Dusk at the border - Juarez is at the
base of the mountains
The time has come for me to go. The phase in which you start receiving odd and slightly offensive comments from anonymous readers is a sign that you are ready for round two... the next blog.
I spent seven months of this year preparing to move from Columbia to Colombia. As the "ring before spring" phenomenon hit my graduating class, I watched as women planned their summer weddings. While some dated to find and finalize their fiancés, I speed-dated Colombians. I asked Colombians to coffee, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Applying for the Fulbright in Colombia justified any and every excuse for time within the Colombian community. I thought that by September 2011 I would be writing from a witty new URL that somehow referenced Colombia. However, I am proud to now write from the US Mexico border.
For every anonymous comment, I had a community of bloggers that continued to offer support to a student desperately trying to articulate her experiences in the Global South. Unfortunately, I have to leave this network because I am moving from Blogspot to Tumblr. I would have remained loyal to Blogspot for another three years, but a nice man has the URL I want. I would wait him out, but he has been MIA since the 2008 election.
I am certain that I would have loved living in Colombia if I had been chosen for the Fulbright. I would have been swiftly inducted into the expat community and eventually adopted into the Colombian one. However, it would not have been a perfect vocational fit. My application was strong, but not balanced. I demonstrated a profound interest in Latin American politics and a certain knack for paramilitary activity, but lacked in classroom experience. It was no coincidence that I applied to work in a country that just demobilized over 30, 000 paramilitary troops. Ultimately, it is appropriate that the applicant with no teaching experience was passed over for the English Teaching Assistant. Others are far more qualified to teach in the public schools of Bogotá or Bucaramanga.
However, I have never been more certain of a right decision. The Border Servant Corps is where I belong. The Border Servant Corps is an opportunity for me to work at the margins of the margins. I have been given the chance to live with a view of "exiting empires." Each day I am in between El Paso and Ciudad Juárez, I am a witness to the empire of violence, greed, and oppression. However, each day that I go to work, I bear witness as these empires are replaced by communities who defy the femicide in Juarez, the violence less than a mile away, and the fence itself.
My hope is that my new blog, Exiting Empires, will be permanent - that my life and work will always have a view of "exiting empires." I had a strict policy with Ali is Now Abroad that I would try not to regurgitate my daily activities. Instead, I tried to offer a concise and analytical narrative of what I was experiencing in the Global South. Consequently, this blog cataloged not only trips to four continents, but my maturation as I grew to articulate my political consciousness. However, Exiting Empires will be a reflection of my daily life. When you have a front row view of a city saturated with conflict, you have a responsibility to echo the voices who "say no those who invite us to wash our hands of the crucifixions we witness daily" (Eduardo Galeano).
A view from my neighborhood. To my right is Juarez,
Mexico and the border fence.
The URL for my new blog is: http://exitingempire.tumblr.com/
I was quite shocked at how busy my schedule remained my last year at Furman. The time I anticipated spending in "Traveler's Rest" involved little travel and no rest. Therefore, I sought out other spaces to use for reflection. They were not frequent, but the few times I had available, I spent with the Lilly Center. The Lilly Center for Vocational Reflection led two retreats I was able to attend. One at Mepkin Abbey to a monastery in Charleston, and the other in North Carolina modeled after NPR's series, "This I Believe."
The following is the essay written one weekend with Lilly:
I believe in the streets. I believe in their power, their healing, and their sanctification. I believe in the holy act of civil disobedience.
Yes, the streets are a political platform to advocate for the oppressed. But, I am an echo, not their voice. Just as I fight against public injustice, I am fighting for my own self-preservation.
I have to fight for peace of mind – the right to use the streets for political change and a private peace. It is only in the streets that I can translate this anger and this sadness into a prophetic witness. Into joy. Into hope. The streets save me from being lost in translation.
Just as I believe in the transformative power of the streets, I believe in one date in particular – November 21. You will find me at the gates of Fort Benning. I am holding a cross that bears the name of a woman killed in the massacre of El Mozote.
