tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22061072099656670712024-03-18T21:13:24.895-06:00love in times of...someone once told me "follow your heart, and you will never fail."..........................................................
..................................................................
i'm trying.Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-60871406053511722552012-08-16T09:10:00.002-06:002012-08-16T09:10:58.907-06:00Mujeres de la Guerrra: Rosa Perez<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Two scraggly dogs
bark a welcome as we make our way down the narrow, rocky path through lemon and
banana trees to Rosa’s home. It is small, made of earth, found materials,
corrugated tin. Rosa lives with her four daughters and grandson, whom she
raises as if he were hers. Grandson and a nephew watch the interview with great
curiosity from behind the bushes, then proudly show off their bike tricks for
us and laughing, learn to use the digital camera -- while posing for it, of
course.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Rosa is making a
hammock, which she will sell at a small artisan store up the road. She shows us
her work and her daughter’s work, whom Rosa taught to embroider typical
clothing. This is common in rural El Salvador: every family has a handful of
different ways of making a little bit of cash, and somehow, they get by.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In her photograph,
Rosa is joined by two large sacks. These are bags of corn husks. Hundreds of
them. Rosa and a few members of the women’s committee woke up before the
roosters to prepare and make 400 tamales. This process is labor intensive;
husking, cooking and grinding the corn by hand. The tamales were sold to make a
little extra income, but Rosa had saved a handful for her visitors, two of whom
were complete strangers until that day.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
Rosa talks about her life: before the war, during the war, and after the war.
She tells us about the violence and repression they lived before the war, and
the violence and repression they continued to suffer at the hands of the
Honduran military in the refugee camp. But the suffering isn’t the point of her
story: her story is about resilience, about making decisions of conscience and
following through on them, no matter the cost. It’s about family, about caring
for and taking care of one another.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Rosa’s oldest
daughter was born in 1980 at the height of violence in El Salvador. Rosa was in<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>guinda</i>, hiding in the mountains
during the day and running from the military at night. Maria Flora has
epilepsy, and Rosa believes it is because of the trauma of her birth. But Rosa,
a single mother, put her other three daughters through high school -- no small feat
in a country where the average rural resident only completes the 4th grade.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Rosa ends her
interview talking about her work. “Today, I’m an associate of the cooperative<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Sueños de Jocoaitique</i>. We began
the cooperative in ‘93, and that was a struggle, too. To stay organized.
Because if we’re not organized, we’re not involved in anything.”</span><u1:p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></u1:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-outline-level: 5;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Rosa is one of the rural, organized
Salvadoran women interviewed for the project<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Mujeres
de la Guerra, Historias de El Salvador</i>, which documents the<i> </i></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">lives, stories and work of twenty-eight women leaders in El
Salvador. Through a documentary film, photography exhibits in both the US and
El Salvador, and a photo essay book, we hope to provide these women with
the opportunity to tell their inspiring stories and share their hope, wisdom
and dedication with the world. To read more about this project, please visit<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i><a href="http://www.indiegogo.com/mujeresdelaguerra?c=home">Mujeres de la Guerra</a>. </i></span><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-67495339792727383332012-01-25T14:55:00.002-06:002012-08-16T09:14:12.783-06:00Threats and Violence Continue against Salvadoran EnvironmentalistsViolence and intimidation continue in El Salvador against environmental activists and defenders of human rights who have publicly opposed metallic mining. The latest round of threats was focused against a Salvadoran Catholic priest, Father Neftalí Ruiz, and a community radio station, Radio Victoria.<br />
<br />
Fr. Ruiz, the Secretary of the Board of Directors of the Cabañas Environmental Committee and a member of the National Working Group against Metallic Mining (“The Mesa,”) was attacked on January 20th, when he opened his home to a group of supposed university students who had expressed interest in his work. The two young people then tied him up at gunpoint and proceeded to search the files on his computer. They left the home with the computer and media storage devices, but did not take anything else of value. The young men stated numerous times during the assault that they were looking for information and made several calls to a third party while searching the computer to report their findings.<br />
<br />
Environmentalists detailed the events and their evaluations of the continuing violence against the community at a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXRBCRBg_dg&feature=youtu.be">press conference</a> held by the Mesa on Tuesday, January 24th “These acts are meant to intimidate us so as to weaken our resistance,” emphasized David Pereira of the Investment and Commerce Investigation Center (<a href="http://www.ceicom.org.sv/index.php/en/">CEICOM</a>).<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Alluding to <a href="http://voiceselsalvador.wordpress.com/2011/01/25/hector-berrios-received-another-death-threat/">past cases</a> in which the Attorney General and police have blamed cases of death threats and violence against activists on common delinquency, gang violence or interpersonal conflict, Father Ruiz <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKJThb6Z8yg">declared</a> that he knows no one with a motive to hurt him for any such reason. “The only work I do is to defend Mother Nature, to preach the Gospel, and denounce injustices.”<br />
<br />
In the five murder cases to have hit the environmentalist community, material authors were quickly rounded up and prosecuted, but there <a href="http://www.walkingwithelsalvador.org/Steiner%20Salvador%20Mining%20Report.pdf">exists significant evidence</a> to suggest that they were hired assassins. In the <a href="http://www.danielleinelsalvador.blogspot.com/2011/06/body-of-young-anti-mining-activist.html">most recent death</a>, in which an environmentalist college student named Juan Francisco Duran Ayala was executed on a community basketball court, Fr. Ruiz served as a spokesperson at the exhumation of the young man’s cadaver. In none of the cases of aggression against the community — which the community fears will not end with last week’s attack on Fr. Ruiz — have intellectual authors been identified by the authorities.<br />
<br />
The robbery and attack on Fr. Neftali is not the only recent case of violence and intimidation against defenders of human rights: members of Radio Victoria in Cabañas are also receiving a <a href="http://voiceselsalvador.wordpress.com/2012/01/14/extermination-group-threatens-radio-victoria-reporters-again/">wave of death threats</a> via email. Radio staff, who have been adamant in defending human and environmental rights through their work in community media, have also been subjected to multiple rounds of death threats throughout the past few years. According to the <a href="http://danielleinelsalvador.blogspot.com/2012/01/cripdes-and-national-working-table.html">press release</a> published by the Mesa, this latest round seems to be connected to party politics. “Last week the mayor of Victoria put up a large ARENA party flag in the middle of Santa Marta, which made a lot of people angry because of past history; ARENA's connections to death squads, military force and repression as well as implementing policies that favored big businesses and the wealthy elite during the 20 years they ran the government,” explained radio founder Cristina Starr in an email to radio supporters last week.<br />
<br />
A few days after three bus-loads of residents of Santa Marta protested in Victoria, Radio staff began to again receive threats via email and nocturnal visits to their remote rural homes. “You all can imagine how this wears on us,” Starr wrote. “Radio members cannot go and stay in their homes, they cannot be with their families and they always have to be wary and careful wherever they go and whatever they do.”<br />
