>> This program was made possible in part by the William and Mary Greve Foundation, P Zehr, K and P Brubaker, E Showalter, and many others.

For a full list of supporters, go to unexpectedpeace.com/funders ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ Growing up, my Mennonite community in northern Indiana taught me to love my enemies and turn the other cheek if struck.

I was taught nonviolence at home and at school.

It was a peaceful, rural community.

Our closest neighbor lived a mile away, so it's not like I was ever really put to the test.

I suppose it's easy to love your enemies when we don't have any.

Back in my youth, I had never heard of Islam or Muslims.

Nobody had ever told me I should be afraid of them.

I didn't know anything about them.

So you might be wondering, what does the Indonesian Hizbullah have to do with me?

Nothing and everything.

My dad bought my brother and me kits to make muzzleloading rifles when I was 13.

He bought one for himself, too.

We worked on our guns all winter, and then in the spring and summer, we practiced shooting targets in the field.

We had a great time together.

That fall, dad and his friends took us hunting and I shot a deer.

Holding my gun reminds me of my dad and his conflicted feelings about nonviolence.

[ Gun fires ] There I am with my first deer.

>> There you go.

Have you seen that one, Carol?

I'm 14.

>> And you got it with a muzzleloader?

>> My muzzleloader is in my hands right here.

>> I've never seen that.

It's an amazing picture.

>> So it's this one right here.

I like this picture of Daddy because he -- he's smiling and happy.

>> Yeah, that's a nice one.

>> He looks so much like Uncle Steve, I think when I see it, the smile.

>> Mm-hmm.

And his beautiful white hair.

>> That's where I got mine.

>> That's how I remember him.

>> Yeah.

>> My dad believed in turning the other cheek and loving your enemy, but he felt there were some limits.

I remember he told me, if a bully is trying to hurt you, hit him in the stomach as hard as you can.

He also felt the Allies were right in using military force to stop the Nazis.

So how does it work?

Should there be limits in the practice of nonviolence?

>> Huh.

>> Of all the things I found in my Grandpa Lais's belongings, this one really got me.

Because it's related to what I do now.

It says, "We are confident that the passing of military laws, which would not excuse nonresistant Christians, would mean to send thousands of young men to military prisons, and no good government desires this."

>> Yeah, I knew two men, One from the -- from two different Mennonite communities.

And they were in military prison.

>> Because?

>> Because they wouldn't go to World War I.

>> Mm-hmm.

>> And they had some injuries because they were mistreated there.

>> Mm-hmm.

>> Made fun of and mistreated physically.

>> Yeah.

Who are the people that you would want to point out on this list?

Who are they?

>> I think it's this man John Kropf.

And Sam Ikers' name isn't on this list.

I noticed that.

>> Hmm.

>> Is your grandma on here somewhere?

>> Well, here's my great-grandma Susannah Lais.

>> Mm-hmm.

And who is DJ Lais?

>> That's my grandpa.

And down here is Grandma Lais, my grandmother, and her sister, I think -- Lena Egli.

This is my grandpa, John Egli.

And he eventually married Mamie Hostetler.

Yeah.

>> That's a giant Sumac growing up right there.

>> Oh, what's on top?

>> Where?

>> Right here.

This going "zhoop."

>> Yeah.

>> What bird is that?

>> I don't even see it.

>> Well, this over to the right, the very right of the dead branches at the very tip of it.

>> Okay, I'm looking.

Oh, I see it.

What is that?

>> It's killing my neck.

>> Mom knows a lot about birds and nature.

When I was a kid, I loved going outdoors with her in the morning.

Birding taught me patience and how to listen, how to observe.

Little did I know how important and valuable this would be for me when I did my doctoral fieldwork in anthropology.

I don't know, I'm going to walk a few steps up and see if I can see him from a slightly different angle.

>> Don't you think he looks a little yellowish on his breast?

[ Birdsong ] ♪♪ >> As far back as I can remember, I've been taught the way of nonviolence.

Yet where I live, most people own guns and are ready to use them to protect and defend their families.

Our society believes in redemptive violence, the idea that peace and safety can be preserved using more violence.

♪♪ In October of 2006, Charlie Roberts entered an Amish school in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, determined to kill.

The police arrived before Charlie pulled the trigger but were powerless to stop him.

♪♪ Something I did when we lived in Senegal still leaves me unsettled.

Sounds coming from our courtyard frightened me.

My imagination went wild.

Was my family in danger?

