Tents, caves and other nonviolent tools

Part of the role of a Christian Peacemaker is to stand in solidarity with acts of nonviolent resistance. I was in Palestine with a group from Christian Peacemaker Teams to learn about their work. The first chance our group had to be actively engaged in solidarity with those calling for an end to the occupation was when we joined the Women in Black at a silent vigil on a street corner in the heart of West Jerusalem, the Israeli side of town. I was a bit nervous, as I had no idea what the police would do, what passersby would do, or indeed what the other vigilers would do. A group of armed settlers waving the Israeli flag were dancing and shouting on the street corner opposite us, and some of them came over to our corner and started arguing with anyone who would respond. The police and soldiers, on the other hand, pretty much ignored us, probably knowing that this particular nonviolent direct action takes place every week and never causes any trouble.

Nonviolent direct action at Sheikh Jarrah

The same afternoon we joined another nonviolent direct action at Sheikh Jarrah, a Palestinian village in East Jerusalem that is being slowly demolished to make way for Jewish settlers. This was in a Palestinian part of town, so the reception from passing cars was much more positive, although one of our team did get egged by an Israeli passer-by. This nonviolent action consisted of local Palestinians, the regular suspects from the Jewish left, a few internationals, and a group of Orthodox Jews who carried placards against Zionism and against the occupation. It was completely peaceful. Afterwards, we visited a Palestinian resident who has had the front  section of his house taken over by settlers, apparently Orthodox Jews from New York. This man's family still lives in the back part of the house and has to risk abuse and harassment every time they walk past the front building, which the father built himself a few years ago. They had set up a tent in the front yard for their neighbours who had also been evicted by settlers, but the tent was confiscated.

Photograph of Jewish settlers settling in to another family's home

We heard more stories of demolition, dispossession and discrimination when we visited the Negev desert. Less than an hour out of Jerusalem the scenery quickly changed from tall buildings and multi-lane highways to desert stretching as far as the eye could see. As our bus soared down the highway, our guides pointed out the exquisite Palestinian architecture dotted amongst the little villages that we would occasionally pass by. Reaching into the heart of the desert, our first stop was a Bedouin family whose home was facing yet another order to move on.

Although they live in Israel and are Israeli citizens, many of the Bedouin communities who are Palestinian Muslims are being displaced in order to make way for a new Israeli settler village that is being built. While for decades they have been denied basic services and infrastructure such as roads, medical care, schools and garbage collection because they are “too remote”, the new settlement will have all these services, and a shopping mall what’s more!! Many have solar panels on their roof, which is a great way to demonstrate self-reliance. One guy told us that his camels had been stolen, and taken to an Israeli camel farm. Upon inquiry, he learnt that if he wanted them back he would have to pay for the food and accommodation they were given while under the care of the camel farm. He couldn’t afford the price, and so had to go home without his camels. He now buys milk from the camel farm, instead of selling it as he used to.

Although we visited Hebron, where the Christian Peacemaker Team house is located, our plans were changed due to a the political situation, which was compounded by a CPT team member being arrested and refused entry to Hebron for two weeks. Her crime? Posting a picture on instagram. Read this article for more detail, as it shows quite directly what was going on and what challenges the permanent CPT team members face. 11 young Palestinians were killed in Hebron by settlers and soldiers just in the week or so that we had been in the country. It was considered particularly volatile last October when I was there.

Most distressing was the murder by soldiers of a girl aged 17 years, who was going through the checkpoint at the Ibrahimi Mosque. Witnesses say that the soldiers accused her of having a knife. She became fearful and backed away, and then they shot her. We’ve heard that no knife was found, although the story from the soldiers is always that people have knives and are stabbing the soldiers. As far as we know, there has been no investigation or justice applied to the soldiers and settlers committing these murders, and the bodies have not yet been returned to the families. What many of us found most difficult to comprehend was the idea that a fully armed soldier would feel so threatened by the possibility of a teenage girl with a knife (assuming she did have one), that he would choose to kill her first and ask questions later. That the soldiers and settlers can act with almost complete impunity is equally unbelievable.

Boarded up shop fronts in Hebron

In the morning of our visit to Hebron, we were shown around by a well known activist. He pointed out the illegal Israeli settlements, the place where they had taken over a Palestinian school to create an Israeli school, and the chicken wire across the top of the souk to protect stallholders from the rocks or eggs that are thrown down by settlers. It was noticeable that many of the shops in the souk were shut, either due to the owners having been evicted to make way for settlers, or because they were just not getting enough business. While we were inside the Mosque, another two girls were arrested. People were incredibly relieved that these girls were not shot, but so nervous about the situation in general.

