When I was in school we still pledged " . . . one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all" every morning at my middle class all white school in Houston, Texas (population 5.7 million). Almost fifty years later, few of the kids that enter my old school building fit that demographic. I wonder how many parents, regardless of background, really understand or believe the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag? (see CNN video here)
Until I read Good News about Injustice five years after it was published (1999), I'm not sure I had ever reflected about the subject of Injustice--much less what God thinks about it. My work with African refugees since 2004, began to open my eyes in ways that shook my comfortable world then . . . and does even more so now. Kolkata is full of people who visit or move there to try to make a difference in the huge amount of poverty and class division that separate its 16 million citizens. People wonder, "Why doesn't the government do something (about poverty, suffering and human rights abuses)?" This question was high on my list as I braced myself for the two weeks that we would be in one of the poorest cities on the planet.
Until I read Good News about Injustice five years after it was published (1999), I'm not sure I had ever reflected about the subject of Injustice--much less what God thinks about it. My work with African refugees since 2004, began to open my eyes in ways that shook my comfortable world then . . . and does even more so now. Kolkata is full of people who visit or move there to try to make a difference in the huge amount of poverty and class division that separate its 16 million citizens. People wonder, "Why doesn't the government do something (about poverty, suffering and human rights abuses)?" This question was high on my list as I braced myself for the two weeks that we would be in one of the poorest cities on the planet.
The definition of "living simply" can generate some great and sometimes volatile discussions, especially among Westerners. It was interesting to observe such a diversity of examples: people who literally laid down to sleep on the street; vendors who slept in their booths or taxis; families who huddle under lean-to shelters in slums; and luxury apartments within gated condominiums. Defining a so called "middle class" lifestyle in this city creates heated debates, but the point is that most of those who come to Kolkata to "help" have a choice about how long they will live that adopted lifestyle.
During our second week we visited a missionary family from another organization. They lived in a modern, upscale, gated flat and employed a driver, cook and housekeeper, Their children enjoyed cable television that with episodes of "Lost" every evening at 6:00). The organization my friends work for have the conviction that there is a crucial difference between working with a people group versus living among the people group. Since WMF reaches out to women in brothels, they feel strongly about living as near to the red light district as possible and foregoing comforts like air conditioning . . . and toilet paper.
At the time of our visit our friends were struggling to determine what lifestyle was sustainable for a family with young children. This would eventually become one of several "deal breakers" that led them to relocate to a different Indian city. LM and I, as outsiders, had several days to really enter into the non tourist, day-to-day stresses and delights of living very modestly and interacting daily with every strata of humanity.
During our second week we visited a missionary family from another organization. They lived in a modern, upscale, gated flat and employed a driver, cook and housekeeper, Their children enjoyed cable television that with episodes of "Lost" every evening at 6:00). The organization my friends work for have the conviction that there is a crucial difference between working with a people group versus living among the people group. Since WMF reaches out to women in brothels, they feel strongly about living as near to the red light district as possible and foregoing comforts like air conditioning . . . and toilet paper.
At the time of our visit our friends were struggling to determine what lifestyle was sustainable for a family with young children. This would eventually become one of several "deal breakers" that led them to relocate to a different Indian city. LM and I, as outsiders, had several days to really enter into the non tourist, day-to-day stresses and delights of living very modestly and interacting daily with every strata of humanity.
The most exciting event of our two-week trip was one that, unfortunately, I'm restricted in discussing. Our visits to two organizations that offer a new life for women who have been victims of human trafficking, allowed us to interact with women who have found a viable way to walk away from the slavery of prostitution and sex trafficking. It was difficult to honor the privacy policies that prevented us from taking photographs, from giving the women small personal gifts, or even writing specifics about the personal encounters we had with real women whose names we know and faces we long to remember. Soon after we left India, one of the young women was murdered by a former customer, so I can finally accept the love that is behind such strict privacy policies.
The Workrooms. We couldn't wait to visit the workrooms where women make lovely blankets, bags and accessories from recycled sari fabric. We already felt totally invested in one organization, financially, emotionally, and spiritually through partnering with North American friends who have made extreme personal sacrifices to develop this work and disciple these women.