So, for a few weeks, I slept in the courtyard on a mat with a club next to me.

One night, I heard the sound again, this time close to me.

Quickly, I grabbed my club and beat it to death.

A large rat, as it turns out.

But what if it had been a person?

The Amish school that once stood in this pasture is gone.

There are no memorials, no reminders of the brutal violence that took place here.

The Amish responded with nonviolence.

Would've I?

Nonviolence in the face of violence?

What are the alternatives?

Are there alternatives?

These questions lie at the heart of my quest.

>> I remember going to school.

I would walk across the fields.

We had two or three fields to cover into our school.

Every morning, you would carry a lunch bucket, go with your brothers, your cousins, or a friend, and go to school and you throw rocks and, uh, enjoy your journey back and forth.

I remember playing baseball.

I remember sitting out on the porch eating lunch.

I remember the classroom.

I remember the fun times we had, the good teachers and the ones that were more strict.

>> You went to a one-room Amish school?

>> I did.

I was here at this place where I worked with my brothers, and a call came in, and they said there's been a school shooting in my sister's children's school.

And all of a sudden, it's like this thing that we've been hearing in other schools happened in a one-room Amish school.

It's like, that's absurd.

That's unheard of.

And then, it's in our family.

This hits home.

So, we got a driver, jumped in his vehicle, and we were down there within about a 15-minute drive.

People started to gather.

They gathered in the farmhouse.

I think it was a building next to the schoolhouse.

We didn't know if there was people killed, there was people hurt.

We didn't know what at all happened.

>> That morning, Charlie Roberts barricaded himself in the one-room school with 10 girls after expelling everyone else.

He lined them up in front of the blackboard and tied them together.

He shot all 10 before turning the gun on himself.

Five girls survived and five didn't.

>> Then the boys came out of the cornfield while we were there.

Three of my nieces... >> Yeah.

>> ...were in there.

The younger one slipped out the side door with the boys.

Yeah.

You know, a man that went insane and lost it and takes out your daughters, takes out your girls, and, you know, girls in their school years, they're starting to, like, shine.

You start to see who they really are.

You get attached to them, you get connected, and you begin to see what -- you know, what, um, the world holds for them, what they bring to the world.

And then to see them just senselessly taken out... >> Did you -- did you question the community decision to just offer forgiveness?

>> No.

No.

>> Your Amish friends and family who were so deeply affected by these murders, were their bishops forcing them?

>> No.

>> Um, did they really forgive or did they just, like, cover things up?

>> No.

Um... It's the right thing to do, to forgive, to release.

And you're tempted to judge.

You're tempted to -- to revenge.

You're tempted to retaliate.

But to forgive is the right thing to do.

For me, it was not a question to forgive and be able to allow God's Spirit to come in and to minister to your heart and heal that violation that happened to you.

>> So it's a spiritual journey as well as a counseling journey.

>> That's right.

That's right.

So I personally experienced what it feels like to release and forgive and to be healed in an area where I was carrying pain and bitterness.

And then to also help others to go there to the place of pain, to the wound, and to release and offer forgiveness to whomever violated that.

>> How -- how does faith, Amish faith, play a part in this story?

>> When "love your enemies" is practiced along the way and you're taught this, year after year, generation to generation to generation, and this is how your subconscious and your belief is developed, and something happens, your natural response will be to say, "This is the right thing to do."

Turn the other cheek.

If you've never been taught it, and it was never modeled, it can be very difficult to practice that if you've never been modeled it.

But as a people group, as a community, that's what you do.

Then something happens, the tragedy happens, you forgive.

That's your pre-positioned response.

[ Sirens wail ] >> The press was there.

It was a circus.

And in the course of four weeks, I had to speak with the press.

I tabulated for a while, and it was over 300 reporters when I quit counting.

The first day or two, reporters that I talked with were all focusing on the event itself.

But all of a sudden, like by the second day, it turned from a shooting story to a forgiveness story.

And I saw press people just make shifts in their minds and just become very emotional about what they observed happening.

They were, of course, deeply affected by the horror of the killing and the wounding of the girls, but then the forgiveness story just, uh -- I saw people just break down from the press, who said, "I don't want to bother these people anymore."

It was so powerful.

And then, um, even the press people also started saying, you know, "Maybe there's something here that the rest of the world could learn from."

>> The thing that I can't get out of my mind, one thing is, this cute sign they had made that said -- make sure I get the words right.

