Israeli Settlements and the Plight of Palestinian Christians

The Israeli news agency Hareetz is carrying a story today about the door of a Christian monastery being lit on fire. Some of my friends would expect this to be from Pakistan or Saudi Arabia or Egypt.  It's not.  It's from Latrun on the border of Israel and Palestine, land claimed by Israel as a result of the '67 war between it and most of its neighbors.

The arsonists left "graffiti tags" - markings similar to what a gang does - linking the attack and the recent eviction of an illegal Israeli settlement in Migron, West Bank. In essence, those tags were used to indicate to the community that breaking down illegal Israeli settlements will end up in retribution to the civilian society.

According to Hareetz, the settlement was "established through deceit, without a permit, and on privately-owned Palestinian land," without the owner's permission, "dispossess[ing] the land's rightful owners for more than a decade." The tags can be seen below and Hareetz says they translate to "Jesus is a pig" and "Migron."

From AFP at Hareetz

The government of Israel apparently went through a period of dissociative identity disorder (sometimes called multiple personalities) where the justice branch ordered the eviction and restoration of rights for about a decade while the executive branch provided "generous assistance" to the settlers.

For Migron, it took intervention by an Israeli NGO, Peace Now, to help restore the rights of the landowners.

The graffiti alone might not be enough to tie Migron to the attacks on the Latrun Monastery - Google maps tells me Latrun is about 25.5km to the west of Jerusalem while The National tells me Migron is 15km north of Jerusalem, but thankfully there's an asshat who was willing to tie it all together. According to the Hareetz article on the attack, "Baruch Marzel, a right-wing activist, connected the attack to the evacuation of Migron. 'We said that evacuating Migron could fan the flames. There’s an entire community that feels very bitter,' said Marzel."

It's not the first "price tag" attack against Christian churches, either. "‎'In February, similar anti-Christian graffiti was found sprayed on the walls of the Greek church at a monastery in Jerusalem’s Valley of the Cross, and a Baptist Church in central Jerusalem. In both incidents, the graffiti included phrases such as 'Jesus is dead,' 'Death to Christians,' 'Mary is a prostitute,' and 'price tag.'"

Yes, in response to being forced to comply with the law, the response has apparently been to threaten death to Christians.  It's been to desecrate the walls of Christian holy sites and to set them on fire. As I said on facebook when I first saw this story, "I know Jesus would forgive but I just want to say f*** off."  I know it's not very Christian of me, but sometimes my not-very-Christian self wins. But, I'll get back to the Christian-ness of it all in a second. I'm going to handle the legal part first. 

In response to the Migron eviction, Bejanmin Netanyahu echoed these multiple personalities of the Israeli government for the last ten years: "We are committed to respecting the rule of law and we are committed to strengthening the settlement enterprise."

To which I have to ask: how can you be committed to the rule of law and simultaneously committed to perpetuating illegal actions?

Now I tend to tread carefully when I wade into Israel-Palestine publicly because experience tells me that no matter what I say I can simultaneously be labelled pro-Israel and anti-Semitic, pro-Palestine and anti-Arab. Let's be clear: criticizing the government policies of Israel is not anti-Semitic.  If I can be pro-American (and I am; I love my homeland) and criticize both the Bush and Obama administrations, I can criticize the Israeli government without being anti-Israel or anti-Semitic (and I do disagree with MLK, Jr., as to whether being anti-Israel is the same thing as being anti-Semitic; as it happens, I'm neither, but I don't think the two are tied as much as people like to make them). But, literally having one conversation and being called both anti-Palestinian and anti-Semitic can sting a person - particularly a white American woman who likes to be culturally sensitive - almost into submission.

But I know that's what they want - and by "they" I mean everyone who has a stake in the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine.  This includes leaders and religious / nationalistic zealots on both sides of the line.  So, I'm going to wade anyhow.

The Israeli settlements in the OPT are illegal.  There are no ifs, ands or buts about it.  Israel (as a government) likes to play a little international law loophole-ing - think G. W. Bush administration's classification of waterboarding as something other than torture - and claim that since the OPT did not have a "sovereign" before the 1967 conflict, then it's not actual "occupation" and therefore the settlements aren't illegal.

To explain a little further, international law forbids an occupying force from establishing settlements, permanently altering the borders or permanently taking land from the occupied territory.  There are a slew of other protections for those in occupations, mostly contained in the Geneva Conventions, to which Israel is a party. But, the definition of occupied land is land that previously belonged to another state.  As Israel is fond of pointing out, Palestine was never a state. It was a territory of the British government, who in the half-assed manner in which they left countries during their "decolonization period,"  left Palestine when the 1948 agreement became too complicated.  In doing so, they had followed through on the establishment of Israel but not on the establishment of the other state, Palestine. So, in the Israeli government's reasoning, no previous sovereign = no occupation = no illegality to the settlements.

Except here's the rub, Israel. It doesn't really matter if the OPT had a previous sovereign.  Successive UN Security Council resolutions have, in various ways, ordered Israel to stop building the settlements. Those resolutions are often invoked in subsequent resolutions and it's pretty much settled by the UN Security Council that settlements are illegal and must stop.  That they violate the 4th Geneva Convention, even taking into account Israel's legal arguments. As a member of the UN, Israel has "agree[d] to accept and carry out the decisions of the Security Council in accordance with the present Charter" (article 25).  That means even the ones they don't like.

