WHY THE WESTGATE TRAGEDY IS SO TROUBLING

There have been a few historical events in my memory that left an unforgettable level of grief.    These include the day United States President Ronald Regan was shot (March 30, 1981), the beginning of the Rwanda Genocide (April 7, 1994), the Oklahoma City Bombing (April 19, 1995),  the day the Twin Towers in New York went down (September 11, 2001), and the Westgate Tragedy (September 21, 2013).    I can tell you exactly where I was at when the news started coming.   In each one I was dazed for a longer than normal period.    With each one I could never be the same again.

As I’ve visited the last few weeks with other Americans it is obvious that my inclusion of Westgate in these tragedies is unique.   Why?

Two writings have struck me as an answer to why the Westgate tragedy is so personal and the grief so deep.   One was a missionary colleague, Cheryl Cash who wrote, 

“We reside in Uganda (to the West of Kenya) but so much of our training, our renewing, and our strengthening traces East. Our family history is anchored in that land where we became missionaries and became parents...  Stores and scenarios that we are familiar with and relate to. A very strong awareness that danger is no respecter of persons. Or days. Or locations.  Very bad things happen.  Tragedy reaches and takes.

(http://www.gentlyled.blogspot.com/2013/09/praying-with-kenya.html.)”

Another Zain Verjee wrote, 

"Westgate was like home to us," said my father to me… And he was right - the mall was practically our second home -- it's where we met our friends, did the household groceries, and banking…

Looking around now at our kitchen, the tea, coffee, white asparagus, beads, my favorite ice-cream (toff n'choc with nuts) wine glasses, mobile phones, are all from Westgate (http://www.cnn.com/2013/09/30/world/africa/kenya-mall-verjee-witness/index.html.)”

I concur.   I looked in our home.   Jana’s jewelry is from Westgate.   Many of the colorful necklaces our American friends compliment Jana on are from Westgate.  Also, there are 4 carvings in our home from Westgate that summarize why the Westgate tragedy is so troubling.   We purchased them during our last Nairobi visit to mourn with our community the passing of missionary mentor and colleague, Berkeley Hacket.

THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME

One is a carving of an African pastor in study.     Westgate mall was comparable to most malls I’ve visited in the USA.    Java House was like a combination between Chilies, Starbucks, and Baskin Robbins.   The Art Café was like one of those trendy art side walk cafes in Chicago’s Loop.   Nakumatt was our Wal-mart.   There was a movie theater with current movies.   International banks had branches.      Nairobi is where we went in the early ‘90’s to shop when Uganda’s economy produced few basic staples.    Nairobi is where missionary and African church leaders mentored us.    Nairobi is where we went when we were sick.   Nairobi is where we laughed and got a few Western frills.    We walked the malls in Nairobi.   We easily could have been in Westgate when the tragedy happened.   

THIS COULD HAVE BEEN MY NEIGHBORS, FRIENDS, AND FAMILY

We were some of the fortunate ones.   In our base moments we quickly checked phone

texts, email, and social media.   No one from our intimate church, school, mission, or friendship base was killed or in Westgate when the tragedy happened.    Yet, they could have easily been there.

Westgate attracted Africa’s middle class entrepreneurs.    Those were the people we served with in our recent posts.   Those attracted to Westgate included both Kenyans and friends from Uganda and Rwanda who were frequently in Nairobi for business and social events.   Missionaries met there to trade stories, laugh, and cry.    Westgate was one of the places on our earth our diverse community called, “Home.”

MY NEIGHBORS, FRIENDS, AND FAMILY ARE IN GRIEF

As YouTube began posting videos of Kenyan funerals I watched one.    Everyone with an East African root knows someone affected by the Westgate tragedy.

