Riots and the Hunger for Community & Compassion

As a Calgary Flames fan I thoroughly enjoyed watching the Vancouver Canucks get shut out in game 7 of the NHL Stanley Cup Finals on Wednesday night to the Boston Bruins. I was not looking forward to hearing “Vancouver Fan” gloat about their victory all summer long. After the game however, I was shocked to see riots erupting in Vancouver’s downtown streets. I was sure that the city would have learned its lesson after going through the same process in 1994 after the Canucks were defeated in a game 7 Stanley cup finals; this time to the New York Rangers. It didn’t even cross my mind as I watched Zdeno Chara, The Boston Bruins captain hoist the Stanley Cup over his head that outside the arena, destruction ensued. Why was this happening I thought? Frustration? Mounting pressure finally released? Was it a select few who were actually leading the charge when it came to looting, destruction and violence? Yes, I believe it was. However, what I couldn’t understand was the hundreds, if not thousands of people encouraging this behaviour; standing by and chanting for the destruction; rallying for the damage of property. What causes this many people to participate in something that seems so out of character in their everyday lives? I do understand that a large number of studies have been done to identify the cause of such behaviour and the psyche surrounding it. Perhaps what I am about to discuss has been researched, however I still think it’s important to examine.

Over the past few months, I have been looking into the idea of compassion (or lack thereof) in our society. As someone who works in non-profit work, I am surrounded by people working and volunteering daily for our community. But how do we get society as a whole involved in community on a grander scale? How do we engage the masses to lend support to causes they are passionate about? The more I thought about this, the more it came clear to me that I was thinking too much on a macro level. The following thought was brought to my attention at a conference I attended in March. “How do we expect people to engage in community activism if people aren’t willing to stop stepping over people they see sitting on the street as they walk to work every day?” This thought struck me. I live in a city, Calgary, which prides it’s self on being a “volunteer” city. I think there is a huge difference however between being a volunteer city and a compassionate city. In my opinion, Calgary, along with the rest of society lacks compassion. Of course many of us volunteer and support our community in a variety of ways which are extremely important endeavours; but for our society to truly progress, a culture of compassion and real community needs to emerge. The pressure to live for ourselves has compromised the idea of compassion. This pressure, to live for ourselves and to show others our importance and worth, has left compassion in the dust. As a 28 year old, I feel that weight on my shoulders. When I was 21/22 years old, society said it was acceptable to live for the cause and live for others. However, now that I am reaching the age of 30, society expects other things from me. It expects me to worry about my retirement, get a job, get the house, get the car, get, get, get. The rat race has run its course and, it has failed. It’s time for a new ideology to emerge.

I truly believe that my generation is hungry to be compassionate; hungry to live in community; hungry to be who our humanity intended us to be.

As I watched the riots in Vancouver, I watched a group of people’s hungry for that sense of community. It was great to see people coming together Wednesday night, however I think society is to blame for the actions of that community. What I saw was our societal thought process; that living for ourselves is what’s important and other peoples property and self-worth are of no significance. People may argue that this isn’t our culture or think that since volunteers came together and cleaned the streets and “took back the city,” this isn’t who we are. I see this act of volunteering just as I see someone volunteering at the homeless shelter once a year on Thanksgiving. I will not criticize these actions (I was extremely proud to see people come together in this way) what I will say however, is that it is not enough. It is only through the way we think that will change the way we act. It is the little everyday compassionate actions that I believe will start to change our mindset. There needs to be a shift in our ideology. We often burry that compassionate voice within us that so desperately wants to be heard. We don’t want be the one to go at it alone; to be the first one kneel down and have a conversation with that homeless person on my way to work. That’s not... “normal;” not what I’m expected to do.

After watching the riots in Vancouver, a colleague of mine noted the mob would encourage or on occasion, chant for destruction; perhaps the objective would be to see some window’s smashed. Eventually, one, two, or even a handful of people would then build up enough courage to leave the mob and attempt to break a window before once again blending into the crowd.

