Today is Easter Monday. It is just one day after millions of Christians celebrated Easter around the world. It is a beautiful genuine celebration of belief, faith, and religious fervor. Easter is, perhaps, one of the most important hermeneutical lenses Christians have to understand and interpret reality. Here, I am not talking about the fabulous and almost unbelievable stories that have passed many generations of Christians. I am not talking about the idea of a zombie like Jesus who walked among his disciples. I am referring to a new way of believing that was introduced through Jesus‘s ministry.
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The Backseat Drama
The family car was a nice maroon and gray 1989 Mitsubishi Colt Vista. The interior of the car wasn’t clean at all, which is very usual when a family has three boys. Dad used to drive all the time: mom in the front seat, my sister Rebeca and I in the second row, and my brothers Pablo and Sami in the third row. The rides were never quiet; there was at least one fight per ride. Rebeca would get car-sick and puke, and I would always make fun of her: “she’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke!” Mom and Dad would argue because we were lost, or other circumstances. So, the rides were not precisely quality time with the family. Or maybe they were, depending on the point of view of the family member. The worst rides were the Sunday morning rides. Everybody was late, Dad didn’t have enough time to finish his sermon, Mom was cooking breakfast, and we were running around the house instead of getting ready for church.
Fences
In the last year I have noticed more and more that we like fences and walls in Guatemala City. And I don’t mean the type of fence that you put in your yard so it looks pretty, or marks the division between your property and the neighbor’s. I am talking about the type of fence that makes the city look like a prison, a concentration camp, a metallic structure that is topped with barbed wire. The kind of fence that blocks a whole street.
In some of the sociology classes that I teach we talk about the idea of the “Symbolic Universe”. This idea says that there are symbols that give identity to who we are. In other words, we ground who we are in images that give us meaning. These images are at the core of who we are, and reflect who we are. In a previous post I talk about this ideas with more detail (click here).
I Think that these fences around my city are just the symbol and symptom of a greater sickness, fear. In Guatemala we have allowed ourselves to be governed by fear, and not only in a metaphorical way. We have a history of violence and war that has paved the way to be harmful to each other and to be afraid of each other. Interestingly, in the mind of Guatemalans, these fences provide security. I think, however, the only thing the fences provide is a false sense of safety that ends up segregating and dividing an already broken and unequal society.
I really wonder, what is it about Guatemalans that we are so scared of our own shadows? A couple weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend who lives in one of the streets that have been recently closed by my office building. During the conversation I asked him: “do you think the fence will make a difference?” to what he answered: “of course it will! It will stop people from the outside to get in and keep damaging our property and stealing our stuff.” To what I said: “But doesn’t that make you feel as if you live in a prison?” “Well” he said, “at least we have more control over what happens in our neighborhood.”
I find this conversation really interesting. I think my friend doesn’t truly understand what implications a “fence” of this type has in our city. I think the fences are the sign that we, Guatemalans, have lost a battle, not against crime or corruption, but against ourselves and the deepest fears we have. We have lost a battle with the silent enemy of the insecurities of a people that live under the shadow of its past. We have become the very thing that we don’t want to be, afraid.
A Note for Grant: Shit!
When I lived in Tacoma, WA. my friend Kris hosted me and opened his house for me. During that time I became really close to his kids, Mitch and Grant. A few months ago Kris asked me to send Grant a letter for his 13th birthday. Kris said: “it can be funny, serious, irreverent, or just a few lines.” I decided to go on the irreverent and funny side. So, here it is. Below you will find the letter I sent Grant. I hope you find it as funny as I think it is.
Dear Grant,
First of all, happy birthday. I really hope that you have a very exciting day. Turning 13 is quite a step in life. In this time of your life you will start realizing that things that were not shameful before now will make your blood go to your face. And, for that reason I am going to share with you a story,something that happened to me when I was your age. And just so you know, just a few people know these story. (And in this blog, all of my readers!)
Every summer my family and I used to go to lake Atitlan. Atitlan is a beautiful place where mayan legends become alive and where hippies fill the streets with weird hand-crafts and dances. During the summer of 1997, i had just turned 13, we went to Atitlan as we used to.
During the first night that we were in Panajachel, the town where we were staying, I went to eat out with one of my uncles. I ate 3 slices of pizza, a hot-dog, an empanada (a meet filled pastry), and 2 pieces of pie. And as you can imagine, i was very sick the next day. I woke up at 2:00 am with the runs, and i felt as if my butt was going to fall off. After a few hours with the runs i fell asleep again and was able to rest.
