Recently in Wise Category
By Clem Richardson
Not many couples could ask the questions Connie Spinks and husband
Albert Ross put to each other. "I ask him, 'Baby, am I worth losing a
leg for?' And he says, 'Yes,'" Spinks says. "Then he asks me, 'Honey,
would you get burned up for me again?' and I say, 'Yes I would!' And I
would, because I love him."
The two, expecting their first child in March, are former U.S.
Army specialists who met three years ago at the Brooke Army Medical
Center at Fort Houston in San Antonio, Texas, while being treated for
traumatic injuries suffered in the Iraq War.
Ross' right leg was severed at the knee in August 2004, while he
was on patrol in Baghdad. Spinks suffered a bevy of injuries that would
take 20 surgeries to mend: a crushed right ankle, left leg ripped with
shrapnel, two broken fingers on her left hand and second and third
degree burns on her face, hands and wrists, injuries suffered after the
Humvee she was riding in was attacked by a suicide bomber on October
13, 2004--the day after her 22nd birthday.
"If we hadn't gotten injured, we never would have met," Spinks
says. "It was part of God's plan that we got injured so we could meet."
It's an unlikely love story set amongst the casualties of war. Yet
even as medical advances in field hospitals across the Iraqi battle
zone are credited with saving more limbs and lives like Spinks and
Ross, many experts say the military isn't doing nearly as well by
soldiers who suffer mental injuries. This has particular significance
for African Americans, who have historically seen military service as
an avenue for career training or to get money to buy a home or attend
college. And it has taken on added importance for African-American
women, who have entered the service in advanced numbers since the 1990s
Desert Storm.
Women have been a part of U.S. military campaigns since the nation
came into being, largely playing a supporting role in our nation's
conflicts, serving as clerks, nurses and other non-combatant roles. But
a change in federal legislation meant that after January 1990, women
could do any job in the military except active combat. That's why more
than 33,000 servicewomen were deployed in Operations Desert Shield and
Desert Storm that year. During that conflict, 13 servicewomen were
killed and two taken prisoner.
Today, more than 180,000 women have served in Iraq, Afghanistan
and other countries, say Pentagon officials. More than 8,000
African-American women are deployed in the same areas. Though still
prohibited from participating in active combat duties, the guerrilla
tactics of the Iraqi insurgency, including the routine use of roadside
bombs, suicide bombers and anti-personnel rockets, turned the entire
country in
to a war zone. No one and nowhere was safe.
Getting Through It
Living under endless stress and, for many, seeing firsthand what
violent combat can inflict on soldiers and civilians alike is often
more than some GIs can handle. Many are haunted by those images to the
point where they can't eat, sleep or interact with families or friends
when they return home. Once called "shell shocked," these vets are now
diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The Veteran's
Administation estimates more than 3,800 women--among 27,000 returning
veterans--were treated for PTSD in 2006, a slightly higher rate among
women than men.
A 2007 American Journal of Psychiatry study of 2,863 soldiers
returning from Iraq found 16.6 percent met the criteria for PTSD. That
number jumped to 32 percent of those injured or wounded in the
conflict. Mental health officials say many career servicemen and women
won't seek help for PTSD, fearful a notation on their service records
that they received mental health counseling will cost them promotions.
Those who seek counseling find an overburdened system. According to a
2007 story by Washington Post writers Dana Priest and Anne Hull, 100
psychologists left military service during one 12-month period. The
Defense Department's Mental Health Task Force warned the remaining
system offered "inadequately trained" workers and was not "sufficiently
accessible" to servicemen.
Shoshana Johnson is still living with PTSD five years after she
became the first African-American woman to be held as a prisoner of war
in Iraq. "I pictured myself with a husband, a couple more children,
doing 20 years in the military," Johnson, 35, says from her El Paso,
Texas, home. Instead, she says, "sometimes I feel I am barely getting
by."
Johnson was shot through both ankles and taken prisoner March 23,
2003, when her supply convoy got lost in Nasiriya. A videotape of her
interrogation by Iraqi captors was broadcast around the world. Marines
rescued Johnson and five other POWs 22 days later. They returned to the
U.S. to great fanfare; on New Year's Eve, 2003, she pulled the switch
to drop the ball in Times Square.
