these occasions. Rather than being sedate, these types of celebrations see Gulf women on raised platforms dancing uninhibitedly to the rhythmical strains of Khaleeji music.

Al-Kindi Square in Riyadh

Gatherings, and a broader sense of community, are inherently important in the larger Gulf region, with hospitality being an overarching tenet in Gulf Arab life. As a guest in Arab homes on many occasions, I have always been greeted like a long lost family member with my happiness and that of other guests being paramount. These events, often lasting until the wee hours of the morning, usually include spreads of mezzah, lamb and rice, Arabic sweets, from which you must partake, hungry or not, and protracted conversation ranging from the everyday, to regional and world economic and political issues.

The tragic day of 9/11, and its aftermath, certainly tested my relationships with my Saudi friends and colleagues. I stayed at home the following day, glued to CNN to find out as much as I could about what happened, and fearing for the safety of friends in Washington, DC, our “home base” in the U.S. The next day when I went into work I was grateful to have my Saudi boss come to my office to inquire if I was alright and to say he hoped no one I knew was hurt in the incidents. It was only in the following days and weeks that we heard that Saudis were involved in 9/11, and I began to question the wisdom of my presence and safety, and that of my husband, in the Kingdom. Around this time I was meeting with one of the KFSH financial managers, and felt compelled to tell him of my concerns and fears. I was quite flabbergasted when he straightforwardly told me that if anyone tried to hurt me, he would step between the perpetrator and me to thwart the attack, and he was certain my other colleagues would do the same. My faith in humanity was strengthened that day.

In the spring of 2003, approximately a year before the end of my tenure at KFSH, I experienced another heart rendering blow. My dear husband had been diagnosed with a life threatening condition, and would need to be hospitalized for an extended period of time. I needed to go to my Saudi boss, one of the hardest working men I’ve ever met, and someone who had expressed initial concerns about my skill set and ability to lead the financial unit that had been entrusted to me. My boss had since come to see me as a team player and a valued member of his department, but I was still concerned about trading on his good graces as I entered his office to inform him that I might miss substantial amounts of work due to my husband’s medical challenge. The words had barely left my mouth before my boss told me, “Michele, while your husband is in the hospital I am not your boss, your husband is. When he tells you to take off, take off, and I’m not going to charge you any leave time.”  Once, again, I felt myself disconcerted by the graciousness of a Saudi gentleman; this time, my beneficent boss.

My husband and I were admittedly fearful about having major surgery, three in fact, so far from home. After inquiring with a family member who works as a physician at a prestigious hospital in the U.S., however, we found out that the course of action and techniques that would be used by my husband’s surgeon, a Saudi, and team of doctors and medical support staff would be the same as what would be followed at the renowned hospital in the States. Our qualms dissipating to some degree, we could not shake the fact that my husband would be receiving life-saving medical care. We had many expat and Saudi friends, including my boss, visit us during the month-long hospital stay, providing us with words of encouragement and prayers, and even had a Saudi friend pray a verse from the Quran Kareem over my husband, a Lebanese Maronite Christian, the night before the initial surgery. The morning of the first major surgery, the doctor conversed with my husband prior to the anesthesia being administered, trying to allay his concerns about the surgery. My husband mentioned that he would really appreciate it if the doctor could recite Ayat al-Kursi over him before the surgery began, and the doctor cordially agreed. Thankfully, after an arduous year, my husband was on the mend, and is now healthy and leading a productive and happy life, due to the care and expertise of the KFSH medical team.

My time in the Gulf region continues to be a treasured gift, an “eye opening” and humbling experience; one that has allowed me to see that we are all part of a larger global community with the same everyday challenges and desires for a meaningful and contented life.

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You can read more of Michele’s work on her blog, Musings on Arab Culture: Reflections of A Western Woman.

Follow the Connection Point initiative on Twitter: @Connection_Pt

The views and opinions expressed by the author do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of Peace X Peace.

David Meth

David Meth
United States/South Korea

“…she left an indelible memory and influenced my writing. I don’t know if she had the same effect on anyone else in the class, but to look at Korea in 2012, it seems that she and women like her must have had a very strong impact on change.”

