Saturday, July 19, 2014

Still trying to believe in faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse


A while ago someone asked me how I handle working in places like Gaza and then return to the quiet, peaceful place that is my home in Montreal.

“I have an ON/OFF switch,” I told him. “I switch it OFF when I need to and forget about the misery I leave behind.”

However simplistic – or in fact uncaring – an answer that may be, it remains essentially true to what I do. Being in the presence of my children at home forces my switch to the OFF position; I can’t feel sorry for my friends in Gaza while I have to take my kids to a swim meet, or make them supper, or yell at them to clean their rooms. I just can’t feel all the time.

The escalating violence in Gaza pains me tremendously; my switch has flipped ON and OFF too many times in the past days. When four boys were killed on the beach in Gaza July 16, the pictures I saw were devastating, and so painful and raw and horrifying that they can never be unseen. As I looked more closely at one reporter’s account my heart sank when I saw the pictures he’d posted. He was staying at the same hotel I’ve stayed at in Gaza a number of times, and one photo showed a man carrying an injured boy into the hotel’s restaurant. I saw the man’s burly face and bushy beard and realized I knew him. He’d carried my luggage once or twice upon my arrival at the hotel; always had a nice smile, always wished me a good day. And there he was, carrying a bloodied boy in his arms.
Carrying a wounded child at the al Deira Hotel, Gaza.
Photograph: Thomas Coex/AFP/Getty Images
Seeing the man I knew carry the wounded boy made the violence more immediate, more urgent and desperate, and to use Anthony Bourdain’s words on Twitter in relation to a photo of the children, “so devastating.” It broke my switch. I have such a hard time processing the images I’m seeing from Gaza that I can’t think straight anymore. Half my Facebook newsfeed pops up with friends sharing the latest images of children gored by the bombings; the other half shows friends on sunny beaches during their vacation. In one particularly stark contrast this morning, one friend posted a video of babies being tickled, while the next feed from a different friend showed a disemboweled infant in Gaza cradled in a man’s arms. Last week I switched off the misery in Gaza and even resorted to the fluffy stuff by posting a few of my own sunny, life-is-good pictures from a peaceful beach.

I think of the people I’ve met in Gaza, the mothers, the fathers, their children. I think of the homes they’ve invited me to, I think of their smiling faces, I think of their resolve, their kindness, their fears, their squalor, their blood. None of what’s happening now makes sense. To make matters more difficult to understand, so much of the violence gets filtered through rhetoric from people posting an astounding amount of hatred online directed at both Israelis and Palestinians. Every argument and opinion advocating one perspective is counterbalanced with an opposing viewpoint that invariably starts with “Yes, but.” None of that helps us move forward, none of that helps stop the violence, the fear, the anguish.

I am not pro-either side, nor am I anti-neither. I am pro-peace, I am pro-human rights, pro-love and pro-anything else that makes sense if you want to live in a world in which you’re happy and safe. The leaders on both sides have undertaken actions that are reprehensible. The Israeli government’s defense measures have resulted in the deaths of over 300 Palestinians, most of whom are civilians. Its actions are abhorrent and considered by Human Rights Watch to be unlawful acts. Rockets launched by Hamas into Israel are an equally abhorrent act, and while the death toll is astoundingly disproportionate between the two sides, the anguish caused to Israeli citizens is something no one should ever have to go through.

I’m not one to posit any answers to this conflict. I never have been, and never will. The only thing I’ve been trying to do for the past three years is to work with Palestinian teachers in Gaza on teaching children about human rights. Respect for each other, equality for boys and girls, tolerance, strengthening links with communities, and learning to resolve conflicts peacefully (well, the small interpersonal kind at any rate). I think of the bombs raining down on the skies of Gaza and wonder about the futility of teaching any of that in the first place. But then again, even in times of relative peace (or at least non-violence), children were still eager to learn about human rights, despite living under an oppressive regime (I learned quickly that saying “Hamas” in public was akin to saying “Lord Voldermort” in the early days of Harry Potter’s stay at Hogwart’s). I suppose there should never be a reason not to teach anyone about human rights, even if they don’t have many to begin with.

As is often the case, it’s so difficult to move forward and teach children human rights values when they are surrounded by circumstances that counter everything human rights aspire to achieve. As a teacher working in Syria told me a couple of months ago, “Yes we can teach children about human rights, but what about the people who are dropping the bombs?” Or to put it another way, as Ralph Fiennes says as the concierge Gustave in the movie The Grand Budapest Hotel which I recently watched to turn my switch off and forget about misery, “You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble, insignificant... oh, fuck it.”
Tell it like it is, Gustave.
I have to believe in the faint glimmers Gustave mentions, and try my best to leave out his last three words. I’ll probably go back to Gaza one day, and see friends whose lives have been fractured, and knowing them they will continue to search for happiness and peace and a life of dignity every way they can, but the anguish of these past days will stay with them forever. Right now, I don’t think any of them have them have the option to turn off their switches. But for those of us who can show our support, we should. Taking to social media is one way, demonstrating in the streets another, or even signing a petition – here’s one for the Canadian government to take a stronger stance on forging peace. Does any of that ease the suffering – maybe, maybe not. But as a Palestinian friend once said to me, quoting Martin Luther King, Jr., “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

Peace.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Ignite the Mandela in us all


Celebrating International Human Rights Day 

My younger son has been fuelling a recent obsession of creating elastic bracelets using a loom. “Everyone’s doing it at school,” he tells me. A couple of weekends ago his teacher encouraged the students in his class to disconnect from all electronic devices – TVs, tablets, computers, iPods. My son managed to stay disconnected the whole time and indulge his new passion of bracelet-making.




