Last year, it was much more difficult to acclimate back into American society. Not to mention the jet lag, there was this overwhelming sense that I had left Gulu without being ready to leave (honestly, though, is anyone ever ready to leave Gulu? No). Culturally, I was Acholi and was appalled at many of the things that were considered normal in America. This time, though, I was more prepared (besides using simple American appliances). Was I less Acholi? No. Just more prepared about how to deal with reverse culture shock. Bringing home 3 boxes of African Tea certainly helped. However, what I wasn't ready for (no one ever can be) was coming back into a community that is in the recovery and healing process of a recent tragedy. Someone had said before leaving Uganda that it's usually the opposite--we were in East Africa calling home to make sure everyone was okay, wondering about the safety and well-being of students--people expect that the community recovering should be in Gulu (although it is), not Aurora.
The past two weeks have really made me think about my beliefs and values. I have had to redefine what justice means to me. The idea of justice has been all around me the past week of being home. As I began processing my summer, one of the main events that came to mind was the conversation Josh, Sarah and I had with Okata about caning. When asked why teachers at Sir Samuel Baker don't cane, Okata replied, "You can't fight violence with violence." For some reason, maybe it was my way of processing the Aurora Theater Shooting, this kept coming into my mind. You can't fight violence with violence.
Without getting super political, I had never really thought about what I thought about the death penalty. Yes, I had written a persuasive essay in 10th grade about it--but cannot remember which side I sided with. Last weekend, I had a really good conversation with one of my best friends about the death penalty. I asked her what she thought and she said that she would never want to be responsible for taking someone's life, then she cited this article. At that point, I questioned my own beliefs--what do I believe? And then I wondered, if/when Joseph Kony is caught, what would justice be for him? I don't know. I have always said that I want him to be caught, tried in the International Criminal Court, and brought to justice. But I don't know what the justice looks like. Does the death penalty bring justice to 12 lives? What about tens of thousands? Then I realized that Kony could never be brought to justice on this Earth.
The next day, I went to church only to hear a sermon about what? About justice. "It's the Lord's job to judge, the Holy Spirit's job to convict, and my job to love." Man, Someone can sure hear my thoughts.
I visited the memorial site and was speechless in it's awe. Just across the street from the theater, I could feel the love that surrounds this community.
With going back to school on Tuesday, I can honestly say that I am so proud of Aurora Public Schools. From the very beginning, APS opened its doors and hearts to the victims and the rest of the community. I feel ready (although a bit nervous) to get kids on Tuesday. We have been briefed by not only the Superintendent but also mental health professionals from outside the district. APS has hired extra phycologists and counselors to support students and staff. Not only are they allowing us to talk to our students about this tragedy day one, they are providing us with talking points to help guide this difficult conversation. I know that we will be okay and we will heal--together, as a community.
So needless to say, this has been an entirely different coming home experience than I have ever had before. It has forced me, or possibly allowed me, to process in a much different way. It has pulled me back into my community in a much stronger way and faster than ever. It has caused me to learn from my experience in Gulu and to be able to actually put it into words this time. While I am still redefining justice and still developing what I believe, I cannot ignore these connections--they have connected my two homes in a way I never thought possible and in a way I never wanted.
The past two weeks have really made me think about my beliefs and values. I have had to redefine what justice means to me. The idea of justice has been all around me the past week of being home. As I began processing my summer, one of the main events that came to mind was the conversation Josh, Sarah and I had with Okata about caning. When asked why teachers at Sir Samuel Baker don't cane, Okata replied, "You can't fight violence with violence." For some reason, maybe it was my way of processing the Aurora Theater Shooting, this kept coming into my mind. You can't fight violence with violence.
Without getting super political, I had never really thought about what I thought about the death penalty. Yes, I had written a persuasive essay in 10th grade about it--but cannot remember which side I sided with. Last weekend, I had a really good conversation with one of my best friends about the death penalty. I asked her what she thought and she said that she would never want to be responsible for taking someone's life, then she cited this article. At that point, I questioned my own beliefs--what do I believe? And then I wondered, if/when Joseph Kony is caught, what would justice be for him? I don't know. I have always said that I want him to be caught, tried in the International Criminal Court, and brought to justice. But I don't know what the justice looks like. Does the death penalty bring justice to 12 lives? What about tens of thousands? Then I realized that Kony could never be brought to justice on this Earth.
The next day, I went to church only to hear a sermon about what? About justice. "It's the Lord's job to judge, the Holy Spirit's job to convict, and my job to love." Man, Someone can sure hear my thoughts.
I visited the memorial site and was speechless in it's awe. Just across the street from the theater, I could feel the love that surrounds this community.
With going back to school on Tuesday, I can honestly say that I am so proud of Aurora Public Schools. From the very beginning, APS opened its doors and hearts to the victims and the rest of the community. I feel ready (although a bit nervous) to get kids on Tuesday. We have been briefed by not only the Superintendent but also mental health professionals from outside the district. APS has hired extra phycologists and counselors to support students and staff. Not only are they allowing us to talk to our students about this tragedy day one, they are providing us with talking points to help guide this difficult conversation. I know that we will be okay and we will heal--together, as a community.
So needless to say, this has been an entirely different coming home experience than I have ever had before. It has forced me, or possibly allowed me, to process in a much different way. It has pulled me back into my community in a much stronger way and faster than ever. It has caused me to learn from my experience in Gulu and to be able to actually put it into words this time. While I am still redefining justice and still developing what I believe, I cannot ignore these connections--they have connected my two homes in a way I never thought possible and in a way I never wanted.
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