November 3, three weeks before the School of the Americas protest, I am touring the work of their graduates. 800 civilians dead. Our group is walking now. We carry our books for class and our cameras. To our left is the new church. The old one was used to burn children alive. We turn.
We walk to the house where the women were held before being lined up and shot. This? This is the tree that the only survivor of the massacre hid behind. And that? That is the riverbed she laid in before she could escape the 26 soldiers of the Actlatal Battalion.
November21. What am I doing here?
I am looking for other believers.
I am being photographed. I am being watched by soldiers stationed at even intervals around us. While they line the streets, a helicopters hovers over us.
How did I get here? I am a kid from the suburbs. While I stay on the streets for three days, my beautiful family waits nicely behind in our gated community appropriately named … The Enclave. In the Enclave, there is only room for whispers of social justice. I can drink fair trade coffee and try to buy clothes not made in a sweatshop. But, I have read the sign, NO soliciting! Dissent will not be tolerated. There will be no call to arms within gated communities.
With three years in the streets on November 21, this I have learned. I am called to exile. To leave the gated community and suburbs and head to the streets. There, we will find room for truth and justice. Not whispers, but shouts. There I can lay my cross alongside thousands of others at the gates.
Why am I here? Because 19 of the 26 soldiers of the Atlactal Battalion were trained at the School of the Americas in Columbus, Georgia. Because my country sent billions of dollars to a tiny country in Central America to fight a dirty war against civilians. Because in the streets, my life has integrity.
This I believe. There is truth to be found behind barricades and between police officers.
Memorial to the victims of the El Mozote massacre, El Salvador
The new school beside where the old school once was
The names of the children are listed below the mural
The destroyed home where the women of El Mozote were kept still shows bullet holes
Gates of Fort Benning after the November 21 Memorial Service
Rufina Amaya, the only survivor of El Mozote
Father Jon Sobrino, the only survivor of the Jesuit Massacre in El Salvador at the UCA carries a cross for Ignacio Ellacuria at Fort Benning. This was the first time Father Sobrino attended the vigil since his brothers were killed on November 21, 1989.
As part of the Vista House community, we all share our narratives during the year. In the process of attempting to articulate my story & theology, I wrote the following prayer:
I am deliberately writing this out - pen to paper, heart to soul. As a daughter of privilege, seeking to follow my Father to His crucified people - this is my only connection - the contact point inside my head. My people, my fragile and beautiful friend group - my tribe cannot handle this. I can barely handle this.
God, give me peace of mind. Peace of Spirit. Trust. Let me trust my community. Let me be confidant in my story of faith, in my testimony. - that I have found You in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. that you did not find me in Bible studies and white suburban churches. I don't want to look for you there, because if there - you would be the predictability I was resisting. You did not fit nicely in between the American dream of 3 kids, a Volvo and a gated community.
Lord, give me peace. Give me righteous anger, but take away this rage.
I have more peace of mind abroad, in the face of extremes, than here. There, I can exhale and trust you. I know I am in the Kingdom of God. But, here - am I strong enough to fight my own head? Take this morning- I woke alone a little before 7 to shower and prepare to lead Morning Prayer. I turned on Al Jazeera for the morning news. Listening from afar, I heard news of a sniper and immediately thought Sarajevo. I looked to see if I recognized the buildings, the neighborhood - kinda. Sure enough, and to my dismay, it was BiH. At least abroad, I am braced, ready for the 2 extreme worlds. But, here, it is the subtlety that is alarming - I am not just a 22-year-old getting ready one Tuesday morning. I am shocked when I complete my outfit with a scarf, and realize, I have put on Sarajevo. I am wearing her. This is intimate. This is a lifestyle.
I am trying to process the thoughts and feelings of seeing Sniper Alley, people running for water - for their life. Srebrenica. These violent thoughts follow me down the stairs and into the kitchen. As I make coffee, I think - you don't know me. You cannot possibly want in my head. It's barely 8 am, and I've already been to war.
I flirted with a gap-year before college, but ultimately never took one. I knew I would not come back. Instead, I promised myself that I would be a commuter - traveling between the Global South and Global North whenever possible. Ultimately, Furman allowed me to visit more countries as a full-time student than I could have ever imagined. I was not only politicized around issues of social justice, politics, and the Global South, but became addicted and consequently chased what has been named the "third world glow."
