JUNE 2022
AMONG WORLDS
Vol. 22 | No. 2
Politics & Public Service
Editor’s Letter Politics & Public Service
Contents
When you hear the word politics, notice your response: Do you tense up? Feel nauseated? Get an adrenaline rush? Shrug your shoulders in indifference?
From Cobalt Mines to Solar Power Haddie Grace
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How are you doing? Abigail de Vuyst
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Knowing Nothing of Politics in a Political World Elena Mackey
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Political Navigations John Evans
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Spotlight Interview: Tim Ziemer
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Diplomatically Speaking Jonathan S. Addleton
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Torn Heather Adkins
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Stains of Time Collin Hicks
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Who Will Accompany Me? Ann Wester
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Bright, Sunshiny Day Rebecca Hopkins
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June 2022 • Vol. 22 • No. 2 Cover Photo by @historyhd (Unsplash) Editor: Rachel Hicks Copy Editor: Pat Adams Graphic Designer: Kelly Pickering Digital Publishing: Bret Taylor
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What about when you hear the term public service? Do you have a similar response? Does the idea of public service seem more palatable, if perhaps a bit more ambiguous? This issue’s theme of Politics and Public Service can bring up complicated thoughts and feelings for TCKs. Many of us have confused loyalties: Which nation do I root for in the Olympics? What do I do when a host country I love acts badly on the world stage? Some argue that TCKs are ideally suited for foreign diplomacy; others wonder if they could ever represent their passport country in a foreign affairs role. Some TCKs follow politics closely; others can’t seem to care about politics at all. I’ve wondered if there is a correlation between mobility and feelings about politics: for instance, do TCKs who move more frequently feel less interest in or attachment to politics, whether in their passport country or their host nation(s)? Perhaps highly mobile TCKs often feel that they don’t “belong” enough to have strong political opinions or to serve adequately in a public service role. Regardless of how we approach this issue, it is apparent that TCKs do tend to have attributes that may be especially useful in political or public service careers. TCKs are often effective communicators, open minded, curious, adaptive, and able to recognize the validity of different viewpoints. (Besides the articles in this issue, I recommend this essay by Annelies Coessens, in which she explains why TCKs are well suited to a foreign affairs career.) It’s interesting to note that former US President Barack Obama is a TCK (Indonesia, Hawaii), as were some of his key advisors: Valerie Jarrett (Iran, UK), Tim Geithner (East Africa, India, Thailand, China, Japan), and James L. Jones (France).
“ World events are often filtered in our minds and hearts through actual people we know.” One frequent contributor to this magazine, Lauren Wells, wrote a blog post about the commonalities among TCKs when we engage with political issues. “We see faces,” she says, referring to how world events are often filtered in our minds and hearts through actual people we know. Knowing what it’s like to be a foreigner and valuing different perspectives are two other common aspects of being a TCK that Lauren describes—aspects that may shape our political views.
Among Worlds is on Instagram! Follow us at amongworlds. The mission of Among Worlds is to encourage adult TCKs and other global nomads by addressing real needs through relevant issues, topics, and resources.
Admiral Tim Ziemer, who grew up in the central highlands of what is now Vietnam. We hope that this issue helps you to reflect on your own ideas about politics and public service, (whatever that may look like in your context) and that you come away feeling encouraged by how your TCK experiences have shaped you and may enable you to contribute positively in your world! Don’t forget that we’d love to hear your comments on this issue or past issues, any TCKmoments you’d like to share, or ideas for topics you’d like to see covered in this magazine! Write to us at amongworlds@interactionintl.org. We may print your feedback in our next issue! Wishing you all good things,
Rachel AMONG WORLDS ©2022 (ISSN# 1538-75180) IS PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY INTERACTION INTERNATIONAL, P. O. BOX 863 WHEATON, IL 60187 USA. NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT THE PRIOR PERMISSION FROM THE PUBLISHER. WE LOVE WORKING WITH INTERNATIONAL SCHOOLS AND NGOS AND WILL NEGOTIATE A RATE THAT WORKS WITHIN YOUR BUDGET. CONTACT US AT AMONGWORLDS@ INTERACTIONINTL.ORG OR CALL +1-630-653-8780. THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN AMONG WORLDS DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEW OF AMONG WORLDS OR INTERACTION INTERNATIONAL.
In this issue, you’ll read of one TCK’s struggle to care about and follow politics in her passport country once she came of age to participate by voting. Another TCK unexpectedly found her academic passion in a comparative politics class, studying global exploitation of natural resource wealth—the devastating effects of which she’d seen firsthand in the lives of people she loved in sub-Saharan Africa. In these pages, you’ll hear from former US Ambassador Jonathan Addleton, and you’ll meet our Spotlight guest, retired Rear June 2022
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“ I know people who lived through the events I was reading about.”
A solar panel in Eastern Cameroon.
From Cobalt Mines to Solar Power
How One TCK Got Engaged in Resource Politics By Haddie Grace
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hen people find out I am a graduate student, they often ask what I’m studying. When I tell them I’m studying the politics and governance of the energy and extractive sectors in sub-Saharan Africa, some of them follow up with: “How in the world did you get interested in that?” I guess the short answer is that I’m a third culture kid. Here is the long answer.
is evidence that oil wealth and certain types of mineral wealth play a role in triggering and sustaining civil conflict, increasing corruption, and strengthening authoritarian regimes. With the rise in renewable energy development, political science literature has expanded to consider a “green curse”—the observation that renewable resources come with their own set of challenges and risks for conflict and corruption.
When I was eighteen and in undergraduate studies, I took a comparative politics class. The upper-level course was overwhelmingly challenging for me. After several weeks of slogging through empirical research on complex political phenomena, struggling to decipher the implications of over-my-head statistical analyses, and shedding tears of frustration trying to complete assignments, I considered dropping the class. But then I came across something political scientists refer to as “the resource curse.”
For this class, I read extensive literature on the subject and noticed many of the examples came from sub-Saharan Africa: from the role of alluvial diamond mining in Sierra Leone’s civil war, to tungsten and tantalum conflicts in the Democratic Republic of Congo, to insurgent militias controlling gold mines in Mali and Burkina Faso, to the role of oil in the Sudanese civil war and South Sudan’s secession.
