Immigration Impasse? We Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet

February 16, 2018 at 12:49 pm | Posted in Climate Change, Environment, U.S. Politics, world water crisis | 1 Comment
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I don’t need to tell you that we are in a serious political and cultural mess regarding the question of immigration, not only here in the United States, but in Europe, Australia, and in many other countries. A million eight-hundred-thousand people brought to the US  as children risk deportation, the time-honored practice of legal immigrants bringing family members to the US is in danger of being abandoned, as is the visa lottery. And right-wing groups are gaining increasing political power by means of the immigration question .

But all of this conflict is, in effect, nothing more than the calm before the storm, the storm of climate refugees who will be surging across borders in coming decades. Indeed, many more of the current large numbers of immigrants are actually climate refugees than most of us realize. As Jeff Goodell reports in his new book, The Water Will Come, every year three times more people are made homeless by floods, storms and other “natural” disasters than are displaced by wars and other conflicts. And according to the International Organization for Migration, there will be 200 million climate refugees by 2050 (though some researchers predict as many as a billion). Yet, interestingly enough, climate refugees have no legal status in international law; to be a legitimate refugee, a person must have a “well-founded fear of persecution” on the basis of race, religion, nationality, social group or political position. For this and other reasons, many countries basically ignore climate refugees.

In light of all this, Goodell raises an interesting question. What do the nations who give off the largest percentages of the greenhouse gases that are causing climate change owe to climate refugees, people driven out of their countries by climate-related sea-level-rise, drought, famine, etc.? He notes that at the various UN conferences on climate change and the environment over the past twenty-five years, the nations most responsible for climate change have fought tooth and nail against the inclusion in any UN agreement of taking financial responsibility for “claims and damages” against them by the most harmed nations.

Goodell suggests that a way to pay off such a debt is for the countries involved to take in the same percentage of climate refugees as they have emitted greenhouse gases in the industrial era. For the United States, that percentage is 27%–the most of any nation on earth, though the European Union comes pretty close, with 25%. Assuming that 100 million people will need new homes by 2050, Goodell’s proposal means that the US would take in twenty-seven million people over the next thirty-two years, more or less.

But Trump and his supporters are determined to exclude virtually all immigrants now, even those that can claim refugee status under international law. So how on earth –no pun intended–are we going to respond  to the millions of climate refugees coming north in the decades to come?

 

 

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The Collusion of Almost Everybody

February 11, 2018 at 3:31 pm | Posted in Capitalism, Catholicism, Climate Change | 7 Comments
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We’ve heard the word “collusion” a lot in recent months. Did the Trump campaign collude with Russia? Did members of the FBI collude with the Clinton campaign? Etc., etc.

In his 2016 book, The Environmentalism of the Rich,* Peter Dauvergne details the ways in which mainstream environmental organizations have colluded, so to speak, with environment-destroying corporations. Here’s my review of that book, which appeared in the Grail’s monthly publication, Gumbo, in January:

 

At first glance, the title of Peter Dauvergne’s book could be off-putting. “Environmentalism” can sound pretty broad, or abstract, while “of the rich” surely doesn’t have much to do with people like us, right?

Actually, the title notwithstanding, Dauvergne’s book has a whole lot to do with people like us: concerned about the degradation of the natural world—God’s creation—but also necessarily up to our necks in the consumer society that is the 21st century United States—driving cars, flying in airplanes, eating processed food, buying cell phones, etc., etc., etc.

The “environmentalism of the rich,” as Dauvergne understands it, is a way of thinking and acting that has come to dominate the mainstream environmental movement in recent years. It focuses on “eco-consumerism”—favoring corporate products that are “green”—and making small life-style changes like composting, recycling, and taking shorter showers, even as overall consumption skyrockets around the world. And thanks to crack-downs since 9/11, state security agencies have suppressed many of the world’s direct action environmental movements that previously succeeded at confronting corporate and government harm and galvanizing the attention of the public.

Especially stunning in Dauvergne’s delineation of this shift from radical environmentalism to the environmentalism of the rich is his documentation of the rise of partnerships between retail corporations and mainstream environmental groups. Consider, for example, the World Wildlife Federation (WWF). Already in the 1960s WWF was lobbying for stronger environmental laws, raising hundreds of thousands of dollars to save endangered animals and highlighting the threats that economic development posed to wildlife. It went on to sponsor conservation projects around the world.

But in the 1990s the WWF began advocating “eco-labelling”—working with corporations like Cargill, McDonald’s and Walmart to certify various products and activities as “green.” In 2006, it began partnering with Coca-Cola to promote freshwater conservation in exchange for a $20 million donation. In 2011 Coke and the WWF launched a campaign to raise funds to conserve polar bear habitats; consumers could donate to WWF using “Coke Reward Points”; these projects are now in 50 countries. Coke revenues in 2014 were $46 billion. And it takes 150-300 liters of water to produce a half-liter of a sweetened beverage, in a world where billions of people live without adequate fresh water and obesity is sky-rocketing.

And it’s not only the WWF: The Nature Conservancy partners with Dow Chemical and Cargill; Conservation International works with Bank of America, Coca-Cola, Disney, Exxon-Mobil, McDonald’s, and Nestlé, to name only a few; while the Environmental Defense Fund also partners with McDonald’s. All of these partnerships help to fund the huge numbers of staff people needed to run environmental organizations around the world. Even Greenpeace, a group that has engaged in radical environmental protests over the years, now also engages in eco-consumer campaigns, thus helping to legitimize “the very political and corporate processes that are causing the overall rate of unsustainable consumption to escalate.”

