India…here I come!

mamanista.com

There’s a reason I’ve been so quiet—I’ve been getting ready for an adventure.  I’m leaving this week for a 35 day trip to India.  While I have been to India before, I’ve never been on a trip such as this one.  I’ll begin with a few days in Mumbai, then south to Pune for four days with my friends Arti and Murali.  After this I meet my cousins Aruna, Vimal and Primal in Delhi and then I take a car ride five hours north to the mountains of Nainital.  For eight days I’ll be in this quiet mountain town, working on a rewrite of  my book (hopefully, the last re-write!).  Then I return to Delhi where I’ll meet six of my friends, who will  join me to see some of the best sights in North India.

First Mamuna arrives from UK in the early morning hours.  Then, Nikema arrives from New Jersey in the early afternoon.  In the early evening Tally arrives from Minnesota and Arti joins her from Pune.  Last but certainly not least, my two oldest friends join our group late that night—Annette flies in from North Carolina and Carol from Minnesota.   After a good night’s sleep we set out to see India.

Together we’ll see Delhi, Agra, Amristar, Chandigarh, Udaipur and Mumbai.  I’m so blessed to be able to begin the celebration of my birthday with such wonderful friends.  I’m looking forward to not only seeing India together, but enriching my friendship with each and every one!

Tune into this blog for updated posts as we travel around India.  I’ll do my best to post one of my favorite photos every few days along with the post.

One Angry Man

Pegasusnews.com, 2009

If you have never seen the film, 12 Angry Men, perhaps this essay will prompt you to watch it. This month, I finished three weeks of jury duty and unfortunately, my experience was much like being trapped in a real-life antithesis of this film. Instead of one lone voice of reason in a room with eleven close-minded jurors, our jury was cursed with Eleven Sane Jurors all held at bay by One very, very Angry Man. How I longed for Henry Fonda, with his white seersucker suit and pressed white shirt to saunter into our deliberation room and save the day.

To begin with, the case was a rather touchy one—sexual assault of a minor. The defendant was a 59 year old Eastern European immigrant and the victim was his distant ten year old cousin. On the first day of deliberation, before anyone could even say a word, One Angry Man asked for a vote. He wore 1980′s style, giant, round, gold rimmed spectacles and a black Velcro back support belt on the outside of his clothing. He stated he had already made up his mind and nothing we could say would change it. Why oh why, didn’t we pack it in that day and save ourselves three more days of hell? Maybe it was because we dutifully wanted to follow the law of the land. For some reason the meaning of the word “deliberate” seemed to escape the angry Juror #8 (He might have been #9, but Fonda was Juror #8 so I’ll stick with #8). One Angry Man refused to explain his rationale and didn’t want to try to convince anyone else. To be honest on the first day, the jury was roughly split 6-6, but slowly as we deliberated, one by one by the end of day, eleven of us became convinced of the defendant’s guilt.

It was fairly clear from the start that One Angry Man had some hidden issues. During jury selection we were all asked a number of questions about our backgrounds in open court. This man neglected to tell the judge that he had been involved in a lawsuit some years ago, which he told us about in the jury room. He also revealed to me that he had watched a movie called, Ek Ruka Hua Faisla (One who suspended the decision). This movie is a Bollywood remake of 12 Angry Men. He assured me that in our jury, he was going to be that one lone juror, the one who stood for right against wrong and for the American way. He beamed as he told me this, blinking his huge, magnified eyes at me, looking briefly like Clark Kent just before he emerges as Superman.

On day two of deliberation after a weekend break, Juror #8 treated us to “My Life as an Immigrant—a-cliché-hard-working-land-of-opportunity-left-everything-I-had-story.” A real yawner. More than likely you’ve heard most of this story before, so I’ll just skip ahead to the more amusing highlights. He had arrived from Assam, India in the late 1970’s. His father gathered together enough money to send him to Minnesota. His mother had given him a bowl of fried rice and the only stainless steel fork the family owned, so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable eating rice with his fingers as he sat in the lobby of a five star hotel. (I know, I know…This is just one of the many inconsistencies that were to badger me and eventually cause my breaking point). All this was told as his lip trembled, his chin pointing at us, tears in his eyes, “Da hardest ting I ever did in my life, was to trow away dat fork before getting on dat plane.” What? That was hardest “ting” he ever did? Why not just put the fork in his pocket if it was so precious?