To oversimplify for brevity’s sake, the resource curse is the observation that under certain conditions, natural resource wealth, particularly oil wealth, is correlated with political dysfunction in low- and middle-income countries. There
I was raised in sub-Saharan Africa. These accounts did not feel distant or purely academic to me. I know people who lived through the events I was reading about. Some of my longest and closest relationships are with people who were born in refugee camps, displaced in the midst of violent conflict sustained by the June 2022
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extractive industries. I have multiple friends who had to evacuate because of political instability and terrorism in the Sahel. I know and love people who have personally experienced the acute consequences of the mismanagement and global exploitation of natural resource wealth, wealth that should have brought economic opportunity, critical development, and an increase in prosperity. I thought of the gold rush in Senegal’s Kedougou region, where I grew up. I thought of the recent discovery of vast off-shore oil and natural gas fields found in the Senegal-Mauritanian basin. I couldn’t help but wonder if this would end up in some future case study analyzing, yet again, how corruption, like a wand-wielding magician, vanishes profits into hidden pockets and virtually nothing is better than it was before. Suddenly, this class didn’t seem so abstract and theoretical anymore. Something had hit close to home. Too close to home. This was a subject I understood. I had a visceral response to it. I wanted to know everything about it, even if it meant crying through pages of methods sections full of dizzying alphabet-soup math. I finally had a topic for my research paper. I didn’t drop the class. As I continued my research through subsequent courses, I became intrigued by how the energy and extractive sectors are closely linked. Fossil fuels are the obvious extractive resources used in energy production, but certain minerals have emerged as key resources in the generation of renewable energy. Extractive resources such as lithium and cobalt are essential components of lithium-ion batteries that power electric vehicles and store energy from renewable resources, like wind and solar power.
“ Suddenly, this class didn’t seem so abstract and theoretical anymore. Something had hit close to home.” 5
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Haddie’s family vehicle in the Kedougou region.
People conflate middle- and low-income regions with being “poor regions,” but the African continent boasts incredible resource wealth. For example, the Democratic Republic of Congo is widely considered one of the richest countries on earth in terms of resource endowments, with tremendous renewable energy capacity and over half of the world’s known cobalt deposits. Despite sub-Saharan Africa’s rich energy endowments, renewable and nonrenewable, the region has some of the lowest energy generation and consumption rates in the world. The development of these resources will not come from the public sector alone; it requires scaling up private investment, especially foreign investment. Much research is needed to inform domestic policy development in these areas, as well as research to inform private-sector decisionmaking. This is the research I want to do. As an American citizen who grew up in subSaharan Africa, I find myself uniquely positioned to act as a liaison, whether it be for the US government directing aid to renewable energy sectors, or to help private US companies safely and ethically invest in these emerging markets. I spent my developing, identity-forming years in rural Senegal with solar panels on my tin roof. A family friend died from mercury poisoning
because of local mining practices, and his nine children were left without a father. When I was nineteen, I lived for five months off-grid in Cameroon. I saw a woman receive urgent medical care while people held flashlights so the nurse could see to stitch a head wound. There is an exigent need for development, regulation, and transparency in the energy and extractive industries. I am painfully, distressingly aware of this in a way I never could be from listening to course lectures or reading journal articles or watching documentaries. If I was not a TCK who happened to have a personal connection to that week’s reading assignments, I probably would have dropped that class. If I had dropped that class, I likely would not have gone on to pursue a master’s degree in political science with a concentration in policy analysis. I would not be spending this week preparing to present my master’s research: a comparative analysis of the domestic uptake of renewable energy across three countries in sub-Saharan Africa. I would not be starting my PhD in the fall (specializing in comparative politics—can you believe it?).
But I am a third culture kid. And I love my countries. Under Senegal’s gold and oil and sunshine and wind are the red pebbles of the rural “hometown” that shaped me. I have no expectations of becoming a renowned expert spearheading revolutionary change. I don’t know what I will actually end up contributing, or if it will be valuable. I hope so. If anything, I see my research as an homage. To the place that for most of my life, I called home. How in the world did I get interested in this? How in the world could I not?
“ I see my research as an homage. To the place that for most of my life, I called home.” Haddie Grace has US citizenship, grew up in Senegal, graduated from university in North Carolina, met her Québécois husband in Cameroon, and immigrated to Canada in 2019. She regularly volunteers with TCK care programs and has served as a staff member at TCK re-entry/transition seminars in the United States and Canada.
Haddie poses with Flat Stanley, 2001.
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How Are You Doing?
By Abigail de Vuyst
“How are you doing?” They routinely ask me this morning “I’m okay,” I say, a regular response They haven’t seen the news yet “How are you doing?” “I’m alright,” I say, as I hold back tears I can’t look anyone in the face They wonder what is going on with me They haven’t made the connection “How are you doing?” Some ask, as they rush over to give me a hug Every hug today is a little longer They know the situation I can’t even answer I just cry “How are you doing?” My professor asks me as I enter the empty classroom “They’re bombing my city” is all I can say “Oh no,” they mutter They remember where I’m from I collapse into their caring arms “How are you doing?” “Have you seen the news,” I say They do a quick search “The missiles in Ukraine?” they ask “Yeah, Russia declared war” Thankfully, that’s enough of an answer “How are you doing? I saw the news Are you okay?” “I didn’t sleep last night,” I say Pity engulfs their face
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“I can’t even imagine,” they say “How are you doing?” “I’m from Ukraine,” I say “If you need to talk, go ahead,” The stranger says in my meeting I appreciate the care “How are you doing?” I sigh; I know I am safe with them “It’s been a hard day” They help me process, Cry with me and pray with me “How are you doing?” A bright happy smile Crossing my path “I’m good,” I say; I lie I want to be upset—they don’t realize my situation But their joyful smile instead Gives me a moment of hope I hope that one day My people can again smile Without the constant fear and thought of war “How are you doing?” I don’t know what to say The truth is I don’t know how I am doing I feel like my inside has been ripped open and someone is digging around inside, trying to steal my heart I guess that is what is happening Someone is stealing my heart Ukraine has always been my heart Ukraine will always be my heart Слава Україні!
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Abigail de Vuyst grew up in Ukraine as a TCK/MK. She is currently studying at university in Michigan. NOTE: An excerpt of this poem was published in an article in Christianity Today: https://www.christianitytoday. com/ct/2022/march-web-only/ third-culture-missionary-kids-traumadeconstruction-church.html
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Knowing Nothing of Politics in a Political World By Elena Mackey 11
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rap. That’s what I thought the first time I had to vote. As I held the ballot in my hands, I realized the years of not caring about anything political had come back to bite me in the butt. I didn’t recognize any of the names on the many sheets of paper I was holding. I thought of calling my parents to tell me what to do. Yet the shame due to my lack of knowledge stopped me. I had requested a mail-in ballot since I was at college, away from my home state. My ballot never made it out of my dorm room. It sat in the drawer of random stuff until eventually I threw it away, completely blank. If the question ever arose, I would say I had simply forgotten to send in my ballot. No one needed to know I was unable to form my own political opinions.
notebook, which has served many different purposes yet remains too empty to get rid of. As I grew older, I tried to pay attention to the events of the world. I knew I should care and be informed about what was going on in my country, whether that meant the US or the D.R. I never found the will to do my research but was pleased whenever I stumbled upon some information. I felt proud and mature anytime I could join a conversation on politics.
