Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Coptic Protest
From Inside the Protest: Chicago’s Voice
October 18th, 2011 was a dark and drizzling Tuesday night in Chicago. St. Mark’s Coptic Orthodox Church in Burr Ridge huddled together close to 150 Copts from the Chicago-land churches in the lamplight of its doorway. Church members, young and old, students and professionals, assembled quickly, greeting each other with handshakes and hugs, carrying pillows, hymnbooks, snacks, and bottles of water.
A relatively short notice announcement had informed the Chicago community that transportation to Washington D.C. would be provided for anyone interested in participating in the protest on Wednesday the 19th. The protest was a scheduled demonstration in front of the White House, organized primarily to condemn the recent and ongoing genocide of Egypt’s Christians. Hence, the call for Coptic support, recognition, and voice hailed from all over the nation; and the reason why the Chicago chapter was willing to make the long journey.
We packed our group into three coach buses and embarked on a 13-hour drive through the night from the Windy City to the Nation’s Capital. Though we were sleepless and wired on caffeine, the subtle buzz of adrenaline and hope kept everyone in good spirits and with much to contemplate and pray about.
We arrived in front of the White House before noon, bringing out our signs and carrying wooden crosses. We joined the congregation of almost 1,000 other Copts, already chanting loudly on Pennsylvania Avenue, in an effort move the U.S. government to some fruitful action. We quickly blended with the crowd, even bumping into some old friends and family members. Almost all protestors held some kind of prop. Some held crosses, others held the Egyptian or American flag, but most held signs. There were hundreds of signs, each evoking some sense of tragedy, injustice, outrage, or calls for action. Some were handwritten and detailing personal losses; others were printed and displayed the casualty statistics of post-revolution attacks on Copts; others held verses from the Bible or quotes from social leaders and philanthropists. There were even some pictures, enlarged graphic photos taken from October 9th, Egypt’s ‘Bloody Sunday’, depicting dead bodies covered in blood and open wounds, revealing the horrors of Christians’ present reality in Egypt. Signs were hoisted high, and protesters raised their voices in unison, hoping to elicit some response from a government representative.
The demonstration persisted for several hours; first in front of the White House and eventually moving to a street march, walking slowly toward the Capitol Building. Several members of the gathering held loud speakers in different corners of the crowd, shouting short slogans until their voices went hoarse. Some protesters were emotional, with wet eyes, holding pictures of family members who were victims of the most recent tirade. Others were straight-faced and stern, shouting boldly with voices like steel, unshakeable and with conviction. Chants included, “We Need Justice!”, “Why, Why Must We Die?!” and “Who Can We Trust? The Army Is Against Us!” The scene from inside the crowd was stirring. Copts of all ages banded together. Strangers raised hands and held large signs together. The entire crowd shouted for justice, speaking for their brothers and sisters in Egypt whose voices had been stifled and strangled, whose voices had withered into only faint wisps of prayers for their people left bleeding or weeping in the streets of their homeland.
It was apparent that a threshold has been ruptured. No longer would we wait in silence, passive. We were demanding change, demanding that our leaders take direct and deliberate action, that no tolerance for bloodshed remain without reproach. These were serious demands for equality, demands that should not have to be made, demands that should already exists as basic rights for all citizens. The only pleas that were made were made to God. Several Coptic priests walked together in the procession, walking side by side amidst the nebulous crowd of others, continually crossing themselves and exuding a sense of peace from the interior of the congregation.
The rest of the day the sky was gray with clouds and rainy. Despite the somber weather, the crowd continued to grow larger and showed no signs of fatigue or loss of momentum. There was no exact number, but some estimate close to 5,000 were present at the protest, others claim many more than that. We arrived at Capital Building in the late afternoon, gathered into a large circle, where crowd leaders with speakerphones assembled at the front, urging all members to shout in unison. We continued chanting, our hair and clothes dampened with rain, our eyes bright with hope, and our hearts pounding in rhythm.
