Harvesting Opportunities

Winter Education in Mexico

2012-01-28T13:54:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my aunt and uncle, I spent a fab week in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico this month. My alabaster skin can scarcely stand five minutes under the direct sun, so this was not a week of lying on the beach. In fact, the one time I did venture onto the pristine sand in shorts, my lovely eight-year-old niece innocently observed aloud, "Wow, you're really sunscreen-y." "No, honey," I said, "that's just my skin. That's just my white, white skin." (Were it not for the fact that Latin guys tend to admire whiteness, I might have let her statement actually diminish my self esteem. Instead, it became a family joke and I am now Tia Blanca.)

While there, I took advantage of the opportunity to further develop my proficiency in Spanish by meeting with a tutor for three hours a day. I was randomly assigned to an educated, passionate, and wise young woman. In addition to her general insights on life, she knows a great deal about the migration that occurs not only from Mexico to the U.S., but from Central American countries to Mexico. I found interesting her observations that the Mexican government focuses too much of its attention on arriba, rather than abajo. That is, the degree to which they criticize the U.S.'s immigration policy, instead of working to improve the situation for migrants in Mexico.

It is really mind-boggling to consider the efforts people make to seek a better life. In the very south of Mexico, adults and children alike sit atop a train that travels the entire length of the country, all the way to the U.S. border. It is a tremendously dangerous journey. People are kidnapped and forced to provide telephone numbers for relatives in the U.S. in order to demand ransom. If they don't provide the number -- or the money -- they are killed without hesitation or remorse.

Women prepare for inevitable assault and rape on the journey by using birth control implants so they will not be forced to decide whether to carry the child of a thug rapist. This, within the context of an intensely Catholic culture, is all the more profound. Children my niece and nephew's ages travel alone with no understanding of what beholds them. They see their companions maimed and decapitated, hungry and tired, alone and afraid.

When given extensive information about all of the tragic possibilities they face -- complete with cartoon diagrams of kidnapping and murder for illiterate migrants -- they overwhelming choose to accept the risk. Life is filled with trade-offs about which battles to choose. But some people sure have the deck stacked against them.

The documentary The Invisibles: A Hidden Journey Across Mexico provides emotional accounts of unrequited hope, indescribable loss, and the agony of not knowing. Not knowing whether they will reach their destination. Not knowing how to survive. Not knowing if their families will ever hear from them again. Perhaps the only thing worse than losing one's life on this uncertain trail of tears is never again hearing from your child or another loved one, all the while praying that they have created a new life away from their sad reality.

But, lest you wonder whether my whole time in sunny Mexico was mired in depressing stories, I can assure you it was not. Thanks to my tutor, I spent quality time dancing and drinking tequila until the wee hours with some of the finest (and funnest!) young professionals on the Pacific Coast. Whenever I see them next, whether here or there, it will not be soon enough!

Touchy-Feely

2011-12-16T18:43:00.000-08:00

Here's a recent piece for the Armenian Weekly.

A Lebanese Prison

2011-12-07T11:58:00.000-08:00

I spent time in a Lebanese prison today. When I told my dad via Skype, he said, “I hope it was a tour.”

It was, in fact, a tour of the prison in Tripoli, Lebanon. Our host organization, Restart, went through the arduous process of gaining permission to visit the prison for their work, and they faxed copies of my and my colleagues’ passports so that we could witness the conditions ourselves. The visit provided a great deal of perspective on a day that I might have otherwise spent mindlessly drinking tea between meetings.

The women’s prison housed just fewer than 100 women of various nationalities. They walked freely around the two main corridors, and even cooked their own meals. In each room about 14 women slept in bunks, where they also kept their modest belongings. Some were illegal immigrants, some thieves, some murderers, yet they were all mixed up regardless of age, ethnicity, status of case (pre-trial or convicted), or type of offense. It wasn’t a place I’d choose to live, but it wasn’t altogether horrible either.

The men’s prison was another matter entirely. A prison population of 950, with 70 men in each cell, it’s hard to imagine spending 24 hours a day 7 days a week in such a cramped, stinky, damp place – eating, smoking, sleeping, bathing, crapping. A note from the doctor is required to make use of the small outdoor space with nothing but block walls two stories high, a concrete floor, and a metal lattice roof. Even my lily-white skin couldn’t get sunburned in that place.

Restart is doing the work of the government there. They paid for the infrastructure to provide hot water in each cell for bathing, and ventilators above the locked doors. Their psychologists provide mental health and social work services to a number of prisoners, along with Arabic lessons for the illiterate and English lessons for the especially curious. There’s a small library with about 100 patrons, and a computer lab that hasn’t been used since a prisoner took some people hostage in it a year ago. As we walked the corridors, I saw a dumbbell that someone had jerry-rigged from about 10 filled water bottles. Further evidence that I have no excuse for not exercising more.

A cell was opened for us and we saw how the men’s beds – mere blankets on the floor – were jammed into rows, the facility overcrowded beyond belief. They were all sitting on the floor watching television. With so many male prisoners in one room, you could imagine the fights that would break out and how difficult for the few prison guards to manage. The man holding the door, also a prisoner, obviously held some kind of authority or power. When he told the others to back up, they did so immediately. When we continued on the tour, he shut the door so the guards could lock it. On the inside, he was shutting us out.

One man and his assistant are charged with the Herculean task of feeding all of these men, along with others at the police station – every day, three times a day. His lower back hurts, but his commitment to the work is touching. “I can’t get sick,” he said, “If I get sick, no one eats.” He pointed to the enormous vats of whole chickens, complete with heads, and other pots of beans and rice. He was clearly pleased when I said it looked good (and it honestly did). Another man showed me can after can of food in the supply room, pointing out the expiration date to show that they’re not serving bad food to the prisoners. It was a good reminder that we should all take pride in our work, and that we should do what we can with what we have.

Looking at the pots of chickens, I thought of those contests people have, where you’re supposed to guess how many M&Ms are in the jar. I would guess that there were 60-80 whole chickens in each pot. That’s a big range, but I never have been good at those contests. I asked the cook if he cooks much at home (it was a joke). His response was emphatic: “No, Madam!”

There are too few guards for the facility, with just one on each floor. A few dozen prisoners have some kind of special status that allows them to walk around the entire day, and about six of them were with us during the entire tour. The prison director said, “Between us, the prisoners protect the guards.” I mentally re-framed what I’d say to dad when I called him later that night. “Dad, I spent time in a Lebanese prison today. But don’t worry, the prisoners were protecting me.”

I must say that the prisoners were very respectful. I expected a cat-call or two, but if anything the prisoners met my eyes, nodded, said bonjour or hello, or even laughed (when I spotted the dumbbell and smiled). It’s odd to walk around a prison and peer into rooms where people may spend much of their lives. Do you look into their eyes, do you say hello, do you ask how they are? Or do you ignore them, do you pretend they’re not there, do you wish them away? The former, of course, but it’s not an everyday experience (for me).

There were many parts of the tour that I found remarkable, but it was perhaps when we exited that I was most touched. A woman and her son were waiting outside to be let in. We can assume that they were there to visit another son. In the Arab culture of shame, or in any culture for that matter, I was moved that they would still love and visit their family member, whether a drug dealer or a common thief or a murderer.

When I asked someone at the center about it, she said that the social workers often call the prisoners’ mothers to ask them to visit their sons, to say that their sons need them. The mothers’ first response is typically “We don’t know anyone by that name,” but they eventually agree. What a gift they give their sons when they allow for faults and missteps in life. It was comforting to be reminded that some things are stronger than hate and judgment. Some things are about unconditional love.

First Place

2011-11-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

My most recent column for The Armenian Weekly.

Civil Society in Armenia

2011-10-28T09:45:00.000-07:00

The Manana Youth Center extended me to the honor of talking with their students about civil society this past month. The Center and the youth that participate in classes and activities there continue to inspire me as they have for about 12 years. (The picture below does not represent how truly interested and engaged they were in exploring what civil society means to them!)

The Republic of Georgia: Blazing Its Own Trail

2011-10-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

With a population of some 4.5 million, the Republic of Georgia has been evolving and managing conflict ever since the collapse of the Soviet Union, which Georgians view as having been an occupation, evidenced by the construction of the Museum of Soviet Occupation in 2006 in the capital city of Tblisi. The unofficial unemployment rate is said to be about 40%, though roughly 10% of that statistic includes people who have occasional but inconsistent employment.

Unlike the rest of the former Soviet Republics (save for the Baltic states), Georgia is not a part of the Commonwealth of Independent States, an association of states, due to its bitter relationship with Russia. As a result, it is in many ways politically isolated. The U.S., though, as you may recall, showed its staunch support of Georgia during the 2003 Rose Revolution and the 2008 Russian invasion of South Ossetia, which is one of two de facto independent regions that are part of Georgian territory (the other of which is Abkhazia).

Georgia was a nation with its own mind even in the 12th century, when a woman, Tamar, was given the title of king, which in Georgian can be understood as “sovereign.” There is a separate word for queen, so it would seem that using the term king was a larger statement that the people made about their first female ruler. In any case, it is certainly a point of pride for Georgians today.

The largest minority groups in Georgia are Armenians and Azerbaijanis. The latter is the faster growing population due to continuing migration and bigger families. The diversity is apparent through the presence of a mosque currently used by the Azeris (pictured below), a synagogue, and an Armenian church in the old town of Tbilisi, not to mention the diverse roots of Abanotubani, the so-called bath district, also pictured below. Though Armenia and Azerbaijan have unresolved issues and a history of conflict with one another, the Armenians and Azerbaijanis of Georgia are said to have good relations and are both successful in business. My new friend, Diana, who I call "The Diplomat," is an Armenian from Georgia. She was evidence of the potential for good relations between long-time adversaries when we visited the mosque, took pictures, and she was granted permission to attend Friday prayers sometime.

Understanding BiH

2011-10-28T09:15:00.000-07:00

On arrival in the Sarajevo International Airport, one would assume that Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH) is a country run like any other country. But it doesn’t take much knowledge of recent history, or many conversations with Bosnians, to learn how very complicated the affairs of this Balkan nation of just 4.6 million people is. And that's just what I did last month.

The three-year war that ended 16 years ago leaves behind a fractured state rife with ethnic and political tensions. All who live within the borders of BiH are called Bosnians, but the population is made up of three ethnic groups: Bosniaks (48%), Serbs (37%), and Croats (14%). (For those who aren't familiar with the region, these terms are slightly different from those used in the neighboring countries. That is, the Serbians of Serbia, and the Croatians of Croatia.)

It is impossible within one week, or perhaps a lifetime, to completely understand the history and bureaucratic workings of BiH. The Dayton Accord of 1995 determined how the country is politically structured today. The result is two distinct entities (the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the Republika Srpska); the Brchko District, which is comprised of land from both entities; 10 cantons within the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina entity; as well as 74 municipalities in the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and another 63 in the Republika Srpska. Got it?

