NOW IS THE TIME WE SAY NO MORE STOLEN SISTERS **:IRAQI KURDISTAN AND CANADA

Photos taken from "Protest Camp for Stolen Women and Children Face Book page and CPT Iraqi Kurdistan)

Today as I sit in Quito, Ecudor as a participant in the  Christian Peacemaker Teams bi- annual gathering, messages are coming from both of my communities on two sides of the world. The calls have similar themes: sisters are being stolen; violence against women must be investigated; violence against women must stop.

From Sulaimani, Iraqi Kurdistan, where my CPT team has been working with our partners in the situation of thousands of displaced minority groups came  a call from the Kurdish women’s group, Jian (life). . They proclaimed Sunday Agust 24 as a day for a civil demonstration on behalf of the Yazidi women who have been captured and enslaved in the city of Mosul by members of the militant group known as  IS (Islamic State). Clandestine phone calls from a few of these women spoke of desperate conditions and  horrific abusive treatment. They told of  women and girls being forced to become wives of fighters and others sold into slavery. 

Sixty activists from several women’s organisations and other civil society groups gathered in front of the United Nations office in the capital city of Hawler/Erbil. They demanded that the U.N. do more to help the Yazidi women and girls who are enslaved by the militant group. At the end of the march several activists were able to take their message into the U.N. building to ask the representatives and the Kurdish Regional Government to act on this emergency and to take urgent measures to help the vulnerable women.

Stop ISIS Brutalizing Against Yazidi Girls

" U.N., Take Action, Our Women and Girls are Enslaved,”

Speaking to the media 

At the same time, in  Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada  a group of Anishnabe women have created a protest camp on a strip of land outside the Manitoba government legislature. They are saying to the Canadian government  that they have waited long enough for an investigation regarding the 1,200 missing and murdered indigenous women in Canada.

 The impetus for this protest is the murder of 15 year old Tina Fontaine, whose body was found wrapped in a plastic bag in the Red River two weeks ago. The Canadian federal government still refuses to acknowledge that the numbers of missing and murdered indigenous women are important enough to declare a national inquiry. As Justice Minister Peter MacKay rejected calls for an inquiry, he said "the government is addressing the issue of missing and murdered aboriginal women in other ways." Yet, the indigenous women of Canada are still disappearing and are sometimes found as bodies without life.

These are messages from the women of two minority cultures. They echo each other across the world-women are being treated as rubbish, something to be used and thrown away. This must stop. The world must take seriously the cries and work to create safety for the women: the Yazidi women in Northern Iraq and the Aboriginal women of Canada.

Speaking with the media

The Protest tent camp (photo credit- Chris Swan)

* **“Is now the time to make that change? Is now the time we say no sisters more stolen? We say that violence against women must stop. And if we go home and do nothing about this it’s a missed opportunity,” -----Wab Kinew. (Canadian Indigenous musician)

On the bus to Sagkeeng I looked up and saw a Kurdish man's hat...

A few weeks ago I and my CPT colleague, Peter Haresnape, were invited to join a day away to the First Nation community of Sagkeeng. The main participants of the trip were some of the members of a Genocide scholars conference being held in Winnipeg.

Peter and I made the 730 am deadline to meet the bus and sat and waited for it to fill up. I looked up from my early morning daze  and saw a very familiar head covering, a black and white cap with  a black and white scarf coiled around it. I wracked my brain- did I know of any other culture that might wear such a distinctive cap? As another man joined him with a Kurdish flag wrapped around his shoulders my thoughts were confirmed. By the time the bus headed out for the highway there were 6 Kurdish men on my bus. (along with scholars from many other  countries).

I knew that I had to make contact (and let them know that I was understanding a bit of what they were saying). After a short conversation in Sorani Kurdish I was given three books in English about the Anfal as well as the Darsim Massacre in Turkey (1937-38). The men belonged to a coalition from the capital city, Hawler/Erbil, including the organisation, Kurdistan Without Genocide.

Peter took a photo as I went to speak to one of the men. The man with the flag

 around his neck is up ahead of us.

Two parts of my world collided (I live 6 months per year in Winnipeg and 6 months in Iraqi Kurdistan). I couldn't help thinking about the similarities between the histories of colonisation for the indigenous peoples in Canada and the indigenous peoples of Kurdistan.