It might seem from this report so far that everything is doom and gloom. The situation is grim, but we experienced the most wonderful hospitality, and had conversations with some incredibly inspiring people while in the Palestinian Territories. After our brief visit to the CPT office and rooftop tour of Hebron, we had lunch with an impressive Palestinian woman who lives in the heart of the souk. She served up a traditional dish called Upside Down Maqloobeh, with an adapted version prepared for the vegetarians, and served cups of tea and Arab coffee. On the way back, we stopped at the Al Aroub refugee camp, just outside of Hebron. One of our team members had friends in the camp, and they welcomed us into their home and we shared more tea, more coffee and more delicious food.

Palestinian hospitality in a refugee camp outside Hebron

Our trip to Bethlehem began with a visit to Wi’am, the Palestinian Reconciliation and Conflict Transformation Centre where we heard from folks about a range of conflict resolution initiatives in the local community. There are projects to foster self-esteem amongst young Palestinians, address gender based violence, and also bring young people from opposing soccer teams together. They had originally begun providing traditional mediation and conflict resolution to the local community before it was legal to establish Palestinian NGOs. Some of us reflected that there was a mix of optimism about the success of the programs and pessimism about the overall situation. We noticed a lot of this same weariness and hopelessness in many of the Palestinian groups we met that our tour guide said she had not seen before. It’s difficult for people to see a peaceful end to the occupation when things are so tense right now.

On our return from Bethlehem to Jerusalem we were in a public bus full of Palestinians. Amid the chatter of young people on their way home from work or school, the bus cruised past the villages and came to a standstill at a checkpoint. As has become the norm, all the Palestinians on the bus were required stepped off when we reached the checkpoint. We were told that there was no need for us to get off the bus, as we are foreigners, but we explained that we wanted to do so in solidarity. Sure enough, though, when we reached the front of the queue the Israeli soldier who had checked the bags of every Palestinian before us simply asked if we were enjoying our stay. Our bags were not searched at all. This is just a very simple example of how Palestinians are treated as second class citizens while foreigners and Israelis are given special treatment. Some of us began reflecting on how groups like Christian Peacemaker Teams use this privilege to stand in solidarity, to get in the way of violence and to bear witness to injustice.

Probably the most encouraging aspect of this trip was the visit to the Tent of Nations, a 100 acre farm on land which has been continually owned by the Nassar family for almost 100 years. Unlike many Palestinians, this family had paperwork relating to the official legal title for the land that they own, and so the Israeli government was not able to kick them off their land, as has happened to so many other families. This family has continued to face a number of hurdles, however, as new laws have refused permission to build new dwellings, and they have been denied access to water and electricity.

A large pile of rocks blocks the main entry road to the farm, a very physical representation of the obstacles people face in retaining ownership of their land. Yet, they have found creative ways to resist. They have installed solar panels, begun to capture their own rainwater, built composting toilets, and all their dwellings are caves rather than formal structures (because caves are not prohibited). They continue to find creative ways to resist the settlers and government who are trying to steal their land, and bear witness to the idea that “existence is resistance”.

Entrance to the Tent of Nations farm

Our final supper together was appropriately held at the Jerusalem Hotel which is a haven for activists while simultaneously serving delicious Palestinian food. As the resident cats encircled our legs and made pleas for any morsels that might be sent their way, we began passing around photos of our loved ones; grandchildren, parents, partners, nieces, nephews and siblings. Perhaps this was our way of recognising the importance of human connection and love. Despite living under occupation, the Palestinians we met showed us such warmth, hospitality, and summud - strength and resilience. Family is incredibly important to people, and we began to see that solidarity is sometimes as simple as sharing a cup of strong coffee together. As we return to our respective families and friends, it will be incumbent upon all of us to decide how the connections we have made over here will influence our lives. Many of us committed to join the BDS movement, share stories amongst our networks, and perhaps return one day.

At the end of the line

It's the post-lunch session of a course in nonviolence and the energy has lowered. "Right", says the facilitator, "I'd like you to imagine a line going down the middle of the room. 'Agree' is at this end. 'Disagree' is at the other. Now, where would you stand to respond to the following statement: 'I would use violence to save a family member's life'?". We look at one another with dread, and shuffle awkwardly into place. I, inevitably, am down one end of the line.

