Some pretty cool teamwork.

When I first learned about IJM, what drew me to their work were the flashy news headers detailing rescue operations involving arrests of sexual predators and the relief of vulnerable children and families. The individual stories of IJM overwhelmed me and I became more and more convinced that using caswork to influence the justice system was the only effective means of ending certain forms of bondage around the world. I remain convinced that casework is crucial to ending forms of persistent, violent oppression, but working with partners in advocacy has expanded my understanding of “making change” within the wider context of human rights work.

In Siddarth Kara’s book on bonded labour, he highlights the fact that bonded labour is not only a system spilling into multiple industries, but that it involves varying amounts of violence and oppression. Bonded labour takes many faces. In order to end bonded labour, the approach needs to be multi-faceted.

As member of the Bandhua 1947Campaign to end bonded labour in South Asia, IJM works with various organizations around South Asia. Although every organization with which we work is fairly established in fighting bonded labour, their areas of expertise are often found in less-violent or different areas of bonded labour that IJM does not aggressively counter. In the space of sometimes having very different approaches to the same issue, there is a lot of wiggle room for disagreement in our work.

One of the goals of our Campaign is to improve the current Bonded Labour Act in South Asia. Doing so will make it easier for IJM to do casework, and it will make it easier for released bonded labourers to access critical social services. For much of 2013, our partners were working to produce a document that represents everyone’s feedback on how to end bonded labour. This document will be presented to the government of South Asia, and will probably be added into the Bonded Labour Act. After over a year of effort, the final draft of this document was finished last week. Watching my office learn to collaborate with other organizations in writing this document has injected massive hope into my understanding of the way in which dissenting organizations can fight on behalf of the same issue; fight on behalf of the same people.

As we continue to work, pray for unity and vision. It seems that my term with IJM can best be defined as one of “transition” for the office, and I hope my contribution can be stabilizing and encouraging as we grow and establish ourselves, both internally and in partnership with others. Pray for my team members’ safety as they put themselves into uncomfortable and sometimes dangerous situations in the field. Pray for clarity as we continue to plan and execute projects with the government.

Thank you again to those of you who have supported this season, in prayer and with financial giving. You are a huge answer to personal prayer and your gifts allow me to continue supporting the exciting work of amazing people in South Asia.

Sincerely,

Alice

Ps-Would you like to be a part of supporting this work? Then please click here.

Niali and Dhandamajhi

In December, two young men from the South Asian countryside, Niali and Dhangdamajhi, met a labour contractor who promised to set them up with work in a city that would enable them to help feed their families. These two men come from one of the poorest districts in their area of South Asia and it is very common for the young men in their communities to migrate for work, so their attempt to secure work this way is not uncommon. However, instead of taking them to the original area for work, the contractor tried forcing the two men and some others to a brick kiln in another state. During a stop on the journey, a group of these workers managed to escape from the contractor, leaving the two young men alone and still in captivity. In a fit of drunken frustration, the two young men who had originally agreed to move and work had their right hands chopped off. Furthermore, these men were then dumped on the side of the road and left for dead. They stumbled into a nearby village and made it to a hospital, where they received initial care.

Bonded labour occurs at the crux of one person’s desperation and another person’s willingness to exploit that vulnerability. Sadly, these two men who were eager to work ended up in the hands of other people who were equally as eager to take advantage of them. Although they are young, without education it will be very difficult for either Niali or Dhangdamajhi (whose original strength was in their physical capability to work) to find and hold a job in the future.

Stories like these need to be known. If it wasn’t for a reporter out in the countryside of South Asia, Niali and Dhangdamajhi’s torture would have remained unknown and the men who were responsible for their continued trauma would not have been held accountable.

When I returned to IJM two weeks ago, I had an exciting conversation with the Director of Communications about the important need for equipped reporters to be in the places where bonded labour abuses occur. This year, my office will work with another organization to offer a fellowship to reporters in the South Asian countryside. These reporters will receive training on tracking and recording bonded labour in order that they can more effectively share the stories from rural areas throughout this year. With hope, these fellows will be the needed voices to speak for people like Niali and Dhangdamajhi.