<br />
There is concern among the environmentalist community that the pattern of superficial investigation will hold true with these most recent cases as well. “We are demanding that the Attorney General of the Republic and the PNC (Civilian National Police) investigate (these cases) seriously. I say ‘seriously’ because there have been other attacks and even assassinations with which we’re unsatisfied with the investigation results presented by the Attorney General,” explained Pereira. The concerns of the activists are substantiated by the outputs of the Salvadoran justice system: a United Nations Development Program <a href="http://archivo.elfaro.net/secciones/noticias/20070723/informe.pdf">report</a> from 2007 found that only 14% of cases enter the judicial system, and only 3.8% are ever fully prosecuted, with the guilty party brought to justice.<br />
<br />
Salvadoran President Mauricio Funes recently asked for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdPC4w2cezo">forgiveness</a> for past human rights atrocities and called for a “peace with justice,” during the recent celebration of the 20th anniversary of the signing of the Peace Accords that ended the Salvadoran Civil War. The cases of Fr. Ruiz and Radio Victoria present continuing human rights violations left stagnant in this country’s current justice system. The environmentalist community believes that this situation leaves human rights defenders vulnerable. “We have shown that in our country, it is a crime to defend the interests of the vast majority,” manifested Catholic Bishop Monsignor Francisco Sol in yesterday’s press conference.<br />
<br />
As they continue to resist metallic mining and promote human rights despite the threatening climate, activists question how long the impunity will reign. “I ask the National Civilian Police and the Attorney General, what are they going to do in this case? Since 2008…I have reported death threats,” expressed Fr. Neftali in yesterday’s press conference. “What are they waiting for? For there to be more deaths, more bloodshed?”Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-27244161213132772372010-11-21T12:56:00.001-06:002012-01-25T14:52:23.394-06:00Where the Hibiscus BloomsBendición de Dios. God’s Blessing. If only I had thought to ask Mauricio, this community’s young leader, why they decided on this name. At one time, this place made have seemed like a blessing—a place for thirty poor, rural families to finally put down roots, to have something of their own, to give stability and a sense of belonging to their children. <m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><span lang="EN-US"> But from an outsider’s perspective, it seems that this community has seen nothing but the opposite of blessings since coming to this land.</span> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<br />
In the middle of the night on Sunday, September 26th, torrential rains due to Hurricane Matthew caused the two rivers that surround this little community to flood. One women tells of lifting her three-month old baby over her head, arms fully extended, as she struggled to keep her own head over water. Others tell of scrambling onto their shaky roofs in the pitch black night by light of cheap cell phone, watching the waters rush by. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgow1F3w-rz9paDhMM_JyCkrUzyhNY0b04CVJJGyJYkp3A0vwJInqEOFlKrb2X5Rf9Mdy5t6kdIy5Ex2gH6PKc7iD6CYJ4Ch6abGdAkHBXgomUjMlCb9xjbdOCHn2olGcXypV1QVOciRZ7t/s1600/blog+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgow1F3w-rz9paDhMM_JyCkrUzyhNY0b04CVJJGyJYkp3A0vwJInqEOFlKrb2X5Rf9Mdy5t6kdIy5Ex2gH6PKc7iD6CYJ4Ch6abGdAkHBXgomUjMlCb9xjbdOCHn2olGcXypV1QVOciRZ7t/s320/blog+1.jpg" width="320" /></a>These humble homes—shacks by any other name, pieced together with found and collected bits of corrugated tin, wood, thick, heavy sticks, cardboard, mud, plastic tarp—are constructed on packed dirt, and interiors of homes and the narrow roads that run through the community turn immediately to mud in heavy rain. Disease, manifested by mosquitoes and white mold that grows everywhere in the dampness, accompanied by threats of continued rains and further flooding that keep coastal El Salvador on orange alert, force the community out. There is no formal shelter nearby, and so, as so many other Salvadoran communities do in times of crisis, the community seeks refugee in the nearest primary school. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fq-EG-L0BGk0InMiN7dECBzIeUPl2E3atCDu7-uMAGRhcmqb2vE1b-VI336nrVg-IdEw_yZwMcppcjOxQE-j_veMSxPhb1lMvGyjurJ1iTPnF-9mIuxTuWF0f-wNAGDKBp5B_o5sxEzi/s1600/blog+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fq-EG-L0BGk0InMiN7dECBzIeUPl2E3atCDu7-uMAGRhcmqb2vE1b-VI336nrVg-IdEw_yZwMcppcjOxQE-j_veMSxPhb1lMvGyjurJ1iTPnF-9mIuxTuWF0f-wNAGDKBp5B_o5sxEzi/s200/blog+2.jpg" width="150" /></a>A local grassroots organization is able to negotiate with the local government and international cooperation agencies for food—eggs, beans, tortillas, vegetable oil, and salt for three meals a day, along with the five-pound tank of gas to cook it all; drinking water—in the form of half-liter plastic bags, which add the taste of dirt and plastic to the warm water; and four-inch thick foam mattresses for sleeping. A local health promoter accompanies the children of the shelter—along with the parents and elderly who don’t have other daytime commitments—in activities to keep them distracted and entertained, playing games, drawing, telling stories, and making full use of the school’s limited playground equipment. Women rotate through kitchen duty, sweating over a huge pot of beans and slapping the tortillas onto the hot plancha. <br />
<br />
While there is a lot of activity in this little school-turned-shelter, there is a sense of deep exhaustion and worry among its temporary residents. Carved into the faces of the elderly and easily notable in the postures of the many mothers are the struggles that this community has faced since the flooding, and the uncertainty of what the future may hold.<br />
<br />
Two days into the evacuation, the septic tank underneath the school’s bathrooms burst, not only rendering the only available toilets inoperable, but overwhelming the small compound with the stench of human waste for days. <br />
<br />
To make matters worse: The school is located in a community with its own water system, and the community pays to maintain it. Seeing this invasion of outsiders in their school—one hundred people means one hundred showers, hundreds of plates and forks to be cleaned, countless diapers and shirts that need washing—the community shuts off the school’s water supply. In the heat of El Salvador, and the dust left by a tropical storm followed by days of dry weather and wind, water is not a luxury. <br />
<br />
So people are forced to return to the very river that forced them from their homes in search of water. A forty minute trek from the school, women and children walk to clean their bodies, their dishes, their clothes, and to haul water back to the shelter for use later in the day. <br />
<br />
And, to laugh and splash a little, too, under the hot afternoon sun. A pair of grandmothers invited us to jump in with them and enjoy the cool water, clothes and all. <br />
<br />
When communities are forced to evacuate because of flooding in El Salvador, it is not uncommon for the women, children and elderly to seek shelter, leaving the men behind to watch over homes and belongings. In unattended homes, belongings have a tendency to disappear. In Bendición de Dios’ case, the situation was much more serious. After two days in the shelter, a few men returned to the community to find that people had been stealing pieces of their homes—the valuable corrugated tin used to build. The number of shelter residents immediately dropped from over one hundred to around seventy, as men from each household returned to watch over their homes, built with no small amount of blood, sweat, and heart. <br />
<br />
And as if this all were not enough. On the day I arrived to visit, led through the community by Mauricio, rural farmer, proud father of three young girls, the community took up the task that the looters had begun—taking apart their homes, piece by piece. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPb9VirU60Hf2CGebX8POwbuxM9krihSoe4g7v3A46Tr3p3bH4K9GEyMLDe3bh88I4iiyHgj09yQC8_uzWUFEVpwONnkOI_qAfT-xUo2DhdSb7IJSp5gP9nd4wViRDuGHN2xUJD0v04SER/s1600/blog+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPb9VirU60Hf2CGebX8POwbuxM9krihSoe4g7v3A46Tr3p3bH4K9GEyMLDe3bh88I4iiyHgj09yQC8_uzWUFEVpwONnkOI_qAfT-xUo2DhdSb7IJSp5gP9nd4wViRDuGHN2xUJD0v04SER/s320/blog+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