The summer after I graduated high school, I lived and worked in Minnesota in preparation for college in the fall. I knew the elections were coming up. My parents encouraged me to watch the news and do research. But I just didn’t care. I listened if someone was watching the news or talking about the coming election but never of These days, it’s hard to stay away from politics, my own accord. I knew I didn’t like my options, especially in the US. For those involved, you stand with your country because it is your home. but I registered to vote anyway, even if just to But what if you don’t know where to call home? make my parents happy. As you know, my vote never made it in, and I couldn’t have cared less. I am one of the thousands of TCKs in the world Even now, I have no opinion on the current who doesn’t know where to call home, which president except that he’s old. I can speculate, country to stand for, how to be involved in but I won’t form an opinion if I am uninformed politics, or whether we even have the right. on the matter. Growing up in the Dominican Republic (the D.R.), all I knew of politics was there never “ What truly took me by surprise seemed to be a good-enough president, and elections meant political parties parading in was the politics I faced amidst the streets. As foreigners, my parents weren’t COVID-19.” allowed to vote. As missionaries, they didn’t want to risk taking a side. So, if they had opinions, they kept them to themselves. We What truly took me by surprise was the politics didn’t have cable, so I never saw the news, and I faced amidst COVID-19. I was still in the D.R. all I ever knew were the things I heard from my when the pandemic started. To me, it was an friends or on the streets. illness to avoid and a cause for quarantine. When I spoke of it with my Dominican friends Years ago, when I was in fifth grade, we and their families, we would discuss the happened to be on home assignment in the US devastation. No one liked masks or restrictions, during an election season. I was young, living but it was better than watching people die. my life in bliss, unaware of politics. My parents took me with them to fill out their ballots. All When the Dominican government made the I remember was getting the sticker that says, use of masks mandatory, everyone obeyed. “I Voted!” It is still stuck to the back of my Sure, people didn’t like it. It was especially not
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ideal in the tropical heat, but the government told them to do it, so they did. In the US there have been riots against the use of masks. To some Americans being required to wear a mask is an infringement of their human rights. This makes no sense whatsoever to me. The Dominican part of me wonders why something that seems so insignificant in the bigger scheme of things needs to be political. As a TCK and as a Christian, I wonder why people cannot be flexible or considerate of who else their arguments affect. In the D.R. people don’t want to get vaccinated because either they are afraid, or they just don’t want to. In the US it’s a political stance whether you get vaccinated or not. However, I cannot attribute my ideals or stance to where I come from or who I claim to be. There are too many moving parts for me to pick one side. I stay away from American politics because I do not want to be grouped with those “crazy gringos” in the eyes of my Dominican friends.
“ There are too many moving parts for me to pick one side.”
Yet, I can’t escape the culture of my parents. Growing up, in Dominican history classes we studied countless instances where the US would swoop in and intervene in a country across the sea, including the D.R. I developed the view of my classmates saying, “Gringos are metiches” (Americans are nosy). Even now, when I see that the US is “aiding” another country or I hear Americans talking of another country in trouble, I can’t help but scoff a bit. The Dominican pride in me wants to tell the US to stay out of other countries’ business when there’s no way they can understand what is truly going on. Yet I’ve come to realize my grudge against this apparent interference is childish. Each time the US steps in, perhaps there’s more to it than just a country thinking they can fix everyone else. Take away the political aspect and maybe all I will see is one people group helping another. The same reasons I have for staying away from politics should be the reasons I want to step in. I dislike the ignorance people have concerning cultures which aren’t their own. Am I not someone in the perfect position to be a bridge between those cultures? TCKs have the gift of knowing various parts of different cultures. We see the deepest values of a people group and we understand because we hold a piece of them in our hearts. Why is it that we stay away from politics? As TCKs we are in the unique position
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to be able to cross and breach borders in a way no one else can. We should be out there as loud as anyone else. Politics isn’t fun, and I still don’t like the thought of having to watch the news. But politics is a big part of the world—we can’t escape it. Truly, I must believe it doesn’t matter where I came from or where my heart finds its home. My voice is unique, and the world needs to hear it. I see things in a way my one-cultured friends don’t. I even see things differently from other TCKs, as each of us have our own unique experiences and stories. The unique perspective on life we’ve been given is a gift.
At least for those of us in the US, we don’t need to assure people that legally our opinion should matter because we have citizenship. Our voices matter, and that’s why we should be on the front lines like anyone else. Maybe one day I, among others, can step into this political world, making our stories as loud as they are complex. Elena Mackey was adopted from Colombia by American parents. She’s lived in the United States, Guatemala, and the Dominican Republic, but the D.R. is and always will be her home. She is twenty and living in Virginia while attending Liberty University, pursuing majors in writing and psychology. wtwbs.com
A TCK is an individual who, having spent a significant part of the developmental years in a culture other than the parents’ cultures, does not have full ownership of any culture. Elements from each culture are incorporated into the life experience, but the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of similar experience.” - David C. Pollock
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Political Navigations By John Evans
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rowing up and living in a land that is not that of your passport often imposes varying influences on one’s political views and opinions. Working as an adult in a different land can either reverse or reinforce those views. If you do not speak the local language or spend much time with host country nationals, you are less likely to follow local news in anything beyond a superficial level. One benefit of this is that there is one less concern in daily life, except of course, when major events like political upheavals or widespread violence impact the lives of everyone in the country. If you are fluent in the local language and interested in the political happenings of the country, you may not be welcome to voice your opinion. In fact, in some countries, foreigners have to sign a statement saying that they will not say anything bad about the country. One country we lived in was effectively a police state. We were given occasional reminders to avoid certain topics and we could not access information on them via social media. Any outright criticism could (and sometimes did) lead to immediate expulsion. The experience of growing up abroad has given some TCKs a lasting motivation to make important or helpful contributions in the world, whether June 2022
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in politics, medicine, missions, or activism. For example, Robert Ekvall (https://prabook.com/ web/robert.ekvall/3749733) was born and reared in China, gaining fluency in Mandarin. While in the US Army, he served as a translator at peace talks in Panmunjom, North Korea. He became a scholar on Tibetan culture. Some of my classmates from Woodstock School in northern India went on to work in community health programs in Central Asia, do educational research that gave poor people in India recognition and visibility, or use their communication and technical skills to assist international initiatives in Egypt, Nepal, and other countries. Compassion for others and respect for their cultures, as well as sensitivity to the political realities of their host countries, most likely were The political events and direction of my passport key elements of their effectiveness and success. country were not things that mattered much while I was growing up abroad and even Maryland (US) Senator Chris Van Hollen is an in my early years of working abroad. There example of a TCK who came back to his passport were occasions when the actions of the US country and chose politics as his avenue by government prompted questions from people in which to make a positive contribution to society. the countries where we lived. It was common for Growing up with foreign service parents in others to assume that I represented my passport several countries likely laid the seeds of his future country simply because I am an American: “Why interests to go into politics. did your country bomb Libya?” or “boycott the Moscow Olympics?” or “support Tibet?” But for many years, I was able to live at a comfortable distance from politics in my passport country. It’s only in recent years when political developments (including responses to the global pandemic) in the United States have led to social fractures so significant that one cannot ignore the impact of political realities. Issues are complex, positions are rigidly taken, compromise is not valued, and distrust in our system of governance has weakened. The circumstances prompt me to draw upon lessons learned as a TCK.
