Early on Friday U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agents opened fire on a fishing boat in the Honduran state of La Mosquitia. They mistakenly believed that the boat was trafficking drugs. Two pregnant women and two men were killed, with four others wounded.
The U.S. war on drugs is a failure. This latest incident is only a minor example of the devastation that U.S. drug policy, in coordination with Central American state governments, has had on those who are trapped in the violence.
The people who fish for lobster along the eastern coast of Central America are already an extremely poor population whose job is extremely hazardous. It's unacceptable that, on top of the other dangers they face, they face the danger of being murdered by U.S. troops.
The steps that are needed to eliminate incidents like this one are many, and the U.S. government is unlikely to take them any time soon. Despite a growing consensus among Latin American governments that decriminalization and regulation of drugs is the most effective way to end the drug-related violence that is devastating countries like Honduras, Mexico, Guatemala, and Colombia, the United States continues to focus on military solutions in producing and transit countries. Since 2008, the United States has given $361 million dollars to Central American governments for the purpose of fighting drug trafficking, and is looking to give more. Much of this money goes to Honduras, where a military coup ousted the democratically-elected president in June, 2009, exacerbating the fragility of institutions in this country.
Journalists have been one group that has suffered after the coup, with more than 20 journalists murdered since the coup almost three years ago, including two in the last two weeks.
The U.S. drug war does not make Honduras a freer society, it does not protect civilians, it does not strengthen institutions; in fact, just the opposite is true. The U.S. drug war assists in repression, murders civilians, and allows those in power to operate with impunity.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Re: Upendo: Interconnected
On April 10 i shared a blog from my friend Jenny, who's working with the Peace Corps in Kenya, and promised a reflection. At last, here it is:
First of all, i'd like to say that i really resonate with Jenny's critiques of Western aid to developing countries. There are many destructive flaws in the ways that Westerners respond to poverty, and Jenny just touches the surface of what some of those flaws are. Funneling money towards photogenic projects, giving hearing aids to people who can't afford batteries, donating clothes that undermine the local textile economy, reinforcing a culture of dependence - even when we try to do good, we often look very clumsy and foolish.
A lot of the problems Jenny is describing can be recognized in that Westerner's pervasive response to poverty: "How is it fair that i have so much, while these people have so little?" This question betrays a faulty approach to poverty for a number of reasons. Jenny addresses one of them, which is that it is not true that wealthy people have "so much" while the poor have "so little." We are simply so well-trained to see others' worth in terms of the stuff they have, that we don't recognize the resources that the poor have to offer. The fact that we live on a vulnerable planet with limited resources only magnifies this problem. In a way, we have so much because they have so little. And you are right about at least one thing: It's not fair.
The question "How is it fair that i have so much, while these people have so little?" betrays another fatal flaw. The implicit emphasis is on those who have so little. The problem lies there, with those people. You could almost hear the question as "Why is everything so right with me, while everything is so wrong with them?"
For this reason, i really appreciate Jenny's focus on her own journey through knee-jerk, guilt-induced reactions to poverty to some of the responses that she suggests later in her blog. And as her journey is personal, so are the responses that she suggests. She eats home-cooked good, fresh, local food with her friends. She enjoys the peaceful Kenyan evening absent of electric lights and TV. She debunks myths about Kenyans or USAmericans through her personal relationships. She suggests we show more humility and more responsiveness to the desires of those we wish to help.
Jenny is right that these responses seem much more complicated than simply writing a check to the monolith called "Charity." She's right that these responses take "legwork" - much more than we are inclined to put in. And a much larger portion of this legwork has to do with changing ourselves - our own patterns of consumption and coercive relationships - than our whites-in-shining-armor complexes might allow.