As a pacifist, I am regularly asked to justify my stance in ways that Governments, churches or just mainstream people who take a just war approach are rarely asked to do. Whether its during an animated discussion with friends, exploratory queries after 2 or 3 dates, or the post-lunch session of nonviolent activism training, I do tend to find myself alone at one end of the line. Recently, I've had cause to question my stance. Am I too fixed in my thinking? Would I be truly open to changing my mind if presented with new information? Am I simply naive?

There's a sortof assumption that use of violence "as a last resort" is more pragmatic and intelligent than committing to nonviolence more completely. And perhaps I am naive, simplistic, or not pragmatic enough. But I also wonder how people decide that all other options have been exhausted, or that now we have reached the time of "last resort". I wonder whether people really understand the practice and theory of nonviolence when they make the decision to dismiss it out of hand. I also think there's a massive assumption that pacifism, because of its name, is passive.

I remember a few years ago I was very affected by the story of a Canadian Quaker (let's call him Joe) who had been murdered by his estranged son-in-law. I had heard about this situation through the nonviolence network because Joe had been actively involved in the Alternatives to Violence Project, a workshop process that I'm also involved with. Back in the 1970s it had drawn tools from nonviolent social change training methodology to work with prison inmates who were seeking to transform the cycle of violence in their lives. Many inmates had found the process transformative, and had gone on to become facilitators, mentors for younger offenders and to live exemplary lives. When I became involved, I found the process useful for dealing with conflict in my own life, and worked time and again with inspirational people who had experienced terrible violence in their lives, were facing those demons, and working to create different patterns in the future.

With Joe's situation, I had been struck by the tragedy of a person, who had dedicated his life to peace, dying in such a violent way. I kindof became obsessed with the story. After some internet research, I learnt that Joe's daughter's ex had a history of violence and mental illness, and on the fateful day that Joe had intervened, he had saved his daughter's life but sacrificed his own. When I told friends this story, I remember one turning to me and saying "isn't it ironic that he resorted to violence after working so hard his whole life for nonviolence?" I was baffled by this analysis, because I hadn't said that the man had resorted to violence. I had simply relayed that he had "intervened". None of the media articles had specified exactly what had happened. I had assumed that the man had intervened nonviolently, whereas my friend clearly imagined any intervention would necessarily be violent. It's almost like the riddle about the surgeon who can't operate on her son which confuses people because they don't think that a surgeon could be female. Similarly, people can't imagine any type of intervention that is not violent.

So, when asked whether I would use violence to save a family member's life, and I choose "no", everyone assumes I would somehow sit idly by because I apparently lack the imagination to come up with any kind of intervention that isn't violent. Of course, I can probably only list, on demand, maybe half a dozen of Gene Sharpe's 198 methods of nonviolent action, and I am not especially skilled at any of them. In fact, it's entirely possible that I would blunder my way through such a scenario. Perhaps I would be so scared that I would freeze and essentially be passive, or would, in the moment, resort to violence. But the point is not really to predict what I would "actually" do, but to assert what I believe is the best thing to do and what I would aspire to do. Just as I believe that Joe was willing to lay down his life to save his daughter, I hope that I would step between an attacker and somebody I love in order to save them from harm.

But the "intruder attacking my loved ones" is only one scenario where people want to argue that nonviolence is pathetic or flawed. The other scenarios where a pacifist stance is questioned is where there are great injustices and complexities at play such as the recent riots in Baltimore. When asking friends about nonviolence recently on facebook, I found that this contemporary scenario was one that resonated with many who said "this is the one situation where I would question nonviolence". And I see where they are coming from. When a police officer, who is part of the structural violence and unjust machinery that condones explicit physical violence against black people, turns around and tells the community (meaning black people) to keep calm and use nonviolence, I, too, lose patience.