“ For many years, I was able to live at a comfortable distance from politics in my passport country.” 17
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There are many systems of government working effectively in the world. I have lived in some and have come to recognize that there is no “one size fits all” style of government. Today’s news channels often show protestors or angry people on one side or the other of emotionally fraught positions, demanding political action to solve issues. As a TCK now living in my passport country, I cannot ignore the impact of the political decisions that are made. I see voting as part of my civic duty. Also, whatever positions I have on various issues, as a Christian I have a call to love those taking opposing positions. Living in and visiting several countries and working with people from a wide cross-section of nationalities and cultures has nurtured in me an empathetic spirit that helps me approach others with respect. This perspective and my faith help me stay centered as I navigate these times of political stress and potential turmoil.
The son of missionaries, John Evans grew up in India. He married a fellow TCK and they began careers in international education. John has served primarily as a high school counselor. He has been privileged to work with a wide spectrum of students in India, Pakistan, Jordan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Hong Kong, Morocco, the United States, Bangladesh, China, the Czech Republic, and Switzerland.
SPOTLIGHT INTERVIEW:
TIM ZIEMER
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Spotlight Interview
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very once in a while, you come across someone whose life consistently exemplifies the concept of public service. In this issue, we’re honored to introduce to you just such a person and fellow TCK: R. Timothy (Tim) Ziemer, retired US Navy Rear Admiral. Tim’s career has included service in the military, the US government, and the humanitarian nonprofit sector. It is difficult to introduce in a concise manner such a rich and varied life and career of service!
Presidents Bush and Obama, contributed to dramatic reductions in malaria deaths and illness around the world, including a 71 percent reduction in malaria mortality among children in sub-Saharan Africa.
In early 2017, Tim was appointed as the director of global health security and biothreats on the Trump Administration’s National Security Council (NSC), where he served with excellence until the position was abolished in a restructuring of the NSC in 2018 under Tim grew up in the central highlands of what was National Security Advisor John Bolton. From that point until his retirement in June 2020, Tim then called French Indochina—now Vietnam—as led the Democracy, Conflict, and Humanitarian the son of missionaries. He returned to the US for college, and in 1968, when he was a senior, he Assistance Bureau of USAID. received news that his father had been killed and Those who have worked with Tim over the years his mother badly injured while helping villagers praise his steady leadership, calm demeanor, escape who had fled to their mission compound for safety. Following graduation, he was recruited integrity, effectiveness, and humility, particularly as he interacts with vulnerable people around by the US Navy, where he was trained as a pilot. the world. We hope that you will enjoy getting He ended up serving in South Vietnam during the Vietnam war, flying 550 combat missions and to know him a bit as you read this issue’s Spotlight conversation! earning numerous awards. Tim had a distinguished career in the Navy, eventually being promoted to Rear Admiral in 1996 and assigned as Commander of the US Navy’s Mid-Atlantic Region. He served in numerous other key roles, including Deputy Director for Operations in the National Military Operations Center on the Joint Command Staff. After serving for a time as the Executive Director of World Relief, a Christian humanitarian organization, he was appointed by then-President George W. Bush in 2006 to become the Global Coordinator of the US President’s Malaria Initiative (PMI). Tim’s leadership of this initiative for a decade, under
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Tell us about your childhood as a TCK.
My parents left the USA for Asia in 1947 aboard a converted WWII troop ship. I accompanied them as an eight-month-old child. Assigned to French Indochina (which later became known as Vietnam), they settled in the Central Highlands among an indigenous tribal group. Their work encompassed classic missionary outreach, scripture translation, establishing a Bible School, and providing medical services through a hospital and Leprosarium composed of a network of clinics and services to treat leprosy, which was endemic in the region. I grew up speaking English as my second language. The only other Caucasian children nearby were French kids who lived on rubber and tea plantations. As the mission expanded, other American kids arrived. At the age of six, we were all sent to a missionary boarding school, where English became my primary language.
When did you first become aware of what it meant to be a TCK? “TCK” was not a term or category of which I was aware, nor did I place myself as a TCK until later in my life. As I recall, my wife Jodi and I were listening to a Focus on the Family radio show broadcast where the term “TCK” was being discussed. We both realized we must be “one of those.” I had never identified nor placed myself in a different category from other monocultural peers, although I did consider myself fortunate to have had the experiences to travel and see places they had never heard of before. I recall how little others seemed to know about the world and other cultures, and there was a lack of appreciation for all that was available back in the USA.
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The only other Caucasian children nearby were French kids who lived on rubber and tea plantations. Can you think of a time when you were able to make a significant connection or breakthrough with others due to your experience as a TCK?
I attended college from 1964–1968. The US military involvement in Vietnam was at its peak. The political disfunction emanating from Washington, D.C., the student demonstrations against the war, and the overall national dissent dominated the national scene. The fact that I had been raised in Vietnam allowed me to engage in campus discussions and debates in a credible and constructive way. While in the minority, I was supportive of the US’s involvement in Southeast Asia. I had seen firsthand the intimidation and terror imposed on the South Vietnamese by the Northern Communists, and the disruption that it brought to their way of life, communities, and the Church. I returned to Vietnam with the US Navy to fly in support of the Navy SEALS and Riverine Forces. Because of my background, knowledge of the people, and geography, I was brought into policy and tactical discussions.