But Johnson didn't know she had PTSD until three months after
she returned and her 10-year-old daughter, Jenelle, told Johnson's
parents that "Mommy was sad and crying all the time." She still has
"massive mood swings" and finds herself reacting to mental "triggers"
about the war. "They're everywhere," she says. ""It's hard to avoid
them when the conflict is ongoing. They're even putting them in music
videos! I wonder if they know what that does to people to see those
things."
The Enemy Within
Some women found they and their attackers were on the same side. Increasing numbers of women
veterans have sought treatment for "military sexual trauma," a
pseudonym for rape by a fellow American soldier or officer. "I see a
lot of women who have been raped in the service," says Barry Campbell,
a New York City benefits counselor with the Veteran's Administration
Hospital. "They get attacked by superior officers or guys in the ranks."
Kymber Lea Durant, 38, says that's what happened to her while she
was one of 10 women among 300 men stationed in Egypt with the 101st
Airborne in support of the first Desert Storm. "I went to the guy's
tent to borrow a tape, because he had a big collection of CDs and
movies," she says. "He attacked me." Afterward, nobody believed her. "I
told my sergeant, and he took it to the first sergeant."
Durant says she was labeled a troublemaker, a reputation that
followed her when she was deployed at King Faud Airport in Iraq in
1991. "When I got to Iraq, there was a lot of what I called 'mental ass
whipping,'" she says. "They called me Dead Beat Durant. Nothing I did
was good enough."
A supply clerk, Durant suffered back injuries on the job and was
left infertile when an Army surgeon removed one of her fallopian tubes
during an ectopic pregnancy. "I went into the Army to get money for college," says Durant, who now lives in Brooklyn, New York. "If I
could go back, I would never have joined."
Is This Recovery?
Experts and other studies warned doctors were often too quick to
prescribe drugs to treat PTSD--drugs that mask, but don't solve, mental
health issues. Spinks recalls a doctor at one of her counseling
sessions asking if she was having bad dreams or trouble sleeping. "When
I said yes, he said he could give me this drug for that, and this drug
for that," she says. "He asked ten questions and was ready to give me
four different drugs to take."
Johnson is off the anti-depression and anti-nightmare medication,
though she still sometimes uses sleeping pills. Single, she's also had
trouble developing relationships. "Civilian men, once I tell them who I
am and what I went through, you don't hear from them again," she says.
"Military men are coming back from Iraq and have their own issues."
Durant's mental trauma was such that she was homeless for a time.
She now lives in her late mother's house, surviving on 50 percent
disability pay of $728 a month, and takes care of her 10-year-old
adopted sister. She takes four different drugs daily to deal with
migraines, depression, panic attacks and gynecological issues. "I can't
hold a job," she says, "because some days I can't get out of bed."
Spinks rejected VA counseling in favor of sessions with her pastor
and her husband. She speaks with her pastor "about anything, even my
scars," while she and her husband "witness and minister to each other."
Faith was the rock that got Keona McNair through her year-long
service at Kirkut Regional Air Base in Northern Iraq. "I was more
sensitive to God's voice while I was in Iraq than I had ever been
before or since," says McNair, 31, now a Realtor in Largo, Maryland. In
Iraq she organized church services and sang in gospel choirs to
maintain her faith. "I used to have conversations with God," she says.
"He would tell me which way to go and not to go."
Johnson, too, relied on a higher power: "I leaned on my faith
during captivity, and I still lean on it. I'm not perfect. I make
mistakes. But I try to do the right thing every day."
Clem Richardson is a New York Daily News columnist. He wrote part one of our addiction series.
By KIMBERLY SEALS ALLERS The Mocha Manual I don't know what did it for you but I was perfectly content doing my
happy dance in my living room on Election night until I saw the image
of the Obama family walking out onto the stage of Grant Park. That's
when I lost it and the waterworks came swiftly into town. That regal
image--which none of us will soon forget--said something and did
something so profound that words can't do it justice.
Lately, we've been having a honest and robust conversation in our Mocha Manual Movement emails about the negative stereotypes and misconceptions about Black moms. We've lamented our seeming invisibleness
and not being understood as intentional, nurturing mothers who simply
want the best for their children. We've debated how we can change our
perception and be seen for who we truly are as Black mothers.
Ladies, in the image of our First Family I saw that hope. In Michelle
Obama I saw that hope. When she declares that her most important job
will be Mommy-in-Chief, gives her man a pound, a hug, and that real
'I-got-your-back'-kiss (not that mechanical crap John McCain liked to
pull!), we know that the world won't look at the Black family in the
same way ever again.