It’s time our community came together to rally around and chant for compassion; to inspire people to have the courage to leave the mob and step out and have that conversation with someone on the street asking for change. To help that elderly woman cross the street who is too afraid to ask for support. To intervene when a young person is being bullied. To stop and help that single mother whose grocery bags have split open. As we encourage this, I believe we will see more than a handful of people leaving the mob to support; and eventually, the mob will include everyone. For if we continue to believe compassion is something we do not something we are, the crowd of people chanting on the sideline for destruction and encouraging violence will continue to grow.

Compassion is a human trait; ignoring it is a societal one.

Honoured and Remebered

In 2007, I went and spent a year in Africa serving for a non-profit organization fighting the widow and orphan crisis caused by HIV/AIDS. Below is a collection of blog entries describing one of many experiences.

One day in July, I went to go visit my good friends Divine and Emily. As many of you know, Divine is a 9 year old boy who I have been friends with since my first trip here two years ago. Emily is his Aunt who is a home based care nurse in the community I am working in.

As I walked in the door, I noticed that Divine had a visitor. He was a young boy who looked about 7 years old. Emily explained to me that he was a patient of hers. His parents have both passed away and he is living in a very small wooden shack of a house with his Aunt, Uncle, and cousins. He is HIV positive and has severe Tuberculosis. Emily decided to have the boy come to her house for a visit over the weekend to give him a break from his situation. As I introduced myself to him, I noticed how thin he was. I went to put my hand on his back and could feel only bone.

He also had a severe cough. I played with him and Divine for a few minutes and as I left I asked Emily how old he was. Emily told me he was thirteen. I couldn't believe it. Divine is 9 and is larger than him. Emily says that AIDS delay’s children’s development.

A couple weeks later, Emily and I were driving and she asked me if I remembered the boy that had stayed with her. I said of course and she explained to me that his condition was not good and that tests had revealed that his form of TB (tuberculosis) was drug resistant. She explained that he needed to be admitted to a special TB hospital, however he couldn't stay at the one near the community because he had previously stayed there for 7 months and couldn't be readmitted. He was needing to go to a hospital in Middleburg; two and a half hours from here. However, the grandmother and his family did not want this to happen because they didn't have transport money to visit him. Emily was hoping that at least the doctor could provide some things for him including oxygen to keep him comfortable if he had to stay home. It took a few times for Emily to say "keep him comfortable" before I knew what she meant. That's all that could be done was to keep him comfortable.

A week later, Emily told me that he had been placed in the TB hospital in our community. The Middleburg hospital needs there own results before he can be admitted. We are still hoping that he will be able to go there because they can try different treatments to see if any match his certain strain of TB. The results from the test take six weeks. So, he will be in the community TB hospital for the next six weeks where all they can do is keep him comfortable; he is the only child in the hospital. I asked Emily if he will make it six weeks. She responded by saying, "with his condition, only the Lord knows."

I went to go visit him with Emily and his Aunt. He was so happy to see us. We only stayed a little while but you could tell it made his day. You can also tell that his Aunt loves him very much. Before we left, his Aunt prayed for him. She sang her heart out and prayed with such desperation. She put everything into her prayer. You go the sense she knew she could do nothing else but pray. So, she was going to put her full effort into it.

After another visit, Emily wanted to pray for him. Again, that is all we have left. I went to put my hand on his upper arm and there was nothing there. I could put my thumb and my finger around his arm. I couldn't help but weep. I would be going to see him as much as possible.

After many visits, Nkosinathi passed away at approx. 3:45 am Sunday December 16^th, 2007. I was with him during that last 12 and a half hours of his life and was with him as he left us. I was in a very strange place and am still in denial that he is gone. Over the past five months I have been visiting every week or two and have helped transfer him to get his HIV/AIDS treatment at the local clinic. I keep thinking I will go visit him next week.