When Hurricane Matthew hit, the community was recently established. Squatting on nearby land, when a high-talking woman in a business suit came to offer land titles at an affordable monthly price, Bendición de Dios was born. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGL5Z9dVu8dFZm4TsyfhqovLbrguz7qnr7DAmbhnB3hRQBlBKfQyqHzd0gplDZ2uw_boAmN0GRFbnPJUvzkA5plbTKFWgjqOd8RIfHWRNS4l75gzAr-UPWPUNpqgxm8ca2ar_I6Bympzd/s1600/blog+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGL5Z9dVu8dFZm4TsyfhqovLbrguz7qnr7DAmbhnB3hRQBlBKfQyqHzd0gplDZ2uw_boAmN0GRFbnPJUvzkA5plbTKFWgjqOd8RIfHWRNS4l75gzAr-UPWPUNpqgxm8ca2ar_I6Bympzd/s320/blog+4.jpg" width="285" /></a>It is not in all communities in El Salvador where you see flowers, potted plants, lush green vegetation everywhere. Not all communities have sufficient sense of permanence, the time or ability to see beyond fulfilling today’s needs, or the sense of self-worth or pride to plant things simply for beauty. Despite their many struggles and limitations, Bendición de Dios is not one of these communities. Every home is surrounded by beautiful, healthy tropical flowers, and the area surrounding the homes, closer to the river’s edge, is full of banana and papaya trees and vines once full of squash, leafy greens and green beans. This community had put work into building homes, not just houses, and creating community, achieving a lot with very little. They had put down roots, and were here to stay.<br />
<br />
In the aftermath of this latest storm, the community has come to find that the land they purchased is owned by the Ministry of Agriculture and Cattle, which named it a Natural Reserve years ago. With this most recent storm, the land has been declared uninhabitable, due to its location between two flood-prone rivers. The sale of this land to the community was completely illegal, and although people have been paying out of their meager earnings every month, they have absolutely no right to the land they have built their homes on. <br />
<br />
And so, they will start over. With no way of getting back the hundreds of dollars they invested in the land they thought they were legitimately buying, the families of Bendición de Dios will pack up all of their belongings, disassemble their homes, and move on. To higher ground, where they won’t face flooding next rainy season. Hopefully, to land that enables them to connect to running water and electricity. To land not already owned by an unbending private owner or corrupt government agency. A tall order for El Salvador. <br />
But it seems that no obstacle is too great for people who have already overcome so much. If the hibiscus plants can flower elsewhere, maybe the families and community can, too.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfTrBwT3X_czD_mimyHyapQ3y-4-s8X5hv9-SX7WJzyQUdR1e4tqn3MQ96DBswMHYkuFArNa5fbFN2a4h3W2amcIVIq5n9R9D_6KsxnTAq_1SNEapOxOFSCf12BT2IfdRuOi_mQK7ZAi8/s1600/blog+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfTrBwT3X_czD_mimyHyapQ3y-4-s8X5hv9-SX7WJzyQUdR1e4tqn3MQ96DBswMHYkuFArNa5fbFN2a4h3W2amcIVIq5n9R9D_6KsxnTAq_1SNEapOxOFSCf12BT2IfdRuOi_mQK7ZAi8/s320/blog+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-55621852931285696012010-09-06T11:15:00.001-06:002010-09-24T15:25:03.921-06:00The Women of Llano Grande: Walking the Unpaved Road Towards Development and Justice<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE"></meta> <title></title> <meta content="OpenOffice.org 3.2 (Linux)" name="GENERATOR"></meta> <style type="text/css">
<!--
@page { margin: 2cm }
P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm }
-->
</style> <br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE"></meta> <title></title> <meta content="OpenOffice.org 3.2 (Linux)" name="GENERATOR"></meta> <style type="text/css">
<!--
@page { margin: 2cm }
P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm }
-->
</style> <br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Llano Grande's residents—thirty-five families, many composed of various generations—are among the many rural families that live in extreme poverty in El Salvador. People have lived in tin and clay shacks since arriving to the community, some ten years ago, waiting for land titles to apply for housing projects. When it rains, they and all their belongings get wet, and when it doesn't, their homes are converted into ovens. After the Ida rains last November, the bean crop was largely destroyed and corn rotted. </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBERG4BxvBrRIaT8aEpTQOrHpDFUwZ1OWQY0uB_vzC206dmeWBWRv3fBCWS3aWUPqduvm-cCAroYSUeuowvt0WZYI-9AT8xDr81S8bfm0570-pEasgOK7lE8W5dh5zBQJcUxL0J2t1QIm5/s1600/img_1576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBERG4BxvBrRIaT8aEpTQOrHpDFUwZ1OWQY0uB_vzC206dmeWBWRv3fBCWS3aWUPqduvm-cCAroYSUeuowvt0WZYI-9AT8xDr81S8bfm0570-pEasgOK7lE8W5dh5zBQJcUxL0J2t1QIm5/s200/img_1576.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">The community has no electricity, no health clinic, no community center, no school and no corn mill. In the community, there is “no paid work, there is no development, especially for women, and we're responsible for providing for and caring for children,” according to one of the many women in the women's committee I was able to meet with. From Llano Grande, it is a twenty to thirty minute walk down the dusty, unpaved road to the main street. From there, it is another hour's walk to Tecoluca, where the nearest health clinic is located. A grassroots organizatin in the region had offered a high school scholarship to a young person in this community, but the only high school age youth had already stopped studying. Because of the distance to the nearest school—an hour-long walk—many children make it to the sixth grade, at the most. At our late-morning meeting, the time that children should be entering the last class of the day, a handful of young, school-aged girls were present. </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The land, especially now in the dry season, is barren and the earth is hard and brown—after years of sugar cane production, accompanied by aerial fumigation and yearly burning, the ground is highly contaminated and no longer has the minerals crops need. This pesticide use has led to disease in the community; two otherwise healthy men have died recently from kidney failure, a proven consequence of pesticide use throughout the region. </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Families in Llano Grande do not own the land they have built their makeshift houses on; nor do they own the land they use to plant the basic grains—beans and corn—that feed them year to year. In 2009, many planted on unused lands near the community, but the owner kicked them off at the end of last year's planting season (because, the community believes, they are left-leaning). This May, when it comes time to plant again, the majority of families in Llano Grande will not have a place to grow their crops. Others have rented land, but run the risk of losing their crop because of bad weather and not making enough to pay the rent. </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Facing this kind of situation, one may think that families resign themselves to a life of poverty and misery. In Llano Grande, as in many communities in El Salvador, the contrary is true. The women we met with are organized and dreaming of projects and ideas to improve the lives of their families and develop their community.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBlN4X1RUb1pqUfm8KkCKdp6szSlmS2D6pf-pkYjC3j_zirIClg2Xm4JXaI_z_b9EAZ1IlsIvVwVMnyT_7ixuE8FFaqqiK3__6vXxFuD-Rh7tbk0fMS-ITKv1ZtNTlp4i7pinKQaDgZVN/s1600/img_1565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBlN4X1RUb1pqUfm8KkCKdp6szSlmS2D6pf-pkYjC3j_zirIClg2Xm4JXaI_z_b9EAZ1IlsIvVwVMnyT_7ixuE8FFaqqiK3__6vXxFuD-Rh7tbk0fMS-ITKv1ZtNTlp4i7pinKQaDgZVN/s200/img_1565.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">Working with a local grassroots organization, the community is advancing in the process to obtain land titles, thanks in part to a change of administration which has cut down on corruption in the infamously corrupt ISTA, the Salvadoran Institute of Agrarian Transformation. Having legal rights and legal documentation to the land is the crucial first step in soliciting housing projects, which would bring dignified homes to the people of Llano Grande. Land titles and cinderblock homes set the stage for running water and electrification projects. With <i>casa, luz y agua, </i>people are more likely to move to Llano Grande, increasing the possibility of successfully requesting a public health clinic and a primary school and, later down the line, a paved road and more regular transportation into the community. With more people, there are also more opportunities for work and development—to sustain a small corn grinder or a small store. </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Although sexism and exclusion continue to be real problems for women in El Salvador, the women's committee here in Llano Grande is full of ideas for future projects—a panadería, says one woman, and another says that there are already too many bakeries, but a corn mill they could really use. To get to the <i>molina</i>, the tiny creek becomes a river in the rainy season, and the women have to wade across to grind their corn to make tortillas or do it by hand—intense, time consuming manual labor. What about getting together the funds or taking out a loan to put in a small store in the community? </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinQTZUNTsZb6oLY69ZhQcclxOEU0Lhyphenhyphen5KLCmhwFzwH5K-VvktZUcld7h0UoqHsXjQWrQI-TieUVUkRBYyMoytaW5lCLpPXFznBOmAgkokD42BYgf59muCv5DTaPq3ePj3lg4PyafY_BE4/s1600/img_1564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinQTZUNTsZb6oLY69ZhQcclxOEU0Lhyphenhyphen5KLCmhwFzwH5K-VvktZUcld7h0UoqHsXjQWrQI-TieUVUkRBYyMoytaW5lCLpPXFznBOmAgkokD42BYgf59muCv5DTaPq3ePj3lg4PyafY_BE4/s200/img_1564.