Footprints

Spring Semester 2011

2011-01-19T08:51:00.001-08:00

For those who want to know what I am doing this semester, I will be editor of Under the Microscope, an weekly 8-minute radio show on science, health and technology (http://www.kbia.org/archive/news/health-science-technology). I will also be working for Discovery Tech, although I do not yet have the details of how that will work. Finally, I will be creating a Website where Mizzou study abroad students can contribute their stories from around the world. I will post a link when the site is up and running. That's about all for now. The first couple days of classes are going fairly smoothly, and I am gearing up for the sprint toward the finish line (i.e. my graduation in May).

Wiki Leaks Afghan War Diary

2010-07-25T22:12:00.000-07:00

The leak of over 91,000 reports about the War in Afghanistan on wikileaks.org will certainly change the world of information gathering and classified documentation.

Wikileaks.org, a Web site that publishes classified documents and reports with the promise that they will protect the source, leaked Sunday around 91,000 reports on the Afghan war. The reports came from people aligned with Afghan officials and military personnel according to reports from the Guardian, The New York Times and Der Speigel, the three major news outlets that first reported on the leaks.

Time will tell whether the information in the reports will change public opinion about Afghanistan and the outcome of the war. But what the information does prove is a drastic change in the way we handle what was once seen as untouchable information. Prior to the development of wikileaks, which began in January 2007, there was a vast sea of documents that were considered "off-limits" or "confidential." Wikileaks changes all that. If Wikileaks can make its way through this major ordeal and defend its right to the information successfully, this will break all boundaries of what information should and can be accessible to the public. If it cannot defend itself, regulation will only become tighter and censorship could be used more often when describing why we don't know everything we would like about the government's or other organizations' activities.

Much speculation has been circulating this Web site for some time now. On the "About Us" section on the Wikileak Web site, a quote from Time Magazine says, "... could become as important a journalistic tool as the Freedom of Information Act."

Philip Shenon, a writer for The New York Times was quoted on NPR last week saying, "You certainly hear at the Pentagon, at the White House, concern that one of these days somebody is going to leak something really important to an organization like Wikileaks. The example given to me is American nuclear secrets or the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden. Would Wikileaks put that out to the world without much filtering, and isn't there a threat in that?"

Personal Opinion

As I said above, time will tell the ultimate outcome of this development and it will be up to how Wikileaks, the White House and the mainstream media handle this situation that determines whether Wikileaks gets the fame it has been vying for for three years or falls short of journalistic excellence and reaches the level of Tweeted headlines and untrusted Wikipedia pages.

Most likely, it will end up somewhere in the middle. People will go to the site for basic information, much like they do for Wikipedia. However, this site must continue to be monitored closely because whenever the public is given information, it will undoubtably make some more informed but others it will give the impetus they wanted to make outlandish accusations.

While people often read Wikipedia as a major source of information, I do not believe people visiting Wikileaks will take it as it is. Because Wikileaks is set up as a research site, it will be used as just that, one of many sources for in depth research. All that is certain is this, over the next few weeks and months, a lot of people are going to have a lot of work on their hands.

Amsterdam: The City of Juxtapositions

2010-07-03T19:53:00.000-07:00

This was the city known for three things: drugs, prostitution, and Anne Frank. Perhaps you never thought you would see those three words in a sentence together. This odd juxtaposition of history and modern taboo is the epitome of Amsterdam.

When you walk down narrow streets that in the U.S. would automatically be classified as alleyways, you smell the stench of marijuana filling the air. It comes out of “coffee shops,” which, as the story goes, were the first ones to sell coffee—another substance that was considered dangerous and, for a time, illegal because of the effects of caffeine. Of course, the weed is not only smelt, but seen. The smoke seeps out of the shops each time the door is opened, and it is not uncommon to see someone walking down the streets with one of the “special muffins” or “brownies.”

There is also the ominous red-light district, where prostitutes sit in the windows waiting seemingly nonchalantly for their next customer. Although if you look closely, although I would advise, not too obviously, at their faces, you may perhaps be able to see anxiety on a few faces. Though this again may be the skewed perception of someone who is as close to a humanitarian activist without actually being one.

However, do not get the idea that the red-light district is a secluded area of town. It is, actually, the heart of the town and normally quite crowded, even during the day. And within the ominous red-light district, with prostitute shops next-door, stands the Oude Kerk, an old Catholic turned protestant church, dating back from the twelfth century. There it stands in all its glory, a testament to the religion that has been a practiced for a thousand years in this region.

Then, just over a kilometer away, across three canals, which have given Amsterdam the nickname, the Venice of the north, is the Anne Frank house, where for Anne Frank and her family hid for two years before their arrest.

And while Anne Frank is the most famous of the Jews in Amsterdam, many still remain. Their synagogues and a famous Jewish museum can be visited, attesting to historical events and present day traditions.

But don't let Amsterdam's reputation for legalizing drugs or prostitution fool you. If you walk far enough down one of these "alleys," you will walk out into one of the main streets that are more for bicycles than cars. In fact, there are separate lanes of the bikes, and one must be careful, lest he accidentally step in front of a bicyclist, who are not out to be considerate to pedestrians. A word of advice: if you hear a bell ringing behind you, move.

In the middle of these streets, like large medians, flow the Amsterdam canals. In fact, one of the most eerily beautiful things about Amsterdam is waking up on a morning when the fog sits bodingly on the canals, enveloping the city, as though it holds vast secrets of sins of the night before and heroism of years past.

2010-07-03T19:47:00.001-07:00

But don’t let Amsterdam’s reputation for legalizing drugs or prostitution fool you. If you walk far enough down one of these “alleys,” you will walk out into of the main streets that serve as streets more for bicycles than cars. In fact, there are separate lanes for the bikes, and one must be careful, lest he accidentally step in front of a bicyclist, who are not out to be considerate to pedestrians. A word of advice: if you hear a bell ringing behind you—move.

How I Have Been Mistaken for a French Speaker

2010-02-24T01:12:00.000-08:00

This morning, as I walked into work, I finally got the courage to talk a little more to the security guard at the front of our building that I see everyday. He is a smaller, middle-age man with rough, somewhat drawn skin and a longer, pointed nose. Everyday, he, or I, (whoever happens to be first) say bonjour, and the other responds with the same.

Today, however, I ventured out on a limb with my French, or lack thereof. “Bonjour,” I said when I walked in. “Ça va?” And the rest of the conversation only God and the guard know…because I certainly don’t. As soon as the words, “ça va” came out of my mouth, I was greeted with a reply that I could not comprehend. All I know is I somehow managed in response to what I guess was his question of “I’m fine how are you?” to get out another “ça va,” which in French is both “how are you” and “I am fin,” and after he made another longer comment, I laughed awkwardly. I’m still not sure that was an appropriate response to what he said, but I figured by the tone in his voice it was the best guess at the time. For all I know he could have said, “Haha, you are a stupid American who thinks she can speak French.” In that case, I guess a laugh would still have been an appropriate response, so it’s okay.

Of course, this is not the only time I have been mistaken for a fluent French speaker. Often on the streets someone will come up to me and ask for directions. Most of the time they get the message that I don’t speak from my deer in the headlights look, but normally if that doesn’t work, they quickly figure it out when I open my mouth. Although the other day, I did manage to point someone in the correct direction with the metro station. It was a good thing the only thing I had to do was point in front of my and say “tout droit.”

I would love to be able to speak French, and hopefully, I will be able to soon. But for now, I have to say I somewhat enjoy these slightly awkward moments as I laugh my way through this francophone city.

Bruges- Simply Beautiful

2010-01-31T09:17:00.001-08:00

Imagine a small European city from the 1800s with narrow, cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages, glass-water canals, a magnificent central square and a neo-gothic cathedral that can be seen rising above the buildings from almost anywhere in the city. This is Bruges.

Of course, tourism has become the primary income for the city, which inevitably leads to lines of chocolate and lace shops complete with “handmade” goods. The authenticity could be questioned, but for the sake of the small town, we will give them the benefit of the doubt for now. Museums have also sprung up around the city, featuring work from the 1400s to the present day including works from artists like Jan Van Eyck and René Magritte. The horse carriages are only used for tourists who want to tour the city in the old style, but they make the scene a bit more picturesque regardless.

Unfortunately, I was not able to stay as long as I would have like, as I traveled to Bruges with my art class. But I plan to return soon on business. I hope I can then stay a bit longer and enjoy the atmosphere. What I found most attractive about the city was its size. Although the city has about 120,000 inhabitants, if you stay within the “old city,” as the center is called, there are only about 45,000 people. This makes the city feel much smaller than it actually is, even with the large number of tourists that come each year.

While there are still a large number of buildings that remain untouched from their original construction, many other buildings have been rebuilt because they were destroyed in battles or natural disasters. However, there was one church that particularly struck me as intriguing…or rather, I should say two churches—one on top of the other.

Snuggled into a corner of a plaza lined with grandiose structures that now serve as government buildings or tourist shops is a grey stone building decorated with gold statues of saints and knights. Underneath two arches is a small wooden door that leads into, what at first glance could easily be mistaken for a cave. Soon, you will realize, this is not a cave, but a church of the twelfth century. It is the Chapel of St. Basil. It is simple. To the left is a fairly small kind of atrium. Wooden seats lead to a small colonnade, which leads to an altar, now adorned with a statue of a gold eagle. There is a small passageway that wraps around back into the main room, and above one of the arches is a relief sculpture of St. Basil's baptism. It is simple, like the rest of the church. The figures look primitive and disproportional. But after nearly a millennium, the figures of St. Basil and the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove coming down from heaven are still clearly visible. Everything except for the statues that were clearly added later on is a stone grey, sometimes given a golden hue by the candlelight.

But perhaps what is more amazing than the antiquity of this church is the stark contrast with the church housed above it, the Basilica of the Holy Blood. From an outside entrance a staircase leads to another church, located directly on top of the early church. After climbing the stairs, another wooden door leads into a large open room at least ten times the size of the church below. The roof is at least another two stories high and the entire room is a dazzling gold from the paintings that cover most of the walls. The altar is again to the left, but it is adorned in a large gold and red altar and life-sized paintings. Where the passageway was below with the stone sculpture of St. Basil's baptism, there is another large room with an altar on top of a type of stage. On the stage stands a priest, his hands folded in prayer. He stands over a relic, supposedly holding the blood of a crusader. A loudspeaker encourages visitors to come put their hands on the relic and say a prayer. Donations are also welcome for the restoration of the church.

It intrigues me that the actions of those who built the simple, stone church below—those who participated in the crusades—led to the construction of the lavish church above. I wonder if they meant for their actions to lead to such things. But no matter what their intentions were, their actions led to what can be seen today.

Overall, Bruges is a magnificent city full of history and culture. It is a small city in a tiny country that is often passed over by many tourists longing to visit the grand sites of Paris and the like. But Bruges is not Paris or London or Rome, nor should it be. It is the very lack of the big-city feel that makes Bruges so appealing and unforgettable.

Bonjour de Cafe Belga

2010-01-24T01:48:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in what is known to be one of the most popular cafes in Brussels, Cafe Belga. Families have come in for a Sunday pastry and cup of coffee with their little ones. Friends and co-workers catch up on the latest news and interests in their deceptively lovely French. Individuals type on computers or read books over a warm cup of, might I add, delicious cup of coffee accompanied by the best graham cracker I have ever tasted, a Speculoos. All of this with a wide variety of American pop, Belgian folk and whatever other genre of music the invisible D.J. feels like playing at the time. Outside is the weekly fresh market complete with fresh meats, bread, and vegetables, fresh flowers that brighten the ever cloudy Brussels days, vin chaud (hot wine), and guafres (the best waffles you will ever taste).

After two weeks of being in Brussels, I am beginning to learn the Belgian ways...slowly. It still takes time for me to learn how to order at restaurants or when you can say hello to people on the streets, and, for women, when you shouldn't. Languages create barriers that I never knew could exist, but also create adventures and connections between individuals that would not be possible otherwise. The first night we arrived, we ventured out to find a restaurant because we had no food in our flats. As it turned out, our waitress was traveling to the U.S. in a month and wanted to practice her English. We, inevitably, needed to practice our French.

A couple needs a seat, so I must give up mine and say goodbye for now. Until next time, from Cafe Belga. Au Revoir!

Internet Problems Wasn't What I Was Expecting

2010-01-14T14:46:00.000-08:00

Not too much is what I've expected in Brussels so far. The city is different than I expected. The people are different than I expected. The housing is different than I expected. All of this is pretty good though--except for the Internet. The Internet isn't too good here, so I haven't been able to post like I wanted to. Hopefully that will soon change. I hope to find a good cafe that I can go to after work most days and post there. For now, just know that we've had a busy week of miscellaneous conferences and orientations along with a little sight seeing and shopping. I'll try to catch up on all this soon. Until then, just hold on and news from Brussels will be on the way soon.

