Hostages in Iraq

Civilian hostages were taken in Iraq. They're from a U.S. national peacemaking organization (with a couple Canadians) that takes periodic trips to check out sites of human rights violations, meet with officials, advocate and spread awareness. My friend Joe from the Whitman House (Cleveland Catholic Worker house) just went to Iraq with the same organization in September. He could've been one of the hostages. It hits me as if it were my friend Joe. They are scheduled to be executed on Saturday.

I thought what he did was amazing, but in my naivete, I never really thought it was dangerous. Sure, soldiers get killed there, but they're also trained to kill people. "Live by the sword and you will die by the sword." Soldiers know full well they have the possibility of being killed, and I guess Joe did, too. And I plan on making my home in an area where people tell me I'm under the same danger. Hough is still known for its race riots 40 years ago (mentioned in wikipedia) and cops will pull you over for "driving while white" in the neighborhood because they assume you're trying to buy drugs. According to the 2000 census, it's 96% African American, 21% of the housing structures are vacant, and 6,523 people live in poverty. Go ahead and look up your own township/neighborhood on the Census and compare.

I don't consider Hough dangerous. I go to church there. Evan lives there now, but on the edge, in view of the Cleveland Clinic and University Circle. Once, a car carsh and six shots woke us up in the middle of the night. Once. The downstairs neighbors in his apartment building were really friendly, until they moved. His parking lot hasn't been plowed, but then again there's only three cars in it. There's broken bottles in the empty lots and kids play with sticks outside. 99% of the time it's a really rewarding and positive experience, including the times I feel like I'm in a foreign country and have no idea what people are talking about or how to express myself. Probably our kids will get the brunt of it, going to public school there, children of a doctor. But really, I think that God has a treasure buried for us there, inside the people. My ideals of overcoming economic and racial segregation are stronger than my sense of fear, I guess. Maybe I'm just crazy. Or maybe, I don't even know what I'm getting myself into.

Where I live now, in Tremont, is not a dangerous area. It's full of kids and although there's some prostitutes and I don't like the "Gentleman's Club" around the corner, I leave my bike unlocked on the back porch. There's an Aldi's down the street and a Family Dollar around the corner and even a fair trade coffee shop with smoothies, wraps and salsa lessons. It's not as pressed white shirt as a suburb, but more people move in than move out these days. Despite this, it's in the city: some friends feel unsafe there, people I know who have "committed to the poor" have moved out of town, and I've had difficulty getting housemates to share the rent. I wonder who will visit me in Hough? I'll have to befriend my neighbors, I guess. And I guess I'll just have to be prepared to die any old day. Maybe that's the point.

On a lighter note, a challenge from a high school friend. Leave a note with your name and:
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written.