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">Women here have organized to defend and demand respect for their rights. They have also organized to gain the skills and experience to make development in their community a possibility. There are a number of women going to workshops and training on organic farming, which includes making their own, organic fertilizer and pesticides. Some of the ingredients in the pesticides are expensive, they admit, but if they come together to buy in bulk, organic farming is viable.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">CRIPDES San Vicente has supported these women by providing seeds to plant corn and beans, as well as seeds for home vegetable gardens. Through CRIPDES, the women are receiving training in different methods of planting vegetables, including ways to utilize little space and very little water and soil, a huge benefit in a community with no running water and dead earth. As a part of these workshops, women learn why organic farming is important and about protecting the environment. Two women participate in the training and will reproduce the knowledge gained with the community. One woman reflected: “Sometimes you feel alone, like you don't have anything, but with that a help, support, you feel like you have something, like you're not alone.”</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyc6yrhhuKapGJA55Tf33OXR2r1Gkww2MoXqiY5Br5-_8caYh0fXjwO2Yngo_zv4Kj2Y8fdJ4n-SN8Lvm7SI0opxZhQUeEPAb6ugYeKEGwO8tKxAyWZPUA1vZ4yrjEdbDt-REkMB7rCs0h/s1600/img_1570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyc6yrhhuKapGJA55Tf33OXR2r1Gkww2MoXqiY5Br5-_8caYh0fXjwO2Yngo_zv4Kj2Y8fdJ4n-SN8Lvm7SI0opxZhQUeEPAb6ugYeKEGwO8tKxAyWZPUA1vZ4yrjEdbDt-REkMB7rCs0h/s200/img_1570.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">Edith, one of the leaders from CRIPDES San Vicente, shares: “There are countless excuses not to participate in workshops or development or organizing, but there are women here working and getting educated. Without women leaders in the community, none of the things they have achieved so far would have been possible...its all part of a process. We can achieve anything with organization. Development we can fight for as we strengthen community organization and gain experience, knowledge and skills. We have to </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>soñar despiertas</i></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">—dream while we are awake— not just dream while we're asleep, and work to make these dreams possible.” </span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">International solidarity has played an important, necessary role in the process of development and organizing in Llano Grande, in accompanying the women and motivating them to continue. Change is a long, hard process, but much more meaningful—and joyful—if we walk that dusty road together.</span></div></div>Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-32967819909184994622010-08-24T09:40:00.002-06:002012-08-16T09:13:44.367-06:00Organic Veggies and Powerful Women Tucked away in the Chalate Mountains<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This article was originally written, in a slightly different version, for the SHARE Foundation, who, thanks to sistering groups in the US, was able to support a women's organizing and leadership project for 2010, the continuation of similar projects over the years. Part of this project, to support women's organization and empowerment and respond to the ever-worsening food crisis in El Salvador, was the funding of ten women's communal vegetable gardens. Following is the story of one of these gardens.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Los Pozos, Carasque. From Chalate proper, its another two-hour drive down roads that remind you of the many corners of El Salvador long abandoned by many consecutive governments. It's almost the Honduras border, across the Río Sumpul, site of one of the largest massacres during the twelve-year civil war, taking the lives of some 600 women, children, babies and elderly as they tried to cross the river and escape from the Salvadoran army, only to find the Honduran military shooting down at them from the other bank. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.5&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0d10d4&zw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.5&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0d10d4&zw" width="320" /></a>We make it to Los Pozos, but only about halfway up the mountain to the vegetable garden, where the women are waiting for us. We leave the Share-mobile and, in our flimsy flip flops, hike our way up. As we emerge from the brush, we see the vegetable garden, encompassed by cyclone fence, overlooking the view that could make even a lifelong city slicker fall in love: every shade of green imaginable, with the shadows of the clouds lazily making their way over hills and through valleys. Out here, there are no telephone polls, electric wires, bus noises or pollution. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.1&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0ba3t0&zw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.1&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0ba3t0&zw" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">What they do have are pipianes and ayotes (two kinds of squash, <i>pipian to the left</i>), mora and chipilín (leafy greens), basil, jicama, cucumber, radish, and watermelon, growing like wildfire in the womens committee's vegetable garden. The land, loaned by one of the group's nine members, is the site where these women are learning to plant and care for fruits and vegetables. It is their first time planting something other than corn and beans, and their first time executing a project as a committee. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gloria, who leads our tour of the vegetable garden, explains: “Where there is no organization, projects don't work.” She emphasizes that this project has helped them strengthen their organization as women: “This project is helping us to be more organized and responsible... we have to keep the the plants healthy. We know that if we are chosen for a project, we have to be responsible to ensure its success.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The community has a source of water, a spring, so on days when there is no rain, the women are able to water the crops. As they harvest, the crop will be divided between all nine women for their families' consumption, and, if there is extra, will be sold. With the price of fruits and vegetables high, this garden will allow families to expand their diets of rice, beans and tortillas with lush greens and sweet fruits.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.3&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0ca1l2&zw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.3&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0ca1l2&zw" width="200" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A local farmer, Chepito, led the nine women through the process. His house is a stone's throw from the vegetable garden, so with any question or concern, the women simply walk onto his patio and ask. Chepito's home also houses the nursery, where tomato and green pepper seedlings are currently gaining in size and strength to be replanted among the larger, heartier squash and beans. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.4&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0ci5l3&zw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.4&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0ci5l3&zw" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Chepito also has experience in organic farming, and offered to train the nine women not only in basic planting and plant care, but also in the preparation and application of organic pesticides. Made from easily accessible inputs, including hot peppers and garlic, the organic pesticide has worked in keeping worms and other bugs off of the budding plants. In Los Pozos, they also add a plant, called <i>ipasina</i>, which, according to one of the women as she scrunches her nose, “smells horrible and scares away the insects” after about 10 days of fermentation. The rest of the women laugh as she offers me the plastic jug and I take a big whiff; it's no wonder the bugs stay away!