There is an assumption that because I am a pacifist, I will side with the police and the patronising and hypocritical call for nonviolence. No, I regard perpetuating racist structures and discrimination as extremely violent. Being a pacifist absolutely means confronting structural violence, naming racism, oppression and injustice, and standing alongside those who are most vulnerable. While I think creative nonviolent strategies are most likely to succeed and produce durable results, I do recognise that in order to stand in solidarity with those who are persecuted, I need to support them "where they're at", even if that space is expressing frustration violently. After all, I regularly find myself resorting to emotional violence or participating in structural violence, to my own chagrin. I am certainly not the one to throw the first stone. And, I've actually found that it's never that hard to find the humanity and goodness in the inmates, or freedom fighters or even mentally ill sons-in-law. The real challenge is to find the humanity and goodness in those who don't challenge themselves about the ways that they benefit from injustice, perpetuate violent structures, or stand idly by while others are persecuted. That's when my commitment to nonviolence is truly tested.

Gender, peace and politics

The other day I came almost face to face with my political hero. I was in Hobart with family and had wanted to catch up with my mate Peter sometime during my visit. Given that Peter is such a very busy man, and doesn't have a mobile phone or answering machine and is never home to answer the landline anyway, it was agreed that we'd just meet at the anti pulp mill rally and go for lunch afterwards. As I glanced around the Parliament House Gardens looking for Peter, I noticed Bob Brown, casually leaning against a garbage bin at the edge of the crowd. I had to do a double take because he was in disguise - a blue baseball cap was shielding his face from the sun. Of course I was too shy to go and say hello, but it was very comforting to know that he was there.

Me and Peter at the rally. Bob Brown is somewhere in the vicinity.

I've been reflecting on why I am so fond of dear old Bob and why I finally joined the Greens last year. I guess I can blame Peter to a certain extent. The whole time we have been corresponding (since I was about ten), he has been modelling for me a life of activism and integrity; riding his bike to work, refusing to own a car or mobile phone, writing angry letters, teaching literature from a social justice point of view, handing out greens leaflets and generally encouraging every young person in his life to take a global perspective. He worked for Quaker Senator Jo Valentine when I was in primary school and took me on a private tour of Parliament House.

Skip forward a decade or two to my late twenties, and I was right in the thick of leading a Peter-approved life. I worked for an NGO, was vegetarian, didn't own a car or a mobile phone and was completing a Masters in Peace and Conflict Studies. In a course entitled "Gender and the development of peace" I found myself writing an essay about the feminisation of politics in Australia. I could have written about anything from female genital mutilation to the Grameen Bank, but I chose the feminisation of politics in Australia. It was an odd decision in some ways, but I got a pretty good mark for it!

In my essay I critiqued the adversarial nature of politics in Australia, describing it as patriarchal and violent. Our political climate was and still is dominated by men and operates in a culture of competition. I was writing at the height of the Iraq war when, as now, we had a conservative government that was trying everything it could to divert resources away from basic needs such as health, education and humanitarian aid in order to justify military interventions in places where we should have been offering development aid and diplomatic support.

What was needed, according to feminist theorists was a feminist approach to politics. Anne Summers was amongst those arguing that increasing the representation of women in parliament would transform the nature of politics. There was the discussion of whether quotas were important, or needed. Bronwyn Bishop was saying we didn't need quotas, since she had made it. Joan Kirner was arguing that we do, because greater numbers of women will break down the male dominated factional leadership. Yet, the fact remained that in spite of quotas in the Labor Party, very little had changed in the way the game was played. After all, people like Amanda Vanstone were asserting that the system ain't broke: "Look Susan. It’s an adversarial system, and you’re never going to change that...it’s probably my legal training, but I think the adversarial system is the best way to get as close as possible to the best result, to what the truth is" (from "The Scent of Power" by Susan Mitchell).

In a mentoring session with Meredith Bergman, she told us essentially the same thing - to power dress and act more like men if we wanted to be taken seriously in male dominated arenas. I have taken on board her advice to introduce myself by both names but feel uneasy about changing aspects of my personality or wearing shoulder pads in order to fit in. Rejecting the notion that for women to succeed they just needed to be more like men, and play the political game, I was drawing on feminist and nonviolence theory to argue that this didn't need to be the case. Women have strengths to offer politics, and, I argued, the political system could do with a bit of an overhaul and this required more than an increase in representation of women in parliament.We needed to challenge and replace the patriarchal and violent structures that underpin politics in Australia.

One theorist (Rod Cameron) was arguing that feminisation of politics would not only involve greater representation of women in leadership roles, but also a change to our definition of strong leadership. Leaders of the future would be increasingly judged on their humanity, intelligence, honesty and creativity. We will be looking for leaders who are in touch, honest and direct.

