Enter the Usher (Retro Journal)

A transition between places of service is a healthy thing to go through every now and then. On the physical side, when you move you have to decide what is important to take and what you need to give or throw away; you clear the decks for action. On the soulish side you have to be introspective; you start to deeply evaluate who you are and what the needs of the world are and exactly which gap The Father has formed and equipped you to stand in. In my case, how was it that the passion to include inner city youth in the Kingdom was lost and a new vision put on the table? Why did that new vision take over my heart? On the spiritual side that personal connection with the Father himself is renewed in a brand new context. He remains the same while everything and everyone around you changes. This is an essay on the introspective, soulish part of my transition from GCCC to K-Town.
I used to think that I was extremely introverted with regular bursts of extroversion. On the one hand I get so much enjoyment from solitude - to the point that I became the fastest long distance runner in both High School and College, (perhaps not in an attempt to qualify for the Olympic Team, as purported) to be able to run alone, ahead, just about every day. When the teams were permanently left behind, new running shoes have helped me find (always alone) the religious group where I first responded to the good news, the open fields where Costa Rican High Schoolers taught me Spanish, and today the safely enclosed University of K-Town (where students stroll around with their noses in books and Dad knows what adventures await). I am always powering up alone, yet bumping into the right people at the right time. But how can an intense introvert (such as I indeed am) weave stories in front of an audience that capture and hold attention until they converge on a main point (never speak without one!). When introverts translate (do introverts even develop enough linguistic skills to translate?) do the discourses they come up with contain more emotional content than the originals, as mine usually do? How can an introvert be responsible for teaming together people from divergent backgrounds to win the battle to change the spiritual environment of a submarine, to form house meetings in Latin America over the opposition of extended family members, and, (well, let me deal with Philly later)? Only an extroverted introvert could do all that.
It was at PFO (Pre-Field Orientation) where they made a distinction between one's inclusion skills and one's introvert/extrovert orientation. Inclusion skills are your ability to form and be part of a group. A person with low inclusion skills struggles to get themselves included; a person with high inclusion skills is able to empower others to become full participants and is himself the key to group formation. The introvert/extrovert continuum is completely distinct; an extrovert is energized by using inclusion skills and is drained by having to be alone. An introvert is exhausted by forming and being included in groups and renews strength by passing time in solitary reflection. After PFO the light dawned on me. I am extreme on both scales- extremely able with inclusion skills, and yet extremely introverted. I am loathe to use the inclusion skills I possess; there is a switch in my brain - once "on" I form and entertain groups, but I need to be pushed to "turn on". When I get my ‘druthers I avoid groups - even those I've formed myself. I’m inclusive to the point that I can excel as the only non-Hispanic in my school's bilingual department, and introverted to the point that casual observers believe that I have no inclusion skills.
Oh, yeah, Philly. There is a serious friction thing going on in inner city neighborhoods; gangs form around neighborhood distinctions. Once some children got off the GCCC van, walked around two corners, encountered the same van and threw rocks at it. Since they and their neighborhood friends were no longer on board, in their minds the van represented the kids from a different neighborhood. Sammy and Fat Boy are two young men who, they would claim, grew up in the same North Philadelphia neighborhood. I may be the only person who remembers that at one point in time it was not so. Fat Boy was from the "Refuge" neighborhood and Sammy was from "Stetson", "the other neighborhood". Dangerous. They remember growing up together because they both became belongers in Him, especially through a RICY basketball team that played within the city. It happened when the inclusion power resident in the RICY environment overcame the violent exclusivity that breeds in Philly's neighborhoods. And having been both included, they could and did overcome.
This city neighborhood friction thing was a potential happening every Sunday at the pick up point. Two hundred kids had permission slips signed and you could never be sure which handful would show up from where. After they all were feeling included enough to ride a half hour in peace together, we would arrive at GCCC where we were not-exactly-like-everyone-else; a second inclusion problem loomed to be overcome. As years passed, the older ones would go to service and I would stay around Sunday school with the younger ones - sometimes even teaching the first few minutes of class - until everyone seemed happily included in the suburban environment.
