At the Inner-City Muslim Action Network in Chicago, Rami Nashashibi uses religion, art, and culture to fight for social justice.
Mr. Nashashibi sat down with radio host and producer Krista Tippett for the fourth installment of the Chautauqua Institution's lecture series based on the interfaith theme, “Krista Tippett and Friends Who Inspire, Commit, Act.” In their conversation, Ms. Tippett and Mr. Nashashibi discussed his personal faith journey to Islam and the work he does for social justice through his nonprofit organization, IMAN.
Mr. Nashashibi’s relationship with Islam resembles that of a convert, he said. Though born in Jordan, Mr. Nashashibi grew up all around the world and spent much of his early life living in Europe. The home he grew up in was not ideologically secular but areligious. Little focus was placed on the study or practice of Islam.
When he reached college-age, Mr. Nashashibi came to the Southwest Side of Chicago on a soccer scholarship. When he arrived, he was confronted with the reality of American life in a city rife with economic disparity and racial violence.
Mr. Nashashibi was horrified by the continued social segregation and inequality he witnessed. The early years of his time in Chicago coincided with America’s first Gulf War. While he still lived on the Southwest Side, he began to receive strange vibes from people in the community, at one point via a hateful note on his door.
He soon decided to move to another college campus on the North Side of the city. The campus he moved to was more racially diverse, and when he arrived, he actively engaged in fighting for social justice issues with the black and Latino communities.
“I became increasingly fascinated and drawn to the African-American narrative, and in the process of doing that, became more and more familiar with — and interacted with those from that narrative who encountered Islam. The African-American encounter with Islam is truly an American story, and it’s one that’s deeply anchored in the larger American narrative.”
Mr. Nashashibi said he soon became fascinated with the stories and people who had participated in movements, such as the Black Panthers and Black Nationalism. Many of the activists and former members of those organizations were devoutly Muslim. They often would ask why he lacked a stronger, more formalized faith, Mr. Nashashibi said.
Mr. Nashashibi would respond that he was agnostic and did not believe in organized religion. Early on in his activist career, he could not understand how the intellectual social justice activists he admired were also so reverently faithful to Islam, Mr. Nashashibi said.
“So for the first time, I really started to read the Quran only to refute these guys. And I remember seriously the first year just extracting verses from the Quran only to come back and say, ‘Do you really believe in this?’ ”
Soon a transformation began, and during the course of a few years, he began exploring the Qur'an and asking honest questions about the Muslim faith. He began to embrace the religion as a vehicle for social justice. At first, his relationship with Islam was based solely in the political and social context, but as he continued his exploration of the religion, he realized he was missing its greater spiritual aspect.
Eventually, he also turned to the faith for his spiritual needs. In the 1990s, Mr. Nashashibi began to work with Muslim youth from Chicago’s Southwest Side, an area plagued with violence, drugs, and poverty. In its early days, the program focused on bringing together Muslim children from the inner city and other groups of Muslim children, such as African-Americans from nearby suburbs.
“When we brought all of this eclectic mix together — middle class immigrant Muslim kids brought up in the suburbs, young immigrant Muslims brought up in the hood, African American Muslims who have generations of experience on the South Side of Chicago — that produced this extraordinary excitement, a sense of possibility, something that had not been done, something whose time had come.”
One of the first initiatives of the program was called “Takin’ it to the Streets.” The event was held in the same park the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was stoned, in 1966. The point of the event was to take the work IMAN was doing and bring it out for the world to see, Mr. Nashashibi said.
About 900 people attended the event, and the organization raised $20,000. But, it could have been 900,000 people and $2 million judging by the amount of momentum and excitement it inspired, he said.
IMAN stems from a core Muslim principle, the call for social justice, Mr. Nashashibi said. Jesus Christ is often credited with working for and championing “the least of these,” but serving the marginalized was also an action and focus of the Prophet Muhammad, Mr. Nashashibi said.
The poor and marginalized sections of society, including women and slaves, were some of the earliest converts to Islam, Mr. Nashashibi said.
The disparities of wealth and opportunity based on arbitrary boundaries or uncontrollable events — such as a person’s race or the ZIP code in which he or she was born — motivate Mr. Nashashibi to continue to work for change, he said.
