I am still safe.
Truthfully, if I turned the television off, I wouldn´t even know anything was amiss here in Samborondon. The streets are quiet. Quieter that normal. Too quiet. Maybe I would know something was different.
I´ve spent the evening bouncing back and forth between the computer, looking for news online and keeping family updated, and my host parents´ room, watching live Ecuadorian news with my family.
One thing´s for sure, sitting on my host parents´ bed eating sweet bread with my siblings, watching the national police open fire on their president is not something I´ll forget any time soon.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Historia Esta Pasando
Today I woke up too late to catch the early bus that I usually take to school.
So I decided to make it a leisurely morning, hang out with my host family, finish my homework here instead of in the school library, and go to class at noon.
At about 10:30 my host brother asked me, very concerned, if I was planning to go anywhere today. I told him no, except for class. He repeated ¨so you´re not going into Guayaquil?¨ [we live across the river, in Samborondon]. I assured him that I have no life, and thus, no plans. He seemed relieved, and then tried to explain to me there was a situation in the city. We had to pass the dicctionary back and forth a few times, but I got the gist of it. The police and military are striking. The bridge is closed. Leave home only if you have to.
So I walked to the bus stop at noon. It never came, so I called the international student office at school, and they told me to go home. So I did.
And so here I sit, watching history happen on the local news. I don´t know how big the story will be on U.S. news, but you may hear a little bit about it if you pay attention.
There are conflicting reports, but President Correa apparently is rumored to have considered dissolving the congress, which would allow him to rule by decree. He also (supposedly) considered measures that would cut the wages of the police force, which is nationalized here.
In response, the police are on strike throughout the country, and the airforce has joined them in protest by closing the Quito airport. In addition, other groups and civilians are rioting all over Ecuador. The lack of a police force has resulted in a higher incidence in crime, particularly robbery.
As of this moment, President Correa has been hospitalized and treated for injuries resulting from tear gas released by the military when he tried to address them earlier today. I´m not sure if he is still in the hospital, or has been released.
While all of this sounds incredibly dangerous, and it is, rest assured that I am safe, for the moment, and that there is a very large group of intelligent people in charge of my well being. I live in a gated community protected by private guards who are still on duty, in a suburb of Guayaquil called Samborondon. The buses aren´t running and school is closed ( as well as many of the business here) but aside from that the only impact on me directly is an occasional siren. The bridge into Guayaquil is closed, and my host parents and sister are stuck in the city, but they´re safe as far as I know, and my host brother and I are staying put inside the house until things clear up.
I´ll try to keep updating as things unfold. Definately a day I´m going remember and be able to say , ¨I was there then.¨
So I decided to make it a leisurely morning, hang out with my host family, finish my homework here instead of in the school library, and go to class at noon.
At about 10:30 my host brother asked me, very concerned, if I was planning to go anywhere today. I told him no, except for class. He repeated ¨so you´re not going into Guayaquil?¨ [we live across the river, in Samborondon]. I assured him that I have no life, and thus, no plans. He seemed relieved, and then tried to explain to me there was a situation in the city. We had to pass the dicctionary back and forth a few times, but I got the gist of it. The police and military are striking. The bridge is closed. Leave home only if you have to.
So I walked to the bus stop at noon. It never came, so I called the international student office at school, and they told me to go home. So I did.
And so here I sit, watching history happen on the local news. I don´t know how big the story will be on U.S. news, but you may hear a little bit about it if you pay attention.
There are conflicting reports, but President Correa apparently is rumored to have considered dissolving the congress, which would allow him to rule by decree. He also (supposedly) considered measures that would cut the wages of the police force, which is nationalized here.
In response, the police are on strike throughout the country, and the airforce has joined them in protest by closing the Quito airport. In addition, other groups and civilians are rioting all over Ecuador. The lack of a police force has resulted in a higher incidence in crime, particularly robbery.
As of this moment, President Correa has been hospitalized and treated for injuries resulting from tear gas released by the military when he tried to address them earlier today. I´m not sure if he is still in the hospital, or has been released.