***

Although this story goes back 42 years, it demonstrates how powerful a small act remains for the people who witness it, and how change may come in spite of what one person sees as a failure. I was teaching English as a Second Language at Yonsei University in Seoul, Korea, in 1972. The class consisted of a dozen or so highly educated, wealthy sons and daughters of the very small, elite upper class of the country. Many of the students attended the top universities of Korea and they were all polishing up their English to go abroad and study or work and, at that time, probably not return. English was more valuable than an airplane ticket out of the dictatorship of President Park Chung Hee because they all had the money. Now they needed the skills and the language. Although Korea is a modern, thriving democracy now with few vestiges of the struggles of the past, where  women are free to pursue their dreams, this story applies to many women in other countries around the world. It has stayed with me since I lived and taught there.

Among the well-dressed students who were chauffeured up the hill to Yonsei University’s private English Language Institute was a young woman who was quiet and unimposing, and who walked to class. Most of the young women were reticent in the presence of boisterous young men who considered themselves in complete control of their lives and everyone else’s. They could all speak English with varying degrees of fluency, so I asked each person to introduce him or herself and tell the class a little about what they were interested in, their hobbies, and what they did and wanted to do in the future. The men did not hesitate and often boasted about their education and their future, sometimes challenging others about which school was the top: Seoul National or Yonsei, or for the women, Ewha or Sookmyung, with a couple of other schools permitted in the ranks below. The women were not as bold, but they stood up for their position in class.

When it came time for the young woman I am writing about to participate, she didn’t seem as if she wanted to speak. I didn’t have to coax her because one of the men did. “Come on. You can tell us,” he said in English. “Where do you go to school?” The women became a bit uneasy, but curious nonetheless. I also became uncomfortable. Another man asked her what she did, as if she had to qualify to be in the same class with them.

I didn’t like they way they challenged her, but now she was compelled to defend herself. In clear, excellent English she said she worked and was not in school. But that wasn’t enough. One of the men asked her accusingly what kind of work she did. The young woman, in a corner, said she was in the “service” business. That was it. The other women looked at her, but remained silent. They did not work. Then men stared. She was confronted again, until I interrupted and thanked her. It was time to move on to the lesson.

Yonsei University. Credit: Nickpettit

The way everyone looked at her implied the definition of what they believed “service” to mean: not just some sort of clerk or working girl, because that would not give her the kind of English she possessed. Essentially, any kind of service is what other Koreans did for them. The look came across them collectively: she must be a prostitute. How else could she speak English so well, if not performing a “service” for Americans?

After class, she came up to me and in perfect English apologized, apparently for being who she was, although it was unclear who she was or what work she actually did. I told her not to pay attention to anything they said because in my class everyone was equal and what she did with English was her business. Of course that was coming from an American, not a Korean, and especially not a Korean woman. What did I know? I never found out what her definition of service was, or anything else about her, because she didn’t return to class. But she left an indelible memory and influenced my writing. I don’t know if she had the same effect on anyone else in the class, but to look at Korea in 2012, it seems that she and women like her must have had a very strong impact on change. Let’s hope her courage, if only for that one moment, spreads to other women around the world.

© 2012, David Meth

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David L. Meth is a novelist and award-winning playwright who writes on multicultural themes about people caught between cultures. His plays have been produced nationally and internationally. His play 9/12 won the 2008 Peace Writing International Award. He also received a 2009 Artistic Fellowship from the State of Connecticut for his play, To The Death of My Own Family. His play, Arty’s Poolroom (formerly The Broken Down Valise), was an O’Neill finalist. His first novel, A Hint of Light, about a half-black, half-Korean boy abandoned to the streets of Seoul, was published in 2010 to 5-star reviews on Amazon. More about him can be viewed on his website.

  The views and opinions expressed by the author do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of Peace X Peace.

These women gathered with Iluminada in her home

Julie Myers
Colombia

“…there was no doubt that we were in the presence of something greater than ourselves.”

