Safety Pins and Safe Places

the original Safe Place sign

When I was a kid in the early 1980s, I spotted an unusual sign on the window of a house on our street.  It said “Safe Place,” and it made an impression on me—the idea that a house could be publicly declared as a haven for young people in crisis. It comforted me knowing that house was there. Although my parents' house has acted as a safe haven for many over the years, we never had one of those signs; you had to go through a special training program to earn the Safe Place designation. 

I got to thinking about those old (since revamped) signs this weekend.  In the aftermath of Tuesday’s elections, a lot of white people feel a deep yearning to publicly say “I’m not a hater! You are safe around me!”  Safety pins started trending in my FB newsfeed, and then, as to be expected, some valid criticisms of the safety pin trend and criticisms of how white people reacted to the criticisms were written.  

So, here are my two cents at this moment in time. If your physical appearance usually works in your favor and you are suddenly uncomfortable because you fear that people may be looking at you and assuming the worst, sit with that discomfort for awhile. Let the discomfort be educational. Recognize that the people whom you most want to make feel at ease don't have the luxury of simply sticking a safety pin on their shirt and magically American society will stop suspecting them of being criminals/terrorists/backwards/lazy/usurpers/abominations/etc. They live with discomfort every day, and your safety pin alone isn't going to alleviate their fears that they and their loved ones are in more danger today than they were last week.  

If your motivation is to bring down the anxiety levels of those who feel unsafe and unvalued by letting them know you have their back, there are many ways to do that every day no matter what you wear.  You could nod and smile to strangers, offer your seat on a crowded bus, amplify disregarded comments in the staff meeting, raise your kids to know right from wrong and to have the courage to stand up to bullies, educate yourself and check your own micro-aggressions, etc.

If you want to wear a pin or badge as a silent expression of where you stand, that's totally cool with me. But, as a former scout and child of a retired Marine, I think such things should be earned and taken seriously when displayed. If not, it waters down and even perverts the meaning--just as cross necklaces have become seen more as fashion accessories than identification markers of someone who practices the disciplines of unconditional love, hospitality, and forgiveness. (Isn't sad that wearing a safety pin conveys better than a cross pin the message that a person cares about the lives of others?)  To earn the right to wear a safety pin, I suggest that in addition to immersing yourself in books and documentaries and seeking genuine dialog and friendships with those you wish to be an ally of, read Isobel Debrujah's recent blog post, So You Want to Wear a Safety Pin.   As for me, I'm still debating as to whether I've earned the right to adorn myself with pins, but it seems to me like a rather good life goal. 

Are we seeking the questions first? Mission Work and Jumping to Solutions (Part 1)

Birds for guests: the go-to gift-giving solution in Congo

I’ve been talking a lot lately about UNISA's doctorate in missiology program. The application deadline is next week, so it’s put-up or shut-up time if I’m really going to start this next year.

Updated resume?  Check.
Scanned academic records and passport? Check.

Completed research proposal outline?  Um… not exactly

As my advisor noted, I have some good ideas on topics to discuss in a dissertation; I even have some assertions to make.  I’m missing a vital element, though: the actual research question. 

My big question is way too broad:  “What are appropriate responses of Christians of a comfortable socio-economic status to the struggles of those of lower economic status?” How far shall I narrow my focus?  Perhaps “What are healthy responses of American United Methodists of dominant socio-economic status to the struggles of United Methodists in the North Katanga and Tanyanika Episcopal Area?” 

I laugh at myself that I started outlining what the content of my research would be before having a question. Typical American wanting to jump to the answers.  I’m forever catching myself doing what I lament that others do.

Middle-class Americans have a bad habit of latching onto solutions without first exploring the problem/question.  On multiple occasions Friendly Planet has had to decline offers from well-meaning friends who have come to us with their favorite solution (containers of donated items, funds for ‘appropriate technology,’ volunteer team of laborers, VBS instructors, etc.).  Like those gee-thanks gifts I used to receive from relatives each Christmas, just because an item is something someone out there could appreciate it doesn’t mean it is what the people you are offering it to really want or need.  And, just like those presents I regifted to Goodwill with the tags still on them, the amount of money well-meaning Americans spend each year on 'solutions' that aren't useful is tragic.

Together we can stop the insanity.  Let's start taking the time to truly get to know each other--our deepest longings and the complexity of our problems-- instead of wasting resources by rushing to solutions. Otherwise, our well-intended gifts will probably just lay an egg.    

For further reading on this topic, I highly recommend Sam Wells' brilliant piece on Rethinking Service (Read the entire piece; it starts slow with a powerful finish)

How to get smarter and do better mission work

Shipping shoes and clothing to Africa as a mission project? Not smart.