As I read further, it became clear to me that there were in fact alternatives to the existing model already being tested. It was our friend Jo Valentine and my beloved Greens party that were actually exploring different, more feminised, if you like, ways of doing politics. Jo Valentine told me all about her attempts to model nonviolent behaviour when interacting with other politicians. Using her background in nonviolent civil disobedience, she cited times when she had changed hearts and minds through taking a more patient, listening and collaborative approach to points of difference.

In a book co-authored by Bob Brown entitled "The Greens", society is condemned for being selfish and consumer-driven, and not meeting the needs of the current generation, let alone the needs of future generations and non-human species. They describe the Greens party model as non-hierarchical, networking and alliance-building. Decisions are made by consensus and women were equally represented within the membership and leadership, not because of quotas, but because the greens arose out of activist and community groups where women are already well represented. Policy positions, decided in consultation with members, seemed to reinforce values of cooperation, compassion, integrity and a concern for future generations. The qualities traditionally associated with feminism seemed to be lived out and considered valuable and important qualities in future-thinking politics by the Greens.

Whenever I have heard Bob Brown speak since, he has lived up to the values that are now so important to me - integrity, compassion and a participatory approach to democracy. He always modelled a style of leadership that is in touch, honest and direct. Women and men in Australian politics could learn a lot from Bob. Although he has now left politics, and so was wearing his "concerned citizen" cap rather than his "Leader of the Greens" hat, I admire and thank him for his contribution to Australian politics.

As I sat down to lunch with Peter and a bunch of our activist and Quaker friends, I felt reinvigorated. While the situation we find ourselves in today is pretty dire - even more dispassionate approaches to asylum seekers, reductions in overseas aid, funding cuts to basic needs, and a female Prime Minister who was treated appallingly - there is hope. Since joining the Greens I have met so many gorgeous, charming, welcoming, committed, passionate and intelligent people to add to the list of pretty amazing Quaker friends, flatmates and colleagues who will be part of making this clunky old political system of ours into one that is more community based, nonviolent and future thinking. All of them are my political heroes too.

Utopia

The other night I saw John Pilger's film "Utopia" at The Block in Redfern. Arriving late, I was wondering whether I'd find anyone to sit with or whether I would miss the beginning, but I needn't have worried. It seemed that Sydney's entire progressive community had turned out to see the film. The movie itself didn't get started until I was well and truly settled into my picnic spot surrounded by people I knew.

Photo taken by my friend Costa

At the beginning of the documentary we learn of the price people are willing to pay to stay one night in a luxury apartment by Sydney's breathtakingly beautiful harbour. This opulence is then juxtaposed with Utopia, a remote desert community just a few hundred kilometres north of Alice Springs, where a health worker describes the appalling conditions that people live in. In one particular house, the only toilet doesn't work most of the time meaning that raw sewage collects in the back yard, and they don't have the basic medical supplies for immunisations or to prevent diseases that are non-existent in the rest of Australia. Oh, and cockroaches have been found in children's ears.

The description reminded me of an incident in Balgo, another desert community set on the intersection of Warlpiri, Kukatja, and Ngarti lands a couple of hundred kilometres further north, where I journeyed in 2009 to attend The Kapulalungu Aboriginal Women's Association Law Camp. Arriving in town, I remember one of my travelling companions commenting loudly about the state of the sleeping quarters, citing cockroaches, dog poo and unwashed dishes scattered about the place as unacceptable, perhaps unaware that while our new room-mates might have been too shy to speak English with us, they understood the gist only too well. We were perpetrating again the shame we place on First Nations people because they are not like us, or because they don't have access to the basic sanitation facilities that we take for granted.

In that community I formed a bond early on with one lady who had recently lost her son to suicide. He was the third young person to die that way in the space of 12 months. As we shared snippets of our very different lives, I marvelled at her resilience. Some of her older female relatives remembered a time pre-invasion, before the middle generation had been raised in a Catholic mission school away from their families and prevented from speaking their language. These women were now teaching their traditional laws and customs to the younger and middle generations with the hope that re-connecting to culture would make a difference to self-confidence, cultural pride and a sense of healing for the community as a whole. Even after sixty short years, "settlement" had clearly been very destructive to the mental health of young people, evidenced in the high rates of suicide.