Please do not get the impression that Dauvergne dismisses the contributions of mainstream environmental groups. Some of the best parts of the book are his stories of the achievements of those groups—protecting wilderness and animals, alerting the public to environmental dangers, and so forth. Yet ultimately, he is forced to admit, as are we, that despite these contributions, the situation of the planet is getting worse and worse and worse. And it’s going to take a lot more than the environmentalism of the rich to change it.

But that’s not all. Just after the review came out, I heard a discussion on the radio about another book–God forbid I could find the scrap of paper on which I wrote the title–about the relationships between food banks across the country and food chains like Walmart. Such mega-markets donate to the food banks and then claim they support the hungry. But something like 17% of Walmart employees are on food stamps because they’re paid to so little. Collusion ?

Then I was watching a Big East basketball game with my esteemed companion (I learned to love basketball in the Catholic schools in Philly when I was growing up.) It was a game between two Catholic universities–Marquette and maybe Xavier. During a time-out, an ad for Marquette described it as a university rooted in the Catholic faith. Quite inspiring. Then it was followed by a Jeep ad. And the game was airing on Fox, a network whose news coverage is widely recognized for its profound commitment to Catholic social teaching.

And then there’s my husband and me, with our money in Chase bank.  I mean, a Catholic university can’t be expected to pass on commercials that support its sports team that in turn supports its bottom line just because cars are a major source of the green-house gasses that are destroying the planet, can they? And should the Big East (all Catholic schools, I believe) stop using Fox, when it gives them the best deal, just because Fox commentators are racist nationalists? For that matter, should Keith and I be using some credit union when the Chase branch is walking distance and, conveniently, has more ATMs that any other bank out here in Brooklyn?

Let me conclude with a paraphrase from Paul’s letter to the Romans: “All have colluded and fallen short of the glory of God.” The question is, how are we going to stop?

*Peter Dauvergne , Environmentalism of the Rich (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2018).152 pp.  Paper. $16.95.

 

 

 

 

 

War Causes Climate Change

January 2, 2018 at 5:21 pm | Posted in Climate Change, war and violence, world water crisis | 4 Comments

The following is a slightly revised version of an article that appeared in the winter 2018 version of Kerux, the newsletter of the New York chapter of Pax Christi, the international Catholic peace movement.
Over the past year, in the face of multiple “once in five-hundred year” storms, massive forest fires, droughts, and famines, many of us who were previously not that interested in environmental issues are being forced to give climate change a second thought. But what do you do if your passion is for peace?
Back in 2010, when I addressed the annual assembly of Pax Christi Metro New York, I took a shot at demonstrating the connections between climate change, especially the world water crisis, and war. I detailed, for example, the links between the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and declining groundwater supplies there as well as the connections between drought in the Sudan region and the 2003-2010 war in Darfur.

But the causal relationship between climate change and war doesn’t run in just one direction. Not only does climate change cause wars; wars, and the military-industrial complex that underpins wars, are a, and some would argue, the cause of climate change (which, in turn causes more wars, ad infinitum). My aim in this article is to lay out this second phase of the vicious cycle, the one I didn’t address in 2010.*
The current impact of US militarism on the climate is staggering. The US Air Force, for example, is the single largest consumer of jet fuel in the world. The B-52 Stratocruiser uses 500 gallons of jet fuel per minute; ten minutes of flight uses as much fuel as the average driver does in a year. And CO2 emissions from jet fuel are as much as triple the amount given off by diesel or oil.

Then there’s the massive “upstream emissions” of greenhouse gases generated in the manufacture of military equipment, vehicles, weapons, munitions and infrastructure in the endless wars the US fights to maintain control over oil reserves in the Middle East. And this causal link between war and climate change, especially greenhouse gas emissions, grew steadily throughout the twentieth century. In World War II, a US soldier used 1 gallon of gas a day; in Vietnam, 9 gallons; in the Second Gulf War, 15 gallons.

But the (mis)use of fuel is only one part of the story. The immediate environmental consequences of warfare are also appalling. Already in the 1820s, the Napoleonic wars destroyed so much forest cover that they contributed to the cooling of the planet, while in World War I Great Britain felled nearly half of its commercial woodland for military use, and more than 8 million acres of European topsoil were destroyed in battles, tanks, trucks, bombs, etc., –the equivalent of 40,000 years of erosion.

Equally staggering is the tactical strategic role of environmental destruction in modern warfare. Eighty-five percent of the munitions used in the Vietnam War was aimed at the environment sheltering the Vietcong, not at the Vietcong themselves. The US also sprayed 70 million liters of defoliants like Agent Orange onto Vietnamese forests contaminating 40% of arable land and 23% of its forest cover. Napalm use killed vegetation as well as people. And lest we think that we were the only ones burning people and the planet with napalm, be aware that the French used it in Algeria and the British in Kenya in the 1950s.
In addition to the harm done to the environment (and human beings) by war, there is a direct and onerous link between military inventions and technological advances and the arrival of what scientists call the Anthropocene, the new, human-induced geological epoch. Consider, for example, nylon, invented by DuPont during World War II to replace Japanese silk for parachutes and bullet-proof vests. After the war, huge nylon nets, combined with sonar technologies created to identify underwater submarines, made massive but unsustainable increases in world seafood catches possible. These led to the plummeting of seafood stocks today.

