Over the next two months, this blog will be serving a new and specific purpose: to document my journey through the U. S., volunteering and learning and immersing myself in the communities I will be visiting. I won't promise a specific posting schedule, as I cannot predict how much time and wi-fi I will have throughout my seven weeks, but it would be reasonable to expect updates while I fly/bus between cities.
I have been fundraising for this trip for a few weeks now and am almost to my original goal of $700! I had to update my goal to $1000 when I found out my trip was being extended a few more weeks—read more about that on the page (check out the "Updates" tab to see how things have been developing). You can find the campaign at indiegogo.com/elizabeththraen.
I will try to get a post with all of my pre-journey thoughts up sometime in the next week and a half before I leave. Until then, thanks for all your support and I look forward to sharing my journey with you!
P. S. Yes, I know it's been a stupidly long period of time since I last blogged.
16 July 2012
16 April 2012
Why "Tax the 1%!" Makes Me Cringe
On Sunday, since it was Tax Day, members of my church signed on to letters of concern to our elected officials about how our tax dollars would be spent. As I was reading the letter, a woman next to me said something along the lines of how we need to "tax the 1%!"
Now, I have never been a fan of this "99% v. 1%" language because, while I agree that there is massive and unjust inequality, it seeks to lift up one group of people by pressing down upon others. It (the language, not necessarily all of the people who use it) does not love its enemies. While "the 99%" may have every right to be upset, the language itself (again, not necessarily all of the people who use it) promotes a war-like mentality which seeks to destroy, not love, its enemy.
"Tax the 1%!" I cringed when the woman I was with said this, but for new reasons. I realised that not only did I not like the war-like rhetoric of trying to bring harm to another in order to solve a problem, but also that I didn't even want the government to have more money at all. Like a real conservative (not those phony ones running around with their expensive campaigns and big-central-government attempts to federally illegalise and control everything), I realised I wanted to cut taxes, if anything.
Why? Why should someone in favour of free health care, free education through college, free public transportation, free internet, and free just-about-everything else want to cut taxes? After all, these things cost money, as I am well aware.
Why? Because the government doesn't do these things, at least not with the vast majority of its money. When only 1% of the budget goes to "fighting poverty" in developing countries, and even that is spent with such inefficiency that it only gives money to Big Agribuisness while failing to provide adequate necessities to the people it claims to help, the government does not deserve any more money. I would never give money to a non-profit that spends only one cent of my dollar on what I actually want it to do, and I certainly wouldn't want others to give their money to it either. Why should I treat my government any differently?
The largest portion of our federal budget is, by far, military-related spending. The exact figures vary depending on who you ask (statistics are too easy to manipulate), but the cost of our wars is undeniable. Costofwar.com is a good site to check out if you want to get sick. The cost since 2001 to my congressional district alone, according to the site, is well over $3.6 billion as I write this. The "Trade-Offs" tab there puts it into perspective: what my district will spend this year on the Afghanistan war alone could pay for "36,288 Scholarships for University Students for One Year." I'd have loved a scholarship instead of a war, but since I got a war instead, I'm not going to advocate raising more funds for that government.
Because the problem is not a lack of money. The problem is how that money is spent. At what point do we finally realise that our country's budget problems are rooted in the private profitability of our publicly destructive military-industrial complex? Taxing the rich will not make war unprofitable, nor could it possibly alleviate the publicly held burden of the destruction and pain caused by war. Only by turning our spears into plowshares, by building an economy dependent upon growth and nourishment instead of destruction and warfare, can we possibly solve our budget woes and create a just, sustainable, and fair society, and until the US government actively supports the dismantling of our war economy, I have zero interest in increasing its funding.
Now, I have never been a fan of this "99% v. 1%" language because, while I agree that there is massive and unjust inequality, it seeks to lift up one group of people by pressing down upon others. It (the language, not necessarily all of the people who use it) does not love its enemies. While "the 99%" may have every right to be upset, the language itself (again, not necessarily all of the people who use it) promotes a war-like mentality which seeks to destroy, not love, its enemy.
"Tax the 1%!" I cringed when the woman I was with said this, but for new reasons. I realised that not only did I not like the war-like rhetoric of trying to bring harm to another in order to solve a problem, but also that I didn't even want the government to have more money at all. Like a real conservative (not those phony ones running around with their expensive campaigns and big-central-government attempts to federally illegalise and control everything), I realised I wanted to cut taxes, if anything.