Finally, Juror #8 made his point. In his infinite wisdom, he had discovered the motives for the accusation made by the ten year old victim. Motive One: The defendant was rich and because he was an immigrant (like himself—thus the reason for telling us his hard luck immigrant story), it was obvious that the other family members were trying to make money by accusing the defendant of this crime. No matter that no such disharmony was presented by the defense, or that the ten year old had immediately reported the crime, or that the defendant was a fork lift driver and admitted to his crime in two taped confessions. No, no, no.  Because One Angry Man had once been brought to court by a fellow immigrant, he was convinced that this was the reason the 59 year old immigrant was being accused. Motive Two: The family of the victim had decided to further the career of the detective by accusing the defendant of the crime, so the detective could “add one furdder notch to belt.” This was such an asinine statement, that most of the jurors were reduced to gapping like goldfish, repeatedly asking “WHAT?”  I must confess that I began openly laughing at this point.

As you can imagine the absolute lunacy of these so called arguments drove the eleven of us mad. We were nearly foaming at the mouth, gnashing our teeth in frustration. No amount of logic, reasoning or common sense could sway this man with such an obvious limit in his intellect. In the middle of the second day, right before lunch, I lost it. Up to this point the prodding had been insistent, but still very polite. After our third viewing of the defendant’s confession—that yes, he had touched the breast of his ten year old cousin, One Angry Man began to loudly refuse to consider our arguments. I morphed into One Angry Woman. I sat up straight, gesturing wildly with my hands and just as loudly stated, “What part of the confession don’t you get? How many times does he need to confess that he TOUCHED her!” At this he pushed his chair back, slamming his hands on the table shouting, “He is not guilty! You will NE-WER conwince me!” A number of other jurors joined in the bedlam and before we knew it four cops rushed in, hands on their batons. After lunch I found out that the argument had set a precedent. It was the first time a deliberation had to be interrupted because of the possibility of violence. They told us even when there were fights between convicts; it had never reached that volume before.

As you can guess, we were never were able to reach a verdict. Our deliberation was brought to an end when the lone mad juror passed a note to the judge without approval stating that we were “hopelessly deadlocked.” When we returned to the jury room to gather our things, I said, “I hope you are satisfied with your behavior. Your lack of ability to be honest and open minded thwarted justice, besides wasting thousands of tax dollars.” To which he said, “Don’t you talk to me!” Then he threw back his chair, shouted for me to shut up, and stormed out.

While the experience was a valuable one, my time as a juror left much to be desired. For me there was a real sense that this time the system had not worked. I knew that the young girl would have to once again stand in open court and graphically demonstrate how she was touched. I hated that we were unable to complete our duty as jurors and that the entire trial would have to be played out once more, but to a different and hopefully, untainted jury. I felt helpless, frustrated and had a strong feeling, that this time justice had eluded this victim—all because of One Angry Man.

(By the way, despite the brilliant costume choices for 12 Angry Men, no costume designer was credited. Ahh! The days of old Hollywood, when people were actually more concerned with creating art rather than getting credit; back when they made films, not movies!)

Serving or Sightseeing?

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It’s just about Valentine’s day again, and for most people this is a reminder to show care to those they love. February 14, also means that my mailbox will once again be filled with letters asking for funds to support teens or young adults who are ready to embark on a short term mission trip in the summer. Their trips will take them to a remote area in which they will be given a chance to show love and care to the local people of that area. Do short term mission trips really embody the command of loving others as we love ourselves? Or could the resources be used in a more effective ways? Perhaps it is time to take a fresh look at short term service trips.

I grew up in a small town in Minnesota and attended a Methodist church in Minneapolis called Emmanuel Methodist Church. It was there that I first understood what a missionary was. I remember reading the true-life Paul White series. Paul White spent his life as a medical missionary in Tanzania, Africa. The books inspired me and gave a picture of a full time commitment to serving those in need. Missionaries were wonderfully mysterious people who spent time in our home telling us their extraordinary stories of faraway lands during their “furloughs,” (a word I was forced to look up after hearing it time and time again.) When I think of a missionary I think of people like Mother Teresa or my elder sister, both who gave up lives of comfort to live full time with people who need love and care.

Today’s contemporary American church seems to be almost obsessed with the idea of short term missions. Every summer thousands of churches send their teenagers and adults to lands outside of the United States. When I was living in Chicago my curiosity got the better of me and I went on one such trip as an adult leader. I, along with other seven other adults chaperoned a group of about 20 teens as we spent about ten days in Tijuana, Mexico. We arrived in Mexico and we settled into tents that were set on land owned by larger missionary operation, whose entire function was to provide opportunities for Americans and other Westerners to experience a short term mission trip! That was one of the most outrageous facts I uncovered. The living was by no means luxurious but it was almost as though it was purposely made crude so the attendees would have the feel of a “real” mission field. Nonetheless, our living standards were much superior to the Mexicans all around us. Our goal was to play soccer with the kids, help build better living quarters and basically understand the struggles of the community in Tijuana. There were only three interpreters available and most of the teens and adults (including myself) had no more than a rudimentary understanding of Spanish. Two of the leaders had chosen to bring along their preteen children who had to be taken back over the border to a hospital in California for bacterial infections. Most of the communication was done with smiles, gestures and gift giving. Before returning to Chicago we enjoyed two days in California. One day was spent at the ocean, (since most of the teens had never seen the coast) and one day in Disneyland. I had paid for the trip with my own personal funds, but it troubled me that we had spent time and money on frivolous pastimes such as the beach and Disneyland. I had many other concerns regarding the money and effort spent to make us comfortable.

