Why Congo Matters from Emily Troutman on Vimeo.
After spending a month in the Democratic Republic of Congo, I find myself speaking most often about the numbers: 5.4 million dead, 2,000 rapes per month, 17,000 UN soldiers, a war that started 15 years ago (or more?).
And suddenly, the conflict seems impossibly huge, unsolvable, tragic and remote. It is easy to forget that numbers are symbols, representing real people who take up an actual, physical space; who walk the down the dirt roads at sunset and carry water from the river, just as they did when I was there.
Numbers are a simple way to measure what has been lost. But we also lose something in the counting. We begin to think we know the exact dimensions of a problem, and then we file it away to be solved later, somewhere between running out of milk and global warming.
For a number to be useful, it should have a beating heart and a face. It should collect names and remind us of something in ourselves. A number should challenge us to unravel it, to give it a smell (the earthy jungle undergrowth), a color (the black volcanic dust), a taste (papaya), and a sound (the “snap” of a green bean).
Each death, each rape in Congo, happens in a moment when the sun is either up or down, when the rain has started or stopped, when a small phrase was uttered, or a glance exchanged. The numbers can tell us something about how often it has happened, but almost nothing about how. Or who.
With a story this big, and so little public awareness of it, I started to ask myself, “Does Congo matter?” I don't know. I guess that's hard to measure. It matters to the people who live there. It matters to me.
The statistics used in this video can be found in the following reports:
UNICEF – Country Statistics
International Rescue Committee – Mortality in the DRC, An Ongoing Crisis
International Committee of the Red Cross – Survey on the Impact of Armed Conflict on Civilians
Emily’s Photography
Emily’s blog, Who We Are / How We Live








Dave Weiberg carried a Rocket Propelled Grenade launcher (RPG) into an elevator at Minneapolis’ Riverside Plaza. A young man who stood beside him asked, “Is that real?” Dave quickly said no and explained that the gun was a prop for the film Ana’s Playground. The young man smiled and said, “Well it looks great, it looks just like the one I used to shoot when I was a boy.” He told Dave that he had been a child solider in the conflict in Somalia.

Like many Georgians, Sophio's family depends on agriculture for their livelihood. They lost their harvest during the Russian-Georgian conflict. Without a steady income, Sophio could not afford to return to school and continue pursuing her dream of being a teacher. Thanks to 


Our leader today is Amitabh Singh, donor relations manager of
After lunch we head to
In early January 2007, I boarded an early morning flight from Minneapolis. While boarding the plane bound for Lima, a woman asked in broken English where I was going. I told her I was serving as an international volunteer in Ayacucho, Peru. She said, “It’s very poor there.” That is precisely why I chose to spend two weeks working with orphans in Ayacucho, and it was a trip of a lifetime.
That experience galvanized a passion inside me. I realized that my professional career of marketing financial services for a nationwide banking company was no longer satisfying. Instead, spending my life and talents doing something to make the lives of orphans and poor children just a little bit brighter was what I was built to do.
Kadeeja’s family lives in the Kurdish area of northern Iraq. They are shoemakers, weavers of “klash,” a handmade shoe common in the region. They sell their shoes at the local market, and some are bought by
Preemptive Love agreed to take on Kadeeja’s case. This meant finding funding to pay for the surgery and related care, as well as for travel to a country where the surgery could be performed. It also meant arranging the surgery, aftercare, visas, transport and accommodation. She was a high-risk patient who had in fact been previously turned down for surgery. Nonetheless, Preemptive Love managed to arrange for Kadeeja’s treatment with a hospital in Turkey. And so, with all the excitement of a 16 year-old leaving her home country for the first time, Kadeeja set off in mid January, 2009. The surgery was a complete success, and on February 2, 2009, she returned home healthy and ready to begin a new life unrestrained by illness.
Saving lives by repairing hearts is the core of Preemptive Love’s mission. There are, however, other advantages to the organization’s work. Successfully transporting a child to another country for major surgery requires a great deal of cooperation from a great number of people. With Preemptive Love’s work, this cooperation often occurs across divisions that are commonly regarded as insuperable barriers. The Kurdish people have been at odds with Turkey for years, yet Kadeeja, a Kurdish child, was saved by Turkish doctors. Preemptive Love has funded surgeries for Iraqi children in Israeli hospitals, allowing Jewish doctors to save Muslim children. Americans, Iraqis, Israelis, and Turks end up being simply people, not adversaries, working together to save lives. Given the long history of conflict in the region and the recent wars, anything that encourages cooperation and minimizes divisions is a blessing. When these actions save children’s lives it is a true gift indeed.

The creators of Sliding Liberia have done a masterful job using a surf film lens to give us a behind-the-headlines look at Liberia. It doesn’t offer in-depth investigations or political analysis, and is by no means a detailed profile of the country. Instead it allows the starring surfers, and the cameras that follow them, to look and listen, and to be aware of the country surrounding them and the people who live there. The result is series of vignettes that convey a sense of what it is like to have your country descend into ruin, and of how long and difficult the journey is on the road to recovery. 

Sometimes they are hard to see, but opportunities to make a difference are never far away. All we have to do is look.