-both had boundaries and borders imposed upon them
-both have had the languages and cultural practises and spirituality condemned and banned
-both have been forced out of their traditional lands and into collective towns/reserves.
-both have endured extermination of thousands of their people by fast and slow genocide.
-both live in resource rich lands--but many of their people ask to retain the treasure of what is beautiful and natural and pure: the water, the plants, the trees, the subsistence agriculture.
-they are both resilient people who are reclaiming what makes them First Nations and Kurds.

As we entered the grounds of Turtle Lodge at Sagkeeng First Nation, the Kurdish men posed for a photo with the flag. Diem who had invited us on this trip is on the left of the photo.

As part of the pipe ceremony we took small pouches of tobacco to tie on a tree. Here is one of the Kurdish men beside Norman Meade who wears the symbol of the Metis Nation.

Turtle Lodge and the tobacco ties on the tree.

As the drummers sang the closing song I saw the Kurdish men tapping their feet 

ready to break into dance. 

After a meal of traditional  stew, wild rice and blueberry cake we all received gifts: a braid 

of sweet grass and a small drum with a turtle painted on it.

Below is a  TV news report of the day by APTN news station.


Genocide scholars visit Sagkeeng First Nation to talk residential schools

Through rain and snow and sleet and hail- Got Bannock will not fail!

On Sunday 29 June I preached a sermon at Hope Mennonite, Winnipeg. I struggled with this sermon. I wanted to tell stories from Iraqi Kurdistan and  I wanted to teach a lesson from Jesus. But it was not coming together. I kept feeling like something was missing. I found a scripture text that I wanted to talk about- Matthew 10: 40-42. The main words were:" This is a large work I’ve called you into, but don’t be overwhelmed by it. It’s best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won’t lose out on a thing.”

I included stories of cold cups of water given to me by Kurdish people, of meeting a woman asking for bus money on the streets of Winnipeg, and a Syrian Kurdish woman at the gate to the bazaar in Sulaimani. 

Then I thought of Althea Guiboche aka The Bannock Lady here in Winnipeg. She does not have much financial resources to feed the people around her but she sure does have the energy to encourage others to give. And then she has made  it happen every week for the last 18 months. So I decided to ask my church family to bring food to help her for that Sunday- the Got Bannock Burger Day. And they came through like I knew they would. I carried two laundry baskets full as well as bags of flour to Althea's house after church.

As I entered her back door I heard the laughter and voices of quite a few people. They were her friends and neighbours who had come to help make the bannock buns, and fry the burgers and cut the vegetables. I was invited to come in to help too. As we worked we looked outside the windows to see the rain begin to fall. "It's OK, there are still two hours left. It may slow down or stop". But it continued and even came down harder with gusts of wind.

                                     The group of people in Althea's kitchen (Althea Guiboche)

                              [Click on the photo to see all the pictures in larger size]

                           Great bannock burgers (Todd Matthew Dechateauvert)

The amazing thing is that this did did not discourage anyone. When 3 pm came and it was time to load up the coolers and boxes of fruit and burgers everyone was ready to ride (or walk) the two blocks to Dufferin and Main Street. As Althea's black van pulled onto Dufferin Ave. there were already people waiting. They knew that good food was coming.

Then other people began to show up- even more volunteers. One woman brought two large cartons full of hot Tim Horton's coffee with cups and cream and sugar to go into it. Another carried two large packages of cheese to go onto the burgers. A man brought his small daughter and an umbrella. He held the umbrella over people who needed protection from the rain as they gave out food or stood in line. And we discovered a cooler full of egg salad sandwiches from a woman who is celebrating Ramadan. People from all walks of life provided and served the food.

There was really no way to avoid getting wet. The water was coming down in buckets. So we kept the coolers closed except to reach for a wrapped burger and gave access to things to put on the burgers under the cover of the end gate of Athea's van.

Later that day Althea reflected on the day. "If there is one thing I learned to have, it's a healthy respect for the weather, my mantra is "hot or cold, rain or shine, if they're out there, then so is the bannock lady" any element they're in, then that's how I serve lunch, until I have a space to shelter them, then this is how it is, sometimes it gets messy or really cold, but the food is packaged and stored and given fresh, it's made with love and contains no judgements. 
I serve in the pouring rain or the coldest cold, I even make the media suffer with us lol just so they realize the extreme elements We face, I do it to let them know I stand with them, count myself with them, and will fight for change for them .

We really did not need to give out  cups of cold water on 29 June: all we had to do was point our mouths up to the sky! But the giving went beyond that. People from different religions, cultures, ideas,and lives came together to give and receive. Althea writes, " I welcome all cultures, all faiths, all religions, to come together and feed our city's poorest, we need to become a village that sees no differences, that comes from one race, the human race!!"

