Kony 2012 (Part One): An American-African's Critique

In case you haven't heard enough about Kony 2012, I would like to offer a perspective that is truly unique. The thoughts below are brought to you by a friend (Tony) who lived in Africa for over 20 years. You might call him an American-African, someone who grew up in the Northeast and then lived life as an African with his wife and family. After sharing Tony's perspective in this post, I will explain in "part two" why I think we should applaud Invisible Children's efforts.

Tony traveled to Central and Eastern Africa quite frequently, working to empower the indigenous peoples everywhere he went by partnering with them and putting his own agenda aside. He is someone I deeply respect for how he views the African people, gives them dignity and believes in hope for the "dark continent." Here are his thoughts on the Kony 2012 video when I asked him what is helpful and harmful about the viral campaign:

It is helpful in that a whole generation of techno savvy, video watching, FB using, cause-driven young people are being informed about a situation that is thousands of miles away.

It is helpful in that many of those who see the video will be mobilized to want to do something about the LRA and Kony.

It is helpful that there have been those who have traveled to Uganda and helped rebuild schools, it looked like it anyway in the video.

It is not so helpful because it communicates that the USA, or at least this generation of Americans, can cure the world of this ill because we want to and because we can. The underlying belief is that if we just keep pushing the information in front of people, they will respond and they, the US government, will have to send more troops to Uganda. If we just keep up with making Kony famous, the US troops will go in and take care of what the incapable Ugandan army was unable to do themselves. It smacks of paternalism and colonialism.

It is not helpful because there are a lot of groups that are seeking to help and serve the children who are being rescued from Kony's army already working in Uganda. How about if we spent more money giving those organizations food, supplies, clothes, volunteers and more centers to welcome the lost children? Rather than spend thousands on flyers, posters, stickers and t shirts for the April 20 media blitz covering city walls, subways and signs with Stop Kony junk, how about we give it to the folks who are on the ground in Uganda being there for the children? On a side note, who is going to clean up the city after the media blitz the morning of April 21st? Just asking.

It is not helpful because it shows a ton of white young people visiting Uganda to help build a school or meet with the children but who will go on with their lives and forget the relationships. We are such quick fix type of people from the USA. This approach encourages us to get it done by 2012. So, my fear is that many will be involved up front but few will last more than six to eight months after the swell dies down. We will check it off our list of "things done to impact the world" and move on to our self centered living.

It is not that helpful because it portrays Uganda as such a terrible place that only we as young, hip Americans can be mobilized to save the Ugandans from themselves. The African pride is very strong. They are also very wily. We have created a spirit of dependence in many African societies over the years starting with colonialism and even into many years of missionary work by the Catholic church and more social Gospel based groups, unfortunately. While the people of Africa have received from us and do appreciate it, I fear that we risk crushing their spirit again by imposing our way of stopping Kony and bringing him to justice. There are a lot of groups seeking to improve the African society from within. There are a lot of great programs that have reduced AIDS and sexual promiscuity in Uganda. The church is alive there. Why are we not talking about what they are already doing and seeking to come alongside them and help within their framework?

It is not helpful because it seems that it is about this guy's decision to make a difference and it is all about him.

The next blog post will be from my perspective as a new father and my defense of Invisible Children's effort.

Gratitude and The Grey

I was in a terrible mood when I went to see The Grey. Being new here in Dallas, I am woefully unfamiliar with its freeway system and was late to meet a friend at the theater. Prior to my leaving for the movie, I also engaged in a conversation with my wife that can only be described as "intense." The combination of my disoriented driving and family friction made me doubt whether watching Liam Neeson survive in the Alaskan wilderness would be the peaceful end needed to my stressful day--boy was I wrong.

The Grey is about a small band of oil-and-gas roughnecks who, upon a plane crash en route to some needed time off, must survive in an unforgiving winter landscape. Conflict, both within and without, abounds in this survival flick. Man-eating wolves, freezing temperatures and spontaneous blizzards combine with human despair, divisiveness and good ol' fashion fear to create a frigid hell on earth.

It's up to Neeson to lead the survivors through the snow and on to safety. More than a few people die along the way and everyone must face their fears. And fear truly leaps off the screen for 117 minutes. It was easy to forget my pre-film problems in the midst of a nightmarish storyline made up of men hunted by all forms of nature. I felt pretty good about eating popcorn in a heated theater; I was beginning to see my life wasn't all that bad.

As each man stares into death's cold, dark eyes, they are asked to reduce their lives down to one or two important things. In one of the few let-me-catch-my-breath moments, the survivors engage in an existential campfire discussion about life, God and what really matters. What we learn about these hardened misfits is, when faced with life and death, the only thing that matters is who--not what--we love. It's a theme that carries through the movie, that people matter most, and I had to keep myself from texting mid-movie wife, "Thinking of you...I love you."