This year I gave blogging another try and have been surprised by the results. With so many visitors—especially friends-of-friends-of-friends, I decided to spruce up my digital house and start by pruning back some old posts. In the process, I depublished the entire first four years of this blog. This reminded me of the time my mother told my nearly-deaf great-grandma that she could trim about a foot off the overgrown bushes on the side of the house. You can guess the rest of what has become a classic family joke.

Some of my old posts were cringe-worthy. Not as painful as finding my high school essays or religious kitsch, but enough to remind me that I am evolving—that despite having earned an MA in International Development, I was still extremely naïve when I moved to Congo in 2005, and there’s a good chance that future-Taylor will say the same thing about the Taylor of 2013.

I actually find this reminder comforting. It reassures me that if I'm moving towards a healthier missiology (the science/art of do-gooding), then so are many others. The more the merrier in this club. Even newcomers can leapfrog into the conversation through reading, reflection and learning from the mistakes of people who have been at this for years.

I want to argue that rapid learning in the field of do-gooding/mission work is possible—that exposure to a few key books and blog posts on a subject can be transformative. On the other hand, there is something to be said for putting in the hours. Malcolm Gladwell’s 2008 book, Outliers, examined numerous extraordinarily successful people. From athletes to academics to artists, his team found a common denominator between these 'gifted' individuals: they all had put in at least 10,000 hours of training/study in their field before becoming renowned in it.   

I thought about this when recently reading The Trouble With Bright Girls. At the heart of the article was this finding:

Bright girls were much quicker to doubt their ability, to lose confidence, and to become less effective learners as a result. Researchers have uncovered the reason for this difference in how difficulty is interpreted, and it is simply this: more often than not, bright girls believe that their abilities are innate and unchangeable, while bright boys believe that they can develop ability through effort and practice.

Here it was again in another form: Abilities, even those labeled as intelligence or cleverness, are developed through proactively putting in the hours of research, training and practice. 

Contrary to the widespread Western myth, love is not all you need--especially when it comes to effective do-gooding/mission work. Education and experience are essential too. Thinking that passion + a crash course makes one a skilled expert is an insult to those who have devoted their lives to the subject despite what films like the Karate Kid or Strictly Ballroom have led us to believe. I'm tempted to go off on my soapbox about the mission project failures that could have been prevented had churches done serious research and relationship-building before pouring thousands of dollars down a pit, but the professional anti-poverty organizations as a whole don't have such a great track record either. 

This brings me to the question posed in this post's title "How does one become savvier and more effective in doing good?" Here is my short answer:

• Always accept the possibility that what you thought you knew about the problem is wrong, and the 'solutions' you've poured your heart into are harming those you want to assist. 

• Question everything until you find a better answer, and once you find it, consider that it isn't right either. (If you were the one who came up with the answer, that's a major red flag; sustainable solutions require community ownership of both the solution and the problem)

• Never stop trying to ask better questions. 

The real trick, then, is to not let the knowledge that your future wiser self will criticize your current self’s actions paralyze you into inaction. I'm still struggling with that one.

Donating pig stuffed animals to the Marine's Toys-for-Tots collection in Djibouti?  Not smart on so many levels.

Happy Learning! 

Tale of Two Novels: On belonging and being a White Friend Who Gets It

When your clothesline gets stolen, you improvise. 

I did something unusual for my birthday this month.  I ordered myself two novels. I’m normally a non-fiction gal, but I thought I should branch-out.  Besides, my husband had been teasing me about my choices in beach/pool-side books (and, yes, a book on prison ministry or A Year of Biblical Womanhood is light reading compared to The Women’s Bible Commentary, which is my current heavier reading).  I just finished both novels and realized that juxtaposing my reactions to them was quite self-revealing, so here I am blogging about it.

I started with Christopher Moore’s Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff. It came highly recommended by some nerdy clergy colleagues—all of whom (I suspect not coincidentally) fall into the demographic of white liberal American males. I really wanted to love the book too—to join the club of those who discreetly exchanged its inside jokes, but I found all the crass sexual comments/objectification of women off-putting. I simply didn’t share the author’s sense of humor, and the anachronistic story left me feeling like I hadn't learned anything either. I’d put the book in the category of flicks like Talladega Nights except without as much clever theological commentary  (Am I reacting too harshly? Maybe, but I’m feeling emotionally charged having just read some commentaries on the VMA scandal and Blurred Lines)

Sigh. Not enjoying Biff was particularly disappointing because ever since I was old enough to understand the difference between the American definitions of ‘conservative’ and ‘liberal’ (particularly with the word ‘Christian’ tacked onto them) I’ve found myself feeling not invited to the clubhouses. Conservatives believe I’m a closet heretic and the liberal clubs generally don’t like that I don’t wear every cause I support on my sleeve and I critique their paradigms. Then there are the rebels who think I’m too straight laced to party with them and the folks who are leery of church-going-folk altogether. And, of course, I’m too white to gain full entry into any social club that is explicitly for non-whites. Perhaps that’s part of why I reached out early on to social misfits and international students. It's been told to me that despite feeling that I didn't belong anywhere, I have in fact been de facto president of a rather large association over the years.  