Lastly i'd like to address one response that i'm tempted to make as i think about the issues that Jenny raises. I'm tempted to feel guilty for giving or resent those who do give. I'm tempted to think "Don't you know that you're probably just doing more harm than good, anyway?" I'm tempted to view all efforts by Westerners, including myself, to make a situation better as only arrogant and completely misguided. Basically, i'm tempted to allow the complexity and difficulty of truly working for more justice in the world to paralyze me in inaction. However, i think that those who allow the overwhelming challenges posed by the issues Jenny raises to defeat them before they even begin to try to address them are just as guilty, if not more so, as those who give their time and energies to work that is open to criticism. I think we should all try to be better, more generous, more loving people, knowing that our efforts will probably lead us to do some pretty ignorant, patronizing, even destructive things. But i think that through our failures we can, if we are open to criticism and self-reflection, learn to do things better. After all, it seems like Jenny has.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Take Action to Protect Honduran Human Rights Journalist
Almost three years after the coup that deposed President Manuel Zelaya, journalists still face intimidation and threats of assault, torture, and assassination in Honduras. Please consider taking action through Amnesty International to call on the Honduran government to protect Dina Meza, a human rights journalist.
For a full story on the plight of journalists in post-coup Honduras, view this mini-documentary.
For a full story on the plight of journalists in post-coup Honduras, view this mini-documentary.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
...It's always the same, and yes, it does drive me insane
I deleted my Facebook account. Well, actually, i deactivated it. Let me say, if you don't think Facebook is a monster that's out to consume you, try deactivating your account. First, good luck figuring out where to go to deactivate it. Then, once you do click to deactivate it, Facebook makes you type in your password, then makes you type those funny looking squiggly letters in the box, then asks you a couple times if you're sure you want to leave, then asks you to select a reason for why you want to leave, then tells you they're very sorry to see you go, but if you want to come back, you just have to log in like normal. Well, they might make quitting unnecessarily hard, but at least it's incredibly easy to relapse.
Why did i delete Facebook? Well lots of reasons, some of which might apply only to me, but others of which i believe are more universal.
First of all, Facebook had become a habit for me. Every evening i would be scrolling my news feed, looking for interesting news from my friends from home. I was beginning to depend on Facebook to feel connected. Without Facebook i didn't feel my friends had a significant presence in my life.
Secondly, Facebook is a total letdown when it comes to relating personally with others. Seeing pictures of my friend's lunch or new car or reading my friends yell - i mean, write in all capital letters in 160ish characters or less - past each other about why Invisible Children is the best/worst thing ever today frustrates my desire for real communication. In other words, while i depended on Facebook to maintain my friends' presence in my life, whatever presence Facebook allowed was illusory and unsatisfying. Even with Facebook, my friends did not have a significant presence in my life. I realized that if my need for friendship and community was not being met, i needed to look outside Facebook.
Thirdly, Facebook was cluttering my life and my mind. When i begin to habitually check/refresh Facebook in my spare moments, it becomes hard to dedicate an afternoon or even an hour to something like reading, writing, spending time in quiet prayer, etc. without feeling anxious and impatient.
I understand that Facebook is just something nice for some people, while for others it could rightly be called an addiction (and it often is in a strangely lighthearted kind of way). But i think that all of us are affected by the false, constrained form of community that can be found in places like Facebook.
I recently became acutely aware of the deficient way of communicating that can be found in Facebook (broadcasting meaningless trifles or great joys or sorrows in exactly the same way to hundreds or thousands of people at once) as i was reading a volume of Thomas Merton's personal letters. More than anything Merton says in his correspondence, i was struck by Merton's general way of communicating. Merton's letters are personal, intimate, direct, and loving. They show a general care for his friends and acquaintances and a genuine interest in their lives. When Raissa Maritain died, Merton wrote a number of beautiful letters to Jacques Maritain over a six-month period expressing his sympathy and his deep love and appreciation for Raissa and Jacques. Today, it's not uncommon that when the loved one of a friend dies, we post our sympathies on their wall. I'm not criticizing the urge to show we care, but our contemporary way of communicating has made it so that the way we respond to that urge is the same way we show our friend a picture from the bar the night before or share a funny story we found online. Facebook has done a lot to level our communication to brief, shallow, impersonal wall posts and status updates. The least personal, least meaningful way of relating to others becomes the default.