Similarly, tank factories began after the war to produce vehicles like clear-cutters and bull-dozers that were used in mining, mountain-top removal, clearing forests and fields, and the destruction of topsoil. In the Atoms for Peace program after World War II, the US conducted 70 million explosions trying to identify civilian uses of the nuclear weapons invented in World War II—building highways over mountains, for example– while the Soviet Union did 128 explosions, though in each case the projects were eventually abandoned. Think of the environmental harm done by these “experiments.”
And then there’s the radioactive waste generated by the nuclear power stations that US nuclear weapons research generated, which may well be stored in a waste facility near you and your children and grandchildren in years to come. And then there’s the incalculable environmental damage at Chernobyl and Fukushima.

So why does all this matter? It matters because there’s a trend here in the United States towards what’s called “green capitalism.” That’s when people claim that they are fighting climate change by eating organic or buying hybrid cars. Don’t get me wrong here; those are good things to do. But as long as the United States is a hyper-militaristic war machine, colluding with other such machines, climate change isn’t going away. And when you turn out in the streets to oppose US militarism, or call your representatives to oppose the bloated US military budget, or donate to Pax Christi, you aren’t just working to save people from the violence of war. You are working to save God’s creation.

*Material in this article is drawn from Christophe Bonneuil and Jean-Baptiste Fressoz, The Shock of the Anthropocene (New York, NY: Verso Books, 2015), 122-147, and H. Patricia Hynes, “The Military Assault on Global Climate,” Truthout, Sept. 8, 2011. http://www.truth-out.org/news/item/3181:the-military-assault-on-global-climate Accessed December 6, 2017.

The Life and Death of Sister Maura Clarke

December 3, 2017 at 5:25 pm | Posted in Catholic sisters, Catholicism, war and violence, women | 1 Comment
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The following is a review of Eileen Markey’s splendid biography of Maryknoll Sister Maura Clarke, who was one of four churchwomen killed by military in El Salvador in 1980. The review appears in the current issue of New Women, New Church,  the bi-annual publication of the US Women’s Ordination Conference (WOC). I have chosen to leave in the references to WOC  and Christian feminists because I think the overlaps with and the differences from Maura Clarke’s liberationist activism are significant.

Eileen Markey, A Radical Faith: The Assassination of Sister Maura (New York, NY: Nation Books, 2016) 336 pp. Hardcover. $26.99

A driving force behind the meeting in Detroit in 1975 that evolved into the Women’s Ordination Conference was the desire for the liberation of women in the Catholic Church. But during that same period, passion for another kind of liberation, the liberation of those under military dictatorships in Latin America, was driving some other Catholic women and men. In Eileen Markey’s splendid biography, A Radical Faith, readers become acquainted with (and will likely be deeply inspired by) one of them, Sister Maura Clarke.

Maura (née Mary Elizabeth) Clarke was like many American Catholic girls of her generation. Born in 1931 to Irish immigrant parents, she grew up in the traditional Catholicism of her working-class neighborhood in Queens, New York: attending Benediction, praying to the Blessed Virgin, listening to Bishop Sheen on the radio. And the religious congregation she entered in 1950, the Maryknoll sisters, was in many respects traditional as well. In the early years of her work as a missioner in Nicaragua, where she arrived in 1959, Maura and the other Maryknoll sisters were singing the Te Deum with members of the dictatorial Samoza family.

Several things changed all that: Vatican II, which mandated the renewal of religious life; Maura’s growing involvement with Nicaraguans who suffered enormously under the Samoza dictatorship; and her encounter with liberation theology, especially in the activism and writings of Ernesto Cardenal and his brother, Fernando.

Gradually the piety of Maura’s early years converged with the radical sense of justice that would shape the rest of her life. By the late 1960s, Maura and others were meeting and marching with Nicaraguans to protest the brutality of the Samoza regime. Maura interacted frequently with the Sandinistas, the revolutionary group that brought down the Samoza regime in 1979. When Maura moved to El Salvador in 1980, this history led the Salvadoran military to brand Maura and the three church women with she was working as subversives; on December 2, 1980, they beat, raped and murdered her and her companions.

Markey’s retelling of the political radicalization and activism that led to Maura Clarke’s death is galvanizing, but A Radical Faith is by no means only a narrative of the “assassination of Sister Maura.” Rather, it is a deeply moving study of the many dimensions of Maura Clarke’s life that shaped her heroic work for justice for the people of Central America. The extent of Markey’s research is stunning: details from interviews and letters from school friends, Maura’s interactions with her spiritual director, visits with her family in New York and Ireland, how she dealt with falling in love with a priest in Nicaragua. The engrossing portrait that emerges goes well beyond Clarke’s political convictions and actions.