More importantly - and thankfully something the Hareetz editorial on this issue points out - Israel itself has agreed to stop the settlements through the '93 Oslo Accords. Yes, it's true that the question of Israeli settlements - meaning those already established in 1993 - was to be decided by subsequent agreement. But, Israel recognized the right of Palestine to self-governance over the OPT. It agreed to withdraw its troops and to cede jurisdiction over the area.  In recognizing sovereignty and self-government of OPT, it means that Israel has no further justification or legal claim to establishing settlements without the agreement of the Palestinian government. None.  And, of course, Migron was, along with 23 other settlements, established after Sharon's election in 2001, well after the '93 accords.

Of course, Yitzhak Rabin was gunned down by a fanatic, and the Second Intifada started, and Oslo fell out of favor with both Palestinians and Israelis. but falling out of favor is not the same thing as the government repudiating or suspending the agreements.  You don't get to say "we're not abiding by the law" just because it's unpopular.  Otherwise, there's no point to having a law.

So, Netanyahu cannot simultaneously be committed to settlements and to the rule of law.  He has to choose one or the other.

Now, turning back to that Monastery in Latrun... It appears those responsible decided that since they were criminals (or supporting criminals), they'd go ahead and take it a step further and become terrorists. And yes, I intentionally used the word because that's what it is: terrorism.  It's the intentional targeting of a civilian place of worship in an attempt to manipulate the government or society into doing what you want through intimidation and fear. It's terrorism. Plain and simple.

And Baruch Marzel, the right-wing guy Hareetz quoted, is encouraging that terrorism.  He is, quite literally, a terrorist-lover (as opposed to those of us who think even terrorists get the right not to be tortured, which I think is being a law-lover, not a terrorist-lover).

I do feel the need here to put in an aside pointing out that I know many Israelis who do not condone these acts, and others who do not condone the settlements at all. Just like Christians and Muslims have terrorists who claim to be acting on behalf of the faith but are really acting on behalf of their own egos and political aspirations, so does Judaism and these are is.  Not all Israelis and not all Jews should be considered responsible for these acts.  But Baruch Marzel and his ilk should be.
 And this is what drives me insane about the evangelical movement in the US (let me say that I am a born-again, evangelical Christian so it's not an indictment of all evangelical Christians; just the movement as a movement).  For some unexplainable reason - which, according to multiple news reports about 5 years ago is actually explainable in that people think they're helping the Second Coming of Christ (as if someone who is omnipotent and all-powerful needs that kind of assistance) - the evangelical Christian community in the US regularly supports the concept of Israeli settlements.

They take little trips once a year with 20 people on a bus and go and visit an Israeli "outpost" and learn about the religiousness of the settlers and about the plight they have (i.e., having to fight off mean, scary Arabs who want their land back and want to push them from the land God Himself offered the settlers. And live without malls or entertainment venues. I don't know why but every time I see settlements discussed on US TV and by US evangelicals, the distance between the settlement and the nearest shopping / entertainment venue is discussed. It's really bizarre.).

They go to the church at Bethlehem to pray and maybe they meet a single Palestinian there, but mostly they just shuffle on and shuffle off their tourist buses. They don't really meet Palestinians and they definitely don't meet the Palestinian landowners who were dispossessed from their land for the settlements. In doing so, they miss out on actually meeting their Christian brothers and sisters who are harmed by the occupation and the settlements.

Yet, Christian Palestinians do suffer from the occupation, and not just as a consequence of other disputes, like the retribution at Latrun or the threat to kill Christians left at the Greek and bapitist churches and the Valley of the Cross monastery.

Christians do not have a "right of return" to Israel.  Neither do Palestinians. Only Jewish people have a "right of return" to Israel. This is a legal reality. So the Christians present in Israel and Palestine are those who predate 1948. There are likely also Christian converts, but this appears to make up a small percentage of Christians present in the two areas.

Principally, Palestinian Christians are of Arab ethnicity and face the same restraints and problems as other Palestinians. This means, amongst other things, that their travel is limited, and as a result many Christians in the area can't visit Jerusalem to see the holy sites there.  So if you're an American Christian, you have greater rights of pilgrimage to visit a site thousands of miles away than if that of a Palestinian Christian from Bethlehem. Think about it: from my hometown of Cleveland, Ohio, it is 5983 miles (9626.65 km). From my friend's hometown of Bethlehem to Jerusalem it is only 5 miles (8.05 km). Yet, I am more entitled - and somewhat more likely! - to celebrate Easter at a holy site in Jerusalem than my brothers and sisters from Bethlehem.

60 Minutes recently highlighted this on a news segment (I've only read the transcript of the segment; I haven't watched it).  But the 60 Minutes story was a bit naive and factually wrong.  It claimed:

Christianity may have been born in the Middle East, but Arab Christians have never had it easy there, especially not today. In Iraq and Egypt, scores of churches have been attacked, hundreds murdered. In Syria, revolution seriously threatens Christian communities. The one place where Christians are not suffering from violence is the Holy Land: but Palestinian Christians have been leaving in large numbers for years.