Such a demonstration had been encouraging. The sheer number of attendees on such a last minute assembly brought a sense of pride to our people, our history, and our cause. Though the situation in Egypt is far from resolution, with this heightened attention and a country full of peaceful, but strong-willed Copts eager for change, one ray of light is enough to herald the coming of a bright future.
In the 15-hour dénouement of our heavy-rain drive back to Chicago, much reflection and prayer had given us hope and a stronger sense of solidarity. Of course government officials can enforce laws and policies, but true peace comes from God. We pray some fruitful results may come of our action.
October 18th, 2011 was a dark and drizzling Tuesday night in Chicago. St. Mark’s Coptic Orthodox Church in Burr Ridge huddled together close to 150 Copts from the Chicago-land churches in the lamplight of its doorway. Church members, young and old, students and professionals, assembled quickly, greeting each other with handshakes and hugs, carrying pillows, hymnbooks, snacks, and bottles of water.
A relatively short notice announcement had informed the Chicago community that transportation to Washington D.C. would be provided for anyone interested in participating in the protest on Wednesday the 19th. The protest was a scheduled demonstration in front of the White House, organized primarily to condemn the recent and ongoing genocide of Egypt’s Christians. Hence, the call for Coptic support, recognition, and voice hailed from all over the nation; and the reason why the Chicago chapter was willing to make the long journey.
We packed our group into three coach buses and embarked on a 13-hour drive through the night from the Windy City to the Nation’s Capital. Though we were sleepless and wired on caffeine, the subtle buzz of adrenaline and hope kept everyone in good spirits and with much to contemplate and pray about.
We arrived in front of the White House before noon, bringing out our signs and carrying wooden crosses. We joined the congregation of almost 1,000 other Copts, already chanting loudly on Pennsylvania Avenue, in an effort move the U.S. government to some fruitful action. We quickly blended with the crowd, even bumping into some old friends and family members. Almost all protestors held some kind of prop. Some held crosses, others held the Egyptian or American flag, but most held signs. There were hundreds of signs, each evoking some sense of tragedy, injustice, outrage, or calls for action. Some were handwritten and detailing personal losses; others were printed and displayed the casualty statistics of post-revolution attacks on Copts; others held verses from the Bible or quotes from social leaders and philanthropists. There were even some pictures, enlarged graphic photos taken from October 9th, Egypt’s ‘Bloody Sunday’, depicting dead bodies covered in blood and open wounds, revealing the horrors of Christians’ present reality in Egypt. Signs were hoisted high, and protesters raised their voices in unison, hoping to elicit some response from a government representative.
The demonstration persisted for several hours; first in front of the White House and eventually moving to a street march, walking slowly toward the Capitol Building. Several members of the gathering held loud speakers in different corners of the crowd, shouting short slogans until their voices went hoarse. Some protesters were emotional, with wet eyes, holding pictures of family members who were victims of the most recent tirade. Others were straight-faced and stern, shouting boldly with voices like steel, unshakeable and with conviction. Chants included, “We Need Justice!”, “Why, Why Must We Die?!” and “Who Can We Trust? The Army Is Against Us!” The scene from inside the crowd was stirring. Copts of all ages banded together. Strangers raised hands and held large signs together. The entire crowd shouted for justice, speaking for their brothers and sisters in Egypt whose voices had been stifled and strangled, whose voices had withered into only faint wisps of prayers for their people left bleeding or weeping in the streets of their homeland.
It was apparent that a threshold has been ruptured. No longer would we wait in silence, passive. We were demanding change, demanding that our leaders take direct and deliberate action, that no tolerance for bloodshed remain without reproach. These were serious demands for equality, demands that should not have to be made, demands that should already exists as basic rights for all citizens. The only pleas that were made were made to God. Several Coptic priests walked together in the procession, walking side by side amidst the nebulous crowd of others, continually crossing themselves and exuding a sense of peace from the interior of the congregation.
