(In)Justice

In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue

Think about it. We have heroes in our history, heroes who deserve to be heroes. We also have heroes who deserve to be looked upon as evil men. When I was a kid I marveled at the bravery of Columbus, who valiantly sailed across the big blue and discovered this land of promise, which, to our benefit, didn’t have very many people on it. He got out and waded to the land. He put a flag on top of the hill and said, “Hey guys, this is awesome! This is all ours and we can do whatever we want with it woop!” His men got out of the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria and waded, as Columbus had done to the shores of modern-day Haiti and Dominican Republic. The local people, called the Tainos, peeped from around the rocks and they had a nice dinner with Columbus. A dinner with fried chicken and biscuits and gravy. There was also apple pie because we like apple pie in America. After they ate dinner Columbus said to the Taino people, “Hey, I am going to go get my friends so we can throw an even better party.” He looked at them, beaming with glee. “Okay,” they said, looking like children to their great and powerful father.            

            Columbus returned the next year, in 1493, with 17 ships. He unloaded the men and they had another grand dinner. They told the Taino people they were going to help them be “civilized,” that they were going to learn how to have manners and how to eat and what to wear and how to make and use money. A noble cause indeed. One must not forget that much of this was done in the name of religion. God. Gold. Glory.

            Stop. I wish that were how the story ended. Actually, I wish that were how the story went at all. When Columbus returned with his 17 ships he instituted the slavery of the Taino people and moreover began a mass genocide, which, less than 50 years later, would nearly kill off the entire race. The population of the Taino in 1492 was round 8 million. Not such a deserted island after all. Four years into Columbus’ brutal reign the population dwindled to 3 million. If you do the math, and I assume you can, that’s more than a million people dead per year. But it seems vague and unrealistic to accuse Mr. Columbus so much, so I will give you an example of the evil he manifested. Every year, if you were a Taino over 13 years old, you were required to bring a small portion of gold to the “government.” If you didn’t follow through, or if you couldn’t find the gold, your hands were chopped off. Right now that doesn’t seem like something that would kill you, but in those times there were no antiseptics or ointments that cure everything. They didn’t have blood donations that they could safely give the people without hands. They just died. Columbus’ tyranny ended around 1500, but the genocide continued and in 1514 the Taino population was reduced to 22,000. By 1542 there were 200 Taino left. In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue, in 1493 he returned and began to wipe out a nation in the name of God.

American Indian Persecution

            Just North of Columbus is the land you and I call home. America! Our destiny awaiting the wonderful fruition of God’s plan! We were meant to inherit this bountiful harvest and drink the full dregs of its farms! We came to this continent and took little bits and pieces at a time. The self-proclaimed “Manifest Destiny” robbed the Native Americans of more and more land, and when gold was discovered in California we really got to business. In A.D. 1500 the estimated population of Native Americans was 12 million. In A.D. 1900 the estimated population of Native Americans was 237,000. Once again, do the math. Here is a short excerpt from an article found in an MIT newspaper:

·      “A bare sampling of some of the worst must include the 1854 massacre of perhaps 150 Lakotas at Blue River (Nebraska), the 1863 Bear River (Idaho) Massacre of some 500 Western Shoshones, the 1864 Sand Creek (Colorado) Massacre of as many as 250 Cheyennes and Arapahoes, the 1868 massacre of another 300 Cheyennes at the Washita River (Oklahoma), the 1875 massacre of about 75 Cheyennes along the Sappa Creek (Kansas), the 1878 massacre of still another 100 Cheyennes at Camp Robinson (Nebraska), and the 1890 massacre of more than 300 Lakotas at Wounded Knee (South Dakota).”

            Many days people don’t realize that we build our houses on the blood of innocent people. There were people who lived on this land before us. We saw gold and we put guns to their heads. It stopped there, right? Our government didn’t do anything else bad did they? Did our government really tear the land from the Native Americans’ hands and put it in the pockets of its own people? The goal was noble, the means evil.