Christians aren't immune from the violence being perpetrated in Israel and Palestine.  And Palestinian Christians aren't immune from the violence being directed at their Palestinian Muslim neighbors. Their land is being taken for settlement. They are being detained, tortured and killed for protesting the occupation or settlements. They suffer for the same reason: their claimed nationality and ethnicity. And, apparently, when someone wants to lash out at the Palestinians, it's easy to go ahead and burn the door of a Monastery in response.

Even with a rather light touch on the problems of Palestinian Christians, Israeli Ambassador Michael Oren called the 60 Minutes' piece was a hatchet job, without having ever seen it because he made the complaint before it even aired! Subsequent to his complaint - and still before the story aired - he was interviewed and said something I still don't understand:

It seemed to me outrageous. Completely incomprehensible that at a time when these communities, Christian communities throughout the Middle East are being oppressed and massacred, when churches are being burnt, when one of the great stories in history is unfolding? I think it's-- I think it's-- I think you got me a little bit mystified.

So, the argument is that since churches are being threatened and burned in Egypt, Syria, Iraq and elsewhere we should care about a little discrimination against our brothers and sisters in Palestine?  Do we get to care now that the Monastery at Latrun was burned?

The truth is our Palestinian brothers and sisters in Christ are being discriminated against. They suffer every day under the occupation, while those in the US who claim to know and love Christ - who claim to feel a special connection to Bethlehem every year at Christmas - ignore their suffering.  We praise the Israeli government for actions we should be condemning, and we encourage settlements that simply thrust our brothers and sisters into poverty and physical harm.

I don't think we should cherish one human being over another simply because of their religion, but Christians are admonished to pray for the persecuted in our faith. We are supposed to love them and support them and encourage their faith and their development. Instead, too many evangelical Christians in the US unthinkingly support the occupation and Israel's expansion into the territory, which is not just causing individual harm to individual Christians, but it's actually forcing Christians to flee the area, diminishing the Church's presence in its very holiest of lands.

It makes me sick and angry.



Now, I have to say this, which is a bit unrelated: I learned of this incident because I am very fortunate to be friends with Ziya Meral, a Turkish writer and researcher based in London, who fills my newsfeed up every day with stories like this. Much like how I let Jon Stewart find interesting and under-discussed US news for me, and then supplement the Daily Show with online newspapers, I pretty much do the same thing on the Middle East and freedom of religion issues by following Ziya's tweets and then supplementing that.

If you're interested in the Middle East - its politics, its people, its stories - or in issues relating to freedom of religion ("FOR"), I highly encourage you to like Ziya on facebook and follow him on twitter (yes, I linked to his twitter again in case you were too lazy to go back!).  He also shares up sometimes hilarious, non-Mid-East / FOR stuff, too, so if you don't care about the Middle East / FOR, you may still want to follow him.

On Obama's "Socialist" Healthcare

A friend asked me on facebook if I could name a single "socialist" enterprise that functioned. Technically he "defied any liberal" to name a single time socialism has worked.  I'm a liberal, though, and it was on one of my wall posts, so, I took it as a personal challenge.

He was, like many GOP-ers, lambasting "Obamacare" and equating it with socialism.

Of course, I could actually name socialist things that worked: health care in Sweden, Germany, France and Japan, for starters.   The US doesn't like to talk about those examples of strong, robust, respected and appreciated forms of universal health care because the GOP would prefer to have Americans believe the only places with universal health care are Castro's Cuba, Hitler's Germany, and Stalin's Russia.  They like to equate universal health care and communism, so no one wants to discuss the fact that the US is the last industrialized country to adopt a universal system and most of the other industrialized countries are capitalistic democracies. 

So even though I could have gone on and on about socialist enterprises in the world that do actually function, I realized I don't actually need to.  Because the Affordable Care Act - or "Obamacare" - is no more socialistic in nature than the Ohio-GOP led bill that requires all car owners to have car insurance. 

We recognize at times that privileges come with responsibilities.  That's why the Ohio car insurance obligation was never assailed as "communism" - it's a privilege to drive and that privilege requires responsibility.  It's way my parents' were able to impose an 10:00pm curfew on me at 16 years old that could only be broken with advanced permission.  It was a privilege to stay out that late; it was a privilege to stay out even later; and with both of those privileges it was a responsibility to call home.  They weren't being socialists.  It's a privilege to get treated at America's health centres, even when you don't have health insurance, because you need the treatment.  With that comes the responsibility to participate in the system that pays for that privilege when you can (there are poverty exemptions, of course, because contrary to the GOP mantra, Obama isn't actually heartless.  His doctor even says his heart is normal and fit.).

Socialism isn't about forcing people to purchase things they don't think they want.  Socialism is about collecting the ownership of assets into the hands of the state.  And Obamacare does anything but that.  The concept that you would call something that requires you to purchase health insurance from a private company in a capitalist market a socialist endeavor suggests you don't actually understand the word - or care enough about the American public to have an honest conversation about it.

Now, I don't fault my friend - he works in politics.  He's a GOP party man and attended the RNC.  He might even believe that Obamacare is a socialist endeavor.  But it's not.  The assets of health care are not in the hands of the state - they remain, now and for the foreseeable future - in the hands of private individuals.  First, you as an individual buying, and then your health insurance or as a (legal, fictional) individual selling.  You can say many things about that, but you can't call it socialism.