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.6&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0d9935&zw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=20b1da9e95&view=att&th=12a7d6fe4cfe4bfd&attid=0.6&disp=inline&realattid=f_gcy0d9935&zw" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The women, who come to the vegetable garden together about once a week, depending on the need, take advantage of our visit and put us to work. The radishes look just about ready, and we all happily go to work pulling them gently out of the soft, damp earth. Some of the red bulbs still aren't very big, but we're informed that the next planting of radishes is ready to go, so out they all come. As we heap them in a pile, the two children accompanying us see the instant results of our work, and join in. They're with us this morning because, for National Teacher's Day, all schools are closed. But they are getting a valuable education in organizing, women's empowerment, organic gardening, and growing in their connection to the earth.</span>Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-87464203254495388142010-08-16T18:04:00.004-06:002010-09-24T15:26:40.308-06:00"us" and "them"I have spent some time recently poking around for insight into the immigration debate in the US, to see what the proposals are and what the rhetoric is. And while the banner drop in Phoenix (as part of protests against the Arizona law) puts a big smile on my face, the vast majority of the discourse and sentiment leaves me dumbfounded. Anger and fear abound, while real conversation about all of the realities of the immigration issue has been left out, completely. <br />
<br />
In mainstream media, there seems to be no talk of the hundreds of people this year alone that have died of thirst, heat stroke, exhaustion or hunger while trying to cross the Arizona desert to feed their families. Certainly not about the situations of poverty and lack of opportunity and employment and hunger and, yes, violence that push people out of their homelands and communities, and never discussion about the US policies that exacerbate—if not create—these situations. <br />
<br />
I'm not in the United States to witness the immigration debate. I know that not all people share the hateful, ignorant, bigoted, racist ideas that have left me angered, heartbroken, speechless. I know that not all people share these ideas, and man actively oppose them. And not all people in the US have had the opportunity to live outside of their country, to experience other realities and walk alongside the people whose futures and livelihoods this debate so coldly banters around. And not all people in the United States have a vision of history beyond a fourth grade textbook or a connection to native America. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
But for me, as someone who has had these experiences, I cannot understand. I don't understand why people are so angry at the poor, at those who are so poor that they are forced to leave everything they know and love to risk life and limb on a journey where rape, extortion, robbery, extreme violence, trains, police, gangs, drug traffickers, human traffickers are a constant threat only to arrive in a place where people hate them because they are brown. So angry to argue:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>The only answer is for all illegals to be arrested, imprisoned for a short while & then deported. We need to create a no-man's land along the Mexican border where those who venture into it will be shot on sight!<br />
(-one of the many responses to <a href="http://ncronline.org/news/justice/migrants-illegals-or-gods-ambassadors">Dean Brackley's article on immigration</a>, a highly suggested read.)</blockquote><br />
Instead of being angry with the poor and with migrants, why aren't we angry with the wealthy, who have so much; multiple homes—mansions—half-million dollar cars, machines and gadgets and staff for everything, money and influence to buy the public debate on any issue that may affect them? Why aren't we angry with the system, that encourages a very few to have everything and by design leaves the majority trampled underfoot, or trampling each other to get a leg up? <br />
<br />
I find the argument that there isn't enough to go around deeply offensive. There is poverty in the US, there are people without access to healthcare, there are social problems and injustice and unemployment. But there is also so, so, so much more—in terms of opportunities, for work, for education, for a better life, for survival. More than enough to go around. <br />
<br />
Why aren't we angry with ourselves, who have more than we need to be comfortable, certainly more than we need to survive, and yet cannot seem to open ourselves to give to those who have next to nothing? <br />
<br />
<br />
******<br />
<br />
I simply do not understand how your perspective of history can be so short that you, in Arizona,* sacred land, could forget where that land came from. Forget who was there before you, and what was done to those people to forcibly, violently tear them from their land, and consequently destroy the way of life that was led on it for thousands of years. And this is not ancient history, so long ago that we can argue an excuse to have forgotten. <br />
<br />
From this historical perspective, I do not understand how white men can stand on earth that did not belong to them and say, brown people, out. <br />
<br />
If the debate, in such a capitalist and individualist society, is going to be a racist debate centered around who owns the land and who has a right to be on it by the grace of where they were born, hence defining who is “legal” or not, then white people, out. Brown people—the Mexicans and the Native Americans—have a right to that land, not you. They are the “legals.” Not English only, but native languages and native tribes and rites and customs that date back centuries before your arbitrary division of land into nationstates, as if it were pirate's booty. These peoples have a right to demand back taxes—for three centuries—not you, and bring you to justice, not for petty crimes like blocking traffic while looking for a day's work or driving without a license, but for the wholesale slaughter of their people.<br />
<br />
When one side argues for a policy of “get out or we'll shoot on sight,” I'm enraged. Enraged, and ashamed, to be associated by citizenship with people that hold these views. <br />
<br />
It seems that instead of wanting to engage in a public conversation about the future of the US and public policy, immigration hits so close to home for so many people that it has become impossible to have a civilized conversation with someone who holds a different view than we do. Our hearts and ears are completely closed to the other side; we're blind and screaming, at the top of our lungs. And this afternoon, I feel like screaming, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
******<br />
<br />
We could hope that the conversation, someday, could advance beyond “us” and “them,” beyond a narrow vision of me and mine, to include all people, regardless of nationality, of race, of religion, of color, of sexual orientation, of class. That our conversation could begin with compassion, understanding, love and a desire to have a more complete vision of the situation before making decisions or advocating for policies. I hope that we can stop hating and fearing for long enough to see that the people we have been trained to fear and hate are just that—people. <br />
<br />
Men and women and children, who are lovers and fighters and sons and daughters and mothers and fathers and dreamers. Who like singing in the shower, too, even if their shower is more like a bucket and a basin than hot, running water. Whose greatest priority, too, is their family, and then their community. Who aren't criminals or terrorists, but were pushed out of their homeland by crime and terrorism, both conventional and economic. Who are not lazy, but willing to work three under-paid jobs that many North Americans would never dream of taking, even in an economic crisis, to put food on a table in a place where otherwise, people would go hungry. Who worked for alternatives and opportunities and local development, but found US-imposed capitalist globalization simply too monolithic to overcome and had no other choice. Many of whom want to go home, but can't, and many of whom want to make a new home in the place they have lived and grown and loved and labored for years. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Clearly, it isn't just a handful of Arizonians that think this way, but an entire country. I wrote this at the time the Arizona law was about to go into effect, which is why this is directed at Arizona.Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-50903246334224425012010-07-08T13:14:00.002-06:002010-09-24T15:27:03.094-06:00On BelievingI never thought of myself as an idealist, but I have always very strongly held to the idea that things can and should and must be better, have to be just and right. And lately I find myself wondering, do you reach a point in life where you let that go?<br />
<br />
<br />
