Garden Update!

3 new posts, check 'em out! Plus (to the left) a list of blogs I read (4 so far).

Garden update, after the high drama involving the city Parks & Recreation dept. uprooting people's community garden plots, sporadically planting them with pansies, and spraying chemical pesticides all over the place, all because (supposedly) the local councilman "wants to see color when he drives by the park." This is the same councilman who wanted to get rid of the basketball courts because the drug dealers hang out there. I got news for ya, Mr. Councilman: getting rid of the basketball courts where local kids play--local kids who eagerly agreed to watch over my garden plot in exchange for some of the produce--is not going to fix your ward's drug dealing problems. And if it would--you'd also have to get rid of half the street corners and most of the convenience store parking lots. Just sayin'.

A few pansies in the formerly fertile community garden plots:


My garden--Hurrah!!
The herb corner:
Peppers & okra:

"Take what you need, & nothing more/So that all may eat, & be restored."
(zukes on top)

Random beautiful flowers:


Fido the Guard Cat, at the boys' house:

Pure intimidation:


That's all the time we have for today, join us next weekend for a recap of Equity & Inclusion's Spring Legislative Days in DC: Leah Attempts to be a Lobbyist for the Gulf Coast Civic Works Act! (This should be interesting, as I brought with me not one conservative skirt, suit jacket, or pair of sensible pumps to wear in our nation's Capitol.) Also stay tuned for segments on the long-awaited Friday morning Illinois Constituent Coffee & Donuts Session with Senators Durbin & Obama, and Crashing the DC Area W Young Alumnae Get-Together!

Project SafeSpace

Like the flier I made??
Thursday was the 'grand opening' of Project SpafeSpace, a new initiative of The Big P, which serves as "a place of welcome for anyone looking for a community of acceptance, a ministry of spiritual wellness & human dignity, or a chance to be in transformational relationship with others." Project SafeSpace offers "case management, laundry facilities and a shower, and communal Bible study with food (Wednesdays at 5pm)."

It is the culmination of months of envisioning, planning, and faithful response to the call felt by the social justice warriors at this non-profit to "care for the least of these." In a timely selection of scripture, Sally, my boss, preached last Sunday on Matthew 25 and the imperative on each of us to show compassion for the sick, visit the imprisoned, give food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, and clothing to the "nekkid" (yes, "nekkid"--she's a Mississippian). The Scripture says the ill, the felons, the starving, the parched, and the people wearing the same rancid clothes for weeks because they have nothing else to put on are all Jesus Christ. (This poses an interesting theological question--are "the least of these" metaphorically Christ-like because they are suffering as Christ did on earth? Or are they literally Jesus? Separately, I feel uncomfortable thinking we should feel obligated to serve them only because they are Jesus-on-earth, and not simply because they are our brothers and sisters in need.) Sally talked about how it may be easy to volunteer once a month stocking shelves at the local food pantry, or to visit your neighbor who's in the hospital following surgery; but we are equally called to see Christ in the drunk, toothless man accosting us for change; in the child rapist serving 25 years at Parchman; in the hospice patient who got AIDS from unsafe sex or drug use; and in the "crazy" missionary Sandra Kay who came testifying of the miracles she'd seen and asking an already poor non-profit--us--for money. We're called to see Christ in the truly least of the "least," and to serve accordingly. Jesus hung out with the dregs of society, those who were a world away from living righteously--not just those "deserving" of help. (This is where part of the "cost" of "the cost and joy of discipleship," one of my favorite lines in the UCC statement of faith, kicks in.) More on this in another post.

Our non-profit's commitment to living out this challenge is how I found myself kneeling at the feet of Miss Roxanne, unwinding the bandages that covered the oozing, greenish hole where the screws in her ankle protruded from the still unhealed skin. An alcoholic with a history of dope usage, Miss Roxanne had fallen through the floor of an abandoned Katrina house where she'd been staying; the plates and screws in her foot are the only thing holding the ankle joint together. To accomplish the major feat of walking, she requires the support of a cumbersome plastic brace and a collapsible walker; even with these aids, her steps are slow and difficult. As you might imagine, she's jobless, but she can't begin to receive disability payments until she weans herself off of her drug & alcohol addictions, a near-impossible feat without the help of expensive detox pills. Likewise, the drug rehab program we have her signed up for will not even enroll her until her system is clean of narcotics (oh, the irony), a process which takes about 3 weeks and the effects of which she can't face without the constant presence of a $2.90 bottle of vodka or a 40 of cheap beer. As for how she came to this point in life, as to why her face bears the battle scars of seven or eight decades' worth of life at the robust age of 43--well, even if you only believed half the stories she tells you, she's still seen and done and been through much more than the average person's share of misfortune, bad decisions, and horrific abuse.

