The Conversation

Posted on April 10, 2012

The Conversation about women’s bodies exists largely outside of us, while it is also directed at (and marketed to) us, and used to define and control us. The Conversation about women happens everywhere, publicly and privately. We are described and detailed, our faces and bodies analyzed and picked apart, our worth ascertained and ascribed based on the reduction of personhood to simple physical objectification. Our voices, our personhood, our potential, and our accomplishments are regularly minimized and muted.

As an actor and woman who, at times, avails herself of the media, I am painfully aware of both the conversation about women’s bodies, and it frequently migrates to my own body. I know this, even though my personal practice is to ignore what is written about me. I do not, for example, read interviews I do with news outlets. I hold that it is none of my business what people think of me. I arrived at this belief after first, when I began working as an actor eighteen years ago, reading everything. I evolved into selecting only the “good” pieces to read. Over time, I matured into the understanding that good and bad are equally fanciful interpretations. I do not want to give my power, my self-esteem, or my autonomy, to any person, place, or thing outside myself. I thus abstain from all media about myself. The only thing that matters is how I feel about myself, my personal integrity, and my relationship with my Creator. Of course, it’s wonderful to be held in esteem and fond regard by family, friends, and community, but a central part of my spiritual practice is letting go of otheration. And casting one’s lot with the public is dangerous and self-destructive, and I value myself too much to do that.

However, the recent speculation and accusations about the unusual fullness of my face in March, 2012, feels different., and my colleagues and friends encouraged me to know what was being said. Consequently, I choose to address it because the conversation was pointedly nasty, gendered and misogynistic and embodies what all girls and women in our culture, to a greater or lesser degree, endure every day, in ways both outrageous and subtle. The assault on our body image, the hyper-sexualization of girls and women and subsequent degradation of our sexuality as we walk through the decades, and the general incessant objectification is what this conversation allegedly about my face is really about.

A brief analysis demonstrates that the following “conclusions” were all made on the exact same day, March 20, 2012, about the exact same woman (me), looking the exact same way, based on the exact same television appearance. The following examples are real, and come from a variety of (so-called!) legitimate news outlets (such as HuffPo, MSNBC, etc), tabloid press, and social media:

One: When I am sick for a over a month and on medication (multiple rounds of steroids), the accusation is that because my face looks puffy, I have “clearly had work done,” with otherwise credible reporters with great bravo “identifying” precisely the procedures I allegedly have had done.

Two: When my skin is nearly flawless, and at age 43, I do not yet have visible wrinkles that can be seen on television, I have had “work done,” with media outlets bolstered by consulting with plastic surgeons I have never met who “conclude” what procedures I have “clearly” had. (Notice that this is a “back-handed compliment,” too – I look so good! It simply cannot possibly be real!)

Three: When my 2012 face looks different than it did when I filmed “Double Jeopardy” in 1998, I am accused of having “messed up” my face (polite language here, the “F” word is being used more often), with a passionate lament that “Ashley has lost her familiar beauty audiences loved her for.”

Four: When I have gained weight, going from my usual size two/four to a six/eight after a lazy six months of not exercising, and that weight gain shows in my face and arms, I am a “cow” and a “pig” and I “better watch out” because my husband “is looking for his second wife.” (Did you catch how this one engenders competition and fear between women? And suggests that my husband values me based only my physical appearance? Classic sexism. We won’t even address how extraordinary it is that a size eight would be heckled as “fat.”)

Five: In perhaps the coup de grace, when I am acting in a dramatic scene in “Missing, the plot stating I am emotionally distressed, have been awake and on the run for days, viewers remarks ranged from “What the f*&^ did she do to her face?” to cautionary gloating, “Ladies, look at the work!” Footage from “Missing” obviously dates prior to March 2012, and the remarks about how I look while playing a character powerfully illustrate the contagious and vicious nature of the conversation. The accusations and lies, introduced to the public, now apply to me as a woman across space and time; to me as any woman and to me as every woman.

That women are joining in the ongoing disassembling of my appearance is salient. Patriarchy is not men. Patriarchy is a system in which both women and men participate. It privileges, inter alia, the interests of boys and men over the bodily integrity, autonomy, and dignity of girls and women. It is subtle, insidious, and never more dangerous than when women passionately deny that they themselves are engaging in it. This abnormal obsession with women’s faces and bodies has become so normal that we (I include myself at times – I absolutely fall for it still) have internalized patriarchy almost seamlessly. We are unable at times to indentify ourselves as our own denigrating abusers, or as abusing other girls and women.

A case on point is that this conversation was initially promulgated largely by women; a sad and disturbing fact. (That they are professional friends of mine, and know my character and values, is an additional betrayal.)

News outlets with whom I do serious work, such as publishing Op-Eds about preventing HIV, empowering poor youth worldwide, and conflict mineral mining in Democratic Republic of Congo, all ran this “story” without checking with my office first for verification, or offering me the dignity of the opportunity to comment. It’s an indictment of them, that they would even consider the content printable, and that they, too, without using time honored journalistic standards, would perpetuate with un-edifying delight such blatantly gendered, ageists, and mean-spirited content.

I hope the sharing of my thoughts can generate a new conversation: Why was a puffy face cause for such a conversation in the first place? How, and why, did people participate? If not in the conversation about me, in parallel ones about women in your sphere? What is the gloating about? What is the condemnation about? What is the self-righteous alleged “all knowing” stance of the media about? How does this symbolize constraints on girls and women, and encroach on our right to be simply as we are, at any given moment? How can we as individuals in our private lives make adjustments that support us in shedding unconscious actions, internalized beliefs, and fears about our worthiness, that perpetuate such meanness? What can we do as families, as groups of friends? Is what girls and women can do different from what boys and men can do? What does this have to do with how women are treated in the workplace?