At least two trajectories help to bring Markey’s extensive research together. One is the Irish history and identity of Maura’s family of origin. Maura’s father, John, had emigrated to the U.S. in 1914, but his brothers in County Sligo were active in the Irish Republican Army; he returned to Ireland in 1921 and fought in the Irish revolution. Maura’s mother, Mary McCloskey Clarke, grew up Catholic in what is now Northern Ireland, and knew well what being part of an oppressed minority felt like. From the beginning of the book, Markey uses the Clarkes’ experience of struggle against political oppression to clarify Maura’s commitments and her heroism. Already in the first chapter, Markey explains that during Maura’s childhood, she often accompanied her father, John, on his after-dinner strolls on the boardwalk beside the ocean where he

…told stories of the Irish revolution and instilled his thoughtful daughter with an understanding of the world from the perspective of the person on the bottom: the native, not the colonist, the peasant, not the landlord…of brave, principled rebels, of people who stand against the prevailing power and for the underdog. …Maura ingested the message. (27-28)

The other motif that brings Markey’s remarkable research together is Maura’s Christian faith, and, in fact, the centrality of the suffering and death of Jesus on the cross to that faith. Repeatedly Markey highlights the influence of Christ’s suffering on Maura’s life and work:

…After the earthquake in Managua in 1972) Maura went with Fr. Mercerreyes as he walked through the remains of the parish…(hugging) people…crying with them and (sharing) the Eucharist. It was Christ’s broken body for a ravaged people. (141″

…(Even after death threats,) Maura had asked…”If we abandon them when they are suffering the cross, how can we speak credibly about the resurrection?” (241)

Since the 1970s, a number of feminist theologians have argued that the Christian focus on the suffering and death of Jesus on the cross is a major cause of women’s oppression. In 1975, the same year that many of us met in Detroit for the first Catholic conference on women’s ordination, the great German liberation and then feminist theologian, Dorothee Soelle, strongly criticized what she perceived as the sadism of Jurgen Moltmann’s theology of the cross, as expressed in his classic work, The Crucified God. And In the 2000s, U.S. feminist theologians Rebecca Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock denounced the cross as a symbol of violence and abuse in two different books, Proverbs of Ashes (2000) and Saving Paradise (2008). After Vatican II some Catholic churches replaced the crucifix with a figure of the risen Christ behind the altar.

There can be no doubt that the cross has sometimes been used to encourage women to repress suffering and abuse rather than speak out about it. But as Maura Clarke’s life and death show, the suffering and death of Jesus have also inspired women to live and die in the hope of a resurrection of justice and peace for all. May reading A Radical Faith inspire Christian feminists, including Catholic women’s ordination activists, to reconsider and expand our understanding of the cross and other dimensions of our own faith in the months and years to come.

(Marian Ronan is Research Professor of Catholic Studies at New York Theological Seminary, NY, NY, and co-author of Women of Vision: Sixteen Founders of the International Grail Movement (Apocryphile Press, 2017). She was the 2000-2002 president of the WOC board.

WWJD?

November 27, 2017 at 12:23 pm | Posted in Aging, Climate Change, Environment, women, world water crisis | 2 Comments
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No, not what would Jesus do. What would Jane O’Donnell do?

Jane O’Donnell was part of the generation ahead of mine in the Grail, the international women’s movement I’ve been active in since my senior year in high school. Many of the women in that earlier  generation were utterly amazing. I would not be who I am without the example they set for me.

Jane O’Donnell was a native Philadelphian (as I am), and came to the Grail through the Catholic Worker. There was a close connection between the US Grail and the Catholic Worker from the outset; the Grail founders corresponded with Dorothy Day before they came to the US in 1940, and Day later made several  retreats at the Grail’s house near Cincinnati. And from time to time over the years, Day sent women to the Grail who seemed more suited to us than to the CW. Jane was , I believe, one of these.

Jane lived most of her adult life in Grail communities, and did amazing work with the poor. One story I heard involved her leaving a Grail Christmas celebration to take food to a family that was without any.

I knew Jane mostly from Grail meetings, but perhaps we lived together at Grailville, the Grail’s southern Ohio farm and conference center, in the 1970s. In any case, I have to confess, I mostly found Jane baffling. Eventually I read in an introduction to the Myers-Briggs test that extroverts are people who determine what they think by talking about it, and this helped me understand Jane a bit better. Suffice to say that in my family of origin, editing before you talk was a highly valued, not to say required, practice.  So I often had a hard time understanding what Jane was taking about.

I am thinking about this now because once, toward the end of her life, when we were both at the Grail Center at Cronwall on Hudson, Jane said to me that she had decided that it doesn’t really matter whether there are dirty spots on your clothes; you should just wear them that way. Striving as I was then to move from my working class background into the professional-managerial class as a professor, I thought once again: What is this woman talking about?

In recent years, however, I have been using my professorial skills to research the impending climate catastrophe. In a review of a book on the gargantuan increase in consumption since World War II, I read that after the war something like 70% of Europeans wore their socks two days in a row before washing them , but today, virtually nobody does. Since then, at the end of the day, I have been hanging my socks over the edge of my sock drawer and wearing them again– though my post-working class try-not-to-smell-like-a poor-person tendencies make it hard for me to admit this.

I am also trying to get myself to wear clothes that have spots on them. It would save water, because I would wash them less, and put fewer soap chemicals into the water system. Doing this is made easier by the fact that our fist-floor west-Flatbush apartment is a bit dark; sometimes I go out and see spots that I had missed when I got dressed (or see that I am wearing clothes a different color from what I had intended!)