This blog was never supposed to mature into just that, a full-functioning/developed blog. What started as the now standard college blog to largely communicate with parents and friends, was quickly catalyzed into something entirely different with my introduction to Latin American politics. I became fascinated with narrating what I was witnessing, not what landmarks I had hit in country X. Yet, in an attempt not to regurgitate my daily travel schedule via posts chronicling my every move, I have failed to fill in some gaps - mainly in communicating when I returned Stateside.
I was so eager to disassociate myself with the formulaic suburban lifestyle, I was convinced the urgency and intensity found abroad simply could not exist in the United States. In reality, this blog title applies more to my time spent Stateside. The culture shock hits here, where the beautiful Latin American people who have so generously invited me into their struggle are now the faces I see as landscaping crews or janitorial staff. I literally went from one extreme to another - leaving the Americas Social Forum in Paraguay for a home state now threatening a version of Arizona's SB 1070. It is nothing less than shocking to leave a culture saturated with discussions of human rights, social movements, and progressive government policies to enter into a sanitized political environment devoid of Latino support networks.
Now back in the Unites States for an entire academic year, finishing up the credits needed to graduate, I am slowly learning to negotiate the tension of life in South Carolina, and effectively advocate here. It is a constant battle to convince myself to stay. At the time of the attempted coup in Ecuador, I was stunned to realize I had to bring up the breaking news if the class was to discuss it. I have no interest in playing with ideas, parading around a manicured campus in the shadow of the ivory tower, while Latin America was on on fire - escalating threats against human rights activists in Guatemala, massive mining protests in Bolivia, and the election in Brazil expected to replace the popular Lula with female presidential candidate Dilma Rousseff.
So, where do I call home? A tiny town outside of Furman named .... Traveler's Rest. I am hoping that my mother can now take a break from sending me polite emails reminding me to come home.
After previewing life abroad, I could not live on campus where my entire world would be behind the university gates. Furman is fortunate enough to have a progressive campus ministry known as the Mere Christianity Forum. All my experience and travel can now be expressed as a lifestyle I believe in - living as part of a community offering a different version of faith. I live at the Vista House, an intentional Christian community dedicated to hospitality, community and the arts. Six residents live at the house with the hope that our home can be a sanctuary for students. The bottom floor of our home is always open to the Furman community as provide meals twice a week. Each Sunday we gear up for $4 dinners, where we serve between 20-50 students vegetarian meals. Wednesday nights are reserved for our ongoing dinner serious known as "Evening With...". The Vista House invites Furman faculty or community members to our dinner table to engage in "sharp dialogue and intentional conversation". Our presence on campus is expressed through the Mere Christianity Forum - a Christian ministry that compliments others at Furman by creating a space for dialogue. Taking the lead of our namesake, CS Lewis, we try to advance a framework of faith, reason and tomfoolery by hosting weekly theological forums.
So, if you are ever in the neighborhood, I finally have a guest room to offer!
Eight countries, two continents. One poverty studies grant for research in Bosnia and a plane ticket for a conference in Paraguay. If I had one mantra it would be quite simple. WORK THE SYSTEM
With so many resources and funding available for students, it is like a game. Classes can be planned for years in advance, scholarships translate and therefore can be used for study abroad, speakers can be invited to campus, additional funding applied for. If you want to attend a conference, look for a call for papers and submit yours - it is normally the only requirement to secure your travel expenses be covered. Quite often, your university will have an office responsible for student travel/grants etc (at Furman this is Susan Zeiger, director of internships). Summer internships offer even more options- Poverty studies and Furman Advantage both give out 2-4k dollar grants. In addition, your department has independent funds. Go for both. This blog is a testament not only on how easy the game is, but how easy the game should be. Why shouldn't we have access and information to all opportunities of exposure?
The following article was written for the "O-Week" edition of the Paladin, which is typically read as an advice issue to incoming freshman.
I came to Furman to leave. What permanently recruited me were the study abroad programs Furman offers.
