Two Month Reflection
I'm writing this March 10, my two month anniversary being here in El Salvador. I just finished listening to an mp3 of a forum at Grace Cathedral (in SF) with David Batstone, talking about his new book, Not For Sale, and the campaign against human trafficking and modern slavery that is going along with it (the forum was about a month ago, so I don't know if the file is still available, but I would recommend listening to it if you can). Dave was my professor last year and is amazing. He mentioned in the forum how in the 1980's he formed an organization of people with U.S. passports to come down to El Salvador to be with people who were at risk of being targeted by the death squads. They wouldn't dare kill a U.S. citizen, so it was a way to protect the Salvadorans. He used his gifts, one of them being a U.S. passport, to save people's lives.
Over the last month, since I wrote my one month reflection, I've become more comfortable with all those questions I was asking. I haven't figured out the answers, but I think I've gotten closer. The big thing I was struggling with was how do I fit my privilege into a commitment to justice and service to the poor. I said last month "I am the oppressor," which a number of people took exception to. I said it because I am an active part of an economic system that is based on exploitation of the poor and the world's natural resources, and I am on the top end of that, receiving the benefits. By participating in that system, I am helping to keep people down. That's why I called myself an oppressor. It doesn't mean I'm trying to or wanting to, but that's the way it is, and it's not something I can easily escape from. What I can do is acknowledge where I fall in the system and see what I can do to stop perpetuating oppression and change the system that creates and maintains poverty. I have to acknowledge my context and work with it.
So what are my gifts and what is my calling? While I do have a U.S. passport, I don't have Dave Batstone's daring to go to a war-torn country and accompany people likely to be assassinated. One great gift I have is my experience here. Few people who have the privilege (and potential power) that I have get the experience of spending time with people in very real poverty. One of the biggest problems with the world, I believe, is that we dehumanize people who are distant from us - economically, geographically, socially, or whatever. If we recognize that an undocumented immigrant is not just one of those "illegals" but my friend Lupita's sister or my friend Amilcar's parents, it gives us a different perspective. If we recognize that the hundreds of thousands (millions?) of people devastated by two major earthquakes here in 2001 are the people I'm spending my days with every Monday and Wednesday, it gives a face to the number. I've been given the gift of humanizing people who are poor. The scholarship students who are my friends and the wonderful children at my praxis site are very real people.
At a retreat we had a couple weekends ago, I experienced something I don't really know how to describe, at least not without writing a lot more than I want to, but basically I realized how strongly I hear myself being called to serve the poor, to work with the poor, to live the Beatitudes, but I'm scared of what that means concretely in my life. I think that even though I keep saying I don't know what I want to do with my life, the answer is right in front of me, it's just that I don't want to see it because it won't be easy, and I love easy things. At this retreat I was faced with figuring out what sort of poverty I am called to - kind of that same question I asked last month, about whether it's socially and morally responsible to live a middle class life. Spiritual direction with one of the leaders helped me some. He talked about working within your own context and what's really important is to not value material things more than people. That sounds simple, but in practice we very often do put the material above the person. All this is a real challenge, but I take this seriously, and I don't want it to be one of those "Oh, wouldn't that be nice" things, and just go on living my life.
I also recognized something I've noticed a number of times through this experience, that I feel a lot of hopelessness. I look at all the world's problems and how deeply rooted and interconnected they are, and I feel like it just won't change, at least not before it gets a whole lot worse. And if/when it does change, whatever replaces it will still have problems because people are not perfect. People will always be greedy and uncaring. My problem is, can I truly commit myself to working for justice if I think total justice can never be achieved? Will my whole heart be in something that I believe isn't going to happen? Yes, maybe we can get food into a community, but we have to change the entire global economic structure to eliminate the root problems. How do I balance being realistic and being hopeful? With some reflection and discussion, I've been able to restore some hope and some faith in humanity that at least some change is possible, and even though there will always be problems, they don't have to be nearly as bad as they are now. Vamos a ver.
This doesn't really go along with the rest of what I'm writing, but I hate the fact that I'm so afraid here. I don't like walking down the street, and I'm uncomfortable especially around men I don't know because of the blatent machismo. I feel like I don't belong here and I stick out like crazy. The machismo has made me so much more aware that sexism still exists in very real ways. I guess I've grown up pretty sheltered from sexism, and even though I knew it existed, of course, I've never seen it like this before. It's shocking and inexcusable and I feel like I can't do anything to change it. I can't really. An American college student is not going to change a deeply ingrained part of a foreign culture. Still, this experience has made me a lot more aware of women's issues, which will stay with me when I return to the U.S.