Why? Why should someone in favour of free health care, free education through college, free public transportation, free internet, and free just-about-everything else want to cut taxes? After all, these things cost money, as I am well aware.
Why? Because the government doesn't do these things, at least not with the vast majority of its money. When only 1% of the budget goes to "fighting poverty" in developing countries, and even that is spent with such inefficiency that it only gives money to Big Agribuisness while failing to provide adequate necessities to the people it claims to help, the government does not deserve any more money. I would never give money to a non-profit that spends only one cent of my dollar on what I actually want it to do, and I certainly wouldn't want others to give their money to it either. Why should I treat my government any differently?
The largest portion of our federal budget is, by far, military-related spending. The exact figures vary depending on who you ask (statistics are too easy to manipulate), but the cost of our wars is undeniable. Costofwar.com is a good site to check out if you want to get sick. The cost since 2001 to my congressional district alone, according to the site, is well over $3.6 billion as I write this. The "Trade-Offs" tab there puts it into perspective: what my district will spend this year on the Afghanistan war alone could pay for "36,288 Scholarships for University Students for One Year." I'd have loved a scholarship instead of a war, but since I got a war instead, I'm not going to advocate raising more funds for that government.
Because the problem is not a lack of money. The problem is how that money is spent. At what point do we finally realise that our country's budget problems are rooted in the private profitability of our publicly destructive military-industrial complex? Taxing the rich will not make war unprofitable, nor could it possibly alleviate the publicly held burden of the destruction and pain caused by war. Only by turning our spears into plowshares, by building an economy dependent upon growth and nourishment instead of destruction and warfare, can we possibly solve our budget woes and create a just, sustainable, and fair society, and until the US government actively supports the dismantling of our war economy, I have zero interest in increasing its funding.
21 March 2012
Hunger Is Not a Game
This Friday, The Hunger Games will hit theatres nationwide and, I'm sure, even internationally. The world will be watching as teenagers flock to movie theatres to witness the brutality of the Capitol and its barbaric "Hunger Games," pitting children from each of Panem's twelve Districts in a Battle Royal-style fight to the death. Participation in "The Reaping," the lottery process by which two unlucky children from each district are chosen, is mandatory, but impoverished and hungry citizens can put their names in the lottery extra times in exchange for a little extra food. Meanwhile, the citizens of the Capitol live in absurd luxury, entertained annually by the twisted Hunger Games.
While the details may differ, The Hunger Games tells the story of the harsh inequality, artificial scarcity, and brutal violence inherent in our own systems. People are starving. People lack access to clean water. These aren't issue limited to far-off, "third world" countries either. Hunger happens even in the richest countries in the world. Hunger happens in my own backyard, and I assure you it happens in yours, too.
And this is NOT an impossible problem to solve.
The Harry Potter Alliance's Imagine Better Project has partnered with Oxfam America and Hunger Games fans across the nation and globe to draw attention to these issues and the solutions. This weekend, fans will collect donations of food for their local food banks and pledges of support for Oxfam's GROW campaign as the first step toward addressing the systematic problems which cause worldwide hunger.
So take the pledge (and if you do, leave a comment here letting me know why you signed!), tell your friends, Tweet hashtag #notagame this weekend, and find a food drive in your area or star your own! You'll be sending a silver parachute to someone in need when you do.
While the details may differ, The Hunger Games tells the story of the harsh inequality, artificial scarcity, and brutal violence inherent in our own systems. People are starving. People lack access to clean water. These aren't issue limited to far-off, "third world" countries either. Hunger happens even in the richest countries in the world. Hunger happens in my own backyard, and I assure you it happens in yours, too.
And this is NOT an impossible problem to solve.
The Harry Potter Alliance's Imagine Better Project has partnered with Oxfam America and Hunger Games fans across the nation and globe to draw attention to these issues and the solutions. This weekend, fans will collect donations of food for their local food banks and pledges of support for Oxfam's GROW campaign as the first step toward addressing the systematic problems which cause worldwide hunger.