It's sad in a way that in the age in which communication in any form with anyone in the world is possible in a matter of seconds we are failing so badly at communicating with each other. Expressive letter writing is almost nonexistent, and somehow, we're unable to write in that same personal, engaged manner by e-mail. I recently received a wall post from a friend whom i had not talked to in years, saying something like, "Hey Mark, I was just thinking about you and wondering how you're doing," to which i said something like, "Hey, i'm doing well. I'm living in Tegucigalpa right now. How are you?" to which my friend never responded. Rather than being glad to have heard from my friend after a long time, i felt deeply frustrated at our failure to really make a genuine connection and show interest in each other's lives.
Our profound failure to communicate is dangerous and leads to misunderstandings, hatred, and violence. Simply look at the simplistic rhetoric that has been shouted around lately by the media and politicians in the U.S., Israel, and Iran. If we want to begin to understand and love one another, and perhaps build a better world together, we need to relearn how to speak meaningfully and listen sincerely to each other, rather than shouting meaningless updates past each other. And for some of us like myself that might require deleting - i mean, deactivating - Facebook.
P.S. An Atlantic article on the relationship between Facebook and loneliness: Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?
Why did i delete Facebook? Well lots of reasons, some of which might apply only to me, but others of which i believe are more universal.
First of all, Facebook had become a habit for me. Every evening i would be scrolling my news feed, looking for interesting news from my friends from home. I was beginning to depend on Facebook to feel connected. Without Facebook i didn't feel my friends had a significant presence in my life.
Secondly, Facebook is a total letdown when it comes to relating personally with others. Seeing pictures of my friend's lunch or new car or reading my friends yell - i mean, write in all capital letters in 160ish characters or less - past each other about why Invisible Children is the best/worst thing ever today frustrates my desire for real communication. In other words, while i depended on Facebook to maintain my friends' presence in my life, whatever presence Facebook allowed was illusory and unsatisfying. Even with Facebook, my friends did not have a significant presence in my life. I realized that if my need for friendship and community was not being met, i needed to look outside Facebook.
Thirdly, Facebook was cluttering my life and my mind. When i begin to habitually check/refresh Facebook in my spare moments, it becomes hard to dedicate an afternoon or even an hour to something like reading, writing, spending time in quiet prayer, etc. without feeling anxious and impatient.
I understand that Facebook is just something nice for some people, while for others it could rightly be called an addiction (and it often is in a strangely lighthearted kind of way). But i think that all of us are affected by the false, constrained form of community that can be found in places like Facebook.
I recently became acutely aware of the deficient way of communicating that can be found in Facebook (broadcasting meaningless trifles or great joys or sorrows in exactly the same way to hundreds or thousands of people at once) as i was reading a volume of Thomas Merton's personal letters. More than anything Merton says in his correspondence, i was struck by Merton's general way of communicating. Merton's letters are personal, intimate, direct, and loving. They show a general care for his friends and acquaintances and a genuine interest in their lives. When Raissa Maritain died, Merton wrote a number of beautiful letters to Jacques Maritain over a six-month period expressing his sympathy and his deep love and appreciation for Raissa and Jacques. Today, it's not uncommon that when the loved one of a friend dies, we post our sympathies on their wall. I'm not criticizing the urge to show we care, but our contemporary way of communicating has made it so that the way we respond to that urge is the same way we show our friend a picture from the bar the night before or share a funny story we found online. Facebook has done a lot to level our communication to brief, shallow, impersonal wall posts and status updates. The least personal, least meaningful way of relating to others becomes the default.
It's sad in a way that in the age in which communication in any form with anyone in the world is possible in a matter of seconds we are failing so badly at communicating with each other. Expressive letter writing is almost nonexistent, and somehow, we're unable to write in that same personal, engaged manner by e-mail. I recently received a wall post from a friend whom i had not talked to in years, saying something like, "Hey Mark, I was just thinking about you and wondering how you're doing," to which i said something like, "Hey, i'm doing well. I'm living in Tegucigalpa right now. How are you?" to which my friend never responded. Rather than being glad to have heard from my friend after a long time, i felt deeply frustrated at our failure to really make a genuine connection and show interest in each other's lives.
