Dirty Tricks

Lisa McKay - My Hands Came Away Red, Chicago, Moody Publishers, 2007.

By Alison Lambert

This novel is available in Australia as well as the United States. A quick look at Moody Publishers, ‘The Name You Can Trust’, reveals connections to the Moody Church, a Bible College, and one of the largest media networks in the States. Moody’s list of titles and their blurbs in the ‘By and for women’ section, tell how the authors of these ‘excellent’ titles will ‘energize you to be an obedient follower of Christ in your various roles and relationships’. Need I expound? Being a Great Mom, Raising Great Kids; Capture His Heart: Becoming the Godly Wife Your Husband Desires; and The Companion Guide for Lies Women Believe, a text ‘breaking the chain of lies for good’ would probably make feminist readers curl their toes in horror. Further titles aim at helping readers make home décor easy, and recommend ‘the quiet spaces within’.

My Hands Came Away Red is Lisa McKay’s first book. She is an Australian psychologist, living and working in Los Angeles. The story, told in the first person by 18-year-old Cori, follows a group of young Christians as they spend the American summer building a church on the island of Seram in eastern Indonesia. Just after the church is built, Muslims from a neighbouring village massacre the Indonesian pastor and his wife and other Christians from the village. The group has to flee to the mountains, led by the pastor’s 17-year-old son Mani. Hardships and adventures of the character-building kind ensue before the group makes it safely home.

I didn’t want to read this book. I expected the prejudice and stereotyping common in media-fed views of Indonesia and its mostly Muslim population, fuelled by the moral high ground created by the massacre of East Timorese by the Indonesian military. Every time I go to Indonesia (my daughter has lived there for 12 years), well-meaning friends become anxious for my safety; one person warned me to watch out during Ramadan, when ‘they all go troppo’. (Indonesia is a hugely diverse place and many experiences are possible, but I have never encountered the remotest hint of trouble there.) My daughter read the review copy long before I did and left copious annoyed notes on its inconsistencies and inaccuracies. Finally getting past my resistance to the alarmist title, I could see what she meant.

Lisa McKay’s novel, her first, is fast-paced and the sort of story that makes you read to the end to see what happens. It begins with the narrator, wanting to escape a sticky love affair, deciding to join the youth group for the summer. Cori emerges as a wry and plucky young woman who is popular with her peers. Her narrative voice is witty and soul-searching. Her crisis of faith, questioning God, runs through the story, showing honesty to be one of her strong points. In fact, despite her self-confessed cowardice and modesty, she’s hard to fault. Throughout the ordeals, Cori shows a sterling range of qualities that would make her surely fit for leadership grooming at the Moody Bible Institute.

Cori’s apparently factual style of reportage lulls the uncritical reader into believing what she says is true. The worry is that readers will believe Moody Publishers to be a trustworthy filter of the world out there (‘The Name You Can Trust’), and wouldn’t dream such a reputable Christian publisher could do anything dodgy. But dodginess is rife in the background of this text.

Indonesia is the fourth most populous country in the world, with approximately 245 million people. 88% of these identify as Muslims and 6% as Protestant Christians. Islam arrived in the region in the fourteenth century, replacing Hindu and Buddhist belief and has been connected with a rich history; Dutch missionaries introduced Protestantism in the sixteenth century.

Seram and its close neighbour Ambon are part of the Spice Islands, also known as the Moluccas or Maluku. This region of Indonesia, because of its rich resources of cloves and nutmeg (more costly than gold at one time), has been fought over by the Portuguese, the British and the Dutch. When the locals tried to set up their own trading scheme, they were massacred for their trouble. A significant section of the indigenous population embraced Christianity, and was rewarded by the Dutch with jobs and education. The Moluccas became one area of the archipelago where Christians felt less of a minority. The Dutch used Ambonese Christians as mercenaries in their colonial regime which lasted for more than 350 years until it was rejected by the Indonesians during the war of Independence in 1945.

An ideological strategy called pancasila, a five-point plan to create harmony and acceptance of difference, was introduced post-independence, but has always been open to interpretation according to whose interests were being served. The centuries-old system of pela gandung, reinforced by the military under Suharto, creates associations between villages of differing faiths but historically has not prevented violence breaking out between participants. A further element of tensions to the historical background of this region is the unpopular practice of transmigrasi, where Javanese (usually Muslims) are transported to less crowded outer islands. Ambon and its close neighbour Seram are right at the heart of these tensions.

