much has happened...

I have been terrible about blogging this spring! To all of you who continue to check in despite my inexcusable absence - thanks for being persistent.

Since I last wrote much has happened:
- Our semester students partied hard, said their goodbyes and headed home (all but one - who is still in rural Nica)
- A lovely 'may-term' group arrived from Furman University and brightened up our May with their enthusiasm, laughter and kindness
- I woke up one rainy night terrified, and convinced that I was being electrocuted...until Joao convinced me that my hand had just fallen asleep :)
- I got to see sloths (with their babies), a paca, howler monkeys and all sorts of colorful birds in their natural habitat on a tour of a sustainable farm near Matagalpa
- Chepe and Eliett got married and I was honored to be a witness in their civil wedding!!!

And now, my time here in Nicaragua (and Central America, for that matter) is nearly over. I write, during a short break from packing up my room here at the CGE house as I prepare to vacate and make space for a large travel delegation that arrives on Thursday. I'll be crashing at my boss's house until my departure and in this last week and a half plan to spend a weekend at the beach with Joao and time here around Managua saying goodbyes.

It's unbelievable to me that I'll be in Minnesota so soon and even more unreal that I've spent nearly two years in Central America. I've been debating about what to do with my blog when I return to the Twin Cities. Perhaps I'll continue, perhaps I'll let it rest peacefully at the close of my time here. Although, as I continue on my path, I'm certain that my transition to home will bring with it a whole plethora of new observations and reflections...so I would guess that I'll keep writing. Thank you again for being such faithful readers. Hope everyone is enjoying spring - wherever they may be, and for those of you in the Midwest - I'll get to enjoy it with you soon!

"My hope is that the youth would return to the streets to make history."

-Fernando Cardenal

on racial profiling here and there...

Girls from the United States have a reputation here in Latin America. Whether we're here spring break-ing, studying or doing non-profit work, people often assume that we're 'liberal'. And I don't mean that they assume we're all democrats, but rather they think we're all easy - as if being 'liberal' (educated and empowered about sexual rights) means that we all enjoy sleeping around.

And yes, as a white girl from Minnesota this is pretty much the extent of my negative 'racial profiling' experience. Does it matter if people here assume I'm a slut when they see the color of my hair? Not really, they can't do anything other than approach me and quickly find out they're mistaken. But does it piss me off? Every single time, yes.

I'm certain that my annoyance in such situations pales in comparison to the anger Latinos must feel in the face of the blatant racism and stereotyping they confront in the states. Certainly Latinos aren't the only ones who face racial-profiling - but this new law seems to me as much like an insult as it does a negation of people's human rights. Not only are they legalizing racism, they're doing it in a way that exposes their belief that Latinos are a powerless demographic.

Thank heavens people are proving them wrong; and god bless solidarity. As enraging as the words and actions of many legislators in the south west have been, it's been encouraging to see such an organization of people against it. It's about time we start talking about immigration. I guess I spoke too soon in my last post; turns out there are things that will get people into the streets at home too.

to the streets...

Last week while we were in the country I commented to Suyen that this semester felt different. Usually as we drive into Managua we also enter a world of political unrest - of alleged electoral fraud or shady changes to the constitution or enormous manifestations -both for and against the current leadership - and it seems that el famoso Daniel Ortega is always at the middle of it all.

This time things felt strangely calm.

And then this week, in the oppressive heat of Managua, it all exploded. Really the issue started a few months back, when Ortega (the president) issued a decree that would allow the current 'magistrados' (like supreme court judges) to stay in power longer. A few of those judges put his decree (or "decretazo") to the test last week and refused to turn in their robes. Fighting and name-calling and all sorts of anger ensued between the magistrados themselves last week and then this week, in Nicaraguan style, the people took to the streets.

As the opposing legislators attempted to come together on Tuesday to address the issue, they encountered mobs with mortars at the national assembly and then later the make-shift assembly was hunted down at the Holiday Inn. The police kept the people from getting in, but didn't do much else to control the situation. The news scenes of protesters (or 'gangster like thugs' as they are being referred to in many US news articles/channels), of cars being set on fire, and the background noise of mortars being fired in the distance are all too familiar. And continued yesterday and continue today as I write.

It's hard to write about details because it's so hard to fully understand what's going on - even being here and watching the news and talking to people and knowing a bit of background - I don't really get it. Reading articles from the North American perspective generally upset me, to talk about it all you have to simplify it and truly it's anything but simple. What do you do with a guy like Ortega in the context of Nicaragua? Does this count as democracy, when the people feel the need to take to the streets every few months? Is this democracy embodied? People making their desires and needs known?

I'm reading Howard Zinn's "A People's History of the United States" right now and the current situation here and that of the states in the late 1800's seem to have some powerful commonalities - people were organizing and unionizing and marching up to capital hill with demands and guns and fire in their bellies year after year. And honestly, I'm not sure why we've become so docile.

Obviously it's not easy to live in a place with so much unrest. Many Nicaraguans I've spoken with this week are upset by the protests, the traffic, the violence; they sigh and say "we just want to work". There are lots of accusations about who is financing these protests, who's really behind them, it's complex. There's no way I can write adequately about it. However, I do like that Nicaragua never lets one stop thinking about these issues, it's raw, it's pulsing and you can't avoid really thinking about the nature of power and corruption, of government and society.

to live now...

"The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory."

- Howard Zinn

on nicas and nationality...

New week, new country. I guess that happens a lot in this job. Although I'm not sure why it was such a bizarre sensation to me this time around - the idea that life, almost entirely, could be so different just a few days later. The rhythm changes, staff changes, climate changes (goodness it's hot here) and the political landscape changes.