These days, I am finding it increasingly difficult to believe in and hope for the most and the best in others and the world and have these ideals met, and it's painful. Not in every situation or with everyone, of course. There are amazing people in my life and amazing things happening. But I live in a country, in a world, where life is pretty raw, and I wonder: Do I have to stop expecting and demanding and hoping for the most from everyone, because it might just run me into the ground if people keep failing to live up? Do I agree with that? Is it okay? Would it somehow make me a sellout? Because it feels like a very uncomfortable idea to me. I simply don't want to expect less, or demand less. I just don't want to. Things should be right and just, because they should be. And everyone's voice should be heard and people should be empowered and participation and consensus should be the base of decision-making and human dignity and relationships...<br />
<br />
<br />
But I also don't want to burn out at twenty-six.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Its weighing heavily—the balance between speaking truth to power and for justice, and taking care of ourselves and our loved ones and being able to continue doing the work that we love and believe in so much. People get fired or persecuted or worse for speaking up, and many times, people can't speak up because, well, putting food on the table, paying rent, student loans are all a reality. And if we do risk it all and speak up, and our voices are not heard, are lost in translation, are quieted or ignored, are written off as too young or too woman or too brown, and we lose whatever platform we had to work for justice?<br />
<br />
<br />
And on the other hand, how can we not speak up for justice and for what is right, for people who have been wronged?<br />
<br />
<br />
My convictions don't want to let me expect less, or accept things I don't agree with, or not speak out, but more and more, I see—and feel—the importance of picking my battles and choosing (as much as I can) to dedicate my time and energy to the things I feel are most valuable. And try to leave the rest.<br />
<br />
<br />
The importance of, and the need for.<br />
<br />
<br />
I dig my suegra. We're just getting to know each other, but she is an incredibly wise, patient, and kind woman. And giving. After talking about wanting her children to fly, at any cost to herself—which she certainly has achieved—she said something about getting what you expect, how your thoughts or perceptions define what you encounter. If you expect the worst, thats what you'll most likely get. And if you expect the best? Well, maybe you won't get it, but maybe, just maybe, things will seem a little sunnier.<br />
<br />
<br />
So is it all about our choices? I'm not that existentialist, but maybe focusing more on the positive, the things that are working, the projects that have an impact, however small, the things that add drops of water to my bucket, that put a smile on my face or on someone else's, will help me not only get through the day, but thrive.<br />
<br />
<br />
With so many people that don't have the privilege to thrive here, it can seem unfair. But wanting the best for ourselves does not have to mean accepting injustice. I want to give the most I can, and for that, I have to be well. And in a world where things aren't always the way we'd like them to be—just—I have to be able to be well facing adversity. And I can't do that focusing only on violence and oppression and injustice. (One of the things we talk about in coescucha is wanting to best for everyone, and that includes ourselves. Everyone should have the right and the space and the ability to celebrate their lives, as well as face adversity. So I should celebrate mine.)<br />
<br />
<br />
So maybe the most realistic question for me, today: What can I do, from where I am, right here, right now? Sitting in my floppy-backed, nearly cushion-less wheely chair with the mosquitoes making a feast of my legs and arms, with many disappointments and frustrations and deceptions, it is important to name the incredible gifts I have: a family who has fought hard to achieve in life, and continues to do so to achieve their dreams; a partner who makes me sing and dance and love and have my own dreams; an inspiring, powerful boss and role model; a group of strong and brave women that support me (coescucha, generations one and two, and many others), communities that fight and organize and have amazing patience for change; freedom to sculpt my work and grow and a curious brain to fill with knowledge and experience.<br />
<br />
<br />
This life is not just beauty and support and community and lucha, and the violence and injustice and structural oppression are raw and obvious everywhere you turn here. It is important to feel that and recognize it and name it, and deal with it and desahogar. But along with the challenges, why not focus on the achievements, choose to place our emphasis and energy on the positive? When I sit down at the dinner table, why not ask the love of my life what was good about his day, and share what was good about mine, too. Why not dream the little dreams for today and tomorrow, celebrate the little achievements, recognizing our power and ability to make those happen, and try, try, to let the rest roll off. Be stronger and happier and have more to give. And send that buena vibra, that positive energy, out into the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
Easier said than done. But why not try?<br />
<br />
<br />
Millions of questions. Answers, anyone?Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-57772949274429214202010-06-28T22:48:00.001-06:002010-09-24T15:27:18.898-06:00Reflections on Inconceivable, Unexplainable, Senseless ViolenceLast Sunday, now a week and a half ago, a public microbus was taken hostage by alleged gang members and diverted from its route. As he pulled to a stop, the driver was shot and killed. All those aboard were threatened—“no one moves”—as the bus was doused with gasoline, the door was locked, and a match was lit. The bus, with over thirty passengers inside, was quickly in flames, those trapped inside literally burning to death. Anyone who tried to escape by breaking through a window was shot. Sixteen people have died, the remaining fifteen hospitalized with varying degrees of burns, some in comas.<br />
<br />
I read today about a mother who was on the bus with her two children, ages eight and eleven. The three were returning home from a day in el centro, enjoying their Sunday together as a family, when the bus was lit on fire. To save her daughters from burning alive, she tried to break open a bus window with her elbow. The glass wouldn’t give, and in her desperate attempt, she completely shattered her elbow, and, as she kept trying, her arm. She finally broke through, throwing her girls out of the bus one by one. But the threat—no one moves—was serious: the girls were immediately shot at with a 9mm and M16s by assailants surrounding the bus. Miraculously, both girls survived their gunshot wounds, albeit with scars that will last a lifetime. Their mother is in the hospital in a coma; she went unconscious soon after launching her children from the window and was rescued when police arrived at the scene ten minutes after that attack. Her arm was amputated, sacrificed in an attempt to save her loved ones. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
This barbaric event has people terrified. Understandably so. A society that already lived in fear of violence, delinquency, crime, youth with tattoos, young men with baggy pants or shaved heads, a society that never recovered from a brutal civil war that took the lives of some 75,000 innocent civilians in brutal ways, is now facing another episode of post-traumatic stress. The vast majority of people in the country depend on public transportation to get around. Before, attempts against public transportation have been aimed solely at drivers and cobradores, the guys that collect fares. Buses have been burned, but only once all passengers have been allowed off. It is hard to imagine the depths to which we can sink; it is hard to imagine what has happened in their lives that led these jóvenes to light a bus-full of civilians—men, women, children, elderly—on fire and shoot at them as they tried to escape. <br />
<br />
It is hard, terrifying, to sit with that image. It is impossible to comprehend what people experienced as they faced death, either by burning alive on the bus or by throwing themselves into the gunfire on the other side of the flames. <br />
<br />