The presidency of BiH is most curious. In effect, there are three presidents: a Bosniak, a Croat, and a Serb. Those in the Federation elect the Bosniak and Croat, and those in the Republika elect the Serb. The Chair of the Presidency rotates between these three every eight months over a four-year term. As one might expect, each tends to advance their particular political and ethnic interests just in time for the next candidate to assume the Chair position.

There is reportedly a great deal of duplication within the Bosnian bureaucracy. For example, there are 89 ministries: need I say more? To boot, there are three official languages that, until the dissolution of former Yugoslavia, were treated as a unitary Serbo-Croatian language. Today, the language is printed on signage and other documents in both Latin and Cyrillic alphabets, and officially documents are translated from one to the other, but they are functionally the same language.

And so, after spending a week in BiH, it's possible that I'm more befuddled than when I first arrived!

From Yerevan to Athens

2011-10-10T05:36:00.000-07:00

Here is a story about the non-stop kindness of strangers. These kinds of experiences give me hope for the world. I am so grateful to have lived this.

Hayrenik / Fatherland

2011-08-31T10:25:00.000-07:00

My most recent column for The Armenian Weekly explores identity and places of origin. With ever-increasing immigration and the world's burgeoning population, the idea of hybrid identity is increasingly relevant for people of any country.

Survival?

2011-08-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

My most recent column for The Armenian Weekly.

Obscurity

2011-07-27T19:30:00.001-07:00

There's no doubt about it: People think it odd that I've remained engaged with a tiny, obscure nation in the Caucasus for the past 15 years. The language is spoken by only 7 or 8 million people in the world (and that's a generous guess). The country is landlocked with two of four borders closed to land travel. It's a fledgling democracy with a serious out-migration problem. And it's inhabited by just 3.5 million people. I'm limiting myself, they say, by staying involved in one country that's not even my own.

Well, so be it, I say.

I am not alone in being enthusiastic about a nation with a proud history and a great future. My taxi ride from the airport in NYC last week confirmed it. The driver was Haitian, and I've been doing some work with Healing Hands for Haiti, a group that's been serving Haitians with disabilities for the past 12+ years.

When he realized that I knew a couple of things about Haiti, he delivered a passionate speech about the Haitian people. "We have had many problems. But Haitians are optimistic, they have hope. We get up every morning to do something," voice rising with emotion, "every morning. And there is not a country in the world. . ." He trailed off in his thoughts about the odds that a people would continue to strive and maintain hope amid such troubles.

Yes, there's something to be said for the overlooked and obscure. They remind us of how people can indeed persist and prevail.

Strangers

2011-07-11T20:13:00.001-07:00

I was with friends at an outdoor concert in downtown Salt Lake City this past weekend. The stage was a couple hundred meters away, and we sat on a grassy patch at the back of the venue. Behind us was a man with four children. During the opening act, I said a friendly hello to the kids when I turned around, but their reaction was a frozen look of anxiety. An hour or so later, I understood why.

“Remember what I said if anyone tries to talk to you,” the man who was presumably their father said. “Stranger danger,” piped up a child that looked about five years old. “That’s right,” he said, going on to say something about how the police would come if and when something terrible comes as a result of talking to anyone besides family.

Fortunately, no one ever told me not to talk to strangers. My life would be impoverished had I not done so over the years. Not only would I have missed out on countless opportunities to learn about all that people have to offer, how rich and diverse their stories are, but I wouldn’t have developed my own abilities to discern the difference between danger and discovery.

I know that growing up in a rural community is a different experience than that of urbanites. And I can’t fault parents for being concerned for their children’s wellbeing. But I wonder how the stern warnings about talking to anyone outside their “own” translates into adulthood. Will people be able to work with others who are not like themselves? Will society become so individualistic that there remains no sense of the common good? Will we one day be reading reports about “stranger deficiency syndrome”?

Strangers

2011-07-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

Sticky People & Hope Has Two Daughters

2011-07-11T20:04:00.000-07:00

Here's a piece called Sticky People and another called Hope Has Two Daughters, both of which were published in the Armenian Weekly.

Armenian League Education

2011-05-07T15:48:00.000-07:00

And here's a piece about the value of an Armenian League Education.

Lost Innocence

2011-05-07T15:45:00.000-07:00

It's a lazy girl's way of blogging, but I haven't had the time to write outside of the pieces I regularly write for the Armenian Weekly. Here's a piece I wrote for the Armenian Genocide commemoration magazine issue.

Language for the Future

2011-04-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

Here is a column about my impressions of the impact of language on culture.

Understanding Genocide

2011-04-08T07:30:00.000-07:00

A recent piece about some of what has influenced my understanding of genocide.

Agritourism in Armenia: Monetizing a Culture of Hospitality

2011-02-08T10:10:00.000-08:00

Here's an article I wrote after my time in Armenia last summer.

Serendipity

2011-02-03T11:30:00.000-08:00

It's a nice surprise when a social media tool brings us a truly interesting experience. While spending the week in Arizona last week, I was contacted via LinkedIn by a woman who I'd never met. After looking over her profile, I saw that we had two mutual connections for whom I hold especially high regard, and it was clear from her experience that she was someone I'd like to know, so I sent her a message.

As it turned out, she's based in Phoenix, which is just an hour from where I was staying. Within hours we'd set up a lunch appointment for a couple of days from then. And I can't articulate how happy I am that we did.

I'd like you to meet her, because she's a remarkable person. Please take a moment to visit her consulting website, read what columnist Nicholas Kristof had to say about her, and hear some of what she told Oprah about her story. I think you'll consider it time well spent.

The Armenian Affair

2010-12-27T12:16:00.001-08:00

Here is my latest Odar's Corner column in the Armenian Weekly.

Deep Travel

2010-12-25T13:42:00.000-08:00

Someone I recently met mentioned an interesting term: deep travel. Also a person who craves for opportunities to be out of her element, which is actually where she is most in her element, she's eager to find that je nai se quoi kind of excitement that one finds on the road. But without spending a dime.

A piece from Minnesota Public Radio helps to explain: "Tony Hiss writes about travel, but not in terms of exotic spots to visit. He writes about the actual movement from place to place. His new book, "In Motion: the Experience of Travel" argues that all travel, including the daily commute, offers the chance to see the world in a mind-expanding new way." This is what he calls deep travel.

I took this concept into a courtroom with me the following day, my first time standing in front of a judge. Someone sued the organization of which I serve on the board. In my view, the lawsuit was frivolous at best, sad at worst. We'd been given a check-in time of 9:00 a.m., but we had no idea when we'd actually be called. Our case was called first.

Directly in front of the judge's desk, the plaintiff and his wife stood on my right, and the other defendant stood off to the left in front of me. The benches behind us were partially filled with other people and their grievances. The room was electric with annoyance and uncertainty, but somehow the judge displayed a lightness of demeanor I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it. His face and gestures and comments were nothing akin to what I associated with a judge. I smiled and laughed quietly several times during the process - surely inappropriate, but how could I not?

The notion of deep travel kept crossing my mind. "Yes, this feeling of discomfort is what makes the best kind of travel," I thought, "But I only drove three miles to experience it." This idea won't keep me from more travel, but it might just remind me to embrace the unexpected closer to home.

Hands Across Borders

2010-12-10T08:12:00.000-08:00

I have a laundry list of stories about experiences on borders around the world. This piece starts to explore some of what I've learned along along the way.

The Day I Climbed a Mountain

2010-11-03T10:23:00.000-07:00

Here's another story that just might make you think the world is alright.

Finding a Cure (or, The Cure Finds You)

2010-10-01T13:13:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to my most recent Odar's Corner column for the Armenian Weekly. No need for a pharmacy when you get advice from Armenians on home remedies.

Finding a Language

2010-08-31T11:55:00.000-07:00

Here is my second "Odar's Corner" column published in the Armenian Weekly. I have been lackadaisical about blogging lately, but I promise that it will not be exclusively column postings forever!

My New Column: An Odar's Corner

2010-08-06T02:01:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to the first of what will be my monthly column for the Armenian Weekly: http://www.armenianweekly.com/2010/08/04/rendahl-odar/

Don't thank me...

2010-06-01T13:08:00.000-07:00

By some accident of fate, three boys from Saudi Arabia -- between the ages of 19 and 22, so they're still boy-ish to me -- ended up disoriented in our yard last Friday evening. They've been in the U.S. for just a week, all of them beginning classes at an area university next week. One was trying to find his host family's house, and the other two were trying to return to their campus lodgings. They were all working to improve their English, so directions about public transit given with swift taps and slides on a tiny iPhone map were a little too overwhelming to comprehend. After a minute, I decided to simply give them rides to their respective destinations. Neither was much more than a couple of miles, so I could slip out of the dinner party and return in a flash.

These boys were the epitome of grateful. "This is the nicest thing that's ever happened to me in my life," one said haltingly with a look of sheer amazement on his face. When I dropped him off, he shook my hand fervently and said, "I hope you get everything you want." When I dropped off the other boys at the university one said, "I don't speak English well, but I will thank you always." Such heartfelt words of thanks, but far too humbling for me to accept.

I wanted to say please, my young friends, don't thank me. Instead, you can thank the person I met on a train in the Republic of Armenia who walked me up and back down a mountain, through sheep herds and orchards and forests, to help me reach my destination, only to have one cup of coffee before hiking back up the mountain to his home. You can thank the strangers in the Republic of Georgia who welcomed me into their homes and lives after I was turned away from the Georgian-Turkish border two days in a row due to visa issues. You can thank the Norwegian family whose door I randomly knocked on, who welcomed me into their home for dinner when I took a ferry to the wrong island and then gave me a ride to catch the right ferry. You can thank the Syrian families I had just met at 10 in the evening who insisted that I stay with them rather than in a hotel. You can thank the family who stopped to help when my car stalled at a busy intersection in St. Paul, and later insisted on following me to be sure I reached home safely. You can thank the gentlemen by the Mississippi River who gave me quarters for the parking meter last week.

You can thank all of these people and more. But please, don't thank me.

Homes Away from Home

2010-05-18T15:33:00.000-07:00

Out of curiosity, I sat down to make a list of all the host families I've had outside of the U.S. over the past 13 or so years. That is, families who have hosted me for at least one night, often longer, and most often without any form of compensation. I was surprised and delighted to see that the grand total was (at least) 20 families. They are people who have hosted me in Armenia, Georgia, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Botswana, South Africa, Uganda, Norway, England, Guatemala, and Mexico.

