When Will They Understand?

I’ve been reading New York Times reporter Dexter Filkins’ book The Forever War this summer, which is an account of the several years he spent in Afghanistan and Iraq covering the war for the Times. At first I just loved the book. Filkins is an outstanding writer, using vivid words and succinct descriptions to convey a sense of what it’s like to be in the midst of a war-torn country, watching a war fought in the fuzzy gray between the black and white each side alone sees.

But soon the conflicts of right and wrong started to get to me. Filkins is being un-American, I thought; he’s purposely choosing unflattering episodes to recount and conversations to convey. American soldiers are gullible, unrestrained, unnecessarily violent- or are they, Dexter? I asked. But then Filkins started talking about Al Quaeda and the Taliban, and all the horrors thy inflict on everyone they can reach. Sometimes they target their own people, sometimes Iraqis only get hurt because they were in the way of getting to Americans. Not to mention that many Iraqis and Afghanis grew up in a world of war before the Americans ever entered their countries; they fight under quarreling warlords, switching sides when it looks like one is stronger than the other, killing the men they fought with the day before. Just orders.

So the Americans are liberators; they’ve freed us, set up order and given us another chance at a free life. We’re glad they’ve come. Or are you, Iraqis? I demanded.

In a city just over the Syrian border, a man asked Filkins to have lunch with him. The reporter agreed because he was desperate for someone to talk to in that city. So the man offered him a feast of a lunch, feeding him till he was stuffed. “Maybe, now” he said to one of Filkins’ Iraqi colleagues, “the food will stick in his throat and he will choke.”

They continued to talk, friendly, until the man asked his guest if he could show him a video. The video was of an American man being killed by Iraqis. Filkins’ host rocked back and forth, delighted. Yes, kill the Americans.

Finally, halfway through the book, I realized that neither the Americans or the Iraqis are completely black or white. Nothing is clear-cut and simple. Neither understands the other; neither fully knows what the other is trying to accomplish. Everyone lies, everyone assumes the other side thinks like they do, and wonders when they will understand what’s going on. Don’t they know, wonder American commanders, that if they stop targeting us we’ll stop retaliating? Don’t they know democracy is better?

Don’t they know, wonder the Iraqis, that we don’t want them here? That democracy will never succeed because the strong ones don’t want it? Don’t they know this is our way of life?

When will they understand?

I Miss The Canals

Who wouldn't?

Playing Catch-up

Well, I didn't mean to not blog for so long! It's just been a busy couple weeks since getting home from Holland. I've been riding my horsy buddy Mason, who's been doing great. I love that horse. I've also been catching up with friends, doing some odd jobs for mom, going to the gym, and generally not building up writing experience like I was supposed to.

Sorry, Tracy. Sorry, Ingrid. They're the ones who let me into the journalism program. But how do you get involved covering local news when you're home only for a few weeks at a time? Now we're in Minnesota, and when we get home from here, I'll only be home for maybe six more days before I'm off to Michigan for MB's wedding!! Where did the time go? Have I actually been home? It's not that I haven't wanted to blog or write for the newspaper. Ask Mom: I randomly pull out scraps of paper and even receipts, scribble notes on current events, and stick them back in my purse. Where they stay.

One thing I've been wanting to write about is how the Oregon government has been dealing with big state issues this summer. There are numerous problems that need addressing, like homelessness and meth addicts and roads that are falling apart. Not to mention that Oregon has just risen above Michigan in unemployment at over 12.2% now, making it the state with the highest unemployment rate in the country.

So what does the Oregon state legislature do? They pass a bill naming the crab Oregon's state crustacean, a move that cost taxpayers thousands of dollars, and rename a Portland street in honor of Cesar Chavez, a farmer who co-founded United Farm Workers. I'm happy for Mr. Chavez, but what about the unemployed people and the homeless living near the recently renamed street? It's time for some real hard work to be done across the river, guys. What you do affects my state, too.

On a happier note, we spent the day in Itasca State Park and it was lovely!! Pictures to come. When I get home (guess who didn't bring a camera cord!). We even saw a loon, which made the day complete.

Reflections

I have so much to catch up on, and I plan to blog a (mostly) day-by-day account of my trip to Holland. But first, some reflections upon being home. 

I don't know how much of an impact mine and Michelle's visit had on the students and church family of Cross Culture Calvary Chapel, but I know it had a great deal of influence on me. It was like spending two weeks in the life of new missionaries and joining in their work, not exactly sure what we were going to do each day, but more sure each day of our purpose there. Every day we went out and spent time with people and praying for the country, then came home and talked about the best way to share Jesus with them. 

I got to see firsthand, for instance, how much the community of the Body of Christ can affect a non-believer. That made me rethink the idea that real evangelism means finding strangers and talking to them about Jesus. How are they supposed to see the saving work of Jesus in my life and in the life of the Body if they don't know us?

And the church- we talked a lot about the church and how we are to be visible to our communities, how we are different from the rest of the world. That really struck me one of the first days we were there: we sat at lunch with several members of the church talking about Dutch people and one of the boys said, "Well, not us. We're different." And it's true. 

Now I must learn how to be a missionary in my own town and my own school. It's harder for me, this daily sacrifice of laying down my life for my brothers, than one big and adventurous sacrifice to go overseas. But I know this is the next step.