January 31, 2010

Family and friends,

I hope this blog entry finds everyone well. I first want to say thank you to everyone accompanying me here in Nicaragua through letters. Sitting down with your letters and your lives keeps me feeling connected to home and responding is always a beautiful way for me to process my time in Nicaragua so far. Thank you.

There is so much to say, already. Nicaragua is an incredible teacher, teaching me, a slow student, the ways of the world, the realities of an impoverished country, the struggles and hope that accompany la lucha. I know that anyone reading this is anxious to hear about those things, but there is time; two years, in fact. Today I would like to write about Haiti. Since the earthquake I have been deeply reflecting on what has happened to Haiti, what is happening to Haiti, and how I can best be in solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Haiti. The wonderful amounts of mail I receive leads me to believe that there are a handful of people that read this blog; thus, I will take this time to use the blog as a microphone, raising the volume of all the cries in Haiti that we are not hearing (or perhaps listening to). I'm sure by now U.S. Media has left all of you drowning in coverage of the damage, perhaps most of you have already donated money. I hope you'll continue reading, however, as the following, I believe, is essential to understanding the devastation in Haiti. Haiti and talking about Haiti right now are, at best, overwhelming; it is tiring to even think about. But bear with me.

Some of you are aware of my brief stint as an unofficial disaster-relief worker in El Salvador this past November. Two days of heavy rain killed 200, displaced thousands. With the breathe-taking mind and drive of Beth Tellman, a handful of us accompanied communities near Lake Illopango affected by the rain yet unable to get aid from relief organizations. (Beth is still living in El Salvador working with these communities. If you would like to read about her work and what is currently happening to the damaged areas please check out www.friendsofsantamaria.blogspot.com). The devastation I saw in the days and weeks that followed the rains is something I am still trying to process, as I have seen nothing like it. Perhaps this is why my heart and mind have felt so heavy for Haiti.

The most important thing that I learned from the destruction in El Salvador last November is that natural phenomena do not always create disasters. Two days of rain do not kill 200 people; poor infrastructure does. Haiti is no different.

We are all aware that natural phenomena are just that, unexpected and often unstoppable. It is our structures, however, that determine the level of destruction and disaster incurred by the natural phenomenon. Natural phenomena are often catalysts for disaster but it is poor infrastructure that really deserves the term “disaster” attached to it. There is nothing “natural” about 200,000 people dying in Haiti, no matter the magnitude of the earthquake. New Orleans, El Salvador, Haiti-- all examples of not-so-natural-disasters (as Beth so wisely puts it). These are not natural disasters, but humanitarian crises. What is essential, I believe, is understanding the difference between damage done by a natural occurrence vs. damage done by poor infrastructure; damage done and risk of vulnerability due to poverty. There is a direct correlation between the current devastation in Haiti and it being the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere (fyi- Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the hemisphere...). Impoverished countries carry with them an unbearable level of vulnerability. Would an earthquake of the same magnitude as Haiti kill 200,000 in Atlanta?

We have physically and metaphorically watched the structures come crumbling down, the structures that have failed millions and killed 200,000. The strongest hope that can come out of Haiti's tragedy is the understanding that the system has fallen and there is opportunity to build a new one, a better one, one that works for everyone. This is an opportunity to recognize the flaws of the system and change them and reflect on our vulnerability as human beings. This is a phenomenal chance for Haiti to rebuild itself, empower itself, and grow stronger as a community and country by creating a structure that works for their reality. With disaster and tragedy comes incredible potential for growth and empowerment. This opportunity will be missed, however, if Haiti is not allowed to take care of itself, heal itself, with organizations that precede the earthquake and people that have cared about Haiti before disaster struck. We must allow Haiti to empower itself by letting it recreate itself, us, the U.S., as foreigners, accompanying the process. This means, I believe, an extremely critical look at our military presence in Haiti and the Obama-Clinton-Bush alliance that seeks to give our own failing structures a boost. Without going too political, because that is not the point of this reflection, I believe it is important to truly understand US involvement in Haiti as an example of Disaster Capitalism, that the US economy will gain due to reconstruction efforts by US-based companies. The irony in it all being that, pre-earthquake, it has been many US-based companies and multinational corporations that have kept Haiti from reconstructing their poor infrastructure, ie. Haiti's labor being put into companies that do not re-invest in Haiti.