A flurry of faces crossed my mind during this exercise in memory recall. It's difficult to imagine my life without having had these experiences. The people I've met while traveling have had a profoundly enriching affect on me. Some have offered a startling new perspective on the world. Others have offered a kinship so familiar, as if a longtime companion. Yet others have simply made me feel safe. There are times when it actually seems to break my heart to say goodbye. Sure, I often stay in touch, and sometimes even meet again, but mostly I just relive those dear moments with a warmth in my heart.

I marvel at life when I think of how close I've been to missing the chance to know these families and have these meaningful encounters. An arrival one day later, a bounceback email, an airplane seat change, a dismissed greeting from a stranger, an alternative flight in inclement weather: any of these would have changed the course of things. What a lovely thing that none of us knows the rhyme or reason behind much of anything.

A Month (in Uganda and Ethiopia) at a Glance

2010-05-05T16:44:00.000-07:00

I've written a few posts about my experiences in East Africa, but some may wonder what I actually did for a month, so I've compiled this list of sites visited.

Makerere University Business School (MUBS) (Kampala, Uganda)
Quality Chemicals Limited (QCL), a leading pharmaceutical company in Africa that produces ARVs and anti-malarials (Kampala, Uganda)
Good Shepard Home Missionaries for the Poor, an orphanage (Kampala, Uganda)
Gulu Referral Hospital (Gulu, Uganda)
Nakasero Primary School (Kampala, Uganda)
World Vision's Children of War Rehabilitation Center (Gulu, Uganda)
Pabbo IDP camp, which was home to nearly 70,000 Internally Displaced Persons during the recent civil war (the current population is less than half that) (near Gulu, Uganda)
Primary and secondary schools (Gulu, Uganda)
Vocational School (Gulu, Uganda)
Gulu University (Gulu, Uganda)
Baker's Fort, a former slave market (near Gulu, Uganda)
School for the Mentally Handicapped (Kampala, Uganda)
Mildmay HIV/AIDS Counseling and Treatment Centre (Kampala, Uganda)
Farm -- poultry, pigs, coffee and cows (near Kampala, Uganda)
National Museum of Uganda (Kampala, Uganda)
Beauty Tips School of Beauty graduation ceremony (Kampala, Uganda)
Kyagalanyi Coffee Ltd (Kampala, Uganda)
Armenian Club (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)
Wise-Up, which is a generic condom promotion program targeting sex workers, their clients and gatekeepers, and other most at-risk populations(Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)
St. George Beer Brewery (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)
Ethnographic Museum of Ethiopia (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)
Ethiopian Night at Abyssynia restaurant (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia -- see post-aerobic dancing photo below)
Church of Uganda (Anglican) service, including 40 baptisms (Kampala, Uganda)
Church of Uganda (Anglican) choir rehearsal (Gulu, Uganda)
10+ Rotary Club meetings around Uganda and a Rotary conference in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Music Diplomacy

2010-05-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

Without a doubt, the most useful cross-cultural skills that I have were taught to me by my dad. A dove call with my hands and another sound made with a blade of grass between my thumbs. Since I learned them initially as a child, I've had ample opportunities to use them as an ice breaker of sorts. Men and children are especially interested in learning these skills, while for some reason women are more reluctant to give them a try. I've developed an impressive range on the dove call, I don't mind saying, so my repertoire includes actual songs. Crossing linguistic barriers, they offer an easy and fun way to engage with nearly anyone in the world. Dad will be surprised to learn how such a small lesson became a big asset.

Another asset is that of song. A couple of weeks ago, when driving from Gulu to Kampala, Uganda, we had a flat tire in a small village. Three of my compatriots headed directly to what turned out to be a lively church service under a tree. After a few minutes, I tried to engage some shy village children with my aforementioned bird call skills. They giggled as I showed them the calls from several meters away, unsuccessfully attempting to replicate the calls themselves. They were clearly interested in this "muzungu" (Kiswahili for white person), but afraid to get too close. After awhile, I grabbed my guitar from the van and went back into the field of grass to sit down and play. Now doubly intrigued, a bunch of children immediately gathered around to look and listen, bringing with them a cloud of small flies. Two adult men, too, found places to sit at the front and asked about the music I played and sang. Some 40 minutes passed and I was sad to learn that the spare tire had been repaired and put in place, so we were ready to go. The children who had been so shy just 40 minutes prior to that warmly waved as I returned to the van and we continued down the road. A serendipitous connection indeed.

In northern Uganda, home to countless orphans of war and HIV/AIDS, I was invited to sing a song at a local Rotary meeting. The song choice was easy. "Orphan Girl," often performed by Gillian Welch, is one of my favorites and the first I learned to play on a guitar. A normally chatty bunch of Ugandans fell silent while I sang. The song held deep meaning for me before this trip, but it became more significant for me among these people who have themselves been orphaned and for the others who have provided for the many who have been orphaned. The song reflects their sorrows, and their hope.

Polygamy in Uganda

2010-05-05T13:41:00.000-07:00

Ugandans, especially the women, have thought a lot more about polygamy than I. That wasn't clear to me until I had a frank conversation with one particular man in Kampala a couple of weeks ago. (If you're wondering, Uganda is a largely Christian country and this man claimed the Christian faith.) Just minutes into the conversation, I learned that he has two wives and 11 children (with three different mothers). At age 42, he has one son in his third year of law school. I don't know how the conversation turned so quickly and squarely to the topic, but I was eager to hear a man's thoughts on the matter.

Each of his wives and their respective children live in a separate home, so where he sleeps each night... well, he says, that just depends. I explain that this would be (or is) a prohibitively expensive way to live in the US and he nods in agreement, stating that it isn't easy in Uganda either. I inquire about his wives' education levels and he tells me that they both hold bachelor's degrees and full-time professional jobs. He paid seven cows and one bull for his first wife, but the second family didn't ask for as much. In other terms, I figure that the cost of his first wife was roughly the equivalent of a respectable down payment on a house in a medium-sized US city.

I asked if he has "side dishes" (one campaign's term for girlfriends outside of marriage) as well and his response was, "It can happen." If you ask him, he's quite an astute polygamist. Other men approach him for advice on how to tell their first wives about their newly produced children and other wives, and how to integrate the children from different mothers. Indeed, what an awkward dinner topic. They ask him because he somehow manages to pile most of his eight daughters and three sons into a van for outings. Fortunately, he intends to share his findings by writing a book.

When I asked what he might do if one of his wives had an affair, "Run away like mad," he said emphatically. I pointed out that we would call that a double standard and asked if he realized how insane that is. "I realize that it is not just," he finally responded after I pressed for an answer numerous times. For emphasis, he added that he'd feel the same way if one of his girlfriends had an affair. What a tremendous sense of ownership that someone can feel about three or more women concurrently.

So, maybe you're wondering what kind of a sex god this guy is? Well, I can assure you that he wouldn't catch my eye a second time (and probably not a first time either). He seems capable enough in business, though, which provides the kind of financial security that many vulnerable Ugandan women seek. Better to be the second or third wife and have something than risk having nothing. He maintained that a very high percentage of Ugandan men live something like this, but the majority are not open about it. Even if they are open and a woman feels that polygamy is not for her, few will find support from their mothers, mothers-in-law or grandmothers who were one of five or six wives and will quickly point out their good fortune of being one of just two or three wives.

This was not an isolated conversation about polygamy. In fact, I can't tell you how often it came up in conversation. It's not my place to judge how others manage their personal relationships, but it is clear that Ugandan women are not altogether pleased that this is their reality. The bottom line is that more wives and children (and side dishes) results in fewer resources for everyone. Fewer resources means less education. And less education means continuing cycles of poverty. And then there is the issue of HIV/AIDS. The first concern of a Ugandan woman who suspects or knows that her husband has another sexual partner is whether or not has has brought home disease to her and their future children. As such, Ugandan women hope that their husbands are faithful, while remaining realistic about the possibility, knowing that they would not be alone.

Assault on the Senses

2010-04-26T01:39:00.000-07:00

No matter how lovely a people and experience in another country, it is inevitable that something will be distasteful to the senses. Sometimes there are multiple causes of discomfort that occur simultaneously and with abandon.

One such scenario is the 45-60 minute daily drive from my host family's house in the northern part of Kampala to the rallying point in the center of the city. Without fail, the morning begins with a traffic jam in the blazing sun. This might be easily stomached were it not for the open windows and clouds of exhaust fumes. Though cars are equipped with air conditioners, and even a functioning one in my host mother's car, Ugandans have clearly grown accustomed to the smell. My sinuses and stinging eyes, however, have not! I've told my host siblings that at some point during my stay I will very likely open my mouth and they will see a plume of smoke rise into the air. I believe that it actually makes me high (and not in a good way). If only I could conceive of a way to rinse out my lungs and sinuses each night.

The roads, I suppose, warrant their own paragraph. The traffic is truly laughable in its unruliness, though not unlike many other countries I've visited. In between chaotic streams of cars ("lanes" would be an exaggeration), "bodabodas" (motorcycles) dart in and out of traffic carrying between one and five people each. The traffic jams drive many Kampalans to take short-cuts on the side roads, where aren't really short-cuts at all, and would be more aptly described as trails. With ruts half the depth of the tires, it takes a four-wheel drive and a bold driver to navigate these routes, which are more the norm than the exception. I'm told that the city was not planned with these roads in mind, so people build and landscape into space that would be better served by drainage systems. I'm certain, though, that I've developed abdominal strength as a passenger these past few weeks. No seat belts and at least 2-3 hours of riding team each day gets results. But I wouldn't advise it as a sustainable workout plan.

The challenges for the mind on a trip like this generally regard the day-to-day struggles of others. Forget the ants in the bathtub and the bucket baths and the chickens in the next room. I'm talking about things like the effects of decades of war and HIV/AIDS. It's common to meet people who are paying school fees for as many as 15 children, of which maybe a few are their own. Hearing story after story about needs can wear on a person, but listening to stories and needs is my job, so I'm more struck by what people are able to achieve despite the obstacles. That is what is really amazing.

Families in Northern Uganda

2010-04-17T05:48:00.000-07:00

I've met a lot of generous people in my life. People around the world have shown me incredible hospitality and genuine friendship over the years, and the memories are etched into my heart. Since arriving in Uganda, I've been overwhelmed at another brand of giving that seems much the norm here. Extended family in the broadest sense of the term.

My host mother in Gulu, Uganda has sheltered, raised and educated over 20 children in her short 53 years on this earth. Her name is Grace. I couldn't describe her more accurately than that. Her home is exceedingly modest, but I could learn from her priorities. Her primary focus is on the education of the children under her roof. As she said, "I didn't see many books in my life. I had to fight for everything I have." The income she receives through a small canteen she has at the local university and a secretarial service is all directed to the future of the children around her.