Our profound failure to communicate is dangerous and leads to misunderstandings, hatred, and violence. Simply look at the simplistic rhetoric that has been shouted around lately by the media and politicians in the U.S., Israel, and Iran. If we want to begin to understand and love one another, and perhaps build a better world together, we need to relearn how to speak meaningfully and listen sincerely to each other, rather than shouting meaningless updates past each other. And for some of us like myself that might require deleting - i mean, deactivating - Facebook.
P.S. An Atlantic article on the relationship between Facebook and loneliness: Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?
Upendo: Interconnected
My good friend, Jenny Wooley, is currently serving with the Peace Corps in Kenya, teaching at a rural school for deaf children. She recently wrote a thought-provoking blog asking how people of Western privilege can be more intentional and self-aware in how they respond to poverty in developing countries. Within the next couple weeks, i'll post a response.
Upendo: Interconnected
Upendo: Interconnected
Amor Sin Miedo
I recently listened to a sermon given by Carlos Hernandez, the director of an organization called Association for a More Just Society. ASJ does mostly legal work around issues like land rights, labor rights, sexual and physical abuse, and government corruption in Honduras.
Carlos is a neighbor of mine and for many years, until recently before i moved to Nueva Suyapa, worked for MCM.
His sermon, given to a Seattle church, tells why, despite the challenges his country faces, he has faith and hope that God, through God's people, will bring about change.
I hope you will listen to Carlos' wonderful message.
Carlos is a neighbor of mine and for many years, until recently before i moved to Nueva Suyapa, worked for MCM.
His sermon, given to a Seattle church, tells why, despite the challenges his country faces, he has faith and hope that God, through God's people, will bring about change.
I hope you will listen to Carlos' wonderful message.
Receiving love that's been given; sharing love that's been received
Last week was Semana Santa - Holy Week. Holy Week is a pretty big deal in Central America. Many people have the entire week off (MCM was closed all week), and the big cities empty - well, become not so full - as people head to the beaches or their home towns.
Another volunteer who works with MCM, who's from El Salvador, invited me to go spend time with her family in San Salvador. I really love El Salvador, and was excited about the chance to get away for a few days, so i gladly accepted.
Over the weekend i read a book called "Walk With Jesus: Stations of the Cross," by Henri Nouwen with illustrations by Sr. Helen David. Sr. Helen's illustrations present the stations of the cross through the world's poor and oppressed (one of the illustrations was of the U.S. churchwomen killed in El Salvador in 1980; another was of a young Salvadoran whose husband had been murdered; others were of Nicaraguans and Guatemalans, other Latin Americans, and other poor, oppressed, and lonely people throughout the world). For each illustration, Nouwen offers a short reflection, then closes the book with a final prayer.
As our bus neared the El Salvador-Honduras border on Easter Sunday, i sat reading the final few stations, then Nouwen's closing prayer. As Nouwen prayed over the experience he and Sr. Helen had just offered - that of entering into Jesus' suffering through today's poor, oppressed, and forgotten - i found myself resonating deeply with his words. Part of his prayer read:
"My fears, dear Lord, of opening my eyes to my suffering world are deeply rooted in my own anxious heart. I am not sure that I, myself, am truly loved and safely held, and so I keep my distance from other people's fear-filled lives. But again you say: 'Do not be afraid to let me look at your wounded heart, to embrace you, to heal you, to comfort and console you . . . because I love you with a love that knows no bounds and poses no conditions.'
"Thank you, Lord, for speaking to me. I do so desire to let you heal my wounded heart and, from there, to reach out to others close by and far away."