In any case, there’s one thing I am fairly sure of: I know what Jane O’Donnell would do.

 

Fast Violence and the Western Imagination

November 2, 2017 at 9:56 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Before I begin writing, let me state clearly: I do not dismiss the deaths of the eight people hit by a truck Tuesday in lower Manhattan, or the injuries sustained by thirteen others. I am truly sorry for all of those people.

But whenever a violent event like this one occurs, I think about the title of a 2011 book that had a significant impact on me, Rob Nixon’s Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. There are a lot of reasons why you would do well to read Nixon’s book, but the beginning of the title itself sticks in my head: slow violence. I mean, you would think, wouldn’t you,  that violence is violence? But by adding an adjective to that particular noun, Nixon calls such an assumption into question. If there is slow violence, then there is fast violence, too, and that, I would argue, is  precisely what happened along the bicycle path along the Hudson yesterday as school was letting out.

The real issue, however, is not that there are different kinds of violence, but that we in the West are fixated on one particular kind: the fast kind. Consider, if you will, the amount of attention focused on the fast violence that occurred in lower Manhattan two days ago. Twenty-one casualties, and hours and hours and hours of media coverage.

But now consider this: the day before the Manhattan attack, the highly respected British medical journal, The Lancet, published a report that

reveals just how bad climate change is for public health. The diagnosis reveals that hundreds of millions of people are already suffering the health impacts of climate change. Its insidious creep is being felt in multiple ways: rising temperatures are hastening the spread of infectious diseases; crop yields are becoming uneven and unpredictable, worsening the hunger and malnourishment for some of the most vulnerable people on the planet; allergy seasons are getting longer; and at times it is simply too hot for farmers to work in the fields…. local air pollution around the world – much of it coming straight out of exhaust pipes – kills about 6.5 million people annually…

You heard all about that on your radio, or over the internet, didn’t you? I mean, there is a significant–in fact–horrific difference between eight deaths and 6.5 million deaths, right?

The difference is that fast violence is a whole lot more fascinating. Who cares about insignificant millions dying slowly  from air pollution, or from water-borne diseases (a child dies of a water-borne disease every fifteen seconds)?

I think about this sort of thing, in part because my only uncle, Jimmy Dodds, died of diphtheria  in 1921 when he was six years old.  They just came and took the body away. No funeral was permitted, because of the contagious nature of the disease. My mother, who was four at the time, said her parents never recovered from the death of their only son. My grandmother wore a gold locket with Jimmy’s picture in it, and a lock of his hair, her whole life. I wear it now. I can still hear her sighing as she walked me to the library when I was in grade school.

But the eight people who got killed on Tuesday are a lot more interesting. A truck hit them, going really really fast, and driven by a terrorist. First things first, or maybe only.

 

 

I Am (Not) Fat

August 4, 2017 at 12:04 pm | Posted in Catholic sisters, Health | 3 Comments
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In case you didn’t know, being overweight is a big issue in the United States these days (no pun intended). The Centers for Disease Control report that in 2013-2014 37.9% of Americans over the age of 20 were obese and 70.9% over the age of 20 were either obese or overweight. That’s more than two-thirds of the population.

However much a threat this epidemic poses to the health of a great many people, the response to it is something less than unified. This weekend,  a long article  in the New York Times Magazine called “Losing It in the Anti-Dieting Age” explores a number of the complexities. Apparently, there’s a lot of push-back against dieting, against trying to lose weight. It’s tacky. It’s discriminatory. It’s anti-feminist. There’s a “fat acceptance movement.”  Researchers disagree about whether dieting actually works, whether there’s even any point in trying. The article also includes lots of info about Weight-Watchers and Lean Cuisine and Oprah and companies that deliver healthy food to your door. No mention, of course, that a large percentage of overweight and obese people are poor and cannot possibly afford the various consumerist dieting regimes.

I read the whole article with interest. I did so, in large part, because when I was a young person, I was fat–overweight, I guess I should say. When I graduated from high school in 1965, I was 5 ft. 6 in. tall and weighed. 160 lbs., which is slightly over a normal Body Mass Index. And believe me, I knew it.

I had not always been fat. There are photos of me before kindergarten looking tall and thin. But when I was five, my beloved grandfather, “Poppie,” died suddenly from a heart attack. My parents and I had lived with him and my grandmother, “Dommie,” till I was two-and-a-half, and visited them often after we moved to our own house. Indeed, the first thing that was ever said about me, after I popped out of my mother’s belly, was “Oh, she looks just like Daddy.” My grandfather’s  death was devastating. Even Dommie’s moving in with us afterwards didn’t remedy things; she was never herself again. I can still hear her sighing as she walked me to the drugstore for an ice cream cone.

The next year I entered grade school at St. Joseph’s in Collingdale, just south of Philadelphia. It was 1953.

Over the years there has been a lot written about how dreadful the Catholic sisters were who taught in the kind of post-war urban parochial school I attended–how they hit kids, and screamed at them, and so forth. Let me just say that there were three separate first grade classes when I started at St. Joe’s, and my class had 106 kids in it; three kids in every two desks.  I am surprised that the nun didn’t kill a few of us. One of my happiest memories from those days is buying an ice cream cone at the Dairy Queen on my way home from school.