Missing Iraqi Kurdistan: Seeing the beauty in the small things

Right now I am missing Iraqi Kurdistan. Don't get me wrong, I am also loving being here in Winnipeg in the summer time: living with the family that I love, being able to plant my garden and watch it sprout, visiting and chatting with dear friends and looking toward a busy July and August doing stuff on behalf of CPT here in North America. BUT I am still missing the ones I love in Iraqi Kurdistan. As well, I imagine what they are feeling like right now with the uncertainty of whether life will change or not. [In case you don't know what is happening in Iraq here is one post from someone on the ground in the capital city, Hawler-here ]

So, today I am posting a few photos from my time there this winter and spring. These are some  things that I found to be beautiful in Iraqi Kurdistan.

The Beauty at the Bazaar

Sometimes the goods are just placed randomly on the street, but sometimes the proprietor takes a lot of time to make the display beautiful. This is amazing since he will have to undo it  very soon, when the bazaar closes.

The Beauty of the People

These last 3 photos are of two small people I met on my walk home. It was just a week or so before the elections and they were playing with the flag of the Goran (Change) movement. When I stopped to talk to them the little boy asked me if I was Gorani (supporter of Goran). As I stopped to think what I would tell him (whether an easy "yes" which is not really true as I don't support any Iraqi Kurdistan party or to try to tell him the truth -in Kurdish), he got tired of the foreign lady and motioned the girl to head on home.

Berens River Cup Song: and memories of my nursing training

This past week a musical video was posted on You tube. It has since gone viral for good reason. A music teacher in the Berens River reserve school decided to encourage his student's musical talents. He helped them to create a video of their version of the "Cup Song: You are going to miss me when I'm gone". It is great and catchy. If you watch it you will find the tune whirling through your head for many hours!! (See the video at the bottom of this post.)

Beren's River has a special meaning for me. Way back many years ago-34 to be exact- I spent a few weeks in that community. It was my choice as one of my elective placements for my Registered Nurse diploma. I lived at the nurse's station and followed the nurses around as they visited families and saw patients in the clinic. I never did end up working on a nurse's station, but did nurse a year in Churchill, Manitoba. That was the next largest hospital  for many northern  patients who needed medical care. (Clarification: the patients from Berens River would be flown to Winnipeg- not Churchill).

Flying into Berens River- June 1981

A young me in front of the nursing station.-June 1981

Learning how to give: Two women-Evelyn in Winnipeg and the Syrian woman in Iraqi Kurdistan

Three days ago I met Evelyn. I was sitting in the sunshine at the bus stop at Portage and Colony in Winnipeg. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman come to the area and begin talking to the people waiting. I stuck my nose further into my book and hoped that maybe I would turn invisible, but no such luck. She came up to me and asked for some coins to fund two bus fares- one to her destination and then back again. I took a look in my wallet and then apologized that I had only two dimes. I asked her name and told her mine. Then she moved on.

 I had just gone  back to my sunshine and good book. when I realised that I had 10 bus tickets in my wallet. That would have been so much more helpful to her. So I looked for the grey shorts and t-shirt but they had disappeared. I knew that she could not have gone  far, and I had 15 minutes until my appointment, so I headed down Portage looking for Evelyn. A block later I saw her sitting on the side of the concrete flower planter. I ripped off a bus ticket, drew near for her to acknowledge my presence and then handed her the tiny piece of paper. She looked at me in surprise, "Did you come all the way from the bus stop?" I nodded yes. She said, "Thank you so much, Kathy".

It felt good. I seemed to me that maybe this interaction with a person asking for money had worked. I was able to help her and she received a portion of what she needed. But it took my head back to a situation in Iraqi Kurdistan that felt more like a failure.

During my previous 6 stints in Iraqi Kurdistan with Christian Peacemaker Teams I have enjoyed walking the 25 minutes to the city centre bazaar. I love the colour and beauty and hubbub of the sellers and buyers. However, this January, I found that I had to steel myself to walk the narrow lanes and streets. I definitely do stand out as a foreigner and thus I appear wealthy. I could not pass by the shops without women, often with a small child, coming up to me, holding a laminated piece of paper informing the reader of her status as a Syrian refugee.  “Please, Mrs, Mrs, Mrs… for food for food .for food”.

I soon learned to have a few small bills of Iraqi dinars easily accessible. But when these were gone I had to say, “no, biburre, I’m sorry.” Sometimes she would grab my arm and cry out pleadingly. She did not know of the money I had distributed already and probably would not care.  I continued my words, “na, na”.