The world has been forced to see who we really are, and see our
children in a new light. When President-elect Obama said Michelle was
the "rock of the family" and "his best friend," I got goose bumps. He
declared to the world what we've known about our role in our families
and communities for generations. He told the world that our
relationships are more than baby mama drama.
Years ago, Claire Huxtable was our role model. We
glued our eyes to the TV on Thursday nights dreaming about our
high-powered career, our brownstone or other dream house, our man that
rubbed our feet even though he too had a long day at work. She was the
original strong black woman with a professional career, beautiful kids
and a successful man who adored her. We looked to fictional characters
on the television to remind us that we could have what white women had
been enjoying for years. Now, we can look to the White House. Now we
can look to our First Family.
This has given me new faith. And just when perhaps our own hope in
Black men, the future of Black families, and our ability to "have it
all" as women seemed in question, our own faith in ourselves and our
dreams is reaffirmed. Our faith in the power and steadfastness of love
is reaffirmed. My faith in myself as a Black mother, especially one
raising a Black male against incredible odds, is reaffirmed. And it is
to that, I said, Yes We Can! And it is to that, I say to all Black
mothers, I know we will!
In motherhood,
Kimberly
Tracy Wilson Mourning, the wife former NBA star Alonzo Mourning, is no superficial player's wife, even if she does wear impressive footwear and tools around town in a drop-top Bentley. Her Honey Shine charity, started in 2002, is serious about its stated mission, which is working with disadvantaged girls in the Miami area.
To that end, Mourning has bi-weekly workshops throughout the year and Camp Honey Shine during the summer. "Our young girls are going through tough stuff," Mourning says. "Images are being portrayed to our young girls that education isn't a priority. We want to change that." Honey Shine has a simple application process that allows any interested girl from 8 to 18 to participate. "It's about girls lifting each other up and really empowering each other," Mourning says. Visit www.honeyshine.org for more info on applications and volunteer opportunities.
Tracy's Guide to Miami:
Mayda Cisneros Couture Collection -- 305-264-2601
Studio LX -- 305 666 0748 (clothing)
Hand and Foot Company "best pedicure and manicure in Miami" thehandandfootcompany.com
Mandarin Oriental Spa (part of Miami's Spa Month promotion) www.mandarinoriental.com
Prana Yoga www.pranayogamiami.com
Table 8 - www.table8la.com
Nikki Beach www.nikkibeach.com (restaurant/club)
Literary Café and Poetry Lounge -- 786-234-7638
Miami Children's Museum - www.miamichildrensmuseum.org
Tours:
Food Tours and Tours of Black Miami (Little Haiti, Overtown, Liberty City, historic Cocoanut Grove) Robbie gives a fantastic tour of Black Miami and does food tours as well:
Dragonfly Expeditions/Robbie Bell
Robbie@GoToRobbieBell.Info.
Eats:
Garcia's - best oysters in town
305-375-0765
Santo's Restaurant (Lincoln Road)
www.santomiamibeach.com
Wednesday nights : Miami Live hip-hop and R&B, great tapas-style menu
La Marea - Tides Hotel http://www.tidessouthbeach.com/dining/lamarea.html Mediterranean cuisine, modern design restaurant with cool ambiance, great people-watching out front or when it gets too breezy on Ocean Drive you can eat inside and great food and service
Hotels:
Anglers
www.theanglersresort.com
A cool, modern hotel close to the beach but not on it near the South Beach strip. The lobby restaurant and deejay make for a fun, party atmosphere, but if you want to go to20bed early, ask for one of the rear rooms away from the front. If you do want to party, this hotel will make you feel as thought you've stumbled onto a hot friendly group of friend who've invited you along for the ride.
The Setai
www.setai.com
One of the most exclusive hotels in Miami with the city's highest room rate, the Setai is strictly for those who want to and can afford to hang with Jay-Z and Beyonce, who've been spotted by its pool. But given the price of the rooms (and for some a bathtub in the middle of the room is a bit much) taking in the spa, which is part of the Spa Month promotion, or the hotel's luxurious bar and restaurants is worth forgoing pool access. (P.S., You still might get catch a celeb, as the spa overlooks the pool area.)