Given that Hands is set just after Indonesia’s devastating fires, the economic crisis of 1996 and the riots leading to the downfall of President Suharto (31), the question arises, within the parameters of the novel, why allow a youth group to visit a region in turmoil at this time? When the group arrives on Ambon, a local Christian worker admits there are ‘already tense relationships [between Muslim areas and] nearby Christian areas and missionaries’ and that their presence ‘could spark a riot’ (42). The issue is downplayed, though Cori later overhears someone’s misgivings. The woman voicing her worries in private is silenced, yet unfolding events vindicate her concern.

It is a narrative convenience that the group is sent to a potential trouble spot: the massacre and the group’s flight from it make for dramatic story telling. These events also allow the showcasing of Muslim/Christian conflict. I am constantly appalled at the bad reputation of Indonesia and of Muslims, a view fostered by the press and usually held by people with little or no first-hand experience of either the place or its people. I am horrified by this author’s choice of story. So many stories could be told: why choose to expose this aspect of Indonesia, especially in these times of brittle understandings?

Nowhere in my reading of Hands did I encounter recognition that the secular state of Indonesia has the largest Muslim population in the world, and practises a moderate form of Islam*. The youth group has learnt ‘stuff about Islam’ (41), yet Kyle still has to be told in his missionary zeal that ‘Christian evangelism in Muslim areas is technically illegal in Indonesia’ (42). Moody publishes titles about other religions in a section named ‘Cults and Other Religions’. One of these, Christ Among Other gods [sic]: A Defence of Christ in an Age of Intolerance (Erwin W. Lutzer) challenges ‘the claim that no religion can be superior to another…religion is not a wheel whose varied religions are spokes that ultimately lead to the same peace and harmony at the core’. In the current political climate, why has Indonesia has been selected as background for this drama?

It’s easy to imagine a sinister explanation of the choice of story, which is borne out by an online review under Christian Book Previews.com. The unnamed writer says McKay has written ‘a compelling, powerful story on a subject too often ignored in fiction; the persecution of Christians. She shows the confusion, the lies, and the dangers of vengeance upon vengeance that destroys a people. And she does it well, so well that it doesn’t read like fiction […] she tells the story so realistically at times that I had to remind myself this was a novel’. Here is an authoritative voice speaking, showing readers the way to receive this book. The eight reader reviews on the site all award the book five stars.

However, the reader lacking critical skills or an open mind will construct gratuitous understandings of Indonesia and Muslims, ‘these people’. Arriving at Ambon airport, the air smells of ‘wet dirt, tobacco, bodies, and spices’; the porters are ‘short’; ‘tiny’ women mop the floor ‘slowly’; the Muslim women are ‘openly staring and laughing’; teeth are ‘stained’; ‘more than one person trie[s] to talk to [the new arrivals]’; the driver runs a red light; there are ‘scrawny chickens’; beggars, one with a ‘flat gaze’; there is an ‘open sewer’ (40-41). Towards the end of the story, when Cori’s group encounters a sympathetic Muslim village where people have recently been killed by Christians, a further impression of laziness and apathy is given. Men are ‘smoking and squatting, leaning against walls in the shade’; the houses are built of cinderblocks ‘that looked like they had once been white’; the women offering the water are ‘the village elder’s youngest wives’ (270-72). The overwhelming impression given is that these people can’t cope, can’t live in any way except dirt and ignorance.

I have seen areas of Indonesia where people indeed show the effects of poverty, where the lanes are indeed narrow and the streets and canals are dirty (though I’ve never seen raw sewage as is implied). Nevertheless, people are clean: the custom throughout Indonesia is to wash twice daily. Even the poorest hovels are immaculate inside; children invariably appear from these in clean and ironed school uniforms. As for the notoriously bad drivers of Asia, sooner or later you come to realise their great skill on narrow crowded roads, and that accidents are not at all commonplace. I also know of several instances where Muslims and Christians are friends on equal footing. My daughter’s Indonesian mother-in-law had a Christian girl as a boarder for some time, who was treated as one of the (Muslim) family.