***

Just weeks after the celebration of International Women’s Day, on 22 March, the Popular Women’s Organization (OFP) asked us to visit the house of a friend and OFP colleague named Iluminada.  Her neighbor, a man who identifies himself as a paramilitary, attacked and threatened her in her home.  In a demonstration of solidarity, eleven women from the OFP showed up to her house that morning, plus four Christian Peacemaker Team members (CPTers).

As we formed a line to greet Iluminada and enter her simple home, I saw a tear run down her cheek as she smiled at her fifteen guests. We talked briefly about the incident, but the energy in the house was one of triumph, of togetherness, of strength in numbers.  No woman is alone in this city, it seemed to say.

And when the man passed by the house that morning, he saw eleven women from the OFP and four CPTers laughing and drinking coffee, telling stories, and sharing news. We barely fit in her house. We sat on armrests and squeezed on couches, stood up against walls, and spilled out onto the street.

I couldn’t help but think of the verse in Matthew: “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” But we were fifteen! And there was no doubt that we were in the presence of something greater than ourselves.

The joy of this gathering wore off soon though. On Sunday the 25th, we got another call from the OFP, this time for a case of domestic abuse. The woman had been beaten unconscious by her husband, who threatened to kill her. She is 21 years old. And it was not the first time he hit her. She found her way to the OFP through the gynecologist who examined her in the hospital. She struggled to walk, breathe, sit, stand, keep her eyes open. OFP called the police to record her complaint.  Two by two, eventually eight police officers showed up and collectively decided that they didn’t know what to do for this case of common domestic violence. So they left.

We went to the police station to file a complaint. Gloria from the OFP requested that the police escort the woman to her neighbor’s, where her four-year-old son was staying. They said they could not, because it was unsafe. Gloria requested that the police find her a place to stay that night. Again, they said they couldn’t. Because she predicted this answer, Gloria travels with a copy of the law. She opened up to the text and pointed to the rights of abuse victims. The right of a safe place to stay. The right to a safe escort back to their homes. No luck.

Instead, Iluminada slept on a mat on the floor at the OFP’s Casa de la Mujer. The next day she was shuffled around to more appointments: doctors, complaints, hours of sitting and waiting—painfully. Each movement looked excruciating.

When the police finally agreed to escort this woman back to her home to reunite with her son, with a restraining order against her husband in hand, Gloria breathed a tired sigh. She had fought tooth and nail for the sliver of dignity she was awarded. She had talked to dozens of police officers and government officials on this woman’s behalf. She tucked the text of the law back into the plastic envelope she travels with. She would need it again soon enough.

Both of these accompaniments with OFP, the joy of cramming into Iluminada’s house and the sadness of seeing this woman beaten by her spouse as well as the law, were true reflections of the Matthew verse. Jesus was surely present with all fifteen of us as we drank coffee and laughed, and Jesus was surely present as we physically lifted this woman out of her chair because of her aching ribs to record her complaint. It is no wonder why the women of the Popular Women’s Organization are constantly under threat. They live out solidarity in sheltering the oppressed, visiting the vulnerable, healing the wounded, and walking side by side with one another on this journey, carrying each other when necessary. May they continue to be inspiring examples of what it means to be a Christian in these difficult times. And may we continue to gather with them: two, three, or fifteen of us, and feel the presence of Christ.

***

This article was originally published by the Christian Peacemakers Teams.  Find out more about them.

The views and opinions expressed by the author do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of Peace X Peace.

• Because the debate isn’t over on Mona Eltahawy’s article “Why they hate us” in Foreign Policy: here’s a response from Search for Common Ground.
• Last week one of our favorite blogs, Gender Across Borders, announced that they would be going dark.  If you haven’t read them before, be sure to check out all the excellent articles they published since 2009.
• I’m excited to see what content this network of Zambian bloggers generates.

Kimberly Weichel

-By Kimberly Weichel
CEO

This month we celebrate mothers and the qualities of mothering. Being a mother is an integral and important part of who I am, and has shaped my perspective and what I value. I feel a common bond with mothers everywhere―including everyone reading this column―united by the love we have for our children, sharing in our commitment to ensure that our children are safe. The loss or pain of a child anywhere diminishes the entire world family and affects all of us.