One of the buildings used for health and community work, Balgo

Rates of youth suicide amongst First Nations people was highlighted in the movie, with Robert and Selina Eggington from the Nyoongar Nation speaking about their own experience of grief losing a son to suicide, and then talking about a space of remembrance that they created for other grieving parents in the Perth area. I wished the movie had included more positive stories like this, and perhaps more from urban and rural experiences as well as remote. But I did find it valuable to hear about successful strikes and union activities that had led to increases in wages, improved standards of living and safety for workers. Stories of resistance movements and urban survivors could have been more prominent.

The irony in the connection between the Northern Territory Intervention and the Stolen Generation was explored. John Pilger reminded us that the Intervention was supposedly implemented because of John Howard's concern about rape of children by Aboriginal men in Northern Territory communities following the "Little Children are Sacred" report. Yet, such allegations were a complete misrepresentation of the report. Even more frustrating is the irony that it was the rape of Aboriginal women and girls by white men that resulted in the "half-caste" children who were stolen as part of a racist policies to breed out the black. Some of the books that tell the stories of the stolen children are so powerful, and I remember tears streaming down my face as I learnt of each person's unique but similar heartbreak. Since I was aware that my grandparents had fostered an Aboriginal girl in the 1960s, believing they were doing a good thing, I imagined with some discomfort every story taking place in their house.

The racism of newcomer Australians is evident in interviews with former politicians, people celebrating Australia Day, and countless stories of unnecessary deaths in custody and massacres that have gone un-noticed in history books. I am also disappointed by how this country has handled Australia Day, almost completely oblivious that our day of pride represents nothing less than invasion day for First Nations people. My sister-in-law tells me that she was shocked by the racism she noticed amongst settler Australians when she first moved here. As I continue to struggle with my own racism and privilege, I am filled with love for the First Nations people in my life who have opened their hearts to me over the years. I have a number of "uncles" who continually forgive me as I stumble and offend. They gently nudge me in the right direction.This movie is another step on my journey. I hope it is seen by those who need to see it, rather than only those of us who are "the converted" -  those of us well-intentioned lefties who want to be supportive, but still need a great deal more educating, mind you! And I hope this story will spark vigorous discussions. I reckon it's okay if we don't all like the style of journalism or the choice of content, as long as it gets us talking about our embarrassing history, the change we want to see in the future, and maybe even taking action in our own lives to be that change.

The Jesus effect

There's been a bit of an Orwellian vibe about recollections of Nelson Mandela since he died. People who had previously called him a terrorist are now calling him a freedom fighter. World leaders are comfortable saying that he stood for forgiveness and non-violence, while conveniently forgetting to mention that he disn't always advocate for non-violence and the connections he drew between apartheid in South Africa and the treatment of Palestinians by Israelis and Indigenous Australians by settler Australians.

My fear is that history will re-write the story of Mandela in the same way that I think happened to Jesus. Enthusiastic Christians who can't help but maintain the structural violence of the church seem to equate Jesus with patriarchal, homophobic and oppressive beliefs, forgetting that Jesus was considered a terrorist by the Romans, was willing to take a stand against injustice in all its forms, and would have had far more in common with the more radical left of the modern church than with Tony Abbott and George Pell.

I remember reading an article by Walter Wink, a progressive Christian theologian, about Jesus' teachings from a non-violent social change perspective. It's called "The Third Way" and sheds new light on the "turn the other cheek" passage. His message was possibly more like training for freedom riders and radical activists than a message of passivity.

When the slappee turned the other cheek, the slapper is faced (excuse the pun) with a dilemma; they must choose between using their left hand (unclean) or using a backhanded slap (only delivered to children or slaves, so makes them look really bad) to slap the other cheek.Taking all the clothes from your back and standing there naked is another way to humiliate the oppressor, as apparently nakedness was as much an embarrassment for the viewer as the one who was naked. Carrying the soldier's pack a second mile infringed the military code and created a dilemma for the soldier.

So, according to Wink, Jesus was never suggesting that people passively resist, he was giving them clever tools for resisting, humiliating, and surprising their oppressors. They were techniques for taking back power through creativity and surprise.  The important thing for me is that Jesus, like Mandela, didn't stand for passive resistance, forgiveness without justice or maintaining structures of violence.Yet, the story has been diluted over time and we rarely hear Jesus referred to as an activist or freedom fighter anymore.

So, I hope that when we remember Mandela, we remember the entire, complicated, human and committed man that he was, and note that he questioned and opposed oppression and apartheid everywhere, right up until his death. And I hope we don't try to squeeze him into a convenient box that fits the current political climate.