Turning the Other Cheek

Today we left Rome in route for Tuscany. After I packed up my backpack contents I walked out the gates of the Peter Pan Hostel towards our car which we left parked on the street in eyeshot of the hostel. Still covered in a solid layer of red dust from Hvar, I walked up on her to find four 30ish looking men all with short haircuts checking her out. One was carefully drawing something on the trunk so I called out laughingly, “Ah, I caught you!” Thinking he had written some Italian version of “wash me” to accompany the “see you in Barcelona” note left by the Spanish girls upon their departure from Didier's place. Instead as the “artist” walked away I locked eyes on a perfectly executed swastika. I looked up at the cowards as they slowly rounded the corner with smirks on their faces. “Thanks, very nice, assholes,” I shouted after them. I then went about my usual routine of packing the trunk. I grabbed my canteen from the passenger seat and poured water over the trunk, and while I am overly tired of drinking the various waters from bathroom sinks across the EU, I was grateful for this fresh reserve that allowed us to avoid brandishing this polarizing symbol of hate. I wiped it clean with a napkin, its life on my trunk was less than a minute, however hours later, this image, the act, the upset was still fresh in my mind.

I went into the hostel to gather Ham and met him on the stairs carrying the last of his stuff from the room. After we made it out of the gates I relayed what had just occurred, and his first response was “were they Indian guys?” I quickly snapped, “No, this wasn't an ancient Hindu symbol they left, these were four dumb ass Neo-Nazi skinheads!” He seemed unfazed. While I decided at that moment that this wasn't going to ruin my day, I made no such commitment regarding my thoughts. I thought about the random spray painted swastikas I've noticed during our time in Europe. They have been few and random, on a road barrier in the mountains, a small handbill in Berlin, the words “white boys sprawled on a wall in Croatia. I had asked about the presence of hate groups when we were staying with the girls, the two doctors in Berlin. Their response was that they're not allowed to advertise or organize publicly, and that was that.

As we rounded the corner leaving the hostel, I fantasized about catching them at the bus stop, pointing them out to Ham and shouting yet another obscenity at them as I hurled a grapefruit that I planned on eating for breakfast. I also pictured them catching up to us at the light, kicking and denting our car or worse. Our Italian guidebook made mention of a hate crime just a few years ago where several Italian men killed an African immigrant in the streets. I thought about Susan Glisson and all that I had learned from her about racial reconciliation work. I thought about my mentors and friends in Philadelphia, MS and Tallahatchie County who had experienced real fear, hatred, and physical violence. I appreciate that on the scale of atrocities this is a minor violation, however overlooking acts such as these small ones almost endorses it, remaining silent implies acceptance and tolerance for racial hatred—this is never okay. My mind continued to race on, with the images of St. Peter's Cathedral still fresh from the day before I thought of the teachings of Jesus regarding turning the other cheek.

Turning the cheek is all about letting transgressions go, and forgiveness, not for the benefit of the transgressors per say, but to free the victim of the weight of life killing anger. I thought about the racial reconciliation work that must be occurring across Europe and how to ally with those folks should we choose to remain in the EU and the challenges of communicating about such a hard subject across languages and cultures. This strikes me as rewarding work.

We never saw those guys again, but I'm sure we'll continue to encounter them in various corners of the world. While I believe they were guests at our hostel I didn't know if they had seen me and Ham or how they could know this was our vehicle. Perhaps their motivation had nothing to do with us at all, and was merely due to the irresistible invitation a dusty car surface provides.

Photos

Hey y'all. We have uploaded more photos from our time in Zion National Park. Check them out at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/108557557174771901911/ZionNationalPark?authkey=Gv1sRgCJb2-YjNr4vSJA&feat=embedwebsite

Hail and Farewell

This is my first blog post. 

Today is my last official day working for the Mississippi Center for Justice, and the first time really tallying up that I've been affiliated with them for almost 5 years now.  Upon entering my second year of law school at Ole Miss, MCJ was a welcome escape, my week-long window back into the communities that most inspire me. Communities with stories of resistance, reconciliation, and possibility.  I didn't know then that my time volunteering through the Student Hurricane Network would completely alter the course of my burgeoning career.  That I'd meet my husband through our shared passion for service and New Orleans.  That I'd become this regional persona--the Mississippi half of a MS/LA partnership.   

In true Biloxi style, my office organized a small lunch party in my honor, catered by my former clients, a family owned business named La Bamba Latino Store (great authentic Mexican comfort food).  There were also two cakes, one a delicious surprise from my clients that read simply "Thank you Annette" and a smaller one "Best Wishes Annette."  We talked about my upcoming travels in the very general and broad approach that I've adopted since we've first started sharing our plans.  Usually my response is "I can't give you the specifics, Ham has been handling that," versus a more honest answer.  That I've been pulled in too many directions lately to focus on this most intimate piece of work. Or that I am intentionally embracing the unknown and resisting the details. 

I am  present to how departures of this sort bring up childhood memories for me.  As an Army Brat I am well versed in the language and emotions of goodbyes, but they have never been easy for me.  I am a charismatic lover of people and place, and departures have typically involved some force outside of my control...a bombing in Riyadh, a promotion, my parents desire to move closer to "home" etc.  Now I find myself as cause in the matter, the reason for this latest journey is simply because "we say." 

It has been difficult to detach myself from the work and the communities that has greatly accelerated my personal and professional growth and development.  How does one say goodbye when all of the victories have not yet been celebrated, and there is always more work to do?  How do you leave when you feel that you haven't done enough, could have worked smarter/longer/harder/better (insert any adjective here)?  My current answer is that you declare it complete, you accept the love and acknowledgement, and trust that the greater purpose for our shared time together is still unfolding. 

I drove home and picked up my husband, dropped off the best wishes cake, and brought the thank you one to a session with a small Episcopal service corps group that Ham and I had agreed to meet with weeks ago (but only remembered this morning).  We were to talk to them about our work and personal stories through an analysis of race and class.  What occurred was a really delightful conversation with thoughtful year long volunteers dancing the YERP (young educated rebuilding professional) dance, of locals vs. outsiders, brown vs. white, privileged vs. poor.  Each of them at various stages in the development of their relationship with their Creator, and the shared experience that through community and learning the stories of others, they strengthened their own spiritual calling.  There were many moments throughout our 2 hour conversation where I was reminded that I am them and they are me. 

This is the experience that I am searching for on our trip, that oneness across all of the languages, lines, and check points that occur as boundaries.  I am a clearing for people to share their stories and feel connected.  And I am increasingly excited when I experience the spaces that Hamilton and I are able to create together!

Hamilton closed the night out by very sweetly asking that we all say a prayer for his impending surgery (he's having his sinuses drained in the morning).  The group happily obliged, creating a friendly game of who could find the appropriate passage in the Common Prayers Book.  We left feeling protected and covered.