Everyone,
My eyes filled with happy tears as I read all of your birthday wishes just now! It feels so wonderful to have so many people in my life that love me - I love you all so much too! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
I had a wonderful birthday yesterday and was sung the birthday song in English, Spanish and Miskito, a local indigenous language! The family we were staying with made me a cake, and even though I´ve been incommunicado all week, I was lucky enough to talk with Mom, Maeve and Mark! So I had a wonderfully happy birthday!
Muchas gracias!
Love to you,
Em
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
My Confrontation with a Ladron in La Maximo…
Greetings!
Yesterday afternoon at about 1:00 three friends and I were walking from the SIT study center to the local bakery, about three blocks down the road. We were hot and sweaty and enjoying a long day of essay writing. I was eager for a refresco de cacoa, a delicious, cold, milk-less chocolate drink, and I was clenching my money in a small change purse in my hand. We exchanged greetings and smiles with people on the street – there is lots of socializing on Sunday afternoons – and then suddenly my purse was snatched from my hand. Without thinking I swirled around, noted a guy about my age making an escape on a bike (he was in the process of changing direction), and as he began to pedal I dashed after him and grabbed onto the back of his shirt. Startled by the tension he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Suddenly we were surrounded by about ten neighborhood men and at least fifty bystanders. The ladron (thief) tried to escape again, but was detained by the aggressive blows of the men. He finally relinquished the money and stumbled away, not seriously hurt but certainly shaken up.
Unable to fully comprehend what had just happened – my heart was racing and my instinctual reaction had startled me – my friends and I were comforted by the witnesses, who by and large were our neighbors (we all live within a few blocks from the study center), and were advised to be more careful - to stash our money in our bras and to be watchful at all times. We then continued our quest for refrescos.
The event took place so quickly that I was hardly able to understand what had transpired until we talked it over in the minutes that followed. Obviously the ladron had targeted us and snuck up behind us on his bike. Relishing our break from work, we weren’t as vigilant as usual and had been caught off guard. During the next moments my adrenaline took over, and contrary to all of the advice I’d received and to what I thought was my own disposition, I stood up for myself and tried to detain the ladron. The irony was that my reaction was completely illogical (though arguably when adrenaline kicks in, explaining something with logic is useless), because I had only 100 cordobas in my purse- about $5. If he’d had a knife or gun on him, as many ladrones do, or it had been nighttime and fewer people had been on the street, my reaction could have turned out quite dangerous- I’m hoping that I was intuitively aware that this action was reasonably safe under the circumstances. I was also concerned because while I had no intention of harming him, the beating he took from the other men could have, which would certainly not have been worth it. But, the only way to fully understand this event is to place it in the broader context of security in Nicaragua. The country’s police force is seriously under funded, so petty crime, such as robbery, must be dealt with by the people, and the only way to keep one’s neighborhood safe is to teach the thieves a lesson. It was an act of solidarity, because it was not solely my foreignness that made me a target- Nicas are targeted frequently too- and there is general disgust in the community with thievery. In fact, during orientation we were told that when someone notices a ladron on a city bus, they will notify the bus driver who will stop the bus and lock the doors, then, it was explained, “mutiny ensues.” It’s the people’s way of cleaning up the streets- of ensuring their own safety and that of their families. Of course I thought about how the ladron could probably have used the $5 more than I, and that I should have just let him go, but that would have been perpetuating a dangerous and violent habit. I am hoping that this taught him a lesson.
So word on the street about the chelita’s (white girl’s) brave confrontation with the ladron spread quickly and when I returned home my host mom beamed with pride, though warned me sternly to be more careful. That evening we went out to buy vegetables for dinner, and three people stopped to tell us the story of the “valiant white girl who pulled a thief off of his bike” not realizing that she was in their presence, nor, of course, that their story was exaggerated.
I was ashamed at first that I had reacted with force- after all, as my academic director explained, he was simply relieving me of my attachment to material possessions. (I think this is the greatest way to frame robbery!) But, I also realized that I contributed to La Maximo’s grassroots justice system, on which my host family, neighbors and friends depend. The best part of all though, was that as a hero for a few hours, the men who usually lurk on the corners and whistle and hiss and propose to me as me as I walk by, greeted me amicably- they were the guys who had confronted the ladron, and perhaps they now respected me for attempting to defend the community. (Whether I deserve this admiration is unclear- I didn’t choose to grab the poor guy by his collar- my body reacted before I was cognizant of the situation- but I don’t mind this new esteem! Friendly hellos are much better than belittling piropos (catcalls)).