I ask especially how we can leverage strong female to female alliances to confront and change that there is no winning here as women. It doesn’t actually matter if we are aging naturally, or resorting to surgical assistance. We experience brutal criticism. The dialogue is constructed so that our bodies are a source of speculation, ridicule, and invalidation, as if they belong to others – and in my case, to the actual public. (I am also aware that inevitably some will comment that because I am a creative person, I have abdicated my right to a distinction between my public and private selves, an additional, albeit related, track of highly distorted thinking that will have to be addressed at another time).

If this conversation about me is going to be had, I will do my part to insist that is a feminist one, because it has been misogynist from the start. Who makes the fantastic leap from being sick, or gaining some weight over the winter, to a conclusion of plastic surgery? Our culture, that’s who. The insanity has to stop, because as focused on me as it appears to have been, it is about all girls and women. In fact, it’s about boys and men, too, who are equally objectified and ridiculed, according to hetereonormative definitions of masculinity that deny the full and dynamic range of their personhood. It affects each and every one of us, in multiple and nefarious ways: our self image, how we show up our relationships and at work, our sense of our worth, value, and potential as human beings. Join in – and help change – The Conversation.

N.B.: I would like to thank the many family members and mentors who read my essay, provided their passionate and unqualified support, and in some instances, made valuable suggestions to the text. They include my spiritual sister, Nikki Myers, who sat with me in my “office” under a red bud tree where this writing came to me; Naomi Judd and Larry Strickland; Michael Ciminella and Mollie Whitelaw; Reverend Mark Judd; Marina Franchitti, Carla Franchitti McFarlane. I thank Carol Lee Flinders, PhD, who taught me to mediate and who continually reinforces my organic understanding that pursuit of equality is fundamentally spiritual. I thank my life coach; Ted Klontz, PhD, whose unfailing presence in my life helps me become increasingly empowered and clear. I thank my colleagues Trena Keating, Michelle Bohan, Cara Trippichio, and Annett Wolf, whom I met in Hollywood yet who not only never flinch when I take a stand, stand resolutely with me. I thank Gloria Steinem for a simple yet powerful nudge toward full ownership of my reality; Dr Carol Jordan of the University of Kentucky for a lovely bit of inspired language. I am grateful for Angela McCracken, Esq., who in the age of unrestricted media frenzies supports legal rights where one still has them and helps my husband and me stand up to slander, defamation and lies. I give thanks to my extraordinary professor of “Gender Violence: Law and Social Justice” at Harvard Law, who not only teaches brilliantly but attracts to her classroom the most incredible people. My classmates, Rebecca Leventhal, Brittany Rogers, and Brittanie Hall, contributed, respectively, the reminder of the need for a clean, lucid opening paragraph, an additional infusion of steely, principled, feminist social justice values, and the insight that my body was being dissected as if it belonged to the public. Lastly, I thank BR for the soulful validation that what I had to say was beautiful and necessary. It was she who said, “you have to publish this as an Op Ed.”

Most especially, I thank my husband, Dario Franchitti, as it was his outrage that began this dialogue in our home. Over a period of days, his indignation helped me grasp the “damned if I do, damned if I don’t” double bind that inheres in The Conversation about both men and women in the public space, for which my puffy face was merely an example. Because of him, this piece became inevitable and essentially wrote itself. Dario’s thoughtful reading and astute feedback elevated its quality and breadth.

Reflections

Posted on March 15, 2012

The past four days have been a distilled, highly concentrated cross section of my life: intensive international media to celebrate the premiere of Missing, a unique 10 episode show set all across europe, about a complex, deeply sentient, and physically empowered woman who will stop at nothing to protect her vulnerable son. I spent several hours at the United Nations talking about All That Is Bitter and Sweet to a crowd of diplomats and their advisors, NGO folks, the public, and students; I shared some of my first hand experiences sitting with sexually exploited men and women and other topics from my feminist social justice work, inkling my time at Harvard. I sat with President Clinton on on the opening plenary of the Clinton Global Initiative winter meeting, talking about how Population Services International is expanding an exciting new development in global public health, health franchising, and the usefulness of applying private sector strategies to increase the capacity of community health workers to integrate health services and products in rural and isolated areas in some of the poorest parts of the world, as well as how cross-sector partnerships are transforming community based health interventions for girls and women. Narrative enriched all these conversations; it is always about relationships, interdependence, and the sacredness of our individual and collective stories.

During it all, I was still reeling from being sick for three weeks, having been on multiple rounds of steroids to try to address the sinus inflammation. But I felt deeply blessed, albeit a little lost in the transitions. I didn’t sleep much. I cried little every day. I prayed a lot. It can all be so much! How does all this happen in the life of one person? Sometimes I am pretty sure god has me mixed up with someone else, because, in my heart, I long to stay home, be a country woman, barefoot in a soft cotton gown, walking the hills, admiring the swelling of spring creeks, and keeping a close eye on the daily miracles of late winter and early spring. One morning in my hotel when it was time to wake up, one of our kitty cats, an extra special one, was in the bed with me, nuzzling, purring, and grooming me. She cared for me so tenderly, and she woke me up gently, just before the alarm. Of course, when I opened my eyes, I was in New York City. But she is a catso she is magical, by definition. She had travelled here in my time of need to minister to me, and start my day softly, as I needed it to be started. Connected.

At the book signing after my talk at the UN, a beautiful nun thanked me for being “a good Benedictine.” It made me cry, and is one of the most important compliments I have ever received. nuns are some of the most principled, fierce, uncompromising social justice activists in the world. Such faith! Such goodness! I shared with her what I have been reading every day, several times. And on the day Missing comes out, and while my usual life is laden with such ripe, heavy, delicious fruit, I want to share it with you. It was written by the great trappist monk from kentucky, father thomas merton. The passage was given to me by a dear sorority sister, years ago; I cherish her handwritten note on the reverse, in faded pencil, that invites me to pray this with her every day:
 

 

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am
going. I do not see the road ahead
of me. I cannot know for certain
where it will end. Nor do I really
know myself, and the fact that I
think that I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually
doing so. But I believe that the desire
to please you does in fact
please you. And I hope I have that
desire in all that I am doing. I hope
that I will never do anything apart
from that desire. And I know that
if I do this you will lead me by the
right road though I may know nothing
about it. Therefore will I trust
you always though I may seem to
be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever
with me, and you will never leave
me to face my perils alone.

~Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude.

 

 

Dear Creator,
Thy will be done.
Love,
Your Daughter
15 March 2012

Making “Missing”: behind the scenes reflections on the pilot episode

Posted on March 7, 2012

Ashley Judd as Becca in the ABC Series Missing

Missing premieres in exactly 8 days! The trailer is being shown in movie theaters; the commercials are playing on ABC, and friends in Los Angeles are sending me photographs of giant billboards of me as “Becca.” The anticipation and excitement is building.

Herein is an insider’s look, directly from me, about the pilot episode. Once Missing airs, I will write a little about each upcoming episode. The notes won’t be so much about plot, but rather, my personal reflections on filming and maybe even some of the adventures I was having off the set.

I traveled to Prague to begin filming Missing on the first Saturday in May. Some of you will recognize that special day as when the Kentucky Derby is run. Friends at Churchill Downs kept texting me, so hoping I could magically make the Most Exciting Two Minutes In Sports. But Buttermilk, Shug, and I were already beginning the mental, emotional, and physical journey of starting the show. We did have a long layover, so I unrolled my yoga mat in a conference room at an airport to do some restorative yoga while I watched Animal Kingdom take the Garland of Roses.

Yoga is how I prepared for Missing, and the benefits went well beyond the physical fitness I knew both playing Becca and enduring a grueling four-and-a-half month shoot would require. I had begun practicing in earnest three weeks before the journey to Eastern Europe. All That Is Bitter and Sweet had been released, and with it came an exciting national press tour and speaking engagements at venerable venues such as the New York Public Library. So the three-week yoga retreat I created for myself was good for me on many levels. It was a chance to be at home in a deeply peaceful way; to continue to send my book out into the world with the intention of service and healing, and fill within me deep reservoirs of soothing calmness and rest.

My body loves yoga, and after two years of sitting down (for graduate school and then compiling the book from over eight hundred pages of diaries I have kept over six years while visiting grassroots empowerment programs in thirteen countries), it took hardly any time at all for my strength, flexibility and power to come back. Thank goodness!

One thing to which I genuinely looked forward was beginning to connect with my cast. Of course, having Cliff Curtis,(“Dax”) was a coup. I was familiar with his exquisite acting in sensitive, profound movies like “Whale Rider,” and have always been knocked out by his dexterity with different characters, in films such as playing Pablo Escobar in “Blow.” He was, as they say, a no-brainer. Casting my son, “Michael,” was tricker. The role is so good, we had the crème de la crème of young actors vying for the part. We had that wonderful experience, though, when we saw Nick Everson’s screen test; we knew he was “the one.” He was so relaxed, so not bothered with trying to impress, and critically, had in equal measure vulnerability and conviction. He played the relationship with his mother naturally, and the sense of history (a dad who died in a tragic explosion, played by Sean Bean), was palpable, even in a sterile room at ABC. Filming was beginning soon, but we were never nervous about holding out for the perfect actor. In Nick, we had our “Michael.”

When I landed in Prague, I was immediately embraced by the warmth and hospitality of the Czech people, and pitched into the beautiful look of their fine capital. I stayed at hotel that is a UNESCO World Heritage site, a former connect built in the 15h Century, while I began to look for a suitable home for the dogs, cats, Dario, and me. I instantly appreciated the Czechs’ love of animals; the dogs were cooed over wherever we went, and I knew they, too, would have a memorable experience filming Missing.

For more peeks at behinds the scenes thoughts please re-visit my web site soon. Click here to read press coverage and don’t forget, Missing airs on Thursdays, 8 pm EST, beginning 15 March on ABC.

The Voice of the Wildcats

Posted on February 27, 2012

As Kentucky Wildcats fans everywhere would agree, being “The Voice of the Wildcats” would be a dream job.

Tom Leach fills the legendary shoes of Cawood Ledford very well, and if I can’t have Tom’s job, well, I am delighted to settle for being a guest on his show, The Leach Report.  It’s become a tradition for Tom to invite me on in February to talk not only about our believed Wildcats, but the Oscars, too.

Here is the link for our 2012 chat!
Go ‘Cats!

Miss Daisy’s Peanut Butter Cake

Posted on November 12, 2011

Miss Daisy’s Peanut Butter Cake
from a classic regional cookbook,
Recipes From Miss Daisy’s, 1978, Rutledge Hill Press

This cake is a favorite of my husband and his brother, and an all-around pleaser. I’ve made it for my Dad for his birthday, and company before they come visit will boldly demand I have one ready for them!

My personal notes in addition to the recipe are:

It is easier to bake with mise-en-place, meaning, read the recipe carefully and set out everything you will need, and do your prep work, such as beating the egg whites, pouring the buttermilk and adding the baking soda. It makes the mixing process much smoother not to have to scramble around and do these things:

  • Use pre-sifted cake flour, if you can. It is a little more expensive, but has been commercially sifted and is much lighter than regular flour. If you can’t, sift your flour and baking powder as many times as you have the patience for!
  • I whip my peanut butter before adding it to the batter to help make the cake lighter (I don’t whip the peanut butter called for in the frosting).
  • Once the batter is in the cake pans, do not shake or tap! This takes necessary air out of the batter. Instead, place the batter in your pans in large dollops and use a spatula to spread the batter.
  • My oven bakes this cake in much less time than called for. Keep an eye on your cakes!
  • I remove my cakes from the pans to cool to prevent carry-over cooking.
  • I always have to refrigerate the frosting to have it set to spreadable consistency, mine is often too runny. The chill helps it set, then I beat it again to make it easy to spread and put some more air into it.

Hope you like it!