I have met a number of women who are not biological mothers, but embody the nurturing, caring, giving, empathetic, generous qualities that are part of mothering. These are qualities of the feminine that have been undervalued in our society, yet qualities that I feel the world is crying out for and are so needed today. To care, to connect, to listen―it’s what we try to do here at Peace X Peace.

I’d like to share a poem I wrote some years ago that expresses my relationship with my mother and my son, and how the qualities of mothering have affected who I am.

Mothering

My mother was my friend, my teacher, my sister, my role model,
She cared for me when I was ill,
Nourished me as I grew up,
Taught me to play music, inspired me to learn art,
Encouraged me to explore the world
Showed me, motivated me to do what I love

I learned so much from my mother, my grandmothers, my aunts,
Most of which I could never learn from school
I learned how to take care of others as well as myself
To nurture, love, be creative, experience life
They supported me through difficult times
And their love filled me with the confidence to find my own way

I am now a mother myself and can apply what I’ve learned
My bond with my son is very deep and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced
But my mothering goes beyond this relationship
My mothering affects my work in the world, how I treat others, the environment
It is part of the core of who I am

I say thank you to my mother and to all mothers everywhere
It is at the same time the hardest and most fulfilling job there is
Thank you to mothers for giving life and nourishing souls
And thank you to Mother Earth for sustaining us all

***

I wish all mothers, and all those who care for others in any way, the blessings they so richly deserve.

 Also in PeaceTimes:

Women and Children First?

Growing Pains, Halting Progress, and Hope

Hips, Heart, and Soul: Shakira Shakes It for the Kids

Or… read the whole edition in PDF form here.

Shakira in concert. Credit: oouinouin

-By Mary Liepold
Editor-In-Chief

When the scandal around President Obama’s Secret Service took over the headlines last month, it all but obscured the reason he went to Colombia: the 2012 Summit of the Americas. Pan-American relations were rocky even before the scandal broke, unfortunately. US policies on Latin America have hardly changed since the previous administration. Colombia is a safer place than it was a few years ago, but rural women and children are still squeezed between the government and its armed opponents. And according to UN statistics, Colombia is still a tough place to be a child.

• The death rate for children under age 5 is 19%―almost one in five.
• Almost one girl in four is married before age 18.
• 35 million children lack basic necessities of life.
• The country has 10,000 child soldiers, and landmines injure 15,000 children every year.

It’s no small thing, then, that during the Summit, Colombian President Juan Manuel Santos pledged to build 13 multi-purpose centers to serve needy children. Pop singer Shakira stood with Santos and Obama to announce the new $36-million public-private initiative, called Primero Lo Primero, or First Things First. And she was not there for decoration. It turns out the artist best known for singing and swiveling with Wyclif Jean in “Hips Don’t Lie” was a committed children’s advocate even before she became a global superstar.

According to the fan sites, she saw belly dancing for the first time in a restaurant with her Lebanese father when she was four (the same year she began writing her original lyrics), went home, and tried it herself. The primary school classmates who watched her improvised performances dubbed her “the belly dance girl.” At the age of eight, when she first saw homeless children living in a park, she made up her mind to become a famous artist and help children. Her success has been impressive on both counts.

Shakira’s debut album was released when she was 13, and by the time she was 18 she had starred in a Colombian TV series and released a third album that topped charts in eight countries. “Waka Waka (This Time for Africa … “We’re all Africa”) the song she wrote and performed for the 2010 FIFA World Cup, is the most viewed high-definition video on YouTube, and several of her videos have had over a billion views. She has established two foundations, The Barefoot Foundation, named for the title song of her first hit album, “Pies Descalzos,” which provides educational, emotional, nutritional, psychological, and medical support to child victims of violence in Colombia, and ALAS, or Latin American Action in Solidarity. In addition to Wyclef Jean, her musical partners have included Carlos Santana, Annie Lennox, Mary J. Blige, Stevie Wonder, the Dixie Chicks, the late Mercedes Sosa, and Dora the Explorer.

