The Roil of Rootlessness

On September 11, 2001, I was in Ndola, Zambia. Zambia was at the end of a month's journey, my first time on the continent of Africa. Prior to Zambia, I had attended the World Conference Against Racism, Xenophobia and Other Related Intolerances (WCAR) in Durbin, South Africa.

My feet, first, touched African soil in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I remember the feeling of release as the plane landed in Ethiopia. I had often heard of African Americans experiencing this same feeling on their first excursion to the Mother Land. The roily feelings of rootlessness were, for the first time, calmed. The internal compass had found its bearings, its center - its home. This calm center stayed with me throughout my time in Africa - until September 11, 2001.

The place where I stayed in Zambia didn't have a radio or a television. The next day, I was approached by people who expressed their concern for the United States. Not knowing why, I was confused and amused by the gesture. Amused by the irony that African people expressed concern for a country that, for the most part, had little to no care for them or their existence. Later, I learned about the planes - World Trade Center, Pentagon and Pennsylvania. Like many people, I was in disbelief. How could this monolith, called the United States of America, be attacked? This impervious monolith of wealth and power was my country. The next couple of days were filled with trying to determine how and when I would return home.

The last year has felt much like those last days in Zambia - knowing that I am an American but aware of the roil of rootlessness. As the words terrorist, terrorism and war on terrorism are vehemently hurled against individuals, states and nations, God's people seem to transform and be transformed into God's enemies. Friends and family who confess to the power of the love of Jesus now fall in line with the diatribe of dehumanization and demonization of fellow human beings. Open, honest and humorous discourse has become grounds for alienation. A flag that, at one time, symbolized freedom has become the weapon of disenfranchisement.

More than anything, I worry about the children. I can see the rootlessness in their eyes. The fearful and numbing loss of hope. The need for belonging. The longing for safety. Praying for peace.

In one of her last diary entries, Deora Bodley, a passenger on United Flight 93, wrote, "Some people ask why, some people ask where, some people ask how. I ask only for peace."

May we find our roots in God's peace.

Michelle Armster is a CTP student and the director of Mennonite Conciliation Service.