Tribal Stories: Groundswell

Her fingers nimbly secured the knot around the vine and the stake. She had done so many of those knots now that it had become second nature to her. Noticing the row of crops in particular with droopy leaves, she looked up at him. Their eyes met for a brief second before he picked up the watering jug and walked in her direction.

Her heart danced as the ground beneath them began soaking up the water. Much time had passed since her arrival in the southern lands, and this had become the new normal -- their new normal. Daylight hours were spent in the vegetable patch, tilling and sowing, watering and staking, and occasionally, harvesting. Their days were busy and their lives were full, and for a moment, she wondered in awe at the way that life was now.

The southern lands were not at all as she had expected. The first days were hard as she struggled to find her place. The desert people had a way of life they were committed to, and she struggled to even learn their pigeon dialect. It was a far cry from the routines of the city where everything was polished and refined. Desert life was rugged, and everyone dug deep, and it wasn't long before she discovered joy in painstaking labour and returning home with dirt under her nails.

"You're thinking again, aren't you?"

His voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up at him as she whispered a word of thanks to the forces that brought them together. The early days at the vegetable patch felt foreign and strange, but he came along and helped her understand their work. Their pulse had been in sync right from the beginning, and it didn't take long for them to begin creating a life together.

"Just... life since the city walls... It's been a while, that's all."

He nodded and continued moving the big planters around, without saying a word. She watched from a distance as he exchanged a laugh with the farmer from the next block. Smiling, she picked up another stake and drove it into the ground. The desert chiefs had a particular way they liked the stakes to be in the ground. It frustrated her to no end that it was a long and tedious method that felt like a waste of resources, and she and he had had long conversations about better ways to work the land. The long days in the vegetable patch often ended with resignation that as long as the ways of the land remained unchanged, their hands were tied.

She thought back to her tribespeople and the last news that had came from the north. A new governance was about to descend, and there was much fear about what this could do to their way of life. Her heart ached for her tribespeople who had long held out for peace and the well-being of the people, and the possibility that the dawning of the new governance could be the undoing of everything they had worked towards. Driving the stake further and further into the ground, she thought of the numerous occasions where both she and he had similarly been witness or casualty to the decisions of a few in their times in the city walls. All the pain and hurt from the years of holding peace resurged within her.

"Any harder and that stake is going to snap."

The farmer's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. With one hand shading her eyes from the sunlight, she finally noticed that daylight was ending. Dusting off her hands, she mopped the sweat off her brows and headed for the water vessel where he and the farmer were washing up for the day.

"Don't interrupt; she's probably come up with another new way to irrigate the vegetable patch and will probably launch another monologue about the chiefs and how obstinate they are about the way things are done."

She narrowed her eyes as she flicked a few drops of water at him. He was jesting, she knew, but she was struggling to find humour in the present agony.

They washed in silence for a while, aware of the heaviness of the news from the north.

"Groundswell."

She and he exchanged a brief look before turning to the farmer. Like she and he, the farmer had his own story with chiefs and governors.

"Groundswell," the farmer said again. "The decisions of a few can very well change the way of life as the impact trickles down. But we, the ones who work the ground, we have it in us to undo the impact of those decisions. One stake at a time. One knot at a time. One seed at a time. We create our everyday for our people. That is something chiefs and governors cannot take away from us."

She and he nodded in silence. If the years since the exile had taught her anything, it was that no exile, chief or governance can take away the way of life that had been passed down from her mother and mothers, her grandmother and grandmothers, the sages and her tribespeople.

Her hands found their way to the rocks. He had put holes in them so she could put them on a rope to hang around her neck.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."
"You shall love your neighbour as yourself."
"Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God"

As the last rays of sunlight faded for the day, she whispered words of blessing for her tribespeople in the north, and gave thanks for the wisdom from the generations. Most importantly, she gave thanks that the forces held them together.