--Tonya Pendleton
I
took to the streets to find out which scents made the guys swoon and which just
made then yawn. The clear winner? Sean
John Unforgivable Woman. The guys all
seemed intrigued by the elegant floral scent. Philip Oliver, an administrator for a Washington, D.C.-based
non-profit o
rganization, sums it up, " Wow! Now that's a classy scent! It's a nice floral but it isn't
overpowering."
Burberry
The Beat, a sparkling floral, garnered
attention for being an energetic scent. "It's a first date perfume," Oliver
laughs.
While
Yves Saint Laurent Elle and Bond
No. 9 Andy Warhol Lexington Ave. were
continually
singled out as sophisticated smells, Calvin Klein Secret
Obsession was racking up comments great,
good and not so good as a seduction scent. The woody oriental was a bit much on a 90-degree day, but
most of the men conceded it had potential.
Anthony
T. Kirby, a salesman for a tony menswear boutique in New York City comments,
"The perfume has inviting, c'mon, baby, get closer vibe that's kinda
nice!"
My
response was a simple, "Yeah, but did it make you want to get close enough to
buy me a bottle?"
All
of the perfumes mentioned are possible Christmas gifts, according to the men,
but as one unnamed brother put it, "The real deal is to smell like Junior's
cheesecake. Now that's delicious!"
--Jenyne
M. Raines
By Kenneth J. Cooper
Sarah Palin joked she was a pit bull with lipstick. She sure came off that way in speech accepting the vice presidential nomination at the Republican convention.
She began by talking about her family life. It was warm and affecting stuff, yes. She mentioned her infant son, Trig, who has Down syndrome, and vowed to be an advocate for children with special needs. Being a loving mother, daughter and wife, though, doesn't qualify anyone to be vice president.
Before Alaska's governor laid out her own experience in political office, she attacked Barack Obama on his credentials and consistency. Palin disparaged his job, right out of college, as a community organizer, contrasting it unfavorably to her role much later in her life as a mayor.
"I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a 'community organizer,' except that you have actual responsibilities," she said.
Some African Americans, particularly those who came of age during the civil rights movement, may take exception to her comment. In their younger years, they may have done that kind of organizing and felt responsible for improving people's lives without the power or resources of a government.
No national holiday honors a mayor, from a small town or a big city, but one does honor a community organizer. His name was Martin Luther King Jr. Anyone who studies the intensity of his facial expressions can see he felt burdened by responsibilities.
Usually, it is a mistake for politicians to introduce themselves to the public by attacking their opponents. It's particularly risky at a time like this election year, when negative politics has turned off many voters. Will Palin and running mate John McCain pay a noticeable price in the polls?
Besides Palin, women did not have as prominent roles in the Republican convention as they did at the Democratic convention. They made up about a third of Republican delegates, compared with more than half of Democratic delegates.
Women who addressed the Republican convention included Dr. Elena Rios, president of the National Hispanic Medical Association, and Renee Amoore, a black businesswoman from Pennsylvania.
Rios made an important contribution in talking about health disparities, normally not a big topic of conversation in Republican circles.
"Twice as many Hispanics have diabetes than non-Hispanic whites," she noted. "The incidence of HIV/AIDS among Hispanic women is five times that of whites. African Americans face higher rates of mortality for heart disease and cancer."
Rios listed a number of reasons that she said compound the disparities "poverty, language and cultural barriers, and limited access to health information" as well as delayed treatment in hospital emergency rooms, lower rates of childhood immunization and the cost of medical insurance.
Curiously, the leader of the national organization of Hispanic doctors left out one cause of health disparities, the "unequal treatment" that minorities receive from the health system. That racial-ethnic discrimination was documented five years ago in a report from the prestigious Institute of Medicine.
Amoore talked some about the health services provided by business, the Amoore Group near Philadelphia. But most of her speech was a rallying cry for McCain.
She ended this way: "I'm proud to be an African American woman. I'm proud to be a Republican, and I'm proud to be voting for John McCain."
Few seated in the convention hall could say the same. African-American delegates numbered 36, way down from 167 four years ago, according to the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies.
By Kenneth J. Cooper
If it wasn't, "We Are Family" should have been declared the official theme song of the Democratic convention. The tune was played often enough, and its unifying message fits Barack Obama's call for Americans to come together, despite differences of race, class, region or party.
That was the obvious political message Democrats were trying to send. A subtler one was resonating with some portion of half the nation's voters. "We Are Family" is a 1970s tune by Sister Sledge about sisters being together.