 

“Little Boy” and “Fat Man”

As I ponder history I wonder why people don’t look at the atomic bombs and gasp at the evil nature of their consequences. We were at war with Japan, and yes, they bombed Pearl Harbor in 1941. We were at war. We were at war with the government of Japan, with its military. But, on Monday, August 6 in 1945, President Truman commanded that “Little Boy” be dropped on the industrial city of Hiroshima. By the end of that December 140,00 people died, most of whom were civilians. This number does not include the thousands more who died from disease and nuclear fallout in the years after. Several days later Truman ordered that “Fat Man” be dropped on Nagasaki. By the end of that December 70,000 had died, and again this number does not include the later deaths from nuclear fallout. The end was noble: we must end the war. But at what cost? Since when does a “Christian” nation abide by end-justifies-the-means doctrine? (Well, as the Native American persecution has shown, we have done this since the beginning of our settling.) The genocide of these two Japanese cities attests to the nature of our American War Machine. The goal was noble, the means evil.

 

“Agent Orange”

            The war in Vietnam has always been a disputed subject. Dr. King himself objected and he was persecuted. An infamous part of that war, and something that haunts the minds of thousands of Vietnamese people today, is “agent orange,” an herbicide containing carcinogens. From 1962-1971 an estimated 80 million liters of “agent orange” was used in South Vietnam to clear the landscape and reveal enemies. Over 4.8 million people were exposed to it and its harmful effects. Most of these people—people who were eaten away like plants—were civilians. 500,000 deaths or disabilities occurred within these years of the war, and an even more disturbing 400,000 children were born with disabilities.  An entire generation of Vietnamese lives deformed, because of our attempt to reveal the guerilla soldiers in Vietnam. We search for a few, but we punish millions. The goal was noble, the means evil.

Iraq

            The civilian body count from direct violence in Iraq is just under 90,000. I searched the Internet with body counts and I found the most humble body count. Some sites have the count up to 500,000. I agree that the goal in Iraq is noble. But it seems to me that we have put on Columbus’ old mask. Are we trying to “free” the Iraqi people or are we trying to civilize them? Is democracy the only form of government that works? How easy is it to implement a radically new system of government to a culture steeped in opposing tradition? Saddam Hussein was an evil man. Evil, pure evil. He got what he deserved (well he got what I deserve too). His actions reaped the appropriate consequences. But what about Darfur? How about Rwanda? Sierra Leone? Anybody recall the Lost Boys of Sudan? Let’s get consistent—are we the police of the world? Why didn’t we fight the genocide in these places? Why don’t we fight the genocide that is occurring right now? We have botched things up in Iraq. Besides the civilians killed we have displaced about 4.5 million people. These people in turn have fled to other countries like Jordan, whose infrastructure is on the brink of collapse because of the innumerable immigrants pouring over their borders. Hospitality can only go so far.

  The goal is noble, the means evil.

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http://web.mit.edu/thistle/www/v9/9.11/1columbus.html

http://hnn.us/articles/7302.html

http://web.mit.edu/thistle/www/v9/9.11/1columbus.html

http://mothra.rerf.or.jp/ENG/A-bomb/History/Damages.html

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20080711.worange1107/BNStory/Front/home/?pageRequested=all

http://www.iraqbodycount.org/analysis/numbers/2007/

When I Think of Heaven (I Don't think of You)

"I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

-Gandhi 

Nameless Book

The woman herself owned a plain beauty—she had not yet painted her face for the night of work—it was only 11:00 in the morning, and she was on her way—waitressing at a simple restaurant across town. Her face was lightly tanned, with several freckles on each cheek—below the blue, Californian eyes. Her hair was sandy-blonde, with no bleaching or coloring—only from the sun. She stood at five feet eight inches. Her figure was sculpted with genes and discipline—running every morning and—every evening (her night job she’ll go to later)—dancing in the colors—

It Leaves Me Laughing.

Have 

you seen 

the

 little pieces of 

the people we

 have been?

Little pieces blowing'

 gently on 

the wind

They have flown down California

They have landed in L.A.