So, I am not posting this to concern any of you! Don’t worry- I’m safe and well and clearly the community is vigilant! I just think it is a culturally significant story that you might find interesting. And, I promise, from now on I will be more careful!
My love and warm wishes to all of you! Enjoy the beginning of spring!
Em
Yesterday afternoon at about 1:00 three friends and I were walking from the SIT study center to the local bakery, about three blocks down the road. We were hot and sweaty and enjoying a long day of essay writing. I was eager for a refresco de cacoa, a delicious, cold, milk-less chocolate drink, and I was clenching my money in a small change purse in my hand. We exchanged greetings and smiles with people on the street – there is lots of socializing on Sunday afternoons – and then suddenly my purse was snatched from my hand. Without thinking I swirled around, noted a guy about my age making an escape on a bike (he was in the process of changing direction), and as he began to pedal I dashed after him and grabbed onto the back of his shirt. Startled by the tension he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Suddenly we were surrounded by about ten neighborhood men and at least fifty bystanders. The ladron (thief) tried to escape again, but was detained by the aggressive blows of the men. He finally relinquished the money and stumbled away, not seriously hurt but certainly shaken up.
Unable to fully comprehend what had just happened – my heart was racing and my instinctual reaction had startled me – my friends and I were comforted by the witnesses, who by and large were our neighbors (we all live within a few blocks from the study center), and were advised to be more careful - to stash our money in our bras and to be watchful at all times. We then continued our quest for refrescos.
The event took place so quickly that I was hardly able to understand what had transpired until we talked it over in the minutes that followed. Obviously the ladron had targeted us and snuck up behind us on his bike. Relishing our break from work, we weren’t as vigilant as usual and had been caught off guard. During the next moments my adrenaline took over, and contrary to all of the advice I’d received and to what I thought was my own disposition, I stood up for myself and tried to detain the ladron. The irony was that my reaction was completely illogical (though arguably when adrenaline kicks in, explaining something with logic is useless), because I had only 100 cordobas in my purse- about $5. If he’d had a knife or gun on him, as many ladrones do, or it had been nighttime and fewer people had been on the street, my reaction could have turned out quite dangerous- I’m hoping that I was intuitively aware that this action was reasonably safe under the circumstances. I was also concerned because while I had no intention of harming him, the beating he took from the other men could have, which would certainly not have been worth it. But, the only way to fully understand this event is to place it in the broader context of security in Nicaragua. The country’s police force is seriously under funded, so petty crime, such as robbery, must be dealt with by the people, and the only way to keep one’s neighborhood safe is to teach the thieves a lesson. It was an act of solidarity, because it was not solely my foreignness that made me a target- Nicas are targeted frequently too- and there is general disgust in the community with thievery. In fact, during orientation we were told that when someone notices a ladron on a city bus, they will notify the bus driver who will stop the bus and lock the doors, then, it was explained, “mutiny ensues.” It’s the people’s way of cleaning up the streets- of ensuring their own safety and that of their families. Of course I thought about how the ladron could probably have used the $5 more than I, and that I should have just let him go, but that would have been perpetuating a dangerous and violent habit. I am hoping that this taught him a lesson.
So word on the street about the chelita’s (white girl’s) brave confrontation with the ladron spread quickly and when I returned home my host mom beamed with pride, though warned me sternly to be more careful. That evening we went out to buy vegetables for dinner, and three people stopped to tell us the story of the “valiant white girl who pulled a thief off of his bike” not realizing that she was in their presence, nor, of course, that their story was exaggerated.
I was ashamed at first that I had reacted with force- after all, as my academic director explained, he was simply relieving me of my attachment to material possessions. (I think this is the greatest way to frame robbery!) But, I also realized that I contributed to La Maximo’s grassroots justice system, on which my host family, neighbors and friends depend. The best part of all though, was that as a hero for a few hours, the men who usually lurk on the corners and whistle and hiss and propose to me as me as I walk by, greeted me amicably- they were the guys who had confronted the ladron, and perhaps they now respected me for attempting to defend the community. (Whether I deserve this admiration is unclear- I didn’t choose to grab the poor guy by his collar- my body reacted before I was cognizant of the situation- but I don’t mind this new esteem! Friendly hellos are much better than belittling piropos (catcalls)).
So, I am not posting this to concern any of you! Don’t worry- I’m safe and well and clearly the community is vigilant! I just think it is a culturally significant story that you might find interesting. And, I promise, from now on I will be more careful!