Late last week he came up to me after school. “Daddy, I want to make bracelets and sell them at school for a dollar each. I want to raise money for the people who are victims of the typhoon in the Philippines.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Uh, well OK. Did somebody ask you to do this?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. It’s my own idea.” He told me he’d ask a good friend to see if he could help too. His friend agreed, and my son wrote a letter to his principal asking permission to sell the bracelets.

His principal has yet to get back to him, but after telling his story to a couple of my friends, the friends have already pledged to purchase a few bracelets. Each bracelet he makes takes anywhere upwards of 15 minutes depending on its complexity. His enthusiasm at getting up well before sunrise or staying up late to create these bracelets is admirable, and I’m not just saying that because I’m his father. I didn’t give him this idea of raising funds, neither did his mother, and I’ll be the first to admit that an act like this was never an idea I would have thought of at his age. Like, ever.
The Mandela bracelet.

So whatever amount raised by December 23 will be donated to UNICEF Canada, with the Canadian government matching the donation. With the news of Nelson Mandela’s passing last week, and having learned a little more about his life over the past few days, my son’s been working on “The Mandela,” a bracelet with the six colours of South Africa’s flag. As we mourn such a tremendous loss, the impact of Mandela’s legacy for generations to follow will only be strengthened if we demonstrate a selfless kindness and willingness to help others, commit to treat everyone with the respect and dignity they deserve, and unhesitatingly attempt to brighten anyone’s day. As we celebrate International Human Rights Day December 10, I can’t think of any better way to hope that our collective future holds much promise if we all put a little Mandela in our words, our actions, and our hearts.

Happy International Human Rights Day to one and all.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The unavoidance of new bad words - a parent's perspective

I’m driving my younger son home and I ask him how his day went. He hesitates for a moment and tells me, “Why do they keep inventing more bad words, Daddy?”

Crap I know where this is going.

“What do you mean?” I ask him.

“You know,” he says, “the people who make up bad words. They keep coming up with new ones I’ve never heard of before.”

“So you heard a new one today at school?” He nods and says yes. Two kids were calling each other a name during recess and laughing about it. I know he doesn’t like saying bad words out loud, so I ask him to spell it out for me. He misspells it.

“That’s the name of a country in Africa,” I tell him. “But I know the word you’re talking about. It’s an old word that we shouldn’t be using anymore. It was used long ago to make people feel inferior and it was really bad.” I told him a little about the book on slavery I’d finished reading the week before.

“So it didn’t exist when you were young?” he asks me.

I told him it did. It’s the kind of discussion that catches me off-guard as a parent but I know I have to face these kinds of conversations whether I want to or not. As much as I want to protect my children from a world around them that is insulting, uncaring, rude, arrogant, stupid, shameful, discriminatory, racist, and sexist, there will be more and more times when I’m not around to shield them from any of it. My mother’s approach was one of avoidance: we never talked about kids swearing, doing drugs, drinking or having sex. None of that existed once I entered my home. She didn’t want to talk about it and neither did I. So when I have my son come up to me and tell me a swear word that’s new to him, I can’t fall back on my own experience to guide me on a proper response.

But despite this I’m glad he’s comfortable enough to talk to me about it, and however uncomfortable it is for me to answer him, I have to respond. As my children mature and learn more about the world around them, I realize they’re exposed to a lot more crap than I want them to be, but at the same time I need to realize that they are capable of making decisions about what to say or not say, how to be kind and respectful rather than mean-spirited, and how to speak up for what’s right. And talking to them about the stuff that was taboo when I was a kid is one way I hope will help.

“When the kids during recess were using that word, did you say anything to them?” I ask him.

He tells me no. “Maybe next time you hear that word you can tell them it’s not nice to say it. Like, ever.” He nods. I know he’s a good kid.

I drive down our street and pull into the driveway.

“There was another word I heard today, Daddy.”

Oh crap.

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November 20 is Universal Children’s Day. This year UNICEF is focusing on putting hidden violence and abuse of children in the spotlight. Let's talk about it end violence against children in all its forms.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

International Peace Day, Shattered

September 21 marks the International Day of Peace. UN Secretary-General marked the occasion today by saying "Let us fight for peace and defend it with all our might."

The devastating violence in the Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi is a heartbreaking reminder that we are so far away from such peace.

Among the images of the violence today, one of love and strength: a woman holding on to a young boy and placing a comforting hand on another's elbow.

I won't let go.