This brings me to the second novel: Chimamanda Adichie’s Americanah. A glowing review of it caught my eye in Ethiopian Airline’s in-flight magazine, and I later listened to an NPR interview with the author. It was described as a story about a Nigerian woman who moves to the USA for college and years later decides to return home. It addresses issues of race, class, identity and belonging.  I was intrigued and quickly devoured all 477 pages. Her astute observations resonated with me, and I wondered how closely the author resembled her heroine in personality and worldview. I fantasized about meeting Adichie socially someday—perhaps at a State Department function. Would we hit it off? I'd like to think she'd view me as a kindred spirit, but I fear I'd seem like another Kimberly, a character in her novel—an elite white woman who overtries at being sensitive, describing every black woman she sees as 'beautiful' and misting over with pity whenever she meets someone from Africa. Even "poverty was a gleaming thing; she could not conceive of poor people being vicious or nasty because their poverty had canonized them, and the greatest saints were the foreign poor.” (151)

I’ve seen too much to view the world as Kimberly does, and I’ve been away from America so long that I now look back at it from a distance, frequently shaking my head in bewilderment or facepalming at the demographic of my birth. And yet, I’m self-aware enough to know that there are others who roll their eyes at me—finding my attempts to navigate issues of identity and belonging cringe-worthy, and I thank the few along the way (shout out to Stephanie Matthews) who have called me out bluntly when I needed to be set straight. 

In Americanah, the heroine Ifemulu becomes a professional blogger on issues of race in America and explains unwritten rules about being an American black person to non-American blacks. One such post is about the “White Friend Who Gets It.” 

Sadly, this is not as common as one would wish, but some are lucky to have that white friend who you don’t need to explain s#*% to. By all means, put this friend to work…. They can say stuff that you can’t… Let your white friend say it. If you make the mistake of saying this, you will be accused of a curiosity called “playing the race card.” …Here’s to all the white friends who get it. (361) 

Am I such a white friend (WFWGI)? In the American context, I'm not sure, but I'm trying and still learning. Many Congolese friends have told me that I often play that role for them, though--especially when it comes to speaking up for them among United Methodists in the USA. Over the years I've called out folks for treating African United Methodist friends like they are intellectually or morally inferior or for flat out objectifying or ignoring their struggles. I've even given geography lessons to general agency staff--like why purchasing someone from Kamina a plane ticket 'home' to Kinshasa is akin to buying a person from Florida a ticket 'home' to Alaska. (and, yes, the friend was stranded in Kinshasa, getting desperate and asked me to intervene since she had traveled as one of the invited token Africans at their event)

I've discovered that the other responsibility of a WFWGI is to generally keep quiet on issues that would reinforce negative stereotypes. No matter how good of a friend you think you are, you don't have the right to air other people's dirty laundry to people who won't understand the context.

It took me a bit of time to understand the 'laundry' rules. When I first started spending time in Congo, I hated the 'curtain' tours (as in don't-look-behind-the) the local church would take me and other visitors on. "How gullible do they think I am?!" I wanted to rip open the curtain and see the whole picture. I didn't yet understand the rules of the game or that it is played universally. What company, congregation or do-gooder organization is going to show an outsider (especially a potential investor) anything other than an idealized version of itself?

I had to prove myself as someone safe to tell--someone who could get it--before real candor began--before my Congolese colleagues would start coming to me when they needed somewhere to vent or advice/sympathy on dealing with Americans who didn't understand.

Now I gladly play along with the curtain tours. I occasionally get to help lead the tours myself all while knowing that there are still some curtains that are closed to me and might always be so. And that's ok because, as I learned working at the US embassy, some issues are highly sensitive and I'll only be told if the ones dealing with the issue think I can be trusted and I need to know about it.

That said, I still have mixed emotions as I play the game. I function as the useful white front for Congolese friends' projects, and I usually bite my tongue when Americans (primarily white) boast about their partnerships or rant about lack of accountability/transparency with partner conferences in Africa.  What I want to say to all of these Americans is that you are blind to the game you are playing. That, no, of course you aren't being told the full truth because your 'partners' don't trust that you can handle the truth.