We hoped to contribute directly through our ESL training for the staff (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages). We were also excited about the artistic print an artist friend designed just for them . . . a humble, dignified Indian woman surrounded by butterflies . . . with a living message for the capricious gods they have left for the one Creator of all peoples: "And the Lord will give you a new name . . . for the Lord delights in you and will claim you as his own . . . then God will rejoice over you as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride." Isaiah 62
We hoped to contribute directly through our ESL training for the staff (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages). We were also excited about the artistic print an artist friend designed just for them . . . a humble, dignified Indian woman surrounded by butterflies . . . with a living message for the capricious gods they have left for the one Creator of all peoples: "And the Lord will give you a new name . . . for the Lord delights in you and will claim you as his own . . . then God will rejoice over you as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride." Isaiah 62
When we finally entered their newest location, we felt the fullness of joy and grace in every square inch of the building (even the one "squatty potty" we had to use on our trip). One my favorite things about both locations (that I sketched in my journal, but can't share here) were the bright white walls and shiny red baseboards, shutters, and trim. I spent alot of energy to memorize the cheerful space: Clean washed walls, pure as milk, not stark. Long flourescent tube lights, yet lots of soft light and fresh air from open windows adorned with pretty, twisted wrought iron bars. Colorfully painted stone courtyard walls surrounded the little building, so that one sensed a quiet distance from the streets where the women were so terribly exploited. Finally, the shiny, fire engine red trim was not garrish at all. Instead, the red trim around the ceilings, doors, windows and floors reminded me of the Passover blood a boundary of protection and a sealing of the women into the rooms where their lives become whole again. You could feel the peace and contentment that flowed between them as they worked on their beautiful pieces.
Dr.Brent only practiced medicine informally in Kolkata--another reason they eventually moved north. But this day he prepared an inspiring talk in Bengali, based on the picture our friend designed. As our time for devotion began, a Bengali woman led the prayer and singing. In Chennai, the week before, we had seen nothing of her incredible leadership because her English was limited. Here, she was bold and confident as she humbly led the workers.
The ladies were surprisingly responsive to us and really seemed to understand the symbolism Brent communicated in their heart language (e.g. butterflies, woman, sari, jewels). They loved correcting his Bangla, especially since they are the strugglers during English lessons. After Brent finished, I asked if we could sing my favorite song from Isaiah 62, and another staff member translated the lyrics before our song echoed off of the cool stone walls to the women. They were visibly moved and we so wanted them to hear and believe that God Himself was singing over them, "I will change your name; you will no longer be called, 'wounded', 'outcast', 'lonely' or 'afraid.' I will change your name; your new name will be 'confident', 'joyfulness', 'overcoming one'; 'faithfulness', 'friend of God,' 'one who seeks my face.'"
The ladies were surprisingly responsive to us and really seemed to understand the symbolism Brent communicated in their heart language (e.g. butterflies, woman, sari, jewels). They loved correcting his Bangla, especially since they are the strugglers during English lessons. After Brent finished, I asked if we could sing my favorite song from Isaiah 62, and another staff member translated the lyrics before our song echoed off of the cool stone walls to the women. They were visibly moved and we so wanted them to hear and believe that God Himself was singing over them, "I will change your name; you will no longer be called, 'wounded', 'outcast', 'lonely' or 'afraid.' I will change your name; your new name will be 'confident', 'joyfulness', 'overcoming one'; 'faithfulness', 'friend of God,' 'one who seeks my face.'"
More lessons. LM went on to teach an English lesson, then a more advanced class for the staff during their lunch hour. They love the English and literacy lessons and tried to soak up every gesture and facial expression we used. Then it was time for work, and it was so much fun to watch them spread out the saris and thread on the floor, or do finish work between the two big sewing machines the master tailor uses to construct the purses and totes. A young Muslim man hung on every word spoken, and even clothes-pinned his copy of the print over his work station.
For two hours we sat with the workers and managed some conversation with several. One older lady pulled out a photo of her family and we were able to have a good exchange about our husbands and children. I don't know what I expected the women to look like, but it was pretty ordinary, like any other West Bengal citizen of that socioeconomic background--some even had cell phones. I assumed they look older than their chronological ages, but none looked wasted or vacant as I expected. Many of their eyes looked full of light! All seemed to enjoy their work, though some gabbed more than they sewed and got scolded.
