As any of you who have encountered me in the last year or so know, my brother is in the midst of a cross country bicycle trip (he is in the South group) to benefit Habitat for Humanity. I am so proud of him for what he has chosen to do, and for his commitment to this very intense proposition. I hope that one day I will have the drive to commit to such an endeavor.

Reuben embarked on this trip with a good friend of his from high school, Dan Lewis. Dan is a student at Yale and it was through Dan that Reuben found out about the trip. On Saturday July 7th Dan was hit by a car while the team biked through Kansas. He has sustained severe injuries, and has been in a medically induced coma since that time. He is currently in the hospital in Wichita, and his family is with him.

Dan’s father has been maintaining a blog (They won’t let people link directly to the pages, but if you follow the link to read the blog you can register for carepages, it is free, and Dan’s page is danlewis2007) of the news from Wichita, which my father shared with me this Monday. Since then I have been going through and reading all of the entries as well as the comments of support and love that people have given the family.

Today’s entry made me feel very contemplative:

In thinking about how love spreads, we were also reminded about the senseless horrors of violence and war. We began thinking about the Peace Vigil sponsored by Colorado Citizens for Peace that takes place every Saturday in Arvada. They’ve been there every Saturday without fail for almost three years. On July 6 (the day before Dan’s accident), our family and several dear friends began a similar demonstration for peace at the NW corner of 8th and Colorado every Friday from 12:00-1:00.

Especially as I recall this report I heard on NPR this morning. I don’t know if I should feel grateful or not that I don’t have much interaction with veterans, but as I listened to the report this morning I couldn’t help but think about Dan and his family.

The world is full of people who are working very hard to make life better for people they’ve never met, and never will. I listen to the reports about the families of men who were killed in Iraq or Afghanistan, and across the board, they reflect on how their son or husband was committed to helping others. I don’t agree with the reasons we went into Afghanistan or Iraq, I was adamantly against the Iraq invasion at the time and I have remained staunchly so in the intervening years. I am not quite a pacifist, but I have not in my life encountered a set of circumstances that compel me to say that armed force was necessary for resolution. And then I see stories like this and I just want to cry.

During my four years at Guilford I learned the beauty of silence, the attraction of non-violence and pacifism, and the reality behind the romance of social action. But more than anything I gained a tiny understanding of the Quaker tradition of holding others in the light. So much appeals to me about Quakerism, but I think that this is the most appealing to me. Right now I cannot find a way to express what appeals to me about this without denigrating the idea of prayer, which is neither what I mean, nor what I intend, so at this point I’ll refrain from explaining.

I guess what I’m really trying to get at is that there is a kid, a friend of my brother’s, a student, a biker, a cellist, a good person, and he is lying in the hospital in his third week of unconsciousness. He was doing something amazing, doing a little bit to make the world a better place. He put music in the air, and he built houses for people who need them. His parents have been very strong, but I can only imagine what happens inside their heads after a long day at the hospital, when the lights are out and they have only one another to distract themselves. So please, for those of you who can, hold Dan Lewis and his family in the light, or pray for them if that is your inclination. I can only imagine how much strength they need.

There are things which come into my life unbidden. I don’t know if I could count them if I tried. One of them that I am currently enjoying is The Go! Team. I know that I didn’t have their complete album previously because I looked for it, over and over. I thought to myself “I like this one song, I must have their whole album somewhere”, but alas I never did. And then suddenly, there it was in my ipod.

Am I delirious? Did I buy this album at some point from itunes, or perhaps download it from some sort of nefarious source? But as I listen to it, it sounds like Dan’s (my relationship with him is something else that came into my life without me looking or asking for it, and which I wouldn’t give it up for the world) music, perhaps he gave it to me? A mystery.

It’s a beautiful day outside. Not quite as awesome as over the weekend, but kind of perfect. True to my word, I’ve been back on my bike this week (I didn’t make it on Saturday or Sunday, since rereading book six and then reading book seven took a little longer than I expected). I woke up early this morning and rode down past the White House and the Department of Treasury before turning towards home. I’m hoping to get out early enough tomorrow to go around the Mall.

Otherwise things proceed apace. I’m trying to switch my cats to an all raw diet, but they don’t seem to be taking to it quite yet. I guess we’ll see whose will is stronger. Though Dodger was puking all morning, so if that continues we’ll have to call it quits. Maybe he’s sick because his system has gotten so used to eating crap? That would be pretty sad.

It’s been three months since I returned from Rwanda. What, you mean I didn’t tell you that I went to Rwanda? Yes, I realized that I have been pretty quiet about that. My life, as ever, is full of excuses. It was an incomplete experience while I was there. It was too raw right when I got back. Then I moved. Then I had a boyfriend. Then…

It was an intensely powerful, intensely personal experience. Part of the reason that I have not written about my experience in Rwanda so far is that I fear beginning to sound like one of those sappy people who talks about the pain and horrifying experiences that people have overcome, and the power of love and the healing that can occur if only we could all just get along.