So what can we do? Our heads hung low by the state of world, perhaps angered by the political commentary above. There are endless ways to be in solidarity with Haiti, no matter where we stand. The most important thing we can do, in my opinion, requires no money. Do research, understand, think critically. Investigate why US military presence is there, why they have control and why they are turning away aid, doctors, organizations, etc. Ask yourself what it is that you do in everyday life (what you eat, wear, buy, consume) that perpetuates poverty and weak infrastructures in Haiti. Research policies that affect Haiti's infrastructure like immigration (especially with the Dominican Republic) or the current role of the International Monetary Fund. These things may be more important than the $20 we might donate with good intentions but without intentionality.

Think critically, think beyond the immediate crisis, think about Haiti's future as it begins to reconstruct itself. Allow Haiti to reconstruct itself and empower itself by accompanying the process and not doing it for them. This is essential, I believe, for Haiti to have a chance to not just struggle to survive in poverty but, in time, thrive as a country in a way it has never been given a chance to do.

If people feel called to donate monetarily, donate to local Haitian organizations that predate the disaster and will maintain a Haitian presence. What we quickly learned in El Salvador is that aid first goes to the service providers and, for them, as competing organizations, aid is power. How we donate affects the groups that are in power. So why not look for Haitian organizations that understand Haiti and are looking for long-term/structural change? I have been told to always avoid aid organizations bigger than the government of the country. Furthermore, I would imagine local public health institutions are the most knowledgeable but now with the fewest resources and the most overworked. Paul Farmer's organization, Partners in Health, has been mentioned to me several times as a great organization, thought I openly suggest it without doing the research.

This is what I offer to Haiti as an act of solidarity. A weeks worth of intentional reflection, two hours of my Sunday afternoon to try and tackle this and stand up for Haiti, a belief in Haiti to rebuild themselves through our accompaniment. Let us invest in Haiti beyond aid, sitting with Haiti in its suffering and then walking with Haiti as it puts itself back together. If we let it be, this is a chance for Haiti to overcome tragedy and thrive; it will not come from our wallets and our military, but our trust that Haiti is smart enough and beautiful enough to use the aid to do it themselves. This does not mean we leave Haiti alone in their dark hour; rather, it calls us to accompany Haiti as it pulls itself out of the rubble.

January 6, 2010

This blog has been and continues to be an ongoing discernment; what to share, how to share it, and why. At best, it is an opportunity to share the reality of a country we are all too quick to forget about, a medium to express personal transformations, a chance to reveal bits of myself when I am most in my element, which is in solidarity with the people of Latin America. Odd to think that only a handful of people have seen me in what I think to be my best, most alive self.

Do not let me mislead, this is not to say that I am only on fire in Latin America and I am always on fire in Latin America (though it literally feels like at times). I have lived many experiences at home in the States and I have not lived many moments in Latin America, in countries where I still cannot speak the language. I often sit with my own irony in spanish-speaking countries; that it is in the places I can never fully communicate myself that I feel most myself. For me, “feeling the most myself” is not a constant state of euphoria but a path to daily walk down. I am not living a continuous high here, I am not saving the world; rather, I am being present to both the struggles and joys, which shape me and encourage me to daily create myself. It is the moments of both struggle and joy that remind us that we are alive, and that we are alive! Further is the irony that, even still, I cannot fully communicate myself. Perhaps I'll leave it to Pablo Neruda, who, in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, said “All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song...”

In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Paulo Freire discusses a type of education (Popular Education) that both enables and empowers the poor to liberate themselves from oppression. This liberation, he says, “must be forged with, not for, the oppressed” because “Who can better understand the necessity of liberation? They [the oppressed] will not gain this liberation by chance but through praxis of their quest for it, through their recognition of the necessity to fight for it. And this fight, because of the purpose given it by the oppressed, will actually constitute an act of love opposing the lovelessness which lies at the heart of the oppressors' violence.”

True revolution, Freire argues, has never been seen in our world because, in the end, the poor have never been trusted to fight for themselves. Without the reality, reflections, advice, and input of the poor, revolutions have been nothing more than an exchange of power within the same oppressive system. Thus, true revolution, revolution that eliminates oppression and therefore liberates oppressed and oppressors alike, is an act that must come from the poor; it is an act of love and what they must do.

