Monday, April 15, 2013

Coming Home - Brief Reflections From Six Months in Uganda


Six more months of living in Uganda, giving me a collective of ten months in the country over the last two years. Kampala, and to some extent the greater environs around the country, have taken on a sense of home rather than a place of temporary residence, even if that’s what they were always going to be. Looking back on my first time in the country and how slowly that time seemed to go, as well as how recent it feels getting dropped off at the airport in the brisk October weather last year, it’s hard to be believe I’ve been away from home for half a year. Trying to reconcile how short this adventure has seemed with the reality of how long six months actually is has been rather difficult to say the least.

One of the hardest – but in my mind, most important – bits of reflection is to combine the professional/career/pragmatic side of my time in Uganda with the overall experience of coming here and being here. I’ve tried to keep a mindset that travel is meant for storytelling, memories, personal growth and reflection, not for career advancement or monetary gain. If the latter happens to occur then you’re god blessed, but I hope I can always move around this globe on my own accord, with a shrug on my shoulders and an attitude of ‘because life’s short, that's why.’

My time with Refugee Law Project was more than I could have asked for or expected. The work challenged me emotionally and mentally, and provided me with more challenges than I needed, but I am grateful for the experience of navigating all of them. The job provided me a platform to travel around this beautiful country multiple times and allowed me to meet a handful of folks whom I will remember and hopefully keep in touch with for years to come.

I gave a presentation on the media and post-conflict recovery in Gulu to members of the national press; attended workshops and conferences in Soroti, Kasese and Kitgum; published public policy pieces in two leading Ugandan outlets; became friends with the former head of internal security and ventured around with him on a few occasions; I met the Honorable Norbert Mao and am in the process of becoming his editor for some of his personal memoirs.

Those experiences have been the dominant aspects of my time in Uganda, and some of the memories I will cherish the most, but they don’t make up the sum of my time here. Far from it. In Zanzibar I dove off boats into the turquoise Indian Ocean. I locked eyes with a lion fresh from a successful hunt in Kiedepo. I fed monkeys in Entebbe and stood under a waterfall in Mbale. I quit smoking (3.5 months now) and got into decent shape again. I made three great friends in my roommates and created relationships with others that started and really only ended because of the happenstance of simply being here, so far away from home.

As I’m typing this I’m looking out my bedroom door into our compound, the sound of Ibis birds and children playing mixing with tree branches lazily swaying in the wind. Earlier in the day I hand washed some dirty clothes and ripped the skin off my thumbs ringing them dry; even after 10 months, I haven’t mastered the art.
 
But in less than 48 hours, I’ll be getting on a plane back home. This Friday I’ll be in Harrisonburg with some of my best friends, and Saturday I’ll be fighting through the consequences of international travel and culture shock while aggressively taking part in the Rockingham Beer Festival. In less than two weeks I start a new job, and in 20 days I’ll go on my first family vacation in over three years.

It’s hard to imagine and impossibly exciting to prepare for.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Sipi Falls: Pictures From a Final Vacation in Africa's Pearl

My roommates and I spent the Easter holiday on Mt. Elgon, taking in the views of Sipi Falls from the Crow's Nest, a quiet but lively hostel not far from the border with Kenya. Given a day off either side of the weekend - Easter is serious business here - it seemed like every mzungu in Uganda converged on the touristy spots throughout the country. We met some great folks, including a group of Peace Corps volunteers whose Uganda experience is so diametrically opposed to mine that it's shocking we all live in the same country, as well as two brodudes from Manhattan who happened to be some of the smartest and funniest people I've met here.

I traveled to Sipi my first time in Uganda and it will always be a special place for me on the merits of its sheer beauty alone. I've decided in the unlikely chance I want to go through the motions of marriage, Sipi is where I'll propose; I'd tell you to run for the hills, ladies, but if we're on Sipi there isn't much higher you'll be able to climb. Here are some pictures from the weekend there, more than likely not taken by myself.


My roommate JC and I split a ride up the mountain with a group of South Korean expats about our age. One of them asked us, within three minutes of getting in the car, if we liked to drink. JC and I appreciated his bluntness and the beauty of cultural differences. Here I am, staring at them as they take pictures of trees down the road. 