"Visitors bring joy to our school."

And, man, and I kept looking at that, thinking, "This visitor didn't bring joy to the school."

They're so open.

They're so trusting.

As all children, they're so innocent.

>> If you had to say what the lesson for the world was from this story, how would you, what would you say?

>> Well, I think the first thing I would -- I think of is the words of my friend Chris Stoltzfus, who lost a daughter, and another one was injured.

And somebody asked him, "How could you -- how could you forgive?"

And he paused a while and said, "Well, I know that if I wouldn't have forgiven, I would have become like Charlie," who had lived a life of unprocessed hostility in his own mind because of the loss of his daughter.

And for me, that sort of put it all succinctly, that forgiveness is a choice to say, "I'm not going to become a hostage or a servant of hostility."

So it's for oneself, first of all, it's not to absolve the perpetrator.

>> How did you change?

Yourself?

>> Well... I think I'm -- I'm still changing.

I... It made me very conscious of the need to have relationship with people.

For me, the importance of practicing gentleness and friendliness and respect for the other person, no matter how egregious their actions toward me.

And that's -- and it made me really realize that that's not an easy thing to do, but it just reinforced in me that that's what's important.

And I have to remind myself still that that's the only option I really have if I want to be a follower of Jesus' way.

>> Hmm.

How important this idea of doing it together, as opposed to someone trying to forgive by themself?

>> I remember very vividly one morning in one of the accountability committee meetings, a grandfather of one of the daughters who lost her life and also a bishop in the church, with tears running down his cheek, saying, "Yesterday, I had to start all over on this forgiveness thing."

It's an ongoing process.

And so I think the Amish understand that we -- you need to help each other in a time like this.

But that's the attitude I saw demonstrated and lived by my parents and in the community where I grew up among the Amish.

And it felt like the only right thing to do.

♪♪ ♪♪ >> Both Jonas and Herman touched me deeply, giving me much to think about.

But I'm still struggling to understand what kind of forgiveness we're talking about, and how the Amish community was so unified in their response.

>> The letters, they don't make a lot of sense.

Apparently, he did make a statement to his wife on the phone that he was angry with life.

He was angry at God.

He was acting out to achieve revenge for something that happened 20 years ago.

>> Charlie called me and said, "I'm not coming home."

And I never heard his voice sound like that.

There was nothing to it.

It was just so flat.

And I remember saying to him, "What do you mean you're not coming home?"

And at the end of the call, he said, "Please tell our family that I love them.

I left a letter for you on the dresser," and he hung up.

And when I went to get that letter, I knew that I would never see Charlie again.

I remember going out on my porch.

It was a beautiful sunny morning and thinking, God, I don't understand what's happening.

And it was then that I started to hear the police cars racing up the street and the helicopters flying overhead.

After the phone call with Charlie and being out on the porch, it wasn't long until the police had come to my house and they told me what had happened in the schoolhouse that morning.

And then they said, you know, "The media is coming.

You probably ought to plan to leave for a little while."

And my parents lived just down the street and around the corner.

I knew it wasn't far, but it was far enough.

And in that moment, it was the place I wanted to be, my parents' home.

So I was in my parents' kitchen, and I was having one of those moments where I was thinking, "How can this be my life?"

And I remember looking out the window right at their kitchen sink, and I saw these Amish men walking down the street.

And when I saw them, I knew they were coming to my parents' house.

And in that moment, I was thinking, what could I possibly say to them?

I have nothing to offer.

And I was also thinking, what kind of questions are they going to ask me?

What kind of demands might they make?

And rightly so.

And so all of that was kind of going through my head.

And I went to my mom and dad and said, "What do I do in this situation?"

And my dad said, "It's okay, Marie, you can stay inside and we'll go out.

I'll go out and talk with them."

So, he went outside, and I watched him from that window.

I saw the way they put their hands on his shoulders, the tears that flowed down everyone's faces, and the way that they embraced him before they turned and walked away.

And when he came inside, we waited for him to collect himself from the emotion of that moment.

And I just remember thinking that I wanted to know, but there was just something so sacred about that moment.

And finally, he said, "Marie, they came because they were concerned about you.

They were concerned about your family.

They wanted you to know that they had forgiven Charlie, and they were extending grace and compassion over you."

And it was nothing that I had expected.

They didn't come to get anything at all.

Instead, they came to give a gift, to tell me about the forgiveness that was already moving in their hearts and the way that it brought them to action.

>> Wow.