Photo by Huji

Some photos

A few friends have said I need a picture or two on the page.  I don't want to add my own picture, though - at least not yet - so I'm adding Pearl Buck's instead.  She's pretty freaking awesome and is one of my newest heroines (I only really learned of her recently).  Buck was a Nobel Laureate for her body of literature and the picture is from the Nobel Prize Committee's website.

And I figured I'd add a few pictures of my travels in Istanbul:

 So... there are some pictures to satisfy my friends. I'm not sure this is what they had in mind, but ...

Why the "rape exception" is not about "punishing the child"

This week, I listened to the GOP - and my GOP friends - defend a prohibition on abortion even in cases of rape or incest (and some, even in the case of threat to the life or health of the mother). Often, this defense involves, "Why would you punish the child just because of how it was conceived?"  I want to respond to that here, publicly, because it says a lot about the worldviews of people when it comes to abortion.

The reason people believe there should be exception in the case of rape - even if you outlaw (most) other abortions - has nothing to do with the child.  It has everything to do with the mother. And this is where the worldview comes in.  If you believe that a woman's life and health and viability all become irrelevant at the time of pregnancy - that it all must become secondary to the needs and desires of a child - then of course you think that abortion shouldn't be allowed in the case of rape.

But if you believe that women are autonomous human beings who are in the best position to understand their own physical and mental health, then you have to recognize an exception for rape and incest. The reason for a rape or incest exception is because of the toll that can be had on a woman who has to carry a fetus to term.  It is about recognizing that the woman is in the best place to understand that toll on her and about ensuring she gets to control and decide what is necessary to help her recover from the rape.

I don't think a lot of men really understand the mental or physical consequences of rape. It's clear that people like Todd Akin don't, but even other men who think of themselves as compassionate and understanding don't really fully understand it.  So, I want to explain some of the consequences that I've seen in people I've known.

Below are the consequences I have found most common amongst my friends, colleagues and mentorees who have confided in me - sometimes immediately after, sometimes years after. They were not true for every one of my friends, but they were the ones that were most frequently true.  To respect their privacy, I am not using identifying details and I won't use any details that were discussed by only one rape victims; these are the details that have been consistent in their stories.

I want to be clear that while people may want to make gradations of what constitutes a 'serious' mental or physical reaction and what doesn't, such attempts are simultaneously useless and insulting.  There's no such thing as an 'easy' trigger reaction to PTSD. We would never tell a soldier the PTSD from war is "easy" because we think we should get to 'rate' PTSD responses.  Women respond differently to rape and sexual assaults, and each reaction from a woman is "normal" and severe.  There is help available for women around the world (various links are for various countries based on where my most frequent traffic comes from, with general links at 'for' 'women' and 'world'), but it is a process.

• Nightly replaying of the rape while they sleep. I can't call it a nightmare because that suggests something your mind has created or conjured up; this isn't their brain playing tricks on them. This is their brain reliving the actual rape. For months, they don't sleep soundly.  The sleep deprivation clouds their brains, and that makes them feel more crazy.
• Unlike a nightmare, which you can shake off within minutes of waking up, the nightly replaying of a real-life rape stays with the victim throughout the day. It plays in your head throughout the day. You end up not feeling safe and on edge. The entire day.  Then you go to sleep, and it happens again.
• When you see someone from across the street that resembles the man who raped you, you react.  This reaction can vary depending on the person, and even with a single person depending on the day. There's no "degree" of acceptability to these reactions, and all are equally bad even if from an external perspective there seem to be degrees. It is a trigger. It is the long-lasting presence of the rape that no one on the outside can see but that you can feel each time you see someone with a similar build, a similar haircut, a similar skin tone, a similar eye color. It can involve freezing while your heart quickens and you have difficulty breathing while you wait to know it's not him, or it can involve freezing and being unable to move even long after you know it's not him. It can render you speechless or it can result in screaming. You can regain your composure somewhat quickly, or you can end up crying hysterically in a bathroom, calling me to calm you down, or to come get you. It's not physical and mental strength you need. That's not what's preventing you from continuing your walk down the street, from breathing normally, or from getting up and leaving the bathroom. What you need is for the fear to stop. It's for you to know that you can continue on your day and not face a man who will again throw you against a wall, or a bed, or the floor, and violate your bodily integrity without your consent. It's to know you won't have to come face to face with him and have him act like everything's normal.
• You sit through a movie with your friends not knowing there's a rape scene coming up, or sit through a comedy show not knowing rape would be laughed at.  You're in shock listening to details you feel come from your most shameful**, horrific moment of your life while everyone else finds it entertainment. You fake not feeling well, excuse yourself, go home and lie on the floor in the fetal position.  You decide whether you need to call off work for the next day. Maybe you do; maybe you don't, but that night will be another sleepless one. (**Please note this this is a feeling and not a reality. If you are the victim of rape, you do not need to feel shame. Your attacker(s) is the one who should be ashamed.)
• The first time you go on a date with a guy you like, you are fine and having fun until he touches something on your face or your hand.  It triggers a memory - because it is PTSD you're suffering from - and you suddenly look at your would-be boyfriend or lover and realize you're pretty sure he's a rapist.  Not because of anything he's done but because you're pretty sure most men are rapist. Or maybe you realize in the intellectual side of your brain that that's not true, but you also realize you don't trust any man anymore.  You don't have normal relationships with them and you suspect they are all simply assholes.
• You might not tell anyone at first.  Particularly if you know - or are fairly certain - that telling will result in negative attention and reactions at work, in your classroom, or by your friends and family.  Yet, by not telling, you are forced to interact with your rapist - your boss, your teacher, your colleague / coworker / classmate - every day.  Each time he looks at you, you know what he's thinking and you feel the power he has exercised over you.  And he acts so naturally that you start to think you might be crazy - or maybe it really was your fault.  Because how could he act so normally around you after what he did to you? You shrink and he stands taller. 
• If - if - you tell the police, or the doctors and nurses, or a psychologist, you get a sympathetic ear. It gives you hope that others will be understanding. Until you meet with the prosecutor who will handle the case. He tells you there's nothing that can be done; it's your word against his and no jury will convict. He's very sorry, but your pain isn't real enough to warrant the effort. What was the most horrific crime you could imagine won't be recognized by anyone. And you feel embarrassed that you hoped someone would believe you. You feel ashamed because they didn't. And then you start to doubt yourself again.  Maybe you are crazy?  Maybe you should "just get over it"?  But how do you "just get over it" when the person who did this to you is still out there?  Still threatening to do this to other women?
• If - if - you've told people, only some will understand. Many - even your close friends and family - will question what you did to "cause" it. Many women - even your close friends and family - will assume it couldn't have happened to them, and therefore they feel safe and smug. They expect you to take responsibility for something you know somewhere inside of you you are not responsible for.  But that expectation seeps into your brain and you are starting to wonder what were you responsible for?
• If - if - you've told people, most will understand your shock and its effects for about a week to a month, maybe two.  At two months, people stop understanding the PTSD.  They stop understanding the fear.  They stop understanding the nightmares, or the way in which you discuss the issue.  You are left feeling alone, misunderstood, and at times you are made to feel crazy that this is still an issue.  Let me be clear: if this is something you're going through, you are not crazy.
• And most of these reactions leave you feeling a little less of yourself, if not a growing hatred of yourself.