“For me, this work is in part a way to deal with the anxiety, the spiritual anxiety of those disparities. I can’t feel religiously comfortable in simply accepting that type of division in the way we live our lives.”
Mr. Nashashibi said he understands how it can be difficult to stay faithful and committed to the idea of social progress, especially when problems can seem overwhelmingly large and the actuality of change distant.
“It’s one thing to aspire towards those type of parities in our lives that we think are more reflective of the spiritual calling that we all attempt to implement into our lives and implement into society. It’s another thing when, you know, you’re walking 4- and 6-year-old girls down a block where, you know, two days earlier there was a gang shooting.”
Recently, Mr. Nashashibi was walking down his block on the Southwest Side with his young daughters. As they passed a stoop, the smell of marijuana smoke wafted in their direction. After dropping his children home, Mr. Nashashibi left his house and returned to the offending stoop and walked up to one of the men seated there.
“Listen man, can I holla at you for a moment?” Mr. Nashashibi asked. The man listened, and Mr. Nashashibi expressed to him that he did not want his daughters to smell marijuana every time they walked home. Within moments, the man had his arm around Mr. Nashashibi, apologizing and promising that it would not happen again.
“I want to grow with you, I want to learn with you, I’ve been watching you, and don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with that next time you walk down in front of us,” the man had said.
When the enormity of the world’s problems becomes overwhelming, micro-moments such as that human-to-human interaction reaffirm his belief that change can happen.
“You can engage those who sometimes you’re told to fear, who you’re told to write off,” Mr. Nashashibi said.
At the heart of IMAN is a dedication to art — visual and musical. The incorporation of art in the program reflects the Muslim understanding of God as beautiful. There is a Muslim tradition that says God is beautiful and loves beauty, Mr. Nashashibi said. In Islam, God is also referred to as a beautiful storyteller. In one of the Suras of the Quran, the story of Yusuf is told. The chapter about Yusuf begins, “We reveal to you the most beautiful of stories,” Mr Nashashibi said.
“The idea of God and the divine as a beautiful storyteller is also really at the core of our tradition."
IMAN brings musicians from all around the world to perform at its events, including opera singers and spoken-word artists, Mr. Nashashibi said. The use of art, specifically hip-hop music, began organically as an effective tool for bringing together those Muslim youth from diverse backgrounds.
“It became the most powerful and useful way of bringing together young kids in Chicago who were totally disconnected from one another while living and sharing the same kind of urban experiences,” Mr. Nashashibi said.
One of the earliest uses of hip-hop culture and art happened in 1995, when Mr. Nashashibi asked a well-known graffiti writer in Chicago to write a phrase from the Quran on a wall in graffiti. The phrase said, “We created you into nations and tribes so that may get to know each other, not hate one another, and the most dignified among you is the one with the most consciousness of the divine,” Mr. Nashashibi said.
The artist did not write in ornate Arabic calligraphy, but his transcription and artwork was so perfect that a Palestinian man walking on the street stopped to ask how long he had been training. The unveiling of that project showed Mr. Nashashibi art’s strong, uniting force. Since then, it has been a fundamental aspect of the program. Today, the biyearly “Takin’ it to the Streets” celebration has more than 20,000 attendees each year, with huge celebrities and artists in attendance, Mr. Nashashibi said.
“The arts have become the real factor for us in both humanizing each others’ stories, connecting our stories and, I think, revealing to one another the possibilities of what a better world can look like."
The idea of a collective American-Muslim culture is one Mr. Nashashibi holds dear and tries to spread through IMAN’s programs. It stems from the work of Malcolm X, following his trip to Mecca. After returning from Mecca, Malcolm X wrote to his wife that he no longer believed in race-based segregation within Islam. He had an image of Islam as a “powerful conduit in reconciling some of the great tensions of his time, of our time,” Mr. Nashashibi said.
“Nowhere is that dream, that broader dream, more possible, more relevant, more germane and, I think, more urgent than it is here within the context of the American experience."
Sept. 11 changed the lives of Muslims living in America, Mr. Nashashibi said. There are still vast parts of the United States where strong traces of fear of Islam and Muslims remain. For example, legislatures in states such as Oklahoma are introducing bans on Sharia law, he said.