♪♪ ♪♪ >> If I'm not mistaken, your daughter's grave is over here.

>> Yes, and Charlie's is next to it.

You know, we never put a stone there.

I didn't want it to be this place that brought the attention of outsiders.

>> Yeah.

I like the little lamb.

>> Yes.

>> Yeah.

>> Yeah.

>> Mm.

>> She was born premature at 26 weeks of pregnancy.

And she only lived for 20 minutes.

>> 20 minutes?

Wow.

>> Yeah.

Yes.

>> And how did Charlie take that?

>> In some ways, that was the starting point.

Because in the letter that Charlie left, he talked about the anger and the bitterness that he held towards the Lord over the loss of our first daughter.

Yeah.

So for me, I can kind of look at that and say, you know, that was the starting point of October 2, 2006.

>> Wow.

>> You know, we had the service at another church, and we were driving here, and I remember thinking, you know, kind of breathing a sigh of relief.

The police had said there wouldn't be any media on the church property, and I'd been working so hard that week to keep my kids from being plastered across the newspaper or news on TV or the internet, whatever.

And we pulled into the cemetery, and we're parking.

And just across the street, you know, literally right at the end of the driveway, you could see just one media person after another with these cameras, with big lenses.

And as we all started to make our way over here, out of the corner of our eye, we could see movement.

And on the other side of the garage, there was just people that started walking towards us from the Amish community, one member after another in a single-file line, and they came and stood on the other side of us in a crescent shape.

And so all that the media could see were the backs of the members of our Amish community.

And I was stunned because if you know anything about the Amish, you know that they don't want their picture taken.

They came and they allowed themselves to be used in that moment, in that way, to shield us.

It's just something that I would never forget.

And then it wasn't even just that they came and they stood there.

After the burial was over, they came towards us.

And, you know, I remember in that moment, you know, my mom said to me, "You know, we're going to meet the families."

And as I was walking towards the first mother, it was a mom who had lost daughters that day.

And my mom said to me, you know, "Her daughters died in the schoolhouse."

And I remember thinking, I don't know what to say to her.

But as we came towards each other, we simply held hands, and we looked each other in the eye, and there was an exchange of compassion that needed no words.

There was no way that you could have expressed it.

But to look at each other and to hold hands, I knew that she was there for me, and I hoped that I was able to convey the same thing in return.

And so when I think about the outpouring of love and support from the Amish community, that was the evidence of the grace and compassion.

You know, everything that they did came out of not just that place of forgiveness, but then the grace and compassion that flowed from their hearts.

It was authentic.

It wasn't just something that they spoke.

They authentically meant it, and it carried through their actions.

♪♪ ♪♪ >> Before now, I had not thought of forgiveness as part of nonviolence.

The Amish father said, "I know that if I wouldn't have forgiven, I would have become like Charlie," who had lived a life of unprocessed hostility.

The gift offered Marie is now offered to the world.

Forgiveness opens the possibility of cycles of grace.

Now I'm off to Harlem, New York, to take part in the Shaykh Amadu Bamba Day Parade, an annual event celebrated by Senegalese Murids.

They're a Sufi Muslim community that follows a centuries-old West African pacifist tradition.

Their founder modeled nonviolence and forgiveness toward those who falsely accused him of preparing jihad against the French colonial authorities.

Bamba died in 1927.

Today, his followers pattern their lives after his example of nonviolence.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ I came to New York on my first trip, beginning a PhD program researching peace and nonviolence in the Murid community in Harlem.

It was very strange and frightening and exciting all at once as I dove into a community very, very different than my own.

But over time, these people became my friends.

>> Hey, Jonathan.

>> Hi, Djiby.

>> How are you doing, my brother?

>> I'm great.

Salaam aleekum.

>> Malekum salaam.

How are you?

>> When you think about being Murid in New York, how do you feel?

>> Being a Murid in New York is being open, cosmopolitan, joyful during moments like this, and generous.

>> So help me understand.

Who is Shaykh Amadu Bamba?

Why are you celebrating it?

And does it have any connection to peace and nonviolence.

>> Indeed.

Why people are telling you it's about Shaykh Amadu Bamba?

Why they don't mention anyone else but him?

Because it's all about him.

And whoever studies him or heard about his story, you will be struck by his nonviolence philosophy.

Even though he has been intimidated, he has been harassed.

He has been ill treated in different ways.

He never retaliated back.