There are lots of theories, all with merit. One is that this is another act in an escalating gang war for territory in Mejicanos, or in retaliation for the killing of a gang leader, or for rights to charge renta, extortion, of certain bus lines. Another is that this is a terrorist act, designed by the economically and politically powerful of the right to strike fear into the general population and paint the now year-old Funes administration as incapable facing the situation of insecurity and violence in the country, as well as in response to his administration’s efforts to crack down on rampant corruption, including the dismantling of drug bands in the Eastern part of the country with direct ties to high-level police. Names of leaders of the right-wing party are whispered as potential intellectual authors. Another hypothesis is that Mexican or Columbian drug cartels, under pressure from ramped-up US repression, are making their presence felt in El Salvador, marking their territory and instilling fear with acts reminiscent of drug-related violence in Juarez or Cali.<br />
<br />
In a country where death is commonplace, where if a loved one isn’t home by a certain time or doesn’t quickly return a phone call, all the worst things—the nightmares—immediately enter your mind, all reasonable concerns, this barbarous act has everyone reeling. Shooting someone, dismembering bodies, leaving faces unrecognizable, raping women to instill fear, leaving bodies along the roadsides in a clear signal that life is not valued pale in comparison. <br />
<br />
And all of the potential explanations make “sense:” if the right-wing and death squads could orchestrate El Mozote, where children were shot in cold blood as their mothers screamed for mercy and babies were bayoneted by soldiers, taking the lives of an estimated 800 innocent civilians, burning a bus and taking the lives of 14 people doesn’t seem so far-fetched. If drug cartels in Mexico have taken the lives of over 5000 people in this year alone in ways that make you nearly vomit thinking about and kept a civil war going in Columbia for over four decades—all with the US government’s support, of course—similar violence in El Salvador, a key country along the drug trafficking route and a place where drugs are woven throughout all levels of public office, a couple dozen more victims doesn’t seem a high price for territory. As gang youth are brutalized by police and further marginalized by society, forced into the shadows and painted as the root of all problems in El Salvador, the escalation of violence this year—in which the news started counting the number of massacres carried out beginning in May because there had been so many—may have paved the way for this extreme expression of power and control.<br />
<br />
But while we can reason out all of these potential explanations, while they all make sense in our minds—they all likely played some part in this most recent case of horrendous violence—there is no explanation or reason that could potentially put us at ease, satisfy our need to understand, help us grasp the incredible dimensions of this act. One, we will never know the truth. The justice system in El Salvador is far too broken, far too corrupt, far too insufficient and ill-equipped and ill-prepared to solve even the most run-of-the-mill homicide (97% of all homicides go unsolved here). In addition, were any single one of these hypotheses true, the authors behind them would never let the truth be known. So we will never know why these people were so hideously murdered, made to suffer unthinkable horrors before being relieved with death. <br />
<br />
But even in the case that the investigators could do their jobs and the truth was uncovered, I don’t believe that there is a reason that could ever suffice, an explanation that would allow us to understand. How could we? How could it be possible to even try to imagine why this happened, how it was possible for a group of human beings to design and carry out such incredible torment and suffering of others? <br />
<br />
In response, because we have nothing to hold on to, absolutely no sense of security, safety, justice, normalcy, no way of understanding—on the head or heart level—knee-jerk responses abound. People clamored in the days after the massacre for the death penalty to be reinstated in El Salvador, and the newest right-wing party presented a bill in the Legislative Assembly to amend the constitution, admitting that they had not done the research to know if the death penalty was a good option for El Salvador, but that they were responding to the desires of the population. Funes, the supposed leftist President, asked the Security Department to present a bill declaring gang membership a crime. Asked in a press conference how gang members would be identified, the Vice-Minister of Security said, “the existence of tattoos or other kinds of evidence.” <br />
<br />
In 2003, former President Flores passed the Mano Dura law (Iron Fist), which allowed police to sweep up youth who “looked” like they belonged to a gang, throw them in jail, inevitably beat and mistreat them, and then release them 72 hours later when charges failed to be presented. Declared unconstitutional for obvious reasons, a second law, the Super Mano Dura, was put into effect for a number of months before the Flores administration ended. Human rights organizations long criticized these measures as repressive and useless in the fight against violence. A law against illicit association and organized crime passed during the Saca administration (2004-2009) allowed police to pick up people whom they suspected of illicit associations, which in practice meant that three or more young people standing together on a street corner could be detained and taken to jail. Youth throughout the country faced serious repression and police brutality. In a recent article published about life in the Campanera, a neighborhood infamous in El Salvador for violence and gang presence, a mother was quoted as saying, basically, damned if you do, damned if you don’t—if they’re going to harass, abuse, repress, beat you anyways, you might as well join a gang and get some protection. Right?<br />
<br />
<br />
These are not measures, in my opinion, that can even begin to address the deep-seated problems facing El Salvador. If anything, experience has shown us that responding with violence and repression only worsens the situation—with ramped-up repressive measures and prison construction as the linchpins in security policy, homicides have been on the rise since the end of the war, while prevention programs remain scarce, underfunded, are widely criticized and garner little support from government and civil society, and opportunities for poor, urban youth to improve their lives and earn a living do not exist. Potential solutions, which would involve a myriad of approaches and programs and education and awareness and challenging stereotypes and stigmas and battling corruption and economic incentives and… would be complicated and complex, and if possible, would take a very long time. It is hard to see, if the drug cartels really have entered El Salvador, how they fight can be won. It is hard to see, if the right-wing is involved and continues to employ war-time terrorism against civilians as long as their interests are threatened, how this violence will end. If it is an escalation of gang rivalry, how does it end if there is no leverage in negotiations, if there is nothing to offer, and when life seems to value so little?<br />
<br />
I had planned to make my second entry more hopeful, to focus on a story of life and promise. They do exist; they’re everywhere. But they are too often overshadowed in El Salvador by inconceivable, unexplainable, senseless violence. I end with questions, because I have no answers. My only hope is that violence from all actors continues to be opposed, whether it be gang violence, drug violence, economic violence, state repression, police violence, military violence; that we continue to push for and demand government programs that help prevent violence and give youth who want opportunities the space to grow and participate in their communities and society; and that we continue to inspire in each other the hope and the desire to seguir adelante, llenos de amor.Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2206107209965667071.post-18682227773620787562010-06-05T15:22:00.001-06:002010-09-24T15:27:46.569-06:00How can we walk with love in a place that all too often responds by bringing us to our knees?<div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkQ3MX7HnCnfox7uTsPp22f2KsvxnjE9dixYhuTi7cuDDEHrHC78cuG1WwDuq_APNpd3bt9LgruvzjbpBC6wJ8WUnUGjidniLav6IMmC9Bh-kptZZ-TGtDUNdEs7oGjeVoAnRogo3U-lR/s1600/tedde+cloud.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: #993399;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479405990075642658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkQ3MX7HnCnfox7uTsPp22f2KsvxnjE9dixYhuTi7cuDDEHrHC78cuG1WwDuq_APNpd3bt9LgruvzjbpBC6wJ8WUnUGjidniLav6IMmC9Bh-kptZZ-TGtDUNdEs7oGjeVoAnRogo3U-lR/s320/tedde+cloud.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 146px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 198px;" /></a> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CColette%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CColette%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia;"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CColette%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia;"></link><style>