Following Sept. 11, Mr. Nashashibi said he began to begrudge the eagerness with which Islamic leaders would frequently make statements distancing American Muslims from the attacks. He said he felt and feels Americans do not need to hear about how American Muslims are not this, or not that. But, he said, they should be exposed to American Muslims living the American experience.
In Chicago, Mr. Nashashibi does not have to tell people he is not from a religion of violence, because people see him holding prayer sessions on street corners where violence takes place, and they know he is fighting violence.
“There’s an anxiety for me even, about when to be OK with talking about the very basics and when to say: ‘Hey, damn it, we’ve been here, we’ve been doing great things, we shouldn’t have to convince you that we are part and parcel of the American experience.’ ”
Submitted by Trent Gilliss on Thu, 2012-07-19 06:35
On Tisha B'Av, a family reads Lamentations at the synagogue Kehilat Moreshet Avraham in East Talpiot, Jerusalem. (Photo by Brian Negin)
According to Sefer Yetzirah, to each month of the Jewish calendar there corresponds a letter of the Hebrew alphabet, a zodiac sign, one of the twelve tribes of Israel, a sense, and a controlling limb of the body...
That's from The Month of Tamuz According to the Book of Formation (Sefer Yetzirah) at Inner.org, a website which collects the kabbalistic teachings of Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh. R' Ginsburgh teaches that the sense associated with this month is sight. And the tribe associated with this month is Reuben — a name which comes from the same root as the verb "to see."
Our task this month, he teaches, is to rectify, or heal, our own sight. "[O]ne must train one's eyes (both spiritual and physical) to see only the inner positive dimension of reality and not to focus upon reality's outer, negative 'shell.'" On another page at that same site — The Month of Tamuz: The End of Tragedy — we read:
The sense of the month of Tamuz is sight. This means that the month of Tamuz is the best month of the year to learn to exercise our sight in the most positive way possible. Rectified sight involves both shying away from that which is negative (an ability associated in Kabbalah with our left eye) and training ourselves to see things in a positive light (associated with our right eye). In essence, both aspects are included in the right eye, which means that we should seek to see only the good points in others.
I love this idea: that this month it is our task to learn to stop seeing the bad in people, and to perfect the art of seeing the good in people. I make a year-long practice of trying to see the good in people, but there's something especially meaningful to me about the idea of strengthening that practice during this time.
We've entered the Three Weeks when we are bein ha-meitzarim, caught in the narrow straits of remembered grief and suffering. We remember the sack of Jerusalem and the fall of the Beit haMikdash, the house of holiness where we once understood God's presence to dwell. I keep returning to the text from Talmud which teaches that it was sinat chinam, needless hatred between and among our community, which brought the Temple down. And I find that I'm feeling even more keenly than usual the wish that I could create bridges of understanding between people who don't see eye to eye.
If we could all spend these Three Weeks healing our sight so that we truly only see the good in one another, how might the world be different? I'm not talking about superficial pretense, but about really training ourselves to see the best in people. Imagine seeing the best not only in your friends, but in the guy who cuts you off in traffic; in someone who looks different from you; in someone whose political positions are the opposite of yours.
Imagine Democrats and Republicans not just pretending to like one another, or focusing on their common ground in order to get along, but really figuring out how to see the good in each other. Imagine AIPAC supporters and Jewish Voice for Peace supporters doing the same. Secular Israelis and ultra-Orthodox Israelis. Soldiers and refuseniks. Israelis and Palestinians.
The classical tradition, I suspect, would argue that our task is to learn to see the best in each other within our community, not outside the bounds of our community. (Define those boundaries how you will.) But my teacher Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi has taught that in this age of paradigm shift, we need to move beyond triumphalism to an organismic understanding of our place in the world. Each religion is a necessary organ in the body of humanity; we need to maintain our differences, but we also need to communicate and connect. Maybe the best way to do that is to learn to see the best in one another.
May our vision be healed; may we learn how to look at each other and to see not our flaws and failings and differences but our holy sparks, our souls which shine, no matter who we are.
Rachen Barenblat is a rabbi at Congregation Beth Israel in North Adams, Massachusetts. Better known in online circles as the blogger Velveteen Rabbi, she's also an ordained mashpi'ah (spiritual director) and poet. Her first collection of poems is 70 faces: Torah Poems.