I wanted to use the opportunities presented to gain exposure to all that I could absorb; to study abroad as frequently and in as many countries that a four-year degree would allow. Eight countries and three years of an undergraduate degree later, I have yet to regret my decision to allow Furman to escort me through Latin America and Africa. Why would I stay stateside when I could take the exact same class abroad?
I have little interest in touring the western, industrialized world. In my opinion, Europe seems more appropriate to save for when you are an older person, someone with a Volvo, children and a mortgage. It represented the status quo, a simple mirrored reflection of a life I was already familiar with. I wanted an explicit break - an environment so challenging that the only option was the change and adapt. The curriculum for the Global South is sexy, the subject matter on fire: revolutions, "dirty wars," U.S. foreign policy, poverty, inequality and resistance. A reaction is demanded in response to the issues confronted; one is not allowed to remain neutral. You will never be bored, but always provoked.
The study abroad programs in the Global South, the developing world, are unique in the sheer intensity they offer. The programs are built on a foundation of autonomy and mobility allowed by a structure where professors travel with the students. Consequently, the students are not anchored to one university; yet experience a new country with each new class, often visiting four countries per term. Thus, pedagogy is given a pulse when the classroom becomes mobile.
Nicaragua, El Salvador, Botswana, South Africa - this is authentic engaged learning; experiential learning at its finest. The subjects are saturated with context. Often times, an average day abroad will consist of two rounds of meetings, a tour and a lecture during class. In addition, the home stay component allows pairs of students to briefly live with families to get a taste of authentic local life. The first week schedule of the southern Africa trip is the perfect example of the pace: day one in South Africa we heard from a former freedom fighter involved in the anti-apartheid struggle and visited Soweto, with the Hector Pieterson Museum and President Mandela's home. Careful not to waste precious night hours, we heard a lecture from Dale McKinley, a Furman alumnus. Finally, we found ourselves completing our assigned work in Soweto, the famous South African township. We were living in the same place we were reading about for our homework.
In short, Furman has an amazing amount of resources for students to utilize. Scholarships are not lost in translation- they often fund travel.
So sojourn as often as you can. This is our time to explore, to change and to be pushed. To those hesitant to leave behind the familiar, I promise the vacuum you fear will develop in your absence will be more than filled with what you bring home - new friends, new experiences and new ideas. Go abroad, and go South. Let Europe wait.
What is one to do when all political activity is prohibited while on a visa?
Attend an institutionalized protest. Better yet, find the largest gathering of social movements and activists on the continent, and ask your university to fund your flight.
Today was the final day of The Americas Social Forum, a five day event I legally and officially attended as a participant. The Americas Social Forum is a regional gathering that operates as part of the World Social Forum: ¨an open meeting place where social movements, networks, NGOs and other civil society organizations opposed to neoliberalism and a world dominated by capital or by any form of imperialism come together to pursue their thinking, to debate ideas democratically, for formulate proposals, share their experiences freely and network for effective action. Since the first world encounter in 2001, it has taken the form of a permanent world process seeking and building alternatives to neoliberal policies.¨
The forums attract thousands from all over the world, many of who were united after The Battle in Seattle. The Battle in Seattle witnessed a formal coalition of social movements, a green/red blend where activists representing campaigns from Labor, human rights, environmental campaigns, etc. all united to shut down the WTO Ministerial Meeting. This was not the first time activist opposed exploitation and injustice, yet this was the first time cohesion between the interest groups was visible. Building on this momentum, the World Social Forum was born in Porto Alegre Brazil, intentionally using a city that utilizes a framework of economic democracy to highlight a just economic system and a concrete alternative to blind neoliberal capitalism. Since 2001, this platform has been used to build concrete and explicit mechanisms to build Another World and strengthen the global justice movement.
My main objective was exposure. I was familiar with the themes and even some of the groups. I had even formally studied the WSF, between my ¨Social Movements & Collective Behavior¨ class and my Medical Sociology/Public Health class (where the project with Dustin started the crazy process to ask for funding) I was so impressed, it was surreal to be actually attending. To have a pass. To have an official bag. To have to choose what sessions and workshops I wanted to attend.
