How Context is Everything

January has just ended, and yet it already looks like 2011 is the year of revolution and change--ironically fueled by the changing world of social media. Thus far, Sudan is headed towards a divorce, Ivory Coast exploded, Tunisia imploded, Egyptians took to the streets in the face of violent deterrence, and Yemen's opposition rediscover their voice. Africa, my dearest Africa, looking for democracy, tolerance and justice. I don't want anyone to die, but the possibility of a more democratic Northern Africa and Middle East, is tantalizing.

To many Westerners and those of us living in moderate democracies, justice, respect and tolerance are just part of who we are. Yet sometimes is frightens me how dependent my behavior is to my context.

• If I had lived in Georgia in 1860, I could have owned slaves.
• If I had lived in Afghanistan in 2000, I would have worn a burqa and been subject to brutal gender based violence
• If I had lived in Columbia in 1984, I could have been involved in drug trafficking.
• If I had lived in Thailand in 1995, I could have been trafficked into prostitution
• If I had lived in China in 1966, I would have been brainwashed into the Communist Cultural Revolution
• If I had lived in East Africa in 1930, I could have been a European colonist conducting careless resource extraction
• If I had lived in the Western United States in 1850, I could have been involved in killing Native Americans.
• If I had lived in Alabama in 1955, I would have used the drinking fountain marked "whites"
• If I had lived in Germany in 1939, well, horrifying thought.

The modern, living, peacebuilder in me would never, never do any of the above. But if I lived in these situations, that would have been all I would have known. It would have been normal to abuse other human beings, or to carry along with the status quo, never questioning social injustices or acts of inhumanity. I would have been voiceless, or thoughtlessly deprived others of their voices.

But I do know better. Even though I was born into an unjust world, I somehow learned that the spark of humanity in each of us is reason enough for respect and kindness. There are others who haven't come to this realization. It's not our job to beat them over the head with a stick, but it's our responsibly to live a better and to give voices to the voiceless in the most peaceful way possible. And still others yet, blatantly ignore it. I struggle to resolve the feelings of anger and injustice which arise...sufficed to say...may I never behave similarly. People are rising up and demanding their voices be heard. They have learned to recognize and label injustice for themselves and to their world around them. For their sakes, I hope they achieve it.

We owe it to ourselves to question our world. We owe it to humanity.

How Living Overseas is Mentally Healthy

I do enjoy living overseas. I am a global nomad. Mild insanity works for me. Converting foreign currencies challenges me. Smiling and waving when I don't understand a single spoken word is normal to me. And foreign films with overacting and hideous eyeliner endlessly entertain me.

I've been contemplating personal changes since I moved back overseas. What strange thoughts pass through my head on their way to my journal every day? It's not just that I'm no longer a uni student or that I've entered the "young professional" stage of life.

Upon closer inspection of my contemplative life, I made several discoveries. I

get to talk about things I like all the time: spirituality, peacebuilding, development, cooking, and a greater appreciation for all unexpected details and conveniences. These are some of my favorite topics of all time. I never have to deal with domestic American politics (or really any American politics) pointless commercialism, internal church disputes and theological differences, or defend my decision to be "unsettled" or work against the root causes to social injustice.

I miss the people I love far away, but fellow global nomads understand. In my overseas world, people understand why my family lives in Sudan and the United States. It's a part of our overseas culture to live apart, sad yet inevitable (and I get total credibility with my family in Sudan!). And yet, we nomads find a way to fill the void with new friends, foreign languages, and for me specifically researching cause-and-effect of peacebuilding on poverty and development, and developing monitoring tools for sustainable social change.

I recently discovered that I'm a Generation Y Millennial. We are notorious for delaying life stages to explore ourselves and the world around us (remember, the global economy tanked just as we came onto the job market). I would never attribute my personal choices to American generational stereotypes, but there's a grain of truth to it. I'm a global nomad first, and as a global nomad, no matter where you go, you'll find something that slides into the culture you've carved out for yourself. There are parts of me that fit in Cambodia...and there's also an Americana side. If I was in the States, I would make it work. Part of being a global nomad is forcing yourself to make anything work. But I'm not in the States. The longer I'm here, the more I appreciate about my unique nomadic existence, the more I learn about peace, and the more my adorable $80 red Keens begin to pay themselves off.

There are benefits to a global nomadic existence. But then again, I'm a global nomad, and I've built my life around the interests that living overseas affords. It's my identity. Taking a step back from our countries of origin and living a step away from our guest cultures allows us to see objectively and learn the best from both worlds, even if it constantly reminds us that we don't fully belong.