There, I finally said it aloud. Furthermore, the American church needs to remove the plank from its own eye and realize that it is the one that isn't trustworthy. We have consistently behaved as selfish fair-weather friends, only caring when our ego is being stroked, when our 'partners' shower us with compliments and treat us deferentially. We abandon our colleagues when they dare to disclose that their poverty hasn't made them saints or when the next shiny charity catches our mission committee's attention. In their greatest hour of need, we not only weren't there for our Congolese colleagues, we didn't even didn't even notice that their world was engulfed in horror.

American (dominantly white) churches continue to systematically engage in condescending treatment of our African colleagues, and most of our attempts to correct this come across as ignorant as Adichie's Kimberly (which then feeds the problem by reinforcing the pressure to close all the curtains). I'm not saying there hasn't been progress--there has--but it is hard to remedy the problem of our racism when we try to deny its existence.

It is highly unlikely that our Congolese colleagues are going to say any of this to you. Even if you serve on the same committee or work in the same building they will continue to play the game. They dare not disclose what they really think for they do not trust that you would remain 'partners' if they did. But, as the white friend I can say such things to you without fear of grave consequences, and thus the more I think about what Adichie writes, the more I think I have a moral obligation to do so.

It seems the least I can do on this the 50th Anniversary of Rev. Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech.

Why I Love Congolese Scouts

Our official escorts in Mulongo

It’s no secret that back in high school I had crushes on boy scouts (particularly Eagles and rugby playing scouts). There was just something about hanging out with guys with survival training and chivalry. I listened to so many of their stories about camping adventures at Philmont it was if I’d been there too. How wild and exciting they made it sound! Of course, Mom teased that when they’d all come over to our house it was like watching Wendy and the Lost Boys interact.

I, myself, hadn’t lasted long in our local girl scout program. A couple years of selling cookies and decorating cakes was enough for me, so when we moved I wasn't interested in finding another troop.

It came therefore, as both a surprise and a laugh to me when I moved to Kamina, DR Congo in 2005 and found out that my neighbors and new best buds were active scouts. Weren’t they a bit old to still be scouting?  What exactly was the point of it when everyone there already knew as a matter of daily survival how to live off the grid and Macgyver random objects?  How do you talk about allegiance to God and Country when your government is so broken?  I had much to learn.

I was shocked when I began traveling with the bishop into even more remote communities—ones that had been directly impacted by the war—that there were always scouts there to meet us upon arrival. They not only would help transport the luggage and equipment, they’d form a human line around the visitors and escort them safely to their lodging. They then took shifts guarding the compound 24/7 and would act as runners for supplies. Scouts, it turned out, are the go-to crew for hospitality, crowd control, security, protocol, and important event set-up (sound system, outdoor electrical, etc)—not to mention their other do-gooder projects like assisting widows and orphans or mobilizing community clean-up efforts. I also noticed that the deeper into the war zone we went, the more disciplined the scout troops seemed to be. This was no coincidence.

At first it disturbed me how much these scouts resembled young soldiers as they marched in their lines. Then it hit me: for these young men who knew the face of war and been recruited (often forcibly) by armies and warlords, the decision to join the scouts—the community’s unarmed peacekeeping force—was a bold act requiring the resolve of a patriotic soldier.

The United Methodist Church’s North Katanga Conference alone has 4,807 (as of August 2013) active scouts. They are planning to hold a jamboree next summer in Tenke, DR Congo and have invited scouts from the USA to join them. Dr. Art Collins, president of the National Association of United Methodist Scouters and pastor of Ellettsville First UMC is heading the recruitment and registration for Americans interested in attending or underwriting this event. I encourage you to contact Art for details.    

  

scouting in Kalemie, DR Congo

Scouts in Tenke, DR Congo welcoming the FPM bike team

Scouts in Kabongo assisted local police with crowd control at annual conference

Scout troop that guarded our guest house 24/7 in Mulongo this summer

View more photos of scouts in North Katanga

The Plan

Having a plan is a good idea (except when it's not)

When I was just 15 years old my father took me on my very first trip to Zaire (now DR Congo). This trip sparked in me an obsession to understand why there was so much poverty in world, why it didn’t feel like go-gooder efforts were getting anywhere, and what the anti-poverty experts knew that I could then take back and share with folks in the church pews.  Thus, over 16 years ago (was it really that long ago?!) I enrolled in American University’s BA/MA program in International Development.

My plan seemed so simple:

• Step #1: Learn everything that is known on the causes of and solutions to poverty.
• Step #2: Use this knowledge to critique dominant do-gooder/mission models and offer an alternative path of action.
• Step #3: Introduce new model to the masses.  Do this through writing a book, becoming a traveling keynoter/consultant, be elected/appointed to a leadership position, etc.
• Step #4: Be happy in the knowledge that my work had made a difference in this world.

