The Global Night Commute
Reflection Journal
Cindy Salaki and Peter Soekamto

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It was April 29, 2006 when we participated in the “Global Night Commute” (GNC). GNC is a global rally organized by Invisible Children Inc., an organization [committed] to ending the war in Northern Uganda where children are abducted and forced to fight with the rebel army as child soldiers. Fear of being hunted by the Lord Resistance Army, these children commute on foot every night (for three hours) into the town centers in order to find safe places to sleep. GNC is a form of plea to the United States government to help put this 20-year-long war to an end (www.invisiblechildren.org).

At first, there was no specific reason why we decided to join this movement. “Because it seemed fun and cool” was the only one that we could think of. We never slept on the streets like those homeless people we often run across on campus. Therefore we thought GNC was a good opportunity to find out how being a homeless would feel like. More over, there would be at least a couple hundreds of people with us, plus the media. We will be on TV! In addition, we also viewed GNC as an opportunity to join a protest without the fear of being beaten or killed and without any complaints from our parents. In fact, it was merely for “the fun of it” that we decided to even bother participating in this rally.

Yet this “happy-go-lucky” motivation was abruptly transformed once we watched the movie “Invisible Children: Rough Cut,” documented by three amateur filmmakers from Southern California who were also the founders of Invisible Children Inc. Slapped by the afflicting, heart- braking facts and vivid images of the children in Northern Uganda, we suddenly realized that this “GNC thing” we were getting into was not a mere joke. Our conscience urged us to take action. And the only thing we knew we could do was to join GNC. Maybe this one time event seemed somewhat meaningless and insignificant. However, we truly hoped that this small sacrifice could have a ripple effect in our society that would eventually carry an enormous impact in the lives of those children in Northern Uganda. With this motivation we went.

The sixty-minute walk from UT tower to the State Capitol felt like a mere fifteen-minute since we spent the whole one hour chatting, meeting new people, and taking pictures while we were walking. We did not bring many things with us. All that each of us had were a sleeping bag, a small backpack, some bottled-waters, and a little bit of snacks. Unfortunately, once we arrived at the Capitol at around 9 PM and were just about to enter the park, an official informed us that no sleeping bag is allowed on the Capitol ground. This news arrived as a shock for all of us since we brought no other articles that could be used for sleeping. Some of us have thoughts to return home, but we finally agreed to stay.

The first two and a half hours were spent creating a poster for the Northern Ugandan children and writing letters to President Bush and Texas Senators. Everything felt pleasant during that time. We enjoyed our surrounding and each others' company. Two of our friends also came over to give us several blankets and cover-ups. We ate, played, conversed, took pictures, and met new people. It felt as if we were camping instead of rallying. Everything went very well until the time reached twelve midnight. From here, it all turned upside down.

It was a grueling night. The temperature suddenly dropped from the upper eighties to upper fifties. We only had a piece of t-shirt and jeans sticking on our skins. Some even were wearing shorts. The blankets and cover-ups our friends brought for us were nothing but useless. They all were made from sarong-like materials, which, instead of making us feel warm, they made us feel even colder. Some tried to sleep on the grass, using a tarpaulin as the base. But soon they found out that sleeping on the concrete was actually a better alternative since the grass was soggy and cold. Then all of us moved to sleep on the concrete. It felt quite okay at first, but after a while it turned out to be nothing better. Then one of our friends suggested us to sit back-to-back forming a circle. This way, he explained, our body heat could be transferred from one to another and it should make us feel warmer. It did work, but only for a while. As a result, we ended up sitting on the frosty concrete all night long with our eyes half-opened.

We were exhausted, yet there was no way we could sleep, or at least fall asleep. We were freezing, yet there was nothing to warm our bodies, and no shelter to keep us from the cold. We were hungry, yet there was no food. To be honest, there were moments during that night when we almost gave up, especially when we saw people one by one stood up from their places, called it a night, and walked away. We were not sure what kept us going, but at that time, the faces of the Northern Ugandan children were very clear in our minds. Our brains could still picture those vivid images of the suffering and terror those children have to experience in every minute of their lives. They were surely enough to keep us going.

Never have we felt so liberated seeing the sun peeking from the east like that early morning of April 30, 2006. It marked the end of our suffering.

How often we overlook the so-called “ordinary” blessings that God grants us everyday: clothes to protect our bodies, homes to shield us from severe weather, food to satisfy our hunger. Looking back to the GNC experience, we feel grateful for not being allowed to bring our sleeping bags into the park. Otherwise, we would never be able to empathize with those children in Northern Uganda, or the homeless people we often meet on the street. In that morning of April 30, 2006, when the sun rose and the sky brightened, we knew that everything was over. Yet there are people who every night always wait with eagerness for the sun to rise, hoping that all the bitterness and pain in their lives will be wiped away as the new day comes. Unfortunately for them, nothing changes.

How often we took for granted the freedom that has been given to us - the freedom to express ourselves, the freedom from fear. How seldom we praise God for the vast opportunities that we can enjoy - the opportunity to learn in one of the best universities in the nation, the opportunity to live in the most developed country in the world. Both of us have the freedom and opportunity to do everything we can to achieve our dream of becoming successful businessman/woman. The children of Northern Uganda also have such dream of becoming successful people. But for them, it is more important to dream of still being alive tomorrow, rather than to dream of those freedom and opportunity they understand are implausible for them to attain.

We learn a lot from Jason Russell, Bobby Bailey and Laren Poole, three naïve filmmakers from Southern California who flew to Africa in 2003 in search of a story that would change the world. Never did it cross their minds that within the next 3 years, they would start a world-size movement that really changes the world. That movement is Invisible Children.

People often mock us of having dreams to make a difference and we become discouraged. But why should we? What is wrong of having a dream to change the world? Where is the flaw of having a dream to make a difference? While the three Southern Californian filmmakers did it for the “Invisible Children” in Uganda, why cannot we do it for the “Invisible People” in Indonesia or any other parts of the world? To us, there is nothing wrong about dreaming big. The problem lies when we start to lose heart for people, refuse to step out from our comfort zone, and “only see what these eyes want to see.”

Cindy Salaki and Peter Soekamto are undergraduate students in the business department of University of Texas at Austin.

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