The rest of the day the sky was gray with clouds and rainy. Despite the somber weather, the crowd continued to grow larger and showed no signs of fatigue or loss of momentum. There was no exact number, but some estimate close to 5,000 were present at the protest, others claim many more than that. We arrived at Capital Building in the late afternoon, gathered into a large circle, where crowd leaders with speakerphones assembled at the front, urging all members to shout in unison. We continued chanting, our hair and clothes dampened with rain, our eyes bright with hope, and our hearts pounding in rhythm.
Such a demonstration had been encouraging. The sheer number of attendees on such a last minute assembly brought a sense of pride to our people, our history, and our cause. Though the situation in Egypt is far from resolution, with this heightened attention and a country full of peaceful, but strong-willed Copts eager for change, one ray of light is enough to herald the coming of a bright future.
In the 15-hour dénouement of our heavy-rain drive back to Chicago, much reflection and prayer had given us hope and a stronger sense of solidarity. Of course government officials can enforce laws and policies, but true peace comes from God. We pray some fruitful results may come of our action.
Friday, October 7, 2011
HomeYears, 10.7.2011, afternoon
Yesterday morning I bolted out of Indianapolis with a cheap fever for a pretty southern drawl while the sun was still low and yolk-yellow before the sizzle. My buddy, Arabian Panda, was cramming textbooks down his throat for his medical school exams. Last time I'd seen him that anally retentive he was selling his sperm in milk jugs at Cambodian lunch buffets. Needless to say, a night was enough to get me jonesin' for a break out of there.
Hopped in the rental black Jag and sped south, cruising the highway like a canoe down the Mississippi. Nothing smoother than the smell of Louisville luring you south. I was burgundy with desire. Stopped in Shepardsville, Kentucky for a quick perusal of town living. It was all lazy summer and fried food. Hospitality was a chubby middle-aged woman with the personality of a sun god, smiles and giggles in every word she spoke. Left me mesmerized in the sunshine of that tiny little town.
I got to Nashville after noon. Rolled through the red hills and the whiskey green grass of the town with a cheshire grin, sticking my head out the window. Music pouring out every door. Cute blonde girls in tight jeans, tee shirts and boots. Cool dudes with beards and tipped pork-pie hats. Passing by the houses with their front porch open doors and walls full of pictures or rooms full of instruments. This city is made out of musicians. The walls of buildings are built with piano keys and upright basses. Every house has a set of strings and nimble hands ready to dance notes like electric muscle.
The fellas brought me in, we got drunk like a summer party, laughing at the bar, swinging to the tunes of mellow guitars and skittering drum skins. Food and whiskey, brothers already and getting ready for the wedding in the smokey mountains. Hope the bears don't claw me to pieces before I fall sweetly to the sound of the heartbeat pulsing melodic through this city.
Hopped in the rental black Jag and sped south, cruising the highway like a canoe down the Mississippi. Nothing smoother than the smell of Louisville luring you south. I was burgundy with desire. Stopped in Shepardsville, Kentucky for a quick perusal of town living. It was all lazy summer and fried food. Hospitality was a chubby middle-aged woman with the personality of a sun god, smiles and giggles in every word she spoke. Left me mesmerized in the sunshine of that tiny little town.
I got to Nashville after noon. Rolled through the red hills and the whiskey green grass of the town with a cheshire grin, sticking my head out the window. Music pouring out every door. Cute blonde girls in tight jeans, tee shirts and boots. Cool dudes with beards and tipped pork-pie hats. Passing by the houses with their front porch open doors and walls full of pictures or rooms full of instruments. This city is made out of musicians. The walls of buildings are built with piano keys and upright basses. Every house has a set of strings and nimble hands ready to dance notes like electric muscle.
The fellas brought me in, we got drunk like a summer party, laughing at the bar, swinging to the tunes of mellow guitars and skittering drum skins. Food and whiskey, brothers already and getting ready for the wedding in the smokey mountains. Hope the bears don't claw me to pieces before I fall sweetly to the sound of the heartbeat pulsing melodic through this city.
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