If only changing the world were as easy as it seemed back then. My plan was based on numerous naïve assumptions. For example, it turned out that anti-poverty experts knew a lot more about projects that have failed than they did about formulas for success (I spent five straight years analyzing countless failed development initiatives---what that did to my mental health is another conversation). It also turned out that when you try to explain to folks--especially church folk--that they are using antiquated mission models, their predictable response is not one of appreciation and requests for your advice on how to change. In fact, this is an easy way to quickly make yourself persona non grata in both ‘conservative’ and ‘progressive’ religious circles. There aren't many returned phone calls or consulting contracts for the nerd who dares to suggest that a congregation/conference/agency overhaul its beloved mission program.  

Needless to say, I’ve been somewhere between steps #2 & #3 for several years now, and I often think of the old plan as a bad joke. At times I suspect that what I thought was my call was simply me listening in on the party line. There are, for example, a handful of recently released bestselling books that say much of what I've been trying to explain (Toxic Charity, for example). Change seems inevitable even without my voice in the mix, although I don't think we've reached a tipping point yet (perhaps in secular society, but the church is more resistant).

I've yet to find a book that covers everything that should be said on the topic, but I'm pretty pumped about the progress my father is making on his book. I've put him on a 1,000/words/day minimum regime and he's been sending me his daily updates for accountability.  At this rate he'll be ready to send the manuscript for professional editing by September. The book's format is heavily influenced by Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, so for those of you who have been hoping for a step-by-step how-to manual on mission work, this won't be it.  It will be, however, a journey into the heart of DR Congo and the ramblings of a mad man on a bicycle. Some of you will find it profound; others will be confused. If you've been following his blogs for awhile, I suspect you will find it enlightening and challenging. It has potential to become a classic, or, at least a cult classic. Of course, Mark Twain defined a classic as "a book which people praise and don't read," so I'm hoping that it gets read before that happens. There is already serious talk of an indie film (not of the book itself, but of one of the stories of heroism told in it); the filmmaker is currently seeking investors for the project.          

The deal Dad and I made was that I'd manage Friendly Planet Missiology this year so that his only professional responsibilities would be to ride his bike (where he does his best thinking) and finish the book.  Who knows--maybe next year will be the year of The Plan.  ;)

Missiology 101, Session #1: Feeding the Children

Yesterday I wrote about why I've been silent on issues that really matter to me and gave you a glimpse of some of what I’ve been doing lately. So many of you shared the post with your friends that my readership numbers skyrocketed overnight. So, I’ve decided to take a deep breath and take a stab at offering some coaching on mission programs via this blog. Let’s start with some low hanging fruit, shall we?

Actually, hold that thought for a moment. When I visit my parents, at some point during the visit my mother will inevitably point out ways in which I’ve let my appearance slide and then drag me into the bathroom with tweezers, scissors and cosmetic chemicals in hand. She knows that with a few easy adjustments I can go from homely to chic, so she feels it’s her duty as a mother to intervene. She’s made me promise that when her eyesight starts to fail that I’ll do the same for her. I share this because when I start talking about mission programs, I don’t want to critique strawmen. I want to use real examples, which means that some of you might think you know where I got my example and then word spreads that Taylor’s been badmouthing “X” project or congregation and people get mad and it all spirals down from there. 

So here’s my request if we move forward with this conversation and you suspect I’m talking about you or your congregation. Please think of me as that daughter/mother/sister who just really wants to give you a makeover. I don’t hate you or think you’re ugly. I wouldn’t bother pointing out the issues if I didn’t care and didn’t think improvement was possible. And, I wouldn't use your project as an example if others didn't have the same blindspot. So please don't pull your funding from an FPM-greenlighted project in Congo just because you think I'm writing about you. Pretty please? 

With all that said, let’s begin with our first example. This year I attended a worship service at a healthy mid-to-large sized Methodist congregation in the USA. They are involved in some terrific ministries in both their town and around the world. Good people; fantastic leadership team. I couldn’t help but notice, though, the flyers on their doors about an upcoming mission trip. They were going to a country that receives many honeymooners, eco-tourists, and mission teams. The advertisement promised that team members would have an opportunity to feed local children.

Your assignment: Critique this mission trip (or, at least, the way in which it was publicized)

Yes, I could tell you what ran through my mind when I read the flyer and why my knee jerk reaction was to face-palm, but you are a smart person; I want you to figure this out. If your mind doesn’t immediately start whirling, then give it time. When you have some ideas, share them with me.  You can put them in the blog’s comments section, write them on my Facebook link or send me a private message.We can even start a missiology discussion group if you'd like.