Little pieces slowly settling on the waves

 

I'm one of a million pieces fallen on the ground

It's one of the reasons when we say goodbye

We'll still come around We will come around

 

I have waited for tomorrow from December 'til today

I have started loving sorrow along the way

I am calling from some city

And I won't be there too long

I could wait and I could waste away

But what comes back is I hear you say we're gone

 

For all of the times that I go spinning up and down

When all of the things have died between us

Well, we'll still come around We will come around

 

After I've been missing for a while

And you hear

 that summer's song

Haven't all the fading lines lingered on?

 

What I know is: she's going

When you know it, it's alright

So you put yourself between you and your pride

If you wait for what's coming

And you listen to her lies,

Then she'll say the things you need to hear

And the only one who'll disappear is you

 

And one of the million lies she said

Is "All of the things you love are dead."

But I've seen what she thinks is love

And it leaves me laughing so we'll still come around

Come Around.

College is hard at first when you decide to go somewhere (or someone decides for you) a thousand miles away and you only know one person going there with you. It is even harder when you are an introverted (at first) writer slash jock who likes both playing basketball and writing short stories. I am not very good at making friends but I have a few now and it makes college a lot better actually, which probably doesn’t surprise you.

The first people I got to know were the crazy and awesome RUF guys: William, Alex, and Robert, and there 4th leg Wilson. Each of them has a totally different personality that accents the others very well. They have good chemistry. Robert is a joy and is very good at the piano and he sings along with the music when it plays in the car and it makes me smile. He reminds me of Will the Aggie a little bit. Just because he is goofy and makes people happy. Robert smiles and then the whole room gets bright so I have to put on sunglasses. He tells funny stories that I enjoy even if they don’t relate to the conversation at all. William is a softhearted man who is very kind and pensive, but also he is funny and a thinker and very strong. He is not a person who you can just thrust your views upon. He seems very grounded and I heard he is very good at singing when he plays his acoustic guitar like Jack Johnson or Eliot Smith. William reminds me of my friend Carley. Alex is the helmsman. He lead our first Bible study and I was very impressed at his teaching skills because he is just a crazy graduate engineer guy. Alex is very sarcastic and that spells trouble with me because I play along. Many times it goes too far but I don’t believe in “crossing the line” so I love Alex because we cross the line people say not to cross. Alex plays the guitar too. Alex reminds me of somebody (I can’t say who) except that Alex does not cuss as much as the person who he reminds me of. I love to cuss. Wilson is warm to be around because he asks you questions about what you like and how your classes are and things like that. Wilson has a war smile and he makes you feel like you matter. He is humble and plays the guitar. Wilson’s red car takes me places so I don’t have to walk and he drives me all the way to the entrance and said he would take me to Wal-Mart if I needed. RUF girls: if you read this don’t be offended I didn’t talk about you because I don’t know you well enough to make an assessment.

            I know a few other people well enough to make an initial blogosphere about. The first is Kirsten the Question-Asker. Kirsten the Question-Asker is very thoughtful and interesting and she reminds me of my friend Ellie the Drill-Team Girl a little bit. Kirsten the Question-Asker and I go to readings at the nook store or at the Shambaugh house or wherever they are going to be. She is sweet and has a soft heart and a reassuring, high voice. One day I was eating lunch at Hillcrest and I was in my jock uniform: I had vintage Sixers shorts on and my Wake Forest beanie and I looked like a basketball player who is actually good (false). As I ate my grilled chicken breast and self-concocted parfait I saw a girl walk through the cafeteria with green high-top converses on. “Holy shit,” my mind said. “Someone not wearing Uggs!” She sat down and started to eat and then I sat down and explained myself: “Okay I know this is weird but I seriously have not seen any girl in green, high-top converses.” And that’s how I actually met Kirsten the Question-Asker. I call her Kirsten the  Question-Asker because, on the walk back to the dorms from our first reading visit, I told her a book had changed my life (Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller) and she asked how. And then I told her some stuff and I said the word grace and was probably just going to shrug it out but she wanted to know how it specifically changed my life. It was cool because it made me think. I hope Kirsten the Question-Asker keeps asking me questions.