My love and warm wishes to all of you! Enjoy the beginning of spring!
Em
Monday, March 23, 2009
El Salvador and the FMLN Victory!
Amigos y Amigas,
I suppose at this point you have all read about the Farabundo Marti Front for National Liberation´s (FMLN) unprecedented victory in last Sunday’s election in El Salvador, but I’ll fill you in about what happened on my end – it was such an exciting day!!
On the day before the election we took a three-hour bus ride from San Salvador to the department of Cabañas, on the border of Honduras. We traveled a long and winding highway through sleepy villages and bustling towns, all of which were decorated with election propaganda- posters of the two candidates were plastered to sides of homes, bus windows and light posts; telephone poles and rocks were painted in the FMLN’s signature red and white or ARENA’s (National Republican Alliance) red, white and blue; cars sported party flags and people wore T-shirts to indicate their political preference. The people were nervous- both Mauricio Funes (FMLN) and Rodrigo Avila (ARENA) supporters were hesitant to predict a winner- the polls were close and, most elections in the past 20 years, including January’s departmental and municipal elections, were rigged in favor of ARENA. Eventually we arrived in the town Victoria, located in a very poor, rural and politically rightwing part of El Salvador, which was to be our command center on election day.
Before we left San Salvador we were trained as official election observers by the Iniciativa Social para
When we arrived in Victoria we met up with members of a youth radio station, Radio Victoria, who had press permits to observe the election. I may have mentioned in an earlier blog that the radio is an essential tool for communication in rural Nicaragua and it turns this is the case in El Salvador as well. In fact, the radio has major historical significance in El Salvador because it was used as a mobilization strategy during the civil war in the 80’s – the only way clandestine guerillas could learn about the status of the liberation movement, including the latest insurgencies and tactics, was to tune into Radio Venceremos - “the voice of the revolution.” Though Radio Victoria serves a different purpose than its 1980’s forbear, its leftist bent is somewhat revolutionary in this conservative department. Also, many of the reporters, most of whom are between the ages of 18 and 24, were born and raised in refugee camps in Honduras (due to the U.S. backed civil war), and endured the pain and horror that ensues from this sort of displacement. As a result, they are staunch supporters of the FMLN.
We paired up with radio reporters (they promised to maintain neutrality on election day!) who were accompanying us to our assigned voting centers in municipalities around Victoria. We awoke at 3 AM on the 15th, dressed in our "official" election observer T-shirts, piled into a bus and were dropped off in small groups across the countryside. Mike, another SITer, and my radio friends, Eliseo and Daysi, and I were stationed in a town called Tejutepeque about an hour and a half from Victoria. We made our way to the voting center, and after showing our official badges to the guards at the door, were premited to enter. At this point, my official observation commenced!
I was expected to observe the entire electoral process in this voting center, paying attention to specific criteria outlined in observation forms and noting questionable behaviors. I also had to call our command center three times to report my observations. One form dedicated to the opening of the polls, asked an array of questions including whether or not the Vote Receiving Board (JRV) knew the set-up procedures and how to cast their own ballots, as well as if all of the necessary materials were present, if the voting stations were properly assembled and if there was partisan propaganda in the voting center. The second form asked whether either political party was being violent, whether the JRV properly checked voter’s IDs, when, if ever, citizens were denied a vote, among others. Finally, the vote closure form asked questions about final vote counts and the presence of authority figures in the voting center.
In this voting center there were eleven JRVs (no more than 450 citizens could legally be assigned to a single JRV) serving a population of about 5000. Organized alphabetically, voters had to determine which JRV they were assigned to by finding their name and photo on a board corresponding to a specific JRV. Each JRV was comprised of a president, a secretary and two vocals. Half of all JRVs in the country were staffed with an FMLN president and half were staffed with an ARENA president. The secretary was always from a different party than the president and one vocal represented each party. In addition, a vigilante from each party patrolled the JRV table. So in all there were six people at each voting table and when a voter approached she would show her ID to the president who would verify it in a registry. The secretary would prepare the ballot by stamping and signing the back and tearing off a corner marked with a corresponding number. The voter would then be handed the ballot, which was a practically blank paper- on one half was the FMLN flag, and on the other was the ARENA flag- and would be told to draw an X through the flag of her chosen party. Illiteracy is pervasive in this country, so a very simple ballot was essential. She would take her ballot to a nearby voting booth, mark it, fold it in quarters and stuff it into a slit in a large cardboard box near the JRV. A vocal would then immerse her thumb in indelible ink to prove that she’d voted and the other would ask her to sign the registry (if she didn’t know how to write her name she could use her fingerprint instead). Having successfully voted, she was free to go.