¨The World Social Forum is also characterized by plurality and diversity, is non-confessional, non-governmental and non-party. It proposes to facilitate decentralized coordination and networking among organizations engaged in concrete action towards building another world, at any level from the local to the international, but it does not intend to be a body representing world civil society. The World Social Forum is not a group nor an organization.¨ Over the course of five days, I went to mostly human rights/faith and politics events. My first session reminded me of why I was in Latin America, to act in solidarity with the people who do not have the luxury of forgetting. Of people who still remember Operation Condor, the role of the US government, and the thousands of disappeared.
My faith and politics session opened with a beautiful dedication to those who were assassinated while trying to bringing God´s Kingdom. The moderator asked for any names we wanted to acknowledge - just hearing Ignacio Ellacuria and Archbishop Romero profoundly moved me. The next activity had all the participants write a symbolic word and then place it on a map of Latin America - seeing the priest I just met that morning write ¨I will not be afraid¨ reminded me of the severity of this situation. This forum, this fight, is among people who have survived. If we chose to have met as activists, students, church leaders and lay people had in the 1970s and 80s, seeing justice, our fate would have been forced disappearances by the paramilitaries that terrorized Latin America.The same stories of those that were on display at The Museum of Memory.
One perk of attending a forum of this size as a student is the networking. I went alone but met up with a friend from Cochabamba. One morning I attended sessions with a German couple, one of which was press. Due the surprising lack of North Americans, we by default attracted attention: I as interviewed while waiting for the presidents to arrive, asked to pose for pictures with an Argentinian NGO group, and listened as a woman asked questions about our government. Ultimately, I was able to make friends and scout for future employers. This is the ultimate opportunity - everyone of interest is consolidated. One organization I am now considering is WITNESS, a human rights organization that uses video advocacy to fight back. The workshop showed us how to use Flip Videos to film human rights abuses, and as others around the world are doing, ¨see it. film it, change it.¨ I am particularly curious to know how the older gentleman in the class will use this new skill, I can only imagine him on the front lines of a riot doing interviews.
And, finally, I was able to see Evo, el Presidente. I missed him in La Paz, thinking he would be there for Independence Day and not realizing that he had gone to Santa Cruz to remind them they really can´t secede. I have never been more excited to see automatic machine guns - it meant that the rumor was true, and even though Evo didn´t join the President of Paraguay during a conference, he chose to speak at the closing ceremony (he was a social movements leader after all). I was one of those people who is clearly affected by celebrity - I like to think I am not, but in the middle of the Bolivian section, above the Wiphalals, I strongly reacted to the sight of Evo and Rigoberta Menchu.
This was the perfect way to conclude my time in Cochabamba. I was already fiercely loyal to a Latin America that people seem to pass for Africa, but now I am hopelessly in love and in awe with a people that ¨Say No.¨
Using to learn the Flip-Video in a workshop with WITNESS
Amnesty International, ¨Mas derechos humanos = Menos pobresa¨ Breaking for lunch
Opening ceremony and march, the Bolivians lead the way
"Disdain betrays History and mutilates the world. The powerful opinion-makers treat us as though we do not exist, or as though we are silly shadows. The colonial inheritance obliges the so called Third World - populated by third-class people - to accept as its own memory of the victors who conquered it and to take on the lies of others and use them as its own reality. They reward our obedience, punish our intelligence, and discourage our creative energy. We are opinionated, yet we cannot offer our opinions.We have a right to the echo, not to the voice, and those who rule praise our talent to repeat parrot fashion. We say no: we refuse to accept this mediocrity as our destiny.
And within this framework, we say no to the neutrality of the human world. We say no those who invite us to wash our hands of the crucifixions we witness daily. To the bored fascination of an art that is cold, indifferent, contemplative of its mirrored reflection, we prefer a warm art, one that celebrates the human adventure in the world and participates in this adventure, an art that is incurably enamored and pugnacious. Would beauty be so beautiful if it were not just? Would justice be just if it were not beautiful? We say no to the divorce of beauty and justice, because we say yes to the powerful and fertile embrace they share."