So apt for a national political convention where women were more prominent than ever before. The first night's biggest speech was Michelle Obama's, the second's was Hillary Rodham Clinton's. Only a single speech by a woman, Geraldine Ferraro's as the vice presidential nominee in 1984, compares in the amount of public attention either received.
From the podium in Denver, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi guided official business with light taps of her gavel. Memorial tributes to Congresswoman Stephanie Tubbs Jones, who died last week in Cleveland, flowed from Hillary Clinton and other speakers. For the first time, women made up a majority of the party's convention delegates.
Lesser-known women rose to score political points for the party. The curiously-named Quincy Lucas, a black teacher from Delaware, offered her senator, Joe Biden, as the nominee for vice president. She began, stiffly, by noting her sister had been killed by an ex-boyfriend five years ago. Why did she start with a personal tragedy? Biden, she pointed out, wrote the Violence Against Women Act to combat domestic violence.
A humble "grandmother from Alabama," Lily Ledbetter, conceded in her drawl that she was a surprising choice to speak at the convention. She told how, after years as a supervisor at a Goodyear plant, she learned she had long been paid less than men doing the same job. She sued, and won, until the Supreme Court ruled last year she should have sued within six months of the first pay disparity--even though she didn't know about it.
Ledbetter called for equal pay for equal work, a cause usually associated with feminists who are younger and from big cities like New York or San Francisco. To hear it from a retired white woman from Alabama busted up that stereotype.
Women carried much the party's message on the big issue of health care. Their stories about people struggling with health problems carried an emotional load that the same anecdotes, if told by men, would not. Who, after all, usually cares for a sick child or, for that matter, a parent?
Perhaps the most touching passage in Michelle Obama's speech was remembrance of her father, who was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in his 30s but coped for years without complaint.
"As he got sicker, it got harder for him to walk. It took him longer to get dressed in the morning," she recalled. "But if he was in pain, he never let on. He never stopped smiling and laughing, even while struggling to button his shirt, even while using two canes to get himself across the room to give my mom a kiss. He just woke up a little earlier and worked a little harder."
Hillary Clinton related a memorable meeting at a campaign stop. "I will always remember the single mom who had adopted two kids with autism, didn't have health insurance and discovered she had cancer," Clinton recalled. "But she greeted me with her bald head painted with my name on it and asked me to fight for health care."
Congresswoman Louise Slaughter from New York decried the millions without health insurance after reading aloud this letter from a Nevada woman: "My husband has Parkinson's and was forced to retire. He has been on disability for three years and Medicare doesn't meet his prescription needs. I have to pay my own insurance premium so our Medicare expenses are quite high. Our health care system doesn't work."
Women played a major role in showing the party has family values--and doesn't just talk about them, in the intolerant way conservative Republicans do.
Cameras showed Michelle Obama in tears as she listened to Beau Biden, Delaware's attorney general and the senator's son, talk about being a little boy when his biological mother and a sister were killed in a car accident--as the mother was taking her children to buy a Christmas tree.
After her speech, Michelle Obama walked daughters Malia and Sasha over to a video screen where Barack Obama appeared. The girls called him "Daddy." That night technology united a family separated by 600 miles.
White TV commentators rushed to put the family into a context viewers would grasp, comparing the Obamas to the only Kennedys ever to live in the White House, or the Huxtables on the Cosby Show. That a metaphor was needed at all suggests the commentators, and many white viewers, have trouble seeing the Obamas as individuals or recognizing them as an ordinary family with educated parents and happy children.
They're a family, an American family.
Kenneth J. Cooper is a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist.
By Iyanla Vanzant
Let's be honest. Most of us, particularly us women, can handle the
big things in life. We can get the children clothed and fed, the bills
paid and, on our good days, even wash a dish or two. We can get along
with some of the most difficult people and survive very draining
situations. We can even bounce back from those disappointing
relationships and bad breakups without pulling out all of our hair.
Even though we don't like it, we seem to have the big stuff covered.
What I have come to realize about myself and so many others is
that it's the little things in life we tend to overlook. To be
specific, I am addressing those little principles and values that
nourish our spirit, nurture our hearts and keep the crazies from our
doorsteps. Four in particular, I call HIPS: Honor, Integrity, Passion
and Stillness. Many of us have convinced ourselves that HIPS can be too
big to handle.