Then, when I was seven, a sibling was born with a rather disturbing birth defect. I will not go into detail, specially as said sibling will probably read this post.  But we shared a bedroom for the next seven years, and it understates the case to say my parents were not very good at dealing with emotions.

Presto! Fat Marian.

My overweight, if not obese, situation continued till my early thirties, when I was living at Grailville, a Catholic feminist commune in southwest Ohio. For some reason, I took up running, and continued running for years following. I lost thirty pounds.

I gained the weight back in the 1990s: I unintentionally lost ten pounds after I had surgery for colon cancer in 1994–getting a chunk cut out of your colon does not facilitate eating–and it scared the bejesus out of me. I began eating ice cream between meals. Soon I was approaching the big 160 again. In 2000, however, the psychoanalyst I was workingwith  suggested that I might want to lose some weight, and I did. Since then I have been absolutely determined to keep the fat off.

The weird thing about these experiences is that I have never stopped thinking of myself as fat. I recently had occasion to lose a serious amount of weight–I got down below 120 lbs–as a result of a gastrointestinal bug and then my annual colonoscopy. So I needed to eat more, to get up to a normal weight. But  I don’t have a mental category for “I should eat more.” The only thing I understand is “I should eat less.” Maybe this is only true for people who were fat as kids, when your self-image is being formed. In any case, I have been following a rigorous eating schedule and am now back up to 119 pounds.

Finally, I have a  recommendation for people who are trying to lose weight, and that is to walk. I read somewhere that walking is the best kind of exercise because you can build it into your schedule and then just keep doing it, for example, walking three or four subway stops on your way to work, and then doing the same thing on the way home. The other good thing about walking is all you need is a pair of shoes and some sun block. No paying gym fees.

If you live here in Brooklyn, perhaps I will pass you on my walk today in Prospect Park. I’m leaving as soon as I post this blog piece.

 

 

 

 

Catholic Women, Liturgy, and the Transformation of the World

May 1, 2017 at 2:39 pm | Posted in Catholicism, feminism, women | 3 Comments
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Those of you who read my blog with any regularity may have come across my references to the Grail, an international women’s movement that I have been active in since my senior year in high school (fifty-two years, in case you’re counting). The Grail is not very well-known these days, at least in the U.S., but it played a significant role in securing a place for lay women in the Catholic Church in the 20th century. The following is a revised version of my review of a book that explores the place of the Grail in one aspect of Catholic modernization in the twentieth century, the Liturgical Movement.

There Were Also Many Women There: Lay Women in the Liturgical Movement in the United States, 1926-1959 by Katherine E. Harmon (Liturgical Press, 2012). 412 pp. Paperback: $39.95 (but on sale right now for $25.97 at https://www.litpress.org/Products/6271/There-Were-Also-Many-Women-There); eBook, $31.99.

Despite the positive impact of the women’s movement over the past half century, many kinds of sexism continue.  One is the omission–exclusion–of women from histories of various developments and movements.

One history from which women have been significantly excluded is that of the liturgical movement in the Roman Catholic Church. In There Were Also Many Women There, historian Katharine Harmon examines the influential and largely undocumented role that women, that is to say, laywomen played in the Roman Catholic liturgical movement in the United States. (All Catholic women are considered laywomen, even nuns, because women cannot be priests). To do so, Harmon first explores the European origins of the liturgical movement, and then focuses on the liturgical movement in the U.S. The Grail movement, the women’s community in which I have spent my entire adult life, figures significantly in both sections of the book.

So what is the liturgical movement, and why is it important? Begun in the 1830s, the liturgical movement was an effort to reform the worship practices of the Roman Catholic Church. Some consider it an attempt to return to the romanticism of the Middle Ages, but Harmon demonstrates that the movement was, from the outset, a profoundly social development. It was social because it moved Catholic worship beyond the isolation of the Latin Mass, where individuals had engaged in private devotions like the rosary and encouraged instead responding to and singing together during the Mass. In effect, the goal of the movement was to make the liturgy a socially unifying experience, so as to bring the liturgical participant “into union with the Christian community and, thus inspired, to expand this spirit outward for the renewal of society.”(11)

Launched in Benedictine monasteries in France, the liturgical movement took on new energy after the catastrophic effects of World War I. Active, intelligent liturgical participation in the oneness of Christ’s body would enable God’s grace to permeate and redeem the world. Not coincidentally, the Society of the Women of Nazareth, the group which became the Grail movement, was itself founded in 1921, to convert the world from the callous and demoralizing values evidenced by the war.

Harmon acknowledges that the Women of Nazareth and the Grail Youth Movement they launched in 1928 were not explicitly part of the European liturgical movement. But she argues that the massive colorful religious performances that the Grail staged with thousands of Dutch girls in stadiums beginning in 1932 was “one of the most courageous and public realizations of Catholic Action (the lay Catholic turn to social justice) in the years between the world wars.”  She also quotes an early article about the Grail in a publication of the US liturgical movement stating that the Grail movement was paradigmatic of the essential relationship between liturgy and lived Christianity: The Grail seemed “to be enlivened with a living appreciation of liturgical life and an active understanding of the real meaning of the lay apostolate.” (45).