At present, there are some 10 children under her care. I struggle to remember their names, but I will never forget their faces or stories. They are children born in captivity during the war, abandoned as soon as their mothers escaped their dismal realities as sex slaves. They are boys abducted by the rebels to serve as child soldiers in the war. They are children orphaned when HIV/AIDS took the lives of their parents and left them to contend with the same disease. Few of them have known either parent, and even fewer would have had a chance to thrive without Grace's interventions.

She is a model of the possible. On the one hand, I feel ashamed to be hosted by her, knowing that my sacrifices have been so few compared to hers. On the other hand, I feel empowered to continually reevaluate my priorities and do more. I would like all the world to know about the stories of people like Grace.

A Story from Uganda

2010-04-12T06:27:00.000-07:00

There are a thousand things I could tell you about my time in Uganda thus far. I could tell you about the traditional dresses, like the one my host is wearing (pictured at right), and dances I've seen. I could tell you about the orphans of war and HIV/AIDS. I could tell you about the pineapple and the mangoes and the passion fruit. I could tell you about the impressive businesses and NGOs. I could tell you about the oppressive heat and the horrible roads. I could tell you about a lot.

But today, I'll just tell you about one young woman. Esther. She lost her mother to AIDS as a girl, and her father passed a few years later, presumably to the same. Her aunt took her into her home 10 years ago when she was just 10 years old. Though she's never had the opportunity to live with immediate family since her parents' deaths, her sister sponsored her through secondary school, from which she graduated recently.

You might guess that Esther is also HIV positive. And you'd be right. A beautiful girl with perfect features, serious looks and a joyful smile. Both sheltered from the world and wise beyond her 20 years, her aunt told me it took her three years to accept and see beyond her diagnosis.

She came to visit me while I rested in my room the other day. A pleasant chat about life quickly turned into a heart-wrenching confession of doubt for the future. Her eyes filled with tears as she said, "You know when you have dreams for the future... and you don't know if they'll come true." Tear drops turned to sobs and there we were.

As soon as we'd shared this intimate moment, she assured me that she'd get through it, more anxious to relieve the desperate look on my face than to speak the words on her heart and mind. "I'm so grateful for all that she's done for me," she said of her aunt, "giving me a place to live." Her sister doesn't want to continue paying for her schooling so she is left wondering what is in store for her, unable to see her options. The familiar story of a confused youth, complicated by disease and loss of family. One of the better stories of those orphaned by war and AIDS in Uganda, but no less heart breaking.

The conversation returned to the mundane. The activities of my time here, the location of the northern city of Gulu to which I would travel the next day, my drying clothes. The most ironic part: she lent me a copy of "Rich Woman: A book on investing for women."

What a world.

Past and Present: The Women in Our Lives

2010-03-17T16:00:00.000-07:00

Here is a live recording of a brief talk I gave at Concordia College (Moorhead, Minnesota), my undergraduate alma mater, on March 15, 2010.

Op Ed: Celebrating the Armenian Woman

2010-03-07T16:09:00.000-08:00

Here is a link to an op-ed that I wrote recently for The Armenian Weekly. I've also pasted the text of the article in this post.

Celebrating the Armenian Woman

I’ve had the privilege of celebrating International Women’s Day in Armenia on five occasions. It might well be one of my favorite holidays, second only to International Children’s Day on June 1 (also my birthday, for those of you who wish to note it in your calendars). The only hard part about celebrating women in Armenia is narrowing down the countless women to admire. But I want to take a moment to tell you about a few women important in my life.

Gayane was my first close friend in Armenia. We ended up friends by mere chance nearly 13 years ago, but have remained friends by choice. Almost the same age, but separated by countless cultural norms, not to mention language, we had to work to understand each other. She colored outside of the lines in comparison with most village girls, but never enough to cause a scandal. Together we raised the eyebrows of neighbors by picnicking with a bottle of wine on a rock in the river and having a leisurely conversation in the village square when only men did such things. It’s hard to pinpoint when a person decides to be utterly devoted to a friendship. My devotion to Gayane may have begun when we hiked up to a khatchkar on the side of a mountain and she insisted on wearing heels.

I should have seen then that her heels were indicative of a deeper resolve to achieve the seemingly impossible. After meeting and marrying an American man, she traveled with him to South Korea to teach English for a year. Now keep in mind that this was the same woman whose English skills during our friendship consisted of phrases like: “Is your armchair comfortable?” But we lost touch for a few years, so I didn’t hear about those experiences until they had moved to New York City to start a new life together. Ever defying the expectations of the world, Gayane was able to support her husband while he earned a master’s degree, first at a miserable telemarketing job and later at a major U.S. corporation. Today, the girl from the village can be found commuting to work or taking their son to and from day care. At breakneck speed. In her heels.

After living in Armenia for a few years, I met Gohar, the epitome of sincerity and wisdom that she is. In the early 1990’s, Gohar and her brother traveled to Greek-Cyprus to work in the tourism industry for a few years, earning enough to buy her own flat upon returning to Yerevan. Her apartment is cozy and comfortable, and it’s an honor to be hosted there. She takes great pride in putting her signature on it, painting her own door and walls, and renovating her bathroom. You appreciate it more when you remember that she does this as a single woman, unperturbed by the traditional expectations that some may try to impose on her.

Another girl born and raised in a village, Gohar represents humility and hard work and a willingness to take risks. One of the early adopters of volunteerism in its truest form (not the mandatory volunteerism of the Soviet era), she exemplifies service for native and Diasporan Armenians alike in her work at the Fuller Center for Housing in Armenia. Coming to the native homeland for the first time can be both exciting and stressful for many diasporans. She serves as one of those precious bridges that can help people understand where Armenia has been, where it is now, and where it can be. I wish for everyone to know someone like Gohar. She could teach the world that generosity, kindness, and optimism can bring only good things.

Just when I needed a dose of inspiration while living in Armenia, I met Rouzan and the wonderful people at the Manana Youth Center. Rouzan and her husband had founded the organization in the early 1990’s. While most people were focused on the basic necessities of food, they recognized that children’s hunger for learning could not be ignored. They welcomed me as a regular attendee of their journalism class for 12-year-olds. At the center, then lacking even basic amenities, I saw Rouzan challenge these kids—and me, for that matter—to think about how to improve their homeland without money, without people in power, without grown-ups. These kids asked tough questions about complicated issues. And they corrected my grammar.

Time and again Rouzan and her husband have invested their own resources for the sake of children in the community. There were times when it wasn’t clear whether the work could go on, but Rouzan is scrappy and her passion is contagious. Their efforts have blossomed into a center that profoundly develops the creative potential of Armenian youth, earning the youth dozens of international awards for their journalism, filmmaking, photojournalism, and animation projects. I can scarcely think of a better example of the potential for excellence in Armenia. And I can think of no one who is a stronger advocate for children than Rouzan (and I believe that her husband and children would quite agree with me).

It is with these few words that I want to celebrate the women of Armenia. There aren’t enough flowers in the world to express my gratitude for the inspiration they have been to me. These women represent the Armenian values of hospitality, strength, compassion, knowledge, and creativity. They are symbolic of what is good in Armenia, and what is good in the world. And they are what I think of when someone asks me about Armenia.

Kristi Rendahl lived and worked in Armenia from 1997 to 2002, and has since visited three times. She remains active in Armenian issues, and can’t wait to return during the summer of 2010.

East Africa Bound

2010-02-17T12:06:00.001-08:00

I'll be heading to Uganda and Ethiopia for the month of April, thanks to Rotary District 5950, which is sponsoring this Group Study Exchange. Essentially a vocational and cultural exchange for young professionals (ages 25-40), a small group of us (pictured below) -- all non-Rotarians -- will be hosted by a number of Rotary Clubs in each country, presenting at each one, and staying with Rotarian families along the way. I've been duly warned that our days will be jam-packed with activities, like visiting northern Uganda, where Rotary International and USAID have established a collaborative effort to implement water, sanitation, and hygiene projects, enabling internally displaced persons to return to their home villages. I imagine we'll also tour a few coffee and tea plantations, given their importance to the regional economy. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine! We were each asked to describe our professional and educational backgrounds, as well as our general interests, to help the host clubs develop an itinerary, so I expect the exchange to be a rich array of experiences.

Upcoming Speaking Engagements

2010-02-10T14:41:00.000-08:00

I'll be speaking at a conference in Albuquerque, New Mexico on February 27. The conference is held by the Association for Lutheran Development Executives, and my presentation will regard engaging boards in fundraising. Or, "Boards and Fundraising: Beyond the Hotdish." (For those non-Midwesterners reading this, the "hotdish" is more than just a meal: it's a way of living, passed down from generations of church basement tradition. Amen.) When talking with people about the topic, reactions have ranged from genuine interest to hysterical laughter to audible groans. My personal favorite was, "What is it, a comedy routine?" Nonetheless, I am looking forward to this opportunity to talk about creating cultures of fundraising within boards and to hear about the experiences of the attendees.

Another upcoming engagement is giving the keynote address at my undergraduate alma mater, Concordia College, for Women's History month in March. The general theme of their event is women in the new economy. My presentation is entitled "Note to Self: Money advice 30-something women would give to their college selves if they could." The response from both women and men on the topic of money has been enthusiastic and telling. It would seem that many people are eager to offer insights on what they've done right. And not so right.

Musical Moments

2010-01-11T14:25:00.000-08:00

I love walking downstairs from my second floor office to play piano in the middle of the day. Whether the organized structure of a Scarlatti fugue, the spirited rhythms of a Cuban piece, or the familiar tune of a folk song, each lifts my spirit and sharpens my focus.

Sights and Sounds on the Farm

2009-12-16T15:51:00.000-08:00

Inspiration in NYC

2009-11-19T11:26:00.000-08:00

Not every retreat needs to involve a secluded cabin and walks by a lake. The frenzied streets of NYC can offer the same level of creative rejuvenation (though your calves might hurt at the end of the day if you're more accustomed to the car culture of the Midwest). I was in NYC last week for just a few days to meet with a client. While there, I found doses of inspiration at every turn.

Take my friend Lauren, for example. She and a friend have created telegraph21, a nonfiction video magazine that will showcase new short videos and filmmakers each week. Their business model is designed to serve as a platform for film festivals, media producers and emerging filmmakers to promote their work to a global audience. I applaud these entrepreneurial women, as well as the PR company that is sponsoring their office space while they get off the ground (it's scheduled to launch in December 2009).

Another friend, Gayane, came to the US some 7 or 8 years ago with her American husband with fairly basic English language skills. Since then, she's managed to support her husband while he attended and completed graduate school, hold a position with ABC's legal department, and fulfill her dream of buying a grand piano (though not without some bargaining savvy, thanks to the home country).