Submitted by Trent Gilliss on Thu, 2012-06-28 07:47
Presidential candidate in Des Moines, Iowa on December 30, 2011. (Photo by Mike Hiatt/Flick, licensed under Creative Commons)
In Wednesday's Religion Dispatches, Joanna Brooks describes how journalists report on Romney's business history with vigor, and treat his "faith" as an ethnicity. I think she's describing the disconnect between the spaces in which we live and the way we've publicly lived religion since the 60's — and that this has fermented many of our current domestic crises.
"I’m waiting for the story that transcends the flat ethnicity paradigm and gets the deeper and more persistent question of religion and moral bearings:
How does the most religiously devout candidate in recent memory reconcile a life of religious commitment with a values-neutral approach to work, livelihood, and the marketplace?
Why does religion play an outsized role in the politics of gay marriage and contraception but apparently has no say when it comes to big-ticket items like national spending and economic policy?
That profound disconnect certainly did not originate with Romney, but it may in fact be the key to understanding how he would lead and govern."
Submitted by Trent Gilliss on Tue, 2012-06-26 18:44
“Often…when I say I am Muslim, I stun people because I don’t fit the stereotype. I just actually had somebody walk into my [dorm] room, ask me what I was doing and then they responded with ‘Wait, you’re Muslim? But you’re not even brown!’” 19-year-old Emina confessed in a video blog. As I watched her speak, I nodded my head sympathetically.
How many times did people tell me I didn’t look Jewish when I was growing up? Too many to count, I thought.
But what I didn’t expect was how gracefully Emina handled this encounter. Rather than bitterly lashing out, she used this experience as an opportunity to debunk stereotypes that she frequently encounters about being Muslim. It was incredibly powerful to witness this young woman openly sharing in her own words what it meant to her to be Muslim rather than allowing others to define this for her.
Her video blog was one of several created for a youth service program through Project Interfaith, an organization in Omaha, Nebraska dedicated to building understanding and relationships across beliefs and cultural lines. We were so inspired by Emina’s video that it led us to ask, “What if we could give more people the chance to define and share their religious or spiritual identity in their own words and confront the misconceptions they face because of it?"
This is how RavelUnravel was born: an interactive, multimedia exploration of the religious and spiritual identities that make up our communities and worlds.
What makes RavelUnravel.com unique is that it is a space where individuals from a wide variety of religious and spiritual identities discuss their identities in a personal way, as well as the stereotypes that impact them and whether or not their communities have welcomed their chosen religious or spiritual paths.
The site currently contains over 720 videos of personal interviews. These are categorized by religious and spiritual identity so that users can browse within a category and gain an appreciation of not just the diversity of the religions and belief systems people identify with, but also the tremendous diversity of belief, practice, and cultural backgrounds within the same religious or spiritual identity.
For example, when visitors go to the Muslim category on the website, they can listen to Muslims from a variety of ethnicities and backgrounds, including Muslim women who wear headscarves and those who do not.
Whether hearing from Khalid about how a visit to a mosque when he first arrived in Omaha from Oman shaped his impressions of the United States, or from Lyneea on what it means to her to wear a headscarf, or from Yasmine about why she doesn’t wear one, the power of these stories is in their ability to make people appreciate the reality that true religious identity goes beyond the simple labels we often use.
The site also allows any user to upload their own video so that the number of diverse stories among and within religious and spiritual identities continues to grow.
Our hope at Project Interfaith is that through RavelUnravel.com we can reshape the way people think, learn and talk about identity, religion, spirituality, and culture — topics which are typically taboo, but often define our interactions with others. In times of great economic, social, and political instability like today, religious, spiritual and cultural identity are all too often used by leaders and groups who breed fear and division in society in order to advance their own political and social agendas.
Even in more stable times, openly and respectfully learning and talking about these topics has not been the norm in most communities, schools, and households in the United States. This is a terrible loss for us as individuals, and collectively as a society.
Yet when we are able to freely share and inquire about each other’s religious and spiritual identities, it provides opportunities for collaboration, hospitality, and empowerment.
Beth Katz is founder and executive director of Project Interfaith.
A version of this article was published by the Common Ground News Service on June 26, 2012. Copyright permission is granted for publication.
