Para no tener otros Copapayos

We visited the colonial town of Suchitoto this weekend. Situated as the town in the middle of more than seventy cantones (sort of like hamlets), it is the place from which Sister Peggy does her work of building the programs of the Peace Center. And what programs! It is amazing what the Centro Arte por la Paz has going in that area.

The area that Suchitoto encompasses was the locale of seven massacres during the civil war, including one in the town of Copapayo. We went to the actual site of the massacre, in which 150 people were killed by the military troops of General Monterosa (trained at the School of the Americas). We heard the testimony of the only survivor of the actual massacre. [To expain, many people fled by getting into boats and leaving on the lake/reservoir, but only one man, who was 9 years old at the time, survived of the people who were on the hillside when the military discovered the community.]

At the site, Peggy expained a bit of what happened and events that led up (the military harassment and small-scale attacks that led the community to vacate their homes). She said that the tradition, when visiting the site, is to take a few moments of silence to re-dedicate ourselves to peace, so that there will be no more Copapayos, no more massacres, and that those places that exist in violence today might know peace. So let us all take a moment to re-dedicate ourselves to this struggle and this vision.


As part of our course, we spent the last week working in small groups with books that look at more specific aspects of liberation. Rebekah and I took a book called Soul Sisters, which put poetry to a set of icons drawn of women of the New Testiment. We then used our experiences and interactions with Central American women, as well as women of the bible, to write our own poems. I'm not, by any means, a poet. But here is my product.

In her day, as in ours, “adultery”

only meant anything if a

woman had strayed.

Vilma knows this

all too well. Her mother

had no men on the side;

her father had plenty of women.

No wrong was seen.

So a childhood of poverty,

after father’s flight,

ensued. Mother,

always loving, had to be

convinced that her child was not

hungry, despite days without

food.

The girl grew up, swearing

to break cycles and avoid repeating

history. Yet cycles are strong

and patterns easy to repeat. And

so three generations of faithful women –

representing entire communities of their sisters –

are left or infected by non-“adulterous” men.

In her day, as in ours, children

were all too often placed at the

bottom of the priority list –

daughters with particular ease.

Chata knows this, abandoned

by father and struck by mother’s

death. Yet she has the same

fortune as the daughter of Jairus –

a community enamoured of its

children, its future.

Just as the healer said “fear is

useless,” you, Chata, are fearless.

Only girl on the futbol team,

hiking,

joking,

vice-president-organizing

force of spirit.

Pride of her community.

Daniel also knows this love. Not

a daughter, but a young, deaf

son in a place where this affords

few options.

Easily relegated to the least

position, but child of parents who

refuse to do so.

The pride in father’s eyes as

you heal yourself through

weaving and learning is

more than enough to put an end to

pity.

In her day,

as during the war,

as in ours, mothers bore

children; mothers raised

children. Mothers, with too much

frequency, outlive their

children.

Mothers across Central America

know this to be wrenchingly,

profoundly,

terribly true.

They share in the benchmark –

and the day-to-day – experiences of

la Madre de Dios.

Life under repressive occupation;

labor in surroundings that

emphasize the depths of

poverty possible in this creation. Sacrifice.

They raise children who learn to

question the need for this

suffering.

They raise children who

raise people to from their knees

to their feet in pride, and sometimes,

back to their knees

in awe.

And as a result,

(because we know how the

story ends, because cycles are

strong and hard to break)

they raise children called ‘subversive,’

children who must live as refugees, and

children killed for the

danger they pose to systems and cycles which

deny and attack the existence of life.

In their day, as in ours,

women encounter their God on the

road – to Jerusalem, to las Flores,

to and from the tomb. Yet

despite their travails – and their

victories – these sisters hear and draw power

from the words “do not seek among the dead for those who

live.”

None of this is possible without our organization

Everyone in the community of Nueva Esperanza knew exactly what type of plant gave me the second degree burn on my leg. Apparently, it's called "pan caliente" (hot bread).

Nueva Esperanza is a community of 100+ families (in around 500 people total) in the Bajo Lempa region of El Salvador. The vast majority of the residents (and all of the founders) are survivors of the Rio Sumpul massacre in Chalatenango in 1980. After the massacre, they found a place to take refuge -- the basement of a church in San Salvador (about a two-hour drive on good highways),
an approximately 30' x 30' space with one sink and one toilet -- for 400 people. They gradually added a stove on the roof of the church building and lived there, with the church constantly surrounded by death squads to prevent their leaving, for three years. With the help of two English students, they eventually received permission to leave the country and go to Nicaragua, where they established cooperatives in common with Nicaraguans and lived for another 9 years.
In 1991, they received the right (after a year-long process) to return to Salvador. While their intention to live and own land cooperatively was opposed by the government, they managed to do it. They built houses, ten at a time; they held classes under trees until a school could be built. In the years since, they have built a community infrastructure that includes a clinic, a health emergency fund, a food cooperative (400 hectares of land held in common) and processing plant. Leadership of women and youth is especially encouraged; the president of the community is a woman. (And one hell of a strong one at that.)

