I Support Boko Haram.

On April 15, Boko Haram (a Nigerian terrorist organization that roughly translates to "Western education is sinful") kidnapped nearly 300 girls aged 15-18 from their schools in Borno, a province in northeastern Nigeria.  At last report, a few had escaped but 276 were still being held.

It took the Nigerian President 3 weeks to say anything publicly about the abduction.  Boko Haram has been wreaking havoc in Nigeria since 2002, and this is certainly not the first time they have killed or kidnapped.

So...why exactly do I think I have any responsibility in this?  

A week and a half ago, I was in a class on "Legal and Policy Solutions for Women and Adolescent Girls."  The class is phenomenal, and on this particular night we heard from a doctor who is helping to lobby Congress for a bill entitled "Education for All Act of 2013."  It would make quality universal basic education in all developing countries an objective of U.S. foreign policy.

Why does this matter?  Nicholas Kristof explains it really well in his fantastic article about the Boko Haram kidnappings (and offers several easy and practical ways to get involved):

"Why are fanatics so terrified of girls' education?  Because there's no force more powerful to transform a society.  The greatest threat to extremism isn't drones firing missiles, but girls reading books."  

Kristof goes on to list the benefits of educating and empowering girls and women.  It reduces the risk of civil war.  It boosts a nation's economy.  It raises living standards.  It promotes ongoing, long term development.  It creates stable, healthy nations (he includes some impressive examples).  This leads to greater global security.  AND it's a far cheaper solution than military tactics to counter terrorism.  BONUS!!  

So, I thought this Education Act sounded like a great idea.  I even looked up the bill.  But I didn't do anything more than that.

I support Boko Haram with my complacency.

I accept my privilege and comfort every day, and am often given small opportunities (like contacting my Congressman) to help people both here and around the world, whose privilege and comfort is far less than mine.  It is my responsibility to think, to speak, and to act to create a more just world.  Mine.  I am a free moral agent.  

I am often overwhelmed, over-stimluated, and apathetic when confronted with the world's big problems.  But I cannot stop there.  I have to ask myself what I can do.  Now.  Today.  What is small enough to fit into this 5 (or 60) minutes that I have?  And I need to make sure it is practical, has an impact, is something I can tell other people about, or is something that might move others to act as well.  I have so very much, simply by virtue of living in America and having internet access.  I can afford to structure my heart and my time with intention to take those opportunities, big and small, to shift the balance towards those in need.

But wait, there's more.  

It's not just me, although that's the place for me to start.  It's us.  As a country.  

We support Boko Haram as a nation with our complacency.  

I'm not the only one who hasn't followed through on my opportunities to help.  Kristof's article also cites to Obama's 2008 campaign promise to provide $2 billion to establish a Global Education Fund to "offer an alternative to extremist schools."  He hasn't followed through on that promise.  

Boko Haram started one of these "extremist schools."  It's being used to recruit fighters from among the poorest of the poor in Nigeria and neighboring countries.  Most of their members are impoverished and unemployed men from the north, the poorest part of the country.  

This problem won't be stopped until the ruling elite are called to account and pressured to prioritize education and greater equity in their country.  Nigeria has really big problems to solve, and they can use our support if it's done with humility, respect, and under Nigerian leadership.  

So what should we do, from our end?  We could demonstrate with our political voices that we care.  That it's important to us to pass bills like the Education for All Act, or the International Violence Against Women Act of 2013, which would make ending violence against women and girls a diplomatic and foreign assistance priority for the U.S.  Which brings me to my next point... 

We support Boko Haram with our foreign policy.

We've known about Boko Haram for awhile, and they were designated a foreign terrorist organization last year.  They are notoriously violent, killing over 1,500 people to date.  But U.S. efforts in Nigeria remain a sidelined national security afterthought, and we have not matched our efforts to our rhetoric when it comes to counterterrorism in the region.  This is fool-hardy.  Nigeria is the largest economy in Africa (it's big enough to qualify for the G-20), the eighth largest exporter of oil, and the fourth largest exporter of liquid natural gas.  But it has the highest levels of inequality in Africa as well.  The majority of Nigerians live in poverty, and there is 80% youth unemployment.  If we want a stable Africa--or even a stable global economy--we should take Nigeria into account in a much more serious way.  

