Of Note: Invisible Children

A Note On Kony 2012 --

With over 80 million views, Invisible Children has sparked a movement of young people, through YouTube, social media and highlighted a warlord that has long been wanted by the ICC. Through content made for children with the simplest explanation of Joseph Kony and his atrocities in Northern Uganda, the organization has been able to raise awareness and money to support their cause. They encourage students and viewers to buy media and help make Joseph Kony famous so that Congress will pay attention and help fund military operations to bring Kony to justice. 

But the campaign has not been without criticism. Invisible Children CEO, Ben Keesey and Film Producer, Jason Russell have made a number appearances on NBC, CNN and other media outlets to answer for their intentions. The organization has been drilled over their financial distribution, a perceived western-world driven campaign and even why they're producing a film that has been a story for more than a decade. 

Granted, CNN interviewed Jacob Acaye, featured in the Kony 2012 film who says it's not too late, especially if Kony is still kidnapping children, making them child soldiers and raping young girls. He says the mission is important and he wants justice for he and his brother, who was killed by Kony. While there are Ugandans who support and are part of the campaign and Invisible Children's programs for education and assistance, others are raising a red flag.  

A couple of days ago; the campaign's producer, Jason Russell was detained by police after reportedly being drunk in public and stripping to his underwear in Pacific Beach, San Diego. He was taken to the hospital for treatment and Invisible Children released a statement saying he was hospitalized for "exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition. The past two weeks have taken a severe emotional toll on all of us, Jason especially, and that toll manifested itself in an unfortunate incident yesterday"

So the question remains: was the campaign a good idea? Or were there self indulgent intentions behind raising funds to make Kony famous? Immediately, those defending the campaign would say no. They might blame the projected media attention or the pressure of such a large campaign. 

Interestingly enough, activists in Uganda conducted a screening, bringing thousands of Northern Ugandans, some former victims of Joseph Kony to view Russells film and join the debate, react to the content. And the result, documented by Al Jazeera, was anger and distrust. For some, it comes from the fact that Kony no longer exists in Uganda. Reports indicate that he has gone into the bush somewhere in the Democratic Republic of Congo. For others, they want to call attention to the Ugandan government leaders who allowed the LRA's atrocities and still some feel as if Invisible Children are calling them weak, patronizing them and their pain.

Ultimately: while they may have had some pure intentions identifying a terrible villain to a new generation; Invisible Children seems to have more to answer for; their strategy was to take Joseph Kony and turn him into a celebrity. To a culture who has spent years (and still is) recovering from the fear of this man and his oppression, turning him into a celebrity, putting him on T-shirts and posters, to them, shows an ignorance on the part of the organization. For many Ugandans, Jason Russell is missing the point and doesn't understand their need or their view of justice.  

Ironically, then, the point is: it's important to be open to understanding the customs and culture of people groups that you're trying to represent. One, two or five does not represent an entire country or an entire region. People need to see your humility before their see your capability. Learn from them, then help them. And be honest, as a non-profit organization, you're held at a higher standard, so complete transparency is key. Then again, there must be a balance: don't put yourself so closely in the public eye that even cause is just about an image, and it looses the flavor. Be willing to morph and change when perhaps, just maybe - the means doesn't bring a justified end. 

Will Joseph Kony be caught? Eventually yes. Evil men cannot stand. Will Invisible Children have helped with their awareness campaign? Maybe. 

What happens Next, God only knows, and Time will tell. 

Book Review: Game of Thrones Part 1

"When you play the game of thrones, you win or die, there is no middle ground." 

(Cersei Lannister, Game Of Thrones)

How true comes the statement from a jealous and even vile Queen in an epic story by George R.R. Martin. Set in an early century world of Knights, Kingslayers, watchmen, Lords and rumors of ancient Dragons: Game Of Thrones depicts a story that can only be told through the eyes of its characters.

Eddard Stark and his wife Catelyn are caught in the middle of a battle for honor among families who are competing for the throne while their own family may be in jeopardy. After Stark, a long time friend and confidant of the King, becomes the Hand of the throne, he discovers secrets that he wish he had never known. And time is running out as rumors rise that the children of ancient dragons are planning to revolt. 

Each chapter Martin moves the story forward by focusing on the point of view through various characters. From the view of the Stark family to the dwarf brother of the Queen to the daughter of the last great Targaryen warrior to the Night's Watch, the high intensity of progression made it hard to put the book down. 

When vying for power, money and in the case of Sansa Stark: love, everyone's honor seems to fail. Even among those most respected among the Night Watch, most of the boys coming from questionable backgrounds regaining their name and reputation -- find their vows are a heavy loyalty to bear against their families, particularly for Jon Snow, the illegitimate son of Ned Stark. 

Nevertheless, as winter is coming, so is war - and the high anticipation of clashing Lords hangs in the balance through betrayal, tragedy and peculiar loyalties and unorthodox victories.

I would highly recommend this Award winning book, Game of Thrones, and I look forward to the second installment: A Clash of Kings.

West Bound Road: A Series of Absurd Essays About A Journey to the Coast (#OutOfOrder)

West Rear-View

It's not as if it was the last time I would ever see the place called home, but leaving so quickly does things to one's head that often come as a result of driving 40 or more hours by oneself.