Fantasy vs. Reality

2010-01-09T07:39:00.000-08:00

I spent the past two days in London helping my cousin and her family pack up and move back to the U.S. After they left, I was able to travel around the city a bit. Everywhere I went felt like a dream. On the train, I looked out the window and saw scenes that looked as though they had come straight out of a picture book. The snow-covered English countryside rolled by as the snow gently fell. Except I could also see my reflection in the window, which created an odd juxtaposition as though I suddenly had been thrust into a fantasy world.

Then, a woman walked by and asked in a perfect British accent if I wanted "anything from the trolley?" My mind immediately traveled to Harry Potter, the only other place I had heard that phrase. Still, again I seemed to break into this dream world as I heard myself respond in what seemed like an extremely harsh American accent, "No, thank you."

Everything seems like this. Parliament and Westminster Abbey stood before me in all their glory, and I was aware of all the great history that is associated with those places. Laws have been made, people have been buried and it all has shaped the world I was standing in that day. But I was also acutely aware that these were buildings, like the skyscrapers that architects design every day. I think I might just like these things better in the books than in real life, but, of course, we can't live in a fantasy world.

Brussels to You

2009-12-14T07:45:00.000-08:00

I will be traveling to Brussels, Belgium next semester for a semester abroad. As of right now, I plan to be interning for the Associated Press while taking two culture classes at Vesalius College. Brussels is an amazing city that is truly a mix of cultures and peoples from around the world. It is also the capital of the European Union, so politics are never lacking. Therefore, starting in January, for the next five months, this blog will become my way of sharing the politics, culture, and everyday adventures from Europe to you. I hope you enjoy.

President Obama Wins Peace Prize

2009-10-09T05:59:00.000-07:00

President Obama promised to bring hope to the international sphere, and he certainly has, at least in the opinion of the Nobel Prize board. The board awarded President Obama the Nobel Peace Prize today, boosting his standing in the international realm. Obama supporters were thrilled and many Europeans also seemed elated with the great contrast between the Obama and the Bush administrations' reputation with foreign leaders. Republicans balked when former vice-president Al Gore won the prize in 2007, and they will most likely do so again with Obama.

Whether or not one is a Republican, the question does arise, "Is the Peace Prize awarded for what has been or what will be done?" The most famous Peace Prize was awarded to Mother Teresa in 1979, years after she had begun her mission work. Are we now to give someone an award for something they hope to do? However, if this is true, maybe it is not such a bad thing. The prize will definitely boost Obama's reputation, and Iran's spokesman already said, "We hope that this gives him the incentive to walk in the path of bringing justice to the world order." And there is something to be said about a opportunistic attitude. Without the attitude that Obama has about reaching out into the world, nothing would be done. As it stands today, we will have to wait and see over the next few years whether or not the Nobel Prize board made the correct choice for this year's peace prize.

Avoiding Ignorant Speech

2009-08-26T14:04:00.000-07:00

Many times we find ourselves listening to people speak on certain topics as though they were experts. Then, about half-way through their soliloquy, we realize they have no credentials to speak on this particular topic. That is not to say that they are not educated or knowledgeable about a great many other things, but only to say that they have stepped beyond their boundaries.

If you follow blogs or the news, you know that many people have been writing about Senator Edward "Ted" Kennedy today. I will not. The reason I will refrain from writing about Senator Kennedy is not because he is unworthy. In fact, he did a great many things that should be recognized. The reason I will not write about him is this simple fact: I do not know enough about him to speak intelligently.

Particularly in blogs, but in other media as well, I have found this trend of talking about that which we have no true knowledge to be growing. Everyone wants to put in their opinions, when really they do not know the basic facts. For example, take the recent town hall meetings on health care. These meetings have been extremely passionate to say the least. However, President Obama did make a good point in one of his meetings. He asked how many people in the audience had Medicare. A good portion of those people raised their hands. Then he asked how many of those people were satisfied with their health insurance. A good majority of those people raised their hands. Then, he asked how many people would support some sort of government health care plan. Only a couple people in the audience raised their hands. What those people in the audience did not realize is that many of them are already on a government health care plan, Medicare, and they were satisfied with it.

Now a government health care option may not be good for the United States at this time. There are obviously some difficulties with it. But people need to stop speaking on that which they have no knowledge. I feel like what we are sometimes experiencing in our never-ending stretch for democracy is what is known as "ignorance of the masses."

I have just come from a discussion on Jane Austen's Persuasion, and one of the main points my professor made was that the main character Anne Elliot is to be admired because she attempts to see herself as no more than she truly is. She does not pretend she is any smarter or more important than she actually is. While this mindset is quite foreign to our way of thinking, there is something to be admired about it. By admitting to our shortcomings, we are more willing to listen and learn from those that excel in that particular area. After all, it is only by owning to our cracks that we are able to fill them and seal them shut.

So there you have it. I will not comment on the life of Senator Edward Kennedy except to give my condolences to all his friends and family. Beyond that I will not say another word as it would be beyond my true abilities and imprudent for me to do so.

US Intervention in Honduras

2009-08-06T06:16:00.000-07:00

In my last blog, I mentioned the fact that I questioned wether or not the Honduras coup was a U.S. government intervention. John Perkins, author of Confessions of an Economic Hit man, sent out this newsletter yesterday.

Dear Friends

Speaking of Democracy, Honduras, and President Obama. . .

In writing my new book Hoodwinked (Random House, Nov 2009 publication date), I recently visited Central America. Everyone I talked with there was convinced that the military coup that had overthrown the democratically-elected president of Honduras, Manuel Zelaya, had been engineered by two US companies, with CIA support. And that the US and its new president were not standing up for democracy.

Earlier in the year Chiquita Brands International Inc. (formerly United Fruit) and Dole Food Co had severely criticized Zelaya for advocating an increase of 60% in Honduras’s minimum wage, claiming that the policy would cut into corporate profits. They were joined by a coalition of textile manufacturers and exporters, companies that rely on cheap labor to work in their sweatshops.

Memories are short in the US, but not in Central America. I kept hearing people who claimed that it was a matter of record that Chiquita (United Fruit) and the CIA had toppled Guatemala’s democratically-elected president Jacobo Arbenz in 1954 and that International Telephone & Telegraph (ITT), Henry Kissinger, and the CIA had brought down Chile’s Salvador Allende in 1973. These people were certain that Haiti’s president Jean-Bertrand Aristide had been ousted by the CIA in 2004 because he proposed a minimum wage increase, like Zelaya’s.

I was told by a Panamanian bank vice president, “Every multinational knows that if Honduras raises its hourly rate, the rest of Latin America and the Caribbean will have to follow. Haiti and Honduras have always set the bottom line for minimum wages. The big companies are determined to stop what they call a ‘leftist revolt’ in this hemisphere. In throwing out Zelaya they are sending frightening messages to all the other presidents who are trying to raise the living standards of their people.”

It did not take much imagination to envision the turmoil sweeping through every Latin American capital. There had been a collective sign of relief at Barack Obama’s election in the U.S., a sense of hope that the empire in the North would finally exhibit compassion toward its southern neighbors, that the unfair trade agreements, privatizations, draconian IMF Structural Adjustment Programs, and threats of military intervention would slow down and perhaps even fade away. Now, that optimism was turning sour.

The cozy relationship between Honduras’s military coup leaders and the corporatocracy were confirmed a couple of days after my arrival in Panama. England’s The Guardian ran an article announcing that “two of the Honduran coup government's top advisers have close ties to the US secretary of state. One is Lanny Davis, an influential lobbyist who was a personal lawyer for President Bill Clinton and also campaigned for Hillary. . . The other hired gun for the coup government that has deep Clinton ties is (lobbyist) Bennett Ratcliff.” (1)

DemocracyNow! broke the news that Chiquita was represented by a powerful Washington law firm, Covington & Burling LLP, and its consultant, McLarty Associates (2). President Obama’s Attorney General Eric Holder had been a Covington partner and a defender of Chiquita when the company was accused of hiring “assassination squads” in Colombia (Chiquita was found guilty, admitting that it had paid organizations listed by the US government as terrorist groups “for protection” and agreeing in 2004 to a $25 million fine). (3) George W. Bush’s UN Ambassador, John Bolton, a former Covington lawyer, had fiercely opposed Latin American leaders who fought for their peoples’ rights to larger shares of the profits derived from their resources; after leaving the government in 2006, Bolton became involved with the Project for the New American Century, the Council for National Policy, and a number of other programs that promote corporate hegemony in Honduras and elsewhere. McLarty Vice Chairman John Negroponte was U.S. Ambassador to Honduras from 1981-1985, former Deputy Secretary of State, Director of National Intelligence, and U.S. Representative to the United Nations; he played a major role in the U.S.-backed Contra’s secret war against Nicaragua’s Sandinista government and has consistently opposed the policies of the democratically-elected pro-reform Latin American presidents. (4) These three men symbolize the insidious power of the corporatocracy, its bipartisan composition, and the fact that the Obama Administration has been sucked in.

The Los Angeles Times went to the heart of this matter when it concluded:

What happened in Honduras is a classic Latin American coup in another sense: Gen. Romeo Vasquez, who led it, is an alumnus of the United States' School of the Americas (renamed the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation). The school is best known for producing Latin American officers who have committed major human rights abuses, including military coups. (5)

All of this leads us once again to the inevitable conclusion: you and I must change the system. The president – whether Democrat or Republican – needs us to speak out.

Chiquita, Dole and all your representatives need to hear from you. Zelaya must be reinstated.

FOOTNOTES

(1) “Who's in charge of US foreign policy? The coup in Honduras has exposed divisions between Barack Obama and his secretary of state, Hillary Clinton” by Mark Weisbrot

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/cifamerica/2009/jul/16/honduras-coup-obama-clinton (July 23, 2009)

(2) http://www.democracynow.org/2009/7/21/from_arbenz_to_zelaya_chiquita_in (July 23, 2009)

(3) “Chiquita admits to paying Colombia terrorists: Banana company agrees to $25 million fine for paying AUC for protection” MSNBC March 15, 2007 http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17615143/ (July 24, 2009)

(4) Fore more information: http://aconstantineblacklist.blogspot.com/2009/07/eric-holder-and-chaquita-covington.html (July 23, 2009)

(5) “The high-powered hidden support for Honduras' coup: The country's rightful president was ousted by a military leadership that takes many of its cues from Washington insiders.” by Mark Weisbrot, Los Angeles Times, July 23, 2009

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-weisbrot23-2009jul23,0,7566740.story (July 23, 2009)

I did email John Perkins Web site and ask him about President Obama and the White House's remarks condemning the coup and saying Zelaya must be reinstated. I have yet to receive a reply. However, I think it is important to notice how the companies have a major role in this, one that may very well be much larger than the U.S. government's role. Companies like this must be stopped. Send them letters and emails. Stop buying their goods. Do whatever peaceable actions it takes, because eventually, this will only lead to more violence, death, and poverty.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man

2009-07-06T11:06:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was the Fourth of July. This past weekend, I have never been more disappointed in my country. On Sunday, July 5, I finished reading Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. I believe every American should read this book. And my only disappointment is that it took me so long before someone gave it to me and told me to read it.

The author, John Perkins, worked as an economic hit man for many years before he finally decided to get out of the business and write a book about how his career and the strategies of the United States were enslaving the rest of the world.

Economic hit men are, in brief, men from U.S. private corporations who are sent into other countries to propose enormous construction and development contracts that will supposedly create great economic prosperity for the country. However, what actually occurs is that the country incurs enormous amounts of debt to the United States and therefore become like slaves to the U.S. and expand what Perkins called the U.S. empire.

Before reading this book, I had a basic idea that these kinds of things were happening. I knew that the CIA had been used to overthrow many world leaders and further American interests. But I didn't know how intricate this system was.

And the worst part about it is we fund this system. We by clothes from places that are run by the labor of underpaid workers in sweatshops across the world. We turn our eyes away from unjust wars and unprovoked attacks on other countries. We shut our ears from the outcries of so many other countries and pretend that our oil addiction contributes to the prosperity of oil-rich nations, when in reality, our oil addiction is sending them into the most impoverished conditions.

Although I have no facts to back this up, I began questioning world events and whether or not they were supported by this "empire" system. Are the destruction of Indian slums and therefore the displacement of its inhabitants being funded by U.S. contractors? Was the recent ousting of Honduras' leader the result of a discontent population or a CIA agent?

But then I started thinking about the direction our country is headed, and how our past does not have to determine our future. We can stop supporting places that make their money from sweatshops. We can refuse to elect leaders who will fund military invasions of other countries. We can cut back on our oil consumption.

We can change. But it will take work. And I would recommend that you first read this book. It will open our eyes to a whole new world and allow you to see the country that you call home in a whole other light. We can change the connotation "American" has in other countries. And I hope that day comes sooner than later, for the sake of ourselves and the world.

A Different Mindset

2009-06-13T21:02:00.001-07:00

Today, Ahmadinejad won the Iranian presidential elections to secure his second term. Before the results came out, I kept hearing encouraging news about the main opposition candidate Mousavi. His platform was more democratic and his wife encouraged many women to support him. I began to hope, that this man would change the face of Iran. I was hoping that a win from him might change the U.S.-Iranian relations.

