Dark Representation

It's SO late. So late, and I am exhausted. But I've been working on a paper, in fact my last for university, ever, and it's led to a million other questions that I can only raise here. And maybe, just maybe, this little brainstorming session will help me get to the end of my paper satisfactorily.

This is a question of representation. The course is the Anthropology of Africa, and it's fascinating. Some topics have had me squirming in my seat, documentaries have had me crying, debates have had me heated, but all the while, the question has loomed: what comes to mind when you think of Africa, and what do you think Africans would like you to think of when you think of Africa?

Now, this is a multi-faceted question with a multi-faceted answer. Of the 196 independent countries in the world (though not all are recognized, particularly by the UN) 54 of those countries are part of Africa. I don't think people realize the magnitude of that ratio. Africa is huge, and its countries diverse. But for some reason, they are often lumped together to make up what is seen as a primitive, underdeveloped, war-torn region. That may be overstating it a bit, but in reality, very few Westerners are aware of the reality of Africa's diversity, and the tragedy that is our current perception of it. Consider these three countries: Egypt, Mozambique and South Africa. The elements of their geography, history, climate, their political systems, economic systems, culture systems, religious systems and a whole lot of other systems could not differ more from one another.

My paper is on the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) or just, Congo. I'm analyzing newspaper articles on this region and examining the language that is being used to describe current events, statistics and imagery, and trying to determine the common focus of newspaper articles on Africa in general. What I see continuously are death tolls, horror stories of gang rape and mass murder, genocide and warfare, economic and political systems disintegrating, and in general, death, destruction and hopelessness. What I want to suggest, is not to turn a blind eye to the reality of pain and suffering, but rather to point to another way of representing people. Finding a balance between this dark representation, and uncovering the stories underneath the stories. Seeing a people, not just the people who have ceased to exist. As anthropologists, we're constantly told to at least make an attempt at objectivity, to peel through the layers of culture and provide a "thick description." We're told to spend at least 6 months in a particular area in order to give an acceptable representation of a people and what is occurring in their day-to-day lives. I realize that there is a shortage of people who are willing to invest that kind of time and effort into such a profession. I realize that anthropology is not for everyone. And I don't want to criticize journalism as a profession, but what I see is people being flown into a crisis for a few days, a week perhaps, and taking a few snapshots of people dressed in ragged clothes, crying in the street, and saying "look at how miserable this nation is." What does this representation do to that particular group of people? Does it help them? Does this whole concept of "creating awareness" make us Westerners feel as though our sympathy is some sort of contribution? Does it make those subjects of our study, the individuals who are the focus of our awareness, feel better about what is going on around them? I do not want to suggest that we ignore the atrocities taking place around the word, I simply want to stress the importance of telling the other stories as well, the ones that are comprised of the living. The ones that paint a culture, a people, and not only after it has been decimated.

I want to know what the purpose of this dark description truly is. What the motivations are. And maybe after I've turned in my paper on Thursday, I'll have something that looks like part of an answer.

Jeepster for your Love!

This is how O'Briens, young and old, dance.

Good Conversation

Me: I have a germ problem.
Dave: But didn't you just say you were attracted to a guy who had crumbs in his beard?
Me: Yeah but the crumbs didn't touch me!
Dave: Well, they might touch you if you play your cards right.

Rachel: Time travel is possible.
Me: Hahahahahaha.
Rachel: Laugh now, but don't expect a ride in my time machine.

Brian: Are you mad at me?
Me: Yes!
Brian: Why?
Me: Because you said I looked like a member of Led Zeppelin!
Brian: No I didn't!
Me: Yes you did!
Brian: No, no. I distinctly remember saying you looked like Peter Frampton.
Me: That's just as bad!
Brian: How can you say that? Peter Frampton is beautiful!

Me: Look at your beard!
Dad: I know, it's like when arm pit hair goes bad, does drugs, runs away from home and lives on a face.

Giulia: It's weird. With my feet, all of my little fingers are longer than my big one.
Me: Don't you mean toes?
Giulia: Yeah, so what about your feet? Are your little fingers longer?
Me: Toes, you mean.
Giulia: Yeah, so are your little fingers longer than the big one?
Me: Toes! Say toes. Just say it.
Giulia: Toes.
Me: So you were saying?
Giulia: Well your little fingers look shorter.
Me: What is going on?!
Giulia: I don't know!!

Giulia: I found out what the problem was!
Me: What?
Giulia: In Italian, we don't have the word "toes."
Me: What do you call them?
Giulia: Foot fingers!
Me: Oh my gosh.

Me: Dad, you're great.
Dad: I know that. Rebekah, don't waste my time telling me things I already know.

Rachel: I really just want my time machine right now.
Me: Then why don't you start building it?
Rachel: I can't! I have to wait for my future self to come back and show me how!

Me: I really hope I die peacefully in my sleep.
Dad: Really? I just hope you're with your loved ones when the tectonic plates flip and melt us all in molten lava.

Diane: Did you hear the news?
Me: What news?
Diane: They've killed Obama!
Me: WHAT?!
Diane: Osama! I meant Osama!