How Peace is not a Philosophy

When I started work several weeks ago, at my welcome lunch (of a raw beef salad delicacy for this very grateful vegetarian) I was asked to talk about my philosophy of peace. I don't know what I said but I made something up on the spot. I've never thought of my philosophy of peace. I just do it. And yet I work in "professional peacebuilding" and claim membership at "a historic peace church."

When I ask myself, why do I do what I do, four things come to mind instinctively.

1) Given the state of the world, it's obvious.

2) Given the places I've lived, it's more obvious.

3) Given my personality (I like to fix things), it's really obvious.

4) Given I wear t-shirts, cut-offs and royal blue eyeliner everyday, it's honestly mandatory.

So there are instinctive reasons for why I entered the peacebuilding field, but what is my philosophy of peace?

I still don't think I have one.

My journey towards peacebuilding was a process. It was a combination of factors after seeing injustice in multiple settings around the world; racism in Zimbabwe, violence in Pakistan and intolerance in the United States. My reaction in every situation was simple: this should not be. This is unfair, and unjust and everyone should have the opportunity to live in peace and security. I do what I do because I don't think people should ever have to go without, and that conflict either emerges from, or is is fueled by unmet needs of any gravity. I learned what it means to be voiceless, and concluded no one ever deserves to be voiceless. I learned what it means to be denied dignity and self-respect, and decided no one ever deserves to be denied such essentials.

My journey towards peacebuilding was also personal. I don't know if I would have embraced it with the same intensity if I didn't feel I had personal stake in the issue and it didn't apply to my life and help me. I took what I learned and began to reconcile my diverse past and conflicting identity, reconcile my relationship with my Creator, and reconciling with people whose viewpoints and needs were different from my own. Peace for me a lifestyle coming from a theology of peace. It's not just a professional discipline, an abstract virtue or a subculture of rebellion/counter-culturalism.

It's not profound. It's not complicated. I choose peacebuilding because for me it's obvious, and necessary, and natural. I can't change the world but peace starts with each of us choosing to live a better way, and seek reconciliation and right relationships in the places we live. Peace is what we're supposed to do. It's my profession, but it's first and foremost my lifestyle.

How to Participate in Injustice

I contemplated if I should write this post. It's not that I'm necessarily ashamed, but I'm not exactly proud either. It's a complex and multi-layered issue involving systemic social issues beyond the scope of my personal power. But here it is...I participated in corruption. It sounds terrible. I'm a peacebuilder, and I'm a moral person, and I'm Mennonite. I do not pay bribes, that's not what moral peacebuilding Mennonites do.

The context explains my behavior. I needed to learn how to drive with a passenger and so I finally succeeded in getting one of my coworkers to risk her life and ride with me. On my first ride with a passenger, I turned right-on-red with three seconds left on the countdown clock in front of the Tout-Chen (Chinese Embassy) into "the brong kill zone" ("Foreigner Kill Zone"). The traffic cops love this corner. It's not a busy stop light so people run it all the time. I'm hardly the first--or the first of my coworkers--to get caught in this trap. Often, "fines" are imposed for no reason (you ran a yellow light, your license plate is crocked), and it's hardly worth your effort to challenge a cop.

I was stopped, and understood "stop ploum" (red light) out of the Khmer. I had to get off my moto and walk off the road to a spot off the sidewalk where a cop was sitting on his stationary moto against the wall of the Tout-Chen. He asked about where we worked, where we were from, and then asked for five dollars for the "stop ploum" incident. We haggled it down to three. Technically you shouldn't pay any more then a fair $1.25 for a traffic violation of any gravity but I'm a "brong." Enough said. No documentation, no need to give names, and no unpleasant words.

I was mildly upset by the situation for several reasons. First, I rarely make such public errors in judgement, and the one time I do, I get caught. Everyday I see at least 50 motos run red lights at major intersections at a perilous risk to their own lives. And yes, I wait the 60 seconds every time because that's what I do and I refuse to be killed in traffic...and I get slammed for turning right-on-red into no oncoming traffic. This in itself in unjust.

And secondly, it's no great secret Transparency International placed Cambodia 154 on the 2010 Corruption Perceptions Index; 154 out of 178 countries. There are many issues in every sector from education to customs. I was angry discovering myself trapped at the bottom of systemic injustice. I don't want to participate in it's continuation! It goes against all my development theory, my peacebuilding convictions, my Mennonite ethics, the Do-No-Harm philosophy, and my personal values. I couldn't not pay, because committed some mistake (though hardly a serious one, gosh!). It's quite obvious what's happening. Without a uniform system for tickets or traffic violations, your "fines" rarely make it to the police station. So I left knowing I was in the wrong...on two counts.