Miss Roxanne was our very first community member at Project SafeSpace (they're not "guests" because this is their community, their place to feel at home). This is a status she wants memorialized with an employee of the month-style bulletin board display. Bitter tears squeeze from her eyes when she describes how the director of the local soup kitchen called the rehab place to warn them not to admit her; her hoarse, gap-toothed laugh rings out with cheery calls of "Hey sugarbunch!" to staff members she recognizes. As I brush through her matted shoulder-length hair so she won't "scare nobody lookin' like a crazy person" when she goes outside for a smoke, she tells me how it used to hang down the middle of her back, silky-smooth. It lost its supple sheen when she let her daughter, who's just about my age and who lives across the bay, convince her to dye it peroxide blonde. I don't know what their relationship is like, although Roxanne claims to have cut off ties with most of her family so they won't "see me like this." She's so far removed from regular society, so invisible, that an old friend she ran into a few months ago told her he'd just seen her obituary run in the paper.

After she's done washing, Roxanne hollers at the top of her lungs for me to come help her out of the shower and put clean gauze on her foot. The screw bits stick out of her flesh, the metal plate distorting the regular shape of her ankle into a boxy, unnaturally wide deformity. As I roll her kelly green athletic socks back onto her damaged legs, the stench of unwashed clothing fills my nostrils, and I think about Jesus washing the disciples' feet. The next day I help her pick through the few dry belongings left in the collapsed tent she used to live in, swatting at the mosquitoes and sweating in my office clothes as she instructs me from the car as to what should be salvaged from the shambles of her life. The owner of the neglected lot where she was squatting pulled up the stakes and crumpled up the tent so she couldn't sleep there anymore, so I'm driving her over to a burnt-out shell of a house where she'll bunk in a 2-man tent with a few homeless men she knows. In an absurd parallel of dinner-party etiquette, she's got her heart set on buying them a 40 of Steel Reserve as a sort of hostess gift for letting her crash their makeshift digs, but she's misplaced her last two dollars and can't afford to buy the beer--"Honey, you better frisk me for 'em, they've gotta be here somewhere," she tells me. The funny thing is, I'd do the same thing--I've been brought up to show gratitude for others' hospitality, and under the circumstances, beer is really the only thing her friends would want; but as an employee of a faith-based organization, I have to tell her I don't feel comfortable spotting her the $2 for the alcohol. Water or soda won't do, so I drive her back, empty-handed, to the blackened house and help her get settled on the concrete slab next to her friends' tent.

Now here's a question that's both metaphorical and literal: What do you give Jesus to drink when he's a homeless alcoholic trying to maintain a little dignity and show some gratitude for life's blessings, however meager?

Just tryin' to figure out how best to make good on our own invitation: "Come lay your burdens down and share the journey with us at Project SafeSpace!"

SB 2988

SB 2988, a bill imposing felony consequences on employers hiring undocumented* workers and on the workers themselves, recently passed the Mississippi State Legislature. The bill takes effect on July 1st, at which time all entities employing over a certain number of workers will be subject to complaint-based checks on the legal status of their workers. If found to be in violation of the law, employers and employees alike could serve jail time, in addition to the current federal penalties imposing fines and deportation. The bill was written by freshman state representative Brandon Jones, Democrat of neighboring Pascagoula, a town which was significantly damaged by Hurricane Katrina and which has benefited enormously from immigrant workers' (both documented and undocumented) rebuilding efforts. The state manufacturers' association and Governor Haley Barbour both expressed strong reservations about the bill; however, Rep. Jones was able to push the legislation through on a wave of virulent anti-immigrant sentiment. Below, my co-worker's letter to the editor published in the Jackson, MS Clarion-Ledger in response to the new law.


Anti-immigrant bill may hurt our state's economy

The Mississippi Legislature has passed the Mississippi Employment Protection Act, a very costly and ill-advised anti-immigrant bill that makes it a felony to work undocumented, punishable by one to five years imprisonment.

There was a worker shortage after Katrina because of a severe lack of housing and other services. Immigrant workers slept in pup tents, in their cars and on the open ground. Conditions were harsh but the immigrant work force endured them and played a vital role in cleanup and recovery.

Today, in spite of the influx of foreign workers, Mississippi's unemployment rate (5.9 percent) is the lowest it has been in seven years. Whose employment needs protection?