The voting process was simple, and surprisingly uneventful in Tejutepeque. People were friendly, especially to me and the other international observers. They’d flash me smiles, offer me food and water, and glance at me regularly, soliciting approval. They wanted us to see that they were doing it right- that there was no fraud or other voting misconduct. Actually, their overly attentive and accommodating attitude was a bit unsettling – I approached this as a learning experience as they approached me as an expert in democracy, a title I certainly cannot claim. It was clear, at least in this voting center, that they wanted the election to go smoothly. They wanted to show the world that Salvadorans can conduct a just election and that their era of electoral fraud has come to a close. Perhaps this is a grandiose statement, but I think it is somehow accurate. Being able to confidently state a winner, even on the level of one JRV, must feel like a triumph. At the JRV I observed during the closing, ballots were removed from the collection box one by one, the party marked was announced by the president, the ballot was shown to everyone present (including me!) and handed to the appropriate vigilante to be counted aloud. FMLN received 138 votes and ARENA received 175 votes, but perhaps most pleasing to both parties involved was the certainty and honesty with which these numbers could be reported.
At about
When we returned to San Salvador the following day the merriment persisted. An iconic statue in the middle of the city was dressed in FMLN garb, people walked with their heads high and the color red was ubiquitous. The couple who owns the guest house where we were staying, both of whom had prominent roles in the revolution and are very politically active today, told us that we witnessed the most momentous event in the past 500 years of Salvadoran history! An exaggeration I’d say, but the sentiment was real. I suppose years and years of overt oppression, injustice and abuse of power make a just victory through a purportedly ideal process – democracy – a glorious triumph. A number of people told us that they would now divide their lives in two eras: before and after this election. For many it really was a life-changing event- one to be cherished, one to restore faith in their country an people! For me it caused my eyes to open once again - I´m increasingly suspicious of U.S. foreign policy in Latin America (apprently manifest destiny persists...), intrigued by Salvadoran and Nicarguan notions of citizenship, political identity and human rights (very new concepts in this part of the world), and a little more wary of "democracy" than I was a few months ago (perhaps it is just one blip in the human quest for just governance).
Until next time…
Monday, March 16, 2009
A bit on the election!
Hey all! Here is a short entry two of my friends and I wrote this afternoon for the SIT blog... I´ll write more about it soon!
After twenty years of National Republican Alliance (ARENA) leadership, on March 15, 2009, the Salvadoran people succeeded in electing a candidate from the opposing political party, the Farabundo Marti Front for National Liberation (FMLN). Mauricio Funes, the moderate FMLN candidate, has gained national respect for his work as a journalist, most well known for his independent and reliable reporting, and his candidacy has brought a fresh face to the traditionally militant FMLN party. Rodrigo Avila, the right-wing ARENA candidate, perpetuated his party’s tactic, instilling fear in the people and accusing the FMLN of being an enemy of the United States in order to dissuade voters from voting for Funes. Not only was the FMLN victory significant for their party, it was a momentous achievement for Salvadoran democracy. According to Jaime Sanchez, a reporter from Radio Victoria, a community radio station in Cabanas, this election “was an exercise in democracy for the country…For the first time, the Salvadoran people have brought about an alternation of power, which is essential for a healthy democracy.”
Five days before the election, the students from SIT Nicaragua arrived in El Salvador to be trained as international election observers. Through the Social Initiative for Democracy (ISD), we received our credentials and left for Cabanas, a department to the north of San Salvador on the Honduran border. As observers, we were instructed to pay close attention to the opening and closing of voting sites along with any suspicious activity throughout the day. For example, in San Isidro, some students witnessed a confrontation between election officials regarding fraudulent identification cards; the FMLN representatives accused nearly ten people of posing as deceased members of their community in order to vote. Another student observed an ARENA official “accidentally” tearing FMLN ballots during the counting process, which according to electoral law, nullifies them. These isolated anomalies and others of their nature, while significant, did not prevent the nation from successfully holding a democratic election. Our group ended the night alongside student reporters from Radio Victoria—celebrating hope and change with our Salvadoran counterparts!