However, that did not occur. And I began to wonder why. Sure, rigging could have occurred, but since Ahmadinejad won by about 30 percentage points, I find it hard to believe that he rigged it that much. So why could the Iranian people see Ahmadinejad for what I saw him for? A crazy man who hates Israel and wants to push his own agenda so much that he denies historical facts like the Holocaust.

But one man interviewed on NPR brought up a good point. He was in New York, voting in the Iranian elections. He said that he was voting for Ahmadinejad because the current president demanded respect from Western nations like the United States. When I heard this before the elections, I brushed it off as one of probably a few people who believed this. I thought a lot of people probably would just vote for Ahmadinejad because they were somehow involved in his politics. But after the election, I realized this was not the case.

Of course there are many reasons why people voted for him. The poorer individuals probably voted for him because he promised them his support. But I began to think of that man's reasoning again...he demands respect. Then I thought, maybe it really is our fault that Ahmadinejad won. Because of years of the West acting like they are better than our Eastern counterparts, we have driven them to turn to leaders who "demand respect," whether that be through nuclear arms, threats of hoarding oil or many other similar tactics.

When all of the European countries pulled out of Africa, dictators started taking over. Why was that? Again, there are probably tons of reasons. But I can't help but think that one of those reasons is because the people were hurt. They were knocked down, and they needed to know that they were not inferior. And if one of their people could get up and show himself to be a strong, domineering individual, it meant they, the people, were not inferior.

It's time we show these countries a little respect. I'm not promoting soft negotiations. We must look out for our own interests as well. But it's time we stop acting superior. It's time we try to look through another person's eyes. We think democracy is flawless elections and millions of dollars spent on political campaigns. But isn't the basis of democracy allowing everyone to have a voice? So lets see what the people of other countries see. Let's hear what they hear. Then, maybe we can understand what they want.

I have a feeling it won't be that much different from what we want as well...a little freedom, a little security, a little happiness... a little respect.

A World of Culture in My Backyard

2009-04-18T18:49:00.000-07:00

You don't realize how much your culture means to you until you enter another culture. When I lived in Texas, I hated it. This is not typical for Texans either. Most Texans are extremely proud to be a Texan, but I thought the weather was awful and my city of San Antonio was extremely boring. Then I moved to Missouri.

Don't get me wrong, I love Missouri, but coming here made me realize how unique San Antonio culture is. In San Antonio, there is real Mexican food. In San Antonio, there are traditions that no one else has. I used to hate hearing Spanish spoken in the grocery stores, but after being in Columbia, Missouri for nearly nine months, I savor the few moments when I hear a student pass by who is speaking Spanish.

Last weekend, I went to the outskirts of St. Louis for Easter. My roommate's mom is a youth minister, and so we helped with the Easter egg hunt that they were putting on at their church. As she was explaining the schedule to the parents, she told them she had a surprise for them.

"This year, we have something new," she said. "They are called cascarones. Cascarones are egg shells that have been hollowed out and filled with confetti. What you do is you take the egg and crack it over someone's head."

At this point, I was so confused. Why was she explaining what a cascarone was to these parents as though they had never heard of it before? As it turned out, they hadn't. As I went out to the parking lot later to prepare the cascarones for the children, the parents were talking excitedly about the confetti eggs. "Have you ever seen these before?" one parent asked to another.

Then it hit me. Other parts of the United States don't use cascarones on Easter. In San Antonio, every year at my great-aunt's house, all the cousins would get cascarones to crack on our relatives' heads. To me, Easter was not Easter without cascarones, and no one in my family is Hispanic. But the Spanish culture had influenced us although we didn't realize it.

At that moment, with the Missouri parents awing over the cascarones in the parking lot of a St. Louis suburban church, I finally felt proud to be a San Antonian. Suddenly, I fell in love with my culture.

How is it that all those years, I missed it. I missed the privilege it was to live in a place where two cultures collided to form a beautiful mosaic. Perhaps it was because our lives were still quite separate. I went to a upper class private school that had less than ten Hispanics in the high school of 400. Although I constantly heard Spanish spoken around me, I know little more than hola and adios. Maybe it was the racism of my peers that I heard every day like, "Why can't they just speak English if they are going to come to our country." For a long time, I agreed with this. It took me a long time to understand how difficult it was for an immigrant to learn a new language. It took me a long time to realize that almost every single one of those immigrants was braver and stronger than I could ever be.

But now that I have discovered the beauty of my culture, I am going to embrace it this summer. This summer will probably be the longest time I ever spend at home again, and I don't want it to go to waste. If only others can learn from my mistake and embrace their culture sooner instead of wanting to run away to another so quickly, I can't help but think our home would be a place.

Small Miracles, Big Treasures

2009-03-11T17:06:00.000-07:00

Today, a small miracle occurred. For the past year, my grandfather (my mother's father) has been suffering from dementia. It has slowly gotten worse by the month until he is now unable to tell who my mom and grandmother are. My grandmother does not feel comfortable putting him in a nursing home for fear that the change will be detrimental. She also can't bear the thought of leaving his side. So he has gone on like this for many months, not making any sense when he speaks and rarely understanding even simple sentences like what he would like to drink with his meal.

The other day, one of my acquaintances at the San Antonio Express News, columnist Ken Rodriguez, was kind enough to call me about an article he was working on. He was writing about multimedia and journalism, and since I am a convergence major (which basically means I am learning how to use video, audio, print and photo forms of media) at the University of Missouri-Columbia, he decided to interview me. As it turned out, he wrote a glowing piece about all I am accomplishing, using terms that I thought were way to generous for the limited knowledge I have managed to gain. But nevertheless, my family was extremely proud, and my mom naturally showed the article to many family members.

So she went over to my grandfather's house, like she does many days of the week to keep my grandmother company, and she decided to show the article to my grandfather. After she let him read it for a couple of minutes, she asked a question, probably not really expecting a comprehensible response.

"Do you know who that is, Daddy?"

"Of course I do," my grandfather answered. "That's Gretchen?"

Still unsure since my name was in the article, she asked again.

"Yes, but do you know who that is?"

"Yes," he answered. "That's my Gretchen."

My mom says she believes he knew what he was talking about. And I believe this is a small miracle since he has not seen me for nearly two months while I have been away at college. I may never understand the human mind or the Supernatural, but I do know that I will treasure these small moments, and thank the people and God who make them possible.

Seeing Ourselves Through Another's Eyes

2009-02-28T14:33:00.000-08:00

This past week, Anne Garrels, a foreign correspondent for National Public Radio, came to Mizzou. Because I currently work for the NPR affiliate station in Columbia, I had the amazing opportunity to eat dinner with her one night. Her stories were amazing and her courage that these stories revealed was even more so. Yet what surprised me the most was the story she told us about the U.S. invasion into Iraq. Garrels was one of the few reporters in Iraq at the time of the invasion, and she told us about the Iraqis' reactions to the invasion.

Some were genuinely thrilled, she said, but most were just "scared sh**less." She would later tone down her language for a more public audience. Generally I do not condone cursing, but for some reason, the way she said it painted a more vivid picture in my mind than anything else she could have said.

The pictures that came back to the U.S. from that day show the Iraqis pulling down the statue and beating it with all kinds of weapons. But notice that you cannot see the people who are actually pulling down the statue. Anne Garrels said that there were not even enough Iraqis in the square to pull down the statue. U.S. Marines had to help them pull it down.

This shows that ethical journalism is not just about writing the truth. It is about telling the truth in every way, even if that is through pictures. Some journalists like Anne Garrels did give an accurate description of the Iraqis' reaction to the invasion, but others did not. As viewers and journalists alike, we need to stop looking at the world through ethnocentric eyes. We need to see the world as it is, even if that picture is not as perfect as our ideal world.

The pictures above belong to Reuters.

The Triumph of Racism

2009-02-14T15:31:00.000-08:00

I have always known that people have certain dislikes and prejudices against other races, but I have never seen it outrightly except for in a few cases. These cases are primarily seen in older people, and I generally excuse this as being "old-fashioned." But today, I heard a comment that blew my mind.

During a basketball game (Mizzou versus Nebraska), there was a player on the Nebraska team who was appeared to be of African origin. And when I say African, I don't mean African-American. Later on I discovered that the player, Ade Dagunduro, was actually born in California.

The two college students began the game by throwing out the "f-word" whenever they got the chance. This made me cringe every time I heard them behind me, but it was when they told Dagunduro to "go back to the bush" that my heart started pounding with anger. Later on, when Dangunduro fouled one of the Mizzou players, they continued with their racial comments. "We don't do that in America! Yeah, Go back to the bush!" It took a lot of self control for me not to turn around and tell them to stop, to tell them that that kind of language and racism should not be tolerated. Then, I realized, I was not practicing self-control. I was practicing cowardice.

What was it that was keeping me from turning around and standing up for Dangunduro and all people of different origina? I wish I could answer that question. If more people stood up against racist comments, no matter in what context they are spoken, perhaps racism would dissolve much more quickly. Instead, we do what I did and stand by, pretending not to hear it, or we just walk away. Either way, we allow it to spread and thrive in our society.

Edmund Burke was right when he said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

The same is true for racism, for indeed, it is an evil.

All that is necessary for the triumph of racism is that good men do nothing.

Next time, I pray that I will have the courage to stand up and do something.

Handprints- The Mosaic of Life

2009-01-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

Tonight, my university (Mizzou) hosted an event celebrating the Chinese New Year. I met three Chinese guys who I knew from another campus group, and we began working on a Chinese umbrella. One of them had already painted the Chinese flag on part of an umbrella. He told me that he wanted to paint the American flag on the other side.

If you understand China and the U.S.'s relationship, this willingness to unite the two countries may seem odd, as it did to me. However, I welcomed the idea and so we started to work. He asked me if I would paint the American flag. So, with the help of the two other Chinese students, we completed the flag.

We decided that with the left over room, we would each put our handprint. Black and

yellow (the colors of Mizzou) seemed appropriate colors for the task. But one of the students decided he wanted to do his handprint in red. Then, since there was still left over space on the umbrella, he put another half red, half black handprint.

Now the umbrella was unsymmetrical with two handprints on one side and three on the other, not to mention that the art was much less than professionally done.

Still, I could not help but find the beauty in this. When I first began working on the umbrella, I imagined a beautifully organized piece of art that had perfect harmony. China on one side and the United States on the other united by the common goal of education, represented by the Mizzou students' handprints. But this is not how life works. We each have our own personalities, our own way of making handprints if you will. Some of us are more sporadic than others, and this mesh of personalities and ideals can sometimes create a mess of things. What I realized is that China and the U.S. may never get along in perfect harmony, but that is okay. The struggles that we go through because of our differences is what makes this world so unique. Perfection is not a part of this world, and complete harmony is something that should be saved for the life hereafter. Until then, I will enjoy this world, with all of our flaws and faults and see them as lines and colors in a beautiful mosaic masterpiece called the human race.

The President Does Not Decide

2009-01-20T16:35:00.000-08:00

Today, a new President was inaugurated into office. In his speech, he mentioned the uncertainty of the United States' destiny. This statement could not be more true. Although the incoming administration has many plans and goals over the next four to eight years, it cannot completely determine the path that this country will take.

When I was talking to a friend in the military, he mentioned the possibility of a war with Iran and how that would affect Obama's presidency. I asked him if he did not think that the change in presidents would change the likelihood of a war. While he admitted that the Obama administration's policies could help ease tension, he said that, ultimately, it was not up to the new president whether or not the U.S. went to war. Iran is the one who will make the decision on whether or not to attack the U.S. or her allies. I cannot help but wonder how true this is in many other areas of government. While there is no doubt that President Obama's decisions will have impacting and long-lasting effects on the U.S., his decisions alone will certainly not determine the course of history.

What does, then, determine the course of history? It is the congregation of millions of minute choices made by individuals such as you and me that shape history. The decision to stand up against injustice or allow it to continue and grow into a raging monster that cannot be controlled. It is the decision to spend time with your family or work those extra hours each week that change a society from one that values family to one of workaholics. The decision to buy that item of clothing or that jewelry even though you know that by buying it, you are supporting the exploitation of workers; or to take that money and give it to someone in need. These decisions shape our lives, our society, and our world. And not for our president, but for our actions will we be remembered.

When Your Vacation Goes Awry, Savor the Moments

2009-01-02T20:25:00.000-08:00

As far as my family and I could gather, this was our fifth trip to Ruidoso, New Mexico; but this was the first time we ran into real problems (or at least what we considered problems).

Grindstone Lake is one of several lakes near Ruidoso

that are popular for fishing.

Because all of us children have different spring breaks (which is normally when we take our family vacation), this year, we decided to go to Ruidoso during Christmas break. Unfortunately, the snow fall was less than satisfactory for this time of year, so we knew snow skiing would not be nearly as fun. As it turned out, only half the mountain was open, and, consequently, the lift lines were fairly crowded. However, in the end, I was not completely disappointed in these unusual circumstances because instead of skiing the entire vacation, I took two days to discover Ruidoso for what it is besides a place to snow ski.