Around 10:00 am that morning my family was going for a walk and to do aome shopping, and of course i didn’t want to miss the adventure. Before leaving the house my mom asked me, “are you sure you feel well enough to go?” To what I answered “yes”. Little did I know that when you have had the runs, it is very likely that you will have them again during the same day. A couple hours after we started walking i felt my tummy growling. Every step i took my butt got looser and looser. But, i didn’t want to tell my mom about it because she had ask before if i was well enough for the walk, and i had said yes.
My first idea was to use the restroom at the first stop we made. The problem was that the store owner didn’t let me us the restroom because we didn’t buy anything. At this point i decided that i was going to walk back to where we were staying. I thought I would have enough time to walk back and go to the bathroom. I knew that it was going to be hard for me to get back in time, so I decided to take the back way to the place where we were staying. I knew that I was not going to find people in the back way, so I thought I was safe.
I started walking back and as soon as I gave the forst steps i felt mu tummy growling again. The more i walked the more my butt got loose. Every step of the way back felt like a mile. I started sweting cold and took a break every electricity pole on the way back. After walking for about twenty minutes I knew I was not going to make it. I felt a chilling cold down my spine. I felt my hands sweting and tingling. And then i felt an itch on my nose and seezed. And, as I sneezed, i felt my butt relaxing and letting everything inside me out. As soon as i sneezed I realized I had shat my pants all the way to my knees. O was waring shorts so i could feel it dripping down my legs. And then, I started the walk of shame back to the place we were staying. When I was going to start walking i saw that there was an old guy staring at me. He had witnessed everything, from the swet, to the sneeze, to the crap dripping down my legs. The old guy stared ate and said, “you are a nasty little prick!” And then, he walked away. But, the story is not over yet. I walked all the way back to where we were staying and realized tha I had forgotten the key to the house we rented. I had to wait in the courtyard of the property, and use a hose to wash my legs.
I know this might not be the kind of story you wanna hear on your birthday, but this is how I realized that there are some things that aren’t funny when they happen to us. I think, however, that we need to laugh at these embarrassing things, so we can live a life with abundance. I really hope you have a great day, and enjoy this teenage years. These years to come can be the best, but can also be really difficult and hard to understand. In fact, you might never understand what happened to you through this period of your life.
Finally, I just have to say that I love you little brother. I pray and hope that you grow up to be a man of good knowing that love is all that matters, and that we cannot allow fear and shame to define who we are.
Peace,
A Trip to Haiti: day 2 – 3
Visiting Haiti and conversing with Haitian leaders has opened my eyes. Being in Port-au-prince has given me a new perspective and vision for my work in Guatemala. Today, we started a theological conversation about the way we see the City. The title of the training is “The City of Joy” and we will explore together what it means to live, love and laugh in the midst of our city. Our first stop in the conversation took us to the soul of who Haitians are. I cannot say that I understand Haitian culture, that would be arrogant. What I can say is that through exploring in conversation with Haitian leaders the way they see their city, I am able to see the tip of the iceberg. Our conversation today was based on the notion of the Symbolic Universe. This idea comes from a series of sociologists and religious thinkers like, Beningo Beltrand, Peter Berger, Thomas Luckman and John Searle among others. In a brief way, the symbolic universe is the soul of people. It is the symbols that give identity to “what” we are, “who” we are, and “why” we are. According to Beltrand in the Theology of the Inarticulate There is three different levels that give us identity. The first one is the civitas, the “what” of the people, In other words, the body. Here we find the physical environment of a country/city/community, land, architecture and climate. The way we usually respond to what we see in this area is “relief efforts”. In this area we build houses after an earthquake, give food, build bridges and so on.
Secondly, we have the polis, the mind of the people. In this area we try to understand the who of the people. Here we see the norms of the people, language, food, rites, music, religion, values, work and humor. And, the way we usually respond to this area is with “development”. And the third one is the Symbolic Universe, in other words, the soul of the people. In this area we try to understand the why of the people. We seek for the defining symbols and stories that give meaning and identity to a people. And the way we respond to problems in this area is through “advocacy”. Through the conversation we had with the Haitian leaders who attended our training I came to realize that I know very little about the symbols that give me identity as a Guatemalan. I was able to see that because it took me a few seconds to think about examples that could help the participants to find their own symbols. It is not that I haven’t look for the symbols. It is that I have stopped looking for the symbols that rise from within the communities I serve. Thereby, I am very often guilty of systemic misunderstanding.
Systemic Misunderstanding is one of the most dangerous mistakes in any kind of relief, development, or advocacy effort. If we do not understand the symbols we won’t communicate our message in a way that will make sense. When we are in a systemic misunderstanding we do not understand how the processes and systems of a culture work. Therefore, we are inefficient in relieving, developing and advocating for and with the people we serve. In addition, we become authoritative and frustrated because our ideas don’t work. In the end, we hurt people in our desire of doing good. All that to say that we had a great conversation. We talked about this misunderstanding and the implications it has for our leadership among vulnerable communities.