On our first night on Mt. Elgon we went to a restaurant on the side of the mountain with a ridiculous view of the Rift Valley stretching through eastern Uganda. Not a bad place to have a few beers and watch the sun set:







On the walk down the quiet, dark, and rather remote road back to the hostel, JC decided to surprise Sara and I by running past us in the dark like a god damn madman. He is a lovable maniac. 



The next day we hiked Sipi:






There's a 100 percent chance people do their laundry upstream from these waterfalls, not to mention every water-based parasite that could find its way into your body. But you're not going to pass up the chance to get in the water, right?















Thursday, April 4, 2013

An Atlantic User Comment Shatters My Conception of Love and What It Means to Love

Erik Vanderhoff has completely reversed the paradigm that is internet user comments in one fell swoop, having written what I consider with no exaggeration or melodrama to be one of the most beautiful bits of prose I've read in a long while. Responding to an article about marriage, he overshadows the genius that is Ta-Nehisi Coates with the following words:

I met my wife when I was 23 (she was 26), and somehow managed to convince her to accompany me on a date three months before my 24th birthday. We were engaged by the time I was 26, married when I was 27. Every important step, save perhaps one, of my journey in to manhood has been at her side.
I had not dated a lot by age 23, but I had had some formative experiences: The one you pursued and who pursued you, but then you realized you were wrong for each other. The one you desperately wanted to adore you back and did not. The one you made your first bumbling steps into lust and passion with. The one you were with because you were lonely. The one you were with because you were horny and selfish and, twelve years later, regret deceiving. And, most importantly, the one you thought you were going to marry because you could not imagine loving anyone more than her.
First loving my wife was all of those emotions and lusts and passions made physical and manifested with an intensity that burned my sanity to the ground. Every single youthful conception of love was rendered into ash by her reality. I knew it with amazing clarity at my young age, one of the few moments of cosmic lucidity I have ever experienced, mirrored only by the utter poleaxe to my soul that came with first sight of my children.
To a reasonable extent, I have no issues publicly sharing my limited and sometimes painful experiences in love. We all have them, there's no reason my story can't be your's, as well. That's what we as people universally do: Share our experiences in the hopes that some are mirrored in others, because at times nothing is more comforting than a commonality that lets you know how normal you are in simply being human.

I thought I knew what love is; I still do, just through the lens that is my personal experience and my perceptions of friends and family who realize love through one another. My idea of love, however, and my badge of that love leaving me, were mocked mercifully by Mr. Vanderhoff and his ability to write about a feeling I can't imagine elucidating, even if I had felt it.

I know those stages of experience - to date out of boredom, loneliness, convenience, or simply as something to do because it's different from what you've been doing. I've had my knees buckle at the realization of  love for another, and I've felt the crush of the weight of the world on my shoulders when that love up and left.

But to have my "every single youthful conception of love rendered into ash by her reality"? It's hard to reflect on your past emotions to find something that compares to those words. Have I felt that? Perhaps the answer lies in simply asking the question. Or maybe it's just the first time I've seen the concept of love manifest so simply and wonderfully into words.

What is love for me now? Love is seeing my family and friends in 13 days. Love is soaking in the rest of these experiences in a foreign country that has become home. Love is this song. These things I can understand, fumble into coherent thoughts, analyze into some form of context or greater meaning. Mr. Vanderhoff's reality of love? I'm looking forward to feeling an emotion so dense in its own greatness that you can't fathom it without experiencing it firsthand.

That feeling that can't be reckoned with until you've lived it is one that I think is summed well in the notion that you shouldn't waste your time, or the time of another, if you answer 'yes' to the following question: Could you live without them? I'm not sure what I would have answered if given that question a few years ago. It  wouldn't have been something I would have wanted to consider.

When I wasn't given the choice anymore, when it was made for me without my consent, I spent a lot of time wondering 'what next'? I spent a lot of time on the bottle, feeling sorry for myself. But I lived; I've lived more in the time since that love left than I ever did when I had it. There was no other choice, and there won't be a different one until my conceptions are turned into ash by the presence of another.