Besides snow skiing, Ruidoso is a wonderful place to shop if you enjoy various knick-knacks and the like. Stores selling herbal medicines, natural teas, souvenirs, and Native American handicrafts line downtown. What was even more interesting than the merchandise were the shops that had an extra room in the back with unique products. For example, one store, End of the Vine, had wine tasting every day in the back of its shop for a low price of $5, which included six wine samples and a souvenir wine glass. Another souvenir and t-shirt store served free cheese samples in the back and had some sort of a smoke-free hookah bar.

Not less delectable than the stores were the restaurants in town. Although the prices can be a bit expensive due to the tourist atmosphere, the quality is worth it. Great Wall of China offers a fantastic variety of Chinese food including original styled sushi. Even though Pasta Cafe was given bad reviews online, my entire family found the food and service to be absolutely fantastic. The town also has several delis to provide an affordable lunch, although almost none of these restaurants are open for dinner. The only advice I have about dining in Ruidoso is to not travel there during New Year's, and if you do, make reservations far in advance because the restaurants are small and cannot accommodate a large amount of walk ins. Most of the restaurants are owned by locals, who show no remorse in closing for their own vacation time. My family almost ended up eating another round of Lean Cuisines for New Year's Eve dinner because almost all the restaurants were booked with reservations, and for New Year's Day lunch, we were forced to settle for Subway due to the fact that our deli of choice was closed.

Finally, after all of these forms of entertainment, one might want to simply sit back and relax. So my advice is this. Rent a small cabin, which are normally a good deal more expensive than the Comfort Inn but very pleasant. Then, take one day to go to one of the local lakes (from which there are several to choice) and enjoy a peaceful meal. Of course, I would only recommend this if you are vacationing at a time other than winter. During the time my family and I traveled there, the wind combined with the temperature (which was cool but not cold at midday) was a bit too much. However, on a nice fall or spring afternoon, the atmosphere would be perfectly irresistible. And if these attractions are not enough, the White Sands lie only an hour away from Ruidoso and make a wonderful day trip.

One thing I learned during my time at Ruidoso was to sit back and relax. The people in the city are extremely relaxed. They do not run a tight schedule, nor do they allow the bustle of tourism to infringe on their seemingly peaceful lives. The shopkeepers are more than willing to talk with you and ask sincerely about where you are from and other such small talk. Even the ladies at the Subway in the Walmart appeared to have a different air about them. Although it took a while to complete our order, they took care and diligence in putting our sandwiches together. I observed that had they taken this kind of time in my city of San Antonio, they would quickly be replaced by other workers who could work at a faster pace. But here, in the city of Ruidoso, time is not a ticking clock. Instead, time is moments of life that must be relished and savored each and every day.

An Emotional Night

2008-11-18T19:53:00.000-08:00

Here are a few pictures that were taken after Barack Obama was named the President-Elect. All pictures were taken at the Bluenote in Columbia, Mo.

David Finke, Columbia, Mo. resident clasps his hands. For many Democrats, Obama's election seemed like an answer to prayers.

Bill Monroe, a Columbia, Mo. resident and delegate for the to the Democrat National Convention in Denver, cheers and waves an American flag after the announcement that Barack Obama is the next president of the United States.

University of Missouri-Columbia students smile as they watch CNN announcing Obama's election on the large screen at the Bluenote in Columbia, Mo.

Believing your Bias

2008-11-13T06:49:00.001-08:00

I will be straight forward and admit that I am not a Sarah Palin fan. I could go into much detail about why not, but that is not the issue I wish to address. Why this is important is because last week, Fox News reported that McCain insiders said that Palin did not know that Africa was a continent and did not know which countries were involved in NAFTA. When these reports came out, I quickly send a text to my brother asking him if he had heard. I found great entertainment in this report. Now if you had asked me if I honestly believed that Palin did not know Africa was a continent, I probably would have told you that she most likely knew but misspoke, which was still enough of a reason to criticize her.

But as it turns out, I made a horrible assumption. A couple days after my journalism professor brought up the issue in class, a NY Times article was published revealing that the "McCain adviser" was actually a hoaxer. He had tricked the media into believing he was a true adviser by creating a blog with the name Martin Eisenstadt and by talking to the media.

Here is a link to the article with a picture of the man, whose true identity is Dan Mirvish.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/13/arts/television/13hoax.html

So you see that even I was fooled by this fraud. Clearly, this was not something that should have ever seemed plausible, that is the fact that Palin thought Africa was a continent. However, the recent studies on how little Americans know, combined with my own personal bias, led me astray. As seekers of truth, we must be careful to not let anyone, whether that person be some guy creating lies out of his gloomy office (Mirvish) or yourself, lead you away from the truth.

Out in the Nick of Time

2008-11-05T21:18:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, as part of the election coverage, I was assigned to follow the Columbia branch of the NAACP. Throughout the day, they were offering rides to the polls and going from place to place encouraging citizens to vote. So I went with the president Mary Ratliff to go find people and ask them if they had voted. As she spoke, I snapped some pictures and got people's names for The Maneater newspaper. After a couple of stops, we pulled into Douglass Park at what I estimate to be somewhere between noon and 12:15 p.m. There, dozens of men sat smoking and drinking, but Ratliff was not afraid at all to go up to them. She encouraged them to vote, and many of them said they already had. After a while, we left and went around to other areas of town to spread the word.

We got back to the headquarters, and I took off for one of my classes. Later that evening, I returned to the NAACP headquarters for more reporting and Ratliff came up and told me some startling news. A little before 1 p.m., someone had been shot six times to death at Douglass Park. My first reaction was to thank God that He got me out of there in time. I could not believe that we had been there only minutes before. My second reaction was one of pensiveness. Was the victim someone I had talked to? Could he have been in one of my pictures? I still do not know the answer to those questions, but I know that my eyes were opened yesterday. I am not sure to what exactly, but they were certainly opened.

First Time Voter

2008-11-04T13:04:00.001-08:00

Today, I voted for the first time in my life. There wasn't any big party because of it, and I surely did not change the world. Still, knowing I had a part in choosing the next president of the United States, as well as several local officials, makes me feel good (at least for now. If the new president ends up making things worse, I may want to pretend I had no part in it.) There really is no good way to describe it. I guess the only thing I can really say is that I do not understand how or why people would not vote unless they truly are in a stalemate in their own minds. Even then, you do not have to vote for every candidate, so at least go and vote for someone. Out of about a dozen or so races, surely they can make a decision about at least one.

There is not much else to say. I probably will have forgotten about this day several years down the road, and certainly my situation is not unique as millions of people were first time voters today. All I can say is that today, we must simply watch and wait. No one really can predict exactly what will happen over the next four years. No one certainly could have predicted Bush's two terms. So here I am. As I cast my ballot, I felt a sense of power and responsibility. But as I wait, I feel a sense of helplessness. The moment I put that ballot in the machine, I lost all control. So here we are. Let's watch and see.

Every Journalist Needs an Outlet

2008-10-07T21:12:00.000-07:00

If you have ever picked up a newspaper, you know that one of the biggest, if not the biggest, issue in the media is how to remain unbiased. Everyone has their own opinions, and reporting on those topics without allowing your own bias to slip in is sometimes near impossible. What I have found, however, is that if journalists are allowed to have some sort of an outlet to speak their views, they will be able to report more objectively. For example, this past week, I went to a Republican watch party to cover some of the responses people had on the Presidential debate. While I was reporting, I found it hard not to spout off my own beliefs, but what kept me sane was knowing that after I finished, I would be able to call my brother and rant and rave all I wanted. I will not tell you to which side I lean in the election (if you can't already guess from my previous blogs), but I strongly believe from experience that journalists should be allowed to speak their mind every once in a while.

To be completely honest, I have become jealous of those people who are allowed to picket in the streets on issues ranging from abortion to global warming. I envy people who can put up signs in their front yard and wear shirts that say "Obama Girl" or "I love John McCain" in big bold letters. People do not realize what a privilege it is to be able to express these beliefs, but I have chosen to forgo this right in order to present the truth to the public as clearly as possible. But this is not being said so that you feel sorry for me. Instead, I just want people to understand how valuable their opinion is, and how it should not be taken advantage of or misused.

So back to the issue of journalists. Should they be able to speak about their beliefs? I do not think they should be extremely vocal about them because many people would then bring it into their writing. It would be extremely difficult for the public to see past a clearly liberal or conservative filter. But at the same time, journalists should not have to suppress all their beliefs. I think the public should be able to know who a journalist supports and what those journalists religious beliefs are. But that is about as far as it should go. If a journalist feels the need to rant and rave, he needs to find a confidante, like I have in my brother to go "spill his guts out to." Blogs can fulfill this need to an extent, but because of their lack of privacy, they can easily cross the boundary. This is a difficult issue with no simple solution, but the main point is that journalists should attempt to be objective in their method of journalism and need to find ways to control and direct their opinions toward productive outcomes.

My New Blog

2008-09-29T19:18:00.001-07:00

I would like to address the new blog that I just started entitled Footprints Devotionals. If you look under my profile, you will see it listed there. I want to address it because I do not see this as any hindrance to the work that I am doing here on this blog. In fact, I think it is better that those who read this blog understand where I am coming from. Although I try to be unbiased in the writings that I present as fact (in contrast with the opinion articles such as the smoking blog below), obviously I have certain beliefs that show through in my writing. I believe that it is better for you to know what I believe rather than being inundated with my biases unaware of what is at hand. I conclude by saying that my being a Christian does not hinder my journalistic abilities. In fact, if anything, it should only make my journalism better because the first loyalty in journalism is to the truth, and seeking truth and being truthful is at the core of my Christian beliefs. I hope this explains my situation. Please feel free to comment at will.

Addiction Affects the Non-Addicted

2008-09-23T08:07:00.001-07:00

After coming to college, I thought I would quickly become accustomed to the endless trail of smoke that is left behind students and faculty alike as they walk to their various classes. However, even now, a month into school, I feel as though every time I inhale a cloud of their smoke, I am surely coming a minute closer to my death by lung cancer. Perhaps I am being overdramatic, but I am simply expressing the plea of my stomach, which quickly overturns itself and causes me to feel as though I will vomit whenever I walk behind a smoker.

Although I do not understand the addiction whatsoever (as I have never attempted to smoke before), I think I do understand common courtesy. And blowing smoke in some innocent bystander's face as you walk by is what I would classify as rude. All this being said without even mentioning the other factors which include littering (one of if not my biggest pet peeve of all time), personal health effects, and indirect influence on others. I cannot help but think that if a person were attempting to quit smoking, they would have to drop out of school because they would not be able to attend any of their classes without smelling that excruciating mix of nicotine and whatever other garbage they place in cigarettes that they say is "pleasant" or "enjoyable" or any of the other equivocal terms they use, sending the pitiful ex-smoker into unconquerable cravings for their captor, nicotine.

I must mention that I do find the smell of cigars somewhat appealing, but I would gladly never smell another cigar if it meant never having to smell a cigarette again. I do not pretend to offer a solution to this trend which so enthralls Americans. To be honest, most people probably find me completely and utterable unsympathetic to smokers. After all, is it really their fault that they have become addicted for a lifetime after one or two experiments with cigarettes? If you knew me, you would quickly see that abstinence, or more aptly termed stubbornness, is one of my most strongest attributes. So, I cannot possibly understand why a person cannot simply refuse nicotine.

But enough of my babbling. As I said before, I do not propose to offer a solution to smoking, but only desire to give a different perspective than those that have been proposed before so that people may see a more complete picture of the situation, or I would call it, plight.

Inspired by Humility

2008-09-19T21:45:00.000-07:00

What are you supposed to think of a man who has built nearly eighty schools in the Pakistan and Afghanistan, has a book that has been on the New York Times bestseller list since January, is so prestigious that the presidential candidates call him for advice, and is so humble that he still gets nervous when speaking in front of crowds and has large holes in the heels of his socks, underneath his pant suit's legs?

This man is Greg Mortenson, one of the most inspiring men you could ever meet. This summer, Mizzou chose Three Cups of Tea, co-authored by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin, as the book for the Mizzou Reads program. All the incoming freshmen are encouraged to read the book, although few did. The sad thing is, this book was one of the best books I have ever read, and many people chose not to experience it just because they were lazy. But this article is not meant to scold those who choose "fun" over knowledge.

The book relays the story of Greg Mortenson, who after getting lost on his way down from attempting to climb K2, the second largest mountain in the world, came to a small village in Pakistan and fell in love with the people. Seeing many children writing in the dirt one day, Mortenson discovered that the children had no school. So after a promise to build them a school, a couple of years in the United States raising funds for the project, and many sleepless nights, Mortenson's work began; and he hasn't stopped until this day.

So when I went to interview Mortenson for the school newspaper when he came to speak at Mizzou, I felt like I was meeting a celebrity. I had read all the articles that said how gracious and gentle he was, and I began to feel quite guilty for interviewing him when I had heard that he hardly ever had any time for his family because of everything that was demanded of him. So I interviewed him for a short time before his speech, but, although he had some excellent points, what he said was not what stood out to me. Instead, it was his demeanor. Just like I had read, he was kind and gentle. When I first spoke with him that day, it was at a reception four hours before my official interview. Being "such a big fan" of his, I asked him to sign my copy of Three Cups of Tea. He asked where I was from and mentioned that he had just been in my hometown of San Antonio the week prior. At this I was incredibly disappointed that my mom did not have the opportunity to see him speak. But afterward, I casually mentioned that I had been set up to speak with him later that day. Seeing as he does not set his own schedule, I am not sure if he completely understood what I said, but, nevertheless, what he did next amazed me. "Oh, okay," he said. "Let me give you my email and phone number."