On the run from the savage Muslims, Indonesia is experienced at dirt level by Cori and her band: the word ‘dirt’ is used often throughout the text. Even the ‘good’ Indonesian Muslims who give hospitality to the desperate group offer water in ‘chipped, grimy glasses…please don’t let this make us sick’ Cori thinks as she takes hers (271). (Yet funnily enough, the Indonesians I have encountered, from poor to wealthy, don’t want to get sick either, and invariably boil their drinking water or buy bottled water.) Haji Kembang, the compassionate head of this village, is a cripple, ‘hobbling along at a remarkable pace’ (268). Mani, on the other hand, as we are shown from the start is taller and better looking and has a better command of English, as though his Christianity confers upon him such blessings. He has ‘large, gorgeous, dark brown eyes’ (43), and at one stage when he is looking lonely, Cori is tempted to put her arms around him. But ‘more than the fire separated us. I knew that would only make him uncomfortable’ (197). How does she know? I can’t think what would separate them ideologically if it’s not religion; there are plenty of successful marriages between Indonesians and Westerners. Could it possibly be Cori’s own unacknowledged prejudice? She shows no qualms about expressing her attraction to Kyle, and indeed shows more than a soupçon of sexual feeling, an obligatory ingredient for reader appeal.

Back at Moody Publishing’s web-site, their vision statement says it will ‘proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ and a biblical worldview in such creative and powerful ways that individuals worldwide will live in increasing measure as His fully devoted followers…by ethically publishing conservative, evangelical Christian literature…for all ages around the world…’. And so appears under their imprint a book aimed at young readers, a cracking tale of adventure and survival, a bit of love interest thrown in, as well as some serious questioning of faith. A reader review on an Australian web-site, Koorong Press, gives the book five stars and raves ‘Hard to put down!’

Creative and powerful ways indeed: how to juggle the need for a worthy heroine/protagonist, a model for young women, while exemplifying Christian values for women? How to appropriate feminism, some aspects of which are popular with young women, while not completely espousing it? Throughout the ordeals the group undergoes, Cori appears exemplary. Her questioning of God in the face of the atrocities she has witnessed runs through the story, showing honesty to be one of her strong points. In fact despite her narrative stance of cowardice and modesty, she’s hard to fault. As the story unfolds, heroine Cori is strong, brave, intelligent, resourceful, responsible and perceptive. The other two girls, Elissa and Drew, are respectively quietly useful, and hysterical. While Drew seems to cry all the way, Cori gives in to tears only rarely and when alone. When surprised by Mani, she curses her ‘‘self-indulgent inattention’. She won’t let herself be a burden by showing such weakness, instead encouraging Mani to share his troubles (197).

Out of this litany of goodness a pattern emerges. Given Cori’s qualities, why was she not leading the party and making major decisions? Answer: she’s a girl. And good Christian girls defer to their menfolk. Mani, as the son of the murdered pastor, wears an invisible mantle as though blessed by God, and this, added to his survival skills in the Indonesian jungle, confers upon him an invincibility the others can’t match. Cori has differing issues with the other three boys, and deals with them in interesting ways. She distances herself from her propensity for coming out with sensible statements: ‘”But what about what’s going on in Ambon?” Mark asked. “We don’t really have a choice,” I heard myself say’ (124).

Thus the narrator has it both ways; she’s seen as a heroine and a model to emulate, while assuming the modesty of a self-confessed mixed-up kid. During the violence, Cori orders the others to ‘Get the tents. Everything in them. All the packs. Food if you can. Into the trees. Now.’ But her voice ‘sounded strange, as though it was coming from a long way away’ (92). Later, when Brendan asks her if she is all right, Cori is ‘sorely tempted to ask him what on earth he meant’, given the horrific circumstances they have just seen, but instead of saying what she thinks, she ‘raise[s] the palm of [her] hand to [her] forehead and trie[s] to grind away the tension’ (107). She reflects on the reality of the situation: ‘I rested my head on my knees and was almost glad for the dark. When the others couldn’t see me I didn’t have to pretend to be strong’ (127). When Kyle is attacked by an enraged boar, however, she yells at him and kicks at the dead pig (204). Her attraction to Kyle makes it OK: he is the right age, the right gender, and the right nationality. It is permissible for a girl her age to be overwhelmed by feeling for the right guy. She is a good little Eve too, being suitably terrified by an encounter with a harmless though large python (136), yet shows great courage in dragging Kyle away from the boar (202).