I used to self-identify as a fairly law-abiding person. But now I pay bribes...because that's what you do when you live in Number 154. And there's nothing to be done about it. I work on the micro-level for positive nonviolent change on the individual/interpersonal level between families and churches. I can't change systemic injustice.

This Post is for a United Sudan

Today, Sudan as we know it begins the process of ceasing to exist. Today, the Southern Sudan goes to vote for unilateral independence, and claim their right to form a new nation state.

Six years ago today on 9 January 2005, Northern and Southern Sudan signed the Comprehensive Peace Agreement, an ceasefire to end decades of civil war between to fundamentally different people groups. The agreement was to create a unity government and the North was charged to "make unity attractive." At the end of the six-year transitional government period, the South would be granted a vote on 9 January 2011, to stay...or to leave.

Northern Sudan didn't make unity attractive, and the forgone conclusion since the CPA's inception will be actualized beginning today. Southern Sudan will be the world's newest nation-state. It will be a poor nation state, with a weak but functional government which has been functioning since 9 January 2005. They will continue sharing oil (as agreed upon in the CPA) and they will turn their own oil wealth inwards to national development.

January 9, 2011...we've wondered for years, months, weeks what will happen today. We know how they'll vote, but will there be violence? Will the church's peacebuilding efforts have been enough? Will the North keep it's word and let the South go? Will disputed territories and conflicted oil money explode? Will the Southerners in the North be persecuted? Will 60% of the registered voters show up? Will the international community abandon the South?

The vote goes until January 15, 2011. The results will be released 6 February, or 14 February if contested. Southern Sudan will agree on a name and become it's own nation on 9 July 2011. The margin for corruption is huge and the stability of the region is at risk. But this is good. We want this. Africa needs this. Southern Sudanese deserve the right to write their own history untainted by oppression, underdevelopment, religious and ethnic intolerance, war, and death. We all deserve the right to thrive.

So adieu united Sudan. And in the off-chance you stay united, we'll know it was fraud...and we'll see a war of words, and violence.

Photo by Karen Kasmauski for CRS (peaceinsudan.org)

How I got to Sihanoukville

I'm partly seconded to a local Cambodian peace partner with whom I'll be spending the majority of my term here in Phnom Penh doing capacity building. Even though I wasn't working early December, I was invited to their annual week-long retreat at the beach in Sihanoukville along with another MCCer who's completely seconded. I was apprehensive. I expected strangeness, because strangeness in it's vagueness is inevitable. I didn't expect anyone to instantly adore me given my Khmer is horrendous...and the following week we did Myers-Briggs where I rediscovered I'm often misunderstood as detached (...not my fault).

And yet, I had an excellent time! I was relieved to discover my future coworkers are lovely and energetic young people. They don’t speak much English but were joy-filled, easy-going, peace-loving Cambodians who strongly self-identify as Cambodian Christians. I'm on a quest to discover what peace is in Cambodia, but I know these people care about it.

On the way down we stopped at a natural river reserve and set up to make lunch in one of the huts along the river intended for day vacationers. While some people made an abundant Khmer lunch, we wandered around on the rocks, some people went swimming in the river and others napped in hammocks. We ate lunch together, played telephone in Khmer, cleaned up and climbed back into the coaster for Sihanoukville.

We stayed at a hotel right across the road from the beach. Apparently there aren't hotels on the beach because beach rights won't allow it. Nicole and I and a few others went directly down to the beach to see the amazing sunset and then down again the following morning. It was not as dirty or commercialized as I anticipated (still not pristine!) and because it’s the Gulf of Thailand, there aren’t big waves. It’s perpetually calm and always blue.

And then we had evening meetings, and morning meetings and informal meetings, all in Khmer with someone in hushed low tones giving us the lowdown. Such is life when your language skills are close to nonexistent. Such is the position of being new.

Nicole and I left on the 2:30pm bus and got back to Phnom Penh around 6:30. We were disappointed we had to come back early for meetings…mostly because our partner has their act together...and we love sleeping in cold AC. No swimming, but I wasn't heartbroken. If anything, I was happy not to get sick eating strange seafood.

That's how I got to Sihanoukville. But I'll have to go again and decide...next time...do I want to hit the Thai beaches instead?