As you know, that was a tactic and strategy of the colonial administration to either sentence to jail or exile anybody from every background, any background who was standing on their way.

If they catch you, they will send you to jail.

Either you, they'll kill you or they'll send you to exile.

So, Shaykh Amadu Bamba's fate followed that last route, exile.

And when he returned, when he returned after seven years of exile, he said, "I have forgiven all my enemies.

But I will go further and say all those who did harm to me," because on another understanding, those who were not his enemies, but they were like trials they were put into his path to spiritual ascension as tests.

They were like being, he was being tried.

And he said it.

These people think that they are my enemies or they're hindering me or they're this and that.

But God has put them on my path so that I have to overcome all these tests.

These are tests that I have to pass.

So when he returned, he said, I have forgiven all of them for all, whatever anyone did to me, either from the colonial administration or from his own people in Senegal, "I have forgiven everyone."

>> Wow.

[ Speaking in global language ] >> One of the things I really like about the Murids is that they've managed to establish a nonviolent community in the heart of New York City.

I respect them for what they've accomplished and feel welcome in their midst.

[ Speaker continues ] ♪♪ ♪♪ >> The parade is a place where parents bring their kids to teach them their traditions.

This is a place where the Murid community is passing on their traditions about peace and nonviolence, about what it means to be part of a living community.

About moms and dads showing their kids how they do things, and moms and dads hold their children or carry them on their backs.

There's dancing and singing.

There's bright clothing and really happy, excited people.

Sort of like a big family reunion for them.

People come from all over the world, actually, to join them here.

It's the biggest kind of event like this for Sufi Muslims anywhere from the Murid tradition.

[ Singing in global language ] [ Speaking global language ] >> I was a teacher in Senegal.

I taught French for about 10 years.

when I came here in 1988, that was in August, my intention was only to stay for a couple of months.

But after a few months here, I decided to stay.

>> And now I've heard stories that at that time it was very dangerous to live here.

>> That was very difficult.

You know, uh, first of all with the language barrier.

Senegal is a French speaking country.

I think that was the first difficulty immigrants had here.

And most of them were street vendors and cab drivers.

>> Right.

And I want to, I want to hear more about those cab drivers.

I read a newspaper article that said in one year there were 28 of them who were killed.

>> Yeah, I believe it could be more because we never stay, like more than a week without without having a brother who lost his life, confronting customers or even people on the street.

It was very, very dangerous.

>> And were any of those people like your personal friend?

>> Yeah, I knew many of them.

I knew many, many of them.

I remember sharing an apartment with someone, his name was Elhadji Gaye.

He went to work and never came back.

♪♪ >> So you felt quite confident when you came here.

You knew you had a mission to do.

>> Yeah, exactly.

You know, I was also the president of the Senegalese Association.

And I wrote a book, on the contribution of the Senegalese diaspora, to the transformation of Harlem.

>> Say something about that transformation that's worth talking about.

>> It's very significant.

Before, if you walk on the streets, you see so many people on the street.

Many buildings were abandoned, were occupied also by drug dealers.

It wasn't easy to change that.

But African Senegalese made an important contribution to that.

How they did it?

By coming here in big numbers.

Because someone who don't know you, cannot trust you.

But they got to know the African community.

We took wives among them.

We have children with them.

We drive taxi here.

We opened restaurants.

We opened shops, hair salons.

Finally, they got to know the community.

>> Right.

By knowing the community, reduced a lot the adversity and the confrontation between the two communities.

>> You're referencing the community is a really important thing.

>> It is very important.

>> Because you didn't, nobody, nobody did this peacemaking work, this community transformation by themself.

But you're describing a community effort.

>> A big community effort, because that's the way of life that was taught by Shaykh Amadu Bamba.

>> I really appreciate the interview that you gave me, by the way.

What Papa Drame shared went into more detail than I had learned in my previous research.

I discovered how much they were impacted by the violence their community suffered.

I'm realizing that their practice of nonviolence contributed to the transformation of Harlem.

♪♪ ♪♪ When you think about the Shaykh Amadu Bamba Day parade, how do you feel?

>> I feel very exciting, very happy, very emotional too.

When I say emotional, it's as someone who'd been fighting all his life with peace and never give up.

And teaches the way to be who we are right now.

When I say happiness is the 28th of July, there's a big and wonderful day for all African people, not only Murids.

>> I know that you're one of the people that came to Harlem fairly early.

What was it like here when you came?

>> When I came in 1988, I believe it was not places it's going to be easy to stay.