If you have no idea what was unhealthy about the flyer, then begin with some thought exercises. Imagine if a group of foreigners came to your town on a similar mission trip. Try to put yourself in the shoes of a parent or caretaker. Any emotions bubbling up? Have you ever fed a child that was not your own? What was your relationship with the child and/or the child's guardian? What kind of relationship exists between the mission team members and the primary caretakers of the children they are going to feed?

Bonus question: Any thoughts on ways in which a church group going to this country could be helpful? (Let's leave the discussion on the problems of offering help that’s not requested for later)    

I look forward to reading your submissions.  

Feeding my little Ood

What I Haven't Told You and Why

Some of you may be surprised to read that most of the people with whom I regularly interact here in Djibouti know almost nothing (if anything at all) about what I do professionally. For that matter, unless you’ve had extensive conversations with me in the past year, you probably don’t know all that much about what I’m doing either. Even though it's not hard to get me talking about Congo, I rarely write about it—especially not about the issues that are most on my mind. There’s so much to say, and it’s hard to know where to begin.  Even more than that, there is the problem of finding words that convey the message.

Have you ever had the experience of opening up to someone and sharing something important you’ve realized/grappled with only to have the manner of their response tell you that they clearly didn’t get what you were trying to communicate? Has the frustration ever been made worse when they are convinced they already know what you’re saying and proceed to offer an example that does not match at all? If so, you've felt some of what I go through.

My experiences and work in Congo don’t fit neatly into dominant mental models, but that hasn’t stopped folks from trying to shoehorn them into one. Partly this is human nature; it is easier to file things into categories we already know. Partly, though, is that if a bunch of folks really heard what I had to say about mainstream Western mission models (secular and religious), a lot of changes would happen. Uninvited change, of course, is threatening and scary. No one enjoys having the effectiveness of one’s paradigm challenged. By just beginning to publicly point out problems in the way United Methodists in the USA relate to their colleagues in Africa, my father has made himself persona non grata in certain denominational circles and a legend in others. This is one of the reasons why he’s been writing a book and why the book writing process has taken so long. He can’t simply come straight out and write what he wants to say; that would offend too many people, and thus not lead to the desired results. He’s got to tell interesting stories that gently lead the reader into connecting the dots on their own. Self-initiated change is exciting.

The long-standing family joke is that I’ll write my book on missiology just as soon as Dad completes his. Well, it’s looking like that day is coming, so I’ve begun exploratory conservations with the faculty of the missiology department down at the University of South Africa about me entering their doctorate program. If I’m really going to write an academic book, might as well get a doctorate out of it. This way I’d have a dream team supporting my research and writing process. Of course, I’m guessing I’d curse my decision many times while in process (performance anxiety stress-outs), but I suspect that if I never do find the courage to say all the things I’ve been bottling up, I’ll be forever haunted by ‘what-if.’ What if I put my yearning for a world with healthy missiologies above my ego—my anxieties over what people would think, my reluctance to be a lightning rod (I’ve been one before, and it’s not fun), and my fear of my words being twisted and misunderstood?       

While most of you haven’t been obsessing over the root problems with Western mission models since you were a teenager, I suspect there is some issue of which you have an above-average knowledge. For some of you, it's the public school system; for others it is the prison system or gender discrimination or fair labor or city planning or arts appreciation or food supply chains or management styles or health care or even product design. No matter what your soapbox issue is, you can probably relate to your words falling onto deaf ears and even receiving hostile reactions when you point out what seem to you to be common-sense solutions. So can you get now why I’ve gone a bit underground in recent years in my efforts to encourage individuals and groups to re-examine the way they approach their mission initiatives and trips? 

So all of this was one big preface to say that I’m involved in some incredibly fruitful initiatives in Congo in my role as president of Friendly Planet Missiology (FPM). Some of our upcoming projects we’re keeping quiet for strategic reasons. Mostly I haven’t talked about what I do because, well, I’ve found it’s easier (both emotionally and functionally) to get things done when I fly below the radar. The downside of such an approach is that it doesn’t inspire many folks to make financial contributions to our programs, and it doesn’t help FPM’s secondary mission of being an educational resource to folks state-side. Pray for me as this introvert (yes, really I am) seeks balance in my online sharing.     

 Did you know that....  ?