In addition to exciting work on the Communications front, I have jumped right into my role as the Executive Assistant to the Director of National Advocacy. Amidst drafting proposals and learning how to request flights, the role shift has already been stretching but it will give me ample opportunities to (attempt to) empower and support the members of our office. I think it’s going to be a great fit.

Two Mondays ago, I walked into IJM to meet 12 new members of our office. The situation is nothing short of an interpersonal Christmas. There are all sorts of new titles to learn like “Zone Head” and “Investigations Specialist”. The next few months will probably be months of major adjustment for our office, but part of my job will be to make that transition as smooth as possible so that people can continue their work.

Please pray for my little branch of IJM during this transition. New colleagues and construction are crucial parts of capacity building, but it can put a strain on the current needs of our work. Pray for me as I try to be as supportive as possible. I hope my efforts in these last moths can be of the “five loaves and two fish” variety.

Sincerely,

Alice

Ps-Would you like to be a part of supporting this work? Then please click here.

The Great Unwinding

My American life has been set up to celebrate and honor self-sufficiency and personal space. I set an alarm clock for every morning, I use password-protected technology, I sleep in my own room, I work on papers and projects by myself, and I eat in restaurants when the meals are made and ordered for one (because my taste may be different from my neighbor’s taste). In college, the Type A parts of my personality became proud of my capability to rely on myself and I considered my growing sense of sufficiency a marker of adulthood. We value that sufficiency in this culture, to the extent that it is often equated with maturity.

The benefits of personal space and self -sufficiency can be countless in a culture built around those principles. Driving trips take shorter periods of time; I do not need to rely on other people to fix some of my problems; I ultimately have more control over my schedule, my decisions, and my life (or so it seems most of the time). That being said, I think something is getting lost between the cracks of the lives we are building.

It seems that all of my friends and I yearn to connect with others, to the point that we are willing to exploit the interesting, personal and meaningful things in our lives to gain online recognition from anyone who is willing to give us the time. We collectively fight for internet/financial/personal privacy because of our right to it, and yet so much of my Facebook feed is consumed by personal pictures of This Morning’s Tea Next to My New Favorite Succulent and posts detailing My Most Recent Revelation about Antiquing. There are many factors contributing to my need for love and acceptance, but there is a certain level of connection that is lost when I opt to do more of life on my own. In the absence of community, I find myself tempted to turn my social media experience into an online community-seeking venture.

When I describe the past year to friends and family, conversation inevitably circles back to the social nature by which work, society, and even my IJM office functions. Things that I would normally consider a one-man job are actually a group project that requires three times the time to complete. For the first time, I have offended friends by not asking them for help in hiring an electrician. Naps are a social event. Moving into a people-oriented culture necessitated a transition that was far from comfortable. 

Somewhere between grimacing through shared meals and common decision-making, life became less about the goal and a bit more about the people and the process of getting things done. I found myself paying less attention to the clock (much to my brother’s chagrin) and choosing to be ok with doing life as a group project. Living in a country with 1.2 billion people necessitates that everyone make room for everyone else, especially if your next door neighbors are extended family members.

Living in South Asia confronts me with the real fact that I control very little of my life. One could call 2013 “The Great Unwinding” of the uptight coils that have historically supported and defined my identity. As nice as it would be to lay claim to that process, it only took place because of the persistent intrusion of people into the empty spaces of my life. I am forced to humbly acknowledge (yet again) the beauty of doing life in community. I look back and thank God for those who [un]knowingly pulled and stretched those coils, forcing me to surrender to the ebbs and tides of South Asia.

As I sit at Gate E7a, my heart is preparing to jump back into the waters and swim with my sisters, brothers, and friends living across the ponds. I look forward to a year of celebration, to a year of dancing in the (metaphoric?) streets over IJM’s work, and a year learning how to intentionally bring “life together” way with me wherever I go.

Looking forward to it,

Alice

If you pray, please pray for my office as it grows. Pray for grace, as I adjust to what will be a new work environment and pray that God is ultimately glorified as a result of our expansion efforts!

Road Trip.

November was a hectic month, mainly because I had the distinct pleasure of sharing my life in South Asia with four family members, including an aunt, two cousins, and my mom for the first two weeks. Their time here deserves multiple blog posts, but you will need to ask them for the stories. Anything you think South Asia could throw at you was thrown at my family members during their stay.