It's very afraid.

When you go out, you are afraid to come back to your house.

You were thinking about if you're gonna make it tomorrow.

I remember 1993, someone, his name is Serigne Djily Mbacké, Shaykh Amadu Bamba's grandson, He left, say, "I'm going to work."

Couple hours later, they call us.

They find his body in the street, in the ice.

They saw the body, top of the ice.

That's why they call the ambulance.

He got gunshots.

>> So he was a taxi driver?

>> He was a taxi driver.

That was a very dangerous job.

Very, very painful job.

Were you thinking about it, those years, it was hard for us.

Some women who raised their children without father.

And the children is here.

You'd be afraid to raise your children in Harlem.

It wasn't easy.

>> It makes me wonder, why didn't people in your community retaliate?

Why didn't they try to get even?

>> Because what we thinking is we find Martin Luther King Jr.

we find Shaykh Amadu Bamba, who are our leaders, who taught us.

When people do something bad to you, open your heart and give him forgiveness.

God pay you tomorrow.

That's why we have to do it.

No matter how pain it was.

This is the way we've been doing it.

To become the way we are right now.

We can change the area.

We can change the people we met buying and selling in the street, gathering in the mosque, walk in the street, talking to people.

We have to come together, pray together.

Make sure this thing can stop.

Peacemaking make us more stronger and able to work together.

>> Wow.

That's really a deep answer.

[ Lively chatter ] I'm fascinated that one of the ways the Murids pass on their commitment to peace and nonviolence is through Quranic school.

Where students of all ages and levels study together.

Not so different from the one room Amish schoolhouse.

>> So that's what I celebrate.

I would like to be a Quranic teacher when I grow up.

>> For both the Amish and the Murids, school is meant to provide a safe and secure space in which to learn.

Older students help the younger ones.

A difference is that the children in Quranic school also attend public school.

The teacher, Ustaz Mbaye, speaks at least four language -- Wolof, Arabic, French, and English.

I was delighted when he agreed to let me sit in his classroom to observe his teaching and interaction with the students.

How do children contribute to the practice of peace and nonviolence in the community?

>> They understand that this is the Islam, and the Islam is about peace, to make peace everywhere.

So when I see like little children, they come like six years old.

So they growing up like this every year.

They are normalized with the great idea of peace, and they might spread it everywhere in the world after a while.

>> My name is Momar and what I want to be when I grow up is a businessman.

>> My name is Sophie.

I'm eight years old, and when I grow up, I want to be a doctor.

>> My name is Soybou.

And when I grow up, I want to be a basketball player.

My name is Mame Diallo.

I'm 12 years old, and when I grow up, I want to be an actor.

>> "Az" "A" "An."

Repeat that, okay?

Do it ten times.

I went to school in P.S.

7 elementary and middle school.

When I first got there, I was bullied because I was Black.

>> You were bullied?

>> Yeah, because I was, no, not even Black, but African, actually.

So yeah, I was being bullied for that.

And then I went to high school in professional performing arts.

So I went to a performing arts high school.

I was a drama major.

And there they embraced my African, like, my African side of me.

And, yeah, pretty much.

>> When I was a kid, in middle school, I went to P.S.

MS 206, which was right there in 120 and Pleasant Avenue.

And when I came, I got also bullied based on my African background.

And they made fun about me and like, just saying mean things to me.

And then I got really upset that, um, that I had a fight with a kid, and it didn't end up well because we both got suspended.

>> Now, I know that both of you are students at the Quranic school.

>> Mm-hmm.

>> What was it like to do Quranic school and what did you learn there that's really helpful to you?

>>I learned a lot of things.

So, um, and overall, it's been like four years since I've been there and just getting to know these little details that like, just help you to create peace in yourself and just like your overall surroundings.

>> As part of your Quranic school, do you learn about the teaching of Shaykh Amadu Bamba?

>> Yeah, we do.

We mostly get taught of, like, the characteristics and how to treat each other, how to be peaceful within each other.

That's what we like.

That's what we learn.

>> Especially this how to treat other people, what would you say is the actual characteristic that your teacher was trying to teach you?

>> To always be respectful of one another.

To be patient.

So have saber.

>> Just, like, be there for one another.

Like, if you need help, just know I'm there.

>> So when we got here, you mentioned that you just worked as an actress yesterday.

>> Yeah.

>> Is that your aspiration?

>> Yes.

>> Or what do you wanna -- what do you -- what would you like to do in life?