FPM partnered with local doctors and officials to build the Mulongo region's only accredited nursing school. These students staff the local hospital and numerous village health clinics

FPM provides scholarships to female nursing students and is raising funds for the construction of a midwife training center, a medical reference library, and a dormitory for women nursing students whose homes are far away

Among next year's nursing scholarship recipients is the vice-commander (although widely considered to be the brains of the militia) of Lord Vende's Mai Mai army. One of these days I'll need to tell you the story of how FPM's Country Director Rev. Mulongo became her pastor. When Bishop Ntambo heard that "The Shooter" had applied to the nursing school, his eyes grew wide with shock and he said he would relay the good news to President Kabila as soon as possible.     

FPM operates a boat that is used for supply transport (Doctors Without Borders has borrowed it for immunization campaigns), evacuations (used to help leaders trapped during Mai Mai invasions), and more

FPM gave a matching business loan to a co-op of district pastors who had pooled half their salaries for one year to purchase a corn/cassava mill

The UMC's North Central Jurisdiction Volunteers in Mission program is in talks with FPM for a young adult road/boat adventure to Mulongo and beyond. American team members would be expected to provide financing for the cement and roofing sheets for the women's foyer (vocational training center) in Mulongo.  The women of Mulongo have already molded and baked thousands of bricks for the foyer's construction.  

There are well-organized and active troops of scouts deep in Congo. They serve as an unarmed peace-seeking militia for youth in the community.  When FPM teams or church dignitaries come to town, the scouts take the lead in crowd-control, hospitality logistics, and technical support (like setting up the electrical lines and speaker system in the temporary conference tent).  FPM has matched Indiana's scouting leaders with scout leaders in North Katanga to hold a special Jamboree in Tenke, DR Congo next summer.  

While FPM was initially launched by me and my father, FPM's Country Director Rev. Mulongo (left) and the team of volunteers he has assembled are the real brains and brawn behind the organization's work in DRC.

Bait and Switching Do-Gooder

In my first year of undergrad I took a class titled Honors English: Subversive Thinking.  Our professor told us to call him ‘Coach.’ I hated that class, and I loathed calling that man Coach.

It wasn’t the classroom time or even the assigned readings I disliked; that part was fun. We’d dissect political speeches and magazine articles looking for logical fallacies and meaningless phrases. We read The New Doublespeak and books that discussed the disconnect between public opinion and government policies. All of this I devoured.

The painful part was the writing. Coach said we’d all gotten into his class because as teens we’d excelled in the art of generating long papers that didn’t say much of anything. This time, we had to say something thoughtful, and filler words would not be tolerated.

Coach was ruthless with my papers, calling some unfit to grade. My sense of identity and self-esteem was that of being a straight-A student. How could he suggest that my work was rubbish?!  I oscillated between anger and grief. 

Last week I blogged about my frustration with the way do-gooder fundraising campaigns are usually pitched in the USA. I talked about how they manipulate emotions by playing to our vanity and (often subliminally racist) savior complexes. I wanted all my readers to be cognizant of the game so they could make wiser decisions in how to use their money and energies.  The target of my attack wasn’t do-gooder organizations; it was the dysfunctional game that they are trapped in. If we could raise awareness of how sick the game is, then do-gooder groups would be freed from the pressures of duplicity.  No more debating whether the ends justify the means! No more treating donors like children who we have to trick into eating their vegetables! (and no, not all do-gooder groups are aware of the conspiracy—just the healthier ones) Without the pressure to bait and switch the public, we could pull back the curtain on the messy realities of do-gooder work and start healthy public explorations of what methods are fruitful.

Speaking of ‘bait & switch,’ an old friend e-mailed me after my last post and suggested that this was too harsh of a term. Couldn’t I find a softer way of saying it? She shared her personal experience of how ‘incredibly unpleasant’ it had been when I had shared with her my critiques of child sponsorship programs, since she has made considerable contributions to one. While the logical pragmatic part of her brain could clearly recognize that what I wrote made sense, it was still painful to process—even coming from a friend.  Perhaps if I used gentler words more people would be receptive to what I have to say, she suggested.  I responded that I saw the process like ripping off a bandaid, and after over a decade (arguably two decades) of me trying to coax people to reflect on their mission models, I just want to RIP THE DARN THING OFF.

This, in case you’ve been wondering, is how I got to thinking about Coach. He took the rip-the-bandaid approach, and at the time I hated him for it. It hurt to realize that my writing wasn’t wonderful (looking back, it really was rubbish). It was agony to see all those red marks on the page. And yet, now I’m grateful that I went through the experience--that he saw my potential and pushed me to go further. While I’ll probably never be an award-winning writer, barely a day goes by that I don’t apply what I learned in that class.

So, if you want to say I’m full of it and don’t have the right to presume to be your coach in the world of do-gooding, I get it. You’ve probably been do-gooding since childhood.  Who am I to question your methods or motives?

