Blog

Image: Reflections of an Accidental Activist

19/07/2019

This week, John Dornan reflects on a chance meeting which led him on a journey of discovery across continents and communities.  Weekly blog.


At the start of the 1980s the choice wasn’t that difficult: there was Thatcher’s neo-liberal assault on the poor and Ronald Reagan deployed Cruise and Trident missiles in an arms race that would bankrupt the Soviet Union and fuel the debt crisis. School staffroom conversations bemoaned the trends but did little more than raise my blood pressure.

But meeting the national secretary of the recently formed Justice and Peace Commission quickly led to setting up a local J&P group, a branch of Parents for Survival as part of the peace campaign, and helping establish a credit union (still active today with several thousand members). From the start, this was a shared commitment as a married couple, ably assisted by child-minding support from wonderful grandparents.

Since my student days I had an interest in development economics, so working with SCIAF was a logical progression. I was attracted by the commitment to education written into its founding mandate, recognising that there was more to “aid” than sending money abroad. Significant effort was put into raising awareness of our responsibility in creating global inequality. Early visits to East Africa and Haiti reinforced my view that our project partners had much to teach us about community organising here in the “developed” north.

I met and worked with exceptional and courageous people – not all from other countries – whose commitment put me to shame: literacy workers and community activists from Haiti, El Salvador and the Philippines, who worked under threat from right-wing death squads; land reform workers in Brazil; anti-apartheid campaigners from South Africa, including some who had found a home in Scotland. Many - if not most - were women of incredible stamina and courage.

My education colleagues from Catholic agencies in Europe, North America and Australasia were important to me; all deeply committed and highly creative individuals. Some became lifelong friends. We lived out Paul VI’s encouragement to take up our legitimate role “without waiting passively for orders and directives, to take the initiative freely and to infuse a Christian spirit into the mentality, customs, laws and structures of the community in which they live (Populorum Progressio §33).”

At SCIAF I met and worked with amazing teachers, parish activists and priests who took the social message of the Gospel seriously. Working across denominational boundaries on community projects in Scotland also convinced me that our efforts have added value when we work alongside other people of faith and goodwill. Working with the Xaverian Missionaries, sharing a vision of one world with respect for others and acceptance of difference, was my greatest encouragement to become involved in inter-faith initiatives.

Unlike paid employment, we don’t get to retire from humanity. Forty years ago, human existence seemed more threatened by nuclear incineration. Today, we are more likely to be casseroled by the climate crisis. Meanwhile, the poor stay poor and daily the world becomes more unequal. Each generation must face its own challenges with the knowledge at its disposal.

We grew up in the sixties. We witnessed the end of the Cold War (since replaced by numerous smaller but hotter conflicts), the end of apartheid, peace (of a sort) in Northern Ireland and (some) improvement in gender equality. This generation will take on the enduring challenges of poverty, inequality, and all forms of prejudice, made more challenging by the rise of populism and the confusing interference of social media. I pray that my grandchildren don’t inherit a world where it is nothing unusual to see the bodies of migrants floating in the Mediterranean or the Rio Grande or falling from the undercarriage of aeroplanes.

Was it enough? Probably not. Maybe we should have tried more divine inspiration instead of human perspiration. Did we fail completely? Not if we have raised and enthused a new generation of committed, creative and prayerful activists prepared to put the Gospel into action.

“The future belongs to those who give the next generation reason to hope.”
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ 



Image: Njila's Plea

12/07/2019

Njila Banda is a Zambian journalism student based in Lusaka. His recent assignments have led to this reflection on the effects of climate change on his country.  Weekly blog.


Global warming is ever rising in the world, and more especially in the African continent. My country, Zambia, in particular has been hit severely. I strongly feel Zambians should have a louder say in issues pertaining to climate change.

Action should begin among us, the people, to show we can fight this terrible crisis.

Zambians can act against climate change by planting trees, because trees contribute to our environment by providing oxygen, improving air quality, climate amelioration, preserving soul, conserving water and supporting wildlife. Through this act alone, Zambians and the world at large can fight climate change.

Most countries in Africa are in economic downfall, and this is mostly because of climate situations. Countries like Zambia depend so much on mining and agriculture, but looking at the situation today, things have fallen apart in agriculture. There is not enough water to generate electricity through our main hydro system, so farmers can’t irrigate their land.

This is now a wake up call for Zambians to find alternatives, such as planting solar panels to access enough water for irrigation.