While all of this sounds incredibly dangerous, and it is, rest assured that I am safe, for the moment, and that there is a very large group of intelligent people in charge of my well being. I live in a gated community protected by private guards who are still on duty, in a suburb of Guayaquil called Samborondon. The buses aren´t running and school is closed ( as well as many of the business here) but aside from that the only impact on me directly is an occasional siren. The bridge into Guayaquil is closed, and my host parents and sister are stuck in the city, but they´re safe as far as I know, and my host brother and I are staying put inside the house until things clear up.
I´ll try to keep updating as things unfold. Definately a day I´m going remember and be able to say , ¨I was there then.¨
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Una en Cada Seis
Background story:
I grew up in a county with a hunger problem. When I was younger, one in seven people were unsure of where their next meal would come from. Since the U.S. economy nosedived, that number has gone up to one in six. One sixth of the population. That´s roughly 5,300 people. 3/5 of whom are children. 3,200 children.
Hungry.
When we moved to the county, our new church was involved in a ministry to aid the local food bank. My parents, being gardeners and generally benevolent people, joined in.I don´t think I will ever forget the day we went as a family to drop off our bag of cans, to find the sign on the distribution door:
¨No fresh produce today. Cans only.¨
I was too young to really comprehend it, but the idea that everyone coming to get food that day would be turned away without anything green or leafy or grown on a tree broke my mother´s heart. From that day on my parents have devoted our one acre vegetable garden to the fight against hunger. I grew up helping weed, pick, pack, and unpack their efforts. Spending summer mornings sorting old grocery store bread into bins labeled ¨clients¨and ¨pigs¨ hugely impacted my values, even to this day.
Y es por eso, que tengo este historia:
[And for that reason, I have this story:]
I don´t like to throw food away. If someone puts something on my plate, be it ginuea pig or pre-dressed salad, I will eat it.
My host family here in Ecuador has noticed this, and assures me occasionally that if I don´t like something, it won´t insult them if I don´t eat it.
This came up again last night, which resulted in the following conversation:
Papa Cesar: ¨Si no quieres comer algo, no necesitas. No hay problema.¨
[If you don´t want to eat something, you don´t need to. It´s not a problem.]
Me: ¨Yo sé. Pero, para mi es dificil para dejar comida en me plato.¨
[ a terrible attempt at: ¨I know, but for me it´s hard to leave food on my plate.¨]
[ a terrible attempt at: ¨I know, but for me it´s hard to leave food on my plate.¨]
Papa Cesar: ¨¿Por que? No nos molsete.¨
[Why? It won´t bother us.]
Me: ¨Porque en mi canton hay muchas hambrientos. Una en cada seis no pueden comprar comida, porque no tienen suficiente dinero. Y mi famila trabaja con ellos. Entonces, no puedo dejar de la comida, porque siempre hay alguien que no tiene. ¨
[again, terrible attempt at: Because in my county there are a lot of hungry people. One in six can´t buy food, because they don´t have enough money. My family works with them, so I can´t leave food, because there´s always someone who doesn´t have any.]
And Papa Cesar has been walking around shaking his head muttering ¨Una en cada seis¨ ever since.
To make things even more interesting, I found out this morning that tomorrow´s cultural seminar will be about food sovereignty and the problem of hunger in Ecuador. Needless to say, you will be hearing more about this.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Location?
My mailing address is in Ecuador.
My heart is in Mexico.
My dog and guitar are in California.
I am conflicted.
My heart is in Mexico.
My dog and guitar are in California.
I am conflicted.
La Historia de un Amistad
Dear World, meet Jeremy Lee:
Jeremy and I were born in the same city.
He lives five minutes away from my sister´s house.
Our parents now live an hour away from each other.
We´ll be students at the same university in the spring.
That university is on the opposite end of California from where we live.
I just transferred to that university in May.
He transferred there at the beginning of last year.
We both love swing dancing, apples, and Mexico.
We didn´t find most of this out until we sat next to each other in Spanish class in South America.
We did meet once before crossing the Equator, but only because we have two mutual friends:
One of my best friends from high school in northern California,
And my future roommate, who I met on a mission trip to Mexico last summer through the same university, a year before I even thought about transferring there.