One evening I headed down the main street just as dusk fell. The shoppers were dispersing, taking home food for the evening meal. As I came to the gate of the bazaar I saw a Syrian woman sitting on the ground with a small baby sleeping in her arms. The woman did not plead- she barely even looked. Her eyes were heavy and dark. In her wordlessness she seemed in even more despair than all the others. I stopped, found another small dinar bill and placed it on the cloth in front of her. Then I squatted down to make contact and touched her child’s hand. The mother looked at me and then tucked the hand closer. “Zor sarde- so cold”. “Bale/yes” I replied.

 
It was all I could do and her face stayed in my head all the way home. I suppose I did more than some people, at least I tried to make some contact. But she remains with me and I think maybe I could have run to the closing shops to buy a blanket, or given her my sweater or emptied my wallet.

I can not save all the people who ask me for something. Despite the fact that I look like I am wealthy my CPT stipend does not stretch very far. But the Syrian woman taught me to think again.  I am also trying to  learn that when I can't do enough or anything, I am not a bad person.

 

 

 

 

 

Unravelling the knots of oppression one tangle at a time- Part two

"Dear team, I am thinking in creating an alternative training in Kurdistan of Iraq....." .On the 10th of December, 2013 I received this email from our team's support co-ordinator, Milena R.  My initial reaction was , "that sounds great but there is no way on earth that this will happen in the time frame she is thinking of (February 2014). That is just not the way CPT works."

I arrived back in Sulaimani on 23 January and the interviewing of potential trainees started soon afterward. By early February the training was a surety for four trainees and with team mate Lukasz and I being put into the position of being trainers. This was a huge surprise for me. I trained with CPT in August 2010. The trainers seemed to be some sort of a mystery to me. They appeared to have knowledge and experience way beyond anything I could imagine to attain.

Adriana, Parwen, Juliane, Mohammed, Gosia,

Annika, Lukasz, Kathy

 

        

 

 

 Talking about moving out of comfort zones, an important

discussion for trainers and trainees alike.

 But, all of a sudden , beginning on 22 February, 2014, I was a trainer. I marvelled at the trust put in us. Lukasz and I provided the total input for the first 10 days. It was exciting to dig into the training manuals, something we both had not really done since our own time of learning. We found that we intuitively were using a lot of the information in our day to day work on the Iraqi Kurdistan team. Thus we were able to teach and facilitate sessions to help the four trainees to learn it too.

On day 12 Adriana, from Colombia,  joined the team. . She brought with her experience of being a regular trainer in the Chicago month- long trainings, as well as having facilitated the sessions on Undoing Oppressions. This is a regular and important part of the CPT trainings: Undoing racism, sexism and heterosexism as well as a day to think about how to be an ally.

For this training I had the unusual position of being the only one who had English as my first language. We had two Kurdish speakers, one Polish speaker, one German speaker and then on the training team: one Spanish , one Czech and a Swedish speaker . We had to often think how to work with vocabulary that was difficult to explain and/or understand in languages other than English. We had to break down concepts into smaller parts so all would be able to grasp what was being discussed.

We began to look at  undoing oppressions and how our cultures have taught us well who is more important or intelligent or worthy. I thought about the concept of "undoing" and immediately pictured my knitting. Often as I create a pair of socks the yarn becomes very tangled and knotty. If I just tug on the wool and don't take the time to undo it, the tangle just becomes even more entrenched and more difficult to work with. The only way to be able to knit with the wool is to start at the beginning and undo one tangle at a time.  Adriana added that undoing oppressions also has someone at the end that you have untangled working at remaking the mess again so you have to go back and untangle one knot at a time over and over again.

This was a session on learning about sexism. Here we each introduced a woman who was important to us and drew a representative picture.  Then we divided into gender groups and the women wrote about how sexism affects us in our lives and the men wrote about how sexism tells them that they are more worthy.  After this session, Juliane thought of taking our statements and placing them over our photos.



 

 

As the training went on we realised that no one of the team had any video making skills. So I stretched myself again to learn the rudimentary skills so I could put together a video of our time together. I am pretty pleased with my first attempt. 

After the training we all evaluated the five weeks. A quote from the written evaluation is ,
"Having trainers from the field was a big success: Knowledge coming from the people
who do the work on the field has a different weight and becomes more alive to
trainees by virtue of being based on recent life experience. Also, training
empowered the field CPTers to transmit their knowledge in ways that served as
markers of learned experience, at the same time that helped them revisit that
learning in ways that will most likely improve the quality of their future work."