>> I want to do a lot of things.

Um, I've... So I started acting back in middle school, and then, in high school, I started modeling.

And right now, I'm also designing.

>> Great.

And what about you?

>> So I go to Hunter College.

And I want to get into the medical -- um, med school there.

And, like, you know, helping people is my thing.

I either want to be a pediatrician or a physician assistant.

♪♪ ♪♪ >> The people I met in Harlem showed me how a community's commitment to peacemaking empowers us as individuals to practice Nonviolence.

Both the Amish and the Murids have expanded my understanding of nonviolence.

[ Airplane rumbling ] Student protests rocked Indonesia in 1998, leading to political unrest and a change in president.

In Solo, riots claimed more than 500 lives.

Women were raped, businesses plundered, and homes burned.

In a situation like this, why would anyone choose an alternative to violence?

>> Your attention please.

AirAsia... >> A city of 500,000, Solo was known for its violence, with more than 30 militias.

Today, Solo is a source of unexpected peace.

I'm here to meet Yanni Rusmanto and Paulus Hartono.

I'm told they could be pivotal in my quest for alternatives to violence.

Ever since I heard the Solo story about the friendship between a Christian pastor and a Muslim militia commander, I wanted to learn more.

Instinctively, I felt they had something to teach me.

Oh.

Thank you.

That's great.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ [ Speaking global language ] >> Paulus invited me to his hometown to experience the neighborhood where he grew up.

As a child, his family was Confucian, a tradition focused on personal ethics, morality, and ritual piety.

Although part of the Indonesian social fabric for centuries, the Chinese community that Paulus is part of remains a distinct ethnic minority.

>> [ Speaking global language ] >> Listening in as Paulus and his mother reminisced, my hope was to find clues to help me better understand Paulus, who he is, and what shapes his priorities.

>> [ Speaking global language ] ♪♪ ♪♪ >> Observing the way Paulus interacted with his mother's neighbors helped me understand the relaxed and caring way he interacts with people.

[ Speaking global language ] >> After the morning with his mother, Paulus took me to visit Pak Suwarno, his elementary school Islam teacher.

[ Speaking global language ] [ Prayers, drum beating ] [ Group joins prayers ] >> So this is the place that your grandfather made?

>> Yeah, yeah.

>> Yanni Rusmanto's grandfather was responsible for building this mosque in the 1940s.

Today, the compound includes a school, a radio station, and charitable work for Solo.

Yanni described himself as a hardline Muslim fundamentalist and commander of the Hizbullah.

I learned his militia was one of the more feared militias in its early years.

It didn't take me long, though, to see Yanni's deep commitment to the well-being of his community.

[ Speaking global language ] ♪♪ [ Lively chatter ] >> The Friday prayers are an important part of community life, a time of building relationships and a time of security for those attending.

♪♪ ♪♪ During a recent visit to Solo, Yanni's aunt Ida, who raised him in Jakarta after his mother's death, promised to make his favorite meal if he agreed to take her to the market to purchase the ingredients.

[ Speaking global language ] [ Margarine sizzling ] [ Speaking global language ] [ Cries ] [ Speaking global language] ♪♪ >> This mural's anti-war message reminds me that people everywhere want peace.

And yet most of us believe that violence can be used redemptively.

It's so easy to assume we need force to make peace.

Is it possible that most of us are wrong?

>> Dr.

Achmad Munjid is the head of the Center for Security and Peace Studies at Gadjah Mada University in Jogja.

His research includes religion and violence, religious fundamentalism, secularization, and Muslim-Christian relations.

>> Paulus and Yanni Widjaja, longtime friends of Paulus Hartono, agreed to help me understand the implications of what Dr.

Munjid had to say in relation to the situation in Solo, where Paulus and Yanni live.

How much do you think the global fundamentalist Muslim identity impacted the creation of the different militia groups here in Solo?

Was it easy to recruit members?

[ Gunshots ] In 1999, a minor traffic incident in Ambon, 2,400 kilometers away from Solo, triggered a major conflict between Muslims and Christians.

This conflict attracted the attention of Java-based holy war militias.

These militias sent soldiers to fight the Christian militias in Ambon.

Thousands of people died and tens of thousands were displaced as a result of the conflict.

Did you send your soldiers there?

In 2002, regulations governing FM frequency usage changed, affecting the Hizbullah and Emmanuel radio stations.