They both happen to go to the same university, and happened to be in the same summer program with Jeremy in San Diego.
I went to visit before I knew for sure if my transfer application would be accepted. I had applied to Ecuador, so our mutual friends introduced us, even though I didn´t know yet if I was going to get to go.
We all ate pb&j together, and then Jeremy forgot my name.
And now, four months and 3879 miles later, here we are.
Safe to say God wants us to be friends?
I´d say it´s a pretty safe bet.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Ecuador is a Book
[Thanks to Beth for the inspiration]
Ecuador is a book with an old leather cover that smells like dust, chocolate, and time. The edges used to be gold, but they´ve been worn from use. It´s a book that you pick up and start reading, but have to put down for few minutes sometimes because the story is overwhelming. It is a book with some difficult words, words that you don´t know yet. It is a book with pictures, beautiful pictures, but sometimes they don´t match the story. It´s a book that you think you understand until you get halfway through, and then you realize that it´s an allegory for something else, something much deeper, and you have to go back and reread what you missed. Ecuador is a book that you want to share with your friends, but sometimes the plot is too difficult for them to follow. It is a book with a lot of notes in the margins. It´s a book you can get lost in, and a book that you will probably want to read again, because you get something different out of it every time you open it.
Ecuador is a book with an old leather cover that smells like dust, chocolate, and time. The edges used to be gold, but they´ve been worn from use. It´s a book that you pick up and start reading, but have to put down for few minutes sometimes because the story is overwhelming. It is a book with some difficult words, words that you don´t know yet. It is a book with pictures, beautiful pictures, but sometimes they don´t match the story. It´s a book that you think you understand until you get halfway through, and then you realize that it´s an allegory for something else, something much deeper, and you have to go back and reread what you missed. Ecuador is a book that you want to share with your friends, but sometimes the plot is too difficult for them to follow. It is a book with a lot of notes in the margins. It´s a book you can get lost in, and a book that you will probably want to read again, because you get something different out of it every time you open it.
Home
I wish there was a way I could:
Ride bikes with my sister Amy around Denver,
Play tennis with Jacey in Fiddletown,
Walk my dog in Sutter Creek,
Share coffee and stories with my SCCN family,
Play protest songs on the guitar with Claire on my back deck on God´s Wild,
Eat lunch and go to Borders with my nephew Dan in Roseville,
Watch Lord of the Rings and a thunderstorm with my sister Deana and her husband Josh in Crestone,
Lay on a blanket and read books with Brittany Blake on the lawn in front of Meadowlands Mansion in San Rafael,
Eat a pretzel and listen to some ragtime at the Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium,
Hike ¨the FCC trail¨ at Silver Lake,
Picnic on the river rocks at the old family cabin in Kyburz,
Get lost singing show tunes and feeding fish and chips to sea gulls with Hana in San Francisco,
Pick blackberries with Hannah on the Amador City backroads,
¨Kill the Audience¨ in the AHS drama room,
Go out for sushi with Scott, JoAnna, and Ashlynn in Sacramento,
Play monopoly with the Wall family on Oro Madre,
Count stars, bats, and blessings with my Hermanita on a balcony in Mexico,
Drink Abuelita with Cassie and Beth in the Nease treehouse in San Diego,
And still be back to Samborodon in time for Pictionary.
I guess when you have been everywhere, and have called everywhere you´ve ever been ¨home,¨ it is impossible not to feel a little homesick sometimes.