Imprisoning violators will cost the state about $17,000 per inmate per year. If only 100 workers are convicted, that will cost $1.7 million a year. Add the cost of law enforcement and prosecution, and the cost goes higher.

Many immigrants send money home, but they still spend a large part of their earnings on rent, clothes, food, tools, cars, gasoline and utilities. That creates jobs and pours a lot of money into the Coast's economy.

Other cities and states have found that driving out the immigrant community damaged their local economy. A Sept. 25, 2007, article in the New York Times ("Town rethinks laws against illegal immigrants") details how the town of Riverside, NJ., suffered economically from its anti-immigrant ordinance, leading to its repeal two years later.

A May 6, 2007, Associated Press report in the Washington Post ("Attempts to curb illegal immigration prove costly") shows that many cities now face the mounting legal costs of defending anti-immigrant laws against constitutional and other legal challenges.

Finally, there is the damage to Mississippi's reputation, once again showing ourselves to be anything but "The Hospitality State." Perhaps that will be the highest cost of all.

MARY TOWNSEND
Hispanic/Latino Ministries of the United Methodist Church, Gulf Coast Mississippi

*As human beings can neither be "illegal" or "alien," "undocumented" is the most accurate term to describe immigrants who do not have permission to live or work in the United States.

Commercial-Free Music

I hate listening to commercials while I'm enjoying music, hence my affinity for NPR/Mississippi Public Broadcasting (www.npr.org), and these two websites:

www.seeqpod.com trawls the internet for playable forms of your favorite songs & videos. It's free because it doesn't violate copyright laws by downloading music illegally--you get to listen to songs as many times as you want, but you can't keep 'em permanently on your computer, iPod, CD, etc. You can, however, create playlists accessible by internet--for example, I have one full of obscure songs by The Eagles to supplement my iPod Eagles stock, and one of songs by Yelle, a French electropop chick with a naughty sense of humor whose CD I can't buy here but whose catchy chansons caffeinate my mornings. I've also used this tool like a mix CD to create themed playlists, like "Mary," which features songs about ladies by that name--so far I have "Ah Mary" by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, Proud Mary by CCR (maybe I should add the Tina Turner version but I'm old school), and "Let It Be" by the Fab Four. A very short "mix CD"--other good Mary-themed song suggestions please??

http://somafm.com is a collection of genre-based streaming internet radio "stations" which play through Windows Media Player or iTunes. It's continuous music, with a voice announcing about every half hour that "You're listening to SomaFM, we're free, tell your friends." The artist, song, and album information updates in real time, and on any given "station" there's good variety. It's very low-maintenance; I've never had problems with the music interrupting to sync on me like I do with traditional internet radio stations.
There are 13 stations, or flavors, if you will--many of them are electronically oriented, but they also have Sinatra-y stuff, "bachelor pad," indie rock, industrial, etc. The one I listen to most is called Boot Liquor (ha ha, get it?): "Americana Roots music for Cowhands, Cowpokes, and Cowtippers," which includes the likes of Allison Kraus, Willie Nelson, Kasey Chambers, Emmylou Harris, Johnny Hickman, Dam Combo, Blind Boys of Alabama...basically anything kinda twangy and bluesy and old-school country rock, with some bluegrass & roadhouse thrown in. Right now they're playing "Set My Chickens Free" by Merle Haggard.

So cheers! Enjoy a healthy dose of freedom from the avalanche of auditory advertising.

The Point

Three new posts for your blog-reading enjoyment--check 'em out!

One of the neighborhoods in our city is called The Point. Located on the tip of a peninsula, The Point is the epicenter of the fishing, oyster & shrimping industries, which since the early part of last century have been dominated by immigrant communities. From the 1880s through the 1970s, it was European immigrants, particularly French and Croatian; although large portions of these communities lived in such poverty that in the 1920s they inspired the creation of the outreach mission I worked for last year, names like Desportes, Reynoir, Gollott, & Gillich now grace street signs, seafood warehouses, and mayoral campaigns all over the city.

The next wave of immigrants arrived in the early 1980s. Vietnamese refugees, "boat people" resettled after the Vietnam war, settled on The Point, taking to the shrimp boats like fish in water (sorry, couldn't resist). Two decades later, these once-feared and ostracized "aliens" have become an integral part of our city's diverse community, running grocery & convenience stores, operating restaurants, and managing whole shrimping fleets. Hurricane relief and solidarity organizations geared towards the Vietnamese community have sprung up since Katrina, and many, though not all, businesses have reopened (among them my very favorite sandwich shop down here, Le Bakery, which makes scrumptious tofu-carrot-cuke-daikon po boys from French bread truly worthy of the name). These days it's not uncommon to drive through The Point and spot a Vietnamese lady unconcernedly hard at work in an expansive garden, sheltered from the sun by a conical rice paddy hat.