Paulus saw the challenge of sharing FM frequencies as an opportunity to meet with Yanni.

So were you feeling that there was danger?

>> Yeah.

>> How did you feel when he said, "Your blood is permissible to me?"

Paulus and Yanni overcame dehumanizing fears and polarization as they developed a trusting relationship.

Their friendship opened the door for life-giving transformation in their community.

♪♪ ♪♪ About a year after receiving their radio licenses, a tsunami struck the province of Aceh.

An estimated 167,000 lives were lost.

Paulus and Yanni organized a joint Christian-Muslim response team, breaking new ground as they shared a house together.

Yanni aided survivors in assembling 1,000 radio kits so the people could receive trauma-healing broadcasts coordinated by Paulus.

Trust grew as Yanni and Paulus lived and worked together, serving others, taking their friendship to new depth and paving the way for future collaboration.

♪♪ Paulus and his family moved to Solo because of their vision for building a church actively committed to peacemaking in a violent city.

♪♪ A Muslim-Christian collaboration, these organic rice fields speak to the economic and environmental aspects Paulus referred to as part of his vision for peace.

The effort includes job creation and market development for the members of a local militia.

So, my journey to find out if and how nonviolence works in the real world has brought me to this neighborhood of Solo, your neighborhood.

Babe, former second in command of the Hizbullah militia, told me about his disdain for Christianization efforts and Chinese people in the past.

But he's put this behind him.

Today, he has a vision for peace, he says.

You're going to show me around your beautiful neighborhood, and we're going to visit your friend's house.

After the tsunami, Yanni and Paulus worked together in community development, including Babe's neighborhood.

Paulus and Yanni's friendship showed me what peacemaking can look like.

Inspired by their example, many others chose to participate in the transformation of Solo.

I first met Helmy, a Muslim businessman and nonviolence advocate, at his home in a gathering of YPLAG leaders.

This multi-faith network provides infrastructure for peace-building and Solo.

Afterwards, he pulled me aside to show me his bicycles.

At my request, Helmy arranged for us to bike to a local coffee shop to talk.

He is a graduate of the Mindanao Peace Institute and was involved in organizing and leading peace training in Solo.

Helmy described a proactive approach with hardline fundamentalist militia leaders built on personal relationships.

He also stressed the importance of peace training for those who don't have peacemaking models to follow.

Jonas spoke about growing up with forgiveness and nonviolence as the Amish way of life.

Helmy drove home the importance of the YPLAG peace training for people who hadn't had that modeled for them.

Haja and Ratih, members of the Solo Interfaith Peace Committee, helped me go deeper.

With some surprise, I asked her, "So you're telling me that the way to relate with hardliners is to offer them something gentle?"

She replied... This is a radical, courageous life-on-life way of peacemaking.

Pastor Ratih surprised me with her warmth and insight.

She commented that normally people like her, moderate, well-meaning Christians, seek out moderate, well-meaning Muslim counterparts to work at peace-building.

But, she says... The lesson Pastor Ratih draws from Paulus and Yanni is that it is more fruitful when moderates and radicals meet to work for the common good.

This is a huge discovery on this quest, groundbreaking in its simplicity and truth.

I came to Indonesia to investigate a story about a pastor and a commander.

I didn't anticipate how many people they influenced.

Several people I spoke with told me about a meeting at a restaurant.

More than 200 church leaders engaged with Commander Yanni about why Hizbullah was closing churches.

They described the meeting as transformative.

Prince Pangeran Haryo told me about how, after the riots, he and other interfaith peacemakers organized a Tumpeng, a Javanese cultural event hosted at the palace.

5,000 people ate together, experiencing reconciliation.

Responding to the many Indonesian natural disasters, Paulus and Yanni started a search and rescue team composed of young adults from Paulus's church and from Hizbullah.

Their training is led by the National Search and Rescue Organization.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ Looking at them, I can't tell the difference between the church and Hizbullah guys.

I love their passion for helping people in crisis.

By training together, they engage in a living practice of nonviolence.

This new generation of Solo peace-builders makes me hopeful.

In the many people I interviewed, I recognize the basic principle that all transformation starts with encounter, in recognizing the humanity of even those we fear.

I know that peace is fragile both here and at home.

New insights are changing me.

What I've learned on this quest fills me with hope.

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ This program was made possible in part by the William and Mary Greve Foundation, P Zehr, K and P Brubaker, E Showalter, and many others.

For a full list of supporters, go to unexpectedpeace.com/funders.