Nouwen's prayer speaks volumes to my own experience over the last eight months here in Tegucigalpa. My desire is to share love, inspire hope, and build community with my poor neighbors in Nueva Suyapa. Yet so often i feel disappointed - i am too tired to spend time with my host family, too bitter to challenge prejudices, too proud to befriend those around me. Behind all of these shortcomings is a false self-image that causes me to build walls between me and others. "I am not sure that I, myself, am truly loved and safely held, and so I keep my distance from other people's fear-filled lives." I do not allow God's healing to work inside of me, and i become stuck in a place where i cannot "reach out to others close by and far away."
I forget that i, as a human being, am beautiful - am "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Ps. 139:14). It's only in recognizing my own self-worth that i can recognize the worth and dignity of others. It's only in accepting God's embrace that i can embrace others. It's only in loving myself that i can show love to my neighbor. Otherwise, i will only live in fear, mistrust, and hatred.
Sentimentality comes easily, even from a place of brokenness, but it does not last. Love is much harder - impossible apart from the healing work of God's unconditional love - but it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres (I Cor. 13:7). I feel i must move from a place of sentimentality to a place of love, which must be received from God as a gift. It's the gift offered to us on Good Friday. The love of God that is strong enough to conquer death on Easter is strong enough to embrace me, love me, heal me. It cannot, once received, but be shared.
Another volunteer who works with MCM, who's from El Salvador, invited me to go spend time with her family in San Salvador. I really love El Salvador, and was excited about the chance to get away for a few days, so i gladly accepted.
Over the weekend i read a book called "Walk With Jesus: Stations of the Cross," by Henri Nouwen with illustrations by Sr. Helen David. Sr. Helen's illustrations present the stations of the cross through the world's poor and oppressed (one of the illustrations was of the U.S. churchwomen killed in El Salvador in 1980; another was of a young Salvadoran whose husband had been murdered; others were of Nicaraguans and Guatemalans, other Latin Americans, and other poor, oppressed, and lonely people throughout the world). For each illustration, Nouwen offers a short reflection, then closes the book with a final prayer.
As our bus neared the El Salvador-Honduras border on Easter Sunday, i sat reading the final few stations, then Nouwen's closing prayer. As Nouwen prayed over the experience he and Sr. Helen had just offered - that of entering into Jesus' suffering through today's poor, oppressed, and forgotten - i found myself resonating deeply with his words. Part of his prayer read:
"My fears, dear Lord, of opening my eyes to my suffering world are deeply rooted in my own anxious heart. I am not sure that I, myself, am truly loved and safely held, and so I keep my distance from other people's fear-filled lives. But again you say: 'Do not be afraid to let me look at your wounded heart, to embrace you, to heal you, to comfort and console you . . . because I love you with a love that knows no bounds and poses no conditions.'
"Thank you, Lord, for speaking to me. I do so desire to let you heal my wounded heart and, from there, to reach out to others close by and far away."
Nouwen's prayer speaks volumes to my own experience over the last eight months here in Tegucigalpa. My desire is to share love, inspire hope, and build community with my poor neighbors in Nueva Suyapa. Yet so often i feel disappointed - i am too tired to spend time with my host family, too bitter to challenge prejudices, too proud to befriend those around me. Behind all of these shortcomings is a false self-image that causes me to build walls between me and others. "I am not sure that I, myself, am truly loved and safely held, and so I keep my distance from other people's fear-filled lives." I do not allow God's healing to work inside of me, and i become stuck in a place where i cannot "reach out to others close by and far away."
I forget that i, as a human being, am beautiful - am "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Ps. 139:14). It's only in recognizing my own self-worth that i can recognize the worth and dignity of others. It's only in accepting God's embrace that i can embrace others. It's only in loving myself that i can show love to my neighbor. Otherwise, i will only live in fear, mistrust, and hatred.
Sentimentality comes easily, even from a place of brokenness, but it does not last. Love is much harder - impossible apart from the healing work of God's unconditional love - but it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres (I Cor. 13:7). I feel i must move from a place of sentimentality to a place of love, which must be received from God as a gift. It's the gift offered to us on Good Friday. The love of God that is strong enough to conquer death on Easter is strong enough to embrace me, love me, heal me. It cannot, once received, but be shared.
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