How long those symptoms lasted depended for my friends. Some only suffered for a few weeks or months; some suffered for years.  The constant fear, the constant PTSD, the constant crying, the depression, and the feelings that you are crazy. The self-loathing and hatred that comes when you think maybe you were responsible, and then afterwards again for ever thinking that maybe you were responsible.  There's no real way to put into words what it really feels like.  I've described above symptoms of a deeper trauma.  That trauma is significant and real and long-term.

Now add to that trauma a daily physical consequence and it becomes so much more.  I tried to think of an equivalency for a war PTSD victim, but I can't.  The closest I could come up with is having a war victim with a lost limb and then telling them you're not willing to give them a prosthesis for almost a year later because you don't feel their entitled to it.  It's not a perfect analogy though, and that's because there really isn't an analogy to rape.  It's a unique form of torture (and it is actually used as torture around the world).

The reason for a rape / incest exception has nothing to do with punishment; it has everything to do with empowering the victim to choose for herself what she can handle mentally and physically, what she is able to deal with on a daily basis as the consequence of her rape.  Those who would suggest women can just give the baby up for adoption at the end don't understand that those 9 months of pregnancy may cause an irreparable delay in the woman's healing process.  It may cause more psychological damage as she faces each day the consequences, and with each kick of the baby remembers what his hands felt like on her skin.

Whether a woman is in a place to psychologically and physically handle the stress of pregnancy - and the minute-by-minute reminder of what happened to her - is a personal issue. It's a singular experience and cannot be the subject of a blanket determination. It is not for someone else to decide whether she's "mentally healthy" enough to deal with this repercussion.  It is not for a bureaucrat, or even her doctor, to say what she can and should handle as a consequence of her rape.

People who talk about abortions in the case of rape and incest as an issue of "punishing the child" don't fully understand what rape does to a woman, or the need for women to regain a semblance of control over their own autonomy and personal dignity.

Perhaps those individuals who oppose a rape exception will never understand the reality of rape victims, and I don't fault them for not understanding what it means. I fault them for assuming they understand what it means, and for assuming that simply because carrying a baby to term is right for one rape victim, then it should be right for all rape victims.

I don't usually screen my posts before putting them up, but on this one I did ask a few friends for their thoughts on an earlier draft.  Since I'm not a rape victim, I wanted to give a voice for others, not a voice to them, so I asked friends who either were survivors or who I knew were sensitive to the issues to comment. One of my friends wrote back and agreed to let me include the following from her email: 

"Forget the 9 months (not really, but for the purpose of my point) - If every time I see someone who resembles him I freak out, I would be terrified to see him in my child and whether I'd be able to handle that. I'm sure I'd love the child, but I'd be so scared that seeing the child would cause flashbacks and fear. I'd be terrified he would find out about the child and want to have contact - thus, meaning contact with me. I'd be terrified of how I and my child would feel if I didn't let him meet his child and was therefore taking my child's "father" away."