I began to read and research about short term service trips. Most of them are fairly similar. These trips are designed to provide the attendee with “a broader perspective of the world and increase cross cultural understanding, taste of culture other than their own, a transformed view of the world and its needs”(Anderson). Some trips are evangelical in nature while some are working trips. They involve fixing or building schools, homes, churches or handing out medical supplies, or providing some kind of emergency relief. Most of the people who attend will not be required to have any particular skill and even a basic foreign language skill is not required. While the mentioned goals are worthy, are short term mission trips to a far away land the best way to acquire them? Is the money that is given put to the best use possible?

On one of my visits to India, my sister and her surgeon husband who had spent over 30 years on the mission field, told me about their experiences with the short term mission groups that would occasionally visit them. I found their comments fascinating and asked them for their insight about the subject.

First, short term missionaries while good intentioned, often can be a burden to the community which is hosting them. This is particularly true for countries which are not English speaking or those that have extreme climates. Most of the time special living arrangements must be made as well as special food and toilet facilities. While those organizing the trips emphasize tolerance of cultural differences and encourage the attendees to acclimate to their surroundings, in practice this most often does not take place. While I was in Mexico, the food we ate was provided for us by an outside source and we used specially built toilet and shower facilities. We were warned not to eat the food or drink the water provided by the community we were serving. My sister relayed the difficulty in providing food and housing for the short term visitors. Most people cannot tolerate the local spicy foods, toilet and living facilities, so special preparations have to be made. These additional arrangements cost the community time, money and labor.

Second, the work that is done on site is often not as effective as perceived by the those who are sponsoring the trip. My own experience in Mexico was eye opening. I was baffled by the “building” we did. Most of the work we did was slipshod. I wouldn’t have put my dog inside and I knew it was substandard, even by Mexican standards. In countries like India where the cultural divide is so vast, the methods to accomplish a particular task are so different, that often the local hosts must make time just to serve those that have come to serve. Could not the work be done better and much more efficiently if those who understood the language and the local customs were given the resources they need?

Third, the money that is used to send short term workers to foreign countries can be much more effectively used by the local community or missionary. One person going to India will spend at least $1,500.00 for just the airfare. The current exchange rate in India is 43 rupees to one American dollar. One plane fare translates to roughly 65,000 rupees! In a country where labor is still fairly cheap, this would be enough money to pay a teacher’s salary for a year, equip a classroom in a school, or buy two laptops! Which option is the best use of charitable funds?

Granted, a service trip inside the USA, would not allow the team to experience a foreign country, but the benefits would greatly outweigh this one drawback. If we use the definition of a short term mission trip mentioned earlier in this essay, a trip to any American region would still offer a broad perspective of the world and increase cross cultural understanding. One only has to travel from Texas to the New York/New Jersey area to realize that these two regions are as different from one another in terms of culture and varied perspectives as Alabama and Argentina.

There are many ways to provide care and concern to people in need right here in the USA. I am privileged to volunteer at a free health clinic in New Jersey called Zarephath Health Clinic. Since my area of expertise is pediatrics, during the pediatric nights, I work with a volunteer pediatrician, a secretary and my son—who works at the reception desk and does office work. Together we tend to the healthcare needs of many children who have very little insurance or no insurance at all. Zarephath Health Clinic does not ask for payment of any kind and many times even the medications are free due to the generosity of pharmaceutical companies. The clinic was founded by Drs. John and Alieta Eck. The clinic is an amazing place where adults and children can find unconditional, non judgmental care.  You can donate to this worthy cause by visiting their website at: http://www.zhcenter.org/index.php

My hope is that those who have so much, think before going to Haiti or Bosnia. Instead of using charity dollars to fund a trip to a foreign country where so much of the money and effort is spent on travel, amenities or accommodations, perhaps these trips should be funded with personal funds, rather than asking others for charitable contributions to support a trip that is more about a personal experience than a trip about serving and caring for those in need.

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“Creating a World Vision,” Christian AnswersNetwork, ed. Beth Andersen, 8 June 2005,.