Even my brief encounters with transit offered some food for thought. There was the pedicab driver who has obviously learned that he can charge more than motorized cabs because of the "experience." The cab driver who leases his cab to a college student during his off hours. And another cab driver from the Dominican Republic who is filled with hope about the opportunities in the US, even after 15+ years here. While his children have had to deal with gangs in their school, his eldest child will soon leave for graduate school in San Francisco, blazing her own trail of success.

Bad news about the economy and its negative impact on communities pours in every day. It makes a person want to curl up in a ball and wish it all away. But it's exciting that things are still happening, no matter the circumstances! People are supporting each other, sharing their resources and utilizing their full creative capacity. There's a lot of hope out there, if you can only look beyond the headlines.

Retreat

2009-10-09T15:43:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I spent about five days on a solo retreat on my family's farm in North Dakota. It was not as solo as I anticipated, because I still have friends there to visit and host, but they made the time all the more rejuvenating. A few photos of the farm are posted here. Regrettably, I don't have any digital or scanned photos of our modest lakes; they provide such wonderful places of respite for me, even among the cow dung and prairie cactus and prickly grass. There is nothing quite like sitting on a warm rock under the sun knowing that every tree in sight was planted by kinfolk. On a breezy day the mosquitoes can't land and the waves of the lake sing you to sleep.

The scenery may not look like much to many people, but to me they are representations of honest work with strong hands, freedom of the soul and peace of the heart. No doubt my great-grandmother did not romanticize the land so when she and her brother first settled this land in the 1890s. My father, too, surely has plenty to say about the toil and sacrifice that it demanded of him. But I, now considered an Urbanite, cannot shed my identity as a farmer's daughter, and so I wax poetic about the riches of a land David Letterman recently joked is used primarily for storage.

Note: This wind farm was recently constructed by a foreign company about one hour north of our farm. There are over 70 turbines in total.

Guatemala

2009-09-08T14:26:00.000-07:00

I spent a couple of weeks in Antigua, Guatemala last week. My primary purpose was an intensive language immersion experience (which it certainly was), but it was also a good reminder of the many contradictions in any society.

On the one hand, I heard daily about the challenges of Guatemala: an alarmingly high rate of murders each day; the drug trafficking that occurs as a result of being part of the corridor between Colombia and Mexico; the inability and unwillingness of the government (and the Catholic church) to promote any kind of sex education in schools; a drought that has caused severe hunger in parts of the country; a nearly non-existent health care system; the lack of access to affordable capital; and the list goes on.

On the other hand, I heard about the reasons for hope: a fierce entrepreneurial spirit; a deep commitment to family; a growing workforce of women; projects that target the needs of rural populations; an artistic community committed to excellence; a culture that values its history; and the list goes on.

Sure, there were more traditional highlights of my time there -- a lovely host family, roasting marshmallows on an active volcano, attending world-class Baroque concerts, chuckling that Paris Hilton was helicoptered into Antigua from the capital (just an hour away), singing at an open mic, and the like -- but the big picture was that of reflection. Reflection that challenged any simple generalizations that one might hope to have about a country. And I guess that's the kind of reflection that I like.

Note: One reader asked me to provide an update on my Spanish language skills. While I went there with reasonably good Spanish-speaking skills, this experience provided me about 70-80 hours of one-on-one conversation that is bound to improve anyone's foreign language skills. Since returning from this trip, I continue to use Spanish regularly.

Rural-Urban Divide: Cap and Trade Policies

2009-07-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

I went back to our family farm in North Dakota for a solo retreat this past weekend. It was a great opportunity to re-connect with longtime friends and experience much of what rural America has to offer. One of those things is perspective. A reminder that we are not all affected by the same things in the same ways.

My friends, Chuck & Laurie and Becky & Dave, for example, are farmers who have incurred massive debt and work exhausting hours to produce food for the rest of us, while also working other jobs and raising some of the finest children in the country. These are not the kind of farming giants that urbanites like to curse and criticize. North Dakota is one of precious few states that have anti-corporate farming laws to keep land and profits in the community, rather than seeing everything controlled by the few. My friends farm because they can't imagine a better job in the world. They farm because they care about the land. They farm because they believe in growing good food.

It was through them that I learned about how the various proposed cap and trade policies would affect America's small farmers. Many advocates of the policies make it sound simple. Less carbon emissions = slowing climate change, so everyone should be on board. Oh, were the world so black and white. And I do wish it were. Alas, the technology of the industry is not on their side. Farmers would be disproportionately affected by such blanket policies until technology catches up with the need for reduced gas emissions. Agricultural offsets from food production are markedly different than those of Hummers or even SUVs in the city. And as long as Americans expect to have the cheapest food prices in the world, we'd best take into consideration the burdens we place on domestic farmers.

I've had it!

2009-06-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or are our major news outlets riddled with updates about adulterous elected officials lately? Is our top priority really to shame people about their personal sex lives and relationships? Are extramarital affairs really a matter of utmost concern?

I don't know about you, but I just don't care. There is a good argument to be made about those who say one thing and do another (read: those who rail against infidelity and tout family values, then have various illicit affairs), but even then I don't know if I care. We've all had days of self righteousness that we'd regret if someone reminded us of them. If the subjective standard of "values" were applied across the board, I don't know who would be left in office. Not just in elected office, but in any office.

What I expect from myself and other people is a genuine effort to better the world. To me that means getting educated about real issues that affect real people. It means taking action after becoming educated. It means respect for other people. It means a willingness to collaborate with people who have different views and backgrounds. It means interest in the lives of children and the elderly. What it does not mean to me is living lives of judgment day in and day out, rather hoping for another person to fail to justify our own weaknesses and insecurities.

Let's pony up some common sense and move on to real business.

Ignorance is Bliss. Until It's Self-Defeating.

2009-06-14T19:03:00.000-07:00

I was at bar last night and overheard a conversation that struck me as noteworthy. A man was describing the hoops he had to jump through to travel to China for work. He explained that they require a letter of invitation, multiple-entry visa, and the like. Upon hearing, his audience commiserated with a tsk-tsk, perhaps unaware that the requirements to enter the United States are far more laborious and rigorous for most people from countries around the globe, including our neighbors to the south.

It's not the first time I've encountered people who exude a certain sense of entitlement as Americans. What I heard was not a moment of clarity about the travails of travel, but of disapproval and judgment. Is it possible that we think that it's our inherent privilege as Americans to travel and work wherever we like without even reasonable impediments? Are we so out of touch with the rest of the world?

Even for as large a country as this is, we are remarkably protectionist about everything from education to jobs. Why, for example, do most universities require of foreign college and graduate students a bank statement that reflects their ability to pay for their education? And then, to boot, have state and federal laws that prohibit them from working during their studies? Save for some of the spoiled children of kingdoms and corrupt bureaucrats, aren't the people that can manage to save for their entire education the very people we want working in all of our sectors and paying taxes?

I'm befuddled. We're a nation built on the vibrant energy and talents of immigrants, yet we have lost touch with those roots and duped ourselves into thinking that the world is really at our behest. What are we losing in all of our glorious ignorance?

Roxana Saberi Finds Freedom

2009-05-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a spring. Floods and fires and arbitrary detentions, oh my. Today is a good day though. It's grilling weather and we have something to celebrate. Roxana has finally been released from prison in Iran. People around the world are so genuinely relieved for her and her family.

I'm not a very close friend of Roxana's, but I have had the pleasure of knowing her in college, being in touch with her the past few years, and meeting her amazing parents in March. Over the past few months, many of us have been at the edge of our seats wondering what we can do to help and how it will all shake out. What a relief that our worst fears have not been realized. What a relief that Roxana will again be able to share her talents with the world and not languish in prison.

This day also serves as a reminder that our work is not completely done. Not only do others, like Silva Harotonian, still sit in Iran's Evin prison awaiting justice, but we need to reflect on our own egregious actions. In this case, I am speaking of the United States' imperfect track record of detention. Indeed, many have been held for long periods of time without official charges or any hope for a transparent process. People who don't have the resources, governmental support, or influential connections to advocate on their behalf. This is an opportunity for us to familiarize ourselves with these cases and clean up our own act. Roxana's case captured the hearts of many, but unfortunately she is not the only to suffer this kind of injustice. I find it best to celebrate Roxana's release grounded in that reality.

Open Letter from Roxana Saberi's Parents

2009-03-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

An open letter
Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic of Iran
Hazrat Ayatollah Ozma Sayyed Ali Khamenei

As of today our daughter, Roxana Saberi, has been in prison in Tehran for the past forty-seven days. She is under great psychological pressure and her condition seems to be dangerous now. We are very worried about her health and fear that something tragic may happen to her.
Roxana is a world-renowned journalist. She was born and raised in the United States. However, because of her interest in her fatherland she has been living in Iran for the past six years. During this time, in addition to some reporting, she has been studying the history,literature and culture of Iran. She has always been balanced in her reports and has shown great respect to the principles of Islam and Iran.

Recently, Mr. Hassan Haddad, deputy prosecutor of Tehran for security matters, said in an interview with Isna that investigations on Roxana Saberi have been completed and that she will be set free in a few days. Today, fourteen days after that announcement, our daughter, depressed, despaired and grieving, is still waiting for her freedom in a corner of the Evin Prison.
Therefore, we the parents of Roxana, are asking you respectfully that you order our daughter to be freed, on bail or otherwise, so that if she is summoned to the court at a later date she shall be present there.

Respectfully,
Reza and Akiko Saberi
March18, 2009
Esfand 28, 1387

Uncle: The Recession is Over

2009-03-20T11:27:00.001-07:00

My uncle says the recession must be over. His rationale? He was recently buying gear for a cat, and it wasn't even for his own cat. I'd say that's as good of an indication of an economic upswing as anything else I've heard.

Roxana Saberi Detained in Iran

2009-03-03T16:27:00.000-08:00

You may have heard that a young journalist from North Dakota, Roxana Saberi, has been detained in Iran for the past few weeks, though it was only recently brought to the press. Roxana and I went to undergraduate school together, and I, along with her parents and many others, are concerned for her well-being. There is significant coverage about the situation; just Google her name and you'll find it.

If you'd like to help, please take a moment to ask the Iranian Permanent Mission to the United Nations to work for her release. They can be reached by phone at 212-687-2020 or by e-mail at iran@un.int. It would also be helpful if you could contact your state's Senators. You can find their online contact forms at http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm.

Canadian citizens can find the e-mail and mailing addresses and phone numbers for their member of parliament at
http://www2.parl.gc.ca/Parlinfo/Compilations/HouseOfCommons/MemberByPostalCode.aspx?Menu=HOC

You can also thank the Swiss Representation in Iran for working to secure her release, as the US Interests Section of the Embassy of Switzerland acts as protecting power for the interest of the USA in Iran. Their e-mail address is tie.vertretung@eda.admin.ch

Please also sign the petition that the Committee to Protect Journalists has posted at http://apps.facebook.com/causes/petitions/99?m=2011278e&recruiter_id=16717410

Thanks for your time.