My friend will, insha'allah, one day make a wonderful mother, but I can't imagine the pain and dread, the long-term psychological toll, that would have played out had her rape resulted in a pregnancy. She doesn't believe in having an abortion otherwise, but said she would likely have one in this case because of the toll that such a pregnancy would have on her.  It's not about the child - it's not a punishment to the child - it's about her.  It's about what she could and could not handle.

There is no "right" way to handle this for a rape victim.  Some rape victims would find the idea of aborting a fetus conceived through rape repugnant. Some would find the idea of carrying to term too damaging. Both are acceptable decisions if they are the decisions of the rape victim, and that victim understands her decision is appropriate for her and her alone. Because ultimately, that's why people support an exception for rape and incest: it's an attempt to give a little power back to the woman to make decisions that are best for her mental and physical health.  It's a recognition of a woman as an autonomous individual entitled to human dignity, including mental health, and the right to control, influence and make medical decisions for herself.

Suggesting that abortion following a rape is about punishment - of anyone, father or baby - rather than about a woman making the best choices for herself in the face of unimaginable pain... that's cruel. It's inhuman.  It's degrading. 

And it shows you have no respect for a woman as an autonomous human being; you only respect her for what she carries in her womb.

Reflections on Ramazan/Ramadan from a Christian perspective

Someone suggested that Ramadan fasting causes people to get crankier and more aggressive as the day goes on.  I wonder how much of that is true versus how much non-Muslims think it must be true and then see it all around them.  I was walking today and accidentally bumped into a woman because the sun was in my eyes and she yelled at me.  In Turkish, so I don't know what names she actually called me, but I also couldn't help but wonder if others would have chalked that up to Ramazan fasting when really she is just a cranky person?  I don't know her, so I can't begin to guess one way or the other.
The idealist in me would is saddened by the idea that Ramazan fasting actually makes people crankier.  I understand, from a realist perspective, that the body needs food, that fasting for this long can give you headaches and that generally speaking you're going to be cranky if you can't eat. It's hot and sticky and air condition is not used as readily as it is in the US. But, the purpose of fasting in all three Abrahamic religions is to bring the follower closer to God, to ensure they understand their reliance on God, to stop an obsession or distraction from worldly things, and to remind the follower of the blessings God pours out.  It is also intended to be an expression of compassion as we gain a sense of understanding for those who are poor or weak or otherwise going without. This is the purpose of fasting generally and of Ramazan/Ramadan specifically: to bring the follower closer to God.  The idea that it would then be the reason you curse out a driver in front of you or get snarky with a customer at your restaurant seems to detract from the purpose of the holiday.

Then again, I don't like to fast because it's not a requirement in Christianity and I know it *does* make me cranky.  I do, however, often give things up for Lent when I think it has become a distraction in my life.  For 40 days, I might get to eat and drink anytime I want, but I am giving up something that I have come to love. This year, it was diet coke and I realized that I had a habit of just ordering a soda whenever I was out for lunch or dinner.  It's a disgusting habit but giving it up was much harder than I anticipated.  I would suddenly realize I had no idea what to order if I didn't want alcohol.  I hate paying for bottled water, but the tap water for UK restaurants isn't always filtered and I don't like the taste of my local tap.  Most everything on the men then becomes a variation on soda or alcohol, with an occasional coffee thrown in for good measure.

I admire the Muslim fasting month because it does require self control and it also requires a real reminder of our reliance on God.  While I always remembered I wasn't drinking soda, I didn't always then remember the why.  We don't really need diet coke, so remember that this is a response to God's blessing isn't automatic.  But being hungry every may cause you to remember and reflect on all that God has done for you.

I'm not saying that Christianity should adopt a legalistic approach to fasting. My belief is that God wants us to engage in the things that bring us closer to Him and to disengage in the ones that don't.  As a result of His love and desire, I find a God accepting that I don't like fasting but I do like other things, like writing or art, that take me closer to Him.  If I did fast, I would only face one requirement: "do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting." 

I'm really glad my dad doesn't have to fast because he would so redefine the word "cranky" if he did! (Dear Dad: Aren't you glad Obama's not really trying to force us into being a Muslim state?!) But I do think there is beauty in Ramazan/Ramadan fasting and it is causing me to reflect more closely on my relationship with God - even while I'm not doing it!

I have been surprised, though, that I live as close to a mosque as I do but haven't been woken up by morning prayers.  I actually haven't heard loud-speaker prayers at all!  In Kosovo and Morocco, I woke up every day to morning prayers.  I actually found it soothing in a way; while I am not Muslim and never understood what they were saying, the reminder that I should be in prayer was an important and good one for me. While I never got on the floor, let alone pointed in a specific direction, I would often turn over in bed, say a few sentences and then fall back to sleep.

And that's what I'm going to do now... say a few prayers and then go to zzzzzzzzz....

A (very) little of Istanbul

I landed in Istanbul today in the midst of Ramadan, the Holy month of Islam. In Turkish, it's actually Ramazan, not Ramadan, so that's what I'll be using this month.  (Unfortunately for me, I only know how to say "Happy Ramadan" or "Ramadan blessings" in Arabic, so hopefully I'll learn the Turkish soon, too!)