Spotlight Interview What factors or events led you into military service? My plans following graduation from Wheaton College were either to go into the “family business” (church ministry) or the foreign service. I applied and was accepted to Trinity Seminary, American University, and Georgetown University. Those plans were interrupted two weeks before graduation by “Uncle Sam,” (the US government) who sent me an unsolicited draft notice and invitation to join the US Army. I “evaded” the draft by joining the US Navy. My entry-level test scores qualified me for Naval Aviation Pilot training, and I found myself privileged to join the distinct ranks of Naval Aviators. During flight training, I was made aware of a Navy Squadron flying in support of the Navy Seals and riverine patrol boats in the Delta region of South Vietnam. I volunteered to fly with that squadron, motivated by a sense of “returning home to my roots.”
“I volunteered to fly with that squadron, motivated by a sense of ‘returning home to my roots.’”
You are married to a fellow TCK. How has that impacted your marriage and family? Being married to a TCK has broadened our foundational framework in many ways. It extended the horizon and lens from which we viewed the world and other cultures and set priorities for our work and family life. As a Navy wife, Jodi adapted to the lifestyle and independence needed to raise our family of three children throughout my extended deployments. I am indebted to her for that. As we raised our family, we encouraged our children to participate in summer mission trips as well as off-campus exchanges with international universities during their college years. The importance and value of seeing and interacting with other cultures has been a positive factor in developing their worldview and awareness.
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What are some key TCK attributes you developed during your formative years that you believe have most helped you in your career? Undoubtedly, attending the missionary boarding school was high on the list of experiences that shaped me. I learned to be independent but at the same time learned the importance of being part of the group. Collegiality went a long way to “grease the skids.” When I didn’t “pull my load”— follow through on my responsibilities—or comply with school regulations, consequences played out quickly. The boarding school was a sub-culture that thrived within a third culture environment. Students came from six different countries in Asia, giving us the benefit of blending and sharing the value of ethnic diversity and culture. That was a major contributor in shaping our day-today realities and perspectives. Upon graduation from high school, I returned to the USA “to seek my fortune” with $89 US dollars in my pocket. I attribute my introduction to the “American way of life” to my uncle in Ohio. He was a businessman who welcomed me, provided a home base, helped me find summer work for college, and mentored me. He taught me to fish, adapt to “normal” American life, and develop my “American” social skills. I left an environment where my parents were serving in one sense, but looking back, I am grateful that my uncle “served” me in a different, but significant and enduring, way.
“ I returned to the USA ‘to seek my fortune’ with $89 US dollars in my pocket.”
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What values have guided you throughout your career, whether in military service or humanitarian work? I observed and experienced that service and sacrifice are two driving principles essential to accomplishing any mission. This was demonstrated by my mother and father and their colleagues. They left a comfortable, secure life in America to serve others. My father, along with five other missionaries, was killed when the Communists overran our mission compound. My mother was seriously injured, held captive by the Communists before being abandoned and left unattended by the side of the road as they departed the city. I was a senior in college when the attack occurred. My mother’s response to that tragedy provided me with a guiding principle that has defined my service in the Navy and humanitarian work. She was taken to a provincial hospital for initial care, and when a Vietnamese nurse saw her and understood what had happened, she said, “You must hate my country and my people.” My mother responded by saying, “No, I love your country and your people. I came to your country to tell you about a God that has given me that love.” Through both my careers in the military and humanitarian work with World Relief and the US government I was guided by some basic principles. Vision with a clear mission was essential. It is imperative to strive for excellence no matter where in the lineup I was placed. Every organization has a hierarchy of authority and responsibility, and it was important for me to establish clear communication up and down the chain to keep people informed and to solicit feedback. Respect for authority in the
Spotlight Interview organization and community was essential. Those components all came together to shape a team which at the end of the day was responsible for the success or failure of meeting expectations.
Do you believe TCKs may be particularly suited for a career in politics or public service? Why or why not?
I am a strong advocate for public service of any kind, be it in politics or civil service. TCKs are naturally suited to pursue either option. Language skills and a broad worldview are competitive advantages. In today’s world, service in politics has become a very challenging and difficult career path. Politics is a “big league” endeavor. The nature of the political discourse that exists today is raw and rough. A heavy dose of reality and selfless purpose is essential to influence and counter the ineffective and stagnant momentum inherent in today’s political environment. It takes someone with a sound and solid set of principles to swim upstream and make an impact for the common good. Public service as a civil servant means being burdened with bureaucratic and rigid processes; however, the opportunity to serve and make a difference on the domestic and international scene is without peer. Dedicated and selfless people are needed in both fields, and I strongly encourage individuals to keep their options open and consider pursuing a career in politics and/or public service.
“I am a strong advocate for public service of any kind, be it in politics or civil servic.”
What are a few of your most rewarding experiences throughout your career? Flying aircraft from ships at sea has got to be near the top! Leading men and women who come from all over the country—from farms, cities, high schools, and universities—to train them in a skill and then lead them to countries and places they’ve never heard of, to accomplish a specific mission on behalf of the American people is high on the list. Leading and coming alongside the men and women at World Relief to provide humanitarian assistance through local churches is something I’m grateful to have been part of. I’m grateful to have been asked by President Bush to lead the President’s Malaria Initiative. It has resulted in over 7.3 million malaria deaths averted and over 1.2 billion malaria cases prevented in Africa and Asia. It continues to have a positive impact today. I’m grateful to have been able to serve through three different career experiences. There are many direct and indirect dots that can be connected that affirm the notion that being a TCK is a positive experience and gift.
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Diplomatically Speaking By Jonathan S. Addleton “Can a TCK honestly and faithfully serve their passport country in a foreign affairs role?” Hard questions are appropriate at the outset of any career—and throughout the career that follows, regardless of which path it takes. Having been born and raised in the Himalayas as the child of American missionaries to Pakistan, my path included a thirty-two-year career as a US Foreign Service Officer, involving assignments in ten countries: Afghanistan, Belgium, Cambodia, India, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Mongolia, Pakistan, South Africa, and Yemen. My passport country—the United States—is not included in that list because I never served there. Indeed, possibly my biggest achievement is that I managed to avoid working in Washington, D.C., the true “hardship post” for those motivated primarily by operational rather than headquarters-based interests and concerns. And yet, looking back, I have to think that I made more of a difference as a career US Foreign Service Officer than in any other career I might have imagined. Certainly, the gifts of a TCK childhood—including an ability to cross the lines of class, culture, and nationality from an early age—helped strengthen the qualities of empathy and understanding that are essential for diplomatic success.