Shakira with kids in Bangladesh

In 2009 she was invited to speak at the Oxford Union, joining the ranks of Albert Einstein, several US Presidents, Mother Teresa, and the Dalai Lama XIV, and the Spanish-language People magazine named her Humanitarian of the Year. President Obama has consulted with her about children’s rights, and recently appointed her to the US Advisory Commission on Educational Excellence for Hispanics. She’s a UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador. She has campaigned against Arizona’s anti-immigrant statute SB1070 (currently under review by the US Supreme Court) and taken part in numerous benefit concerts for children, peace, and the environment, including a concert for peace on the border of Peru, Brazil, and her native Colombia. In January 2012 she became the first Colombian to be named a Chevalier de L’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French Ministry of Culture.

Some feminists surely deplore her sexy costumes, bleached hair, and slave-of-love poses, but she has maintained considerably more creative control over her work than most female artists in the pop music field. In 2010 she turned down a request from Gabriel Garcia Marquez to act in the film version of his Love in the Time of Cholera because it required nudity. (She did contribute two songs, one of which was nominated for an Academy Award.) And her lyrics are thoughtful as well as sexy.

“It has been scientifically proven,” Shakira said in one of her speeches, “that a kid who receives proper stimulation and nutrition during the early years will develop all their potential in life: intellectual skills, learning abilities, social and emotional abilities.”

In her Oxford speech she described an imagined future: “This is how I want the youth of 2060 to see us: That our mission for global peace consisted of sending 30,000 educators to Afghanistan, not 30,000 soldiers. That in 2010, world education became more important than world domination.”

Shakira tells the children of Colombia, as she told the children of Haiti in her cover of the Pretenders classic, “I’ll stand by you.”  I’m standing by to see what she does for an encore!

That same dual focus characterizes the earlier international agreements on children. Since women and children have been both abused and suppressed in the name of protection through the ages,
I find it wonderful that the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child upholds the child’s right to participate fully in family, cultural, and social life as well as the right to care, education, health, and safety. Article 12 specifies the child’s right to a voice:

“Parties shall assure to the child who is capable of forming his or her own views the right to express those views freely in all matters affecting the child, the views of the child being given due weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child … The child shall in particular be provided the opportunity to be heard in any judicial and administrative proceedings affecting the child…”

The growing use of human rights curricula in schools and informal educational settings around the world is evidence of the culture change the Convention has promoted. We know we can count on the rising generation to advocate for themselves as well as for women and the earth. The website of the India-based organization Working Child, an official nominee for the 2012 Nobel Peace Prize, offers stories of young activists like the children of Mongolia, which has the largest number of child-governed organizations participating in local and national governance anywhere in the world.

Does Size Matter?
The plight of child soldiers seems to especially grip the imaginations of young and old alike. Warlord Charles Taylor’s recent conviction and the controversy over Joseph Kony 2012 have both brought the issue back into the headlines. According to Child Soldiers International, “The use of children as soldiers has been universally condemned as abhorrent and unacceptable. Yet over the last ten years hundreds of thousands of children have fought and died in conflicts around the world.”  War Child sums up that universal abhorrence with a tidy tagline: “Child soldier. Some words don’t belong together.”

Credit: Institute for Black Parenting

The United Nations estimates that 300,000 children and teens under 18 are currently engaged in warfare. That’s clearly appalling. I worry, though, that those who want to rescue child soldiers seem to tacitly accept the propriety of killing and dying on the other side of the 18^th birthday.

The subtitle Kurt Vonnegut chose for Slaughterhouse Five, his slight, quirky novel about the WW II bombing of Dresden, is The Children’s Crusade. He notes that all wars are essentially children’s crusades because they send people out to kill and die before they’re fully mature. Our own US military conducts extensive recruitment in high schools. The latest brain research confirms Vonnegut’s intuition. Mature judgment isn’t in place until 25 or even 30, science now shows, and militaries everywhere exploit this delay.