Turkey will be the third Muslim dominant country that I've stayed in for more than week. In fact, every time I've gone to a Muslim dominant country, it's been for longer than a week. I'm glad I get that time, though, as the adjustment is steeper than, say, when I head to Belgium for a long weekend. I'm not used to being woken at 5am by someone praying on a loud speaker; I'm not used to being so completely incompetent in a local language; and, I'm not used to being so conscious of my American-ness. On that last point, I'm not conscious of it in the sense of shame, but rather in the knowledge of what it means to be perceived by another based solely on your ethnicity and your accent. The expectation that I am wealthier than I am and the expectation that I am a more willing bedroom partner than I am come up regularly based on nothing more than my nationality.

I haven't had much time to do anything yet.  I landed in late afternoon, unpacked my belongings in the room that is mine for 5 weeks, and then... fell asleep.  I blame my British clothes dryer, which stupidly listened to me when I told it to do the wrong thing, forcing me to stay up until 2am to ensure I had dry clothes for this trip.

I hadn't planned on doing much anyhow.  In Ramazan, Muslims are supposed to fast from sun up to sun down. Being a Christian, this is not a requirement of my faith but I have fasted in the past, usually to raise money for charity but occasionally for spiritual growth.  I know how annoying it is when you haven't eaten all day and then someone comes by with a big juicy hamburger. So, I thought I was being culturally sensitive to wait until closer to sundown to get food.  Unfortunately, sun down comes quickly and by the time I went out foraging for food (which should have taken me about 50 feet from my hotel to the nearest grocers), the only thing I could find open in my area was a Papa John's.  Everyone else was celebrating iftar, the breaking of the fast for the evening.

Before I left for the grocers / Papa John's, I was talking to another American woman here. She suggested I head to the mosque if I want an "adventure" as it's not very far from where I'm staying and passed a local fruit vendor.  "But, won't they be praying?" I asked.  She said yes, and that if I actually want to go into the mosque, it might not be the best time to go now.  They likely wouldn't let me in, and if they did taking pictures of people praying isn't exactly the height of tact.  I agreed, noting that I'll probably visit a mosque sometime this month but during the evening iftar celebrations, I couldn't bring myself to even try. I was a little thrown by her response: "That's very culturally sensitive of you."

I should explain that I'm here for a multi-week event with a lot of foreign students and teachers who should be culturally sensitive.  When I attend events like this - or when students arrive for the LL.M. and M.A. every year - I have a presumption that those around me are culturally attuned.  But I've found that there's a very low bar for Americans who travel.  You're not taking pictures of people praying?  Wow - that's very culturally sensitive of you.  You're not accosting women wearing a burqa just so you can show your family back home what you saw?  You're a cultural super star!  You take a scarf with you to a mosque?  Why, they should make you the Ambassador to the UN!

I don't think my colleague was suggesting I treat the Muslim holiday like my own personal photo-fest.  She likely just hadn't realized how dark it was getting outside.  An hour earlier, I could have easily walked to the mosque, taken a few pictures, and been gone by the time anyone arrived for evening prayers.

So, tonight has been particularly low-key.  I talked with the Papa John's pizza guys and watched their TV while I waited for a small Hawaiian pizza, stared at Turkish lira, came back and got some work done.  I'll unfortunately be doing a lot of work this month, which means I won't be doing as much site-seeing as I normally would, but it's good work and it's going to be a fun month.  I'll try to keep you updated here. 

An Open Love Letter to My Siblings

I started this a long time ago but just got around to finishing it.  Sorry siblings.  

But isn't it rewarding knowing that I wanted to write you an open love letter 

at least two times this year?

Recently, my brother "walk[ed] a mile in her shoes" - literally high heels - to raise awareness and money about sexual assault.  He's done this in years past and it's just one of the ways he rallies to support victims of domestic violence and sexual assault.  My brother is, and has been all my life, a true feminist: he supports equality amongst men and women (even if he regularly wants to protect his little sisters), and he matches his actions to his words by mentoring young women (including his sisters), working as an attorney to combat sexual assault and domestic violence, and giving of his time, talents and money to assist in raising awareness about issues of women's health and safety.

He also used to be a capital crimes prosecutor.

Sometimes, depending on how people meet me, they may only hear this latter fact and not the former.  When that happens, I've done a disservice to my brother, to his work, and to our relationship because I've only had the opportunity to portray a small sliver of the man he is.  And when that happens, it always throws me off a bit when people express a belief that we must have a really hard time getting along.  Because we disagree on a single political issue?

It happens with my sister as well.  She's in the US Navy.  An officer, she's currently the highest ranking female on her ship. She's a role model and a mentor for younger sailors, both men and women. She's also my best friend in the world (well, technically, she's tied with my mom).  She is the first person I want to talk to when something has gone right or wrong and when she's off at sea, I spend my days accumulating anecdotes to tell her when she's able to return to normal communication methods. (Some of those anecdotes actually work their way into emails, but a lot are just way more fun to tell her as she giggles through my 30-minute story.)

When people hear that I - a woman who loves travelling to random countries, has lived outside the US as an adult almost as long as I've lived in it, and who has sacrificed corporate law for international human rights law work - am related to a military officer and a former capital crimes prosecutor, they think I must be the black sheep of the family.  I'm not.  I'm actually not sure that we have a black sheep of the family.  We each claim it at different points for different reasons: my brother hadn't left the US and Canada until his honeymoon in his mid-30s while my sister and I both spent time abroad while still in undergrad; my sister isn't a lawyer, which she always points out makes her unique and different; and I'm - well, I've never fired a gun and I've never carried a government employee identification card that was my own. I also drink a lot less than they do and swear a lot more.