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Jonathan S. Addleton as a child
“ Can a TCK honestly and faithfully serve their passport country in a foreign affairs role?” At a more technical level, the fact that my diplomatic career centered largely on USAID was clearly linked to vivid childhood experiences in some of the most remote corners of Pakistan. Having witnessed death, disease, and poverty from an early age, I determined early on that my calling in life was to work to help alleviate it. Of course, a more fundamental question is centered on the implied dual loyalties involved in taking on an official government role rather than, say, working for a seemingly more
neutral private company or non-governmental organization (NGO). That possibility crossed my idealistic mind when I completed university in the late 1970s and considered the various institutional contexts in which I might seek employment. Among other things, I imagined that a career in a multilateral organization—perhaps the United Nations— might be a better fit for a TCK. Or, perhaps, I could engage more effectively within the NGO community, with its thick network of connections crossing multiple borders and involving many nationalities, a world in which I briefly thought, perhaps naively, that passports somehow wouldn’t matter very much. But, of course, passports do matter, at least in an international system defined in significant part by nearly two hundred nation-states engaged in relationships with each other at all levels including in economics, security, culture, diplomacy, and development. And even if multiple passports are acquired over the course of a lifetime, choices must still be made about which one to use.
Here, too, I think of the countless migrants to the United States, those who were born with a different nationality and a different passport yet ended up representing this country as diplomats at the most senior levels, combining a love of their new country with an appreciation for the circumstances which had led them to the US in the first place. Perhaps the most obvious example here is America’s first female Secretary of State, Madeleine Albright, who was born in the former Czechoslovakia and arrived in the US as a refugee. For my part, I had little difficulty accepting the idea that the American passport gifted to me by my parents was and would remain a significant part of my identity, even if I wasn’t born there— and that I could honestly and faithfully serve that part of my identity, even in an official context that could at times involve policies with which I might disagree.
“ A TCK childhood helped strengthen the qualities of empathy and understanding that are essential for diplomatic success. ”
Eighteen months ago, the New York Times published a series of reflections from across the US under the headline “What Does It Mean to Love Your Country?” The article appeared just prior to the 2020 elections, reflecting a fractured and polarized nation seemingly on the verge of civil war. And yet the submissions were filled with hope and compassion, some written by recent
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immigrants and others by contributors with roots in the US extending back for centuries: “Be proud of it but not afraid to confront its problems and work to solve them.” “To love this country is to look clear-eyed at its promises and its practices, working to bridge the gap between them.” “You can’t love your country without loving its fellow citizens, and the truest expression of that love is the willingness to sacrifice for others.” “Love of country is to seek its betterment. I express that love by caring for those who are disenfranchised, misunderstood and in need.” “I have dual citizenship with Ireland and have seriously considered leaving America. But while I honor other countries, I love ours and cannot bring myself to leave.” Although not always properly articulated when I embarked on my diplomatic career, these sentiments resonate very strongly with me, perhaps now more than ever. I am proud to have officially represented my passport country for more than three decades, having been afforded numerous opportunities to demonstrate certain values reflecting that imperfect passport country at its best, while also working with others to help make the world beyond the borders of my passport country a better place.
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Born and raised in Pakistan, Jonathan S. Addleton served as US Ambassador to Mongolia and USAID Mission Director in Mongolia, India, Pakistan, Cambodia, and Central Asia, among other assignments. He retired from the US Foreign Service in January 2017 and is now Rector/President of Forman Christian College (a Chartered University) in Lahore, Pakistan. Jonathan S. Addleton has written several books including Undermining the Center (Oxford University Press); The Dust of Kandahar (Naval Institute Press); Mongolia and the United States: A Diplomatic History (Hong Kong University Press); and a memoir of his TCK childhood in Pakistan titled Some Far and Distant Place (University of Georgia Press).
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Among Worlds | Photos by Heather Adkins
Torn
By Heather Adkins
I have a foot planted deep in the soil of Africa… I have a foot that wanders the world… I breathe in the winds of the highlands… I breathe out the winds of change… I watch the sunset sink in glorious reds… I watch the dawn rise in muted pinks… When I inhale on the continent, I inhale the soul of a people who are proud and brave. When I exhale in my wandering, I exhale my pride and my bravery. I live torn. I live loud. I live muted.
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I love strong. I love scared. I live with a loyalty. I love with a loyalty. I lose with a loyalty. It hurts. I have a foot planted deep in the soil of Africa; But Africa is not mine. I have a foot that wanders the world; But the world holds no destination. My heart pumps strong when I hear the birds of the continent. My heart beats loud when I smell rain coming across the valley. My heart speaks out when I hear the languages of my youth. My heart roars when I consider the possibilities of change. I am rooted. I am roaming. I know who I am. I know only who I wish to be. I am constant. I am change. I am known. I am unknown. I am seen. I am unseen… It hurts
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Heather Adkins is a missionary kid (MK) from Kenya. She is now an international teacher and has lived in the USA, Canada, Jordan, Malaysia, and South Korea. Author of “What do you see?” https://suguina.wordpress.com/ @HeatherAdkins78
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Among Worlds | Photos by Heather Adkins
Heather Adkins, on what her photos mean to her The photos represent the contrast of something that doesn’t belong but makes beauty. When you look at the ones that contrast a green plant growing out of a hard rock, the plant doesn’t belong but bring beauty to its surroundings despite the difficult conditions. You see it in the berries and snow as well. The contrast continues to represent how TCKs struggle to belong to their environment but bring unexpected beauty all the same. The beach scene is really just about those reflective moments.
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Stains of Time By Collin Hicks
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t all began the moment my parents tearfully stepped out of my dorm room. I was selfishly preoccupied with unpacking and arranging my belongings, and I don’t think I allowed them enough time to savor their last moments with me under the shelter of their wings. After somewhat distractedly wishing them goodbye, I resumed my business of settling in and decided to rearrange the heavy, cumbersome hardwood furniture. After a very unpleasant episode involving some unprintable exclamations, the entirety of two and a half hours, and the help of three other people, I managed to get the furnishings into a somewhat agreeable arrangement. Then I left the room to spend what I can only describe as the best week of my life. In the eight years between this moment and my former childhood in Chengdu, China, I had not only lost most of my Mandarin fluency but also the memory of what it felt like to interact with other international and third culture kids. When international orientation began on campus, I
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realized with profound delight what a pleasure it was to talk to and get to know people who shared my experiences. I even met a few Chinese international students from the very city I had lived in so many years ago. The dam of my introversion abruptly burst at the long and deep-felt urge to connect with these kinds of people again. Over the course of the week, I met with and talked to as many people as I could with a kind of wild and reckless abandon, drinking deeply from the cup that had for eight long years escaped my grasp, fearing that this opportunity to connect— this moment—would end when the campus inevitably became saturated with white Americans.