Saturday, March 23, 2013

Surreal Realities: Anecdotes From a Week in the Greater North of Uganda


Kitgum, and to a lesser extent Gulu, have been my homes for the last week, as I was attending an international institute on transitional justice in Africa. It was a beautifully humbling week, as I realized how generally ignorant I am on issues I had previously considered myself fairly well-versed in. I suppose that’s what happens when you spend a week debating with scholars, professors, lawyers, politicians, UN workers and various other intellectuals. At one point in the conference, Norbet Mao – Presidential candidate and key figure in the peace talks between the LRA and government of Uganda – noted that he doubted there was, at that time, a space anywhere in the region containing a higher density of “cerebral matter”. I can only assume he was excluding me from that statement, but it was wonderful to be involved in discussing transitional justice through a Ugandan context with various activists and academics from Kenya, Burundi, Zimbabwe, Morocco, and elsewhere.

The week also provided some of the more surreal moments of my time in Uganda that are more entertaining than financial matrixes in international transitional justice funding mechanisms –one of my favorite panels, however  - so I’m sure those moments will be more entertaining to write and read about.
  •   I stayed up for the entire first night in Gulu with friends, mainly because I still have no sense of mature decision making. Consequently I felt like I was on another planet the next morning, and opening remarks and lectures were more or less a blur that I was tasked with taking notes on. Later on in the day we made the trip up to Kitgum on the second worst road I’ve encountered in Uganda; I had been on it before, but you can never really mentally prepare for a few hours of misery in motion. I sat next to a good friend and colleague and David Pulkol, a former travel partner and the former head of Uganda’s external security. My friend and I stared at him in sense of privileged shock as he described his thought processes behind committing troops to various East African war theatres during the years; it seemed almost cathartic for him to describe. At one point, when discussing the proxy wars Uganda and Sudan waged against each other and his decision to go on the offensive, he said, “Where I come from in Karamoja, if you disrespect us, we are prepared to respond, and if we have to die, the vultures will pick at our bodies on your doorstep, not ours.”
  • By a stroke of dumb luck I was able to stay at the Kitgum Royal Hotel for free with two other friends. Kitgum - or as co-workers who live there jokingly referred to it as “Shitgum” – is a rather forgotten center of the LRA insurgency. While the epicenter of the conflict was in Gulu, thus the large amount of NGOs and subsequent infrastructure, Kitgum was the site of some of the most prolonged and brutal fighting, but it was never deemed as ‘sexy’ by the NGO community and can feel rather bleak. The hotel, however, was easily one of the nicest I’ve ever stayed at in Uganda. Every night I came home my bed had been made, everything had been folded, new sheets were provided daily, the generator kept the power on all night, and I had a hot shower in a town that rarely has running water. All of this in a place where, less than a decade ago, leaving your door at night would have been risking your life.
  • At one point during the conference, the former head justice of Uganda was asked a question by the former head of external security (Pulkol), and Norbert Mao threw in his opinion as well. It was the American equivalent of the former head of the CIA asking a question to a former Supreme Court Justice, while Ron Paul (no offense to Norbert, he’s much more practical and probably more intelligent and likeable than Paul) added his two cents. It was one of those moments in my life where I questioned how the hell I got so lucky for being one of 40 people to have such an experience.
  • On Thursday night a group of us went to a bar called, I swear to god, Facebook. As all young, fresh-faced expatriates tend to do, we had our share to drink. At Facebook. After leaving Facebook at 3AM, my buddy and I got in the bed of the pick-up truck giving us a ride to the hotel, and the group of girls sat inside. While we were racing down dirt roads, my friend started yelling and slamming on the roof of the truck, while the driver slammed the breaks as the motionless body of a man in the middle of the road was picked up in the headlights. Our driver was adamant we keep going, leading to a fairly heated and drunk debate as to the moral dilemma we faced: Leave the man to his fate; check on him and hope his friends weren’t waiting in the bushes next to the road to attack us, a common tactic; check on him and hope he wasn’t dead, as we would be charged by the police, another common occurance; tell the police and hope they weren’t too drunk to give us a hard time; or wake up and deal with a man drunk enough to pass out in the middle of the road. My friend and I decided to take the matter up with the nearby police, who seemed sober but definitely didn’t care about the man waiting to be turned into mince meat by a less observant car. While we did this somebody in our party got the man up and over to the side of the road, where he passed out. We later asked our fellow attendees from Kenya, South Africa, Burundi, and Zimbabwe what they would have done. All of them said ‘keep going’ and told us how foolish we were for trying to help.
  • On the last night of the conference we went to the Acholi Pub, where drinks were provided for free. At one point I was sitting next to Mao, sharing swigs off the bottle of wine he had hidden under the table so nobody else could have it. He didn’t want to be bothered with my political inquests, so we made small talk  and joked around about Manchester United’s recent Champions League game against Real Madrid and how Nani needed his own transitional justice for the ridiculous red card he was shown. If Mao is ever President, however unlikely, I will tell that story to at every possible moment I can. 