At the end of the day I kept the conversation going with Valerie, our colleague in Haiti. We talked about the symbolic universe and how it holds Haiti’s identity. Something that was really sad and interesting at the same time was the interpretation of Haitians about the earthquake in 2010. According to Valerie, the earthquake shattered a lot of the symbols of Haitian culture, and also created new symbols that changed the identity of who Haitians are. those symbols both, shattered and new, make it really hard for Haitians to recover and rebuild their identity. As another of the Haitian leaders said, “it is hard to see a ‘city of joy’ (the name of the intensive training we are teaching) when all we see is pain and poverty, when the symbols that make us who we are come from shattered buildings, hunger, violence and corruption” As I finish my day I can only think about the pain and suffering of our peoples in Latin America and the Caribbean. I think of the historical difficulties that have slowed down our development as nations. In the end, that is why we try to dialogue about what it means to live, laugh and love in the midst of our cities.
On Fear
Guatemala City is quite modern, beautiful and attractive. It is a city, that an old professor of mine would say, has nothing to envy to any other cities around the world. And, while that is true, it is also true that Guatemala is not the safest city. We are afraid of being stuck in traffic, because a thief on a motorcycle could stop on our side and steal our belongings. Some of us are afraid because we don’t know if we will be able to find a job. Some of us are afraid because we have too little, or in some cases, too much that the fear of somebody taking what belongs to us is unbearable. And others are afraid and don’t even know why. I think, however, that fear is a state of mind. It is something that we can decide to cave into or not. Fear is something that we can choose to abide by or not.
About two months ago My wife and I were working from home. I was answering some emails and she was on a Skype call with somebody from the states. While I was drafting the emails I heard a couple small explosions, which was not uncommon at all since we were at the beginning of december, and firecrackers explode all over the place for a full month. immediately after the explosions I heard my wife saying: “mi amor, I think I just saw somebody get shot.” It took me a few seconds to put my thoughts together and realize that the word “think” was not supposed to be in the sentence she had just said. What she really meant was: “I just saw somebody get shot.” After a few seconds went to the office/guest-room in our apartment and saw that two blocks away a guy laying on the ground. People were already gathering around him to see what was happening. A few seconds went by and my wife asked me, “do you think anybody called the cops or an ambulance”, to what I answer, “I don’t know, I will call, just in case.” I made the phone call to both, the police and the ambulance and they had not had any reports about the shooting. It was quite a surprise to me that none of the people who were gathered around the wounded man made the phone call. In the end, the person was not badly wounded, it was a shot to the leg and the ambulance took him away and that is as far as I know. I hope that he recovered well.
The story in itself is not unusual in Guatemala. There is a lot of circumstances like this one all over the city, as in any other city. But the truth of the matter is that, what really shocked me was not the fact that people didn’t call for help. What shocked me was that it was two blocks down the road and we saw everything. And this is where fear comes in. Even when my wife and I were not affected directly by this incident, we felt perpetrated. We felt as if the idea of safety was taken away from us, we felt in danger. We decided to cave into the fear generated from that event, and other similar circumstances around our neighborhood. We cave into the state of mind that says that it is safer to stay inside, that the street is bad and that there is no safe place around, to the point that we stopped taking walks around our neighborhood for about a month. Fear is a natural reaction. Fear is what makes us flee from danger, but at the same time it can be our worst enemy because it can paralyze us when we face danger. Fear can also become a state of mind, and as a state of mind it can evolve into rivalry and violence.
For that reason I think the most mentioned commandment in the Bible is “do not be afraid”. It is repeated over 365 times all over the Bible. Maybe, to remind us daily that we have the option to not live in fear. If we live in fear, we are very easy to control. If we live in fear we seek to control. At some point in the last couple weeks, my wife and decided we are not letting ourselves to be controlled by fear. That does not mean that we are going to put ourselves in harms way, or that we will be careless. It means that we are refusing to enter a state of mind that inhibits our ability to enjoy our lives and our city. What we did was really simple, we started taking our walks again. This action might seem irrelevant, but a little step like that can change the understanding of our surroundings and even our worldview. We Guatemalans let the media get to our heads, because the only thing the newspapers and TV news show is the bad and the ugly. We let the media control how we act by drinking from the fountain of fear that corrodes our ability to think critically and seek for true transformation. I just hope and pray that at some point we all decide to step out of our media induced paranoia and realize, that yes, violence and danger are real, but that there is more to life in this Guatemala than hiding behind our walls, bulletproof SUVs, and bodyguards. Life in fear is no life.