"Talks much, works too slow" sighed their supervisor. Like the principal of the school, she called out, "What happening here?" During the staff ESL lesson, "lazy" was a new vocabulary word. Immediately, the supervisor gave me a knowing look and cocked her head toward the workroom, repeating the new word many times.
Later she explained the entire process of blanket-making. The North American director is nicknamed "the mastermind," and the Bengali manager is the dear young man I met at Domino's the second day. These two buy used saris from nearby shops, a kind of Indian "Goodwill" shop on the sidewalks. They decide which colors and patterns go together well, then other staff members measure and cut the pieces to be sewn together. The rest of the work, the "quilting", is done by hand, after little stickers are placed on holes or fragile places that need repairing.
For two hours we sat with the workers and managed some conversation with several. One older lady pulled out a photo of her family and we were able to have a good exchange about our husbands and children. I don't know what I expected the women to look like, but it was pretty ordinary, like any other West Bengal citizen of that socioeconomic background--some even had cell phones. I assumed they look older than their chronological ages, but none looked wasted or vacant as I expected. Many of their eyes looked full of light! All seemed to enjoy their work, though some gabbed more than they sewed and got scolded.
"Talks much, works too slow" sighed their supervisor. Like the principal of the school, she called out, "What happening here?" During the staff ESL lesson, "lazy" was a new vocabulary word. Immediately, the supervisor gave me a knowing look and cocked her head toward the workroom, repeating the new word many times.
Later she explained the entire process of blanket-making. The North American director is nicknamed "the mastermind," and the Bengali manager is the dear young man I met at Domino's the second day. These two buy used saris from nearby shops, a kind of Indian "Goodwill" shop on the sidewalks. They decide which colors and patterns go together well, then other staff members measure and cut the pieces to be sewn together. The rest of the work, the "quilting", is done by hand, after little stickers are placed on holes or fragile places that need repairing.
Each woman has a little cardboard box full of embroidery thread, cut in very long strands. Right there, sitting on the floor, the women stitch in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out. . . in long perfectly straight lines with no guides. One woman makes one blanket. No iron is used in the entire process. The Sari Bari logo and a tag with the name of the woman who made the item, is sewn into each one. I watched the tags being cut from a long roll. The worker squatted on the cement floor and singed the edges to prevent fraying with a single "advent" candle that stood up, waxed to the floor. After a number of blankets have been completed, they are washed and packaged, then the whole process starts again. Although there is at least one computer in each workplace, the Indian staff still writes all of the bookkeeping by hand in large traditional record books.
After a while, I realized that I was sitting beside the woman who made my most recently purchased blanket (they are distributed mainly in the U.S. and U.K.). I was able to make her understand that she had made the blanket and purse and that I have prayed for her by name. She began to embrace me and both of us began to cry. It may have been the first time we both realized the full circle of fair trade businesses.
She was trained and paid to make a blanket, to be sold in another country she cannot even picture, to a person who despairs over injustice but has no way to stop human trafficking or poverty, but longs to make a difference. This overcoming woman has received significant wages that I barely missed, and now supports her family in a sustainable and honorable way. Now we stood face to face, mother to mother, locked together like long lost siblings.
Too soon, it was time to say goodbye, and go back to my rich lifestyle of luxury (relatively you must admit) but I pray I will never be the same, and that NJ* and I will will meet again when God finally brings liberty and justice for ALL.
She was trained and paid to make a blanket, to be sold in another country she cannot even picture, to a person who despairs over injustice but has no way to stop human trafficking or poverty, but longs to make a difference. This overcoming woman has received significant wages that I barely missed, and now supports her family in a sustainable and honorable way. Now we stood face to face, mother to mother, locked together like long lost siblings.
Too soon, it was time to say goodbye, and go back to my rich lifestyle of luxury (relatively you must admit) but I pray I will never be the same, and that NJ* and I will will meet again when God finally brings liberty and justice for ALL.
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