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Hey Meat Eaters, is Eating Horse Repulsive to You? A Confused Vegetarian Would Like to Know Why


Guns, God and meat: Not quite the story of how and why we came to be, but an interesting breakdown of the way we live our lives nonetheless. I lump these three items together for no particular reason other than the fact that I have made conscious and thought out decisions to exclude all three from my life. I refuse the responsibility and implications of owning a lethal firearm and would find no comfort with that extra weight around my waist; I find no logic behind the existence of a higher power, and religious institutions and practices play no role in my everyday existence simply because I don’t need or want them to; I don’t need to eat animals to survive, and I haven’t felt a void in my life in the seven years I’ve been vegetarian to indicate any personal happiness is lost in my decision of exclusion.

The beauty behind personal morality and ethics is just that: They're personal, not universal. You want to carry around a weapon? Do it responsibly and within the means of the law. Want to practice a religion? As long as it doesn’t have a bearing on my life or the lives of others who don’t agree with you. Feel the need to indulge in some foi gras or veal, or maybe a chicken sandwich? Hopefully you’ve thought about the implications of your actions, but eat away my carnivore friend.

Of course we don’t live in a perfect world and these guidelines are not always followed. Mass shootings happen. Gay marriages, in many parts of the world, do not. Slaughterhouses exist as an often invisible link between a breathing animal and the packaged meat you purchase at a store, simply because it’s easier not to think about it.

Even if you choose not to question how that meat got on your table, it’s not a secret that you’re eating a dead animal, and that the animal on your plate most likely didn’t die as a result of natural consequences. So, you’ve made a decision to eat it, even if weighing that decision was made at a subconscious level. There was a choice involved, and choices involve, at the least, weighing one option against the other.

Hopefully we can agree that ethics and morality are individual, and that eating meat involves a choice between consciously consuming a dead animal for enjoyment or avoiding that consumption (eating meat as means for survival or health, therefore, presents no choice and is excluded from the conversation) on any number of grounds. So then, as a vegetarian, I’m confused to the indignation surrounding the recent controversy in Europe that revealed some beef products were actually made from horsemeat.

Now, let me clarify. I’m not confused as to why people are angry that they were misled. If it turned out that the tofu I regularly purchase was actually tempeh, I’d probably be mad simply because I had been duped; although after I got over that my anger would be manifest in the sound of my shoulders shrugging. Eat a tempeh reuben sandwich and tell me how upset you are after you’ve finished.

 And if your religious practices do not allow the eating of horse meat, I can certainly understand why you would be in an uproar. But if religious exemptions of horse meat are not your everyday reality, after the shock of finding out what you thought you were eating was actually something else, would you really be upset?

Writing in the Atlantic, Corby Kummer breaks down the anger and repulsion to horse meat in the following way:
This is news because of cultural taboos and the big ick factor of eating animals to which we ascribe -- that is, willfully project -- personality and character. It's a sharper, more painful, but similar reaction to anyone who encounters a restaurant or, worse, butcher selling dog meat in China.
What makes horse meat wrong but meat from a cow, or pig, or chicken, or fish acceptable? Why is a butcher selling dog meat in China abhorrent, while a nice filet mignon that costs more than the daily keep of a minimum wage employee is no problem?

Personality and character, really?

Cats sleep an average of 15 hours a day, leaving them nine waking hours a day to establish their renowned personality as reclusive, despondent animals. On the other hand, cows are social animals amongst themselves and sleep for less than four hours a day. Dogs and pigs have comparable intelligence levels. Shouldn’t you feel comfortable getting a cat burger at McDonald’s instead of a meat patty? Instead of bacon links for breakfast, why not eat strips of salted German Shepherd?

I understand the relationship animals and horses have together: Horses are more likely to provide a sense of companionship than other farm animals, and there is an air of regality around equestrians and horse racing. But, really, what difference does it make? Pigs can be domesticated quite easily, and I imagine you would have a closer relationship with a pig than a ferret, or hedgehog, or snake, or gerbil, or any other animal taboo to eat. Not to mention the work has already been done for you. Is somebody shooting a cow in the head so you can enjoy a burger any less bothersome than shooting a horse in the head?