We also learn that staring across the chasm that separates life and death turns all men spiritual. Go watch Touching the Void or Deep Water and you'll see that man cannot avoid the spiritual realm, either its dark or light regions, once death is in sight. Around the campfire Neeson swears that neither faith nor God mean anything to him, yet when all hope seems lost he cries out to the God he doesn't think will respond. And though Neeson concludes that his assessment of God is correct, his visceral and spiritual lament at the film's end is one its most powerful scenes.

I, too had a spiritual response to Neeson and the others' journey. Frustrated by uncontrollable circumstances and relational conflict, I had my own Grey moment before the movie when I wondered, "Does God care about me right now?" It's a fair question that everyone asks, whether around a campfire in Alaska or on a highway in Texas. The breath in my lungs, though I will one day lose it, and the wife in my arms, though she too is on loan, give me cause to answer, "Yes. God does care." All of life is a gift given and The Grey makes this point emphatically. My circumstances are bound to change and more complaints are sure to follow, but this film reminds me that life and all its possessors are the bold and bright spots on a sometimes grey horizon.

Presence

I recently had to answer a question about how "the Lord has impacted my life." I didn't think I could answer such a broad question, but I'm proud of what eventually came out:

When I think about Jesus and his place in my life, what comes to mind is the word “presence.” Even before I trusted in Jesus as Lord and Savior, I can recall moments when the presence of God was very real and even palpable. During the darkest times of my life, especially in those times, Jesus has never stopped chasing me. Through a tumultuous childhood, the death of my Mom, wandering teenage and college years, doubt, fear and depression, Jesus has never let go of me. I have learned the Lord’s presence is sometimes best perceived in our “dark nights of the soul.”

With a diligent love and a persistence that is beyond my understanding, the Lord has met me in my darkest places and then changed me. Jesus has never left me feeling condemned or worthless when he exposes my sin. Instead, the Lord is quick to heal and bring grace to my soul, even in times of painful exposure. Lately I have been doing a lot of reflection on my past and I can see a very real change and saving grace. If it were not for Jesus, I would not take risks, seek adventure, grow in love and trust, be a husband or a father (especially not a good one) or simply enjoy life.

The presence of Jesus in my life has taught me how to be more fully human and let him be more fully God. I experience a great freedom in embracing my humanness because it allows me to receive grace as a created child of God. In this grace I enjoy my life, the world and the people around me more fully—with genuine joy. But most importantly, aside from the many blessings Jesus gives, I am constantly seeking the presence of God. Jesus’ presence in my life has given me a thirst for something beyond, something already here but not yet fully present. Bono sums up this pursuit of presence for me nicely:

You broke the bonds
And you loosed the chains
Carried the cross, of my shame...You know I believe it

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

The Bottom

Blood that trickles down like tears,

racing to get to the bottom of something.

Gravity’s cruel effect on humanity.

When nearness to you feels more like death than life,

your illuminating presence exposes my dark.

Your love forces its way into every corner of my house.

At the bottom of everything is a question, “Can I be loved?”

So that’s where we’ll meet then, at the bottom.

My great crash is where you’ll raise me up,

and in a moment of weakness I will let my guard down,

leaving the door just wide enough to let love in.

Spiritual Exercises: "A Loved Sinner"

I've been working through some spiritual exercises that are modeled after Ignatius and what he took his followers through. Here's what I'm learning today:

102 (Loved Sinner):

I can’t understand God’s grace or love as a Holy God who would get Himself dirty to love us. It takes grace to understand grace.

It’s hard for me to admit I’m a poor sinner because I’m afraid of 1) being disarmed and unable to control what God sees when he chooses to love me and 2) being rejected for making mistakes. This is mostly why I resist God’s love.

When I resist, I’m like a prostitute who is being loved truly. I resist it, can’t believe it and reject it. I want limited, controlled, somewhat distant love. What I really want, however, is deep love for who I am, but I put my arms out to reject quite often.

God is for me, not ever against me. God is love. He started the reconciliation process between he and I. He also waits on the porch while we are away from home and then jumps off of it to come after us while we are slowly wandering on a road we hope will lead home. He embraces us with a passionate kiss, dirties his own clothes with that embrace and so confounds our understanding of how deep, far, wide and intense love is.

Geri, Meet Facebook

With only four days left in Budapest, we are saying our fair share of "goodbye's." Everyday we wake up, sometimes in a panic, and think, "Ok, did we say 'bye' to 'him' or 'her'...Oh! And what about 'them'?" It's as if we have some sort of sick Christmas list where we cross off the people to whom we've bid adieu. Last Sunday my friend Geri came over to wish us well on our journey and share some French press coffee with us. Geri and I have had many conversations about many topics--politics, hiking, European culture--but I never imagined our last conversation would revolve around friendship within Facebook.