So take the pledge (and if you do, leave a comment here letting me know why you signed!), tell your friends, Tweet hashtag #notagame this weekend, and find a food drive in your area or star your own! You'll be sending a silver parachute to someone in need when you do.
 |
| We stand with the Imagine Better Project Hunger is Not a Game |
07 December 2011
Kovu, the Outsider
I love The Lion King. Let's start off by getting that out in the open. I grew up on The Lion King. I still cry when Mufasa dies, I know every song by heart, and "Hakuna Matata" has been the basis for many important decisions in my life. I can even recite "Be Prepared" in German. The narrative of the young, exiled lion who returns to save his homeland is so deep in me, it is very much a part of my soul. Simba lives in me, and his songs live in my iPod.
"Not One of Us" from the second Lion King movie came up on shuffle just before I started writing this, and I was suddenly very unsettled as I sang along. In the scene, King Simba passes judgment on young Kovu from atop Pride Rock: exile. Immediately, the masses of animals rally behind Simba's decision, crying, "He is not one of us. He will never be one of us," and Kovu is quite literally chased out of the Pride Lands.
The scene, and the movie itself, is blatant social commentary on xenophobia, but as the words of the xenophobic, animal populace left my mouth, I suddenly understood the scene as much more than a slap on the wrist to some distant xenophobia. The xenophobia was here, is here. Let's watch, shall we?
After King Simba has been ambushed by Kovu's former pride (the "Outsiders"), a plot which Kovu sincerely had nothing to do with—in fact, he attempts to protect Simba and is exiled by his former pride for doing so—Kovu returns to Pride Rock, hoping to explain his role, or lack thereof, and receive mercy and forgiveness (for his failure to do more to protect Simba). King Simba, however, glares down upon Kovu from his Pride Rock throne and declares that Kovu "does not belong here."
Even when Kiara, Simba's daughter, begs that King Simba listen, he merely silences her. As the populace rallies for judgement, the mighty King Simba unmercifully grants it: exile. Immediately, the populace—who had earlier participated in the joyful song in which Princess Kiara and Kovu fall in love ("Upendi")—turns on Kovu, lowering horns, tossing rocks, stomping, pecking, and doing all possible to drive him mercilessly and dishonourably from their land.
I'll be blunt: Kovu is an undocumented immigrant. He's probably Muslim too, actually. Maybe even left-handed. And the bipolar populace of animals is us, the bipolar populace of America who, like our King Simbas, have so quickly and senselessly cried out, "You asked for trouble the moment you came!" at those who have sought refuge and a new life in our lands, just as the animals cry at Kovu.
Our political leaders, like King Simba, have cried, "Silence!" at those who have advocated for justice for the Kovus among us, and they have declared, upon people whose stories they do not know, their judgment: exile, "you do not belong here," "not one of us." Their judgment has gone unquestioned by the populace: as political leaders in our world have declared undocumented immigrants, Muslims, LGBT persons, and others as outsiders, enemies, threats—"not one of us"—the populace has rallied unquestioningly behind them.
Kovu's story does not end there, however. "Social activist" Kiara and Kovu team up and show everyone—from King Simba to "soldiers" to the populace—that they are all one. "Look at them. What difference do you see?" an impassioned Kiara asks her father in the midst of the all-out-war which breaks out. "We are one."
The Lion King lays out a moral imperative for the treatment of "outsiders" in our community in the same way Harry Potter or The Bible, two of my favourite "narratives for justice," do: through the lives and stories of beloved characters. To love these stories means to live them out. To love Simba and Kiara and Kovu and Rafiki means to walk with them, journey with them, and learn, as they do, to love your neighbour, even if your neighbour is an immigrant, Muslim, gay, left-handed, or an outsider in any other way. Because, as Simba teaches his daughter long before he so mercilessly declares Kovu an outsider, exiled, and "not one of us," we are one.
"Not One of Us" from the second Lion King movie came up on shuffle just before I started writing this, and I was suddenly very unsettled as I sang along. In the scene, King Simba passes judgment on young Kovu from atop Pride Rock: exile. Immediately, the masses of animals rally behind Simba's decision, crying, "He is not one of us. He will never be one of us," and Kovu is quite literally chased out of the Pride Lands.
The scene, and the movie itself, is blatant social commentary on xenophobia, but as the words of the xenophobic, animal populace left my mouth, I suddenly understood the scene as much more than a slap on the wrist to some distant xenophobia. The xenophobia was here, is here. Let's watch, shall we?