1/2 cup softened butter
11/2 cups sugar or sugar substitute
2 egg yolks, well-beaten
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup water
2 heaping tablespoons peanut butter
1 1/2 cup sifted cake flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 egg whites, stiffly beaten

Cream butter and sugar. Add egg yolks. Mix buttermilk with baking soda; add water to buttermilk mixture. Mix peanut butter with butter, sugar, and egg yolks. Sift cake flour and baking powder together. Add flour mixture and buttermilk mixture alternately to batter, beating well after each addition. Fold egg whites into batter. Bake in a greased and floured 9 x 13 or 2 round or square pans for 25-30 minutes in a 375 degree oven. Cool and frost with peanut butter frosting.

Peanut Butter Frosting:

1 pound of confectioners frosting
4 tablespoons vegetable shortening
4 heaping tablespoons peanut butter
1/2 to 3/4 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix all ingredients well—adding 1/2 cream in the beginning. Add more if needed until spreading consistency is reached.

Kigali and Kabuga, Rwanda

Posted on July 16, 2011

It is impossible for me to be frustrated with a Rwandan for long. The softness of their eyes, the calmness of their demeanors and dispositions, the gentleness of their voices, disarms me utterly.

I had trouble sleeping this morning, in spite of having organized my time to allow for a ‘long lie in,’ as Dario calls it. When someone knocked on the door while I fast asleep, I pretended it didn’t happen. The knock repeated, and I stumbled to the door to find Dan, a young yet wise looking presence, holding my breakfast room service order card. To counter his move, I showed him the do not disturb card hanging on my doorknob.

He proceeded to tell me what seemed like a very long story about how my order was indicated for after the breakfast that comes with the room charge closes, and how there would be a charge for my meal if I wanted my omelet that late.

I couldn’t keep up. I just heard his lilting, kind voice. I interrupted. “Dan, please stop talking!”, I squeaked, as tried to rouse myself. I really wanted to talk about the DND on the door. I was stuck on that. He told me Mr. James in management had deemed the possibility of charging me for my meal grave enough that it merited over riding my DND and knocking on my door. I sighed. Dan smiled how I think God smiles, with infinite patience, loving detachment, like he had all the time in the world for me to straighten myself out.

When he later brought my meal in, I studied his face, his posture. Beautiful. The grace and dignity that quietly emanated from him moved me.

I began remembering my staggering visit to the genocide memorial here, and decided I couldn’t go today. It’s too much. I will visit it again some time, but I have visited the Jewish Quarter in Prague three times since May, and am going to the Terezin concentration camp soon. I can only handle so much in the way of massacres. (Feeling dizzy as I write this….)

I can’t even visit the genocide museum. How can Dan and his family live through it, and then tolerate with such elegance sleepy hotel guests who feel perturbed when their breakfast is not delivered at their specified time?

***********************

Dushishoze, roughly translated, means “stay vigilant.” It is an invitation. It is an admonition. Through a safe place with plenty of interior and exterior room to play, as well as provisions such as a basketball hoop, volleyball net, and a stereo, Dushishoze attracts thousands of vulnerable youth. Kids are provided a full basket of holistic services that range from age and context appropriate reproductive health education, to voluntary counseling and testing for HIV, to literacy, to financial literacy, to vocational training and career counseling. Additionally, Dushishoze is a place where high risk groups, such as girls and women in economically forced prostitution (EFP) and men who have sex with men (MSM) are reached with life saving behavior change communication. Many of them become peer educators, thus earning a small income that helps reduce the number of sex partners they must have for their survival, as well as empowering them to reach other prostituted people with critical public health messages and behavior change. (Dushishoze is funded by the Center for Disease Control and the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria.)

I am dead tired and strangely in no mood to capture the full day, which typically is mandatory, almost a compulsion. Instead, for now I just want to share facts. Maybe latter I will put narrative meat on the bones.

Little things say a lot about Rwanda. Every kid with whom I spent time, whom I saw (about 300+) was clean. Even those wearing white, their white garment was unsullied. I did not see a shoeless kid all day, except for two very small toddlers at sunset (they were also the only dirty ones). Oh, how that will change tomorrow, when I cross into DRC.

It was a joy to see so many kids streaming about, playing running, engaging in their different games. There was music playing in parts of the center, up beat education sessions (condom demonstration was one), and obvious friendships and alliances being shared. That is one of the things I like about Dushishoze. It is a safe place, kids can drop it. It’s not obligatory to partake in the services. There is no pressure. Life is hard enough for these kids….

But some of the young people were very focused, and eager to share their life stories with me, and the ways in PSI is helping them. In particular, women in EFP and MSM had gathered.

The young women with whom I sat on shaded grass were direct and plainspoken about their plight. Every single one had “taken the decision” to engage in “commercial sex” (NGO and supranational body speak for economically forced or coerced sexual exploitation). They described their choiceless-choice matter of factly:

“I am an orphan. At 14, I decided this is what I had to do, in order to survive.”

“I was in my second year bac (baccalaureate), but I had no money, no one ot support me, and no job, to continue to pay for my studies. I decided to do this to earn money, so I can eventually continue my schooling. I heard about doing this from a friend.”

“A man was always following me, harassing me, begging me to have sex with him. He offered me money and things I needed to survive. Finally, I just said yes.”

I spoke in total with 17 young women. As they had been identified by PSI as capable of becoming peer educators entrusted with the urgent task of sharing HIV prevention and other health messages with others caught in sexual exploitation, all were literate. Shockingly, their average schooling was almost year 6 of secondary. That is so very high, compared to most women in EFP. It speaks to the critical need for economic and employment empowerment of girls and women….formalization of work, too….

They need to have paid sex with about 9 men per week in order to eek out a subsistence life. Each is supporting other vulnerable youth, mostly little brothers and sisters. They tend to “work” on weekends, and the location is general public places and road sides, although forced prostitution does happen in night clubs and hotels.

They earn about $8 US per man. They are often asked to have sex without a condom, even though knowledge that proper use of a condom helps reduce the risk of spreading HIV. Typically, a man offers double for sex without a condom. (10,000 R Fr, versus 5,000 R Fr).