Through all of this, I am trying to find the justice in this. I came here to provide that. Where is the justice in a 13 year old boy dying an unbelievably painful death caused by a thing called AIDS and a thing called TB? Two things that were given to him; two things he did not find or ask for.

I have come to one conclusion. There is no justice in that. The funeral is on Saturday. After the funeral I was in rough shape. I didn't know if I could continue to live or work in Africa. At the funeral, his family was amazing. The family let me and Emily be a part of activities that are usually only done with family members. It was very special. At the end, after we had finished a meal, the boy’s grandmother and I had an amazing conversation. By the end, she had told me she considered me one of her son's because of the way that I had treated her grandson. I told her that I had a grandmother at home in Canada but I now considered her my grandmother in Africa. We both wept and gave each other an enormous hug. It was truly amazing how God was able to bring us together and find hope in one another. This young amazing, strong, resilant boy’s name was Nkosinathi. In English this translates to “God with us.” Today being world AIDS day, that’s where our hope comes from. God with us.

This story has obviously stuck with me to this day. I think about Nkosinathi often. Although I shared this story on my blog when it happened, since coming home from Africa I have shared this experience with only a few people. It was very difficult for me to do so. I also didn’t want Nkosinathi to become just another story or a tool to use to explain the devastation that AIDS is having in Africa. He deserved to be honoured to be remembered for the incredible young man that he was. There is obviously much more to this story which I haven’t shared in this post and would be more than willing to share it with anyone that is interested because what I have realized is that by introducing him to you, I am honouring him. The organization I have worked with says they want to reach 100,00 orphans, but we need to do it one by one. So today as we recognize world AIDS day, please remember that these are not stories, these are children and each one of them needs to honoured and remembered.

It's time we gave up a little piece of who we are, so that others can become who they are supposed to be

So it’s 6 am as I begin this post on a Saturday morning. I have just woken up after having a very strange dream. Although strange, it was a dream that I think I needed to get down on paper as it was one of importance.

Now to start, the dream started off a little strange. As I was going to bed, I watched a TV show about the big cheese roll races in England. You know the ones; where men and woman hurl themselves down a steep cliff chasing after a wheel of cheese.

Well, in my dream I was in the Winter Olympic games and one of the sports was to run down a snow covered hill with a shovel in your hand (from what I recall, it was modeled after avalanche rescue people or something). Well, turns out I won gold! And in the dream I became extremely emotional and I ran around with such joy that I eventually fell to my knees and was weeping, praying and thanking God. I remember clearly thinking “I can now use what you have given me Father to show people who you were as Jesus.” As I was kneeling down, looking up and praying, I remember a large globe circling above my head.

Suddenly, the surroundings of the dream changed. I ended up in a basement with a microphone speaking to a group of people who were upstairs in the house; I think in reference to my Olympic win.

My speech went something like this. “I believe that we are all here for a reason. God has called us to care for one another” (a word throughout this speech that kept resonating was the word ‘sacrifice’). God has called us to sacrifice. Now I’m not saying that people aren’t currently making sacrifices in their lives; whether it be donating to certain organizations/foundations or volunteering from time to time. However I think we are being called to take that next step. To give up something that affects our lives every day; to give up something from our everyday lives. It’s time we gave up a little piece of who we are, so that others can become who they are supposed to be.”

The last line was what prompted me to wake up on a Saturday morning and put this on paper.

Recently I have struggled to find my next step with God. As many of you know, due to unforeseen circumstances, I won’t be traveling to Africa in September as originally planned. This was disappointing news to say the least. I am staying positive but am still trying to figure out what to do now. What are your plans for me God? Perhaps the line at the end of my dream speech was God’s way of telling me what I can do for now and what God has always called us to do. To give up a little piece of who we are, so that other’s can become who they are supposed to be.

I’m still thinking on this dream, the speech, and the last line. So, if you have any thoughts or input, I would love to hear them!

The Above photo is a picture of my 91 year old Grandfather Frank Johns and my Cousin Ethan: This is Faith, Hope, and Love