Thus two different social adjustment tasks had to be completed every Sunday BEFORE service began. Neither task was one a person with ordinary inclusion skills would have attempted, much less succeeded at. As introvert extraordinaire I'd be running low on the emotional fuel gauge. At the end of the service, all the kids would be coming back to me. If there were any problems in Sunday School I'd then deal with it. Lunch, sports activity, afternoon study and return to North Philly would all be on my emotional shoulders, but for that moment when service was beginning (I'd have already struggled to make lots of difficult people feel included in many ways), how does an introvert recharge his batteries?
There is no place on all the acres GCCC owns where you can be assured of being by yourself on Sunday morning at 11:00 A.M. I know, because I've been there - each and every place -several times, seeking renewed emotional energy. The songs of the L.. in the air would always waft irresistible in the end (especially after a cup of coffee). Here surfaced the skills that only an extremely talented introvert could master: I would get completely alone, singing, in a room with a thousand other people. You'd have had to see it to believe it. A stone’s throw from “my older kids” and watchful in case needed. But anyone who noticed me would be struck by the fact that I was quite alone among the crowd, praising, crying, powering up for the action to come, just as I needed to be.
Enter the usher. He sees a middle age man, alone, who seems to lack the inclusion skills necessary to make himself a part of the congregation. Just the kind of task he was prepared to handle. (Sunday smile on - GO!)
Sit down over there? Of course I’d be happy to sit down over there, if I had any inclination to do so. Which I don’t. Thank you, anyway. (Sunday smile coming back at you!). This goes on for weeks, for months, for years.
Most teachers at my old school get burnt out and leave within the first year. So what if, after several years, I no longer coached a basketball team? Didn't I deserve a little rest just for hanging in there? And the after school program I once ran also fell by the wayside. But most of the teachers who were around me in the earlier days were no longer even in the neighborhood; was not I the one still standing firm? On a "smooth" Sunday afternoon (and they were becoming quite smooth) I could detach from the RICY group (without going too far away). It got to the point where I would not usually even participate and play with the kids; I only did that if someone in the group would otherwise have been left out. Eventually, the bible study tasks were also given to the older kids. My passion for this ministry had waned. A new vision had room to take root.

Security Issues

For an entire year (2004-2005), I would walk around my home church (never stopping at a pulpit) talking to anyone who would listen about Dad's doings among Persians, and my actual and anticipated role in it. There were those who, for that entire year, avoided having to listen to any part of it, cutting me off by saying, "but it's so dangerous". Yet I had learned from experience that protection comes from Dad; fear could never dictate where I live nor what I do nor say. Costa Rican low-income neighborhoods had brandished that "dangerous" reputation until I found myself at ease in them. The North Philly barrios of my former home and job were shrouded in a haze of fear, yet had become a relaxing "home" to me and mine. On these pleasant experiences my expectations of K-Town security were built.
Expectations faded and the new reality took center stage the afternoon I entered (what was later dubbed) the Karte Char Palace (where I lived for a few weeks before the women teachers took it over) and the transition was a fairly smooth upward lift. No terrors were lurking behind the luxuriously new marble walls, plentiful full baths, nor from those breathtaking terraces. Able choquedors guarded the entrance, later to be accompanied by an armed security service, who socialize during the frequent extended visits from both the local police and the ISAF anti-terrorist rapid response force. Costa Rica never offered this level of comfort and attention, at least not to me. With running shoes on, alone, starting at 5 A.M., new trails were ignorantly blazed through places where, well, I have not since returned. The U of K offers shelter with its 2+ mile long internal perimeter, trees shading the way, and University security keeping almost all of the cars away; it's always a safe haven for a few hours of introverted exertion. The streets of Karte seh and Karte char present themselves as friendly, hot and dusty. Yet K-Town is officially a war zone; none of the "down town folk" are even allowed to bring family members into the country.
Oh, not everything here is as safe as it appears; invisible kite strings will strike your torso and head as you walk along, then people you scarcely know will invite you to tea and meals (you're not SUPPOSED to accept the first or second offers, dummy!). If you are a male who speaks the native tongue, there lurk construction workers, children, professionals and others who might leap out at any moment and entrap you with their life stories. Then back at the ISK compound, turning on the internet you could always read about violence in far off places like, well, here in K-Town. There is a Star-Trek induced dimensional disconnect between the news reality and the daily reality, and I live in the better place (you couldn't pay me enough to live on TV). Just like in North Philly where the bombed out 7-11 on the news was from a different dimension than the one down the street (where they pour the remains of the regular coffee into the decaf container!); the two places can therefore share the same street address without ever overlapping.