I now come to discussion of the aspect of My Hands Came Away Red that worries me the most. Some critics have said the book is ‘even-handed in its treatment of Muslims’; I don’t think so. Right from the start, though there is lip service to fairness, I found a story rife with connotation, littered with seemingly incidental details of an apparently dirty, ignorant society. Such description is anything but innocent.

The question of why this book is set mainly in poor and remote villages in Indonesia has puzzled me. However given the way the text works by multiple connotations, innuendo, and juxtaposition, I can only conclude that Muslims are under attack in the subtlest of ways. By their constant association with the ‘dirt’ so frequently mentioned, seemingly as descriptive asides, the unaware reader will find herself colluding with the view of the narrator. Mud sticks. Cori seems to be a keen observer: objective and factual, aided literally and metaphorically by her camera. She even decides to do journalism at University. Yet there’s no mention of educated and worldly Muslims, living in cities and towns.

Cori often muses, despairing that ‘nothing makes sense’. The worry is that readers will draw, as readers do, on previous convictions and experience, to make their own form of sense from this book’s subtexts. It’s tricky; the author has been creative indeed to couch common prejudices in a narrative that appears to be fair. ‘Why should Satan have all the good writers?’ could be another Moody byline.

Towards the end of writing this review I was directed to Late Night Live (Monday June 16 2008, ABC Radio National) where Philip Adams spoke with Jeff Sharlet, author of The Family: Power, Politics and Fundamentalism’s Shadow Elite (UQP). Even the urbane Adams was shocked at Sharlet’s exposition on the Christian Right in America. The ‘Family’ is a secretive US organisation which hosts but one public event a year, the National Prayer Breakfast, to which 4000 heads of state from around the world, including despots, are invited. The US President gives the closing address. The Family‘s origins go back to 1935, when an evangelist named Frank Buchman coined a term that stuck, ‘moral re-armament’. ‘There is tremendous power’, he preached, ‘in a minority guided by God’ (see Jeff Sharlet’s excellent web-site The Revealer, ‘a daily review of religion and the press’). Members of The Family openly admire the methods of Hitler, Stalin and Mao, claiming these dictators understood the total commitment to authority that Jesus taught. The example cited on Late Night Live was how the Red Guards were able to decapitate their parents, due to Mao’s training. ‘God’s mysterious ways’ ‘beyond the noise of vox populi’ are cited as driving decisions that affect whole nations; funding was poured into Indonesia when Suharto was in power, for example.

My deep concern is that a seemingly innocent little book like My Hands Came Away Red can trace its editorial lineage directly back to the machinations of The Family. An excerpt from Sharlet’s book on The Revealer site claims: ‘…every believer becomes an informer on him or herself. Censorship becomes a function of the soul, not of the state; pastors needn’t bother with speech that is never spoken’. In Hands, it’s hard to pinpoint any direct condemnation of Muslims; the literary technique of ‘show, don’t tell’ is used brilliantly, while the narrator’s reporterly voice and aspiration adds to the truthful tone. And throughout the book the young people constantly debate what God might want, or mean, lacking of course their spiritual leaders to interpret for them. One would have to live in a backwater not to be aware of the huge power of the modern-day preacher in America, and increasingly so in this country.

Such issues as evolution are no longer taught in many schools in the US, as a result of the massive influence of the Christian Right. The representation of Indonesia and its people, even its environment, in Hands is in my view damaging Christian propaganda. Even the boar which attacks Kyle (after being poked by his machete) is ‘the ugliest animal’ Cori has ever seen (201). Superlatives real and imagined abound in this creative hotbed of dirty tricks.

The vision of Moody Publishers is to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ and a biblical worldview in such creative and powerful ways that individuals worldwide will live in increasing measure as His fully devoted followers. Our mission is to educate and edify the Christian and to evangelize the non-Christian by ethically publishing conservative, evangelical Christian literature and other media for all ages around the world; and to help provide resources for Moody Bible Institute in its training of future Christian leaders.


*My daughter has noted in her reading of studies on women in Islam that Indonesia is often left out. She surmises that its inclusion would skew the results, because of Indonesia’s population and more moderate form of Islam.

Alison Lambert began writing poetry and short stories while a mature age student at The University of Queensland. Now quite widely published, she lives on the Blackall Range, north of Brisbane.