Sacrifice

2009-02-03T21:53:00.000-08:00

There has been a lot of talk about sacrifice over the past few months. The public dialogue on the topic has been largely driven by Obama's election and his inspirational call for service. Of course people have been intimately familiar with sacrifice for many generations before us. And many of our fellow Americans have had no choice but to sacrifice for years. I'm not sure why it is such news to people. I'm also not sure if we have a collective understanding of what it means or should mean.

An easy definition of sacrifice is to go without something for the sake of something else. Another answer is to be generous with our time, talent and treasure, no matter how little we have to share. I wonder if continuing to spend is actually a form of sacrifice too. Maybe hoarding money in our savings accounts is actually selfish. At least that's what I said about my parking ticket last week. And the dress I bought at a local boutique. My own little stimulus package for the community...

Maybe sacrifice is really code for "wake up and live smarter." We could figure out how we dug this hole we're in and start filling it back up again. I'd like to see schools incorporating personal finance into the curriculum so kids understand math and compounded credit card interest rates. I'd like to see more single women making informed decisions about their spending and savings habits, and staying clear of men who don't demonstrate financial responsibility. I'd like to see parents opening checking accounts for their children and encouraging them to mow lawns or run errands or sell lemonade to earn money.

Let's not use the word sacrifice without some ideas about what it means in our own lives and our own communities. It's not just about not taking vacations and not buying new cars. It's a different way of thinking.

The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan: Part II

2009-01-02T11:43:00.000-08:00

I hope that for most people travel provides transformative experiences. These experiences are challenging to sum up in a blog posting, but they provide the opportunity to grow at a rate that is less achievable within a typical week of work and play. There is no doubt that experiential learning is my best teacher, and it inspires me to continue building on those lessons through more traditional modes of education.

Here are a few more photos of the magnificent sights of Jordan.

Resources for Nonprofits on Managing in a Down Economy

2008-12-23T10:02:00.000-08:00

A lot has been written about fundraising during an economic downturn. Here are links to several compilations of writings and discussions.

http://blog.techsoup.org/node/555 Eight free articles on weathering the economic storm.

http://www.fundraising123.org/article/how-thrive-down-economy-tips-improving-online-giving A presentation given by Jono Smith, Director of Marketing at Network for Good, at the 2008 Conference of the Association of Fundraising Professionals Central New York.

http://www.afpnet.org/ka/ka-3.cfm?content_item_id=24683&folder_id=2545 A Survival Kit for Fundraising in a Bad Economy. Recent articles and white papers from the Association of Fundraising Professionals.

http://www.malwarwick.com/fundraisingintoughtimes/ Fundraising in Tough Times: A No-Nonsense Guide to Surviving in a Challenging Economy. Published by Mal Warwick and Associates in 2008.

http://philanthropy.com/financial_crisis/ Special Report How Charities Cope With a Troubled Economy. The Chronicle of Philanthropy has compiled recent stories, live discussions, and statistics about how charities deal with turbulent times.

The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan: Part I

2008-12-18T11:06:00.000-08:00

This is the first of what I expect will be two posts on my recent trip to the Middle Eastern country of Jordan. The trip warrants two posts because my weeks there were distinctly different from one another. The first week, and the subject of this post, was spent as a team leader for a Habitat for Humanity Global Village Team. The team was made up of 12 people including myself; 11 women and 1 (lucky) man. Interestingly, exactly half the team was in their 30s and the other half in their 60s (with one woman just over 70 years old). But it was quickly obvious that the age of the participants was immaterial as the self-described "ladies" out-worked the self-described "girls" in every way! The group enjoyed tremendously positive group dynamics, thanks in no small part to the high degree of flexibility and travel savvy among members.

Our build took place in a region called Ghor al Safi, just south of the Dead Sea (in fact, the sea was visible from the building site). This community of some 20,000 souls depends in large part on agricultural production for income, and they have three growing seasons. This is notable because their use of fresh manure (rather than cured) throughout the year attracts a most horrific number of flies. But I digress... Many of the community members we met were under the age of 18, as dozens of children would sit near the worksite each afternoon, eagerly anticipating the moment when one of us would organize a game or song.

Jordanian homes are usually made from concrete blocks. The host affiliate -- in particular, my counterparts Romel and Mohammad -- did a wonderful job of preparing the site for our arrival. We received training on several phases of the construction process, including cement preparation, brick-laying, and reinforcement with rebar. Over the course of just four days, the team -- in partnership with the partner family, friends and neighbors, and affiliate representatives -- built most of the interior and exterior walls of the home. It's no small thing to empower a group of people unskilled in local costruction methods to successfully build a home. The credit for that goes to both the affiliate and the energetic team members.

After the build we visited the 2,000 year old archaeological site of Petra, one of the new wonders of the world and a UNESCO designated World Heritage Site. We were in awe of this former city and grateful to see it in person. And then we floated in the Dead Sea (a lake of 33.7 percent salt, your body can't help but float). After covering ourselves in mud from the sea, our skin was glowing and appreciative, and memories of swatting flies were ancient history.

I would encourage anyone, whether a veteran traveler or someone with a budding interest in service and travel, to participate in this type of project. The people these projects attract tend to share the core value of extending goodwill when traveling, and many have participated in numerous Global Village teams over the years, distinguishing it from a standard tour package. I believe that the world is a better place when we build community this way.

Defining Basic Needs

2008-11-24T11:40:00.000-08:00

I don’t envy the people who are trying to identify the country’s basic needs during an economic downturn. Legislators and foundations, in particular, must feel enormous pressure to determine appropriate strategies for addressing the most pressing needs. Of course that is true at any time, no matter the state of the economy. But when resources are in short supply, it would seem especially relevant.

It seems impossible to come to a definitive answer. I look at the work of my clients and would struggle to prioritize their relevance to the community. One client, Loaves and Fishes, provides daily meals at eight different locations around the Minneapolis/St Paul Metropolitan Area. When the organization started over 20 years ago, the guests were primarily homeless men. Today, they are the working poor – families in transition, unsupervised children, and elderly. Hunger and food insecurity threaten physical health, worker productivity, academic performance of children, mental health of both children and adults, and the burden on taxpayers to relieve long-term effects.

Another client, Family Tree Clinic, provides reproductive health care and family planning services. Their clients are largely uninsured or under-insured, and in the lowest brackets of annual income. Ignoring our society’s reproductive health would result in even higher rates of unintended pregnancies (50% are already reported as such in Minnesota); increased rates of sexually-transmitted infections; and, more teen pregnancies. Teenage pregnancies alone have a significant impact on the state's public assistance program, according to a 2008 Minnesota Organization on Adolescent Pregnancy, Prevention and Parenting (MOAPPP) Adolescent Sexual Health Report for Ramsey County. In 2007, 54% of the total Minnesota Family Investment Program (MFIP) cases were families that had begun with a teen birth. That investment translates into $2,701,799, or 56.8% of total MFIP dollars.

Another client, the Carver County Health Partnership, is convening community leaders to anticipate the impact of the expected population boom over the coming 15-20 years. The estimated 2006 population of 86,236 is expected to more than double by 2030. Households are expected to grow by nearly 50,000. With such explosive growth come challenges, like pollution due to motor vehicles and industrial sources, decreased social capital due to a lack of connectedness to community, increased crime, increased levels of stress, and new development that will increase the importance of accessibility to services, transportation considerations and public safety in development. Without a reasonable effort to strategically plan for this growth, communities will suffer from inattention to public health concerns and community development.

And yet another client, the Tufenkian Foundation, supports and implements a number of projects in the Republic of Armenia. Their work focuses on providing opportunities for impoverished youth, advocating for environmental protection, and developing economic opportunities in the most vulnerable parts of the country and Nagorno-Karabakh. The country lacks the ability to affordably export to other markets (two of the four borders are closed, leaving only Georgia and Iran as options for export by truck or train), putting the people in a precarious long-term situation.

Looking at just those four organizations, with four unique missions, it is clear that there is no simple definition for basic needs. Maslow's hierarchy of needs gives us some insight into it, but we must know that we need to look beyond the primitive needs of the pyramid. We need to be creative about fulfilling more of those needs, especially during an economic downturn. Otherwise, we can expect to live in an increasingly frustrated and cynical world. And that's not a place I want to live.

Election Judges

2008-11-05T12:47:00.000-08:00

I served as an election judge yesterday. It wasn't my first time as an election judge, but it was certainly a memorable one. The turnout this year was tremendous -- roughly 82% of the eligible voters in my precinct came out to vote. Many were college students who registered to vote at the polls. Especially noticeable were the high numbers of Somali and African-American voters who have been under-represented in past elections. It was heart-warming to see how long people were willing to wait to exercise their right to vote. Even the children were patient while waiting in line.

The role of an election judge isn't the sexiest of prospects, and it is an exhausting 15+ hours, but it is gratifying. It provides an opportunity to contribute to the election process in a non-partisan way. We do declare a party affiliation to ensure that major parties are represented at each polling location, but the partisan conversation stops there. Before opening the polls, we recite and sign the following oath:

"I _________ solemnly swear that I will perform the duties of election judge according to law and the best of my ability and will diligently endeavor to prevent fraud, deceit and abuse in conducting this election. I will perform my duties in a fair and impartial manner and not attempt to create an advantage for my party or for any candidate."

I take this oath seriously and am honored by the opportunity to perform these duties alongside others who do too. The work of candidate and issue campaigns is important and central to our process, but at times the hype can be over-stimulating and distracting, overshadowing the greater goals of democracy. It is not us versus them, or us versus them and those others, or this versus that, or anything else. It is us. Period. We live together. We work together. We learn together. And we grow together. We must respect and rely on one another to do anything worth doing. Let us continue to find ways to engage in meaningful dialogue and work in partnership.

Juxtaposition

2008-10-15T23:09:00.000-07:00

I had one of those days last week. One of those days that really make you think about what different cards we've all been dealt.

It started with a meeting at a new client's office. The organization provides community-based programming for individuals transitioning from the correctional system to society. Programming includes chemical dependency treatment and cognitive re-structuring interventions (i.e. changing the criminal mindset), among other programs. This growing organization is just a few years old, but brimming with meaningful work and exciting possibility. I hadn't felt so out of my element in recent history, surrounded by ex-cons with drug problems and in a part of town that isn't on my usual commute. But a person never feels so alive as when they're outside of their comfort zone. The commitment of the staff and clients was palpable. It was intoxicating to see and feel what good things people can do when they care and focus and work together.