Nevertheless, I do request that you stick with my team at Friendly Planet Missiology and join the conversation as we wrestle with these issues.  Who knows?  Perhaps someday you will be begrudgingly glad that you did. 

 

Taylor

Mary, Martha and Malaria

Some years back my ballroom dance coaches invited me to work at their studio. I helped them mostly in office admin and hospitality tasks, but then started teaching some beginner private lessons. I wasn't a popular teacher at first. I thought the underlying problem was that I was still just a student myself, but my coaches recognized it was that I lacked awareness of what the clients really wanted when they handed over their credit cards. They thought they were purchasing fantasy, praise and a sense of accomplishment. What they got from me was 50 minutes of pointing out all the mistakes they were making. The tragedy of it was that even though I too yearned for what they wanted, I was driving people away from the very activity I loved.

So what’s this have to do with malaria? I care a lot about malaria. I have many loved ones who have suffered from malaria and good friends who have lost children to it. I know what the forehead of a toddler with malaria feels like. I live in a malaria zone and fret over every mosquito bite my own daughter gets. I know first hand that even treated bed nets and bug spray are no match for some of those stubborn devils. I care, and I want the whole world to care.

Therefore, I’m hesitant to say anything that would discourage any efforts that address malaria. Goodness forbid that I whisper a word of critique about Nothing But Nets, Imagine No Malaria, or other campaigns. It would be better to put a millstone around my neck and throw me into the sea! And yet… I do have critiques. The folks running those initiatives haven't asked for my feedback, so should I still offer it? (Ballroom etiquette is to not give coaching unless it is requested; otherwise you just look like a jerk)

I suppose I could blog about what I might say if they did ask me, but that’s not actually what has been eating at me today. This week I saw advertisements for a new HBO movie called Mary and Martha. United Methodists were encouraged to host parties to watch the film, which was publicized as something that would raise awareness of malaria. I clicked on the website and watched the trailers. Ugh. My stomach felt sick. Please don't be another Great White Savior film. I clicked to read the reviews, since I don’t have access to the movie here. Sigh. “The malaria story, it seems to say, is filmable only if the central figures are white and it is larded up with the kind of button-pushing that television dramas thrive on. The Africans in this film are largely props for Ms. Swank to hold; we learn little about them beyond the happy choruses of welcome songs they shower on white visitors.” (New York Times)

If the movie critics at the New York Times can instantly see what is fundamentally racist about this movie, why can't the folks leading Imagine No Malaria?  Perhaps they do, but they think such an approach is the only way to open the pocketbooks of middle America (I'd rather believe this than think they are completely blind).  Many years ago I took a class in grad school called NGOs and Development led by a former higher-up at World Vision. He talked about the tension that exists in the big development organizations between the fundraising department and the folks working out in the field. Experience has taught them that there is a huge chasm between what development approaches are effective (supporting local agency, for example) and what generates donations (campaigns that play to the savior fantasy).

I want you to understand that you, the "First World" public, are being played. I'm not hating; I'm just saying.

Thus far, most of what I've seen in terms of anti-malaria campaigns play to our fantasies.  Just like financially successful ballroom dance studios understand what their clients really want, these campaigns understand that the more we can visualize ourselves as praise-worthy saviors of the less fortunate, the more we will contribute.  Some argue that this approach is only truly problematic when the organization isn't consciously pulling a bait and switch.  Even our team at Friendly Planet Missiology has gone round and round on whether using what we know to be "more effective fundraising approaches" would be an ethical compromise.

I am beginning to think, however, that it is time for us all to stop being amateur do-gooders.

Let's jump back to my example of what my days at the ballroom studio taught me; I left out something very important. When I made the switch from being a regular student to being on staff, the nature of the coaching I received switched too.  They went from fluffy feel-good to hard work with expectations that I put in real effort and start mastering the material. This didn't mean that lessons were no longer enjoyable (although some felt miserable at the time); the joy came from an accelerated rate of advancement in my dancing--the thrill of viscerally experiencing a figure done well. The difference between an amateur dancer and a dance teacher, my coach insisted, was not about skill level but a matter of mindset. A teacher does not pay his/her coach for coddling but assistance in refining the craft.  A professional values correction over compliment.  

So I am issuing a challenge to all who are interested.  Consider making the switch from amateur to professional do-gooder.  The world's problems are too big and the opportunities for growth too many for us to continue to be content with false praise and slow progress.  Want to explore what would really make a difference in this world? Are you willing to grow thicker skin and be ready to critique every method you've ever tried?  Then let's get started. 

Because, quite frankly, if you want me to smile and say "Great job! You're my hero!" then you'll have to start paying me.     

Taylor