(HIV prevalence amongst women in economically forced prostitution is 50%. The national sero prevalence is 2-3%.)

“What do you say?” I asked. How do you safely insist?

“If I am particularly desperate,” one replied, I take the 10,000 R Fr, but I know it is dangerous and I prefer not to. But sometimes, I do. I can’t help it. Look at me. I am so skinny. I need to eat.”

Another said, “I can tolerate being poor and hungry; I’d rather earn less, and live a longer life.”

And one, one with anger, said something that I want never to be taken out of context. In an expression of her disempowerment and powerlessness over her circumstances, frustration at being dependent upon men who exploit her in order for her subsistence survival, she said rhetorically, “If I am HIV negative, I take the lower price and use a condom. If I am HIV positive, I take the larger sum, and do not use a condom.” What other power does the child have, than to imagine those who hurt her, being hurt? May her pain and anger be transformed into social justice action on behalf of herself and her peers.

Our talk was very long. But I will leave you not with more harrowing details of their predicament and despair, but rather, their dreams.

Alice wants to finish university, and own a tourism business, to work with those who visit Rwanda, providing services.

Christine wants to resume her high school education, and go on to university, and become either a professor or doctor.

Giselle wants to be a “big businesswoman.”

And Beaute, yes, Beaute, one of the orphans, the one who would boldly wink at me, then in a fit of bashfulness turn her head aside, the one who when we were taking a picture was on her knees in front of me, and reached up to simply touch my skirt….then laughed off her shyness and grabbed my leg, said, “I want to finish school, and start a family. Then I want to help other girls who have been in my situation. I want to become a great mentor. I want to be like you.”

The MSM: The story of discrimination is really the same worldwide. One thing that stood out to me was that in their concerns, they expressed their lack of a safe space, their own area where they can go when they are rejected by their families and ostracized by society. I felt sad about that. A young man named Chris said recently, even women trapped in position were afraid of them, fearing MSM would take their paying clients away from them. They are truly on their own (I saw this in action on the streets of Antananarivo, Madagascar.)

They have benefited greatly from PSI’s interventions, have learnt life saving lessons about their sexual behavior and how to educate their peers. But there is so much more they need. I described to them my own painful education around the fact that PSI is a public health agency; that is our core competency. As they gain voice, self-confidence, and skills, they can organize themselves to address their other challenges, and align with other organizations, and even found their own. PSI can help them with health. I maintain PSI is a health and human rights agency. We offer the A’s (accessibility, affordability, and acceptability) and the Q (quality) that human decency and dignity demands. But we are not a human rights agency, per se, and if you don’t know the difference, don’t worry about. There is an entire class at the Harvard School of Public Health about it. I do trust that the health empowerment (which is the essential building block of development) they can gain via PSI is a valuable stepping-stone toward broadly advocating their best interests and rights here in Rwanda.

******************************************************

The day was a good one. Today PSI hosted the Minister of Health as we launched a new pilot program, 12+, funded by the Nike Foundation (note to self, send Marie Eitel, chair, an e mail before bed). 112+ fills an important identified gap in social services: pre adolescents were grossly underserved. Thus 12+ brings 12 year old girls together one Saturday a month for intensive Thus 12+ mentoring from 15-22 year old girls, including health, life skills, etc. The goals are to nurture girls’ self-efficacy, self esteem, build healthy relationships and interdependence, and create future leaders. 600 12 year olds are participating in the pilot phase!

Other highlights include:

  • Behavior Change Communication Campaigns: “Don’t Wait” campaign, teaching parents how, and encouraging them, to talk to their children about reproductive health, sexual behavior, and how to avoid exploitation. Other campaigns include “Je ne suis pas pour vendre,” I am not for sale, raising awareness about Sugar Daddies/Sugar Mamas (cross generational and transactional sex).
  • Safe Drinking Water: Next week, PSI begins free distribution of 500,000 bottles of Sur Eau to the “nooks and crannies” of most rural Rwanda. Sur Eau is our point of use water purification solution (I am too tired to look up stats about access to improved water source; I know prevalence of piped water is a scant ~2% nation wide.
  • Malaria: 82% of all households posses a long lasting insecticide treated net; 72% of all children under 5 are sleeping under one. PSI has been pivotal in significantly reducing burden of Malaria in this country. Huge!
  • Family planning: Contraceptive coverage leapt from 27% in 2008 to 45%! PSI is a leader in offering women modern family planning choices. And choices are exactly what they are. Choice is emphasized. Generally, older women and women who already have children prefer longer lasting reversible methods; younger women prefer the shorter acting options. (If you believe, as I do, that modern family planning is absolutely core to poverty reduction and integral to development solutions, you probably like looking at data. Check out the Demographic Household Survey.)
  • Decentralization and Localization: PSI registering a partner local NGO, and opening 5 regional offices. All staff is local. This is increasing local capacity for technical expertise and service delivery, creating community self-efficacy and generating employment as well as stimulating local economies. Coordination, quality assurance and technical assistance will continue to come from PSI to support the transfer and implementation of all programs to the locally registered NGO, Association of Family Health (this is the future!!!!).

I love storing away all these facts, all this good news, in my mind. I review it, piece by piece as I sleep. But what will get me tonight? What will wake me at dawn, provoking tears, or anger? The faces, probably, the rows and rows of children and adolescents listening to intently to the lessons being taught. It was as if they knew their lives depend on it.

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These diaries are just that: diaries. They are written quickly at the end of long days, and are often raw, unfinished thoughts as I process the day’s colorful, painful, didactic, enraging, inspiring, moving events.

I proofread, but barely. Facts are usually accurate although I do my final fact checking later, as I prepare my written work for my personal archives, or for publication. Thus, if you catch an inconsistency, or errant number, please don’t use that as an excuse to dismiss the exercise wholesale. I promise I, and my mentors, will catch and vet it later.

I choose to share them in order to carry to you in something close to real time the visceral reality of experiences embedded in poverty, vulnerability, resilience, and hope.