Dinner With A Politician

The year is 2004. George W Bush is running against John Kerry in the US presidential elections where Bush is hoping to be re-elected for a second term. The war in Afghanistan has been raging for about three years now.

I was talking to the boy halfway across the world whom I was dating, and he wanted my perspective on the political climate in Anderson Indiana since I had recently moved there. All I said was, "What's wrong with Bush? I don't like change, so he can remain in office for all I care."

The response I got was one of gentle mockery. "You can't make decisions based on whether or not you like change. That's not very rational."

Fast forward a couple years. I'm sitting in Convocation, listening to student candidates running for Student Government elections. They're making promises about stuff that I wasn't even sure were within their control. My inner child is rolling his eyes and has already made the decision not to vote that year.

Most folks whom I've spoken candidly with about politics know I'm cynical. Sure, I may appreciate one side a little more than the other(s). But the way it's been presented to me, it always boils down to the same thing: everyone's talking and nobody can tell who's lying or about to lie until they've been elected. Then everybody has an opinion of whether the elected's policies are working as promised, and nobody really wins.

I'm not saying you shouldn't vote or pay attention to politics. You definitely should; it is your right and civil duty after all.

But in a lot of ways, I'm really glad that in my nearly 27 years of life, I've only been in the right place at the right time to vote once. The candidate I ended up voting for seemed almost to good to be true (as most of their party members do), but the others needed too much work with their talking to not sound like fools. Even though I no longer lived in Singapore, I wasn't ready for the country that owns my passport to be represented by a fool--even if they only sound like one but are actually highly intelligent.

Especially not after one of my favourite politicians had just been voted out that same year.

The 2011 General Elections in Singapore was something I watched more closely than ever thanks to social media. Of all the talking going on, there was one politician that emerged my favourite even though I tried really hard not to like him. His brother was a former colleague of my mother's so he really had to convince me to work through my emotional bias (I can't just like the guy because I kinda/sorta know someone who knows him).

George Yeo was foreign minister at the time of the 2011 elections. Part of my interest, admittedly, was caused by the fact that I was about to move halfway across the world again. It made me realise for the first time the importance of an effective foreign minister for a nomad like me whose passport will probably always belong to the Republic of Singapore.

But his effectiveness as foreign minister wasn't quite what impressed me. He struck me as really down-to-earth for a politican, humble and willing to admit the faults of the government, but also very much in touch with the grassroots. He's always had a keen interest in the youth of the nation, recognising "they have to rebuild a world that is corroding," and was the first Singaporean minister to engage in social media. That he was a good ol' Catholic boy didn't hurt as well (although faith backgrounds have MUCH less presence in the political scene in Singapore than in other parts of the world).

Yet what impressed me most was the way he conducted himself throughout the elections. He stuck with his party even though the closer they got to the elections, the more it became apparent they weren't going to win. Word on the street was that most folks would vote for him if the others weren't involved. When they eventually lost, his Facebook page was flooded with folks asking if he would run for the presidential elections.

2-cents worth says he probably would be president of the Republic now if he had decided to run. While it would be nice to have a president as connected to the grassroots as he is, I found myself empathising with his decision not to run for presidency. I don't know that this is his reasoning for not running, but I've found that grassroots people work better collecting information for someone else to pass policies and make other decisions to effect change.

So why the heck am I randomly writing about George Yeo, you ask?

Well, I came across this today and thought of the dream I had the other night where I had dinner with him. Grassroots people networking, doing what we do best. It made me realise there are so many things about how he functioned as a political minister that I want to emulate as a religious minister. But if I didn't also add that that was an intimidating dream, I wouldn't be telling the whole story. It was one of those that you wake up feeling like the dream was real and you can't shake off all the carry-over emotions.

At the same time, it was the nudge I needed to kick-start a new project that I'm calling "Operation Third Place." More to come on this at another time when it's not 12:47 am.

Hey, all you kids in the US of A, go vote on Tuesday. Ok? Ok.