The Vietnamese Buddhist temple...


...cheek to jowl with the Vietnamese Catholic church:


Where I get my spring roll paper and my soy bean pudding:


Mmmmmmmmmmmm:


The resilience of these communities and the way they have been gradually, but in the end wholly, embraced by those who've come before give me hope for the current influx of Latin American immigrants who are working hard to take care of their families and contribute to society, just like my ancestors, and yours, did. Latin restaurants, tiendas, and worship services are already thriving; maybe one day some of the clients with whom I work or the friends with whom I attend mass will feel comfortable working their own gardens in broad daylight, free of fear and welcome members in the community.

A Little Southern Charm

Our new digs!

'The Big P," the non-profit I work for, went before the city zoning & planning commissions a few weeks ago to ask for approval to change our zoning from "offices" to "neighborhood center" so that we can open our doors to the general public, officially hold ESL classes, give people access to a safe space where they can take a shower, wash their clothes, organize themselves, hold community meetings, etc. instead of just being open for appointments only.

The first part of the process involved submitting a proposal to the zoning board, which was a bit of a bumpy process. The zoning board had a hard time understanding that although we are under the umbrella organization of a church denomination, and we will be starting a new church plant somewhere in the neighborhood, we are NOT a church. Church offices and a church worship space are two completely different things and can be located in two completely different spaces. Also against our favor is the fact that we share the same denomination as a local pre-storm homeless mission which was "notorious" for allowing its clients to get a breath of fresh air in the parking lot (aka "loitering") or to find temporary respite from sleeping on the streets by spending the occasional night at the mission (aka "zoning violation"). This association made the city nervous about what kind of operation we'd be running. In response, we downplayed the part of our mission which does outreach to the homeless community and reiterated 17 times that we were NOT going to hold church services in our offices (an activity which would fall outside the zoning we were requesting). And, we dressed up.

One of my coworkers tells the story of a friend of hers from up north who got a speeding ticket here in Mississippi. She went to court to contest the ticket, and watched as the woman in front of her, all done up, pleaded her case with the judge: "Oh, I'm so sorry your honor, I didn't realize I was over the limit, I promise it won't happen again. I'm just so sorry!" (Bats eyelashes, simpers, maybe squeezes out a little tear.) She got her ticket reduced or waived, I forget which, as the judge smiled indulgently and sent her on her way. Next up, my coworker's Yankee friend, who had shown up wearing a not particularly feminine outfit, and who immediately and vociferously began protesting her ticket as unfair and unmerited. She couldn't, for the life of her, understand why the judge, with a stern glare, doubled her fine after the lady in front of her had gotten off scot free.

This story illustrated for me and my good friend & coworker E, the two green Midwesterners, the tenacious power that the Southern Belle archetype continues to exercise over Dixie culture. The woman who flaunts her sex appeal, subverting the patriarchy through use of her so-called feminine wiles, wins the day; every Southern woman has a little Scarlett O'Hara in her, and when necessary, she knows how to turn on the charm.

How does this relate to the zoning commission? The moral of my coworker's story was that, when dealing with Southern males in positions of authority, you play into the archetype and you get what you want. Every member of the commission is male--the only woman in the room (besides us) was the secretary taking notes. So the morning of our appointment, we all got dolled up (seeing that I can get away with wearing a t-shirt and jeans at work, this is a big deal), dressed to the nines (heels! trouser pants! blouses! oh my!), and practiced our most simpering smiles, which the Fire Chief and his cohorts just ate right up.

Did it feel a bit off? Yes--I'm used to being treated as a person first, a woman second; France is the only other place I've felt so keenly a woman first, a person second. The whole thing tasted like a farce, a lovely little bit of play-acting designed to get us what we wanted. (You decide where you fall on the question of whether this is a degrading blow to women's dignity or a feminist co-opting of the patriarchy.)

Did it work? Yes--after several back-and-forths, we were recommended for approval by the zoning commission, and the city council (also all male, also a meeting for which we arrived all done up) unanimously passed our zoning change. Which allows us to open Project SafeSpace next week, which means showers, laundry, and a community of acceptance and transformation for our displaced and homeless brothers and sisters on the street.

A curious culture, a worthy end.

More Azaleas! etc.

Sorry, couldn't resist.