I was working while we were there. At the end of the day I tended to be fairly exhausted, and I was lucky if I had the energy to open my computer and make an attempt at holding up a conversation with the guy I liked (forget about flirting with him, or impressing him in any manner, I was hoping to form complete sentences) from across the world. (Because really, what’s more attractive than a half-delirious with exhaustion woman chatting with you at seven am from East Africa about how happy she is that she has not yet been mowed down by lower GI distress? Yeah, damn sexy, that.)

ANYWAY. What I did get, from the brief digests of the news that I culled from my colleagues and the Very Important People, is that Rwanda, while it has made great strides since 1993 (and really, when 1 million people in a country are killed in 3 months, anything that ISN’T mass murder and genocide is a great stride…) they have not come all the way. What I heard from our Very Important Speakers, is that people in Rwanda no longer make a distinction between Hutu and Tutsi. That the Arusha based court has been truly dispensing justice. And I’m an outsider I have no way of passing the judgment of truth or propoganda. The sense I got was that there is still a ways to go.

I did meet amazing people. I met women who are HIV/AIDS + and who have taken in two or three orphans in addition to their own children, who are working to improve not only their lives, but their communities as well. I met a woman my age whose family fled Rwanda in the late 70’s and who was raised in Uganda, but came back “because this is my country”.

I saw the reality on the ground of what my work in Washington has been allowing to happen, and it has kept me going for three months. And I have learned the conundrum of the traveler to the developing world. When people casually ask you “So, how was Rwanda?” they don’t want to hear about the piles of bones, or bloody clothes, or the woman with AIDS whose only wish is to live to see her children finish with school. But am I being honest to my experience, do I honor the women who trusted me with their stories, if I don’t tell them?

It’s been about eight years since I was stupid enough to think I actually knew anything about anything. The more I learn, the more I understand that there are no easy answers to anything. The problems with easy answers aren’t problems for long.

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When I moved into my new apartment I was worried that I would spend all of my money at Whole Foods, a mere two doors away from me. For the most part I have been good. It’s easy when all I eat is pasta. But of course I make an exception for produce, and cheese, and beer, which is no more expensive at Whole Foods than anywhere else.

My downfall, in so many ways, has been that I now have an epic selection of Ben and Jerry’s, two doors away from me, and for a buck fifty *less* than 7-11. It didn’t get dire until last night I’d been out and had a couple of beers and was feeling good and decided what my life needed was ICE CREAM. And the Whole Foods had just closed, and I was so fixated on the notion that I walked the extra two blocks to 7-11, and bought their last pint. And this morning I woke up, and like a staggering drunkard, I panicked because I couldn’t remember if I had manged to get my wallet back into my bag after the ice cream escapade. So tonight, almost ready for bed, bathed and fresh smelling, I made note that it was only 9:30 and wandered downstairs for my evening pint, in my pajamas and a pair of airwalks I have had since 7th grade.

Being an adult RULES.

http://dcist.com/2007/07/12/columbia_height_1.php
http://jeffrey-feldman.typepad.com/frameshop/2007/07/frameshop-a-p-1.html

When I decided to move to DC I honestly did not consider that I would be a minority here. I knew that I was impressed that when I came for my interview I was the only white person in the room. I knew that as much as I loved my prior workplace I was ready for a more progressive attitude towards racial diversity.

As a white woman I am in a constant battle with the complacency that comes with privilege. At the very root of it I have the privilege to ignore my privilege. The combination of stories above makes me very sad. I was raised in a very white neighborhood within the city limits of Denver. I was sent to a private school until I requested to go to public school, and from that point on all of my schools were at least 50% people of color. Of course the advanced academic programs I was in did not reflect those same demographics.

While I was in school I didn’t do much to question the status quo of lack of diversity in my particular program, other than to wonder about it. A couple of weeks after graduation I was approached by the president of the school board in Denver, who at the time was a family friend. She asked me what I had thought of the program. I honestly told her that I thought that I had received the best secondary education available in the metro area, but that the program was awfully white, and that I didn’t think it was because people of color weren’t applying (or perhaps that they weren’t being encouraged to apply).

I have a habit of being aware of these things once I am out of the situations. I lived in Columbia Heights for the first six months I was in DC. Of course I was aware of my neighborhood. But here’s an observation for some of the CH listerv kids: The most attractive houses, with the best kept yards and in the best repair are the privately owned family homes. And you know those aren’t white folk (white flight to the suburbs for better schools, anyone?).

I often feel like a visitor to DC, and in many ways I hope it stays that way. I feel slightly off balance and it helps me remember that I am not in the majority in DC. I am a minority in this city, and even so I enjoy the daily effects of white privilege. But that slight feeling of being off balance reminds me of it, every day.

Yes, I moved out of Columbia Heights. I moved to Dupont Circle, and 85% of the people walking towards the metro station with me every morning are not people of color. My rationale for moving had nothing to do with the racial makeup of my neighborhood. I wanted out of a living situation that was not healthy for me, I wanted an easier commute, and I wanted to live alone. I happened to find a place that fit those criteria in the Dupont Circle/ Logan Circle neighborhood.

I love that there are so many businesses near by. I love that I am walking distance to the red line. So here’s the crux of the matter… Why is it so hard to travel in and out of Columbia Heights? Why is it that there has been this debate of Marshalls versus Whole Foods?