owning poverty

yesterday evening our session covered more of the Owning Poverty booklet.
here is a quote (the wise words of Michael Pucci, a world traveler of wisdom connected with Food for the Hungry):
"When any of our rights appear to receive the slightest infringement we go ballistic. We are so far removed from the willing abdication of our rights our Master taught and modeled. When we suffer the loss of our property, we are told to give the exploiter more, the very shirt off our back. When we suffer the loss of safety in physical violence, we are to offer that person another opportunity to punch us around again. When we are made to serve against our will, we are to over-deliver on the demands of our unjust oppressor... by a mile (Matthew 5:39)."

idealistic and beautiful. challenging. holding much truth. yet the problem arises in how these must be interpreted. of course I will say, "Oh yes, I'd give anything in front of one who oppresses me." Yet when it actually happens, when I am faced with a loss of rights, I "go balistic," as Pucci says.
Last week as I walked down the street a man came up to me in an attempt to trip me. I was okay. Nothing happened really. It was in broad daylight. There were plenty of people around. My immediate feeling was that of fear because I felt this very negative energy around the situation. I walked on with a quicker step and a fearful sentiment.
As a woman, it is not always safe here. I say "here," but in reality, this could be said of any location across the globe. As foreign women (myself included) walk through the streets, men call out, "Mzungu! My wife!" "Can I have her?" We say, "No." "But I want her! I love her! I will marry her!" "Mzungu, Mzungu!" I do not hear any of this. Instead I hear, "WOMAN! WOMAN! LET ME HAVE THIS PIECE OF PROPERTY! TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THIS OBJECT AND USE THIS BODY BECAUSE I HAVE POWER OVER IT."

There is much anger within me. A great frustration with this that is building and building. I am not a typically angry person... and for this I am embarrassed to admit to the great amount of fire inside. I cannot STAND the way that women are treated. I am appalled by the lack of rights women hold. I cannot STAND the patriarchal societies in which we live. What gives a man the right to have power over females? Why is it okay?
I will not answer these questions myself, as they have been tossed around violently for years on end. Rather, I will look at the relation of this concept and that of the Owning Poverty booklet, the idea of giving the shirt off of your back to he or she who oppresses.
What does anger like my own solve? If a man calls out to me in a disturbing manner and all I do is glare back, or simply walk on, or try to push him away, little goodness results. I am simply upset because my rights, as the quoted passage suggests, have been taken away. Anger is treated with anger. Frustration treated with frustration. All that I am doing by responding in such a way is either encouraging the behavior or feeding into it. This is the easy response. The challenge lies in loving this person who oppresses. In showing compassion to he who diminishes my rights.

I step away and think where these men have come from. To think of oppressor from a different angle is necessary. Who has oppressed THESE individuals? I do not know their childhoods. I do not know if they were beaten or abused or even prostituted in some way. I do not know what drugs they may be on and then what it was that pushed these souls to such a place where drugs seemed comforting. I do not know how horrible certain situations must be for a man to sacrifice genuine love and rather crave the escape that a foreigner offers, whether this relationship involves love or not. These men want a wife to take them away from this country. Not all. But there is hope in escape. There is humor in taking out ones pain on an innocent bystander.
If I simply act with anger in response to these situations, all that I am doing is continuing a cycle. This man was oppressed. He then oppresses others. The other (me) oppresses him.
No. I cannot allow this. I want horribly to find a solution. Yesterday evening my group authentically discussed our anger with these issues, yet decided to seek creative ways to act in response. Loving those who oppress requires innovation and an open mind. Maybe instead we can respond to the men with a question as to why they are doing this. We can think before we quickly move away. Before we act out in a quick temper.
Granted, if I am being attacked, there must be a different measure taken. Yet in every situation there are extremes. There must be a preparation. A knowing beforehand that such events may take place, and when approached by it, a different choice of action.

Today a few girls and I headed into Aweno market. The busiest location in Kampala. Shoes. Pants. Shirts. Bags. Pens. Pencils. Underwear. Hats. Red Converse. Business Slacks. Belts. And all of these items repeated in insane quantities. Being as it is, it is made the prime spot for Mzungu calling, shouting, and grabbing. I made the decision to as best as I could act in love toward these happenings. I thought of the compassion of Jesus. Jesus would not run from those who mocked him, rather, love them intensely. As men called out, I responded. If they asked, "How are you Mzungu?" I did my best to simply, yet genuinely answer.

I do not say this for praise because there is still much anger within and still many mistakes that will be made. I am still sinful and will still respond negatively from time to time, yet there is a challenge that I must take up. I have little concept of how loving one person will impact the entire patriarchal issue, yet there must be a light somewhere.
Today as I thought of these mens past, I could not help but hurt for them. I know nothing of where they come from. I have little idea of the pain that may have defined their youth. Again, I do not want to give a wrong idea. Africa is a beautiful place. The people are beautiful. Even these men are human beings created in love. Not all are always surrounded by pain, yet who is to say that the name-calling is without cause. The background must always be understood before judgment is quickly placed.
In NO way does turning the other cheek in oppression mean simply taking a beating, of letting someone walk all over you. I see the story of turning the other cheek and giving the shirt off our backs as a challenge to find ways to love and in a way that stands up for something. Everyone is hurting no matter what there internal prison consists of. And I pray for these men. I pray for the women that are oppressed. I pray for those whose backgrounds are inconceivably miserable. I pray that love does conquer, and even if this is only incriment by incriment, I pray that it is striven for.
Even with the simple alteration in thought process today, there was minimal anger as I walked around the market, and rather, a great peace and love for those around me: the man who wanted me to purchase his blue striped button up shirt, the woman who insisted that I look at her plethera of lace blouses, the children who sat on the ground requesting coins.

And God uses humor. Because after the incredible amount of irritation and even fear that I dwelled in during the darkness of last night, something sweet and encouraging took place on our way home, as if to say, "Dear Meg, do not think that I have not made each child with care. Do not be ignorant and think that this child of mine is not also precious just because he is from Africa."

The Muyenga/ Tank Hill sign that we usually stand by to pick up a Matatu home was moved elsewhere. My friend Sarah and I felt a bit lost. Very quickly, we were asked by a group of men where our destination was. Without hesitation, a kind young chap said that he would walk us and guide us to the new place we needed to stand. Somewhat embarrissingly on my behalf, here was a man allowing us to walk safely behind him, through the market, through the black shoes and the purple socks and the multiple school supplies. We even shared a laugh as I attempted to speak Lugandan. We thanked him for his kindness as we calmly entered out Matatu. I was touched. His gentle nature was anything but harmful. The graciousness of this man again reminded me of the grace that God offers when I sacrifice and let go. By the love that is shown despite internal struggle. Yellow rays are present, as if a dark gray cloud like those that hold African thunder storms has been carried away by some higher force. I cannot know the answers to each difficult query, but I can let go of the need to know and instead, even though I am imperfect and will still allow anger to linger, I will LOVE as I was called to.