[It deserves to be noted that the one-year process to return included a brief time occupying the Salvadoran embassy in Managua -- holding mass, putting on plays, and receiving food from Nicaraguan supporters. Finally the people from neighboring embassies called and put pressure on the Salvadoran government to "let those sons of bitches out -- they make too much noise and we can concentrate."]

Based on the words of the people we met with, as well as the clear message sent by the everyday lives we witnessed, education is clearly the most important element of community life. Probably the biggest point of pride is that they provide transportation so that children from throughout the entire zone (the lower Lempa area) can come to school in their infancy-through-high school education system. (I'll say again, this is a community of more or less 500 people, plus those from surrounding communities.)

That actually leads to the second major emphasis: solidarity/organization. The level of commitment between the small communities in the area is astounding. There are organizations that deal with environmental degradation and the flooding inherent in living in a river valley, youth groups that receive two of the eleven spaces on the community directiva. I can't count how many times I heard this weekend some version of "none of this would be possible without our organization as a community." It was quite inspiring. It also shows through their commitment to using their resources with integrity. They receive a great deal of support from communities in Belgium, Spain, Germany, and Canada and they are intent on using that money well and without any corruption.

The major, unifying theme of the community is the reality of its being a Base Christian Community. The people meet in smaller groups, share the eucharist, and allow their faith to truly guide their decisions and community life. At mass last night, the theme was the banquet of creation. Hearing those stories in the context of a community that truly strives to share the abundance it does have and works hard for it gives them an entirely different meaning. I probably got about 80% of the Spanish, but every once in a while, my mind would wander, touched off by whatever the priest (a Spanish man who has been with the community since about 1995 in Nicaragua) had just said. For some reason, I had never approached the story from the avenue of what keeps people not from being invited but from accepting the invitation. The other priorities that make us think they are more important than attending the banquet.

During communion, Peggy's (our professor) lesson from class last week about the meaning of 'eucharist' as a giving of thanks came to mind combined with others of her words (from a different context): A gift given out of someone's subsistence, rather than their excess, is an entirely different type of gift.

And finally, from class this morning, a pretty amazing poem that gave me chills:

Did the woman say,
When she held him for the first time in the dark of a stable,
After the pain and the bleeding and the crying,
"This is my body, this is my blood"?

Did the woman say,
When she held him for the last time in the dark rain on a hilltop
After the pain and the bleeding and the dying,
"This is my body, this is my blood"?

Well that she said it to him then,
For dry old men,
brocaded robes belying barrenness,
Ordain that she not say it for him now.

--Frances Croake Frank

(This reminds me why I'm so proud of my mom.)

photos

I've temporarily given up on photobucket, given how many problems I've been having with it. I'm focusing more on my facebook photo albums, which are easier to organize.

Trip to the Jesuit Center on the campus of the Universidad Centroamericana: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2083299&l=50fc3&id=40106718

and from the weekend accompaniments:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2083488&l=be6e8&id=40106718.

Enjoy!

Base Christian Communities

This past weekend we split into groups of two to four and traveled to Base Christian Communities throughout the country.  My group, Annika, Nathan, Sam, and I, went to San Jose las Flores, a town of about 2000 on the border between El Salvador and Honduras.  In 1981, the community as it was then was the site of a horrible massacre in which 800 people were killed by the Salvadoran army, with the help of the Honduran army amassed right across the Rio Sumpul (this is known as the Rio Sumpul massacre, if that name sounds familiar).  

We had the chance to meet with leaders of the town directive, women involved in the various community business projects for women, men involved in the fruit and vegetable cooperative, and former combatants in the armed conflict.  

