Structure Binds Anxiety

I'm not sure when I first heard that principle . . . somewhere in my past, from a counselor or a conflict manager, or an anonymous wise person. But I took it to heart even then. It rang true. Over the years I have uttered that phrase many times . . . to others, to myself, words of wisdom not birthed in me . . . but now rooted in me.

I write on a plane headed first for Singapore and then to Aceh, Indonesia. Never has a trip taken so much preparation. Not preparation for my work, although that was a part of these days. But primarily I made preparation for Linda's care. On previous trips, I had to construct a simple scaffold that provided enough structure for her to be secure. She could hang her life on that frame and maintained enough mental flexibility to fill in the features of a day that she would enjoy. As recent as last October, just three months ago, Linda could write a note to a friend, address it, drive her Beetle over to the Post Office a little over a mile away, and mail it. She could recognize that she was out of ice cream or milk; the most common items that ran short, and just hop in the car and go solve her "problem." On the way to Giant, after parking in Oakton Shopping Center, she may decide to stop at Starbucks for a short or tall coffee of the day, or maybe browse the card rack at the Hallmark store finding a message of encouragement that could be passed on to a friend or family member. So what, if in the process of these little errands she forgot about the ice cream?! She could always go back again later when the idea returned to her mind or she opened the freezer door and discovered there was no ice cream.

Those precious skills are long gone. They will never return. The disability of yester-month now seems like there was little "dis-" and a lot of ability.

Driving. . .that incredible and liberating freedom in modern society. . . is gone forever for Linda. She accepted it with such gentleness. The ceremony of a moment became poignant, etched in time and memory for her for many days. With grace, she went to her purse, found the keys to her beloved Beetle, the only car she had fallen in love with during her 45 plus years of driving, and handed them over to me, signalling that she accepted that she would never drive again.

Today there is little evidence of dwelling on these losses. Oh she may say, "I need my hair trimmed" . . . or. . . "we need some ice cream." She said them both this week before this trip. And she knew I would have to arrange for both. So Monday I got her an appointment with Thuy at the Hair Cuttery, and she got a trim and blow-dry. Tuesday night I ordered PeaPod, home delivery of groceries from Giant Food Store, and at the heart of the order were two types of ice cream. Wednesday afternoon the groceries arrived, part of the structure that makes it possible for me to travel.

So whose anxiety is being bound by this structure? It is much more than a two-fer. Linda's anxiety is bound by a much more complex structure of support, now a full skeleton system is in place with very little responsibility for her to "flesh it out." She can be and do, feel safe and loved, have others take most of the initiative around her, and remain her almost always happy and contented self. There are few problems for her to solve and so little ability left to engage in problem solving. So the structure of caregiving support binds her anxiety.

And my anxiety is bound. I know that Heather, our live-in companion, will stick her head in the door of Linda's bedroom and check on her about 6 a.m. each weekday before she heads to work. I know who will call or come by, every two hours. I can picture Emelie calling at 7:30 a.m. with a bright "Good Morning, Linda" and a gentle reminder to take medicines. And then at noon she will call again, with Linda probably not remembering the earlier call. This call will be just a check-in to make sure she is there and talk about what she may eat for lunch. Linda can still punch the button on the microwave that says "Frozen Dinner" and automatically calculates the time to heat a Lean Cuisine. Linda needs a reminder occasionally that it is lunchtime.

At 2:30 p.m. a bright, cheery, sophomore at Oakton High School will ring the doorbell. This Junior Varsity point guard on the basketball team and former distance runner will bring joy to Linda's spirit. They will go for a walk in the neighbourhood if weather permits, work on a jigsaw puzzle in the sunroom, or just enjoy a cup of hot chocolate topped with mini-marsh mellows as they visit, and giggle like child and teenager they now are. If Dana gets a phone call from a friend while she is Linda's companion during this hour and a half, Dana will quickly say to the caller, "I'm with my friend, Linda. I will call you back later." And then once again Linda has her undivided attention.

Yes, my anxiety is bound with these structures. And so is the potential anxiety of our children, of Linda's sisters, of my siblings, and of our friends. Even the anxiety of the Sheriff's Department in Fairfax County is bound. They know that with this type of support, Linda is unlikely to wander off and become lost. Oh, they can find her quickly if they have to, because their Search and Rescue team can use their receivers to pick up the radio signals emanating from Linda's wrist band every second. But there will be no need for that or the cost of a search for a person without a Project Lifesaver radio signal. . . because this structure is keeping her safe and closely monitored.