A pastoral friend and staff performed one funeral.   We had traded meals, notes, proposals, and ideas in the past.   Yet, they also did something that was so typical of the best Kenyan church leaders.   When we were in Nairobi in December 2011 with Gabriel Mugisha Jacobs being treated for convulsions they had called to ask, “What can we do?”   We asked for them to sit with us in the hospital.   When Mugisha went into a convulsion they held him with us and prayed.    They were now pastoring the grieving in Kenya.

The video scanned the crowd.   I recognized a Rwandan neighbor whose past refugee living included Nairobi.    I don’t know if she was in Nairobi for business and saw it as a season to extend our common Great Lakes compassion.   I don’t know if she made a special trip to grieve with friends.

Yet, I do know that in cars of parking lots of East African weddings and funerals the families from all our nations are deeply entwined in a community of understanding and love.

THE TERRORISTS COULD HAVE BEEN MY NEIGHBORS

Al Shabaab may be lying.  It is a dangerous thing to trust the good will of cowardly and cruel terrorists.    Yet their list of terrorists includes six from America.    Two were from Minnesota.   Their list included one each from Illinois, Maine, Kansas, and Arizona.    A quick Google search will find many articles over the last few years of Al Shabaab recruiting Somali Diaspora youth in America.   The whole truth may never be known.   Yet it will include a story of immigration gone wrong.    Evil was nurtured in my America.   Had the terrorists once walked the Mall of America with me?   Had one of the terrorists been raised a few blocks from my Chicago home?

A European missionary friend told me that radicalization frequently happens as second generation immigrants realize they can never acclimate.   They idealize beyond reason “home,” and their youthful passions become depraved.     

Immigrant friends have told me, “I always live in the hyphen.   When I walk into a room people see a _________ - American.

Christianity has been on a 20 year decline in the United States.   There are many wounds, stories, and documentation of the decline.    Yet, the Westgate tragedy hits home in the strongest term possible to me that I must decide now to love all of my diverse neighbors as I love myself.

MISSIONARY RESPONSIBILITY

Thus from this grief that is both very personal and communal I resolve to hold fast to my missionary calling.  This could have been me.   This could have been my neighbors, friends, and family.   My neighbors, friends, and family are in grief.   The terrorists could have been my neighbors.

Here am I.   Send me.

(For further missionary reflections on the Westgate tragedy that hopefully will bring some measure of healing to our community see http://www.hekimagreatlakesmessenger.blogspot.com/2013/09/walking-in-two-malls-missionary.html.)

MISSIONARY KIDS MATTER

Sophia, Caleb, Ethan, Ruth, and Timothy Jenkins

All parents dream of their children doing better than themselves.   Can they run faster than me?   Get better grades than me?    Provide more leadership than me?   Make more friends than me?   Have more influence me?   Be more Christ like than me?

For missionary families these concerns are very prevalent.   Will taking our children overseas for years have lasting negative effects?   (However, much research shows just the opposite.)

Yet, another fear is what if my children suffer in a way I can only imagine?  And what if they suffer due to misunderstanding and prejudice?   Yet in their suffering can they find a way to preserve their dignity?

I have five different children with two basic skin colors - what the world calls black and white.

One of the most enraging moments for a parent is when I discover my children with black skin are unfairly judged.  A few times it has happened in such an ambiguous way that I can’t find a clear and reasonable way to address the offense so I just walk away.

A few times my children with black skin have been the subjects of prejudice when I was not near them.   They would keep the offense inside them for years, and only much later share the pain.   I would be enraged, but time and physical distance made addressing the offense impossible.

Yet there are even more subtle forms of prejudice that all my children face.    God in His infinite wisdom spoke against this more subtle but just as destructive form of prejudice.   This is the prejudice of group think against those who seem to have more economic resources (Exodus 23:2, 3; Leviticus 19:14.)

The marketing photos of poor African children by nonprofit organizations strip many of their dignity.    They strip the poor of their dignity because it subtly communicates perpetual victimhood.   They also strip the middle class of their dignity because these photos subtly label Africa’s middle class as exploiters of the poor.   Lastly, I’ve seen these marketing tools strip missionary kids of their dignity by subtly telling missionary kids they don’t matter.