San Jose las Flores, as it is now, was established in 1986, mostly by families who had not lived there prior to the massacre (though there are certainly exceptions to this).  It is easy to understand why, as one of our friends told us, "we receive absolutely no support from the government."  It is a town with a community-run restaurant, bank, pharmacy, cooperative, ecotourism business (just getting off the ground), bakery, and clothing workshop.  Children in the community are not allowed to work in community projects while they are of school age, as the investment in their education is seen by the community as well worth the wait.  In a country like El Salvador, where the president signed the Central American Free Trade Agreement literally sight unseen out of a desire to appear open to all new and exciting waves of capitalism, it is pretty clear why this community gets no support.  (The more I learn about the historical and current relationship between the US and El Salvador, the more I understand my own input into situations like this.  It is not uplifting.  But at the same time, there is so much going on here that is uplifting, just on smaller scales, that I believe Sister Peggy and all the others when they say that that people here live in hope.)

Our guides (sort of) for the weekend were two students of 17 and 18 years.  They showed us around town, took us through the the fields of the cooperative and to a community soccer game, and led us on a hike before we left on Sunday morning.  However, on that hike (or rather, from my time on the hike), I learned that there are plants that burn people with sensitive skin.  As a result, Ani and I have lovely boils on our skin, she on her arms (both) and I on my left leg.  Mine is small potatoes compared to hers, but it still stings and makes me not love whatever plant inflicted it.  (From what I've found, I think it was rue, but I am not sure if rue actually grows in Central America.)  All of that said, the trip up the mini-mountain to see the cross dedicated to the victims of a different massacre and the view of las Flores that it provides was well worth the burn.  

Major things that stuck out for me from the weekend: 

-No one who lived in las Flores, who we talked to, could imagine themselves living anywhere else.  Often they would ask how we like it and, when we said very much and returned the question, they could speak volumes of how much they love the town and and offered that they would never leave of their own volition.  

-Our initial assignment in going was to meet with one of the Spanish nuns who lives in the town and the priest to learn about this being a BCC.  As it turned out, however, we never got a chance to meet with anyone directly employed by the church.  In reality, though, it was just as well that we didn't.  While I'm sure they would have had plenty of wonderful things to add and enriched our experience, without them, we were able to see the ways that people truly integrate their faith into their everyday lives in ways that compel them to think of the community in the same "breath" as thinking of God.  I think it was a better introduction to the reality of life in a BCC because we saw the lives of the people who didn't have to be involved in church or religious activities, but still acted in whatever ways best contributed to the common good as this flowed out of their faith.  It was impressive and inspiring.  

-The words from a man whose guerilla name was Julio (again, this is for safety, as people here still get assassinated): "The most important thing is God.  Second, solidarity among the people.  And third, our organization; our struggle.  But first God."

San Salvador

We are now in San Salvador in the guest house (temporarily) run by CGE.

But before we get there, a quick rundown of the last week. We left Xela last Friday (just over a week ago) for one night in Santa Anita. The community of Santa Anita was founded by former combatants in the Guatemalan civil war after the signing of the Peace Accords. They collectively own 1000+ cords(?) of mountainside land, about 950 of which are in production of a fair-trade, organic coffee crop. We met with the man in charge of roasting and foreign markets for the coffee. It was a great introduction to the reality of fair trade labeling (not a blemish-free process, by any means) and the lives of ex-guerrillas.

The following day we split into two groups, one of which went to Cantel and one to La Escuela de la Montana (the Mountain School of PLQ). I went with the latter group, seven in all, including Rebekah the intern/coordinator. It was a pretty fantastic week of four laid-back Spanish class days, at least one presentation or field trip each day, etc. We visited a regular coffee finca owned by a former president of Guatemala who is now the mayor of Guatemala City. We also spent a great deal of time with the other folks living at the school, from California, London, and Sweden.

Friday (two days ago) we returned to Xela for the day and night, then left for Antigua. In Xela, I caught up on all of my emailing from the previous week. In the course of that, I found out that a friend from high school was struck and killed by a truck on his bicycle on Tuesday. I also found out that the older brother of another South friend died during the week. Without much time (or many details that I know), I will simply ask people to keep Jeff and Nick's families in your prayers right now.

As for now (note: several days later than when I started this, due to computer access) we are in San Salvador taking a class on Liberation Theology. We have a three-hour lecture three days a week (the middle days) and at least one history or current events lecture each afternoon. This afternoon we met with Jon Sobrino, a Jesuit priest and one of the major bases in the history of LT. For those familiar with the massacre of the Jesuits and their gardener's wife and daughter, Sobrino was supposed to be in the house with them that night. He happened to be out of the country, but the military thought he was there. He had already written a great deal on LT and has continued to do so, especially in ways that do not always endear him to the church hierarchy. He is quite a presence and not usually able to meet with CGE semester programs, so we were pretty lucky.

This weekend are the rural pastoral accompaniments in Base Christian Communities. I am very excited to see these more practical, real-life examples of LT being acted out in the lives of Salvadorans post war.