As for a health argument, studies have shown that horse meat has some advantages to traditional meat and no health risks were posed in the mislabeled food. And let’s be blunt about this, if you’re eating frozen “beef” lasagna or meatballs, you’ve lost the plot, at least momentarily, on being consciously healthy.

None of my arguments are new or original, of course. Peter Singer laid the groundwork decades ago while Jonathan Safran Foer provides a more contemporary voice. Countless examples lie between them. Either way I don’t really care, I’m just confused and rather curious. If you’re offended or disgusted with eating a horse, but have no problem with a hamburger, that’s great. I’m just curious as to why.

And if you have eaten horse before, that’s great too. Maybe you shot one in the head with your own gun, and then said a prayer before you ate it. It’s not for me, but maybe my tofu hoagie isn’t for you. And that's OK. 



Thursday, January 31, 2013

Celebrating 27 Years of Torture


I spent the last week working and traveling in northern Uganda, staying in Gulu for the majority of my time there. Over the last two years I’ve spent somewhere around a collective of two weeks in the center of what was once considered by Jan England and the United Nations as the world’s most pressing, dire, and ultimately forgotten conflict between the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda (GOU) – consisting of the National Resistance Movement (NRM) and its military wing, the Uganda People’s Defense Forces (UPDF). Two weeks is nowhere near enough time to consider my hand to be on the pulse of the everyday realities of life in Gulu; while I work in post-conflict recovery and conflict legacies, I can’t pretend to grasp what it is to live through what I write or read about on a daily basis. 

Because of that lack of understanding, I have always viewed Gulu through the lens of the literature on the conflict that I either read about or contribute to. The Acholi Inn has meaning not because I used their shower, but because it was mentioned in Green’s The Wizard of the Nile; Pece Stadium has an importance not because I watched a soccer game there, but because the atrocities carried out within its grounds were discussed in Living With Bad Surroundings. Conversations with local politicians and stakeholders, or even boda drivers who mention the conflict while taking me to the bar, provide words that seem trapped in typeset. When you associate your surroundings with the catalog of material you read back in the comforts of home instead of the reality in front of your eyes, history is perpetually abstract and stagnated, bound to the pages of a book.

I worked at our Gulu office on Tuesday, and at the end of the work day I was told that we had the next day off for a national holiday. Wednesday was NRM Day, a celebration of the party’s 27 years in power. The co-worker who told me about our day off, an Acholi who lived through the LRA conflict, described it as “being forced to celebrate 27 years of torture.” On my way to lunch yesterday afternoon I passed by a large parade ground, filled with hundreds of UPDF soldiers marching in formation in front of a smattering of observers.

As we passed the rifles and bayonets flashing in the sun, the words I had been reading for years were finally released from the page.

I can only imagine that, for northern Ugandans, NRM Day is comparable to Native Americans in the United States taking a day off work for Columbus Day. This was not a celebration of liberation, but rather a forced recognition that history reflects the narrative of victors, not the reality of the marginalized. One imagines that had the LRA managed a successful insurgency and taken Kampala, an LRA Day would have replaced NRM Day; instead of taking off work in recognition of forced displacement and decades of government-sponsored rape, pillage, and murder, the people of northern Uganda would be forced to accept child abduction, torture and brutality as the means to whatever end was deemed as the conclusion.  

There is no good side because in reality they are good, but because the play requires them in order to reach a resolution. And just like a play, this was a farce, a perception of events consumed by an audience with no say in the story being told.  

I didn’t know what to do after my colleague made his remark. All I could do was drift my eyes away from his, shake my head and smile for fear of not knowing how else to react. My books and my job are his life. Those soldiers in formation, the Acholi Inn and Pece Stadium are my landmarks shaped through literature, read in coffee houses and apartment complexes 8,000 miles away from Gulu.  For him and every other Ugandan I have interacted with north of the bellowing Nile, those bayonets were nothing more than acknowledgement of subjugation. 