His phone number? This man who barely has enough time to breathe cares so much about this program that he would give me, a freshman at some university's college newspaper, his personal cell phone number?

Well he did. He gave me the Central Asian Institute's main line and their email, along with his phone number and email. I do not think I will be calling him any time soon, but this act of kindness did not go unnoticed. I will never forget this man who cares so much about the children in Pakistan that he will wear socks with gaping holes in the heel so that he put every last penny toward building more schools. This is the kind of celebrity I admire. This is the kind of person I would aspire to become.

I will never forget what he wrote in my book that day.

"Gretchen, when your heart speaks, take good notes." -Greg

International Friends

2008-09-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

Leaving home to go to college for some people is bad enough, but what if you had to leave your family and travel half-way around the world, entering into a culture with completely different traditions than what you know? In June of 2006, 583,959 international students were enrolled to study in colleges in the United States, according to the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. At Mizzou, the university I attend, there are approximately 1,300 international students.

I thoroughly enjoy learning about other cultures, so when the opportunity presented itself for me to become involved in International Friends, a ministry to help internationals in Columbia adjust to life in America, I was thrilled. I expected to learn a great deal about other cultures, which I have. I expected to have a little difficulty understanding some of the people I would meet, which I did. But what I did not expect is how much we had in common. The first night I went, we had a fellowship dinner. Everything was going extremely well. I was meeting new people from China and other places across the globe. After we finished eating, the leader of the organization stood up and explained a little exercise we would do at our tables. I do not know how the exercise led to it, but somehow, we began to talk about how much influence families had on our lives.

After two weeks of being several states away from my family, I was getting to be quite homesick. I knew it was just part of the process of adjusting to a new life, but during that time, I realized how great a role my family had in my life.

As we talked, one of the students from China spoke up about how he did not realize how big an influence his family had had on his life until he moved away from them just a few weeks ago. Although this comment was very common for such a setting, it moved me deeply. Here were two people, from the opposite sides of the world, who were having the same emotions. Both were just homesick students, trying to adapt as best they could to their new life. Somehow, knowing that other people understood how I felt made me feel more at home. Here I was, supposedly helping these people adjust to their new life, and I felt like they were helping me to adjust to mine.

Boredom

2008-09-02T15:24:00.000-07:00

I'll be honest. Today, I am not blogging because I have anything important to say, but because I am bored. But what I have realized being at college is that boredom is an interesting thing in itself. First of all, I believe that man was made to work, so when he is not being productive, something triggers in his mind making his thoughts first fleeting, then a constant static. This, we call boredom. So, in order to correct this problem, we occupy our minds with such things as music, Internet, television, and the like. While these things are not inherently bad, when someone relies on them so heavily that his mind is no longer productive but simply a mundane collector of information, doing nothing with that information except to let it mold in his brain, something is very wrong.

Now the picture that is most likely in your mind at this moment is not very realistic, because I cannot think of anyone who sits on the couch all day staring at the television. But I do think that we, as a society, often allow ourselves to be fed information without question until our mind is filled with junk, like a attic full of unorganized boxes. Instead, we should sort through the information we are given, filing it in our memory for current or future use. In order to do this, I believe it is incredibly important not to allow oneself to become empty-minded or bored. Be productive. Take up art or read a book. Contribute to your community and those around you. Invest in others.

Curious Life

2008-08-26T12:46:00.000-07:00

Day two of actual college classes, and I am feeling a bit more confident than yesterday. While my French class still seems as though it will be very difficult, I am getting the routine of things a bit better. As I sit here outside, I watch people walk by toward their different classes, and I realize that I love watching people. Sometimes I wonder if it is healthy, being so curious about other people's lives.

Look that girl walking by is wearing a hijab, a Muslim head scarf. I wonder what thought process causes her to wear it? Yesterday I saw another girl wearing a hijab while working out at the recreation center. I also noticed she was wearing pants as not to show her legs. Unfortunately, I do not recall whether or not she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Here comes a girl who is overweight. Now I hold no hatred toward those who are overweigh, but I do wonder why they do not take better care of the body they are given. A male student walks by on the telephone. I wonder if he is far from home. Is he talking to his friend back home? That helped me get adjusted to college life, talking every once in a while to a friend who is going through something similar as you. A professor walks by in a straw sun hat (I guess that is what you call it). He has probably taught here many years as most of the professors have.

I could sit here all day, watching people pass by. Oh look, a young woman with a little boy. Is she a student? That must be hard--raising a child while going to school. Although I have known people who have done it. I do not know what spurs on my curiosity of all these lives. Maybe it is the greater view of things, seeing how, despite all of our differences, we ended up here at the same place, at the same time. Life is curious, and that is why I love it.

A Busy Week for the World and Me

2008-08-24T10:18:00.000-07:00

This week, President Pervez Musharraf of Pakistan announced his resignation, presumptive presidential nominee Barack Obama announced Senator Joe Biden as his presumptive vice president, the Beijing olympics hosts its closing ceremonies, and I complete my first week at the University of Missouri-Columbia (Mizzou). You ask, what do all these events have in common? Absolutely nothing. But I mention all of these to point out that the world does not stop for anything or anyone. Nobody waited for me to make a smooth transition to college life, and although both Musharraf and Obama most likely consulted countless individuals about when to make their announcements, the majority of the people they affected were not asked if it was a good time. Maybe all these events do not appear to be of any significant influence on the general public, but I say all this to make the point that you better run with the world if you don't want to get left in the dust. The world keeps spinning no matter what you want or feel.

This past week, everything has been so out of sync with what I am used to, I don't know what to do. The news reminds me that the world continues, but since I moved away from my hometown of San Antonio, Tx, it feels as though life everywhere except for in Columbia, Mo, should have stopped. It seems as though I should go home soon and find everything exactly as I left it.

(above) The columns stand in front of Jesse Hall, the admissions building for Mizzou.

Michael Phelps should still be swimming, hoping to break the world record, just as he was when I left. Barack Obama and John McCain

should still be arguing about how best to solve the nation's and the world's problems, and Pakistan should still be ruled by the military hand of President Musharraf.

However, when I finally go home for thanksgiving, none of this will be so. The olympics will be long over, the world will know who the next President of the United States will be, and Pakistan will have a new president.

I wish right now, I had a solution to this dilemma of mine. I wish I knew how to make the world stop spinning, but I don't. So all I can do is run. I will become involved in this new community of mine. I will meet new people and discover new hobbies. I will fulfill my duty as a student and as a Christian.

(above) Memorial Union is the building that houses many of the student activities at Mizzou.

And when I do finally make the flight home that fourth week in November, I will give thanks to God that I have a family who will be at home, waiting for me with outstretched arms as though I had never left. At that point, I think I will know that there is at least one place where the world can stop turning.

On Comments

2008-08-17T20:57:00.001-07:00

Recently, a few comments have been published concerning the articles written. I want to make it clear to my readers that these comments are not in any way affiliated with the author's opinion. However, unless the comment contains profanity or other outrightly inappropriate material, I will allow it to be published. I do promise to warn my readers when a comment recommends an off the blog Web site. On the "Obama Supports Same-Sexers" the material on the recommended site does have some graphic content. Although all nudity is covered, the acts and positions are quite clear to any viewer.

By Their Fruit You Will Recognize Them

2008-08-17T05:50:00.000-07:00

Because I so despise journalists being biased in what is supposed to be straight news, I am going to tell you up front that in this article I am trying to be as unbiased as possible. However, I do not doubt that my personal inclinations and opinions will seep into this article. Last night, Rick Warren, pastor of Saddleback Church in Lakefront, CA, interviewed both presidential candidates Barack Obama and John McCain.

Surprisingly enough, from a Christian point of view, their answers did not vary to great extremes. I mean to say that while their answers to the questions differed, they were not more or less acceptable as far as the typical Christian standard is concerned. The two points that did divert from general Christian beliefs were Barack Obama's stance on abortion and homosexuality. While he has made it clear that he does not personally believe in either, he also says he will take no stance against them. Viewing this in light of having a president for eight years who has opposed both but taken no successful action against either homosexuality or abortion, a Christian constituent might absorb this fault (if you will allow me to call it that; not for my sake, but for the majority of Christians) of Obama, in order to elect a president who is more agreeable in other areas. On the other hand, many Christians believe this to be completely unacceptable and will therefore, alienate all of Obama's other stances because, in their opinion, abortion overshadows all other issues. What most people do not hear, however, is that Obama and McCain's view on abortion is almost identical as far as action is concerned. Neither will make any federal law, and both desire to leave the decision in the hands of the states.

Still, putting these two issues aside, Obama and McCain were on fairly equal footing. Obama spoke of his faith personally, relating the times Jesus has helped him through hard times and reciting Scripture as a buttress for his domestic and foreign policies in aiding "the least of these." McCain recalled many stories of his war days, even relaying a story about a Vietnamese Christian guard who gave him slight relief from his torture.

Therefore, the method which I believe is best in choosing for whom to vote in the upcoming elections, from a evangelical viewpoint is to take into consideration Jesus' words in Matthew 7:20, "Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them." I am not saying one candidate is more "Christian" than the other. But I am saying that words are not enough. Look at their actions. Whose actions match their words. If it is Obama, then do not be afraid of scrutiny from your more conservative counterparts; vote for him. But if it is McCain, then do not shirk because you believe that America is run by liberals. Vote for him. Listen, learn, watch- then choose. No one can ask any more of you.

Childhood Dream Satisfying But Not Fairy Tale

2008-08-11T09:52:00.000-07:00

For ten years, I have dreamed of going to a Yankees dream to see my favorite athlete Derek Jeter. Although it may not appear at first glance, Jeter and I have much in common. First of all, we were born on the same day. Secondly, we both play shortstop. Thirdly, we both bat second in the lineup. The first time I had the opportunity to see the Yankees was in fifth grade. My parents planned a night when we would go up to see them play the Rangers in Arlington, Texas, which is about five hours from my home in San Antonio. However, one of my elementary friends suddenly had to move because her dad was transferred out of the state. Looking back, I probably should have gone to the game since I think I spoke to her about one time after the day she left. But elementary school friendships always seem to be more important than they are, the childhood mind imagining that every friendship will last forever. As children rarely have a good concept of time or distance, I decided to go the going away party. That night my friends and I got all dressed up and went to eat at the Tower of Americas. That night, Derek Jeter hit a home run in the Rangers Ballpark. I don't recall completely, but I am quite certain they also won.

So eight years later, before I left for college. My parents planned a day to go see the Yankees play in Arlington. I had a fabulous time. The game was exciting, I had just receive a nice zoom lens for my camera, producing fabulous pictures as keepsakes; and my second favorite Yankee, Robinson Cano, hit a home run. The only bad thing about the evening was the heat. Starting at a hundred degrees, the temperature only went down about one degree each hour according to the ballpark thermometer. Bottom of the ninth, five to five, the Rangers are up to bat. After three hours already, I am ready to stay another three in extra innings if that is what it takes. However, Yankee pitching did not seem up to the job. It seems like a blur now, but somehow, the bases became loaded. Before I know what is happening, fireworks are going off in the stadium and Ranger's fans are in an uproar of cheers. Marlon Byrd just hit a grand slam to win it.

My family and I hurry out of the stadium in an attempt to beat the crowds. As I walk out, decked with a Yankees cap and shirt, I feel like a sore thumb sticking out in the crowd, waiting to be picked on. Another Yankee fan, of which there were quite a few for it being an away game, come up to me. "It's okay Yankees!" he says, giving my his fist to bump. My face cheers a bit...but not for long. "Go home Yankees!" I hear a Ranger's fan yell. I wish to get out as quickly as possible. I know that tomorrow brings another chance for my team, as this was only the first game in the four game series, but it didn't matter then. I would not be there the next night.

As it turned out, the Yankees lost the next night too, only to come and win the last two games in the series. Despite the horrible ending, I did enjoy my night watching the Yankees. Even being in the same stadium with Derek Jeter and others of the like was thrilling. When I look back on pictures, I do not think I will remember much of the grand slam or the malicious calls of Ranger's fans. Instead, I will remember what my role model athletes inspired me to do throughout my own sports career, and the joy of knowing that dreams can be accomplished. Dreams are not fairy tales. They may not turn out exactly as you want, and that line about "them being even better" is only for the movies. But that does not mean that you cannot still fulfill your dreams, and enjoy them all the while. I hope to see another Yankees game sometime, and maybe it will turn out a little better. But either way, I think I loved every minute of that game as best I could. The thing that is better about my life than a fairy tale is that the end of my dream coming true is not the end at all. New dreams arise, which to me is much more exciting than happily ever after.