The solar panels would help reduce power cuts in the country, which have been imposed because of the lack of water in the Kariba reservoir. They would also improve life so much for a lot of businesses in the central business district of Zambia that require electricity to operate. And we should also think of wind turbines as another better source of electricity. Many people living in rural areas cannot afford electricity generated from the country’s main reservoir, and we must find alternative means of generating electricity.

Zambians could also act to halt climate change by reducing air pollution, which would mean reducing the burning of fossil fuels such as the coal and petroleum used in energy production.

But the point behind this is that when countries keep reducing air pollution, they must also reduce production in industries that emit gases affecting climate change.

So - we need alternatives to meet the key issue to reduce global warming to well below 2°C.

There have been many international treaties signed among nations on ways through which climate situations can be reduced, such as the Paris international agreement in which each country that signed nominated the emission reduction target. Let’s say - if these agreements are signed, nations should then be bound by them.

Countries like the USA, with their many production industries, hugely affect the climate because the rate of production is too high. The toxic gases they emit affect the climatic patterns across the world, including those of my country, resulting for us in increasing droughts.

It is for this reason that Zambians and the world need to stand up now and talk about practical solutions to climate change. We want countries to save the planet for future generations – my generation - through reducing these climate situations.

It must start from the constituencies we're living in - through interacting with our members of parliament and asking them to speak out to halt climate chaos.

I feel the Zambian government in particular should make laws that at least help us to contribute to controlling climate change before it’s too late.



Image: SEEKING NAHOM

05/07/2019

Alex Holmes has just returned to Scotland after another trip to Calais, where he volunteers at the Catholic Worker House and he updates us in this week's blog on the everyday desperate reality for those he encounters.    


9.25am: La Pass, the medical drop in centre, is still closed. Nebiyou’s ripped hand, heavily bandaged, rests limply in a sling. He spent two weeks in a specialist surgical unit in Lille after badly cutting his hand on razor wire whilst trying to run from the CRS, the French riot police. One finger was sliced in two lengthwise.
 
We wait patiently at the locked door.
 
Awate arrives. He presses his scarf to his lips. There’s blood on his white hoodie and the sleeves of his denim coat. There’s livid raw skin close to his left eye.
 
 “The CRS hit me with an electric baton on my face, head and back,” he explains.
Osman, another Eritrean, joins us outside the door, pink fresh skin on his dark face.
“I’m ok now,” he reassures me.
 
I ask if they’ve seen Nahom, and describe the boy with the broken teeth. They haven’t.
 
9.30am: the sullen security guard unlocks the door. Nebiyou checks in at the desk. Awate slumps into a waiting room chair, leaning forward, head in his hands. Osman has disappeared. We wait in the plastic and chrome silence.
 
Beside the stadium, a group of young Eritreans: amongst them, Mebrahtu, his hand no longer bandaged. The scar on the ball of his thumb, a distant bird in flight, is punctuated by twelve neat stitch marks. A CRS officer had stamped on his hand, which was split open by a buried spike.
 
“It’s the same here as in Eritrea,” he says. “I’d as well be back home.” His smile belies a deep suffering.
 
There’s music, the surprising sound of Nashville in Calais: “One day at a time, sweet Jesus, that's all I'm asking from You, just give me the strength to do every day what I have to do.”
 
“My friend in Holland told me about this song,” Yoel explains. “One day I will get to UK.”
 
Ever-smiling Yoel. It’s two years since I first met him in Calais. With a haircut he looks much younger.

They’ve not seen Nahom. I move on.
 
A solitary hooded figure slowly paces the back road in the shadow of the industrial zone. At last, Nahom. He’s lost in the Orthodox chants, mezmurs, on his phone. Seeing me, he pulls out his earphones and grins broadly, baring his broken teeth. Discharged from hospital after falling from a lorry and losing his front teeth, he had stayed in the Catholic Worker house for a few days before suddenly vanishing.
 
His family home was destroyed in the war with Ethiopia. He spent three years in harsh military conscription before running away to see his family, before escaping to Ethiopia. He showed me burn marks on his feet from when he was held to ransom and tortured in Libya. Finally he reached the UK but his asylum application was refused. Under the Dublin Regulation, he was deported to Italy because he’d been fingerprinted there. Tired and hungry on the streets of Naples, he accepted the offer of bread and water only to pass out, waking to find his jacket and boots stolen.

After a big embrace and checking he is ok, we talk football, and mutual friends now in the UK. I tell him he is welcome in the house anytime.
 
“I will come, yes.”
 
Silent for a moment, perhaps registering my concern, he reassures me, “I am ok because I have God.” We part with another embrace.
 
Earphoned once more, he continues his lone path.



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