“What do you call a 14 year old with an AK47?”
“Sir.”
Laughter gets us through the uncomfortable moment. We make friends who whisper to us how to
stay safe. We stay current in the
media. We employ a guard. We have a fence and a gate.
Yet, sometimes the humor is no longer funny. I don’t giggle anymore at children engaged
in violence.
I’ve watched both “Black Hawk Down,” and “Captain Phillips.” I saw “Black Hawk Down” in Uganda with a
Somali crowd. I saw, “Captain Phillips”
in Chicago, USA with a very different crowd.
Context determines interpretation.
I was in East Africa when the events of both movies
happened. Yet, I was a safe distance
from
Somalia.
 |
| Growing up in Uganda with my sons, Caleb and Ethan |
However, I was not a safe distance from the terrorist
activities or recruitment.
Al Shabaab has executed three terrorist actions in places I’ve
frequented. Two occurred on July 11,
2010 at the Ethiopian Village and Kyadondo Rugby Club in Kampala, Uganda. Another occurred on September 21, 2013 at
the Westgate Mall in Nairobi, Kenya.
This could have been me. It
could have been my neighbors, family, and friends who were killed. Though no one I knew was killed I know
people in grief (http://www.jenkinsinrwanda.blogspot.com/2013/10/why-is-westgate-tragedy-so-troubling.html.)
Al Shabaab claims the terrorists have roots in Minnesota and
Illinois. It is easy to find many
articles over the last few years of Al Shabaab’s recruitment. It
haunts me to consider that the terrorists could have also been my neighbors.
We entered Uganda in March 1993. At about the same time Operation Restore
Hope was engaged in food relief and military protection in Somalia. Things were not going as expected. Mission creep was beginning.
I remember reading a startling commentary in The East
African on Operation Restore Hope.
I cannot remember who wrote it.
Nor can I find an original copy so my memory may be off a bit. What I strongly remember was how the analysis
shocked my naïve altruism. The
commentator predicted that the initial waves of American aid would be greeted with
warmth and photo opportunities. Then
the aid would create a bonanza of economic opportunities that would reignite militia
activity. The American military would
engage the militias. The militias would
create a media moment similar to the Vietnam War in which the American public
would see the horrors of war with an unclear objective. Shortly after the loss of American military
lives America would retreat from Somalia.
The commentary was prophetic.
The unpredicted consequences of the Black Hawk Down on
October 3 and 4 1993 included an America government unwilling to attempt to
stop the Genocide in Rwanda in 1994, and the release of the movie, “Black Hawk
Down” in 2001.
Both are
personal.
I didn’t want to see
my US Marine Corp brother engaged in Rwanda’s conflict. I didn’t think the American government would
be able to sort through the complications and keep both the Rwandan people and
American soldiers safe. I’m still
troubled in many ways by my lack of actions from April 7 to July 4, 1994. I’m thankful God gave me the grace to serve
with Rwandan friends there 7 years.
I also watched “Black Hawk Down” in a Kampala, Uganda movie
theater with a Somali crowd.
One of the consequences of Somalia’s chaos was a drifting of
Somali people into other places in East Africa. Some drifted as refugees. Others seemed to find a few relatives,
connections, documents, and business opportunities. During our time in Uganda there was a slow
increase in the Somali community. Most
of the Ugandans I knew did not trust the Somali.
One Ugandan cultural advisor once noticed me doing a repair
with hunting knife, and told me, “Stop.
You look like a Somali.”
Another time our radio show did a modern recreation of the
Good Samaritan with Somali hero.
Callers were astounded. Several
remarked, “Somalis aren’t good people.”
I remember Somali people being kind to me. I also remember being creeped out by Somali
stares. I absorbed regional prejudice,
and still cannot think of a single Somali friend.
The Uganda I knew was one of rapid development. We finally had a great movie theatre with
air conditioning, first run movies, and popcorn. We went to the movies to unwind. I was really curious how I would see “Black
Hawk Down” in Uganda.
As we entered the theatre Jana and I sat in the best seats
we could find - roughly in the middle.
A Somali crowd sat to our right.
A large Ugandan crowd sat to our left.
During the season we were in Uganda generally Americans were
seen with favor.
The crowd approached Black Hawk Down as they approached fan
participation at a soccer (football) game.
With each Somali killed the Ugandan crowd cheered. With each American killed in the Somali
crowd cheered. I sat quietly hoping no
one would notice my presence. I did not
unwind in “Black Hawk Down.” The
empathies of the crowd and myself were overwhelming.
The crowd left as the movie finished. We were some of the last to leave.
For a moment I had the strange expectation that I would step
out into the parking lot of a suburban American mall. I only would be in this exotic historical
movie for about two hours.
Instead I stepped out into dirty Kampala street filled with
kavera (plastic bags), the smell of sewage and cooking food, abundant street
vendors, and a crowd that I suspect included a few pick pockets. I was back home. I was in a land I loved. The exotic was rather ordinary for me. Yet, I was troubled by the Somali response
and not sure what I should do.
I almost didn’t go.
Westgate troubles me. I’m
struggling with the strange place of faith balancing justice and mercy. I worried I’d become so angry I couldn’t
function. I worried my empathies
bordering on hatred for the Somali would increase. After all Al Shabaab has three times attacked
places I’ve frequented, and the middle class people with whom I have been
privileged to serve.
There are many good reviews of “Captain Phillips.” I offer no new review. Yet, one phrase in the movie troubled me, “We’re
not Al Qaeda. We’re business.” I know violent nonsense is a likely
consequence when schools and economic opportunities don’t exist. The hostage situation on the Alabama Maersk
happened in April 2009, sixteen years after The East African commentary,
Operation Restore Hope, and Black Hawk Down.
Politics and religion play out in nonsense. Individuals make choices that require the accountability
of justice. Yet, chaos in Somalia has
had dire consequences on my community both a near and far. It is time to do something enduring.
Two, I googled to find out what happened to the kidnapper
who survived, Abduwali Abdukhadir
Muse. He has been sentenced to 33 years in USA
Federal Prison in Terre Haute, Indiana (a 3 hour and 42 minute drive from my
Chicago home.) He stands 5 feet 4
inches (1.6256 meters) in height. There
is some discussion about his age. Most
of the estimates put him somewhere between 16 and 19 years old in 2009 when the
hostages were taken on the Alabama Maersk.
The legal implications of his
date of birth are immense, but practically he was probably born in such chaos no
one really knows his age. His whole life has been spent in the wake of The
East African prophecy.
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| Abduwali Abdukhadir Muse, arriving in the USA for trial |
“What do you call a 14 year old with an
AK 47?”
“Son, brother, neighbor, and friend.”