“ I talked to as many people as I could with a reckless abandon.” And yet, throughout the week, despite how much I relished the company of my newfound multicultural friends, I could feel a tangible
disconnect between myself and the other attendees at the orientation. Here I stood, a white American who didn’t fit in with the others of my race arriving at the end of the week, and yet so terribly distant from my past in China. Every time I had to tell someone that despite living there for seven years I don’t speak Chinese anymore, it was a dagger in my heart. Every time I overheard conversations in Mandarin, understanding only shattered fragments of words and sentences, was a deep wound in my soul. In the presence of such company, I had never been happier, yet never had I mourned so grievously for the parts of me lost to the stains of time.
“ The truth is that I was (and still am, to some extent) stuck in this lonely and terrible liminal space.” The truth is that I was (and still am, to some extent) stuck in this lonely and terrible liminal space. Almost all of my formative childhood years were spent in a country with a very different culture and values than the country of my birth. I enjoyed the greasy, doughy goodness of youtiao for breakfast as often as pancakes or waffles. I didn’t lamely watch the fireworks on Chinese New Year from a distance like Americans do on the Fourth of July—they surrounded me in a stupendous cacophony of colour and sound as practically everyone blew them off in every public place in the city for hours on end. I still miss the tangy smell of gunpowder in the air from those nights. The restaurant tables were round, not square, and frequently had a rotating glass surface allowing us to all share our food and eat together in a classic example of the value of community in Chinese culture. All this and much more for seven long years, until I was abruptly cut off from all of it when my family moved back to the US. To make matters worse, try as he might, my father could not find work for six months following our return, which meant we were all stuck in limbo at my
grandparents’ house for that time. Culture shock and grief quickly overwhelmed me as I found myself not in the middle of a bustling city but in the strange new world of American suburbia. In the nine years since coming back to the US, I never fit in with American culture, white or black, but I now realized that neither did I fit in with all these international students, fresh from their respective nations. I realized that mine was a unique existence and I didn’t really fit in anywhere. Watching In the Heights with some of my newfound friends was a wonderful yet painful experience. Seeing Usnavi choose to remain in the bustling barrio rather than fly back to his idyllic, wind-swept birthplace in the Caribbean profoundly impacted me as I vividly recalled my parents telling me we were leaving China to come back to the place of my birth. The movie had been hinting the whole time about the pain of loss that Usnavi would feel should he leave his community in New York—a pain that I experienced fully at age ten. Usnavi had a choice, and he stayed. I did not have a choice, and when I left my world was obliterated.
“ I had never really confronted or dealt with my loss in a healthy way.”
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international life for so long, it still shaped the person I am now. Even after taking such advice to heart, it’s still not easy, especially when the first question practically everyone asks when I tell them I lived in China is if I still speak Mandarin. I don’t think I’ll ever quite get over the feeling that I’m a poser, but I’ve been learning day by day to feel more at peace with myself. So what if I’m a monolingual now? So what if I don’t fit in perfectly anywhere? So what if I’m not like anybody else? The only thing I need is to be comfortable and confident in the person that I am. Just because I don’t fit in doesn’t make me wrong or ugly. And I hope I can be truly proud of my past someday.
While international orientation was unequivocally the best week of my life, it reopened old wounds Collin Hicks is a TCK who has lived in Chengdu, China, of loss and poured salt into them. It made and Baltimore, Maryland (US). He attends university in me realize I had simply tried to sweep all the Michigan, US. emotions I felt after leaving China under the rug rather than actually processing them. I had never really confronted or dealt with my loss in a healthy way; rather, I just tried to forget and move on. Now I was suddenly confronted with the man in the mirror, questioning again who I really was. I loved hanging out with these people, but I was ashamed of myself. I kept my international student ID lanyard visible at all times, dangling about my neck in a desperate cry of hey, I’m one of you. While my new friends stayed with me, the sharp disconnect has stayed with me also. I let all this spill out like a flood of pain to my parents when I called them for the first time. My mother, a TCK herself, gave me some invaluable counseling: “No matter how long ago you lived in China, it’s still part of your past,” she said. “It’s still fundamentally part of who you are, and I don’t want you to feel ashamed about it because you can’t speak Mandarin anymore. I was born in India, yet I am no longer able to speak Hindi.” When I confessed my internal struggle to some of my new friends, they assured me I belonged with them and that, despite being removed from 37
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Among Among Worlds
Who Will Accompany Me?
By Ann Wester
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s Stacy* and I approached the door to the government office, she whispered, “I won’t say a single word.” That meant that I would be on my own during the hearing. A wave of tension swept over me, a recurring experience during the past few days. I would soon find out if a decision I’d made had put my ministry at risk. Earlier that morning, before the courtroom meeting, a Bible verse, Romans 8:28, had come to mind: “All things work together for good to them that love God.” I knew the verse well, but I couldn’t help wondering what good could result from this situation. I was unsettled at the verse’s future focus, the implied “eventual” fulfillment of God’s purposes. I needed something for now. I didn’t realize I would soon learn something about God’s promises that would remain with me forever. This whole courtroom drama had commenced about a week earlier, on what seemed like a normal morning. As I had clicked the combination lock of my simple, cement-block home, I noticed that the previous night’s rain had brightened the green March 2021 June 2022
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grass and ruby cannas. In a few weeks, dry season would begin, but for now we welcomed the rains, even though they made the short trek to the classrooms a rather slippery and muddy mess. I was adapting to my role change, from fulltime teacher to part-time teacher and principal of a girls’ boarding school “in the boonies” of northwestern Zaire (now Congo). I was pleased that the initial three weeks of the school year had transpired quite well. Skirting another puddle, I became aware that a pickup truck was rumbling toward the Lycée Lua campus. All thoughts of geometry, spelling, and French verbs evaporated from my mind. We did not anticipate any visitors, so who could it be?
“ We did not anticipate any visitors, so who could it be?”
The pickup pulled up beside me. I greeted the well-dressed official who climbed out. Immediately, I sensed this wasn’t just a friendly visit. The man, attired in suit and tie, quickly stated his purpose: “Mr. Zinga wants you to accept his daughter into your seventh-grade class.” I knew Mr. Zinga to be a high-ranking leader in the national government. The school year had already begun, and we had declined requests by other latecomers. However, Mr. Zinga’s representative ignored those facts. I’d already taught six years at Lycée Lua, but I had been principal for only a few weeks. It wasn’t a role I’d sought, but someone had to do it while the previous principal was on home assignment in North America. She had shared much useful information with me, but I was not prepared for this dilemma. If I accepted the student, I feared criticism from
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families of rejected students. I also figured that Mr. Zinga would interfere with disciplinary and scholastic issues, compromising our standards. Plus, I assumed that the principal whom I was replacing would not approve.
I requested permission to speak to Stacy in English. Basically, I told her I felt that we had no choice but to consent, and she nodded in agreement.