A Plea for Haiti

2008-08-01T06:42:00.000-07:00

After years of turmoil, Haiti has finally established Michele Pierre-Louis as the new prime minister. However, I have to question whether or not this will make any difference in the manner in which Haiti is run. For the past thirteen years, Prime Minister Pierre-Louis has been the Executive Director for a George Soros organization called the Knowledge and Freedom Foundation. President Rene Preval nominated her as his third nominee for prime minister, after his first two nominations were not approved. I hope that through her work in education, Pierre-Louis can understand what Haitians truly need. If I could send her a letter, this is what it would be.

(Pictured above: Children wait after school at a home of the school master who provides a meal of rice and beans with one piece of chicken to a group of about thirty children each day whose families do not have enough money to feed them. For some children, the school master says, this will be their only meal that day.)

Dear Prime Minister Michele Pierre-Louis,
Please take some time to hear my plea for the children of Haiti.
Each day they pray that someone so kind, would hear their voice and take the time, to give them one meal that day.
They pack their bag and head to school in hopes that one day they will pass the test that sends them to the university and onto a better life.
All this they do on one meal a day, made of rice and beans and one piece of meat- that is, if they are lucky.
2/3 of the population sit in unemployment, looking and hoping to find something that will bring them a dollar a day to feed their family.
On the distant shores at Labadee sit tourists with pocket fulls of money, wanting to spend it on an exotic adventure. Behind that beach sits a world in poverty.
Tourism at the citadelle and shops at Labadee could cure this country of its poverty, but officials sit with their arm raised like a pompous police- "Stop! This is our country."
Please, see the people with the hope in their eyes- it fades like the waning moon. Please, see the children with the empty stomachs-they need a little more food.
Please, see the mother, trying to nurse her now AIDs infected child. Please, see the people who are willing to help, if only for a little while.
Please see the people of Haiti, once strong in their fight to be free. Please, be the hero they need; not for me, but for the people of Haiti.

(Right: Horseback riding up the trail to the Citadelle La Ferriere is one of the potentially popular tourist attractions for travelers. Unfortunately, due to political unrest tourism in Haiti has all but vanished.)

Recognizing Biased Media

2008-07-22T07:57:00.000-07:00

The other day, I opened up the morning paper, which for me is the San Antonio Express News, as I do most mornings to read the front section. I mostly enjoy reading about the world news, but I also peruse over the political news, especially with the presidential elections coming up this fall. However, the other day, I was slightly disturbed by what I saw when I turned the pages of the paper over to find two pictures, one of Barack Obama and one of John McCain. Recently, the Express has begun each day to put in a picture of each of these men, recording what they did the previous day.

One this particular day, the picture of Obama was typical. Having been sojourning across the world, speaking with various international leaders, Obama was pictured sitting with General Petraeus in a solemn manner, most likely discussing the policies and progress in Iraq. This seemed completely harmless, but the stark difference between this picture and the one of McCain is what I found to be so disturbing. The picture of McCain showed him riding in a golf cart with Bush Sn. On the cart, the sign read, "Hands off," indicating that it was not public property. The message was loud and clear. Surely, McCain had done many other things that day, including giving at least one speech. Surely the Express had another picture that would have sufficed. Yet they decided to publish a picture of McCain with Bush Sn. and a sign that read "hands off," both of which alienate him from the American public. Now I am certainly not a supporter of McCain, and this not because I am a hard core conservative either. Although I do not consider myself an Obama supporter either, I do tend to lean to taking his side on most issues. Still, when the media is so blatantly biased, something is wrong.

If anyone is reading this right now, they may ask why I am spouting about this issue on the Internet instead of writing a letter to the editor. I could write a letter to the editor, but I do not feel that one mistake deserves a letter of reprimand. However, if this bias continues to occur, I will certainly take more direct action. For now, I simply desire to educate the readers as to what biased media is, so they may recognize it when it occurs, rather than being duped into believing everything journalists say or do. As a journalist myself, I can confidently say that it is not our goal to deceive. Rather, our goal is to bring truth to the public. However, even we fall prey to our own biased and may not realize this bias until someone else brings it to light. So do not be so harsh on journalists, but be aware that we do make mistakes. So please recognize our bias and bring this bias to light so that we can better reveal the truth.

The Melting Pot or the Divided Country

2008-07-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have heard more talk and signs of prejudice than I have in many years. Perhaps this is because I did not recognize the inuendoes when I was younger, but I now realize just how injurous and ignorant these comments can be. Being from Texas, I often hear people make derogatory remarks about Hispanics, but I have realized that this talk is not limited to any one group of people. In just over a month, I will be heading off to college, ready to begin an new part of my life. Because I am going out of state, I will know only one person when I arrive in the fall. However, instead of this being a challenge, I see it as an exciting opportunity. I have the ability to meet an extremely diverse array of people, different from anyone I have ever met before. When I see people of different cultures, I want to meet them and see how their background has shaped them into who they are today.
The other night, some friends and I went to Starbucks. Outside, a group of young Asians were playing some sort of card game as they spoke in a language neither of which I would probably ever be able to learn or understand. However, I was completely intrigued. I watched the way they interacted. They were intense in their game, but laughed and enjoyed each other's company at the same time. Unfortunately, my friends did not see their lifestyle in the same light as I did. They did not make any particularly degrading remarks; they did not have to. I could tell by the way they looked down on them, scared, disturbed, and confused by their actions and mannerisms. My friends made it clear that they desired to move as far away from them as possible. I was distraught. Here was an opportunity to learn about someone else; why they lived like they did and how it was to be an immigrant in America. After all, my brother currently rooms with an Asian student (even though he grew up in America, he does have some family connections abroad), and my brother has learned a great deal about other cultures through him.
Someone on National Public Radio (NPR) today mentioned that the US is no longer a melting pot. I had always been particularly fond of this term because it described how so many people could congregate and still get along. However, I began to think that this term was just an idealists' dream. Instead, we have become a divided nation, each ethnic group its own segregated people. I hope that soon, we can again become a true melting pot, learning from each other's differences, embracing our similarities. It takes one little step at a time. Be inquisitive, not derogatory. Be open-minded, not set in your own ways. In this way, we can become a united nation, rather than one divided because of its diversity.

Something is Wrong With Law Enforcement

2008-07-02T08:53:00.000-07:00

Although saying that there are problems with law enforcement in my city may appear to be a huge understatement to some people, it is, nevertheless, true. Last night, a few of my friends and I went to a local neighborhood park in to enjoy the cool night air. As we were swinging, we suddenly saw police lights flashing. A police had pulled a car over for speeding. After a few exchanging words of how sorry we felt for the "victim," we saw the car drive off. Subsequently, the policeman also pulled away, only to turn back and return to the spot where he was hiding, watching for other lawbreakers.

This scene may seem completely mundane for some, but I must explain a little further. The neighborhood road where the police was idling has a rather low speed limit considering the speed at which a car could safely drive. The speed limit, I believe, is about 30 mph, whereas, at night with no one on the streets, it would be perfectly safe to drive 45 to 50 mph, if the police were absent. In fact, I must admit, I myself have sped on this road multiple times. However, on this particular night, the police were on the hunt, stalking their prey, attempting to fill their hungry stomachs (aka ticket quotas). Not five minutes after the police re-parked, he pulled out, turned on his lights, and pulled over his next victim. If this was not bad enough, soon, another police drives down the street and pulls into the hiding spot where the other police had been previously. Only a few minutes later, while the first police is still handing out his ticket, the other police pulls over another car driving the other direction.

Maybe it is just me, but I can't help but think that there are better things that these policemen could be doing on a weeknight than pulling over car after car in a middle-class neighborhood. These headlines, which appeared that night and the next day, make me wonder where our policemen truly are during violent incidences: "Man shot in face in East-side complex" and "Boy riding on hood of mother's car critically injured in fall." I know the police cannot be everywhere all the time, but maybe they should pick their battles more wisely. So where were the policemen when the article about the man who was shot was being written and published? They were pulling over middle-class neighborhood residents for going ten miles over the speed limit. So which offense is more serious? Shooting a man or speeding when you are the only car on the road? Apparently, the police think it is the latter.

The United Nations of San Antonio

2008-06-15T21:02:00.001-07:00

Each year, thousands gather at UTSA's Institute of Texan Cultures to participate in the San Antonio Folklife Festival. With over forty different cultures represented, one can easily become immersed in the festivities. Countries such as Chile, the Philippines, Japan, and Germany are represented in the three-day event. With dancers representing nations such as Lebanon and Israel, the Folklife Festival brings together people who would naturally have enmity toward one another. But here, only celebration occurs. Celebration of culture and life, traditions and heritage. The San Antonio Folklife Festival reminds its participants of the uniqueness of every individual and how important that individuality is to the worldwide community.
Whenever the United Nations gathers together in an attempt to provide solutions to global dilemmas, the differences appear to divide them into factions reminiscent of elementary school days when the girls were determined that girls were better than the boys and vice versa. The interesting thing is, as adults, we realize that neither females nor males can survive without one another. Due to biological design, we must coexist in order to perpetuate. In the same way, the members of the United Nations understand that no country can exist without the existence of all the rest. International economics breaks down the Berlin wall of isolationism, and the new focus on global climate has destroyed that wall's very foundation. Of course, nations can inhabit the same planet and become involved with international trade in the same way that an elderly couple stays married though love has long vanished simply because they know not what else to do. However, if nations treat each other in this manner, the path to making history will be long and arduous, unpleasant for the monarchy and torturous for the peasant. Therefore, man must search for the missing link in the UN. What is it that causes tensions to flare and self-interest to overtake negotiations like the tsunami of Sri Lanka?
Despite all the entertainment and joy at the San Antonio Folklife Festival, I could not help but feel a sense of lose. Soon, my friend and I discovered why the festival felt so empty. Not one African culture was represented. Not even Egypt or the more modern cultures were represented in the array of events. Peoples from almost every other continent had gathered to celebrate, but a key member of the world, Africa, which makes up about a fifth of the earth's landmass, was completely absent. I do not know the reason that such a key part of the global community (and the United States' heritage) was not represented, but I do know that these such happenings are at least one of the reasons for the failure of the United Nations. Not to say that the United Nations cannot succeed. But so far as they have attempted to "unite the nations," they have done a pretty pathetic job. I do not feel the need to list the UN's failures at this time. I rest my case by challenging anyone to name five times in which they effectively brought peace to a violent or potentially violent situation.
Therefore, the United Nations has failed to reach its full potential because it continues to leave out key participants in its discussions. Of course, many people already know that the UN does too much "talking" and too little action, but involving all of the players of an international situation creates a much easier task of "doing" when they are all on the same page in the discussion. International cooperation is not a simple task. In fact, I do not believe complete cooperation can ever be achieved due to the selfish and power-hungry nature of so many individuals. Those who are strong must hold up the other members, possibly disciplining or breaking them in order to make them heal even stronger. Yet even more so, when one link is missing, the entire chain is useless. So, we must remember that when we embrace one another's heritage and abilities, not leaving out any member of our world, we can walk down that arduous road knowing that we have one another to lean upon.

Connecting the Old and the New

2008-06-09T21:53:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I traveled down to the McNay Art Museum in my home city of San Antonio to view the new exhibit that was open to visitors free of charge for two days. Surprisingly, considering my appreciation for art, I had never been to the McNay. For the most part, it contained what I expected, but what I did not foresee was the manner in which the old connected with the new. The McNay is a two part museum connecting an old mansion containing classical and cultural art with a new $50 million center full of modern and post modern painting and sculptures. The division was quite clear but did not feel forced. Somehow, it seemed proper that Auguste Rodin would be in the same facility as Jason Pollock, despite their obvious differences. While I tend to gravitate much more strongly to one than to the other, I understand that I, as the observer, cannot give standards that these artists must follow in order to fulfill my likings.
Life is the same. In life, I am mostly an observer. Yes, I can make decisions, and I believe free will often overrules Fate. Yet at the same time, a human being cannot determine the manner in which his or her life changes over time. As I prepare for college, I realize that I cannot choose the day it will begin or end. Although I may wish to turn back the clock on some things, and push it forward toward others, I realize that over this change, I have no control.
So, I see only one option for us "innocent by-standards" who are constantly tossed about by the sea and its winds of change. We must take life with a grain of salt. When I stood in a room filled with art that I found extremely difficult to appreciate, I found one piece that I enjoyed and focused on it. I noticed the other works, but I cannot tell you their details. On the other hand, that one painting that I found to be a complete masterpiece, I studied. I analyzed the artist's thought process and what the colors and shades could possibly represent. I relished in its beauty and in the skill of the artist's brush strokes. All this time, the other works of art attempted to distract me. To my right, a painting of squirrels invading a cottage; to my left a portrait of a man where the paint is bleeding down the canvas. Still, I stand and stare at the masterpiece in front of me. A ocean view of a horizon with a glare from the sun gleaming yellow, orange and blue in the layers of a sunset on the deep blue sea. A gold pocket watch hangs in the center of the painting, attached to a cord. This painting makes me realize once again that time is always an object. Time, even in the most peaceful of places, marches on. So savor it. Find that one piece of art in the midst of hundreds that captures your attention and don't take your eyes off of it. Though others distract you all around, do not be disturbed by their complex messages. Take the samples of life that you enjoy, and enjoy every minute you have with them. As the things of your old life fade and new changes arise, do not forsake either, but connect them in glorious harmony. By learning from the past, you will better understand the future. Learn to connect the old and the new, filling every moment with the things you love most, and you will surely find that your life is a musuem, holding all of the masterpieces of time, from beginning to end in a beautiful panorama of color and beauty.