In this instance, honor means honoring yourself by speaking what's
on your heart, aka telling the truth about what you feel and know. It
means asking for what you need and letting others know what works and
what does not work for you. In the business of life, it is very easy to
forget that you are the only one who gets to say what goes on in your
life.
Integrity refers to keeping a vigilant watch on yourself to ensure
that what you think, feel, say and do are in alignment. It means
standing up within yourself, for yourself and not abandoning yourself
to make or keep other people happy.
Passion here does not refer to sensuality, sexuality or plain old
lust. It is about having that one thing in your life that you do just
for the joy of it. You don't have to be good at it. You may never get
paid for it. The only requirement is that it makes you feel good. It
puts a light in your eyes.
Then, there's stillness--the ability to sit down and do nothing,
without feeling guilty. It is a time to empty your heart, mind and
spirit. It means giving yourself permission to listen within, to refuel
and to love on you.
Too often, the temptation is to rush around making sure that the
big stuff gets handled and that everyone else is taken care of. In the
process, our HIPS can become disjointed. Perhaps it is time to consider
doing some HIPS-building exercises. - Promise yourself that you will not go to bed without a bubble bath at least three days a week. It honors your body.
- Don't spend more than you have, and refuse to wear shoes that
hurt your feet--no matter how good they look. You cannot be in integrity
when your feet hurt!
- Take a day just for you. Do something that makes you smile and
laugh, and then take a nap. When you wake up, if you listen deeply, I
promise, you will hear your heart sing.
- Finally, make a promise to life that this year you will pay close
attention to the people, situations and circumstances that do not sit
well on your HIPS.
Acclaimed author and motivational speaker Iyanla Vanzant is
founder and director of Inner Visions Institute of Spiritual
Development.
Anna Deavere Smith is taking her trailblazing blend of journalistic interviewing, engaged listening and artistic interpretation to explore the body as the vehicle for life and the human will as its fuelin her new one-woman show, "Let Me Down Easy." Smith's riveting characters are based on scores of interviews.
"The constant question I'm pursuing is: Is there anything in our human experience beyond the human body?" she says. "We chronicle life from when the body emerges to when the body is gone. But the spirit must be a part of who we are and what we are. Love is obviously a part of who we are. But our feeling and will are what keep us going. They're the fuel that keeps us in motion."
Smith conceived the project while interviewing patients at Yale University School of Medicine as a visiting professor. "When I talked to people about their bodies, they'd go on and on," she recalls. "Usually, we're so full of our thoughts and aspiration and our fears--we're always trying to move forward--that we don't think about our bodies. But if you have a toothache, and I don't cut you off, you'll talk at length about it. I thought it'd be very interesting to talk to people who are extremely aware of what's going on in their body because they are suffering or because they are using it to make a living."
Smith listened to patients at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, survivors of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and wounded U.S. soldiers at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. "I talked to a swimmer about what it meant to lose a race by two-one-hundredths of a second," she says. "I talked to boxers about what it means to be a champion. I talked to a mother leaving a hospital with her cancer-free child after two years. The body is a vehicle. What happens when the vehicle stops working?"
Smith is known for theatrical works on life in the United States, especially on controversial racial issues. In her award-winning "Fires in the Mirror," she used the words of black and Jewish residents to portray the racial tension of the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, New York, in 1991. Likewise, her 1992 play, "Twilight," catalogued sentiments in Los Angeles, after police were acquitted in the beating of motorist Rodney King.
In "Let Me Down Easy," however, Smith goes beyond the nation's borders to examine the human will. She included the stories of South African children impacted by AIDS. She also visited Rwanda, the site of brutal tribal genocide in 1994.
"I talked to both tribes--the Tutsis, who were the victims, and the Hutus, who were the perpetrators of the genocide," she says. "Hutu prisoners who've been in jail for the last 10 years for their role in the genocide are about to be released. There's a national campaign for forgiveness. I listened to Tutsis, some of whom had lost family members, some who had been tortured themselves, talk to me about how important it is to for give the Hutus because if they didn't, there was no way for the country to move forward." Smith says the Rwandan experience illustrates how forgiveness is part of the human will to survive.
"Forgiveness comes under the category of being human," she says. "It's a nonphysical way we negotiate our way through life. It's part of our resiliency. Can you image what we'd be like if we didn't forgive? We forgive because we know there's something else about life--grace. Forgiveness is about grace."
--Yvette Moore
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