Rachel: Did you see "Inception"?
Me: Yes!
Rachel: Did you love it?
Me: Yes!!
Rachel: Did you love it better than "Shutter Island"?
Me: I loved it way more.
Rachel: Did you even like "Shutter Island"?
Me:........No.

Rachel: I just don't understand how the ancient Mayans could have ever condoned human sacrifice.
Nathan: I'd condone human sacrifice on one condition.
Rachel: What?
Nathan: I'm the one they're sacrificing to.

Rachel: I hate Toopy and Binou.
Me: Yeah, terrible.
Rachel: Like, why did they have to make Toopy gay?
Me: I don't know.
Rachel: I mean, that's fine and everything, but why make a kid's show about a flamboyant mouse who runs around pantless with his little boyfriend?

New

I am amazed at the perspective we gain when we are graced with the presence of new life. My sister's first arrived on his due date, perfectly formed. Every eyelash was in place. It makes you realize that from the point of conception to the point of birth, microscopic changes are occurring inside a woman to form a human being with a personality, a soul.

One of the moments that will go down in my personal history books is lying on a king sized bed with my sister and her son. I laid him on the covers, swaddled in his blue blanket, and I lay next to him with my arms around him smelling his wonderful, soft head. Some day he'll grow up and think I'm just his crazy aunt who just sits around laughing about nothing with his crazy mom. But I'll remember the moments I spent with him when he was too small to hold up his head. And I'll remember that I loved his entire being.

Often I slip into daydreams as though I was guided by nothing but the wind. I live in other worlds created by my own mind. I think, it's just imagination at work. I've spent many hours in that state. Living in those other worlds. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. And I wouldn't dare ask anyone to give up their daydreams. But when I hold this baby and look into his tiny face, I feel the power of the present so strongly that there is no mistaking that it is an ordained, perfect moment in which innocence and love exist in the purest form. No thoughts exist but quiet, undisturbed thoughts of life.

Red Herring

It amazes me how a tiny thing can blow up into a giant, swelling mass of distraction in a matter of minutes. It's frightening how one's brain can take something so small and insignificant, and meld it into a pivotal, life-altering series of thoughts. We can create whole worlds with enough imagination, and we can revel in the great surges of control these frivolous processes offer us.

I called my aunt about my latest distraction, and I asked her what it could mean. Was it a sign from God, or was it a diversion from Him? She said, "In a matter of time, you'll know whether it is a sign from God or a red herring." She couldn't have been more right. A few minutes later I found out it was none other than a red herring. She's a woman who understands things.

Sometimes we "lay out our fleece" (see Judges 6) to see if it will get wet overnight. Sometimes it does get wet, sometimes it doesn't. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, we unknowingly walk to our fleece and pour water on it ourselves. We wake up in the morning and rejoice saying, "It's wet! It's wet!" We think we've been very clever and spiritual. Then we have to learn the hard way that we are simply chronic sleep-walkers. The story of the laying out of the fleece is a beautiful depiction of God's patience and goodness, and I've laid out a few of my own in the past. But like Gideon, we have to learn not to use the same tactic over and over. We lose the gift of trust. And what a gift it is.

Suffering and Joy

I have often wondered if the two go hand in hand. My dad has always believed that they do. That somehow, through our suffering, God is able to reach to our furthest depths and hold us closer than ever. Spiritually, this can produce inexplicable joy. Psalm 34:18 says "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart and saves such as have a contrite spirit."

I received heartbreaking news today from two different people about two different crises. I won't expound on the situations here, but merely meditate on the mystery of suffering and what it means for those who believe in God.

I've just finished a brilliant novel, Island of the World by Michael D. O'Brien, and never before have I looked at suffering the way I do now. Never have I been left with such an aching and a longing to understand why God allows those He loves to suffer. I certainly don't profess to understand, but I do know that having heard what I heard today, I will hold those I love closer to my heart than I have in a long time. And I will continue to cling to God ever more fiercely, so that when suffering does come, I will be open to God's infinite outpouring of love.



Artwork by Michael D. O'Brien, www.studiobrien.com


The author chose to call this piece "Transcendence." It is the cover art for the above mentioned novel. His commentary on this painting reflects upon human nature and the soul's longing for eternity. I'd add that transcending is precisely what suffering drives us to do, especially if we seek God to carry us as He would a bird with wings on the wind.

La Première Fois

It's the end of my work day, I have things to finish up and I have a huge exam to study for, so obviously, I'm creating a blog.
 
I know that at least my family and close friends will find this blog remotely enjoyable. My writings will mostly be about sharing thoughts, ideas and stories.
For example, this weekend I was in Montréal with my brother and his wife and kids. My nephew was performing in a dance, and then we did some dancing of our own to T.Rex.

Aidan and me

I should mention that this is the oldest of four nephews (note: one is still in the oven) and a niece that is a real fire cracker. I love being an aunt - I can honestly say it's the highlight of my life.

Feel free to read my blog and enjoy it if you will. If you have no intention of reading it, I have no intention of minding. If you are drawn, however, keep a sharp eye for upcoming blogs!