lovem
After twenty years of National Republican Alliance (ARENA) leadership, on March 15, 2009, the Salvadoran people succeeded in electing a candidate from the opposing political party, the Farabundo Marti Front for National Liberation (FMLN). Mauricio Funes, the moderate FMLN candidate, has gained national respect for his work as a journalist, most well known for his independent and reliable reporting, and his candidacy has brought a fresh face to the traditionally militant FMLN party. Rodrigo Avila, the right-wing ARENA candidate, perpetuated his party’s tactic, instilling fear in the people and accusing the FMLN of being an enemy of the United States in order to dissuade voters from voting for Funes. Not only was the FMLN victory significant for their party, it was a momentous achievement for Salvadoran democracy. According to Jaime Sanchez, a reporter from Radio Victoria, a community radio station in Cabanas, this election “was an exercise in democracy for the country…For the first time, the Salvadoran people have brought about an alternation of power, which is essential for a healthy democracy.”
Five days before the election, the students from SIT Nicaragua arrived in El Salvador to be trained as international election observers. Through the Social Initiative for Democracy (ISD), we received our credentials and left for Cabanas, a department to the north of San Salvador on the Honduran border. As observers, we were instructed to pay close attention to the opening and closing of voting sites along with any suspicious activity throughout the day. For example, in San Isidro, some students witnessed a confrontation between election officials regarding fraudulent identification cards; the FMLN representatives accused nearly ten people of posing as deceased members of their community in order to vote. Another student observed an ARENA official “accidentally” tearing FMLN ballots during the counting process, which according to electoral law, nullifies them. These isolated anomalies and others of their nature, while significant, did not prevent the nation from successfully holding a democratic election. Our group ended the night alongside student reporters from Radio Victoria—celebrating hope and change with our Salvadoran counterparts!
lovem
Monday, March 9, 2009
Musings on Ruben Darío and Lacoste
Greetings from Hot and Sunny Nicaragua! (I meant to post this before I made a crazy trip home for an interview in Boston and speedy return to Central America- I´m in El Salvador now! Sorry it´s a few days late...)
I spent the past week, with the exception of the weekend, in Managua finishing up Spanish class (I can´t believe it either!), immersing myself in our module called "The Culture of Peace," and enjoying increasingly subtle, though no less revealing, learning experiences.
The other day I was reading the novel, La Mujer Habitada (The Inhabited Woman), by Gioconda Belli, an extraordinary Nicaraguan author-poet. I came acoss the word, azahare, which I could not find in my dictionary, and asked my host dad, Eddy, what it means. Eddy, an overweight, uneducated bus driver, physically slow due to a stroke, smiled at me warmly and began reciting a poem by Nicaragua´s pride and joy: Ruben Darío. Los azahares, I deduced, are organge blossoms.
One of the most striking elements of Nicaraguan culture is the people s genuine love of poetry. Children and adults, rich and poor, educated and uneducated write and/or recite poetry. Ruben Darío and others are quoted daily- in speeches, newspapers, murals and graffiti, and the belief that everyone is a poet is cited often. Interestingly, literacy does not seem to be a prerequistie for an appreciation of poetry, and actually, in my experience, the correllation is nonexistent. During the war, poetry camps, in which citizens were brought together in warehouses to create poetry, were formed, to maintain this essential element of Nicaraguan culture. Perhaps it is the natural beauty of this country that provokes expression through poetry- awe-inspiring volcanoes and lakes are abundant - or the painful throes of war and curruption. Regardless, I am amazed when an illiterate peasant recites a verse, or a middle-aged man uses Darío´s art to define ¨orange blossom.¨
I spent the past week, with the exception of the weekend, in Managua finishing up Spanish class (I can´t believe it either!), immersing myself in our module called "The Culture of Peace," and enjoying increasingly subtle, though no less revealing, learning experiences.
The other day I was reading the novel, La Mujer Habitada (The Inhabited Woman), by Gioconda Belli, an extraordinary Nicaraguan author-poet. I came acoss the word, azahare, which I could not find in my dictionary, and asked my host dad, Eddy, what it means. Eddy, an overweight, uneducated bus driver, physically slow due to a stroke, smiled at me warmly and began reciting a poem by Nicaragua´s pride and joy: Ruben Darío. Los azahares, I deduced, are organge blossoms.