Someone (undoubtedly a woman)  once said “It’ll be a great day when schools have all the money they need and the navy has to hold a bake sale to build a battleship.” I’m dreaming even bigger than Ms. Anonymous. In a world where every nation both ratified the Convention and fully honored all 54 of its articles, we wouldn’t have battles or battleships. We’d have radically, joyously different global priorities: politics and economics as if people mattered.

Isn’t that want YOU want for Mothers Day?

Also in PeaceTimes:

Women and Children First?

Hips, Heart, and Soul: Shakira Shakes It for the Kids

Kim’s Corner: Mothering. What the World Needs Now

Or… read the whole edition in PDF form here.

Patricia Smith Melton photo

- by Mary Liston Liepold
Editor in Chief

Back when men were the undisputed rulers of the universe, they often compared women and people of different races to children, and compared all three as animals to justify their treatment of such “lesser” beings. When we were compliant and their dispositions were kindly, they compared us to beasts of burden and other domesticated animals. When we were not compliant, they described us as wild animals, even as malevolent spirits or the agents of those spirits. Some kind of other-ing is essential to the domination mindset, since dominators want to think of themselves as rational, moral, and loyal to their own kind.

The culture of peace and cooperation that the dominators suppressed has grown stronger in modern times. International movements advocate with and for women, minorities, indigenous people, and other out-groups. Though no such movement has yet been entirely won, I contend that the revolution for children’s rights has the most ground still to gain.

Too many people still see children as the property of their parents; as their livestock, if you will. It’s hard enough to understand the harsh treatment that parents and others in authority have dealt out to children throughout most of history―usually in the name of education or moral formation. But how else to explain that the US, alone among nations with functioning governments, still hasn’t ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child? Or that corporal punishment is legal in public schools in 19 of our 50 US states? How else to explain the hideous persistence of child abuse in all its forms, including sexual abuse and exploitation, the killing and kidnapping of street children, or the use of child soldiers and child slaves?

I still haven’t seen the new documentary Bully, so I don’t know if it points out that bullying isn’t just a problem between kids. I hope so, though.

Growing up isn’t easy for anyone. Neither is being an adult. But children who are bullied by adults often become bullies themselves. Children whose needs are met grow into strong adults who make the world better. Children whose rights are respected can be part of that world-building process at every age. And the world community stands behind them.

The Global Community Takes a Stand

In 1959 the United Nations issued the Declaration of the Rights of the Child, grounded in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the League of Nations’ 1924 Geneva Declaration. International advocates expanded the 1959 declaration into the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, which was adopted by the General Assembly in 1989 and took effect in 1990. It is the most widely accepted of all human rights treaties and the first legally binding international instrument to incorporate the full range of human rights—civil, cultural, economic, political, and social. The Convention defines these rights in 54 articles and 2 Optional Protocols: On the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict and On the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution, and Pornography. Both were adopted in 2000 and entered into force in 2002. The convention spells out the basic human rights of children everywhere: the right to survive; to develop to the fullest; to be protected from abuse and exploitation; and to participate fully in family, cultural, and social life.

The Convention protects children’s rights by setting standards in health care, education, and legal, civil, and social services and providing a mechanism for accountability. Governments that ratify the Convention or one of its Optional Protocols must report to the Committee on the Rights of the Child, the body of 18 experts charged with monitoring implementation, two years after ratification and every five years thereafter.

As the year 2000 approached, to further energize its advocacy for the world’s children, the United Nations adopted the eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) and built a campaign around them, with the overarching objective to End Poverty and specific, realistic targets in each area. Taken together, they add up to the conditions that allow children to thrive. In short form, they are:

• End hunger,
• Ensure universal education,
• Attain gender equity,
• Ensure child health,
• Ensure maternal health,
• Stop HIV/AIDS,
• Secure environmental sustainability, and
• Secure global cooperation.

The eighth is the means to all the others, for none can be met without peace and concerted international effort. With two and a half years years left to the target date of 2o15, we have seen measurable progress on some indicators, but none are likely to be met. War and the obscene expenditures for war by rich and poor nations alike are a major impediment. So is the difficulty of securing even intra-national cooperation.