I have spent the last few months reflecting on this idea, trying to understand what it is that I must do. The more I discern, the more I come to understand that my soul does not want other's suffering to go unnoticed; I do not want people to suffer silently or alone. Everything I do, it seems, revolves around this core principle. Therefore, what I must do is accompany the struggle (plural and singular). To know and follow this must not only brings me to Ciudad Sandino, Nicaragua, it is self-discovery that I am wildly proud of yet share with few.

This blog, much like life, stirs my simultaneous need to communicate myself and revulsion towards it. The fear of putting myself out there and not being understood is epic. Furthermore, while a blog would appear to be the best way to articulate this experience, the “easiest” way, I struggle with it. In my efforts to live a life that is radical and in solidarity with the marginalized, I must reflect on if doing what is “easiest” is the best way to live, as easy living often lacks intentionality. What I have learned, so far, is that a key component to living and being in solidarity with a person/group/country is the intentionality and mindfulness behind all actions-- eating, speaking, even breathing. Also, my visions of communication for the next two years is just that: to communicate and not just relay one-sided accounts of life.

However, the discernment and discovery of knowing what it is that we must do is a profound act, something not to be taken lightly. For those of us that know who we are and what we can do when we are on our right path and when we are “most ourselves,” well, we should do no less. I would not be doing justice to my own self-discernment and self-discovery to hide myself at my best, which is someone who dares to dream of a world that is for everyone, who is radical and hopeful, who trusts the economically poor enough to let them change their reality themselves, who takes steps to live a life that is in solidarity with the marginalized, who can make people smile, who can share the suffering of another, who accompanies the epic lucha.

I've feared being labeled a certain way or being excluded by loved ones by sharing my true self and what it is that I must do, but I can be no one else. Just as the oppressed must revolutionize in order to re-humanize the world, so must I be most my brilliant, beautiful, radical self, learning through the struggles and joys; so must I, go through this internal revolution. I can do no less. And should I keep this blog, that is how I intend to write it: for myself, and for Nicaragua.

I hoped all of these circles I've been talking in would, in the end, form a beautiful bow around a shiny, honest, clear package. Maybe that happened, maybe not. Future blogs (potentially) will speak more to Nicaraguan reality and life here. For now, I will try and ease a bit of the anticipation with some photos of our community in Ciudad Sandino, our larger Nicaragua community, and a little taste of Arenal, Nicaragua.

Also, I encourage you to learn about Nicaragua alongside me. Please check out some books or read online about Nicaragua's fascinating and tumultuous history, which is crucial to understanding its reality.

I'll soon start work at Cantera and am really looking forward to learning from them about community organization and empowerment. Please check them out to get a better understanding of what I'll be doing here. Www.canteranicaragua.org. Also, I encourage you to familiarize yourself with some topics that are important to Nicaragua and the paths I plan on growing in. Feel free to research any of the following: the Sandinista Revolution and Contra War, Liberation Theology and a preferential option for the poor, Christian Base Communities, Popular Education (Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed), Machismo, Jesuit Volunteer International and definitions of accompaniment.

As a last thought, I'm putting a request into the universe for letters from anyone and everyone who would like to take a more tangible approach to accompanying me in Nicaragua. I desire to know of your life as you desire to know of mine. Letter writing has become a lost art form but it is, for me, a beautiful and life-giving example of intentionality; to sit down and meditate on a person/experience/thought, reflect on the words to write and how to write them, and move the body to put it in the mail. Letters have become a wonderful reflection tool for me and a tangible means for me to both show and receive love.

So, in the spirit of reciprocity and accompaniment, write me. Take twenty minutes out of your week or your month and sit down with a pen and paper. Tell me of your life. Ask me what you'd really like to know about my life and Nicaragua. Accompany me as I accompany; take an active role in this experience as I am. This will apply to everyone—from family and friends to all the friends of family that were only intrigued by how this blog would be filled. Write. Be a part of the revolution to bring back the beautiful art of letter-writing.

Much love. Paz.

lt

*Thanks to Zanmi BG, a poet, for inspiring this blog entry.