After King Simba has been ambushed by Kovu's former pride (the "Outsiders"), a plot which Kovu sincerely had nothing to do with—in fact, he attempts to protect Simba and is exiled by his former pride for doing so—Kovu returns to Pride Rock, hoping to explain his role, or lack thereof, and receive mercy and forgiveness (for his failure to do more to protect Simba). King Simba, however, glares down upon Kovu from his Pride Rock throne and declares that Kovu "does not belong here."
Even when Kiara, Simba's daughter, begs that King Simba listen, he merely silences her. As the populace rallies for judgement, the mighty King Simba unmercifully grants it: exile. Immediately, the populace—who had earlier participated in the joyful song in which Princess Kiara and Kovu fall in love ("Upendi")—turns on Kovu, lowering horns, tossing rocks, stomping, pecking, and doing all possible to drive him mercilessly and dishonourably from their land.
I'll be blunt: Kovu is an undocumented immigrant. He's probably Muslim too, actually. Maybe even left-handed. And the bipolar populace of animals is us, the bipolar populace of America who, like our King Simbas, have so quickly and senselessly cried out, "You asked for trouble the moment you came!" at those who have sought refuge and a new life in our lands, just as the animals cry at Kovu.
Our political leaders, like King Simba, have cried, "Silence!" at those who have advocated for justice for the Kovus among us, and they have declared, upon people whose stories they do not know, their judgment: exile, "you do not belong here," "not one of us." Their judgment has gone unquestioned by the populace: as political leaders in our world have declared undocumented immigrants, Muslims, LGBT persons, and others as outsiders, enemies, threats—"not one of us"—the populace has rallied unquestioningly behind them.
Kovu's story does not end there, however. "Social activist" Kiara and Kovu team up and show everyone—from King Simba to "soldiers" to the populace—that they are all one. "Look at them. What difference do you see?" an impassioned Kiara asks her father in the midst of the all-out-war which breaks out. "We are one."
The Lion King lays out a moral imperative for the treatment of "outsiders" in our community in the same way Harry Potter or The Bible, two of my favourite "narratives for justice," do: through the lives and stories of beloved characters. To love these stories means to live them out. To love Simba and Kiara and Kovu and Rafiki means to walk with them, journey with them, and learn, as they do, to love your neighbour, even if your neighbour is an immigrant, Muslim, gay, left-handed, or an outsider in any other way. Because, as Simba teaches his daughter long before he so mercilessly declares Kovu an outsider, exiled, and "not one of us," we are one.
21 November 2011
Not in Harry's Name
Unethical labour practices are a pretty huge issue within the chocolate industry, so it's not exactly an easy issue to tackle. The Harry Potter Alliance, however, has one of the coolest ways of addressing it: the "Not in Harry's Name" campaign.
The Harry Potter Alliance (HPA) is an organisation of Harry Potter fans who put their "faith" (love of the Harry Potter books and the ideals expressed therein) into action through creative activism. The "Not in Harry's Name" (NIHN) campaign demands that Warner Brothers either prove that the Chocolate Frogs they sell with Harry's name on them are already being made using fair and ethical standards or take action to live up to their own "fair and ethical labor standards."
The NIHN campaign was originally launched a year ago as part of our much bigger "Deathly Hallows" campaign, and was re-launched and re-focused yesterday with three new actions for fans to take: buy the HPA's new fair trade chocolate frogs (which come with campaign information, too), create and send "Muggle Howlers" (YouTube videos expressing that we find WB's actions unacceptable), and, my personal favourite, mail WB cease and desist letters.
I love the HPA because it doesn't function at all like most other activist organisations. We are dead serious about what we do—none of our campaigns would have succeeded if we weren't—but the activism the HPA does is creative, unexpected, and fun. We kick off campaigns with parties, Quidditch matches, and all the sorts of "stupid" things for which Harry Potter fans so often get mocked and ridiculed. I imagine, at the risk of further infuriating every Christian who swears Harry Potter is the anti-Christ, that Harry Potter fans are currently holding onto whatever it was that possessed grown people who should have known better to defy both Roman authority and Jewish leaders and spread the Gospel.