Among UN member nations, only Somalia, which has no recognized government, and the US have not yet ratified the Convention. The country that hosts the United Nations has a conspicuously poor record of signing its conventions, largely because of the polarized politics that our winner-take-all electoral system produces. The reason being given for the current administration’s inaction is that CEDAW (the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women) is its top priority.

Most mothers would find it odd indeed to imagine their rights in competition with those of children. Still, anything that advances women also advances children. We hope for rapid progress on both.

Also in the May PeaceTimes:

Rebecca Sable

Rebecca Sable
United States

Editor’s Note: You might ask yourself – what is a recipe doing on Peace X Peace?  We are excited about the new blog Eating Our Way through Conflict because it explores how food can create connections and understanding.  We hope you’ll enjoy this piece on humility and check out the blog itself!

***

Humility is a word we say often, but do we always put it into action? As we all need our egos fed, we can find ourselves stepping on others to raise ourselves. I often wonder why it is so difficult for so many of us to remain humble. Sometimes I think our lack of humility happens when we do not feel appreciated, recognized as an individual, or valued as intelligent.  When these needs become too great many of us will go to great lengths to show others that we are better than the next person.

I will say that the more I travel, the more I meet people from different cultures, the more I have needed to focus on working on my own humility. There have been so many situations in which I have done something that was probably seen by others as inappropriate, or culturally insensitive. For example, when I visited Senegal I was placed with a host family that did not speak English, and I did not speak French or Wolof. The constant miscommunication could be frustrating at times.

I tried my best to learn Wolof. I felt so inept, like a child who was constantly trying but could not achieve success.  When I finally learned how to tell my host family  “I will see you later,” I left their house, walked down the street, looked back,  and yelled “I will see you later” in Wolof.  Or so I thought. I had actually mispronounced a word and said “I am ugly.” I still laugh thinking of their faces and how stupid I looked screaming “I am ugly” while waving and smiling. But these are the situations that we must laugh at, and we must allow ourselves room to mess up and feel a little stupid. Our humility can be tested when we are learning something new.  I could probably write a book of all of the embarrassing things I have done and said while traveling.

We can’t assume we know everything, nor can we go into another culture and teach others about themselves. Even if we have read all the books on the culture and history of another people, we still must understand that our knowledge is so limited. And we need the humility to learn from others almost like a child, asking questions and listening. This is especially true in conflict resolution or for anyone working in a foreign country or culture.

Recent events (such as the Kony campaign) got me thinking about how someone can come in from the outside and work within different cultures and communities in a helpful way, without diminishing the people around them. The two requirements I’ve come to so far are humility and collaboration. When we are in a new setting or culture, we need the humility to understand that no matter how many books we read on a culture, community, or country, when we get there we really know very little about anything. And we must stay humble, because we cannot assume we know what is right for other people. We can, however, use our strengths and knowledge to find ways to collaborate with the people we work with. It’s almost like a yin and yang.

A formal education does not mean you have more ability or are smarter than anyone else. It just means you were blessed with opportunities that another person does not have. There is so much wisdom all around us, but so many people are too busy thinking about the next phrase they can say that will make themselves seem intelligent. Stop talking and start listening!

So in honor of collaboration, listening, and humility let’s make some Burmese Curry Chicken with Noodles!

BURMESE CHICKEN CURRY WITH NOODLES
From The Asian Grandmother’s Cookbook, by Pat Tanumihardja

Serves 6

3 tbs fish sauce (plus extra for topping, if desired)
3 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs chopped garlic (about 3 cloves)
2 inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and grated (about 2 tbs)
2 tsp ground turmeric
2 lbs boneless chicken thighs or breasts cut into 1-inch cubes
(Make this vegetarian by subbing tofu. I’d use a firm tofu and rip it into pieces, rather than cutting it—the uneven edge will catch more sauce)
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 medium onions, chopped
2 tsp ground paprika
3 13.5-oz cans of coconut milk (5 cups, total)
7 cups chicken stock
1/2 cup garbanzo bean flour toasted briefly in a dry pan until fragrant
(I couldn’t find garbanzo bean flour, so I researched possible substitutes), mixed into
1/2 cup warm water, to make a smooth, runny paste
2 pounds fresh or 1 pound dried rice noodles
6 hard boiled eggs, peeled and cut crosswise into 1/4 inch slices
4 tbs ground dried red chilies, pan roasted until dark and fragrant (optional)
1 large sweet onion, halved and cut into slivers, then soaked in water
1 cup cilantro, chopped
3 lemons, quartered

Combine the fish sauce, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, and turmeric in a bowl. Add the chicken and mix well. (Use gloves if you want to protect your fingernails from being stained yellow by the turmeric). Set aside.