Damas y...cebollas?

I´m realizing that I have yet to say much about the class aspect of this program. So here we are:

Yesterday (Tuesday on account of the national holiday on Monday) we began our third and final week here at Proyecto Linguistico Quetzaltenango. Friday is our ¨graduation¨ ceremony, which includes a traditional Guatemalan dinner, provided by the faculty, while the students are incharge of drinks.

Each weekday for the past two-plus weeks, classes have started at 8am, with a break from 10:30-11, and then continued til 1pm. Some days we have group activities (with just the CGE group) and some days there are cultural, political, or otherwise educational activities planned by the school. My teacher is great, though we´ve been having communication difficulties the last couple of days. (I think I´m to the point now where my Spanish is not SO simple that it can just act like English. It´s causing me troubles.) Right now I´m working on the subjunctive form which, I would bet, just caused all of you Spanish-speakers and -learners out there to give a big, fed-up groan. It certainly does for me. But all in all, I´m getting things decently.

The big challenge for me, linguistically, is to remember the things I learned one or two units ago, as new information gets packed into my not-so-spongy-anymore brain.

Next week, the group splits into two to head for a one-week stay at rural language schools. Classes there will be only 4 hours each day, as opposed to 5 here. There won´t be a set curriculum; we will simply decide, with our individual teachers, what things could use more time. One of the opportunities we´ll have in my group (in a PLQ-affiliated school in La Montaña) is a visit to a regular, non-cooperative coffee finca. I´m excited about this because we are going to be visiting a couple cooperative/fair trade growers and it will be good to have a basis for comparison.


Today, we visited a Mayan priestess (sacerdota) who told about the twenty major spirits in the Maya tradition and allowed us to participate in a ceremony. Interestingly, we were scheduled to meet with a husband and wife priest/-ess couple, but we were unable to. There was a change in the law regarding personal identification in Guatemala today, which caused some unrest on local levels. That in turn caused some highways to be cut off in various places, so out original presenters were stuck en route and had to turn around. [Just a note, we´re all more than fine here. We didn´t even know this had been happening until Joe told us why the plan had changed.]


In general, things here are going very well. We have been here almost a month -- at the end of this week, we will be one quarter done with the program, which is hard to believe! As always, I will try to keep updates coming as often as I can manage.

Until then...

Non-alligned civilians

This will have to be brief. We spent the holiday weekend (Independence Day from Spain, which is September 15 for most of Latin America) in San Pedro Atitlan. It is a town on the second largest lake in Guatemala -- rather touristy, but not full of people, so really just a laid-back wonderful place to spend two days. We took a two and a half hour bus ride and then a half hour boat ride to get there. Our hotel was about a block up from the lake and we rarely got further into town than that (though we did travel laterally near the lake, in our defense!).

We kayaked and enjoyed the views. There is a sizeable Israeli community there, so I got my hummus fix for the last three weeks. Then yesterday was spent walking around Xela, watching the holiday festivities, and reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X. Also, in the group there were two birthdays yesterday and another tomorrow, so there was plenty of celebrating. (I should mention that about half of our number actually hiked to the lake, a two+-day hike. They´re crazy, in my opinion.)

This afternoon we met with one of the teachers here at PLQ to hear his experiences as a non-alligned civilian during the conflict. Suffice it to say, at each turn, my understanding of the history here becomes more complex and confused (in the ¨good way¨). His stories underlined for me the reality of nuance in the midst of conflict, even when that conflict seems to demand taking a side. The experiences he told of -- the loss of two classmates in 5th grade to a grenade explosion; the loss of another classmate in a chillingly Emmitt-Till-like situation during a class fieldtrip (the boy turned up tortured, tied up, and thrown in a swimming pool because someone thought he wanted to steal army uniforms); the death of his own uncle when he (the teacher) was five.

This uncle was his father´s only brother and, for me, there is always something incredibly wrenching about hearing that someone has lost their one and only sibling. (It probably comes from my own experience, not that I think it is somehow easier to lose a sibling if you have others. I´m not sure what it´s all about, really.) It was a difficult lecture to listen to, but incredibly interesting at the same time. The brother (his uncle) was forcibly recruited into the army, underage, which was a common practice at the time, especially for indigenous young men. This also led to stories of the three times he was able to just barely escape being conscripted himself.

As I said, this is brief, but I want to keep folks up to date. Also, new photos, without titles or any helpful information. But they are there, which is more than the internet cafe could do. (I´m at the language school lab at the moment, now that the internet is back up.)
http://s465.photobucket.com/albums/rr11/korlamasters/