Nicaragua is distinct from the other two countries for lots of reasons, but especially due to its unique history: a Revolution that triumphed and a counter-revolution that ravaged the country. Earthquakes and hurricanes and leaders that seem to take advantage of the people rather than build them up, have left Nicaragua in tough shape economically. It's the largest country in Central America, rich in resources, but the second poorest in the hemisphere, after Haiti.

This economic situation means that lots of people immigrate. However, while hundreds of Salvadorans are going to the States every day, people in Nicaragua are filling the jobs left behind in Honduras, Guatemala and Salvador...and most commonly, attempting to cross the border into Costa Rica, where there are better jobs with better wages. It's created quite the contempt filled relationship between these neighboring nations; one similar to that between Mexico and the United States. On Tuesday, Joao brought me to the national theater to see 'El Nica'; a monologue in which a Nicaraguan immigrant talks about his faith, life, journey, challenges, rage, hope and pride.

It was incredibly moving to see an immigrant's resilience depicted with such humor and honesty, and painful to see how humans treat each other based on border and class. However, for me, the most powerful moment was the end, when the whole theater stood up and applauded their flag, so many with tears in their eyes for their people and enormous pride in their country. I stood there and applauded as well - feeling somewhat out of place - having one of those moments where I wonder 'How did I end up here? A gringa in Nicaragua, caring so much about immigration to Costa Rica? How is it that life/my decisions brought me here? Why haven't I ever clapped for my flag with tears in my eyes?' And all of the sudden I felt so saddened by the fact that I'm not proud of where I'm from. I was so envious of all of those people who tell you where they're from with that sure smile on their face like nothing anyone could say about their homeland would make them any less proud of it. And me, I'm not proud of it, just ridiculously privileged because of it - life is so strange.

And in the midst of this little question-session going on in my head, the actor began to wind together the Costa Rican and Nicaraguan flag, and the applause swelled. And with that symbolic action I started to feel part of what was going on again, because then I felt part of a movement. So I don't sing to stars and stripes - and that doesn't mean I'm ashamed of where I'm from - I'm just also not boasting about what my nationality so often stands for in places like Latin America. I'd rather identify with this group of people, with people in general that also want borders to mean less and people to mean more. I want so much of who I am to be about learning and educating in order to move closer to treating people like humans regardless of nationality.

Back in real life, turns out I don't get to turn my passport in for one to some 'nationless utopia' where everyone is equal. Hm. Which means I'm reminded, again and again, that being born in Iowa rather than Managua means that I was also born with a responsibility to use my privilege to love better, to be generous, and to work for changes that validate the idea that people are more than their nationality.

marching for Romero and peace...

Our time in El Salvador always flies by. We only spend four weeks there to begin with, and to add to the chaos, we spend every weekend in a different community observing the ways they have decided to live out Liberation Theology.

This time around, the students begged to stay one day longer than usual. The march commemorating the 30 year anniversary of Monsenor Romero's assassination was held on Saturday (our scheduled day of departure) and the students wanted to be there. After a month of hearing about this man - revered as a prophet by many and a as saint by others - they wanted to be there and to march in solidarity. And I'm so glad that we did.

It was a moving day for a lot of reasons. Despite the fact that I've only spent a total of 4 months in El Salvador over the course of the past 2 years, we ran into so many people that I've met along the way: members of christian base communities, local youth, other foreigners working for social justice. There was a sense of community that was touching. A sense that those of us who truly long for things to be different aren't alone in that desire. And in the few years since I've dedicated myself to this path, this path of attempting to live serving and loving others - I've realized that those moments of feeling deep solidarity and hope in a collective people are fewer than I'd like them to be. And therefore they must be appreciated, savored even.

The march began with a victorious feel, and we've definitely got to celebrate victories! Romero is celebrated every year, but this was the first year that the government officially joined the people in this celebration and publicly apologized for his murder. President Funes came to the march and declared that Romero was the greatest patriot El Salvador has ever seen and that the current government would measure their work for a better society according to how it is measuring up to Romero's vision for El Salvador. If you know the history of politics in El Salvador (too lengthy and complex to get into here), this is truly incredible.

And then we marched. We marched for a few hours from one of the richer parts of San Salvador right down into the center, to the national cathedral. It was downhill, and as we worked our way closer to the cathedral, the buildings were more and more run down, the street vendors more desperate to sell, the smell far less appealing, a downright stench, in fact. Poverty isn't pretty. It seemed beautifully appropriate to me in that moment that there was such an unpleasant contrast from where we started and where we were finishing.

Romero didn't plan to become the advocate he became. He could have easily stayed in his comfortable position of power and chosen not to walk into the pain and suffering, and ultimately the death, of the poor and repressed. But he did. And if we look at the paths that people in power generally take, that's a pretty miraculous act. Romero inspired a thirst for justice and empowered a battered people to use their faith for fuel - not only to claim their rights but to fuel them into living out their faith through relationships. The month in El Salvador always reminds me, in new ways, that this 'revolutionary' stuff is really about relationships and that my faith is really what fuels my desire for revolution, my desire for genuine peace.

A few words from Romero:

"Do you want to know if your Christianity is genuine? Here is the touchstone: Whom do you get along with? Who are those who criticize you? who are those who do not accept you? Who are those who flatter you?"

"Peace is not the product of terror or fear. Peace is not the silence of cemeteries. Peace is not the silent result of violent repression. Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all. Peace is dynamism. Peace is generosity. It is right and it is duty."