If they are abused in any way, such as taken out of context or reprinted beyond fair use, I will no longer post them.

I hope you will read them for what really matters, the human stories they bring to you, and details about the creative, inexpensive grassroots solutions that empower and save lives.

Arrival

Posted on July 15, 2011

Congo is difficult to understand, hard to explain. I appreciate how organizations like Enough! boil the issue of conflict mineral mining down so succinctly, correctly linking violent mining practices, pernicious use of mass rape, the issues that inhere in a failed state and corrupt governance, armed militias and urgent need for security sector reform, poverty and de-development….and our computers. Enough! gives Americans very simple, concrete actions we can take to de-link our modern conveniences (cell phones, computers, iPods, MP3s, etc.) from the grievous suffering and human rights atrocities committed so routinely in pursuit of the minerals necessary for their manufacture. (For example, an American study just calculated every hour, 48 girls/woman are raped in eastern DRC. The conflict in DRC, you should know by now, is the deadliest since WWII; 5.4 million dead. 900,000 people are presently displaced in North and Sout Kivu. DRC languishes at the bottom of all development indices, as well as corruption evaluators.)

For a look at the mining areas, you have to explore this interactive map. It is amazing. For example, gold does not show up on the ledgers as a mineral mined in eastern Congo. Only two comptoirs in North Kivuo can measure gold yields. Yet the map shows at least 20,000 people work in gold mines. Such mismatches speak to the informal, corrupt, shadowy nature of mineral extraction here. (Gambino, 2011)

Anthony W. Gambino, an Africanist for many years, recently wrote: “Sorting and combining the relations across all these layers, issue by issue, place by place, across the massive Congo, into an intellectual coherent sense of Congolese reality is a humbling, daunting intellectual undertaking…various actors, even those most knowledgeable, regularly miscalculate, further tangling this already near-impenetrable analytical web. (Gambino, 2011).

But such capitulation from a bona fide expert is no invitation to complacency, no excuse for opting out of caring for and about the beleaguered people of a country burdened with the “resource curse.” Suffering, regardless of how long it has been going on, and how complex and seemingly intractable the root causes, must never be tolerated.

My Clinton Global Initiative Lead cohort and I are on a fact-finding, fact-facing mission. I am fortunate in that this is my third trip to eastern DRC. My first, with PSI focused on public health, which naturally included exposure to profound gender violence, which is militarized and related to mining, and appalling conditions for both locals and forcibly displaced persons. My second trip was with Enough! and focused directly on conflict minerals, and their connection to the same social consequences. My CGI group and I seek to enhance the work local and international organizations are doing, expanding how they fill critical gaps in a range of social services (such as health and education) by leveraging and expanding public-private partnerships.

Congo’s history since independence from Belgium shows a swinging of the pendulum from a dictator supported by the west (Mobutu) at one extreme to total non-participation in the government super structure and a complete focus instead on civil society and NGOs (even creating institutions to handle donor money that went around the government). Neither worked (although the latter did make notable improvements in public health, but without building local capacity or creating sustainable systems, Gambino, 2011). A core idea my CGI Lead will be fiddling this week is how to learn from these foreign policy and aid lessons, finding a workable model in the middle that, in the midst of the abject failure of the Congolese state, find levers to push (such as adequately paying police in key strategic areas, so they are motivated to stop being a part of the problem of harassing and extorting those they are meant to protect (Gambino, 2011), supporting and enhancing the work of the many outstanding organizations on the ground who fill critical gaps that government cannot and/or will not fill, building public-private partnerships, all of which can help reform instability and begin to build democratic institutions capable of good governance.

It will be a good week, one of hashing out ideas, expanding concepts, discussing the role of a Canadian mineral extraction company, Banro, in creating a local mining industry that contributes to communities well-being and growth, rather than terrorizing and de-stabilizing them.

As much as I look forward to these intellectual pursuits, and the dynamic energy of my colleagues who are dedicating their lives improving life short-, medium-, and long-term in one of the most cunning and baffling conflict zones on earth, the part to which I most look forward is spending time with affected Congolese. I am reminded, I have a lot of love to give. That, ultimately, is why I am here. However I slice the day—policy papers or holding victims of gang rape—it is about love.

**************************

At the Brussels Air lounge this morning as I waited for my flight to Rwanda, where I will be a few days before Bukavu, DRC, I regarded the staff member closely. She was very familiar. She remembered me, too, from my trip to Congo last year, but especially from my return from Congo in 2008. I was incredibly sick, and she had left her post to exit the airport for a pharmacy that had a homeopathic remedy she vowed would help me. She brought it to me just as my plane to the US was leaving, and I had never forgotten her kindness. Christine is her name, and we had a long chat, catching up. I was happy to share with her that the 2008 re-entry phenomenon was the worst, and in 2010, it took me three days, instead of three weeks, to bounce back from my time visiting the worst place on the planet to be a woman.

My flight was easy—long, but easy. Ten hours total from Europe is less toll on a body than having the USA to Europe leg go along with it. I began to wonder if, when I conclude filming “Missing” in Prague in October, I could scoot back to Africa before returning to Tennessee. West Africa. No one pays attention to West Africa, including me. I should visit PSI programs there.

I read Tony Gambino’s extraordinary paper, slept, resumed reading, and only when I opened my window shade a short while before landing did I realize I wasn’t doing the giddy, dreamy “I am going to Africa” thing. I saw the sun setting over a vast swatch of this magnificent continent, and it took my breath away. My first trips rushed to mind, the constant sense of awe I felt. I wondered if it’s become normal for me, if i am conditioned to hop on planes and trot to lands of which as I kid I dreamt. But the plane soon landed, and I stepped into the Rwandan night air, and felt the magic wholesale. The air here has a particular fragrance and feel. The full July moon was luminously elegant and mysterious. The shapes of trees signalled “Africa.” My smile was enormous, my step buoyant. I was buzzing with the delight, honor, and appeal of setting foot on this continent once more.