As it were, I left in a fog - the mist enveloped scenery, bounding once again to a life that would lead me away from the crashing waves. The only thing I could see in front of me were the eastern Mountains silhouetted against the sky and two feet of road. The crisp air smelled of salt and dew, and my mind was in a swirl of ghost like passing. Perhaps it would get clearer, so I went on. 

The two lane highway headed Southeast into the desert barely bore a soul. As the salted wounds began to shake off, and the border drew closer, the skies began to clear and I could see my first sight of green grasses and ascending desert-like mountains, which seemed small in comparison to what I experienced in the mist. The sight of it was like watching a painting in motion of brilliant earth tone colors welcoming me away from where I had been. 

Three hours and Yuma, Arizona was in sight. The deep sigh that escaped my breath made me realize I already need to stretch my legs, so  I spotted the nearest gas station, filled my tank the rest of the way and paused a moment to reflect on the idea that well, I just didn't know when I would cross that sweet California border again. 

I was headed to see my Papa, just months after his surgery. He was in his own house, had a walker and a new leg to boot - a boot that attached to his stump and made for a good story, even in its saddest of moments. The aunt, the uncle, they were nearby - pushing prodding and making good to keep an eye on him. 

Getting back on the road seemed a little more bearable and the dry air gave me motivation to work the second half of the first leg of a long cross country trip. 

Descending south led me to a border checkpoint, though I can imagine it's nothing compared to those that would make themselves home in desert countries overseas. Still, it wasn't the first time and as usual, it was a little odd. Needless to say, as the checkpoint got closer, I slowed and rolled my driver-side window down. The young Border Patrol cop, who looked younger than me and scarcely older than a high school student asked, "Can you roll all your windows down please?" 

"Sure," hoping that he wouldn't mistake all of my "travel-for-a-month" supplies as a sign that I had human beings stuffed underneath. 

"Where are you headed?" 

"Georgia" 

"Is that where you live?"  

"Yes." 

"Are you a US Citizen?"

"Yes."

"Where were you born?" 

"Ohio, sir." 

"Anyone else in the vehicle?"

"Nope."

"Ok, move on!" He commanded it, almost as if I had disappointed him. I can only imagine that a good smuggle was all the excitement these guys got. Semi-trucks are like treasure chests and the dogs were their shining hope. 

Considering how easy that really was, I kept thinking they needed a better system. But who was I to say? 

Quickly forgotten; I continued on to Maricopa. After several road detours I made it to the aunt & the uncle's house, two hours later than I had expected. A little dinner, wine and jacuzzi joy...the end of the night had finally come. Breathe.

Only seven states to go....

West Bound Road: A Series of Absurd Essays About A Journey to the Coast (7)

The Moment of Yes

I needed a break. I needed a moment to think. I needed to call out in the middle of the week. I needed to wander, and perhaps I needed to get lost. So I did. When the burden of work was released, I slipped on my favorite sweats, a T-shirt, and picked up my camera. I was headed to the beach to think, not that thinking was going to do me any good and perhaps it would only cause me trouble, but think I would and whatever came of it would keep from being at home, cooped up all day.


Finding a parking spot on a weekday isn't so hard to do, then again this was San Diego and even in February the 60-some odd degree weather and a slight breeze is enough to bring even the most stubborn bear out of hibernation. I made my way down the boardwalk, jumped over the wall and dug my toes into the sand. The sound of the crashing waves kept my attention and I felt like I was able to breathe - slowly, in through my nose, out through my lips, closed eyes and sense of rest passed over me.


But as I continued walking down the beach, I heard voices singing. This was Ocean Beach, there were always buscars about and a hobo sitting audience. Of course, this time, the voices I heard were multiple and harmonizing. Curious, I approached the group of ragged musicians - they were jamming to the beats of Bob Marley's "One Love" and traded off guitars, a shaker, and a djembe. I couldn't tear myself away, and frankly I didn't want to - from Bob Marley to jams to the Spanish singer and others encouraged everybody to "keep on movin'," -- I was practically drooling over the fantastic scene of talent and joy that came out of their vocals.


I found a spot on the wall near the musicians, tossed my flip-flops aside and faced the water. I could have sat there all day just listening to music and watching the waters tumble underneath the pier.


Finally, the music stopped long enough for me to lean over and tell them how great I thought they sounded. One of the boys, peered back at me from under his long curly hair, smiled and said, "thank you so much." He reached out his hand which I eagerly shook and introduced himself.


I asked if they lived in the area. No, he told me, they were from New York, he and two others he pointed out. They were The Band and had come to Southern California to find fans and friends, living off the good graces of strangers.


Introductions went all the way around and eventually I met the Spanish singer, blond hair, tall and talented. He wasn't part of The Band, but he was a local musician, a starving one at that - working for a catering company by day and making his way around San Diego with a guitar at night. His bright attitude and hippie sticks kept us in conversation even after the band kept playing. He'd brought crackers and carrots which he willingly shared and we swapped stories about our roots.


After realizing I still had my camera with me, I grabbed a few pictures and figured I'd throw it up on my blog. It couldn't hurt to show a little support, truth was, I didn't have a dime on me to throw into the guitar case, which honestly is what the band was really hoping for -- they had to manage to eat and fill their purple van with gas...somehow.


The afternoon ended with an invitation to join the boys at a bar and the conclusion that I had finally made a few new friends. The place I'd come to find myself and get lost was becoming home - and it was only the beginning.