Identity and Beauty
In one of the neighborhoods I worked for several years I met two brothers, Giovanni and Josue. Giovanni, or Nanis as we call him, is the eldest. Nanis and Josue are two kids who have had it rough. Their father was killed when Nanis was 4 years old; and since then, people would say that he was going to be a killer like his dad. A staircase that goes from the main street to the informal settlement divides the neighborhood they live in. In fact, the locals refer to each other as Los de arriba (those from “upstairs,” from the top) and Los de abajo (those from the bottom.) Nanis lives right at the bottom. His family lives in the left corner before the dead end. Doors and alleys connect all the houses building a network of family relationships and hierarchy.
One day, my sister and I were walking through the neighborhood, visiting some people and hanging out with some of the kids. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, Nanis was playing with some empty buckets and a table up side down on the floor. “What are you playing” my sister asked. “I am driving a garbage dump truck,” he answered. Other kids were playing around with him as well, and my sister asked them “And… what are you guys playing?” and the kids answered, “we are playing we are guajeros.”[1] Later that day, I was shocked by the responses of the children. They could not hope for something other than what surrounds them. They were playing in the exact same way I did when I was their age. The only difference is that I was surrounded by doctors, lawyers, pastors, and educated people. I did not know then that hope is shaped in the same way our identity is formed, as James Alison says “through the eyes of the other.” In Nanis case, hoping to be a guajero was far better than following his father’s steps as an assassin. Even though, people around him could only think that he would be a killer like his dad.
In the same way our identity is formed, through the eyes of the other, we learn to see beauty. We see it because others around us see it. If people who only complain and see the bad surround us, we will grow up to only see the bad and the ugly. Simone Weil once said that the two things that move the human heart are beauty and affliction, it is both of these not one alone.
Two weeks ago I had the opportunity to go on a camp with inner-city kids from Guatemala. We all went to a paradise looking place on the Caribbean Coast of Guatemala. Interestingly the only thing that a lot of them said about the well planned camp and the beautiful location was: “it was to hot” and “It rained a couple times”. After recalling the story above and thinking on how our identity is created, I have come to realize that we will see beauty only if we learn to see beauty. And, the truth of the matter is that it is really hard to see beauty for some of these kids, especially because they are surrounded by pain and affliction. Then, the question is, and what can I do to teach people to see beauty? I don’t really have an answer for that. But I hope I find a way to find that answer.
[1] Guajeros “squatters” are people who work in Guatemala City’s garbage dump. They work in the garbage for extended periods of time to make between US$3.00 and US$5.00 a day. A guajero is any person, from child to adult to the elderly, who lives and works in an area intended for the garbage and is dedicated to the business of searching for and sorting objects and materials that can be recycled. The word “guaje” refers to the object or material itself.
Columbus Day
It is amazing that a day like today in 1492 Christopher Columbus arrived to the Americas. Interestingly the colonial mindset has set us to think that that is the start of a better civilization, the start of a change, the start of the New World. Celebrating a day like today makes us believe the lie of the superiority of the white man arriving to the shores of the American Continent. This lie has paved the way to celebrate a day that started the genocide of more that 150 million natives through out the American Continent. The worst part of it is that it was done in the name of God, as if God would approve such a barbaric behavior.
Some people have told me that that is what had to happen because the civilizations in the Americas were in decadence. But, what if instead of starting with the arrival of Columbus to our continent we would start the story with the transitioning civilizations of the pre-Columbian world? What if we tell the story of the state-cities that were transitioning into a multipurpose urban center model? But, that is not the case today, after years of research we still start with the arrival of the conquistadores. Interestingly, that is the very lie that the colonial mindset wants to perpetuate, because it needs to auto-justify itself in order to continue the oppression of the vulnerable in the American societies (And for those of you who are from the US, I am using the term America as a continent). The colonial mindset needs to propagate itself because it is still at the core of who we are and how we function. Just think of this, the colonial expansion, the integration of the capitalist market is based in a system of inequality, starts with the Spanish colonialism, then it is intensified with the English colonialism, to finish with the Unitied States neo-colonial policies over countries like ours.
Today I ponder, what is worse, the violence perpetrated against the native nations of the Americas, or the worldview of scarcity imposed by the manipulation of the idea of God and Christianity? Maybe the question is not even fair to make, because we cannot compare either consequence. I think, however, that one way out of this is not only by changing our hearts, but also by changing our minds, in mourning the oppression that we have partaken of.
The king of reggae once sang:
“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our mind. Have no fear for atomic energy ‘Cause none of them can stop the time.”–Bob Marley
theurbanwonderer 