After the Grail’s arrival in the U.S. in 1940, the liturgical dimension of the movement became even more explicit. U.S. co-founders Lydwine van Kersbergen and Joan Overboss attended and spoke out at national liturgical meetings, and nationally recognized leaders of the liturgical movement led courses and celebrated the Eucharist at Grail centers. And in the U.S., as much or more than was the case in Europe, the Grail celebration of the liturgy, including the singing of Gregorian chant, the creation of other chant-based liturgical music, and liturgical dance, was inextricably connected to the Grail’s commitment to Catholic Action—social justice—and the fostering of an integrated life on the land.

Lydwine van Kersbergen stressed that “the first principle in the training of lay apostles is the understanding that the experience of the sacred liturgy is the integrating center of life” (224).  The great Catholic social justice activist Dorothy Day made retreats with the Grail outside Chicago and at Grailville and commented enthusiastically on the unity between prayer, singing and action in the Grail. For Day, this same integrated vision was at the center of the Catholic Worker movement. And as Harmon demonstrates, thousands of other U.S. women also took their Grail liturgical training back with them to parishes and lay groups across the country.

So why does this matter? Because the liturgy, and especially liturgical singing, were fundamental to the formation of the generations of Grail women who helped the change the Catholic Church and the wider society in which that church played an influential role. And many of these women went on from that formation to engage in amazingly hard, brave, and even heroic work to establish what they understood to be God’s kingdom on earth. I am thinking here of the Dutch Grail women who continued to hold underground meetings during the Nazi occupation of Holland, although they knew they would be sent to concentration camps if they were caught. And others who stayed at their mission stations in Africa and Latin America in the face of horrifying violence—in one case, remaining in central Africa even after a Grail member was murdered in her bed in the next room during a tribal civil war. And then there were the women who worked their entire lives for subsistence at the Grail’s farm and national center in southwest Ohio and other Grail centers.

The Grail is currently active in eighteen countries around the world. Over its near century of existence, it has supported, enlivened and educated thousands of women and girls, running schools and hospitals, leading pioneering programs in progressive education, feminist theology, social transformation, and agriculture. And for many years the Roman Catholic liturgy was at the heart of such action for social change. What will provide the foundation for desperately needed action in 2017, in the face of the rise of nationalist populism and religious wars around the world?

Prophetic Obedience

April 25, 2017 at 10:29 am | Posted in Catholicism, constructive theology, ecclesiology, Vatican | Leave a comment
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This reviews appears in the April 21 issue of the National Catholic Reporter.

PROPHETIC OBEDIENCE: ECCLESIOLOGY FOR A DIALOGICAL CHURCH
By Bradford E. Hinze
Published by Orbis Books, 288 pages, $42

I have to confess, I’m pretty wary of the word obedience. So wary, in fact, that I almost declined to review Bradford Hinze’s new theology of the church.

I’m glad I didn’t. Prophetic Obedience is precisely the kind of constructive theology that enables post-Vatican II Catholics like me to overcome the binaries that have hindered us since the election of Pope John Paul II: freedom vs. obedience, the horizontal vs. the vertical, the magisterium vs. the sensus fidelium.

Hinze traces these binaries back to Second Vatican Council itself. He explores many of the ways in which the Vatican II vision of the church as the people of God, of all the baptized on the road together, impacted a wide range of ecclesial bodies as well as community organizations after the council. And he shows how a conservative faction of the bishops and the Vatican attempted to replace that vision with a “communion ecclesiology” stressing centralized authority and the magisterium.

The struggle between the people of God and communion ecclesiologies goes back to Pope Paul VI’s insertion of an “explanatory note” into the Vatican II Constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium. The note forbade the college of bishops from ever acting without the approval of the pope. Another devastating blow was the 1983 promulgation of the new Code of Canon Law stipulating that bishops’ synods, episcopal conferences, diocesan synods, and parish councils had nothing more than advisory (“consultative”) authority.

Yet Hinze does not react to the damage done to the ecclesiology of the people of God with an attack on communion theology. He acknowledges, in fact, that communion ecclesiology, with its stress on the unity of the church, is also an important part of Vatican II teaching. Instead, he traces the problem to one form of communion ecclesiology, a form fixated on unity and authority to the exclusion of the voices of God’s people. The ascendancy of this form of communion ecclesiology, Hinze argues, “eclipsed” but did not extinguish “the new dawn of the People of God as it was emerging during the two decades after the council.”

To remedy this eclipse, the author offers a new ecclesiological vision: prophetic obedience. Prophetic obedience is the fundamental marker of a dialogical church, a church that deepens in its commitment to normative expressions of the apostolic faith — Scriptures, creeds, liturgies and official teachings — as it welcomes the wisdom of all the faithful.

In constructing this new ecclesiology, Hinze expands considerably on previous understandings of both prophecy and obedience. Prophecy is no longer only a word or message received that leads to a corresponding proclamation or witness; it is also the result of heeding, receiving and responding to the voice of the Spirit as expressed by all of God’s people and the whole of God’s creation.

Fundamental to this understanding of prophecy is the practice of lamentation. Drawing on the book of Psalms, Hinze explains laments as people calling out to God to listen and respond to their pain and suffering. The two driving forces within lamentations, we learn, are the desire to know why particular suffering is occurring and how long it will continue. Jesus came to understand his mission by listening to the laments of the people. And the laments of God’s people today form a crucible from which compassion and discernment are forged. Without heeding the voice of the Spirit in the laments of all of God’s creation, the church cannot fulfill its prophetic calling.