Security is a serious daily issue; if lady visitors stay after dinner we men must see that they arrive safely at home. Walking alone is not a good idea at night, a good (lady) friend of ours was roughed up last month in an alley. We have a comfortable compound in a rough neck of the woods. The Parliamentary elections happened last Sunday, so after the usual Thursday-Friday weekend, we kept ISK closed until Tuesday. The whole town slowed to a crawl. Government electricity ran all day (usually it cuts off at 6 A.M. until night and we run our generators). All of the NGO's had their staff on lockdown (which, depending on your company, would mean that if you go out no one will say anything, except, "I told you so" if something goes wrong). Our meals were not prepared as usual since the cook stayed home, so I ventured out to get some yogurt. Everything was still and quiet; half the shops at the local bazaar were closed. On the news, a mortar hit a K-Town warehouse wounding (one news service said killing) a UN worker - not a peep in my dimension; not even an aggressive taxi driver. Some universes have all the luck. Then at 1:30 A.M. a loud rumbling awoke me. All the dogs on this side of the mountain were barking. My first thought was that our incomplete High School building had fallen, but it had not. Was it a downtown explosion? No. A mild tremor had occurred that most people did not notice. As far as security goes, it only takes one serious incident to alter your world view.
It seems almost inevitable that one day an evil Romulan plot will cause the two universes to collide at some point and something awful will come into ISK's space. Though multiple greetings are the norm, sometimes the young men who repeat polite phrases as I run by at the U seem like anxious children vying for attention. Yet there are moments when I wonder if one of them is trying to set me up, (in spite of the fact that a bicycle abduction would be a physical impossibility.) The ISK security staff and I spend a lot of time together joking around in Dari. I observed that the Chinese machine gun weighs a lot more than the Russian one, without being any more effective. The fact that I am out handling Asiatic machine guns should serve as a hint that Toto and I might no longer be in Kansas. We are developing drills for ISK involving scenarios that go way beyond the fire drills of my youth. So there is this "imaginary" security stress everywhere, right alongside the incredibly warm welcome and hospitality.

Local Economics, US Politics

They call it Karte char/Karte seh and what a great, dusty community I now call home! It's located about a third of the way around a large hill (called TV hill because broadcasters fill the top of it) from the downtown area. Just about all of the foreign workers from NGO's (non-government organizations) rent here, making it, maybe, 1/7 foreigners. Thus far I have rarely bothered to venture downtown, being content to roam this treeless area (well, the whole city is relatively treeless, due to Mujahadin wars). Here I've shared time, hugs, laughter and tears with many national acquaintances, though no tried and true friends yet. A lot of impromptu teas sort of happen; once a musical troupe from France "invaded" a tea. (We communicated in Spanish in front of our Dari speaking host.) The University of K-Town rests on my neighborhood's northern border. Lots of trees shelter the University grounds and few cars are allowed (difficult to abduct w/o a car) so the internal perimeter is an ideal place to run laps. Foreigners are allowed to have one Christian Church and its usually in NGO territory, rotating between several buildings and homes - you've got to be an insider to know exactly when and where the next meeting is. I've become an insider - its my main contact with westerners outside my immediate PeaceBridge School (ISK) peer group. NGO workers are a different breed from the "downtown foreigners". Downtown are the embassy and UN folk. The stereotype "downtown foreigner" lives behind multi-layered security, wears sunglasses, is chamfered around or remains in seclusion, and that stereotype has been partly confirmed and partly broken by occasional mixing at church. Just outside the capitol, on every side, lies the other side of the world - I've seen it on TV just like you have. I know it about as well as you do. Our farmlands seem about as far away from my present home as they were from my home in North Philly. I've been invited there by fellow foreigners but have never gone. Some national friends have also invited me and I'm waiting for the right time (after the elections) to begin that odyssey.
At IAM language school I've landed a couple of "spare" hours with the head teacher on Thursdays (no ISK school on Thursday because it's right next to Friday, which is everyone's holy day). Malim Jannan, the teacher I chose for my reading and writing course is off on Thursdays. The head teacher has an economics degree from U of K-Town from back in the day when it was run by the USSR. My economics degree is
from the U of Costa Rica. My Latino professors would role over in their cubicles if they heard him describe what I learned as "Imperialist Economics". Anyway, we agreed to spend one hour talking economics in Dari and one hour on the reading and writing course. And talk of economics lead to talk about Karte seh/Karte char.