Jon Stewart's bit on the kidnappings features a clip of Rush Limbaugh heartlessly discounting Michelle Obama's #BringBackOurGirls advocacy (and is--as usual--worth watching; Stewart offers a stirring tribute to those young women):

American foreign policy and the American public are nearly oblivious to Africa until a tragedy like this erupts, and Limbaugh's dismissiveness (along with Ann Coulter's) reflects the deeply grievous fact that he can nearly count on his audience to be so callous as to be amused by his comments.  

But the reaction to Michelle's picture on Twitter reflects another aspect of U.S. foreign policy that only serves to strengthen Boko Haram and groups like them:  

The U.S. policy of ordering drone strikes on suspected terrorists in Pakistan, Yemen, Afghanistan, and Somalia has also resulted in hundreds of civilian deaths, inflaming Islamist hatred of the U.S., which bolsters terrorist organizations.  Drones have also terrorized civilians, fueling general fear and hatred for America among impoverished majority Muslim populations--the most likely targets for recruitment by terrorist groups.  

Our national strategy for "promoting and protecting U.S. national security interests abroad" is Diplomacy, Development, and Defense.  I assure you they are not funded in that order.  This is due in part to the U.S. government's response to our collective fear of terrorists after 9/11 (and due in part to lobbying by the military industrial complex, but that'll have to wait for another post).  

What if we made it know to our government that what we really fear is a world where girls are left to fend for themselves against corrupt governments that hoard resources, leaving them without opportunities for education and employment and vulnerable to human trafficking, early marriage, and a host of other human rights violations?  

Last night I stopped as I was getting ready for bed to imagine what these girls are going through.

It took about 5 seconds to be overcome with the horror of what has happened to them.  I imagined them lying on the ground at night, surrounded by the muffled sobs of the other girls and the crude laughter of their captors.  Some of them have already been trafficked as "brides" to their captors for a price of about $12 American dollars, a fate that Boko Haram thinks is much more suitable for young women than a chance at becoming a teacher, a doctor, or a lawyer.

These girls knew the risk they were taking in going to school.  Boko Haram has a stronghold in their province, and schools in the province had closed the month before because of the risk of terrorist attacks.  But they stayed.  They were asleep in their dorms when the armed militants arrived.

Let's see...what did I worry about on the way to school today?  I wasn't quite sure I'd chosen the rights sandals to go with my maxi dress, and I was a little worried about tripping over my hem at some point because I'm about as graceful as a three-legged gazelle.  But I was not worried about being abducted.  There are no terrorist groups in Seattle capable of overwhelming the police force and dragging me out of my Securities Regulation class.

These girls thought their education was worth it.

The danger they face is no match in their courageous hearts for the opportunity and privilege of going to school.  No wonder Malala Yousafzai says Boko Haram is afraid of these girls.  That kind of determination will revolutionize the world.

I want to demonstrate more of that kind of determination.  Today I followed the link to the "Education for All Act of 2013."  It let me leave a message for my Congressman letting him know it's important to me that he supports this Act.  It took me 3 minutes.

I also signed the Amnesty International petition to support the International Violence Against Women Act.  

It's a start.  I know I can do more.  I know if I was being held by a terrorist organization, I'd want people around the world to think about what else they could do.  

Let's #BringBackOurGirls.

And let's go farther than that.  Let's take the opportunities we are presented with.  Let's raise our voices and let our government know that we want a different world.  One where the only thing a girl has to worry about on the way to school is whether or not she chose the right sandals.

Failing Slowly and Playing with Color

Six years ago last month, I started my journey into nonprofit management.

I was in the midst of a divorce, unemployed, and the mother of a toddler.  I was scrabbling to sort out the wreckage of my life, and to find a path forward.

I was watching the world change, as a woman and a black man were the front runners for the Democratic nomination for president.  But I was also railing against the ways in which the world was not changing.  I was reading a lot about human trafficking, child marriage, female genital mutilation, and other ways women and girls are denied their humanity for profit or tradition.

One night, I read this article, titled "Shunned from society, widows flock to city to die."  It describes Indian widows, who are forced to shave their heads when their husbands die and are ostracized from society because they are considered to be bad luck.  I was seized by this quote, from a woman who had been sent away from her family when her husband of 50 years passed away:

"My son tells me:  'You have grown old.  Now who is going to feed you?  Go away,'" she says, her eyes filling with tears.  "What do I do?  My pain had no limit."  