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Dayanna Renderos Ruiz, 9, receives Communion during a Mass at St. John of God Church in Central Islip, New York, April 11, 2015. (CNS/Gregory A. Shemitz)

The author also expands the idea of obedience well beyond the notion of blind capitulation to authority that gave me pause when I first read the title of his book. To do so, he revisits the relationship between the three persons of the Trinity, and in particular, the obedience they practice. A standard framework for understanding obedience is Jesus obeying God the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane when he prays, “Not my will but thine be done” (Mark 14:36). Many theologians have configured the entire Trinity around this structure: The Father speaks, the Son responds in pure obedience, and the Spirit is the passive recipient of the interaction.

Hinze, however, expands this understanding of obedience by offering an alternative vision of the Trinity in which all three persons practice obedience, though in distinctive ways. For example, the Spirit, as seen in Genesis, is the active agency of God present in a chaotic world. The Father is obedient to this Spirit when he hears and responds to the groaning of creation. He is likewise obedient to the Son when he hears and responds to Jesus’ suffering by raising him from the dead. Drawing on the “polyphony of scripture,” Hinze illustrates the obedience of all three persons to one another and draws on this model to present a compelling ecclesiology of prophetic listening and response as the calling of all the people of God. The church can move beyond a paternalistic and hierarchical exercise of authority only by living out this vocation.

Multiple aspects of Prophetic Obedience deserve acknowledgement. One is the way the author weaves repeatedly and effectively throughout his book the theme of the prophetic identity of the people of God and their calling to obey the Spirit in the laments of all creation. Another is Hinze’s integration of the post-Vatican II experiences of women, women’s religious congregations, and people in ecumenical and interfaith grassroots organizations into his ecclesiology. He does not just theoretically advocate prophetic obedience to the voices of God’s people, he enacts it.

Finally, Hinze makes use of a considerable range of extra-theological scholarship, for example, the works of Judith Butler, Michel Foucault and Charles Taylor. Using such material nuances his argument but also risks making the book less accessible to those who would benefit most from it: Catholics in parishes. Given the compelling case Hinze makes for the pivotal role of prophetic obedience in the renewal of the church, we can only hope that somebody creates a parish version of his book very soon.

[Marian Ronan is research professor of Catholic Studies at New York Theological Seminary. In May, the Apocryphile Press will issue her new book, Women of Vision: Sixteen Founders of the International Grail Movement (co-authored with Mary O’Brien). All book reviews can be found at NCRonline.org/books.]

This story appeared in the April 21-May 4, 2017 print issue under the headline: Listen, respond to voices .

Religion is Over, Right?

April 13, 2017 at 11:45 am | Posted in religion, secularism | 3 Comments
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In 1968, for a number of reasons, I transferred from Trinity College in Washington to Temple University in Philadelphia. At Temple, I decided to major in religion. Temple had one of the first secular religion departments in the country, and I had always been fascinated by religion; in my family, Catholics had married Protestants for three generations. But I also brought with me a lot of credits in theology and philosophy, so majoring in religion was the fastest way to finish.

A member of the Catholic laywomen’s movement I belonged to there in Philly was studying social work at Temple. We were standing together on a sidewalk on Broad Street when I mentioned that I was going to major in religion. My Grail sister, Ann,  responded, “Why are you going to major in religion? Religion is over!!”

Ann was referring, I believe, to a theory, much discussed at the time, called “the secularization hypothesis.” It claimed that the world would soon be entirely post-religious, secularized. I recall that as we spoke I could see a Catholic church on a corner up the way. In Philly in those days there was a Catholic church every ten blocks or so, and the “parish plant”–parochial school, church, convent and rectory–often took up an entire city block. And the five or six Sunday Masses were often full to overflowing.

Given the developments in the decades since then, it can seem that my friend was correct. We have all heard about the “nones,” and the precipitous decline in attendance at liberal Protestant and white Catholic churches.

A recent report from the Pew Research Center on Religion and Public Life suggests, however, that I may have the last word in that conversation. In “The Changing Global Religious Landscape,” Pew researchers argue convincingly and in some detail that by 2060, not only will there be more Muslims than Christians in the world, but that the religious population across the board will well outnumber the “nones,” the religiously unaffiliated.

Why is this the case? In large part because the religiously affiliated, and especially Muslims, are having significantly more children than the nones are:

“In contrast with this  baby boom among Muslims, people who do not identify with any religion are experiencing a much different trend. While religiously unaffiliated people currently make up 16% of the global population, only an estimated 10% of the world’s newborns between 2010 and 2015 were born to religiously unaffiliated mothers. This dearth of newborns among the unaffiliated helps explain why religious “nones” (including people who identity as atheist or agnostic, as well as those who have no particular religion) are projected to decline as a share of the world’s population in the coming decades. By 2055 to 2060, just 9% of all babies will be born to religiously unaffiliated women, while more than seven-in-ten will be born to either Muslims (36%) or Christians (35%).”

This may seem not to affect the population make-up here. There are a great many religiously unaffiliated people in Europe, the US, and in Asia. But the religiously unaffiliated in these places have a much higher death-rate–are much older–than the religious do, while the greatest population growth will be in sub-Saharan Africa, where the vast majority is either Muslim or Christian.

Maybe my decision to study religion wasn’t so ill-advised after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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