I had nothing but silence to offer my colleague, and I have no sage words to close with. I still think, perpetually and ultimately, that mankind is virtuous, wise and considerate of each other. But yesterday was confirmation that this is a thought not ground in fact, that our daily experiences can be nothing more than smokescreens created by somebody powerful enough to convince us that what is a myth is in fact tangible and real. Guns, uniforms, and marches will always be more immediate than words on a page, even if their motions are ground in nothing more than the spoils of the victor. 





Monday, January 28, 2013

Kidepo Valley - Scenes from the Water Buffalo Apocolypse

I recently went on a two day safari in KidepoValley, far enough into northern Uganda that we had the option to cross over into South Sudan. We would have too, had our driver shown any sort of enthusiasm toward driving, being around animals, or being anywhere but back home in Gulu. If I was forced to preach Bible verses at an anti-vegetarian rally sponsored by the NRA, I would still have been more comfortable doing it than our driver at Kidepo.

Despite our driver's best efforts, the safari was still a great time. Last year I took a safari outside Nairboi and saw tons of giraffes, zebras, ostrich, and a few lions in the distance. In Kidepo I was humbled by walking out of my door and seeing elephants grazing in the distance, not to mention being seven feet away from a lion who was taking a break from snacking on a water buffalo's face. Here are a few pictures taken by the various lovely ladies I was with; I'll add more as I get them.







Friday, January 18, 2013

A Ridiculous Swipe at Invisible Children as Academic Standards Hit Rock Bottom

I'm a few hours away from traveling back to Gulu, the past epicenter of the conflict between the Lord's Resistance Army and the Government of Uganda.  This time I'm traveling for recreation more than for work, a testament to how far Gulu has come after being ground zero for thousands of night walking children less than a decade ago. A large part of this transition is due to the huge amounts of NGOs that flocked to Gulu following a cessation of hostilities, with the influx of Westerners leading to a demand for high end grocery stores, restaurants  and hotels. The organization I work for -  the Refugee Law Project - has an office there, and hundreds of other organizations, including Invisible Children, have offices as well. Hopefully within the next few years there won't be any, although that would be wishful, naive thinking. 

I've made my thoughts on Invisible Children's advocacy efforts in the United States more than audible since returning from my first trip from Uganda, and especially following the release of the Kony2012 video. But as the uproar around the video died down, so did my criticism. Even if the organization pulls off something as half as successful as the video in the future, I'm sure I'll still keep my voice down.  I've hurt people I cared about in the process of dissent, and while that isn't a reason to keep my opinions down, at this point the group is irrelevant to my life, my work and my interests. The more I work around the post-conflict recovery situation in northern Uganda, the more I understand that there is no single good way to solve any one particular issue. Focusing on the way not to solve an issue is, at this point in my thinking, counterproductive. 

That the uproar over the video is still going on is rather bemusing to me. I just don't see the point. Sverker Finnström's latest essay on the subject, "KONY 2012, Military Humanitarianism, and the Magic of Occult Economies", is masterfully written, but it doesn't bring anything new to the discussion. Finnström is an academic I highly admire; his book Living With Bad Surroundings is one of my favorites not only on northern Uganda, but as a piece of non-fiction as a whole.

Manuel Barcia, on the other hand, was unknown to me until today, when Al Jazeera published his article, "Whatever happened to Kony 2012?" Barcia's article is full of so many blatant miscalculations and factual inaccuracies, it's hard to imagine that it passed through the eyes of a single Al Jazeera editor.

The thesis of the article is fair enough:

"The failure to achieve what the Kony2012 filmmakers had aimed for - capturing Joseph Kony and bringing him to justice - raises some important questions about the effectiveness of foreign meddling in African affairs. It equally warns us of the concealed dangers behind the export of "good will" from the West towards other parts of the world. As the ancient aphorism goes: The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

Again, it brings nothing new to the discussion and might seem a bit overarching in its premise (that a video by idealistic and incompetent foreigners is what finally raises these questions seems to give too much credit, but I digress), but the the central idea isn't off-base. From there, all illogical hell breaks loose.

Following his thesis, Barcia brings us this bit of insight:

"Another enduring failure in the West is the underestimation of the resourcefulness of African warlords. Only twenty years ago, US marines were routed at the battle of Mogadishu by the men - both military and civilians - loyal to Mohamed Farah Aidid, who at the time was terrorising the Somalian capital and taking the lives of men, women and children for fun.