At the end of the day, I picked up three kids to see the "Little House on the Prairie" musical at the Guthrie Theater. They all live in the neighborhood and are extremely well-adjusted, delightful children. We strolled around the world-class venue, taking in the views of the river and the city. We sat in cushy seats and behaved like our parents taught us. We treated ourselves to cookies and colas at intermission. And I reminisced about my childhood on the farm, describing the fields of wheat and my gentle pony, on the drive home along the Mississippi River. Their parents were at the door to greet them when we arrived, eager to welcome them home and ask how their evening was. It was a picture perfect ending. Or maybe it was just normal.

It's hard to believe how much absolute dysfunction there is in the world. And how hard people struggle to get out from under it. Sometimes it takes a so-called normal experience to remind us of that.

Six Days in New Orleans

2008-10-07T14:15:00.000-07:00

I would never pretend to have any insights on post-Katrina New Orleans that haven't already been considered, researched and analyzed by dozens of people. My impressions of the city are based on a six day visit, three of which were filled with my friend Lauren's wedding activities. But even within that short period of time, you have the distinct feeling that you're not in Kansas anymore.

My seatmate on the flight there set the stage for the experience, describing the post-Katrina mix of chaos, disinterested concern for neighbors, and absolute distrust of strangers in a way that Hollywood would envy. A massage therapist, the most optimistic of professions in my view, glowed as she described the positive changes that have come about since Katrina. And another local gave explicit instructions and directions for safely walking back to the hotel.

Maybe it's the fact that people felt inclined to explain anything at all about their city that struck me. It's immediately apparent that trauma beset this community and many others along the Gulf Coast in a way that's unparalleled in the modern history of the U.S., with the obvious exception of the events of September 11th. Even as recently as September 2008, the Journal of the American Medical Association reports that Katrina's mental health impact lingers as patients face a shortages of facilities and clinicians.

It makes a person realize how vulnerable humanity really is.

Slow Moving

2008-08-18T17:12:00.000-07:00

I moved my website from one host to another a couple of weeks ago. There are still some kinks to work out, but the new host, godaddy.com, has made me feel vastly more technologically competent than I felt just one month ago, so I expect to get it all figured out soon.

Distance learning = Distant employment

2008-07-29T17:12:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have heard about a venture called Speak Shop. For those of you who haven’t, it’s worth your attention. Leveraging chat, audio and visual technology, Speak Shop connects qualified teachers in Central America with people who wish to study Spanish. Lesson fees are set by the tutors and cost roughly $8-10/hour.

It was started to provide an opportunity for tutors in Guatemala to create their own teaching business online. Speak Shop helps train the tutors, market their services and provide customer service. The website also offers scheduling and a curriculum. Speak Shop decided not to charge the tutors for the associated overhead costs (who would then raise their lesson fees) but to charge students ($9.99/month). The only down side that I’ve identified is that their technology for video conferencing doesn’t work on Mac computers, so people like myself use Skype in order to connect with Speak Shop tutors.

“Spanish for Good” is an appropriate tag line for this mission-driven business. I wonder how many other businesses could operate largely for good.

In Manitoba, eh?

2008-07-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

There’s a lot going on in Manitoba, Canada these days. I spent a long weekend there a couple of weeks ago. Most people think of long, cold winters when they think of Manitoba, not as home to impressive social movements.

The International Peace Gardens is a little known gem on the border of North Dakota and Manitoba, just an hour north of where I grew up. A 2,339 acre Botanical Garden along the world’s longest unfortified border -- devoted to world peace. Since 1932, this garden has been maintained as a symbol of friendship between Canada and the United States. Walking through it, visitors are reminded that peace cannot be achieved by building walls, but by breaking them down.

Within the Peace Gardens is another of the area’s best kept secrets -- International Music Camp -- where I spent many summers during my junior high and high school years in the choir, piano and band programs. Since my time there the Camp has added to its world-class offerings in the fine arts. Young people from around the U.S., Canada and the world can now take classes in World Drumming and Garage Band, for example. The camp experience for young people remains as relative as ever, but this institution has learned the great lessons of responding to market demand to maintain and increase its relevance.

The nonprofit scene in Winnipeg is impressive. The Winnipeg Folk Festival is an example of its vibrance. The Festival has an annual operating budget of approximately $3.7 million, outdoor summer festival attendance exceeding 62,000, and more than 2,200 active volunteers. It is a year-round arts organization offering live music, music training, and arts events, and operating a year-round music store. The organization leverages its visibility to promote environmentally-friendly practices, local foods and area businesses.

Perhaps the most remarkable endeavor I heard about is the campaign to build the Canadian Museum for Human Rights in Winnipeg. The ambitious campaign goal of $105 million has been 90% achieved, according to their Web site. Their success can be credited to a broad public-private partnership, including City, Provincial and Federal funding sources, as well as private donors. This would be Canada's first federal museum devoted to the topic of Human Rights, and the first national museum to be in a Canadian city other than Toronto. Pretty interesting, eh?

Healing Music

2008-06-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

I’m on the board of directors of One Voice Mixed Chorus, a GLBTA choir that devotes itself to building community and creating social change through song. The “A” represents non-GLBT members who are termed “allies” for supporting the cause. In the past week, I’ve attended both a concert and a volunteer recognition event. During both events, I was struck by the stories of healing that have taken place because of One Voice’s outreach and within the choir itself.

The public’s ideas of the GLBT community have certainly become more enlightened since One Voice’s founding 20 years ago, but there is still work to be done. I came across a City Pages blog that references a new study, from the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs. The study found that reports of violence, harassment, and intimidation against gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people in Minnesota spiked in 2007. Nationally, overall reports went up by an average of 24%. In Minnesota: 135%.

The study also reported a 750% increase in the use of sexual violence and a 125% increase in incidents with 2 or more perpetrators

The report suggests that a factor in this dramatic increase might well be that more victims are turning to law enforcement than ever before--so more offenses being recorded. The blog author, Jeff Severns Guntzel , observed that this new level suggests growing trust between the GLBT community and law enforcement. Outfront Minnesota has played a pivotal role in increasing this trust by working with community police departments to develop sensitivity regarding issues that the GLBT faces.

No matter the factors for such a dramatic increase in violence against members of the GLBT community, we can do better. And One Voice plays an important role in increasing understanding through the universal language of music. I’m so grateful to be an ally of this collective effort of healing.

Inspired at the keyboard

2008-06-11T17:21:00.000-07:00

I give piano lessons on the side. It won’t make me rich, but it gives me great joy and inspiration. Two of my students, brother and sister, gave a house recital last Friday evening. In their performance they showcased their newly-acquired skills, like the use of dynamics, memorization, and playing duets with me. I’m encouraged by how much they enjoy playing duets. It may not seem like much to them now, but it provides a solid foundation for their ability to work in unison with others, to think and listen in a different way, and to negotiate roles.

Another student is probably in his mid-thirties. A scientist by day, he seems to appreciate an opportunity to step outside of the lab into another kind of learning and research. And I appreciate his perspective -- as an adult and as a person of science. I’m forced to think about music differently when teaching an adult. They ask questions that I haven’t had to answer in a long time, or ever; not unlike how I feel when someone asks me about the grammatical rules of the English language. His willingness to grapple with a new subject reminds me of the value in exposing ourselves and our minds to new situations and experiences.

A twelve-year-old girl, who will begin studying with me soon, attended the house recital. Hungry to learn music, she sat by my side for 1.5 hours of a song-fest. While I played and sang, she and the other kids present sang song after song, unable to stop until we were too thirsty to sing anymore. The joy was intoxicating. The joy that comes from working with others to create something good and real. The joy that comes from doing something we love with people we love.

I guess that’s how I think that most everything should be. Filled with joy as often as we can for as long as we can.

One fried phone, please, with a side of updates

2008-06-06T17:23:00.000-07:00

Most of my friends are aware that the cell phone company fried my phone during a routine software upgrade this week. They gave me a free, upgraded phone, but they’d lost all of my contacts. You’d think that a Type A gal like me would have a nice, neat database of names and numbers to quickly re-construct my new phone’s contacts, but I don’t. What a drag, right?

That afternoon, I sent out a blanket e-mail to who knows how many people to get their preferred contact information. I was a little surprised at the immediate and forgiving response. As it turns out, most folks don’t have a back-up system for contacts -- Type A or otherwise. The empathy and sympathy in most of the e-mails was tangible. One optimist said nothing of the loss, but told me to enjoy my new phone!

I like to think that I’ve provided a good lesson, and that everyone has since backed up their data.

But I was most surprised at how the exercise turned out to be a great opportunity to re-connect with friends. One friend is getting married, another has changed jobs, and yet another has moved back to the U.S. and is starting a business. I work hard to maintain connections with friends around the world, but it’s hard to stay on top of everyone’s lives. These kinds of inconveniences in life offer an opportunity to reach out and hear the excitement in the community we’ve built throughout our lives. I guess that’s one of the reasons they created myspace and facebook.

Stayin’ Away from the Perimeter

2008-05-25T17:24:00.000-07:00

I took the 21A bus to Minneapolis last night. Two men seated on opposite sides of the aisle struck up a conversation. Obviously acquainted with each other, they updated each other on their lives. The man seated directly behind me shared that he’d been with his current employer for six months, detailing his hourly wage and plan to become a fully trained machinist to increase his earning power a year from now. He kept generalizing his life with the phrase: Just tryin’ to stay away from the perimeter.

I’d never heard this expression -- just tryin’ to stay away from the perimeter -- nor was I sure what it was intended to communicate. Within the context of the entire conversation, however, it became clear that the perimeter regarded sobriety and incarceration.

More than usual, I was struck by the challenges that people face in keeping their lives together when nearing a million different perimeters. Rent and mortgages, groceries and gas, children and education, health insurance and car insurance, jobs and taxes, marriage and aging parents... It’s exhausting to consider for a fully-functioning adult with all the preparation and opportunity in the world. It can send one person into basic survival mode, and paralyze another.

Organizations like Twin Cities Rise! exemplify the efforts of the nonprofit sector to empower those on the perimeter in the development of marketable skills and in securing gainful employment that will provide them a base for success in society. Perhaps they should re-brand themselves as “partners on the perimeter.”

Defrauding a Piano Teacher

2008-05-22T17:25:00.000-07:00

I have a small studio of piano students on the side of my consulting practice, and I enjoy the occupational diversion immensely. Recently, when I decided that I could add a few students, I posted my services on craigslist.org and immediately received several legitimate calls. Among them, though, was an e-mail with a rather unusual request of teaching a 14-year-old boy for three hours a week for one month while he was visiting the area. Having likewise made many unusual requests in my life, I took it seriously and we determined agreeable terms.

Nearing the day when we were to start lessons, I received an e-mail from the client saying that his associate inadvertently made out a check to me for both my and the nanny’s fees, totaling over $3,000. He asked if I would send a check for the balance to his nanny, and I could keep $30 for the hassle and stress.