<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-520092929 1073786111 9 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} -->
</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">It has been over four years since I packed my bags and moved my life to El Salvador. As I sit down to write something to send to friends and loved ones about how I am and where I am, one thing consistently comes to mind. Life here is deeply exhausting, in many senses. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">El Salvador is like a petri dish of all social ills, six million people crowded into a tiny country where justice and oppression abound in place of opportunities and dignity. The reality is life-draining and easily leads to feelings of complete impotence and desperation. Is there anything that can be done to create change? Is there anything <i>I </i>can do to create change? Is this all hopeless? On the best days, we believe that the arc of justice is long, but bends towards justice. On the worst days, the healthiest response seems to be running as far away as possible, far, far away from the world. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">There are moments where the levels of violence make you sick, and perhaps more, your response to them. How is it that you, too, have come to accept the twelve murdered people per day; how is it that those people came to represent a <i>number </i>that you, too, throw around and talk about abstractly, without thinking, feeling, caring for the names, families, stories behind the numbers? One of my own biggest internal struggles has been the mistrust, distrust, suspicion of fellow human beings, especially men, and more especially young men, that I have been encouraged, nearly forced, to develop. Everyone is approached with caution, and instead of giving people the benefit of the doubt, we are encouraged to assume the worst in everyone. Instead of being able to offer my smile and hello to the people that inhabit the streets and sidewalks, the people that work the stoplights for change, eye contact is avoided, windows are rolled up and car doors are locked, greetings from strangers are ignored and the street is used as barrier between oneself and suspicious looking characters. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">The walls that we are subtly and outright told to put up go absolutely and irrefutably against our feelings of humanity, our desire to offer love to all that we encounter. And against the dignity of all beings, even those that sniff glue on the corner or treat us as sexual objects. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">It is exhausting and defeating to live in this dichotomy, where the things that we believe in are <i>not </i>the things that we live. It is exhausting to live watching our backs, but it is more exhausting to shut ourselves down to others, to assume the worst, to feel desensitized to the violence that surrounds us; violence of knives, guns, streets and economic, political, structural, gender violence. It is exhausting to live from one crisis to another, from hurricanes to earthquakes to politically-motivated disappearance to the raw, in-your-face poverty of rural communities without access to land titles and all that follows. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">It is exhausting and dehumanizing, and it is too easy to get swept up and swept away, to let your own humanity be drained away, along with your hope for change and your faith in fellow humans. There is so, so much wrong in this country and with this country, and the obstacles are so, so huge. And so lasting. It is easy to see and think that things haven’t changed at all since the Spanish arrived; its that same oppression and injustice and poverty and structural violence, just with different names and different forms. It is still the filthy rich and the powerful getting richer and more powerful off the backs of the barefoot poor. And when the oppressed organize and educate each other and demand their rights and propose changes, they are silenced. All the while, the poor continue to pull each other down, and continue to tell the story about the Salvadoran crabs pulling each other down into the boiling pot instead of helping each other to get out. Rich kill poor through economic policies, exploitation, gun sales, war, and negligence. Poor kill poor with guns, sexual violence, over petty differences and family histories. Rich rob from poor through exploitation, tax evasion, corruption. Poor rob from poor through extortion, armed assaults, looting. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">No one lives safely or feels safe in this county. Those who can afford it hire private security guards. Those who cannot walk in a near trot with their heads down, purses clutched closely to body, from bus stop to front door. Many people blame the problem on gangs and youth. Others believe that the system is responsible, not the youth, but are hard pressed to offer solutions to the problem, especially when the state has no resources to dedicate to prevention and rehabilitation even if the will to create such programs existed. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" face="georgia" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">I want to believe in love. I want to believe that it has the power to heal, to lift people up, to dignify, that change begins with, grows out of, is born from love. I want to believe that hope comes from love, and that love can be, is, a deep, cool, life-giving, nourishing stream for the long, long road ahead. But then I am told that I shouldn’t visit my Salvadoran family because it’s too dangerous at night. But then I offer a hello to the young man on the corner, and he offers up a slew of lude remarks in return. How can we walk with humility, dignity and love, and offer our love, in a place that all too often responds by laughing at our naiveté and bringing us right back to our knees?</div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">We can only begin to find answers on a day-to-day basis. Like hope, we find reasons to love, and find love itself, in the small things, the small actions and words and gestures offered up to us when we least expect it, and sometimes, when grace steps in, when we most need it. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">An incredible thing about this place is that you are reminded, sometimes gently, often violently, of the resilience of the human spirit. Our hearts are ripped open, and people, often when we least expect it at least want it, crawl into our hearts and make room for themselves. There is always more space there, more space to fall in love with new people, with their stories and their history and their struggle and their faith and hope, and the little things that make them so unique. A toothless smile, a way of invading your physical space that pushes your boundaries and forces you to accept the human warmth being offered, the beef soup humbly served to an almost life-long vegetarian who has no choice but to clean her plate, smiling all the while. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" face="georgia" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">It is the people and the stories and the relationships that make sticking around in this corner of the world, fighting in, fighting for, fighting with this corner of the world, not only worth the effort, but a beautiful, graced life. </div><div class="MsoNormal" face="georgia" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;">How do we walk with love? I'm not sure. But we can believe in it, and seek it out, and offer it as frequently as possible, in the ways that we know how. We can try; I can try. </div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #003333; font-family: georgia;">Thinking about life and love, I cannot help but immediately think of Colette. A living, breathing example of offering oneself up with love and in love, having it not always work out the way we hope, and then continuing on, resilient, in love and with love. Colette, the woman who asks you to find something beautiful, one specific thing to hold on to, when she knows you’ve had a bottom-scraping week. Colette, who loves first, asks questions later, and knows no other way but to take you as you are and kiss your dirty feet and love your broken soul. The most powerful example I have ever met of living and loving, of living in a way that, if we could all follow her example, would make the world a much, much better place overnight. The best example of bravely putting yourself out there, bravely loving despite the odds, lovingly and gently challenging barriers and stigmas and norms and inviting you, with a smile, to join her beautiful dance.</span> </div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #993399; font-family: arial; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></div>Theodora Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14086889531331201853noreply@blogger.com5