We agreed that USSR "socialist economics" has failed; that has never been a source of debate.. And we looked for solutions for this corner of Persia. Normally, investment can be made only at the expense of consumption. You gotta eat less than you produce to be able to invest in productive infrastructure. But right now our country can build infrastructure without sacrifice due to foreign funds pouring in - quite an historic opportunity. But what are we building during this window?
There is an effort to convert the farmlands from poppy production. But to what? I lamented that an agricultural product had not been identified the production of which this country could specialize in. Costa Rica used its high altitude farmlands to yield a quality grade of coffee that commands top dollar (well above Columbian) year after year on the international market and its low lands to produce bananas. Then it dropped the military from its budget in favor of education and medicine. Next, it expanded its tourist infrastructure until it surpassed coffee as the number one source of foreign funds. Today, on many economic and social indices, Costa Rica is a developed, not a third world nation. Our country has high altitude farmlands with considerably less water than Central America, though the Khyber River is nothing to be sneezed at. Not just ANY product will do, which seems to be the current (lack of) strategy to replace poppy. What specialized product would thrive better here than anywhere else and draw top dollar year in and year out?
Karte seh/Karte char is the center of a certain type of foreigner oriented economy. In my mind, the poster child projects are those that train women to earn money and esteem by producing goods and services for consumption by resident westerners. The whole local community economy is like that. One of the most lucrative jobs is landowner - renting to foreigners (in a dual priced market). It is illegal for foreigners to own land. Stores at the local bazaar stock corn flakes, etc. at prices ten times higher than local grain. It is a step in the right direction and a complete world changer for those individuals who benefit from it, but is this good long term economic strategy? Building local economic infrastructure without sacrificing local consumption is a situation that can not be sustained indefinitely - is this the infrastructure that will best serve? The old micro/macro vision needs to be considered (more money makes an individual rich, but for a country it only causes inflation and redistributes wealth in favor of the wealthy; countries need production
of more of goods and services to become rich, even if no individual in the country consumes them). Is what's profitable for these families now really good for the country (i.e. the future of those same families)? Are we squandering an historic opportunity to build an infrastructure that will provide for economic needs without that constant injection of foreign money? It seems to me that, on the macro view, the money being earned in my community is not nearly as good for the country as, say, money from tourism, since tourism dollars are competitively attracted and won, thus sustainable, where as the "Karte seh" dollars are here because foreigners are living out compassion during an historic epoch and historical epochs have a way of ending.
Which brings me to the motive of the foreigners living in Karte seh/Karte char. I have met some motivated by liberal passion (not just UN workers from downtown but also Karte Seh/Char Europeans and others)- but none from the USA. Every American I've breeched the topic of politics with is what I would call a compassionate conservative. So, with too much political hubris (if you're making peace, not war, where are the liberal peacemakers?), I wrote some dear USA family that I would consider "liberal" (sorry for the label). I got a long list of liberal peacemakers, and went to church with the info. Most were rural (other side of the world to me; I'll start visiting there some day, probably first with my students' families then in earnest over our three week Christmas break), one was UN, some were non-USA. No one I shook hands with worked for any of them. But my political hubris was not appropriate.
The American part (maybe half of the foreigners?) in the Carte char/Karte seh population is either politically segregated or politically homogenous. There may exist a segregated, undiscovered part of my community; I have certainly not been thorough in seeking out fellow Americans. Perhaps these folk do not go to my church (though it be the only Christian one legally in town.) Maybe they go to embassy events
(I'm not even sure exactly where the US Embassy is - I've stayed on the NGO corner of TV Hill). And if this community be homogenous that is not necessarily a political victory. Maybe only the right wingers would stoop to take NGO and charity money to destroy the long term hopes of the locals by teaching them to build micro businesses that cater to westerners, while the noble left does, well, whatever it is they have a passion for on those poppy fields and behind the tinted glass. (Come on - it's a joke! In my heart I do not doubt the compassion of Oxfam, any more than you doubt my compassion. And you make jokes, too. Compassionate conservative is not an oxymoron - in your heart you doubt neither our compassion nor our conservatism.) It's a tossup right now, but I'd put my money on political segregation. Some of those micro businesses smell of leftist roots! Let the political jokes and seriousness mix and continue, no offense taken nor intended.