Unfortunately, and in spite of all our supposed Western superiority and technological advantage, we have continued to make the same mistakes time and again. Not even a Hollywood blockbuster like Black Hawk Down, where the errors of the US military commanders were laid bare, has taught us anything."

I'm curious as to whether Barcia's knowledge of US intervention into Somalia is based solely on the film, as if the hell that Army Rangers faced that day - and the pre-conditions to intervention, Western humanitarian blunders leading to the Mogadishu raid, and basic misunderstanding of Somali clan structures and loyalty - were perfectly captured on the screen by Josh Hartnett and his men and they valiantly returned fire against a drugged up militia. The mission failed for numerous reasons, and poor planning and lack of contingency options were two big ones. A body count of 21 US, Pakastani and Malaysian dead, compared to the estimated 3,000 Somali causalities, however, is not a route. 

And in spite of our "superiority" and "technological advances", where has the United States, in the continent of Africa, made the same mistake again? The images of American soldiers being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu had a direct impact on non-intervention during the Rwandan genocide, a fact well known by Bagosora and realized in the butchering of 10 Belgian soldiers; the West pulled out and the killing began unimpeded. American troops on the ground on the continent haven't engaged in battle in over 20 years, perhaps save the NATO Libyan air assault. 

Finally, into the fray then, we have Joseph Kony. Barcia's recount of LRA history (in one neat little paragraph!) is filled with the boring, often inaccurate storyline of the LRA's beginnings. Religion here, child abductions there, analysis or historical competence nowhere. We are then left with this jaw dropping piece of insight, sure to shatter any semblance of requirements that one must reach to enter the world of academia:

"Singling out Joseph Kony and making him famous, as the Invisible Children filmmakers wanted, may have impeded Kony from frightening his own people, the Achuli, but has hardly stopped him from killing, raping, and kidnapping other peoples in South Sudan, the DRC, and the Central African Republic, many of whom perhaps would have never been bothered by Kony and his LRA had not been for the Kony2012 campaign that forced him to withdraw from Uganda and go in search of new pastures."

Where, oh where, to begin? I suppose with "frightening his own people", which is akin to describing Saddam's treatment of the Kurds as "a bit spooky." No mention of Museveni or the UPDF's actions toward the "Achuli" is mentioned, which could be because Barcia is actually attempting to discuss the "Acholi", but couldn't quite get that little bit of information correctly spelled.

The rest of the sentence is completely inaccurate; as in false, a lie, a complete misunderstanding of not-too-distant past and current history. The LRA have not operated inside northern Uganda since the 2006 Juba Peace Talks. Half the reason there was such an uproar against the Kony2012 video was that it portrayed events as if they were currently happening, but were in actuality years old. How on earth an academic director at a major university attributes the Kony2012 video to the dismissal of LRA outside of Uganda, an event that took place close to six years before the video was released, is beyond me.

The rest of the article focuses on conflict-minerals and their fuel of warfare in Eastern DRC, as well as US interests at stake that helps fuel the brutality. There is nothing nuanced or overtly insightful, but the historical inaccuracies are kept to a minimum. Finally, in closing, Barcia writes:

"The Kony2012 creators have now a magnificent platform to expose and examine not just the story of a religious nut mass murderer, but also some deeper issues that have contributed for centuries to the spread of violence and bloodshed in Africa. We can only hope they use it."

This conclusion directly follows Barcia's (albeit correct) assertion that the film follows traditional Western imaginings of an African hell, filled with conflict and children in need of rescuing. The problem is that Barcia takes the same route. By referring to Kony as a "religious nut mass murderer" it sheds the same image that he pertains to disdain. There are no political or economic motivations behind Kony and the LRA, just a madman killing because he can.

Barcia had the platform to at the least, get his information right. He couldn't use it.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Wildlife/Human Conflict in Northern Uganda

The Observer recently published an article I wrote on conflict between humans and wildlife in northern Uganda. The editors at the newspaper have a curious habit of changing your article however they see fit without informing you before publication, but this one is in better shape than the first article I had published with them.

If you're interested in the story, you can access it at either of these links. Only one of them has a very large, goofy picture of my face, however:

http://allafrica.com/stories/201301070166.html

http://www.observer.ug/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=22980:how-to-mitigate-human-wildlife-conflict-in-north&catid=37:guest-writers&Itemid=66