I could feel her grief.  I felt shock at the depths of her deprivation--of identity, of respect, of relationships, of the dignity of an old age lived in comfort, surrounded by the family you have worked so hard to raise.

But that isn't how it works when there isn't enough food to go around.

I don't want to live in a world where I have so much, and women like her have so very, very little, and then shake my head sadly and turn a blind eye to that kind of searing injustice.

So I started shaving my head every year.  I did it because I needed to do something.  I did it because I wanted what I did to match in some way the starkness of the lives of the women and girls I wanted to advocate for.  My hair was a part of my identity as a woman that I could give up, in order to speak up for women like her.

And now?

Well, now I've decided I'm going to stop.

I have essentially failed slowly.

Bald Solidarity failed to grow under my leadership to a size where I could make it my full time work.   I have failed to get funding.  I have failed to keep volunteers around long term, which was likely due in part to my failure to manage them well.  I have failed to find people to do the work with me that it would require to make Bald Solidarity what I imagined it could be.  

And I couldn't be more grateful for or more proud of my experience.

I've shaved my head, in public, five times.  I've had the incredible privilege of meeting others who were moved enough to join me and do it too.  My volunteers and board members have been amazing, helping me organize talks in high schools and youth groups, benefit concerts, and our annual head shave.  We've raised thousands of dollars to create educational and economic opportunity for women and girls with fantastic organizations like Equality Now, UNICEF's Maternal Mortality program, Coalition Against Trafficking, Washington Anti-Trafficking Response Network (WARN), and the Girl Effect.  We've freaked out crowds of passersby at Westlake Center Park.  We've spurred thought about gender and poverty--in ourselves as well as in others.  

It would be a mistake in writing this blog to pretend that this decision has not been very difficult.

When I started Bald Solidarity, I committed to myself and to my board to keep it going for 5 years.  I also committed to a continual process of asking the question, "Is this the best way to accomplish our goal?  Is there a better way to use money and time to advocate for women and girls?"

None of my reasons for doing it have disappeared.  All of those problems I linked to in the first paragraph still exist.  So, why give up now?  I'm going into a field where I don't necessarily need hair.  I have supportive friends and family who think my crazy head-shaving is pretty great.  I have a boyfriend who was sad when I told him I had decided to wrap it up.

Simply, I have concluded that the answer to the question I asked above "is this the best way...?" is no longer "yes."  I long to work with a team of people, to learn from others, to combine resources rather than being out on my own.  I'll be looking for exactly this kind of environment in a few months, when I am done with school.  

I am also burned out.  For the last four years I have been in grad school, raising a small child, and running a nonprofit.  I mention this because I think it's important to acknowledge weakness and personal need, especially in the context of advocacy and human rights work.  What we are doing feels so urgent, so necessary.  And it is.  But having the greatest impact over the long term requires reassessing what we are capable of doing well, and being willing to go through seasons where we rest, or just do less.

Just do less.  And do those fewer things better.  

Something else happened last month--something far more important than the anniversary of me starting a nonprofit.  

Widows in India--those same widows who are being abandoned by their families and forced into a living non-existence--participated in Holi, the Hindu springtime festival to celebrate color and love.  When they are widowed, they are expected to stop wearing colorful clothes and indulging in earthly pleasures...so no Holi.  But this March, they'd had enough.  

The pictures are incredible.  These women who have worn bland white, who have been hidden from society, danced and laughed while people above doused them with colored water.  They celebrated.  They threw off the shame that widowhood and poverty has cloaked them with.  They celebrated with each other, in a supportive and joyful community, championing equality and breaking society's bonds.  

I wept when I read these stories.  Bald Solidarity may be done, but the movement of empowering women and girls goes on.  There is hope.  There is progress.  There are women who were marginalized, rising up and playing with color.  And I have been honored over these years to participate with them, on the other side of the world.  To throw color around with others who have had enough of injustice.  

This is my challenge, at this phase of my life, to myself and to anyone reading this:

Fail slowly.  Try something big and scary.  And find ways to play with color.