One day during her stay, my mom and I needed to separate from the group, leaving a beautiful mountainous area to drive into rural South Asia to meet my coworkers for a Family Retreat. The place we left my aunt and cousins is pictured below:

According to Google Maps, the estimated travel time for my mom and I was 3.5 hours.

A basic premise of Sociology is that the “map is not the territory” meaning that it is ultimately impossible to capture the full reality of a moment in words or pictures, or by any other means. In our situation, the Google Maps travel estimate was definitely not a reflection of reality. We spent almost 10 hours on the road that day. Here are some of the reasons why:

Single lane roads in rural India mean that every time you encounter a large track (which is often) your driver is required to play chicken with oncoming traffic in order to pass them. The owner of this particular truck is aware of this phenomenon and has painted the phrase “Blow Horn” on his rear. At least he will have warning.

 Sometimes big trucks ARE your oncoming traffic. And they always win chicken.

Our driver is one of the many drivers on South Asian roads who suffers from perpetual lethargy brought on by 24-hour work shifts. In order to keep him awake, we needed to periodically stop for chai breaks at roadside rest stops. What else would you do to pass the time at a rest stop other than impersonate the local idols?

 You find yourself playing “Where’s Waldo?” while driving carefully around trucks heavily-laden with furniture, bags, and people. It can be distracting.

This picture was taken at another chai pit stop for the sake of the driver.

Driving in South Asia requires you to share the road with multiple kinds of vehicular and ambulatory things (as discussed in my earlier post on traffic), including the auto rickshaw. It definitely runs faster than its human and bike-pulled counterparts, but it is another vehicle to avoid on the road.

If you can discern through the blurred photo, you will see a cycle rickshaw pulling two people. Drivers of cycle rickshaws have an amazing ability to wind into the crevices of traffic, but their human effort is no matched for impatient vehicles at a young green light. They often set off a lot of impatient honking when the light changes.

It seems that people here can ride everything sidesaddle except horses (they really struggle with horses for some reason). Look at the grace of this man on his friend’s bike.

This picture says a lot, but I think it is best captured in the following haiku:

Overstuffed autos

drifting in lanes, ignoring

cell phone usage laws.

For some reason, this guy was the icing for me. He is riding on a cart pulled by a bull, without a care in the world. The man, not the bull. Or at least that’s what his stance says to me.

With nine hours of stressful, chai-filled driving under his belt, our driver was very reluctant to venture out of the towns and into the real “inside” of South Asian rural countryside in order to get me and my mom safely to the retreat center, especially since the sun had set. We found ourselves driving along a narrow road bordered by tall grasses on either side. Apparently the area where we were driving is famous for bandits, and our driver was not thrilled about carrying us in his vehicle with so little visibility. We emerged from the slender road onto a dirt road, cutting through a village. Using my non-existent sense of direction and vague directional hand gestures from villagers, my mom, our driver, and I found ourselves on the final road leading through an orchard to the relief of the retreat. Relief, right?

Wrong. Earlier in the week, the retreat center decided to begin road “improvements” to their entry road, but they had only gotten so far as moving dirt to the road, which meant that the road we needed to travel was covered in large mounds of soil; completely and totally impassable according to our now-panicked and vehement driver.

With repeated mutterings about “criminals”, our driver turned on the overhead light, got out of the taxi, and walked into the darkness of the night with other villagers, leaving me and my mom alone and highlighted, in the middle of nowhere, rural, “criminal-infested” South Asia. I slid down in my seat, looking over at my mom with bewilderment. Moments later, she turned to gaze out into the blackness and I saw her neck freeze. Very slowly, my mom turned back to me and, with a wide-eyed straight face, muttered, “Alice, there’s a man standing outside our taxi with a rifle”. We hadn’t realized it, but our taxi driver had gotten out of his car to consult with villagers and other retreat center employees, including a plain clothes guard. At this point the absurdity of our situation hit home and both of us had to stifle a stress laugh.