As I queued for passport control, I remembered that when I left here last summer, President Kagame was actually at the airport, inspecting the facility, down to the toilets. I admired the partition between passport windows—planters of lovely green plants. Rwanda, in some important ways, a country of resilience, hope. From the small (plastic bags are illegal) to the huge (Rwanda is one of the only sub-Saharan countries on pace to meet some of the MDGs), Rwanda is a story of ambitious self-improvement and transparency (we will leave the rigid social controls and allegations of totalitarianism for another conversation). A sign in the airport announced even more recent measures to encourage investment, all steps that help businesses formalize, such access to legal contracts and protections, functioning judicial sysem, credit, etc. Lots of poverty still, yes. Tomorrow, in fact, I’ll be visiting with girls and women trapped in economically forced prostitution. But for now, for tonight, I am going to put on my night gown, slip out the back of the hotel where it is quiet, and admire our oldest grandmother, the moon, shining over the cradle of humanity.

Africa. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?

Gambino, Anthony W. World Development Report, Background Case Study, Democratic Republic of the Congo, 2011;

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These diaries are just that: diaries. They are written quickly at the end of long days, and are often raw, unfinished thoughts as I process the day’s colorful, painful, didactic, enraging, inspiring, moving events.

I proofread, but barely. Facts are usually accurate although I do my final fact checking later, as I prepare my written work for my personal archives, or for publication. Thus, if you catch an inconsistency, or errant number, please don’t use that as an excuse to dismiss the exercise wholesale. I promise I, and my mentors, will catch and vet it later.

I choose to share them in order to carry to you in something close to real time the visceral reality of experiences embedded in poverty, vulnerability, resilience, and hope.

If they are abused in any way, such as taken out of context or reprinted beyond fair use, I will no longer post them. Your respect and consideration is appreciated.

I hope you will read them for what really matters, the human stories they bring to you, and the creative, inexpensive grassroots programmatic solutions that empower and save lives.

Travel Day

Posted on July 14, 2011

In the car on the way to the Prague airport, my dad asked if he could buy Czech crowns from me. He began explaining something that later, when I could listen, I apprehended was very simple: he would give me US dollars, I would give him Crowns. But before he had finished his question, my brain had completely flooded. I heard nothing but gibberish, or the “wah wah wah” spoken by grown ups on the Peanuts cartoons. I made the time out symbol with my hands. A frustrated look rumpled his face.

Where had I gone? My body was in transit to Rwanda and eastern Congo. My mind had preceded me there.

Africa, like all the trips I take, does this to me. One moment I am in my Prague apartment overlooking this old city’s iconic Vltava River and lovely edifices, and in the next what is in front of me has vanished, and I can only feel an a space inside of me, the space that knows what I will soon be confronting. The pulsing of emotion that infuses and animates the reality of high levels of poverty, concomitant low levels of economic development, relentless suffering, political and social instability (in eastern DRC. Rwanda is politically stable).

For my dad’s sake, I squeezed out a few words. “Congo, Dad. This happens before I go. It comes on unpredictably. Sorry. I’ll be present again before long.” I rode it out, my bag in my lap. Then, as promised, the emotional turbulence passed. I was back in the car, on the seat, in my body. “Alright. What were you saying?” Money changed hands, and I was excited to have more US dollars for any needs that may arise while I am there. It only took me twenty minutes to pack, which I did right before we walked out the door to the airport; I am something of an old hand at these journeys. I had ordered my anti-malaria medicine weeks ago, I remembered to have handy cans of tuna, and to grab a jar of peanut butter. But it hadn’t occurred to me that I was traveling with little American cash and all Crowns, as I have been living in Prague for two months. The fives and tens will be most welcome, both by me, and those with whom I share them.

Dad hugged and kissed me farewell curbside. I wandered around the airport talking to Dario, who is in Scotland washing one of his Ferraris (“I still love the old girl,” he said of his 355). He is preparing for his own trip, his annual sailing race up the west coast of his beloved Scotland. On board my flight, I have the “hot towel” moment, when the flight attendant hands me a clean, warm, damp wash cloth. Black faces blot out the white cloth. A mother, holding an infant, looks either dazed from malnutrition and illness, or perhaps satiated. I can’t tell. The image is from my briefing document, prepared by the International Rescue Committee for my Clinton Global Initiative Lead Cohort with whom I am taking this journey. I also see before me a smiling man, a public health worker with Population Services International, on whose board I serve, featured on our card that discusses local ownership of our grassroots programs.

The flight attendant is still holding out the hot towel. I smile.

Problems. Solutions. Vulnerability. Resilience. The very words that had come to me during my prayer time as I closed my yoga practice today.

I remember I dreamt about Little Black Baby and Percy last night. I consider those dreams — and remember, Percy as my personal Higher Power.

I am ready for my next adventure.

Returning to Congo with CGI

Posted on July 14, 2011

Dear Friends, July 15-21 I will be with my Clinton Global Initiative Lead cohort in Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo. As I do on all my trips, I will keep a diary (my diaries from 13 countries are the basis for my book, All That Is Bitter and Sweet). As service permits, I will post some entries on my web site.

Our trip will focus on the relationship between the mining of Congo’s vast loads of tin, tungsten, tantalum, gold, and other minerals, gender violence, and forcibly displaced persons. Our hosts will be the International Rescue Committee, which has strong humanitarian and community presence in Congo, and Banro, the canadian mining company, which is seeking to improve its mining practices and impact on communities. My CGI Lead cohort and I are developing a way to positively impact forcibly displaced persons on four specific points: economic empowerment, education, empowering girls and women, and energy.

This is my 3rd trip to Congo, the 2nd one that focuses on violence, minerals, poverty. I am especially interested in talking with Banro; my last trip, I only saw their company helicopters as they came and went from doing business!

More to come. For information about conflict minerals, see the Enough! project.
To support women in conflict areas such as eastern DRC, see Women for Women International.
To help improve public health in Congo, which has had a recent outbreak of cholera, has high maternal mortality, high child mortality, etc., see PSI.
For more about CGI, see their website.