If I were to be written about in a blog I think I should be called Hunter the Texter or Hunter the Writer or Hunter the Sad Boy. But anyways, there is one more person I want to blog about and that is Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player. Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player is very nice and she is cool because she is an athlete but she is also a thinker and I don’t think she wants to settle for a mediocre life or stuff like that. Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player and I went to a rhetoric thing where we (supposedly) got points for participation points. We rode her badass scooter (it is orange and says Buddy on the side) to the school library and then I told her the reading was at the public library so we laughed and got back on the scooter. The air was cold to me because I am from Texas and I didn’t bring a sweatshirt. We got to the reading and Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player had to leave about half way through. Oh, also, I lent Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player August and Everything After because she needs a little music ed. and she likes the song Anna Begins which is my favorite song in the world. She had to go because she is badass and they had to play two games in California that weekend. They beat Stanford 3-2 and they beat Pacific 8-0. Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player starts and she is a freshmen and she is from Pennsylvania, which is such a relief because she doesn’t have the weird Midwest accent. Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player and I texted a lot because we both are like that. It was cool. I think we will get along really well. Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player reminds me of my friend Noah the Smart Guy a little bit, and Noah the Smart Guy is one of my best friends. Leslie the Badass Field Hockey Player is kind but she is not afraid of anyone I don’t think. She is honest and cares for other people and is very pleasant to be around and is easy to talk to. I am excited to get to know her more.

 

 

I Don't Love You Like I Should

I’m overwhelmed at the degree to which God is making Himself evident in these first few weeks. He hasn’t been subtle. He hasn’t been sneaky or sly or lurking behind any corners. My calling, my faith, has been thrown at me like a grenade at an enemy:

When I first began to explore the city for things to do I ventured downtown and some of the other usual places a 19-year-old guy would go to have fun, or at least maintain the allusion of fun. And then, after a good two-hour class on Walt Whitman, I began talking to my teacher, Professor Folsom.  I told him I came to Iowa for the developing undergraduate program in creative writing, and that I was a fan of Flannery O’Connor, who I knew had graduated from the workshop. Looking quite surprised, Dr. Folsom informed me of the spot where she used to write on campus, at the city park next to an outdoor theatre.  And, as I’ve mentioned before, I went to that park.

Now, this may seem bland and insignificant to you, but it meant a lot to me. The first week allowed me to realize that I’m not fantastic at making friends, and that, although acquaintances are easy to come by, Christ-thirsting followers of God are not. I was lonely. I prayed to God for comfort, something that seems odd to pray about, and He threw it at me in the form of a park. I held on to a verse:

“My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

It comes from Psalm 121:2, and has been a hopeful light to me for some time. When I go to the park, and sit on the bench under the bent willow, I ask God for His help and His company, His comfort. And what has surprised me most is that God wanted me to wait just a bit, as if He was scolding me for my complaints about having no friends the very first week of school. I now that He wanted me to wait because the past few days have seen several new people surface themselves and offer themselves as friends, new friends.

            While at the park I asked God (and Flannery) for inspiration, affirmation, and direction. God thrust upon me the realization that, in fact, I am a writer. I’ve always wondered and doubted and questioned, but now, and not to say that I won’t have doubts in the future, I realize that God wants to use me in a great way through writing, whatever that means to Him (I think it could mean many things, maybe I’ll never get published but you read something of mine and it inspires you to do something great for God, this is called Pecan Pie theology and was explained to me by my Canadian friend Vic). Thus closes the explanation of God’s first revelation to me.

            I have also talked about this reason some, but do not hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity to use more words. If you have not been to Africa, I strongly urge you to go. It will change you. You won’t have any say but it will change you, and I do not necessarily promise that it will be for the good. Africa, as has been the case for so many Christians, can raise doubts on God and His character, but I was lucky enough to not experience these but to experience doubts about myself. I’m sorry for the tangent. Africa—when I entered the science lecture hall and learned that my teacher was Nigerian I no longer questioned God’s reasoning for me to take a shitty science class like that, I was at home, in Jos, Nigeria, with a man who had lived his life in that wonderful place and now we were able to share memories and laughs and pictures and stories of Nigeria. On Labor Day I went to the potluck dinner where my Nigerian teacher told me I could meet other Nigerians and other Africans; I went and it was absolutely amazing. I talked a long while with my teacher and also his daughter, Kimwa. (Oh these names warm my heart.) At the potluck I experienced the best Christian fellowship I had felt in a long while. Thus concludes God’s second obvious manifestation in the unlikely Iowa City.