Within minutes, our harried driver returned with even more retreat center staff, including a man on a motor bike. I noticed a patch bearing the retreat center name on the mismatched front pockets of a few of the men, so I figured that we were relatively safe. We were directed to leave our bags (which we instead draped all over ourselves, save one) and take the bike through the dirt piles, into the retreat center. I carry a basic Nokia cell phone (which we all know is the ultimate life-saving weapon) which I was using to contact the retreat staff, so I directed my mom to take the first ride into the retreat center, assuring her that I was fine because “I have a phone”. My mom had not noticed the [un]official retreat center patches, so when she was directed to get on the bike, she tells me that she thought a) that she might never see her big luggage bag again, and that b) she might never see her daughter again. In that order.

I watched my mom ride off into the darkness and found myself alone, with a stressed-out driver, an old man with a big gun, and a crowd of curious villagers, none of whom I could actually see because it was so dark. The driver ordered me to call the retreat center and tell them he would borrow the guard to get him safely back t o a main road, so I attempted to call the center. After nine uncompleted calls, I told the busy signal (and everyone within earshot) exactly what I thought about their phone service and hung up. In the time it took me to pay the driver without revealing my money to the suspected hordes of on-looking criminals hiding out in the bushes, the retreat biker was back, minus my mom. I hobbled onto the back of his bike with my luggage and he drove me along a bumpy road, through an orchard, and into the bright, warm, safe light of the retreat center, where we met my mom at the entrance.

After throwing our bags in a cabin, my mom and I followed the sounds of “Amazing Grace” floating through the air, directly to a campfire surrounded by my IJM family. The significance of the lyrics, “I once was lost but now am found” was not at all lost on us.

That night, mom and I retired to our cabin and let our nervous energy loose with 15 solid minutes of side-splitting laughter after promising each other that we would not “tell Dad” until my mom got home.

There are many prudent lessons to be learned from this story. Lessons about preparation and having a map and patience. Those lessons will continue to sink in, but for now, I marvel in my mom’s ability to take it all in stride.  

Big Infinities

In his novel, “The Fault in Our Stars”, John Green writes, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities”. Between 0 and 1, there is an infinite set of numbers including .1, .01, .001, etc. In a sense, the infinity between, say, 0 and 5 may seem staggering in comparison.

It’s a bit abstract, but the concept of varying infinities is changing the way I see life in South Asia.

Our days are brimming with various infinities of all shapes and sizes, for us to perceive and to celebrate. I challenge myself to look at an orange as a piece of infinity (stick with me) and it is transformed before my eyes. What is a simple piece of fruit, is also a symbol of friendship between me and the orange-seller; it carries memories of my childhood home and of Will telling me that every piece of pulp contains enough energy to power all of New York City’s lights for a millisecond; its skin reminds me of the pores on my mom’s cheek (sorry Mom); this orange is something to be explored using every sense. And I, of all people, I get to savor it.

In this light, the beauty and awesomeness of a single piece of citrus absolutely pales in comparison to the recent activity of the IJM office where I get to work. In an earlier post, I mention a show that aired on India’s CNN-IBN, featuring released bonded laborers as they told their stories on national television. As a result, a government body called the National Rural Livelihoods Mission approached our office and asked to become a formal partner in the Bandhua 1947 Campaign, and join us to help eradicate bonded labor in specific areas of South Asia. When I came to IJM, my colleagues could have never dreamed that we would be working officially and formally with a South Asian government to combat bonded labor. These are days of learning, planning, and traveling for my colleagues, as they prepare to undertake another year of work with a new partner.

The Bonded Labour (Abolition) Act is a law that hasn’t been taken very seriously in South Asia for about thirty years. Among others, the act states that released bonded laborers are eligible to receive 20,000 INR ($?) from the government to help them rebuild their lives. Historically, no one has received full benefits. Last month, two released bonded laborers made history, receiving 20,000 from their government under the Bonded Labour (Abolition) Act to enable the beginnings of rehabilitation in these peoples’ lives.  

Release stories coming out every month (like this one), new partnerships with the government, and actual enforcement of the Bonded Labour (Abolition) Act convince me that bonded labor will end in South Asia. I watch people whom history will forget, setting the stage for a significant shift in the exploitive systems of labor in South Asia, and I see [only a fraction of] the infinite implications that the shift means for our world. And I am overwhelmed by hope.