Reflections: The Hip-Hop and Rap Remarks in All That Is Bitter & Sweet

Posted on April 10, 2011

The outcry regarding my remarks, 2 paragraphs of my 400+ page book, regarding hip hop and rap, has been as astounding as it is out of context. As reactions continue to rage on Twitter and blogs, I am addressing it where I have more than 140 characters. The general theme is to express my gratitude for a chance to learn, to be corrected where I was wrong, to make amends, and hold firm and strong on the original intention and context of the points I made, with a commitment to try to do so less clumsily and with more sensitivity in the future.

I am also aware that, no matter what I do, some will call me disingenuous and impute bad motives to me.

Original context: The paragraphs are about an introductory dialogue I had with YouthAIDS in 2002, the organization for whom I serve as Global Ambassador. They had collaborated with artists such as Snoop Dog to spread reproductive health and gender empowerment messages. I asked for more information about how the organization reconciled Snoops’ lyrics and gender posturing with its public health mission. YouthAIDS answered my questions satisfactorily and I have traveled the world with them since that time. I also serve on the board of directors for YouthAIDS’ parent organization, Population Services International.

The Outcry: As a thoughtful friend put it, “fans stand behind their artists,” and rightfully so. Hip-hop and rap—which are distinct from one another, although kin—stand for a lot more than a beat and vibe. They represent more than I, an outsider, has the right to articulate. This tweet capture’s the essence of what you have taught me: “Rap is something you do….Hip-Hop is a CULTURE you live! Don’t let a few bad apples’ lyrical message speak for a whole culture!

My equivalent genres, as an Appalachian, an oppressed and ridiculed people, would be mountain music and bluegrass. Those genres tell the history, struggles, grief, soul, faith, and culture of my people. In imagining how I would feel if someone made negative generalizations about that music, I am deeply remorseful that anything I may have said in All That Is Bitter & Sweet would hurt adherents of genres that represent their culture. This book is an act of love and service. Insulting people of goodwill is the antithesis of its raison d’etre.

I have looked closely at the feedback I have received about those two paragraphs, and absolutely see your points, and I fully capitulate to your rightness, and again humbly offer my heartfelt amends for not having been able to see the fault in my writing, and not having anticipated it would be painful for so many. Crucial words are missing that could have made a giant difference. It should have read: Some hip-hop, and some rap, is abusive. Some of it is part of the contemporary soundtrack misogyny (which, of course, is multi-sonic). Some of it promotes the rape culture so pervasive in our world…..Also, I, ideally, would have anticipated that some folks would see only representations of those two paragraphs, and not be familiar with the whole book, my work, and my message. I should have been clear in them that I include hip-hop and rap as part of a much larger problem. It is beyond unfortunate that I am talking about some, for example, of Snoop Dogs’ lyrics, an assumption has been spread I was talking about every single artist in both genres. That is false and distorted. Here, I am again aware that it would be impossible for me to get this “exactly right.” Some will find fault, no matter how careful I am, no matter what my intentions.

Easily the most ludicrous thing about the Twitter wars has been the perpetuation of the ridiculous accusation I am blaming two musical genres for poverty, AIDS, and the whole of rape culture. Please, people. Seriously? It’s beneath all of us that this even merits a comment. Gender inequality and rape culture were here a long before the birth of the genres and rage everywhere. Someone pointed out American history includes extensive white patriarchal rape. I’d add genocide, too, but that is another essay.

Regarding what is happening on Twitter:

Thumbs Up: In those 2 paragraphs, I was addressing gender and gender only. However, the outcry focused so much on race (and at times class) that it was naive of me to assume that everyone knew I was discussing only gender. My favorite feminist teachers, such as bell hooks and Gloria Steinem, would probably have admonished me, as they write that gender, class, and race are inextricably bound in the conversation about gender equality. My amends for thinking you could read my mind and know I was only talking about gender. I understand why you were offended.

Thumbs Up: Thank you to the fans of both genres who have introduced me to artists whose lyrics embody activism and progressive values. I know India.Arie is soul and R & B, but she gives you an idea about what I enjoy: positive, affirming, prayerful. I am glad to have more beats for my playlists. I celebrate the music, its meaning, and those who love it.

Thumbs Up: Thank you to the fans who have emphasized the two genres are historically and musically distinct. I know, but I could not have anticipated that by merely using “and” to link them in the same sentence would be hurtful. I apologize. To return to my analogy above, mountain music and bluegrass are totally different, but most “outsiders” don’t know that. I also am hearing you loud and clear that they represent much, much more than music.

Thumbs Up: To those willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, asking for a clarification. Your graciousness stood out. I hope I can extend the same mercy and patience to others who initially offend me. Thank you.

Thumbs Down: I take full responsibility for the book. It is my text. However, it was read by scores of people, none of whom gave me feedback that I might be inadvertently offensive. How was this missed? Why wasn’t it mentioned until it was too late? Thumbs down to all of us for not having the sensitivity and acuity to catch the paragraphs might be hurtful.

Thumbs Down: There are those tweeting who are not of goodwill. The extraordinary violence, venom, slander, and character defamation expressed by some toward me and my body is exactly what I was isolating and identifying. Some say I deserve to be sexually humiliated, dominated, hurt, and raped. There are death threats. You are making my precise point with a lucidity that is stunningly clear. Hatred of girls and women, I will oppose with spiritual and non-violent principles every day. Abuse and violence in any form, at any time, in any expression, are never okay. Period. I, and other girls and women, are not afraid of you. You can keep on hating, but I am going to keep on loving.

Because “no one is born hating another person because of the color of their skin, or their background, or their religion (or gender). People must be taught to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite” (Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom) And “hatred never ceases by hatred. Hatred ceases by love. This is an unalterable law” (Compassionate Buddha).

That’s it for now, but my guess is it’s hardly the end.

Peace,
Ashley Judd