Of course this was a blatant attempt to defraud me and I did not fall for it. I looked at craigslist.org’s section on avoiding scams and saw that his communication was a textbook fraud attempt, so to speak. As it turns out, many banks will cash a cashier’s check and hold you accountable for the bad check several weeks later. In the meantime, I would have written a good check to “Dr. Erick’s son’s nanny.”

As someone who errs on the side of trust, I found this experience to be most disheartening. After all, what kind of person tries to defraud a piano teacher? And to have learned that this really does happen all the time. People taken advantage of in their own homes.

This isn’t the kind of story I prefer to share, especially when the news is already filled with such stories. But it gives me consolation that for as many times as something so disgraceful occurs, at least ten other truly remarkable acts take place. Of course that’s not a scientific statement. It’s an anecdotal one of experience and of hope.

Booming Competition

2008-05-11T17:26:00.000-07:00

A large number of baby boomers in the nonprofit sector will retire in the coming five to ten years, and there has been concern about filling the executive positions they hold. The younger professionals who aspire to those roles may be concerned about their ability to take on the responsibilities. Many wish that organizations spent more time and money developing prospective internal candidates.

This past week I met someone who works in the nonprofit sector in Florida and he offered another perspective. Not surprisingly, those same boomers who are retiring up north are relocating to warmer places, like Florida. Some of them, realizing that they’re not quite ready for a full retirement, take jobs with nonprofits in their new communities. As a result, an unscientific look at the numbers suggests that their job market is filled with a larger than average number of professionals with 25+ years of experience, making it very difficult for younger professionals to compete. It’s interesting to consider the implications of the boomer retirement for different parts of the country and world.

Reinventing Ourselves

2008-05-08T17:26:00.000-07:00

A few friends have been laid off from their jobs recently. It seems to have brought on feelings of self-doubt regarding their role in the workforce. No one likes a surprise like being laid-off, but I wonder if something really positive can come from it. Whenever we’re forced into a new way of looking at our situation, it’s an opportunity to take a closer look at ourselves and our potential. Whether it’s an individual who’s been laid off or an organization that’s entering a crisis of some kind, that is the time to really assess and develop strategies for achieving success, however success is defined. It’s that initial moment when we don’t have a plan to move forward-- which may last a day or a week or more -- that is the scariest.

Old-Fashioned Diversification

2008-04-30T17:27:00.000-07:00

I once saw a man pay for his bus ride with fish in Armenia. Another woman worked for a bleach company that couldn’t pay her in anything but bleach, so she sold it building-to-building during her time off. When volunteering at a homeless shelter, one resident offered to fix my trunk in exchange for an extra pair of gloves he spotted in my back seat. When the settlers first came to the prairies of the Midwest, church congregations couldn’t pay their pastor a large salary, so they would pay in currencies of butter, eggs, and other items they’d raised and canned.

As we hear report after report on the struggling economy, we could learn from these creative transactions. It would behoove us to look outside of the market to address some of our needs and wants. Recently, after hearing a report on the rising popularity of barter clubs in the economic downturn, I set out to find a barter club in my home community and found Hour Dollars, a nonprofit organization in St Paul, Minnesota that helps neighbors exchange time and skills. I attended their orientation yesterday evening.

Hour Dollars embraces the radical notion that all hours are equal. That is to say, an hour of gardening is equivalent to an hour of music lessons or an hour of massage. This approach levels the playing field and increases spending power. For every hour of service I provide, I earn an hour of service “credit” to use on any other type of service in the member directory. It’s not a direct exchange, so the person who provides the service I want does not need to be interested in my services.

It’s a fabulous way to diversify revenue, so to speak, and improve one’s quality of life. While I might be reluctant to spend cash on a massage for myself, I would be delighted to exchange for a piano lesson, a writing consultation, or a ride to the store. Take the cash out of the transaction and you have an entirely different animal. Not to mention a stronger community. We keep looking to the market to solve the market’s problems. Maybe we should start looking to each other more often.

One Armenian = Five Committees

2008-04-21T17:28:00.000-07:00

Well, the saying is actually one Armenian equals five opinions. I’d been living in Armenia for several years when I first heard the saying from an Armenian friend. It seemed an appropriate way to describe the fierce independence of the Armenian spirit. In St Paul, where I live now, this independence is evidenced by a list of informal and formal organizations that represent a rather small community of Armenians. There is the language school, the music school, the cultural organization, the church, the women’s guild, the youth group, and more. While it would be easy to question the efficiency of trying to support so many organizations in one small community, I believe that the community is richer because of it.

I grew up in a rural community in North Dakota, where the approach was similar. There is an organization that promotes Norwegian culture and another that promotes the culture of Germans from Russia; there is an organization that organizes the production of a musical for two weekends each summer, another that organizes a series of concerts in an auditorium, and another that organizes a series of concerts in the park; there are all kinds of youth groups, church councils, and school boards; and the list goes on. The place is teeming with opportunities to serve, and many people take their turn doing so.

If you work with a community-based nonprofit whose mission is similar to that of a large, nationally-known nonprofit, you’ve probably been asked how you’re different from them and if you partner. You may have heard skepticism in the person’s tone of voice. It’s interesting, because few of us, as consumers, question whether there is any meaningful difference between Best Buy and Circuit City, Barnes & Noble and Borders, or Target and Wal-Mart. Sure, we may have strong preferences for one or the other, but the products, service, and prices are roughly the same.

In the Armenian section of Beirut, Lebanon, jewelry vendors are all lined up next to each other down the street, as are the clothing vendors, and others. Competition in the for-profit sector -- whether in the U.S. or Beirut -- is considered good for innovation, pricing, and, thus, good for the consumer. Competition in the nonprofit sector is considered bad and to be avoided at all costs, which begs the question, “What does the consumer want? Business as usual, or innovation that benefits them?” I’m inclined to believe that there is room for improvement across the sector and one way we’ll achieve that is to encourage new people, new ideas, and even new organizations in the field. Let the consumers decide which should stay and which should go.

Down in the Delta

2008-04-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

I visited Arkansas last week – home to the Clinton Library and Heifer Project International, the Wal-Mart corporate headquarters, and some of the poorest counties in the country. After a few days of meetings in Little Rock, I spent a weekend with friends in the Delta in an old blues community just a couple of hours east of the capital city along the Mississippi River. Although the same Mississippi River winds through Minneapolis/St Paul, where I live, the Delta is a vastly different place.

A gentleman at the Winthrop Rockefeller Foundation told me that the Delta faces some of the most severe economic and educational challenges in the state of Arkansas. The median household income in Phillips county, the heart of the Delta, is $22,660 (census.gov, 2003), compared to the median household income of $35,295 for the state of Arkansas (census.gov, 2004), and the median household income of $48,201 for the entire U.S. (census.gov, 2006). That puts Phillips County’s median household income at less than half of the national level.

The public education system in Arkansas is ranked 34th in the country in the category of student achievement; scoring a D for the state compared to the average of D+ for the nation. That said, Arkansas earned a B- for overall quality of education, due to other rankings in areas like teacher quality and financing of public education. The nation overall earned a C grade. (Quality Counts Report, 2008)

There are precious few jobs in Phillips County, contributing to a decline in population from 43,997 to 24,107 from 1960-2005. The population dropped nearly 9 percent from 2000 to 2005 alone. (University of Arkansas, Division of Agriculture, 2006) And unemployment was at 9 percent in Phillips County in 2004, compared to the national unemployment rate of 5.1 percent in March 2008.

In response to the dire need in these communities, Herculean efforts are being made to reverse the trend of poverty, struggling schools and out-migration. Southern Financial Partners is a leader in the battle, engaging in cross-sector community partnerships to create comprehensive plans that will turn communities around. The KIPP school, a renowned charter school started in Brooklyn, has put down roots in the county seat of Helena-West Helena’s main street and whose efforts have already evidenced dramatic improvement in the area students’ test scores. And the recently established Boys and Girls Club is offering a place for children and adolescents to spend time in a constructive environment which, as a friend maintains, will surely contribute to a lower percentage of teen pregnancies and high school dropouts.

While there, I was struck by Wal-Mart’s considerable role in supporting educational, economic and community initiatives, in the Delta. As a resident of the urban area that is home to Target Corporation, there is a widespread mentality that Target is good and Wal-Mart is bad. I would venture a guess that most nonprofits would be delighted to receive support from Target, but would feel less enthusiastic to do so from Wal-Mart. After witnessing these efforts, and hearing such positive comments about the third generation of Walton family members, I see them now as a global corporation that pays considerable attention to a place forsaken by most others, not only as a company that could stand to improve its employment practices.

High on Hospitality

2008-04-07T17:30:00.000-07:00

My aunt asked me to give her and a travel companion a ride to the airport this past Saturday afternoon. The flight was at an unusually convenient time and the weather was beautiful. We were just a couple of miles from the airport, exiting off of Interstate 35E onto 7th street, when my car stalled at the traffic light. I waved at the line of cars behind me to pass, surprised that no one had honked yet. As I was pulling out my phone to call a cab for my passengers, a man ran up to my door and asked if there was a problem. Hearing that my engine wasn’t firing up, he offered to push my car around the corner into a nearby repair shop’s parking lot.

The man was traveling with his wife and their two young children. I asked if they happened to be going by the airport and, as luck would have it, they were going there to pick up the children’s grandmother, his mother, and were willing to take us all there and then give me a ride home. I met grandma at the baggage carousel with the parents and the kids; a stranger welcomed into the family. Instead of going directly home, the father suggested that he take a look at my car, since he knows a lot about auto mechanics and is a machinist by profession. My moody car had experienced a change of heart during our time apart, so it started right up. Despite the fully operational engine, this gentleman from small town Minnesota insisted that he’d be more comfortable following me home, in case it stalled again. Who was I to refuse such generosity of spirit?! In the end, my car rolled into the driveway without further ado, and the family filed into the house for a quick tour and drink of water before heading back north. We exchanged contact information and earnest invitations to provide future hospitality.

Considering the recent NY Times poll in which Americans stated their biggest personal economic concerns are everyday bills, healthcare, and retirement, it seemed appropriate to kick off my first-ever blog with a testimony on how community can make all the difference in our quality of life and, ultimately, our survival. What could have been a miserable experience dealing with taxis and tow trucks and cell phones was made simple, and even delightful, because a family of four took the time to stop, ask a question, and offer their own hands and time to help. We are all so eager to make great contributions in this world, but how often do we overlook these serendipitous opportunities to build community, to replace cynicism with hope, and to demonstrate to children the power of unconditional kindness to strangers? These small efforts will do more for the future of our world than the most meticulously planned stimulus package.