This last month has been a really good one, overall. I have mixed feelings about this experience being halfway over. On the one hand I have so much more to learn and my Spanish is far from where I'd like it to be, but on the other hand I miss home, and I think of how much I've learned over the past two months and I know there's a lot more to come.
Over the last month, since I wrote my one month reflection, I've become more comfortable with all those questions I was asking. I haven't figured out the answers, but I think I've gotten closer. The big thing I was struggling with was how do I fit my privilege into a commitment to justice and service to the poor. I said last month "I am the oppressor," which a number of people took exception to. I said it because I am an active part of an economic system that is based on exploitation of the poor and the world's natural resources, and I am on the top end of that, receiving the benefits. By participating in that system, I am helping to keep people down. That's why I called myself an oppressor. It doesn't mean I'm trying to or wanting to, but that's the way it is, and it's not something I can easily escape from. What I can do is acknowledge where I fall in the system and see what I can do to stop perpetuating oppression and change the system that creates and maintains poverty. I have to acknowledge my context and work with it.
So what are my gifts and what is my calling? While I do have a U.S. passport, I don't have Dave Batstone's daring to go to a war-torn country and accompany people likely to be assassinated. One great gift I have is my experience here. Few people who have the privilege (and potential power) that I have get the experience of spending time with people in very real poverty. One of the biggest problems with the world, I believe, is that we dehumanize people who are distant from us - economically, geographically, socially, or whatever. If we recognize that an undocumented immigrant is not just one of those "illegals" but my friend Lupita's sister or my friend Amilcar's parents, it gives us a different perspective. If we recognize that the hundreds of thousands (millions?) of people devastated by two major earthquakes here in 2001 are the people I'm spending my days with every Monday and Wednesday, it gives a face to the number. I've been given the gift of humanizing people who are poor. The scholarship students who are my friends and the wonderful children at my praxis site are very real people.
At a retreat we had a couple weekends ago, I experienced something I don't really know how to describe, at least not without writing a lot more than I want to, but basically I realized how strongly I hear myself being called to serve the poor, to work with the poor, to live the Beatitudes, but I'm scared of what that means concretely in my life. I think that even though I keep saying I don't know what I want to do with my life, the answer is right in front of me, it's just that I don't want to see it because it won't be easy, and I love easy things. At this retreat I was faced with figuring out what sort of poverty I am called to - kind of that same question I asked last month, about whether it's socially and morally responsible to live a middle class life. Spiritual direction with one of the leaders helped me some. He talked about working within your own context and what's really important is to not value material things more than people. That sounds simple, but in practice we very often do put the material above the person. All this is a real challenge, but I take this seriously, and I don't want it to be one of those "Oh, wouldn't that be nice" things, and just go on living my life.
I also recognized something I've noticed a number of times through this experience, that I feel a lot of hopelessness. I look at all the world's problems and how deeply rooted and interconnected they are, and I feel like it just won't change, at least not before it gets a whole lot worse. And if/when it does change, whatever replaces it will still have problems because people are not perfect. People will always be greedy and uncaring. My problem is, can I truly commit myself to working for justice if I think total justice can never be achieved? Will my whole heart be in something that I believe isn't going to happen? Yes, maybe we can get food into a community, but we have to change the entire global economic structure to eliminate the root problems. How do I balance being realistic and being hopeful? With some reflection and discussion, I've been able to restore some hope and some faith in humanity that at least some change is possible, and even though there will always be problems, they don't have to be nearly as bad as they are now. Vamos a ver.
This doesn't really go along with the rest of what I'm writing, but I hate the fact that I'm so afraid here. I don't like walking down the street, and I'm uncomfortable especially around men I don't know because of the blatent machismo. I feel like I don't belong here and I stick out like crazy. The machismo has made me so much more aware that sexism still exists in very real ways. I guess I've grown up pretty sheltered from sexism, and even though I knew it existed, of course, I've never seen it like this before. It's shocking and inexcusable and I feel like I can't do anything to change it. I can't really. An American college student is not going to change a deeply ingrained part of a foreign culture. Still, this experience has made me a lot more aware of women's issues, which will stay with me when I return to the U.S.
This last month has been a really good one, overall. I have mixed feelings about this experience being halfway over. On the one hand I have so much more to learn and my Spanish is far from where I'd like it to be, but on the other hand I miss home, and I think of how much I've learned over the past two months and I know there's a lot more to come.
posted by Amber at 3:39 PM
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