Chop two of the three onions

In a large pot, heat the oil until runny and shimmering (1-2 minutes). Stir in the two chopped onions and cook until translucent (3-4 minutes). Add the paprika and mix well.

Add the chicken and mix well. Raise the heat to medium-high and stir to cook throughly, about 4-5 minutes. Add the coconut milk and stock and bring to a boil. Stir constantly to prevent curdling. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

After 20 minutes, stir in the garbanzo bean flour paste and return to a boil. Simmer until the sauce thickens (5-10 minutes). Taste and add more fish sauce or soy sauce, as desired. Reduce heat and keep warm until serving.

Cook the noodles in a large pot of boiling water and drain. Rinse and place in a large bowl, adding a small amount of oil to prevent sticking.

Drain the slivered onion and pat dry.

Divide the noodles among individual bowls and ladle the curry sauce over them (about a cup and a half). Garnish with eggs, chilis, cilantro, onion, caramelized onion, and lemon wedges.

Mix it all up, and then eat.

Enjoy!!

***

Burma/Myanmar is an ethnically diverse country with a complex history. It has been in conflict for over 50 years, and was ruled by a military regime up until 2011. There has been tight control over the media in Burma. There have also been reports of severe human rights abuses, among them state sanctioned rape and torture. This documentary captures rare images and stories of the abuses that occurred in Burma.

Read more by Rebecca Sable on her blog, Eating Our Way through Conflict: Creating Understanding through Food.

 The views and opinions expressed by the author do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of Peace X Peace.

Ilonka Wloch

Ilonka Wloch
United States

Editor’s note: How do you worship?  How do you relieve stress? Ilonka Wloch found an outlet for both in a weekly gathering of older women with one goal in mind: to dance.

***
One day, my friend Eleanor asked me if I’d like to go dancing with her on Wednesday. I love to dance, so I said yes. She explained that it’s a handful of women who get together regularly at a small church converted into a dance hall. Hmm.

The following week, we carpooled from our little coastal town to an even smaller inland town. Once there, we entered the church, which was converted into a vast expanse of emptiness. I liked that. Dancing is one of my favorite ways to worship.

I was warmly welcomed by the women present. The participants of the Women’s Dance Collective take turns facilitating each gathering. The collective birthed in the 90s promotes free-spirit expression, playfulness and fitness. On that evening Kat prepared the music and shared some ideas for movement. While the dancing is generally free-form, the leader can make certain suggestions. And sometimes there’s no direction at all.

As all the dancers trickled in, I realized that these ladies were all much older. How old, I couldn’t tell. We were all grooving, swaying, rock-n-rolling. They seemed like teenagers, not elders.

I found it a bit strange to dance just with women, older women. My previous dancing included both sexes and peers. Would I come back? I didn’t know.

I came back. And by the third Wednesday I began to truly look forward to the next one.

The women offered me a rare gift. First of all, I get to regularly connect with women two generations ahead of me. And in a really, really fun way too. Secondly, these fit and lively ladies became my role models. I realized that through them, I was looking at myself down the road (if I’m lucky). Imagining me with the wrinkles, the gray hair, the flabby skin, and the eye twinkle.

I was able to see firsthand that the spirit doesn’t age. The vessel is in a constant whirl of change. By embracing, not concealing the changes, I’m embracing the truth of who I am.

***

Ilonka Wloch is an activist for social awakening and editor of Positive News US, www.positivenewsus.org. She was born in Poland and lives in the US.

 The views and opinions expressed by the author do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of Peace X Peace.