This principle of "structure binds anxiety" is also a peacebuilding approach. I have witnessed the collapse of so many structures in conflict zones. As social structures collapse, livelihoods disappear, conventions for ordering life like schools, farming, irrigation canals, religious meeting places, and communications systems are destroyed, the anxiety within people and communities rapidly climbs. The stress of conflict, whether latent or manifest, openly violent or silently systemic destroys the human spirit.

Now flip this over from the negative to the positive side of the coin. As structures are recreated and reinforced, one element at a time, some anxiety is bound and new energy for life is birthed. After years of violent conflict between Nuer and Dinka peoples in southern Sudan, I witnessed a peace agreement that was signed by those with the ability to do so and "thumb-printed" by those without education. The agreement had been reached through a process of days of storytelling, problem solving, and consensus building. Afterwards a ritual of slaughtering a white bull sealed the covenant of peace. Promises were made to keep the peace. Freedom of movement was re-instituted. Fishing ponds were opened for both sides and "common pooled resources" of water and grazing lands were no longer places of threat and vulnerable to attack. The structures of peace bound the anxieties of the people. Warriors leapt into the air with peace dances, powerful men embraced one another with large smiles, women and children walked in safety again, and youth returned to old traditions of cattle keeping rather than focusing their lives on raids.

I am completing this little blog 16 days after beginning it. Now I am on the plane flying back to the USA. In Aceh, Indonesia, where a peace agreement between the GAM and the Government of Indonesia is being implemented, the spirit of peace and hope is in the air. I facilitated a major update of a conflict analysis. The change since March of 2005 is dramatic. Structures have bound the anxiety of many thousands. Disarmament of the GAM has been completed and a former rebel army is now demobilized. The TNI, military of the GoI, has withdrawn some 25,000 troops. Checkpoints are down, people move freely. These are important steps.

In a personal way I witnessed the change in the old man artist of Aceh. When I was with him last March, he was so traumatized from the tsunami. He had been carried by the killer wave for two kilometres and had no explanation of his survival. Much of his life work of painting had been destroyed. Each night he was plagued with terrifying nightmares. We talked then of how he could visit the Child Friendly Spaces (CFS) our organization had created. He could help the children work through their trauma by helping them paint their feelings and memories. Maybe a simple structure of connecting an old man with young children could help to heal them both.

The healing of Round, the artist, is substantial. He showed me his paintings that he did at the CFS. One was a painting of young girls with white head scarfs, sitting under a tree, all painting their pictures while the artist painted them. What a powerful image of peace and a simple structure that bound the anxiety of many.

Over these months, Round has listened to the stories of many survivors of the tsunami. And then he has captured their stories in his paintings. It is almost as though the trauma can be released once this master artist captures the often-repeated story. Round has become an instrument of healing for others, even as he has experienced healing within himself. While being pummeled in the wave, Round made a promise to God. "If I survive, I will give my life to telling the story through paintings." Round is keeping his promise. . . and the stories in art are powerful proclamations without words. [Paintings by Round Kelana]

Soon I will be back home, weary in body and eager in spirit to be reunited with my dear Linda. I could not have made this trip without the structures that put limits on my anxieties. And the structures all had human hands and faces and energy behind them that made them work.

When I get home, I will have 20 days of being in place, working in my office, embracing the moments of joy with Linda. This will be my next window of time. And as it comes to an end, I will prepare again for a trip. The next one is to Lebanon. But creating the structures for that trip can wait. Right now, I am flying home, expecting to land at Washington Dulles about 6:15 p.m. after 26 hours of travel. I picture the arrival, the joyful call on my mobile phone to tell Linda that I am on the ground and in the taxi. The re-uniting embrace will come before 8 p.m. . . . signalling the successful completion of a journey. Linda will not remember the details . . . the schedule of each day, the many family and friends who cared for her . . . but she will remember that she has been peaceful . . . little anxiety has invaded her restricted world . . .and when I need to travel again, she will say, "It's OK for you to go. I will be OK here."

3 February 2006, somewhere over the Pacific between Tokyo and Los Angeles