            His third (and most certainly not last) manifestation is in the process of coming to fruition. This past summer, in Dallas, God gave me a heart for the homeless. Many days in Dallas it seems to me that people pretend like nothing is wrong, especially in North Dallas or the Parky neighborhoods. Everything in our city is fine, right? First of all there is a huge and obvious racial divide in the city. Oak Cliff and West Dallas is where the African-Americans live. There are so many Hispanic people now that they have many “little Mexicos” throughout the city, and the white people live anywhere the other races aren’t, whether it be suburbs or North Dallas or Highland Park. Next to the racial divide we have the Pharisee-like hypocrisy of so many Christians and churches in the DFW area. Disclaimer: the hypocrisy is everywhere else the church is too, but I lived in Dallas and that is where I know it, so that is where I will critique it. And I freely admit that I daily participate in this same hypocrisy, but brothers and sisters we must change. When the first thing someone thinks about a Christian involves politics we are not doing what Christ intended us to do. We should be throwing, hurling ourselves at the feet of the needy. We should be embracing the prostitute, holding the homosexual, and sitting with the homeless. I should be at the door of the widow, offering my help with no pre or post requisites. Grace is not for the disgusting aristocracy that still exists underneath the nominal democracy around the world. For so much of my life I unconsciously understood that the gospel was for upper-middle class white people. No, my friends, that is what the fisherman Peter would call bullshit. And what truly blows my mind is that, when you read the gospels, it should be obvious whom Jesus loved. Everybody! And that is exactly why I have such a hard time with the gospel. I do not have a hard time loving the homeless, or the homosexual; I struggle with extending grace to the corporate CEO and the nominal Christian, both who need and yearn for Christ (whether they know it or not) as much as I do. I find it difficult to love the frat boy, and the girl who is orange from tanning and who has three pounds of makeup on. But, despite my rants, I do love these people. And I pray to God daily that He would grant me the ability to receive and dispense grace like He does. Because I love them, I love this country, and I love the Lord. Only through His love will I truly be able to love.

            All this said, I am now ready to reveal my third blatant encounter with God. Just a few hours ago I met with a man whose name is Michael the Churchplanter, and he shared with me his vision for a church, called One Ancient Hope, whose goal it is  to minister to the homeless, the displaced, the homosexual, the doubter, the hater of the gospel, and the one who has horrible things to say about Christ. I am for this, and it is only through God’s grace that such an opportunity, the chance to help plant a church, has surfaced. That’s three. 

(I need a phone call.)

The Siren's Song

Tonight was labor day, so that could have been really bad because if you don't have plans on labor day you probably aren't loved, but I had plans! I went to a big pot luck dinner at a house where there were a bunch of international people! I was invited by (as I've mentioned before) my Nigerian science teacher. I had great conversations showing him the pictures of my trip. We were both very encouraged by our shared experience, and I also talked a lot to his daughter Kimwa, who is 22 and has been in the states since she was 15. Great night, especially when compared to yesterday.

I finished one of the two short stories I had talked about earlier, it's loosely based on a fragment of Walt Whitman's life, and the protagonist in the story has the name Walt so it's quite blatant. But, during the Civil War, Whitman used to go through the hospitals giving the soldiers treats and talking with them and showing them unconditional, Christ-like love. Whitman's heroic deeds inspired me into a world of grace and hope, and so my short story reflects this hope. This unconditional grace.

The other short story is when grace is taken and destroyed. The world of my second story is a world of ungrace. I'll probably write that Wednesday and have both stories typed on my computer friday, so if you would like to read them let me know. Just leave a post or something and I'll get them to you. 

(I'm in trouble for the things I need, hey Monkey don't you wanna be needed too?)