I find myself frozen in shock, at various times throughout the week when thinking about the generosity and encouragement of you, the people who have chosen to partner with me this year. Your support has enabled me to get a glimpse of some of the tangible ways that massive work happens in the world. You have made it possible for me to be strrrrrreched in a new work environment; you have enabled me to rent an apartment and buy food at the market; you have enabled me to afford life for a year in one of the more expensive parts of South Asia.  

I look back on the past 11 months, and I am thankful.

I look forward to my final 6 months serving with IJM with hopeful anticipation. The building pressure in South Asia convinces me that there will be much to report and it will be an absolute pleasure to share those months with you.

In order to continue this work, I will need some financial support. If you are at a place to provide, and if you want to do something tangible to contribute to the work of IJM, then please choose to partner (or continue partnering) with me. The actual process is quite straightforward. Click here and press "Support an Intern/Fellow". Then select my name from the drop down menu and IJM’s giving site will direct you from there. For the sake of transparency, here is a breakdown of the cost of basic living in my corner of South Asia:

Airfare (round trip)	$1000
Rent	$195/month
Electricity, Water, Wifi	$57/month
Food	$160/month
Daily Travel	$50/month
Misc (toiletries, household cleaner, etc)	$30/month
Trash collector/ stair cleaner	$7/month

I love interning with International Justice Mission because it gives me the chance to see varying types of infinite work going on against bonded labor in South Asia. If you’re able join me, financially and prayerfully in these next 6 months as we watch bonded labor lose in South Asia. It’s going to be a good ride.

Sincerely,

Alice

Word.

I am struck by the power of words. Their power is the reason that bloggers spend hours tweaking one sentence; it’s the reason that sex traffickers use words as a tool of deception on vulnerable girls; it’s the reason that certain countries outlaw some authors; it’s the reason that Presidents have speech-writers and it’s the reason that hopeful students agonize during application seasons; it’s the reason that many refuse to say “I love you”. Words carry immense weight and the words we choose to read/listen to/think about/say, change the very way we [I] think about ourselves, about the world, and about our God[s].

There is a huge-hearted person in my office named Albert. He serves tea and maintains the building, in addition to speaking to me in Hindi every time he passes my desk. As I slowly pick up his words and string them together, I see him begin to understand me, and I, him. With each word, he becomes less “Random Office Assistant” and so much more “Albert”. Speaking with Albert in broken Hindi gives me a window into an otherwise unreachable (for me, at least) linguistic soul. With more language acquisition, our conversations will deepen somewhat, and we will use words to get to know each other, as colleagues, and as friends. Although Albert and I are completely different people, Hindi words do not discriminate between us, and using them allows us to bridge the many cultural gaps that would otherwise keep us further apart.

Words affect our work (why do you think there is a phrase called “Vision Casting”?). Our office has a one-man finance department, and despite a tiny department, he has earned our office the highest possible Fiscal Accounting ratings for an entire year. To celebrate, we made him an award. It’s nothing fancy: just laminated paper with appreciative words printed in fancy font. Although it is not valuable in and of itself, I see that award pinned to his wall every time I sit in his office.

Words have a profound effect on the way I view my situation while living abroad. Astrid and I informally debrief after almost every workday and usually, this is a really healthy way to process our experience at IJM. Words are powerful because they identify (give a concrete identity to) real feelings, needs, and frustrations that cannot be ignored once they are named. There were natural frustrations associated with shifting into a new work environment that I did not deal with until Astrid made me begin spitting out the elephants...into the middle of the metaphoric room. Naming certain aspects of my experience is enabling me to more fully recognize, value, and savor the challenging aspects and the wonderful parts of moving to a new work environment, even ten months after my arrival. Words force me to engage with life, instead of merely living under a weak veil of contentment that comes from selectively focusing on the “good”.

Last week, in an address to government officials, the Minister of State for the Ministry of Labour and Employment (trust me, this guy matters in the world of labour law) openly recognized the existence of bonded labour in South Asia. Additionally, he spoke publically about a need to improve the enforcement instructions of the Bonded Labour Act (a key part of the Bandhua 1947 Campaign).  Although he did not change the life situation of any bonded labourers by his words on that day, the Minister’s very word has the power to influence the behavior of every member of the Ministry of Labour and Employment. This represents a huge success for our Government Relations team!