One of the most striking elements of Nicaraguan culture is the people s genuine love of poetry. Children and adults, rich and poor, educated and uneducated write and/or recite poetry. Ruben Darío and others are quoted daily- in speeches, newspapers, murals and graffiti, and the belief that everyone is a poet is cited often. Interestingly, literacy does not seem to be a prerequistie for an appreciation of poetry, and actually, in my experience, the correllation is nonexistent. During the war, poetry camps, in which citizens were brought together in warehouses to create poetry, were formed, to maintain this essential element of Nicaraguan culture. Perhaps it is the natural beauty of this country that provokes expression through poetry- awe-inspiring volcanoes and lakes are abundant - or the painful throes of war and curruption. Regardless, I am amazed when an illiterate peasant recites a verse, or a middle-aged man uses Darío´s art to define ¨orange blossom.¨
***
I have told a few of you about the sweat shops, or, euphemistically, the free trade zones, in Nicaragua. Cement buildings surrounded by barbed wire two-stories high, spewing pollution into the sky, are the workplaces of thousands of Nicas. Sickly, boney people and dogs mill around these cement and wire compounds. Trash blows in the wind. Villages of plastic, carboard and tin homes have sprung up around the sites.
I´ve also told a few of you about the strange abundance of popular U.S. brands such as American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, Reef, Hollister, and Aeropostale in run-down shops on Managua´s street corners. A Lacoste polo here costs under $6.00.
I was disgusted when I put two and two together.
When I returned from the campo I felt weighed down by my numerous possessions. I have few here and many more at home and every one of them is tugging at me. I feel like I´m dragging them along behind me. More exhausting, though, is the moral weight of my things, which is exacerbated by sheer quantity. How much suffering did this shirt cause? What about the bag and book? Of course these sentiments are wrapped up in neoliberalism and the inherent inequities of global economic systems, but the reality - the implications - are here on the ground.
Here´s another one: My host family in the campo produce coffee, which they sell to cooperatives in Matagalpa for pennies, which then sell it to companies in the U.S and Europe. Dark, robust, organic coffee. But, they drink and served me Nes-Cafe. Believe it or not, it was cheaper for them to buy this weak, instant variety than to consume their own crop. (Transforming the grape-like coffee beans to the dried, shelled and roasted beans we buy in the grocery store at home can be a long and expensive process...) I can´t stop thinking about how by purchasing Nes-Cafe, my campo host family inadervtantly exploits their neighbors - some other group of poor peasants, slaving away in a (most likely) U.S.-owned coffee plantation. What a system! It is cheaper to buy a processed, tasteless, chemical-filled variety of your own crop, than to create it it yourself. They have no option but to propogate an insidious system that fundamentally immobilizes them!
I have told a few of you about the sweat shops, or, euphemistically, the free trade zones, in Nicaragua. Cement buildings surrounded by barbed wire two-stories high, spewing pollution into the sky, are the workplaces of thousands of Nicas. Sickly, boney people and dogs mill around these cement and wire compounds. Trash blows in the wind. Villages of plastic, carboard and tin homes have sprung up around the sites.
I´ve also told a few of you about the strange abundance of popular U.S. brands such as American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, Reef, Hollister, and Aeropostale in run-down shops on Managua´s street corners. A Lacoste polo here costs under $6.00.
I was disgusted when I put two and two together.
When I returned from the campo I felt weighed down by my numerous possessions. I have few here and many more at home and every one of them is tugging at me. I feel like I´m dragging them along behind me. More exhausting, though, is the moral weight of my things, which is exacerbated by sheer quantity. How much suffering did this shirt cause? What about the bag and book? Of course these sentiments are wrapped up in neoliberalism and the inherent inequities of global economic systems, but the reality - the implications - are here on the ground.
Here´s another one: My host family in the campo produce coffee, which they sell to cooperatives in Matagalpa for pennies, which then sell it to companies in the U.S and Europe. Dark, robust, organic coffee. But, they drink and served me Nes-Cafe. Believe it or not, it was cheaper for them to buy this weak, instant variety than to consume their own crop. (Transforming the grape-like coffee beans to the dried, shelled and roasted beans we buy in the grocery store at home can be a long and expensive process...) I can´t stop thinking about how by purchasing Nes-Cafe, my campo host family inadervtantly exploits their neighbors - some other group of poor peasants, slaving away in a (most likely) U.S.-owned coffee plantation. What a system! It is cheaper to buy a processed, tasteless, chemical-filled variety of your own crop, than to create it it yourself. They have no option but to propogate an insidious system that fundamentally immobilizes them!
More to come on coffee later... Also, stay tuned with the presidential elections in El Salvador. I´m going to be an official international election observer this Sunday!
Stay well and happy!
Love,
Em
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