Geri and I have been practicing our respective English and Hungarian speaking skills over coffee with each other for almost a year. Since my Hungarian is about as solid as the Euro and Geri is a beginner-level English speaker, we've both needed the practice. But this Sunday, with much-needed help from caffeine, we spoke freely and with ease about what it means to be a friend in Hungary and on Facebook.

"I don't understand," Geri said while shaking his head and hands simultaneously, "I have a friend, I see him on street or at home, why this cyber world?" Hungarians and Americans define friendship differently. The analogy we often hear and use is one of a peach and a cantaloupe. Americans are like the peach: Easy to access on the outside, but once you get to the core it's much harder to break in. Hungarians are like a cantaloupe: There is a hard outer shell that's difficult to break through, but when you do it's sweet and much softer inside. So you can see why, once you're in, Hungarians take friendship seriously and don't call just anyone their "friend."

Given our fruity analogy, it's easy to see just how American Facebook really is. Everyone can be your friend, in fact you can have thousands of friends--the more, the better! You can sink your teeth into everyone's soft outer skin, "liking" their music, movie or political preferences. It's a hyper-extension of the person behind the keyboard who is constantly updating and refining their internet avatar. Just how real is the person you see on Facebook? Well, that's a question that both Hungarians, philosophers and anyone who has ever thought about dating a potential Facebook "catch" has asked.

It's not that Hungarians aren't on Facebook, because many are, it's just not for Geri. "Where is life, it's right here...You and me." Geri was making his point about the present and it's place in a friendship. Through out our Sunday morning coffee date, Geri made his case for "real friendship" versus "hyper-real friendship." It wasn't an annoying or overbearing attack on something new, like an old man would complain about a new street that brings too much traffic through his neighborhood, it was simply an appeal for life to be enjoyed right now, in the moment.

Instead of refining his circle of friends as those who are "close friends, family" or just "coworkers," Geri prefers to cultivate close friendships over coffee, attend family birthday celebrations and get to know his coworkers at work. What I love about Geri's detachment from Facebook is how genuinely real it makes him. When we're talking about how much we love the coffee we're drinking, he doesn't whip out his smartphone to tell dozens of pseudo-friends about it. Whenever Geri celebrates Christmas with his family in twenty-some-odd days, he won't leave the table to tweet about the outstanding goulash his Mama made. Geri is simply here, with his friends and family, not "out there" promoting his avatar on Facebook or Twitter.

Geri has taught me a lot about being grounded. "How many friends do you have in the US," he asked me just before he left. Because I know Geri, I didn't feel the need to impress him with some great number. "Three, maybe four close ones," I answered, constantly reevaluating in my mind the ones I can truly call friends. Geri simply nodded his head, finished the last of his coffee and smiled.

Hospitality and the "Pop-In"

Hungary has taught us how to be spontaneous. The other night our friend Dáni Hamar came by to pick something up and hang out for a few minutes. As we stood in our entry way, talking about the change in weather and the boat trip we recently took together, Dáni’s brother, Dávid, called. It turned out Dávid was just down the street and Dáni wanted to know if his brother could pop in for a minute.

Now Let me pause the story here. Honesty is a quality we both admire and sometimes loathe in our Hungarian friends; it depends on the situation and what they are being honest about. But that night, as Dáni hung up the phone and waited for his brother to arrive, he made an honest inquiry about whether we could host the two Hungarian brothers for dinner. His boldness in asking us to host a meal on such short notice was both endearing and exciting!

Luckily for the brothers Hamar, Allie had already planned on whipping up some Tex-Mex for the evening. So there we were, two Americans rushing around the kitchen, eager to show our Hungarian friends that we too can be hospitable. When Dávid walked through the door, Allie was preparing chicken tacos with beans and rice, while I took the cork out of our best bottle of wine. We all stood in our kitchen, sipping wine and laughing as we told stories and waited for our impromptu supper.

The meal was a hit! Allie hit a home run, which is no surprise to anyone who knows her. Through out supper our conversation was only interrupted by, “mmmm” or “Ha! This is so good--Nagyon finom, Allie (very delicious, Allie)!”

Afterwards, we sat with our elbows on the table and reclined into more casual conversation. I kept thinking, “This moment was brought to you by ‘Spontaneity’.” And it’s true, because if we had said we were too busy or didn’t have enough food for everyone, we would have missed this moment. Nights like that one make me incredibly thankful for Hungarian spontaneity, honesty, hospitality and their appetite for life.