I am really good at believing the lies that creep into my self-consciousness: that I am not “intelligent” enough to be of use to anyone anywhere; that I am a burden and an embarrassment to everyone around me; that I deserve loneliness. Sometimes (especially in a place that can feel so far from anything like home), the lies get louder, leaving me feeling alienated from the world and unable to break through the thick glass that separates me from “them”.  I start believing that there is a limited supply of kind words, and that I must hold mine close, just in case I give them all away and find myself empty. But, astoundingly, the pathetic weakness and falsehood of these lies is revealed by the ease with which they are absolutely blown away by the simplest words of truth.

After years of prideful struggling against this confession, I must say that I need powerful, simple words of truth. I yearn to be reminded of how much I am loved, and of the fact that I can give freely, without holding back one word of encouragement. I need the reminder that God is Able, and that He gives me the power to make change, regardless of my IQ. I need to be told these things, and thankfully, there have been (and are) hundreds of people speaking true, powerful words to me over the years. I am privileged to know great pastors, bold family, irreplaceable friends, and gracious coworkers who insistently speak the simple truths to me, despite my attempts to drown them out.

The power of simple words inspires me to live more freely and to love more fully.

My prayer tonight is for those who have not experienced the gift of receiving relentless, affirming words.  You (regardless of what continent you’re reading from right now) and I are surrounded by multiple people who can be enriched by the power of a few, simple words. I may not have a law degree, or a lot of money, or the political power to influence change, or the fullest understanding of social phenomena, but I have the power of words. Call me idealistic, but if words are one of the big tools we have to fight the lies and break free from hopelessness and despair, then my hope for today is that we use them freely, without reserve or fear, to forgive, to heal, and to celebrate the fact that we get life.

Our Communications team struggles daily to use their words well. Please pray for them in this venture!

 Sincerely,

Alice

p.s. Today’s reasons to Celebrate: In the course of writing this post, I got back electricity AND internet connection!

p.s.s. Are you interested in supporting me this year? Learn more about giving here.

Photo Reel 1

 Although these photos do not represent the every-day living of this year, they are a fun illustration of recent highlights. Enjoy.

Some friends chanced upon this wall on our way to a South-Indian restaurant in a popular village. Graffiti [or graffiti art, as the more-forgiving might say] is uncommon in the city, so this wall stands out a lot against its bare neighbors. It is no Banksy, but it is still eye-catching.

Recently, my boss got married in the Portuguese-style church depicted above. The church is located at the top of a hill and overlooks the Arabian Sea.
 

 

 

 

 

Three months after moving into a new apartment with my roommate, Astrid, we began decorating. We have opted to go with the Vermont-lodge feel, which includes covering the pre-existing antique German furniture with bed sheets probably designed for eight year-old boys. We are currently looking for antlers to add to the walls.

The Khmer Rouge in Cambodia is famous for committing mass killings of intellectuals, artists, leaders, and prominent thinkers during their reign. At the Killing Fields memorial, one small-ish section was blocked off by these bracelet-laden bamboo poles, to mark the areas where babies and small children were beaten to death and buried.

A famous market in my area is called "Chandni Chowk", meaning "Moon Market". Apparetly a big river used to flow through the area, casting the moons reflection on the market streets. The river has since dried up, but the streets are still bustling with activity. After winding through back streets and climbing up steep stairs, this mosque popped into view, sitting quietly in the minutes before prayer.

                

 

 

 

 

After two days of exploring the area known as Ankor (home of  Angkor Wat) on our visa run, my friends and I went to one final temple, built to reflect both Hindu and Buddhist style. The structure was massive and so dilapidated that it took concentrated focus to walk through the long corridors. As my friends and I walked, these children ran around, obviously accustomed to balancing on the old, fallen stone.

 

If you pray, please pray for the health of my co-workers and friends. Two friends have recently overcome typhoid and dengue, and many more are falling ill due to the "changing weather" (I am still trying to understand this phenomenon). Pray for strength, especially in such a hectic time of activity for the Campaign.

 

Much love,

Alice