The Sun Sets on a Chapter of Our Lives

2008-05-26T08:14:00.000-07:00

We have all known each other for many years, and now, it is time to say goodbye. Our small class of 79 at San Antonio Christian Schools has gathered for the last time as a class before our graduation in a few days. The ceremony that is now taking place is not fancy. Most of the class wears plain shorts and shirts, some of which bear the symbol or name of the school they will attend, bearing witness to the change that will soon become a reality. As the wind blows upon my face, I wonder where this wind will take each of us. Most people in the class know where they will attend college, but what happens there can certainly take anyone in a completely new direction. We sing a few worship songs and ask God to bless us as we each set out our separate ways. We plan to leave Branson, MO at 1:00 a.m. after five days of fun on our senior trip. Since this is our last night, I hurry back to my room after the prayer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun setting on the lake over which my balcony looks. I make it just in time. The sun is barely visible, but it is just enough to catch a couple of photos.

My only comfort of leaving this paradise is knowing that I will return to Missouri in a very short time since I will be attending the University of Missouri-Columbia in the fall. Still, knowing that the next morning I will not be able to wake up and have breakfast on the balcony, looking out on the water as smooth as glass and hearing the peaceful call of the geese, is painful. As the sun sets behind the hills overlooking the lake, so does this chapter in our lives. We know that our friendships will end, even though the memories will last, and our lives will dramatically change. Fortunately, we also know that, soon, the sun will rise again. New memories will be made, and a new day will dawn.

Restaurant Focuses on Reducing Disease

2008-05-15T14:45:00.001-07:00

The outside of the restaurant looks like a typical Mexican restaurant in downtown San Antonio. Painted a pale pink, the small square building made of stucco was not a place I would ever choose to go to for lunch. In the small parking lot were only three cars at one o'clock in the afternoon. However, the little restaurant called La Sol caught me off guard. I went to La Sol to meet San Antonio Express News Travel Editor, Tracy Barnett for lunch. She informed me that the restaurant made Mexican food in a healthy manner, using whole wheat and low fat ingredients.
When the owner came to greet us, it was clear that he and Barnett were good friends. They quickly started up a conversation in Spanish. After a while, he presented us with our menus and left to bring us back teas to drink. During this interim, Barnett explained their conversation to me. The owner, who spoke English as well as Barnett spoke Spanish, had opened this restaurant because he saw a need in his community. Many of the Hispanic population who live downtown cook with unhealthy ingredients. The owner wanted to show them that they could cook food that was just a good without the food that eventually leads to diabetes, heart disease, and other ailments. It amazed me how this man was doing so much good for his community.
The only problem is the lack of exposure--the only people eating at the restaurant while I was there were Barnett, myself, and another young white woman. Hopefully, with time, La Sol will become an even greater success in the Hispanic community. One thing I learned- you can't judge a restaurant by its color.

I Am Still Learning

2008-05-02T14:39:00.001-07:00

A while back, National Public Radio aired a story discussing how difficult it could be at times for journalists to get people to tell their full names. As a journalist myself, I have come across the same problem. I cannot help but wonder why people are so afraid to let people know what they believe. I find it interesting how people always want to speak their views, but if someone wants to right them down on record, people all of a sudden retreat into self defense mode. Should people not take care to speak only what they would be willing to have someone write down?
I have found that many people are so unsure of their own beliefs that they are terrified that someone else might challenge them. Clearly, this is not a beneficial attitude. I, myself, have been hesitant to speak about my political and social opinions, not because I fear someone will reprimand me, but because I do not wish to deliver false or faulty information to those who hear.
This past weekend, two people I know spoke ignorantly, and I must say that this perturbs me more than most other actions. I do not mention these two individuals to call them into rebuke but rather to use them as examples of what I have witnessed over my lifetime. First of all, the one girl, about my own age, began to speak about the Invisible Children fund, which gives money to assist the children in Uganda who are often forced into the military. When she was explaining the topic to some of her relatives, she said the money went to children in Uwanda. Having heard of this organization before, I quickly listened to see if I had heard correctly. Again she repeated, the children were from Uwanda. I realized that she was quite mistaken, as she combined the countries of Uganda and Rwanda, the country directly south of Uganda, into one word. Later on, the country was straightened out, and the girl understood her mistake. In the same day, I was talking politics with someone, and he said he could not support Barack Obama because of Reverend Wright. As most people had, I had also heard this often over the past month, but what suprised me was what he said next. He said he did not like Rev. Wright because he said, "God 'f ' America." I quickly corrected him, telling him that, in fact, Rev. Wright said, "God d**** America." In no way was I attempting to defend Rev. Wright for his comments or Obama for his spiritual affiliation, yet I could not bear to hear someone so distort the facts.
Lest one believe these two individuals to be uncommon examples, I want to clarify that they are two intelligent individuals. Although the first girl is not the most intellectual person I have met, she does attend a fairly elite private school and excels in the environment. The man most likely is one of the most intellectual men I have ever met. He is likely more informed on most every topic than most legislators are, and his only downfall is his extremely conservative bias. Still, what I have seen is that overall, most people make many mistakes when they are relaying information. The only action I can take is to inform others when they speak wrongly and encourage everyone to research and become extremely familiar with your information before publicizing it. On everything you say, you should be willing to put your name. I have had my share of downfalls. Speaking uninformed is one I have committed many times. The best we can do is learn. Maybe all of our mottoes should be this quote by Michelangelo, "Ancora imparo." "I am still learning."

Beating Heart

2008-04-16T20:42:00.000-07:00

Just a little bit of my poetic side.

The Beat, Beat, Beat of Your heart
I rest my head and close my eyes,
To the terrors of the world,
How I long to silence their cries,
This empty life is like a mural,
Here, in Your arms, I lose all ties,
My old life soon is furled,
By the Beat, Beat, Beat of Your heart.

My mind is perplexed by Your ways,
I cannot understand these pains,
The non-complexities of childhood days,
Now leave me naked and lame,
The questions of life I attempt to delay,
But the answers I quickly gain
In the Beat, Beat, Beat of Your heart.

A storm approaches on both sides,
I stand to choose between them,
One brings death and one life with their tides,
I cannot avoid; they hedge me in,
I close my eyes- no open- I run full stride,
To the one that echoes above the sin,
With the Beat, Beat, Beat of Your heart.

Hold me close, to me sweet words impart,
Sing me to sweet peace, a lullaby start,
And never cease, lest You depart
And I lose me guide, my navigation chart,
The Beat, Beat, Beat of Your heart.

Architects

2008-03-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

This Easter weekend, I am spending my time at the Lakeway Resort and Spa in Lakeway, TX near Austin. The money in this area is, to put it simply, overflowing. Because my family is not particularly wealthy, I still find the abounding wealth staggering. Multi-million dollar houses line Lake Travis on all sides with towering columns and magnificent fountains atop perfectly landscaped and manicured lawns.
Call me legalistic, but I am not fond of such flaunted wealth. Nevertheless, the architecture of such homes astounds me. The creativeness and ingenuity put into these designs are incredible. I do not wonder at the amount of money that it takes to build the house but at the intellect it takes to create it.
However, on my first night at the resort, after a completely overpriced dinner, my brother, father and myself went outside on a balcony to view the landscape of the lake. Under the light of the stars, the lake reflected the white and red lights of houses against the dark blue water in a pure and surreal melody of color. As my brother and father were once again admiring the architecture and design of the homes and the resort, I noticed a small spider upon the railing. This small creature made me begin to think.
It appeared to me ironic that everyone around me in all of their wealth were wondering at the man-made architecture, but this small invertebrate was spinning a web that rivaled, if not completely surpassed, the greatest of all architects with its intricate designs.
Not long after noticing this one little spider, I realized that an entire colony of spiders inhabited the balcony rails. I stopped counting after thirty spiders, fearing that I would soon come to the point of subjecting myself to nightmares of spider attacks that night. The manner in which their individual webs lined the balcony reminded me of the houses that lined the lake, each with its own unique characteristics, but all a masterpiece of design. Perhaps I am personifying the small creatures too much, but I could not help but think how similar our lives are to theirs, just on different levels.
When I returned to my room, my brother informed me that our personal balcony was also "infested" with more than ten spiders. It appears that no matter how much we believe ourselves to be alone in the world, we are not. We find ourselves to be subject to the ways of society and of nature. Fortunately, we are provided with intellect to choose our way of life, not based solely on instinct. One truth we must remember, however, is that we are not alone. I am not one to promote a "united nations" mindset or any stereotypical international community, but everything we do affects others.
Maybe the best thing we can do is follow the spiders examples and adapt to our surroundings. When someone builds a wall on top of your home, take the wall and make it a masterpiece, full of our individual, unique webs—our contributions to the world. Although a global community may be an idealistic concept, it could become a bit more of a reality, not through governments or laws, but through each person's love and concern for others. Each trial we receive in life is a piece of lumber, a strand of silk, which we can either toss to the wind or use to create our homes, our webs, our community.

The Nightmare Continues

2008-03-20T22:53:00.001-07:00

This short entry is in response to Theresa Flores' book The Sacred Bath: An American Teen Girl's Story of Modern Day Slavery.

I sit, my heart racing, my hands shaking, hardly able to hold the book, which reveals such torturous events, yet not able to put it down. I feel as though tears want to well up from within my, but the anger of such cruelty holds them down. How could anyone be so evil! My heart cries. What have they done? Unfortunately, this is not the right question to ask. Truly I should be asking, “What are they doing?” For the horrors have not stopped. The injustices continue day in and day out. Every moment, every secret she tells, seems to be the pinnacle of evil. But the horrors keep unfolding. At the end of each event, she reminds you…there is more. It seems impossible, but it is true. More and more, days and days of torture that is too hard to bare, much less to think about someone actually experiencing. What is this? I ask. The story seems like something out of a horror novel. People taking advantage of an innocent soul! Ripping away her very innocence! I am enraged, and yet, because the story is of the past, I can do nothing to stop it. I long let the book drop from my hands, but I cannot! No, I must endure this, so I may share in her pain! Share in her grief! In her utter misery! So I do, until the very end. And the end is no less comforting than the beginning because the end reminds that the nightmare lives on for 27 million people around the world. It is the nightmare of modern day Slavery. It is the nightmare of Human Trafficking. The nightmare continues; to stop it, America must wake up.

If you want to know more about Human Trafficking, please look into different Web sites including humantrafficking.org, http://usinfo.state.gov/gi/global_issues/human_trafficking.html, and traffickfree.com

Simple Complexities

2008-03-18T20:48:00.000-07:00

Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have someone else's life? In A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens says, "A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other." In the book, as the main character looks upon a city at night, he ponders that "every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it."
Yesterday, I drove with my mom and brother from my home in San Antonio, TX to Graham, TX, a city with a population of about 8,700 and a drive of approximately five hours. Fortunately, I'm used to these sorts of drives. When I was younger, my family and I would drive three days every year to visit family in North Dakota. During these journeys, I've learned to entertain myself with music and books. But nothing compares to the time that I have to sit and reflect on the lives of others. Perhaps the most mind-stretching concept for me is the thought of farmers' way of life: every morning, rising before the sun to perform their daily tasks of feeding the animals and preparing their tractors.
Such simplicity, and yet, I wonder what they think of me.For I hold in my heart as many secrets as they. Both of us are doing what we must for survival. Both look at the same moon every night and keep time by the same sun. Maybe we are not so different after all. But who would ever really be able to tell because neither of us are willing to completely open up our hearts. Even the most honest person fails to expose himself to being completely transparent. No, the human heart is one thing that can never be taken apart. It cannot be fully simplified. It is interesting- the desire of man to simplify life. Man can never just allow things to be complex. We never want anything to be larger than ourselves.
An article in the March issue of National Geographic discusses a research project attempting to find a "God particle," which would provide a more simple explanation to life than the current theories. However, I find that knowing there is something greater than myself is the very fact that comforts me. Few things please me more than standing beneath the towering trees in North Dakota and looking up at their branches reaching toward the heavens.
So, with this digression, I resolve that Charles Dickens was correct: the secrets of hearts are "a wonderful fact." We must not mourn that we do not know all things, but, instead, rejoice that we do not. For with knowledge comes a responsibility to correct wrongs. And although we should help fix those we can, it is clearly impossible to cure all the wrongs of the world. Therefore, personally, I would care to leave this task in the hands of the same One who made the intricacies of the human heart and the branches of the magnificent firs. I rejoice that I can be simple and the world can be complex, and all the while, Someone is watching over us both.

Haiti: A Forsaken Paradise

2008-03-10T18:51:00.001-07:00

I wrote this article after my trip to Cap Haitien, Haiti, in the summer of 2007.