Maybe the early Christians didn't play sports on broomsticks that couldn't fly; maybe they point sticks at each other and say funny words, knowing full well nothing would happen; maybe they didn't have costume contests and Jesus conventions—but they, like the HPA, seemed to believe that love really does win. They believed that they possessed the incontrovertible truth that love is too powerful to ever lose, and they believed that their hero, Jesus, lived on through them, just as Harry Potter's lost loved ones lived on through him. They believed in resurrection.
Christianity in the 21st century doesn't believe in these things, no matter which side of the political and theological divides on which you find yourself. Either the God of Wrath will spitefully wipe out and destroy the wicked, or the God of Forgiveness is just too passive to infringe upon the so-called "rights" of others to spew hate. The God who makes "justice roll on like a river and righteousness like an never-failing stream" (Amos 5:24, NIV) has been forgotten by the majority of Christianity.
Yesterday, as the NIHN campaign re-launched, I played an intense and muddy Quidditch match against a rival team in pouring rain. Our very presence at the park in which we played was an confession of faith: some of us had travelled for hours to get there, it was freezing, it was wet, and we were on broomsticks that didn't fly. Only radical faith could have possessed us to do something so seemingly pointless.
Both teams, our refs, and our spectators crossed the street to the nearest coffeeshop when the game ended. "Stand up and preach!" my captain told me, when the conversation turned to NIHN and some of those in attendance had yet to learn about it or the HPA. Somehow, the foolish act of travelling for hours just to playing a "fictional" sport in the pouring rain became an opportunity to work for justice in creative ways. Someone told me today that they already sent in their cease and desist letter, and another asked me for more information on how to get involved.
We have no reason to believe that fair trade chocolate frogs could change the world. We have no reason to believe that children can free slaves. We have no reason to believe that our small voices could ever make a difference, but we know that, like Harry, have "power the Dark Lord knows not": love.
Unethical labour practices are a pretty huge issue to tackle, but we carry with us the stories of Harry and his friends, stories of chocolate frogs which changed the world, of children freeing slaves, and of small voices making a difference. We carry with us the story that love wins, and that is what Christianity has forgotten. We have forgotten the stories which once fueled early Christians, but we only need return to our beloved tales to reclaim that power the darkness of our world knows not: love.
Maybe the early Christians didn't play sports on broomsticks that couldn't fly; maybe they point sticks at each other and say funny words, knowing full well nothing would happen; maybe they didn't have costume contests and Jesus conventions—but they, like the HPA, seemed to believe that love really does win. They believed that they possessed the incontrovertible truth that love is too powerful to ever lose, and they believed that their hero, Jesus, lived on through them, just as Harry Potter's lost loved ones lived on through him. They believed in resurrection.
Christianity in the 21st century doesn't believe in these things, no matter which side of the political and theological divides on which you find yourself. Either the God of Wrath will spitefully wipe out and destroy the wicked, or the God of Forgiveness is just too passive to infringe upon the so-called "rights" of others to spew hate. The God who makes "justice roll on like a river and righteousness like an never-failing stream" (Amos 5:24, NIV) has been forgotten by the majority of Christianity.
Yesterday, as the NIHN campaign re-launched, I played an intense and muddy Quidditch match against a rival team in pouring rain. Our very presence at the park in which we played was an confession of faith: some of us had travelled for hours to get there, it was freezing, it was wet, and we were on broomsticks that didn't fly. Only radical faith could have possessed us to do something so seemingly pointless.
Both teams, our refs, and our spectators crossed the street to the nearest coffeeshop when the game ended. "Stand up and preach!" my captain told me, when the conversation turned to NIHN and some of those in attendance had yet to learn about it or the HPA. Somehow, the foolish act of travelling for hours just to playing a "fictional" sport in the pouring rain became an opportunity to work for justice in creative ways. Someone told me today that they already sent in their cease and desist letter, and another asked me for more information on how to get involved.
We have no reason to believe that fair trade chocolate frogs could change the world. We have no reason to believe that children can free slaves. We have no reason to believe that our small voices could ever make a difference, but we know that, like Harry, have "power the Dark Lord knows not": love.
Unethical labour practices are a pretty huge issue to tackle, but we carry with us the stories of Harry and his friends, stories of chocolate frogs which changed the world, of children freeing slaves, and of small voices making a difference. We carry with us the story that love wins, and that is what Christianity has forgotten. We have forgotten the stories which once fueled early Christians, but we only need return to our beloved tales to reclaim that power the darkness of our world knows not: love.
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