Another staff member, Stacy, joined me and we conferred briefly. I knew I bore the main responsibility, and it weighed heavily. However, we both agreed to decline the request, hoping for the best.
When the officials heard our acceptance of their request, they assured us that “Mr. Zinga will not interfere at all. He knows you treat the students fairly and you have high standards. After all, that’s why he wants his daughter in your school.”
The blue pickup sped away, but we could tell that Mr. Zinga’s delegate was unhappy. A few days later, Stacy and I received a written summons to appear at court the following day, an hour’s drive away, at nine o’clock. The letter troubled us, but we could not refuse the official request. So, that afternoon we drove to the town, spent the night with missionary friends and prayed for a positive outcome.
Suddenly, the hour-long “trial” ended.
“ The letter troubled us, but we could not refuse the official request.”
Stacy and I wearily strolled to our vehicle. It all seemed so anticlimactic. The overflowing sense of worry and tension had dissolved into shock and relief. Sure enough, the old blue pickup rumbled into the school compound a few days later, with Bole, the new student. Bole fit into the school setting and got along well with the other students.
We had asked Pastor Monga to accompany us to court, since he had previously been the city mayor. However, when we three arrived on time at the appointed location, the officials declared that only Stacy and I could enter, since ours were the only names on the official document. That was when Stacy informed me she would not say even one word. I felt vulnerable and alone. If neither Stacy nor Pastor Monga would be supporting me, then who would? Mr. Zinga’s representative recounted his visit to Lycée Lua the previous week. I was allowed to explain our side of the story, but the consensus of the men present was, “Mr. Zinga is a very important person, and if you don’t accept his daughter, you will probably be expelled from this country.”
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Although more than forty years have passed since then, I’ve never been sure if we were right or wrong in accepting Mr. Zinga’s daughter after refusing other latecomers. All options had potentially negative repercussions. More importantly, though, the stress of the events surrounding the court hearing drove me to the Bible. While Romans 8:28 had stuck out to me before the trial, with its future promise, Psalm 23:6 comforted me afterward. The Louis Segond French translation of the verse says, “Yes, happiness and grace will accompany me all the days of my life.” The verb accompany certainly comforted me. Even though I’d felt alone in the courtroom, the verse encouraged me that I was not by myself. The two people who accompanied me did not speak in my defense, but I was helped. Since then, I’ve experienced medical evacuations, challenging conversations, loneliness, discouragement, attacks on our home, political unrest, transitions—and God continues to faithfully remind me that he is accompanying me each day through it all. *All names have been changed.
Ann Wester has lived in Belgium, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Congo/Zaire, USA, and Venezuela. She is currently retired in Iowa.
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Bright, Sunshiny Day By Rebecca Hopkins
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e passed probably the sixth farm when the song, “I Can See Clearly Now” came on the radio in our school bus.
The station played the song just about every morning of my sophomore year of high school in 1994. “…the rain is gone.” Almost never could we see the sun. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to will the impossible lyrics to replace the sound of white and brown slush kicking up from the tires. We were probably at the eightieth inch of the 100 inches of annual snow in this lake-effect region of upstate New York. The worst part was it never melted, piling up into walls of ice that lined the road. What I wouldn’t give for palm trees and a beach. We were one of the two buses of Army kids from Fort Drum, rolling past the post’s guarded entrance ten miles to the high school in a quiet, rural, civilian town. If you knew us, though, you’d know we were a group of kids from all over the world, from everywhere and nowhere.
other. Both faced a chicken farm. We were soon absorbed into the stream of local kids heading to the lockers. Some of us blended in better than others. My friends—whose parents were Filipino, Mexican, Chinese, African American, Korean, or some kind of mix—stood out in the otherwise white community. I, white, looked like I belonged—at least on the outside. “Can you believe those kids?” my homeroom teacher whispered to me, nodding at some of my fellow bus mates congregating in the hallway. Things had been tense in the school—racially. The school principal had recently announced a new rule. No loitering in the hallways. But the teacher didn’t point his finger at the local jocks, who were from the area. They, too, were hanging out on a nearby corner.
“Find a way or make one,” was the motto for the post’s brigade. Our bus found its way through the snow to the schools. We piled out in thick coats, making our way to either the middle school or the high school, two brown buildings right next to each
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I didn’t say anything to my homeroom teacher. The military culture taught me to respect authority. My sophomore year was full of geometry tests, English papers, choir concerts, and junior varsity basketball. In the background, but only on post, was talk of skirmishes in Somalia, the plans for deployment to Haiti, and the demilitarized zone in Korea. The United States wasn’t technically at war in those locations. But we—”those kids,” the Army brats—lived with the camouflage-blur of packing in our living rooms, goodbyes for months or forever, injuries and deaths that sometimes subdued our community darker than the gray skies, our homes situated across from yards of tanks instead of fields of grain. Not all the parents on the Army post deployed. My own dad hadn’t. I felt relieved and guilty. But we all had people far away in harm’s way— our chaplains, youth group leaders, neighbors, basketball coaches. From my perspective, the least noticeable difference between the civilian kids and the military kids was race.
“It’s gonna be a bright…bright, sunshiny day,” would play in the bus as we rolled past the farms, or through the security gates of post, or into our neighborhoods named after battles. It sounded different on the way home. I closed my eyes, my mouth moving to the tune, my voice quiet but hopeful.
The only time these current events were discussed at my high school was in social studies. I never knew what to say. Did the debates about superpowers, global security, and ethnic conflict have room for my most nagging political question? Why were our families making sacrifices for a country that treated us like outsiders? At the end of each day, we piled back onto the bus. I’d let out my breath. Another school day was over. I usually sat next to Roz, who was born in Germany but whose parents were from the Philippines and Samoa. I’d finish my math homework on the bus so I could play basketball later on our shoveled driveway with Alex (African American) and Will (mom Korean, dad white). I’d join Mairee (whose dad was stationed in Korea) and Mariana (mom Chinese, dad Mexican) at youth group later. We’d play sardines, sing praise songs, then eat brownies together.
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Rebecca Hopkins spent the first half of her life moving around as an Army kid and the past fourteen years trying to grow roots on three different Indonesian islands while her husband took to the skies as a pilot. She now works in Colorado for Paraclete Mission Group and writes about issues related to non-profit and cross-cultural work. Website: www.rebeccahopkins.org
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Journey with us! Among Worlds magazine is accepting submissions for upcoming issues. We are looking for original, high-quality writing, poetry, photography, and visual pieces. We invite you to share your stories and talents with us! Click here for submission details.
September 2022 Open theme Submission deadline: July 30, 2022
December 2022 Taking Risks Submission deadline: October 30, 2022
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“ Public service is about serving all
the people, including the ones who are not like you.” – Constance Wu