The deep green mountains rise gloriously into the thin sheets of white clouds as small houses speckle the mountainside. The beach only six miles northwest is a haven of peace and relaxation, the therapeutic spa of nature as the ocean waves sooth the mind and the perfectly placed trees provide the exact amount of shade needed for a respite from the harsh rays of sun while still allowing enough UV rays for a beautiful tan. Seventeen miles in the opposite direction lies a history buff’s paradise of ruins including a palace and a 108,000 square feet (10,003.5 square meters W) fort located atop a 3,000-foot (914.4 meters W) mountain. The beach is Labadie; the palace is San Souici, home of Henri Christophe; the fort is the Citadelle la Ferriere, a United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) World Heritage site; and the city over which the mountains keep watch is Cap-Haitien, Haiti’s second largest city after Port-au-Prince.
Behind the media coverage of political violence and civil unrest lies a place of indescribable beauty waiting to be rediscovered. However, the reports are not without great truth. The decades of political turmoil and corrupt government are evident from the central plaza of Cap-Haitien to the small thatch roof homes in the mountain villages. The hardships of living in a poverty stricken country are engraved on the faces of the hundreds of citizen who sit everyday on the busy streets waiting for work or for buyers of the few goods that they have refurbished for sale. Stores of automobile and bicycle parts, the products that seem to be in highest demand, line the streets. With few paved roads, cars do not run for long before they must be repaired. Although few residents own personal cars (most ride small motorcycles or bicycles), taxis calls “tap-taps” stuffed full with passengers crowd the streets. The “tap-taps” are named because whenever the car needs to stop for a pick-up or drop-off, a man who rides on the back will alert the driver by tapping the top of the truck. In the center of town, young men sometimes pull 10-foot long carts loaded with hundreds of pounds of goods, most often charcoal. This job is a death sentence for all who take it on as the average man lives less than ten years after beginning this daily routine. The main streets run in a grid fashion with alleys that lead to housing jutting from the sides of the streets. Because of the lack of drainage and litter control, these dirt-road streets are lined with garbage often sitting in stagnant water that is overlaid with a meadow of algae, creating a stunning stench. Motorcycles drive by as the children play or do their chores and animals including goats, chickens, and canine muts excrete in the midst of trash piles.
Despite the complete absence of sanitation or wealth, signs that read “Merci Jesus” are painted in bold font that would be considered graffiti in some countries. These spiritual messages are written not only on churches but also on the walls of businesses and on the hoods of taxis. According to the CIA World Factbook, eighty percent of Haitians are Roman Catholic and sixteen percent are Protestant. However, these practices are often mixed with voodoo rituals that continue from their tribal ancestors.
This summer, ten youths and two sponsors from Oak Hills Church traveled to this place of great poverty and growing Christian faith. The team prepared for this journey as much as they could. Meeting together once a week for a month, the team prepared lessons, learned Creole phrases and songs, and checked and rechecked the packing list. They listened to stories from missionaries of the past years, perhaps did a little extra research on the geography and history of Haiti, and prepared their minds as best they could for what they were about to face. But nothing could prepare them completely.
The first day came, exactly how others had described it, but certainly not what most of the team had envisioned, that is except for those returning for their second year in a row. Everyone having their own idealized picture in their mind, they now realized the reality of what they would face: poverty, insanitation, unpaved streets and lots of heat. I was a part of this team, and I was surely not prepared for what I was about to face.
As the team stepped off the airplane, it was obvious that we had entered another country. After about twenty minutes of sweating in the un-air-conditioned airport, we walked out into the streets of Cap Haitien. We loaded into our Diahatsu truck and traveled to the orphanage that would become our home for the next week. My first instinct was to pull out my notepad and start recording everything I saw, but I quickly realized that there was just too much to take in at once. It would have been impossible to even captured everything on camera. We drove down what you could call “paved roads,” although the more precise term would probably be “tar road with potholes four feet wide and a foot deep” in the center of town. I could pick out certain French words from the muddle of messages that adorned the stores lining the streets. One sign had the days of the week (at least the days on which I assume the shop was open). Another building had a picture of an ice cream cone, which sounded rather tempting in the scorching heat. However, I knew it would not be safe to consume ice cream in this town. I was already told how careful we must be with our water, and we had all brought a large selection of food for our lunches when we were away from the orphanage.
Our first meal was at the only “nice” hotel in Cap-Haitien, the Picolet. Still not air-conditioned, but with a nice breeze and a few fans, we had our first taste of Creole food as we sat on the patio looking out toward the sea. Spaghetti, pasta with Creole spices, seems to be a Haitian favorite at many restaurants. After eating this Haitian spaghetti, I realized (I seemed to be doing a lot of that this trip), that nothing would be like it was at home. At lunch, Alfred, a pastor in Benjamin, told us the story of the village where we planned to travel later in the week. Though it was difficult to follow the translation, we were still able to understand the work that God was doing in that community. Unfortunately, rains had come shortly before our arrival, creating a possible roadblock to our journey to Benjamin. We also received a short lesson in Haitian currency as James pulled out the money to pay for our meal.

The children did not come running as we entered the orphanage, but they simple sat and stared as they became accustomed to our presence. Once we pulled out the balls, Frisbees, jump ropes and other toys, the children came to life. I was amazed at the unselfishness of the children. Because of the few toys they have, I expected them to covet the toys and keep them to themselves, but I soon found all the boys playing catch with each other as well as our team and the girls taking turns with the jump rope. After spending the day getting settled into the orphanage and building our relationships with the children, we ate our first “home-cooked” meal in Haiti. The fruit was a welcomed refresher, its juicy goodness filling our quickly drying mouths.
That night, as on all the nights that the children do not attend church, the kids of the orphanage held a devotion before bedtime. Rodely (pronounced Woodlee), an eighteen-year-old member of the orphanage who is fluent in French, Creole, English, and is working on Spanish, led the devotion. To begin the devotion, everyone started singing a worship song in Creole. I was in awe. To the professionally trained ear, it might not have sounded like much. But in the poverty of Haiti, this was the sound of angels. Every off-key note produced from the lips of the children was a perfect harmony that connected this family of orphans as brothers and sisters in Christ. The most amazing part of the devotion was that there we no adults present. It seemed that no one told them they must have devotion. No one made sure they were acting properly or singing the right songs. They were doing this out of their own free will, and they enjoyed it. On the last night, one of the young boys was looking at a magazine he had received from another visitor to the orphanage. Without saying a word, Rodely quietly walked over to him during a song and took it out of his hands. The boy did not resist, but calmly submitted to Rodely’s authority. They truly are a family as they hold each other accountable, the older ones acting as the parents, and the younger ones looking up to them with respect.
When I first began my journal entries I wrote down the time that I began writing, but I soon realized that was worthless here. Time is almost irrelevant. Everyone awakes with the sun, which, because Haiti did not cooperate with Daylight Savings this year, is approximately five o’clock in the morning. Everyone eats when their stomach tells them to, that is if they have enough food, and they begin to get ready for bed when the sun sets since many of them lack electricity.
Our first couple of days we visited two different schools in Cap-Haitien to teach the students the creation story and provide them with an arts-and-craft activity. During our first day we also accompanied our head translator, Moise to his house that he transformed into a feeding center once a day. Here, children from the community were able to come and receive a free meal of rice, beans, and a piece of chicken each day. For some, this one plate of food was the only meal they would eat all day.

On our third day in Haiti, the team traveled to the Citadelle la Ferriere, the fort built at the command of Henri Christophe. Christophe, acclaimed for having defeated the French, is generally portrayed as a hero in Haiti, as his portraits and statues adorned the country including at his palace, Cap-Haitien’s plaza, and even the airport. For a small fee, the team rode up the mountain on horses and was given a tour of the site. Although the government had hired workers to refurbish much of the grounds for a more tourist friendly environment, the fort was still standing almost as it was originally built in 1807. No guardrails were in place to prevent tourists from falling over the edge of the fort several stories up. Cannons ornately designed with royal seals and the slogan, “Liberte, Egalite” “Freedom, Equality” lined all sides of the fort seemingly still awaiting the imminent arrival of French forces.
After returning from the Citadelle, our team traveled to the Children of the Promise Aid Rehabilitation Center. These babies were the children of AIDS parents, and the dedicated volunteers were doing their best to revert the children to normalcy from HIV. One little girl I held named Jennifer was about one and a half years old and could not have weighed more than ten pounds. Those few hours could not have past more quickly than while we were holding their frail bodies in our arms.
Saturday, we loaded up into the now famous Diahatsu for a four-hour ride to Benjamin. As I always did, I put on my Yankees baseball cap and black sunglasses in an attempt to keep the sun off of my faces and the dirt out of my eyes. I am afraid that I see the whole country Haiti in the same way, through tinted glasses that allow me to temporarily touch the Haitians’ world but remain comfortably detached, allowing me to enjoy the view but keep the dirt out of my eyes. To me, Haiti is both a beautiful place because of its simplicity and a harsh place because of its poverty. Yet I know that unless I take the time to take off my rose-colored glasses and stay in Haiti a while longer, I will not be able to understand their way of life. I cannot understand why some children are always smiling and waving to us, others seem in constant fear, and others flick us off as we drive by. I cannot understand why they have such harder lives than me, but every other care I see has “Merci Jesus” written on it. I cannot understand why the government cannot see the people’s needs as simple as they are. Perhaps it is because the government officials do not live among the people. Like me, they live above it. I fear that for many more years, the politicians of Haiti will continue to sit in their air-conditioned offices, drinking purified water, and wearing their sunglasses that filter out the harsh rays of the sun unaware of the needs of their people.

Because someone donated two colors of soccer jerseys, we were able to play a real soccer game in Benjamin. Watching the Haitians play with two of our male team members was an incredible sight. No longer was race, ethnicity or culture a barrier; all was diminished in the game of soccer. We played with some of the children from both the orphanage in Benjamin as well as from around the village. After we presented the Bible lesson, we went to the local pastor’s house where we would be staying for the night. The lavish meal that was prepared for us put me in awe at their great hospitality. After attending the local church service the next morning, we once again began the four-hour roller coaster ride down the unpaved streets of the mountain to Cap-Haitien to stay one more night in the orphanage. The next day we recuperated with a day at Labadie beach and spent the evening savoring every moment we had with the children who had become like our family. The morning of our departure greeted us with a gleaming sun that seemed too happy for our less heartening departure.
I am not an emotional person. The changes in life normally occur to me slowly as the effects slowly filter through my wall of resistance. So though I could not fully comprehend my emotions at the time, I can recall them much more accurately now that I have had the opportunity to reflect on my last moments in Haiti.
Before we left, I wanted to say a special good-bye to Duchan, the little boy to whom I grew very close. Now, the day before we left, four girls had come to stay at the orphanage for two weeks. Two of them were sisters and their family was the sponsor to one of the boys in the orphanage. However, I found it extremely difficult to have them come in so unexpected and begin playing with the children. I will admit that I was, in fact, jealous. I had built a relationship with these children, and suddenly they came in and the children are sitting on their laps and hugging them.
I was especially shocked at how Duchan had suddenly gone from standing at the bottom of the stairs every morning, waiting for me to wake up, to almost completely ignoring me now that the other girls were here. Now that it was time to go, I looked for Duchan and found him sitting in one of the girls’ laps. I leaned over to hug him. “Au revoir!” I said, hoping that he would respond at least with a hug. “Allez!” he replied, “Go!” I was crushed. I climbed into the truck, trying to savor the last images I would have of Haiti and the orphanage, but his last words kept ringing in my ear. He might have just as well said I don’t want you here anymore. I now realize that it was just his way of dealing with the fact that he would probably never see me again. I am glad that there were others there to take care of and love on him for the next two weeks. He is too young to understand that I just could not stay, that we come from two different worlds, that he is the stronger of the two because though I left my home to come to his, he lives in the harsher world. He is the one who must overcome the larger of the two hurdles. Compared to him, I live in a paradise. I hope and pray that I will not forget to every once in a while step down from my palace called America and reach out to my stronger but less fortunate brothers around the world.
There is so much more to tell of the lives of these orphans and the people of Haiti. However, I am afraid that it is impossible to accurately convey the experience. Through willing hearts of both the people of Oak Hills and our brothers and sisters down in Haiti, we are slowly being used by God to further his kingdom. Pray for the people of Haiti. It is the simplest and the most powerful gift you can give.
Call it ironic, symbolic, or coincidence but on my last day in Haiti, on the way back to the airport, my sunglasses broke into an irreparable state. Perhaps I do not see Haiti in its complete reality, but I know I see it a great deal more for what it truly is than when I first stepped onto its soil. Haiti is a place of natural beauty that has been distorted and destroyed by selfish men. Whether those men were the French lords, the Haitian kings, or modern day politicians, Haiti is a country desperately attempting to climb out of the canyon into which it has been flung. Some of them climb with a smile that comes from their faith, others with a scowl that has been permanently chiseled into their brows through years of hard labor. But the most important thing is that almost all of the Haitians climb. The least we can do is lend a hand to hold on to, a shoulder to lean on, or a word of encouragement to help them along in their journey ahead.