Submitted by Trent Gilliss on Mon, 2012-06-25 08:23
Pastor Randall "Mack" Wolford at his church in West Virginia. (Photo courtesy of Fran Wolford)
At about 11 p.m on May 27, a preacher in West Virginia named Randall "Mack" Wolford passed away from a rattlesnake bite he had sustained that afternoon. Mr. Wolford was a widely known advocate of serpent handling, practiced by a handful of Appalachian Pentecostals who believe that the phrase "they shall take up serpents" in Mark 16 means that handling poisonous snakes is a required sign of Christian faith, just like casting out devils, speaking in tongues, and laying hands on the sick (the signs that ordinary Pentecostals observe).
During services people like Mr. Wolford pass around poisonous snakes, sometimes wave them about, and occasionally, per Luke 10:19, walk on them. Early in the proceedings on Sunday the 27th, Mack Wolford sat down next to a yellow timber rattler that he had placed on the floor and it bit him on the thigh. As a sign of faith in God's protection and, ultimately, obedience to His will, he refused medical care.
Serpent handlers pride themselves on the claim that they are the rare Christians who live and practice according to the entirety of Christ's message, the entirety of the Bible. "We feed over ALL of the Lord's Will, His Word and His Way," Wolford's church's site says. "We are not side choosers that pick apart the Scriptures and cross out verses we don't like."
Serpent handlers, like other Christians, have chosen something to emphasize. Over the course of two thousand years, others have chosen the precise nature and identity of Christ, the proper understanding and practice of the Eucharist, the correct way to baptize, the proper way to organize a church, which day of the week to call the Sabbath, and any number of other things as the sine qua non of being a true Christian, and in each case some other Christians have regarded that defining center of faith as "adiaphora" — something indifferent.
The dark extremes of eccentric faith unsettle a public discourse on religion predicated on tolerance and understanding: How do we react to a faith like Mr. Wolford's? Often the law provides us with a guide — many destructive forms of religious expression are also illegal — but this was not one of those times. There are no laws against snake handling in West Virginia, and as a grownup Mr. Wolford was free to choose how he died. A photographer who had been working with Mr. Wolford was present as he lay dying, and has written about "com[ing] to peace with the fact that everyone in the crowded trailer, including myself, let Mack die as a man true to his faith." Such extreme devotion carries an air of nobility. A deliberately provocative op-ed in the Washington Post by a psychologist who has studied snake handlers suggests that they be "lauded for their faith."
An adult rattlesnake's venom is hemotoxic, which means that a severe bite in the wrong place, untreated, eliminates the blood's ability to clot and begins to dissolve the tissue of the muscles and organs. The snake begins to digest the person, from the inside. With some biblical resonance of her own, a young mother in San Diego bitten by a rattlesnake last year described the pain as "more horrific than giving birth."
In an important sense, respecting the depth of Mr. Wolford's faith is an essential part of avoiding easy caricature; but in another sense, avoiding caricature of a man like Mr. Wolford should make his death sadder and harder to understand, not more approachable or ennobled. Mr. Wolford's life, like his faith, had aspects other than snake handling that he might have chosen to emphasize. He was friendly and voluble, according to those who knew him; Facebook has pictures of him posing playfully with a filmmaker who is finishing a documentary about serpent handlers. A few days after his death, Wolford's widow changed the cover photo of her Facebook page to one of her late husband cuddling not a snake but a small, shaggy dog she described as his "little shadow." At 44, Mr. Wolford had a wife, a daughter, three stepchildren, and nine grandchildren, as well as at least one devoted pet, but at least compared to his faith, it seems, the other parts of his life were so much adiaphora. We are obligated to respect a faith like this, but not to laud it.
"Change in Christian thought," writes Edmund Morgan, "has usually been a matter of emphasis, of giving certain ideas a greater weight than was previously accorded them or of carrying one idea to its logical conclusion at the expense of another."
"It all boils down to Mark 16:17 & 18 to be taken literally that differentiates pure believers from pale imitations," a snake-handling site says.
"One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike," Paul observed to the church at Rome. "Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind."
Seth Perry is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Chicago Divinity School and a Mellon Fellow in Early American Literature and Material Texts at the University of Pennsylvania's McNeil Center for Early American Studies.
This essay is reprinted with permission of Sightings from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.
by David Sloan Wilson
1) Create a Neighborhood Identity.