People think our values must not match. In fairness, our disagreements over the politics that inform our career choices have not always gone well.  We're siblings so even though we love each other  and we're all ridiculously proud of what the other does, we still have our fights.  And as with siblings, sometimes a fight over something like undone dishes or a conversation about a news story on a war in a far off place, will trigger ridiculous fights.  We know each other well enough to know how to push the buttons you can't always unpush.  I've said things to both my siblings that were inappropriate and hurtful.  I won't repeat what I said to my sister, but I will say that when my brother was doing capital crimes prosecution, I once told him he was a murderer. It was unfair and mean-spirited and it is one of the things I regret most in life.

They, too, have at times been dismissive of what I do - my brother once equating it to flittering around the world hugging people in the hopes it makes a difference. My sister admitted to me recently that she only just got comfortable with what I do a few years ago, and even then she wasn't always sure of it.  She'll tell her friends about the ridiculous questions I ask about her career (and they are ridiculous at times) and has waved away what I do as nothing more than puppy dogs and rainbows.  I do the touchy-feely-good stuff in the family while they do the "hard work" of "real jobs."

Thankfully, most of those fights appear in the past (hopefully all of them) as we've each come to realize that what we each do is an extension of the same fundamental worldview:  that the benefits of a free and democratic society demand service, and that the least in our society require our greatest protection.  I know it sounds cliched, and perhaps it is, but it's a value our parents brought us up with and perhaps without ever paying attention to how it informed our decision, we each chose careers we feel serve the underdogs in our society.

I don't agree with the death penalty.  I'm an abolitionist in that area. But my brother believes in justice and he got into capital crimes prosecution after dealing with the wretchedness that man can dole out to man (and to be gender neutral, that woman to woman or man to woman and vice versa, of course). He now does a lot of criminal defense, but regardless of which side of the bar he's on, he does criminal justice in an attempt to ensure the rule of law operates for those that society would ignore or persecute.  He does it because he believes in our justice system.  And he believes in service.

We will likely never agree on the issue of the death penalty - unless he decides I'm right  -  but, I know that this one aspect does not define us or our relationship.  It also doesn't mean that he's a bad person. It just means that even applying a similar world view, and even understanding the same facts, we can reach different opinions on the necessity of something.

I also don't agree with many wars.  I used to be a complete pacifist before I visited the Normandy beaches, some concentration camps, and Holocaust museums.  I've visited the DMZ on the Korean border, Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan, and a host of war sites both domestic and international.  I have come to appreciate that at times a state must go to war, though those reasons should be limited and principally for the defense of one's own nation or for the defense of the vulnerable (yes, I said it and intentionally so). But wars need to be rare and they should protect those who choose not to go to war.

That's part of why I appreciate my sister's service.  It principally comes from the same fundamental belief that wars should be limited but that those who do not want to or cannot serve shouldn't have to.  She once told me she serves so I, with my protestations of recent conflicts, don't have to.  But there's more to it than that.  She serves because she believes in something bigger than herself - in a democracy that serves freedom. 

I don't think she naively believes the US is the only democratic nation that serves freedom. She won't discuss her political beliefs with me at all because she believes her job for now is to serve whatever the will of the people is, so she votes but doesn't tell us who or what she votes for. I think she realizes the flaws in our democratic system - she does have a postgraduate degree in politics - and in the positions and policies our politicians sometimes adopt. Yet, she believes that a democratic nation must be able to protect itself and those who cannot protect themselves.

Hers is a service of sacrifice, too.  She is limited in who she can befriend and who she can date - only officers within two ranks of her, and for dating, no one in her direct line of command.  She serves far from home and perhaps (though she's never said it explicitly) not always in places or for people she would want to serve.

There are a lot of similarities between those who choose a military life and those who choose a life in human rights.  People don't always appreciate that; I didn't always appreciate that.  But ultimately we are two sides of the same coin in many respects.  I recognize that not all military guys or women are good people - we have defined war crimes for a reason.  But not all human rights activists are either, and the broad stroke of the military or police forces automatically being the enemy of the good, white-hatted human rights activist has to stop. My sister is my living proof that those who serve in the military can do so honourably and with the same intentions as those of us who do human rights. We have come to appreciate that the biggest difference in what we do is not what we believe in or why we do it, but rather whether there's a Christmas ornament that recognizes our service.* My parents buy me Christmas ornaments with doves and peace signs to symbolize what I do; my brother doesn't even get career-oriented Christmas ornaments because who wants to celebrate lawyers? My sister, however, has a Christmas ornament that declares her an "American hero," in big red, white and blue letters.  That, of course, is not because our values distinguish us or our actions, but because society does not yet accept the interdependence of the two careers.  I'm just grateful that my siblings do.

So, today I just want to say thanks to my siblings, whom I love immensely and am so proud of for all they do, even when we disagree. You make the world a better place and that inspires me in what I do.

*Okay, the other biggest difference is I still don't know how to shoot a gun while she is an expert marksman in ... something... with guns.