I disagree with these prejudices.

Allow me to tell several stories.   My family are “faith missionaries” which means we have no guaranteed salary.   We live on the free will donations of churches, friends, and family.   We trust God for our daily bread.    We’ve seen God do the miraculous.   Yet, we’ve also seen why in the Old Testament law the Year of Jubilee was instituted (Leviticus 25.)   Sometimes God’s people don’t display the mercy and justice of God.   The community suffers until the out of the ordinary happens.  

We ministered for 19 years in nations that some would define as the economically poorest countries of the world.    While at times we’ve been struggling to pay our bills we’ve ran scholarship programs for vulnerable children.    

A multiple of times when my children were too young to understand what was happening I would be on furlough speaking in a local church.    Someone would ask about our kid’s education.   I’d explain the choices we were making and the costs of educating missionary children.   Another would ask a question about our sponsorship programs.   I would hope that donations would be given to both.   Instead, people would say, “We want our donation designated for the sponsorship program.   You will have to look somewhere else for your needs.”  Then they would write a designated check.   I would drive away from the meeting with checks, but not enough flexibility in the donations to pay for my travel expenses.    

Sophia and Doreen Rwigamba at Rugezi Wetland, Rwanda

Three years ago our family was in a situation much like the needs of Israel for a Jubilee.    We were in a hole due to medical expenses and a drop in funding.    We were doing a ROC reception to hopefully discover the financial resources to start afresh.     We were discussing Kigali International Community School (KICS).   In the discussion the conversation moved to the need for missionary children education.   My oldest daughter, Sophia was in the reception.

A wealthy donor began to ask critical questions.   We attempted to answer.   His tone moved from critical to a recycling of the issues God addressed in Exodus 23:2, 3; and Leviticus 19:14.   He used sophisticated language, but he was encouraging group think against Africa’s middle class and missionary kids.    His arguments focused on what percentage of the gifts went to the poorest of the poor, and that he did not want to see his gifts go to “administrative fees, nor expatriate life styles.”   My blood boiled.   I doubt his children ever suffered with malaria.   I doubt his children were ever bit by dogs or monkeys.   I doubt he ever carried his children on his shoulders and ran away from gunfire.    Sophia cried.   Then Sophia spoke.

Joseph, Mary, and Jesus going in refuge in Egypt

She offered no defense of our family.   Instead, she did what second generation missionaries do best.   She told the story of Rwanda’s returning Diaspora and their children.    She told the stories of her people.

She said, “Yes, I go to school with missionary kids and Rwandan middle class kids.   The Rwandan kids sleep in homes with running water and electricity.   Their parents drive cars.   They look wealthy.   What you don’t know is their parents grew up in refugee camps.   Then they in their own words, “Got lucky.”   They received an education.   They developed professional skill.   Rwanda became peaceful.   They came home.    Their parents work very long hours.   An entire nation’s future rides on their shoulders.    They did not have to come home.   In fact, many complain about brain drain.   If you want to stop brain drain don’t argue with the middle class.   Their kids need a good school.   Should that school not be one where the class sizes are small?    Should that school not be one where God is honored?  Why do we want schools like this in America, but argue against them in Africa?”

She hit the nail on the head.   The donor was conditioned by photos of the poor to be prejudiced.   The prejudice was more subtle than simply race.   It was the prejudice against professional skill and an economic class.

Alexis and Grace Hixson, Ruth, Imfra Mwunvaneza, and Kassidy and Natalie Shreck

The donor realized his offense and thankfully apologized.  He realized missionary kids matter.     They deserve good schools.   They’ve missed out on many things.     Yet, God has done remarkable things in their lives.    In fact, their parents and their host nation know this well – Missionary kids will do far more good than their parents.   God is preparing them.

So this Christmas season as you prepare to make a year end gift I request that you look at the options, and simply say, “Missionary kids matter.”