Name your neighborhood. Create and display a symbol for it. Design t-shirts, baseball caps, buttons, and decals, so that residents of the neighborhood feel like members of a team.
2) Develop an agenda.
Groups exist to get things done. The more you work together to achieve common goals, the more bonded you will become. Choose positive goals, such as creating a neighborhood park, in addition to solving problems such as reducing crime.
3) Meet face-to-face under pleasant circumstances.
The internet is great for many things, but there is no substitute for getting together in person. Mix work with play whenever possible. Meet in each other’s homes, quite cafes, or that park you are designing. Meeting under relaxed circumstances with people you trust to accomplish important objectives can be one of life’s greatest pleasures.
4) Be inclusive.
Ideally, a neighborhood group should include everyone in the neighborhood. If someone doesn’t want to participate, it should be their decision and not because they weren’t asked. Small steering committees might be necessary, but everyone should feel that they have an opportunity for input, as in a democracy.
5) Share the work and make it proportional to benefits. Too often, groups consist of a few people who do most of the work while the others enjoy the benefits. This is unsustainable over the long run. It’s only fair to share the work and to make sure that those who go above and beyond the call of duty are appropriately recognized and rewarded. Unfair inequality poisons cooperative efforts.
6) Make decisions by consensus or by another process regarded as fair by group members. Most people hate being bossed around but will work hard to implement their own decision. If consensus decision-making proves to be unwieldy, make sure that the decision-making process is transparent and faithfully represents the interest of the group. Even the potential of factionalism poisons cooperative efforts.
7) Monitor good behavior.
Research shows that in the best neighborhoods, neighbors not only like each other but can also enforce each other’s good conduct, which in turn requires monitoring. Monitoring need not be invasive; it’s just a matter of knowing whether we are keeping up our end of the bargain.
8) Graduated sanctions.
All of us fall out of step now and then, and a friendly good-natured reminder is sufficient to keep us in solid citizen mode. But stronger sanctions must be available for those who refuse to cooperate or actively exploit others. Not everyone is nice, much as we might wish otherwise, and nice people must be able to protect themselves. Develop the art of niceness with attitude.
9) Fast, fair, conflict resolution.
Most groups experience conflict now and then, which needs to be involved quickly and in a manner regarded as fair by all parties. A common best practice is for everyone to take turns serving on a judicial committee, like the jury system. There’s nothing like acting in the role of judge for making one behave responsibly the rest of the time!
10) Gain the authority to make your own decisions.
Your neighborhood won’t be able to pursue its agenda if it must ask permission every step along the way. Cities vary greatly in how much authority they grant local groups such as neighborhood associations. Try to get as much elbowroom as possible to accomplish your objectives. Nobody knows what’s good for your neighborhood better than the neighborhood itself.
11) Work with other groups, large and small.
Congratulations! After your neighborhood has become a well-organized group, you’ll find that you can interact with other groups more powerfully than before. Your city will take you more seriously. You’ll be able to work collectively with other neighborhoods. You’ll become a more important lobbying force at the state and federal levels. In short, your group will become a more effective member of society at a larger scale--like the cell of a multicellular organism.
12) Plan for the longevity of your group.
Your neighborhood group needs to last longer than any individual’s participation. Of course you want to make use of members with the most talent, skills, and initiative, but you must also plan for the day when they must leave or reduce their participation. Create offices with terms of service. The most dedicated people can serve multiple terms, but the mechanism will be in place for someone else to fill their shoes when the time comes.
"The first experience is going through the sunlit area and into the twilight zone where sunlight fades and darkness begins to take over. It's like the deepest twilight, or earliest dawn." —Oceanographer Sylvia Earle
Sylvia Earle made history in 1979 as the first and only person to walk solo on the bottom of the ocean floor. As a result, her fellow scientists gave her the nickname “Her Deepness,” and she returned to the surface with rich descriptions of the wonder she experienced on the bottom of our world. In this audio excerpt from our latest show with the oceanographer, Ms. Earle describes life on the ocean floor as if it were science fiction fantasy. Such bioluminescent, architectural creatures, she says, seem to come from somewhere in deep space rather than in the deepest recesses of our Earth.
About the photo: Sylvia Earle descends into the darkness, trekking with this "Jim" suit as her only protection from hundreds of pounds of pressure per square inch created by being a quarter-mile under from the ocean's surface.