Ride bikes with my sister Amy around Denver,
Play tennis with Jacey in Fiddletown,
Walk my dog in Sutter Creek,
Share coffee and stories with my SCCN family,
Play protest songs on the guitar with Claire on my back deck on God´s Wild,
Eat lunch and go to Borders with my nephew Dan in Roseville,
Watch Lord of the Rings and a thunderstorm with my sister Deana and her husband Josh in Crestone,
Lay on a blanket and read books with Brittany Blake on the lawn in front of Meadowlands Mansion in San Rafael,
Eat a pretzel and listen to some ragtime at the Sutter Creek Ice Cream Emporium,
Hike ¨the FCC trail¨ at Silver Lake,
Picnic on the river rocks at the old family cabin in Kyburz,
Get lost singing show tunes and feeding fish and chips to sea gulls with Hana in San Francisco,
Pick blackberries with Hannah on the Amador City backroads,
¨Kill the Audience¨ in the AHS drama room,
Go out for sushi with Scott, JoAnna, and Ashlynn in Sacramento,
Play monopoly with the Wall family on Oro Madre,
Count stars, bats, and blessings with my Hermanita on a balcony in Mexico,
Drink Abuelita with Cassie and Beth in the Nease treehouse in San Diego,
And still be back to Samborodon in time for Pictionary.
I guess when you have been everywhere, and have called everywhere you´ve ever been ¨home,¨ it is impossible not to feel a little homesick sometimes.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Health Update
Some things sound cooler
¨Incubant Salmonella¨
Than they really are.
So for those of you who have been concerned (and for those of you who haven´t), the school nurse stole my blood and decided that I have salmonella brooding in my intestines.
Delicious.
Long story short, I´m on some hefty prescriptions that should have me back to abnormal by this weekend. No need for worry. Though, if you wanted to mail me some chocolate chip cookies, I could play sick a little longer...
¨It´s not weird, it´s different¨
Words of wisdom from my good friend Melissa Tucker.
Emtuck, as I prefer to call her, is a very special lady I have had the privelage of knowing for a little over a year now. She organizes youth service trips, and I was blessed enough to accompany her to Mexico through Point Loma Nazarene University (which was not my alma mater at the time, and now is...but that´s another story for another time).
In the hustle and bustle of preparation, Emtuck asked us to make the above phrase our mantra as we encountered (and hopefully adjusted to) a different culture.
Here in South America, I am reminded again and again of this sentiment.
Some Ecuadorian examples:
Everyone kisses on the cheek here as a greeting.
We wear shoes of some kind all the time, even in the house.
Rice is served with every meal. Every. Meal.
Students dress up to come to class. I told some friends that stateside collegiates sometimes wear pj´s, and they were shocked.
Toilet paper gets thrown away, not flushed.
Some things are the same though.
When I get home Mama Maritza and Papa Cesar want to hear all about my classes.
Mama Maritza scolds Papa Cesar for watching soccer instead of helping her around the house.
My fellow students come up with some pretty great excuses for missing homework.
We have to hide any snacks and goodies that we want to save somewhere where my host brother won´t find them, or they won´t last more than a few hours.
Emtuck, as I prefer to call her, is a very special lady I have had the privelage of knowing for a little over a year now. She organizes youth service trips, and I was blessed enough to accompany her to Mexico through Point Loma Nazarene University (which was not my alma mater at the time, and now is...but that´s another story for another time).
In the hustle and bustle of preparation, Emtuck asked us to make the above phrase our mantra as we encountered (and hopefully adjusted to) a different culture.
Here in South America, I am reminded again and again of this sentiment.
Some Ecuadorian examples:
Everyone kisses on the cheek here as a greeting.
We wear shoes of some kind all the time, even in the house.
Rice is served with every meal. Every. Meal.
Students dress up to come to class. I told some friends that stateside collegiates sometimes wear pj´s, and they were shocked.
Toilet paper gets thrown away, not flushed.
Some things are the same though.
When I get home Mama Maritza and Papa Cesar want to hear all about my classes.
Mama Maritza scolds Papa Cesar for watching soccer instead of helping her around the house.
My fellow students come up with some pretty great excuses for missing homework.
We have to hide any snacks and goodies that we want to save somewhere where my host brother won´t find them, or they won´t last more than a few hours.
¨I´ve always imagined that Ecuador smells like coffee¨
Sorry Amy D., Ecuador doesn´t smell like coffee.
It smells like: cigarettes, car exhaust, humidity, and the trees the maintenence men are trimming down the street.
It tastes like: rice, cilantro, cinnamon, fruit juice, and 7 different kinds of bananas.
It looks like: traffic, iguanas, palm trees, mangroves, and post modern architecture.
It feels like: tile floors, full tummies, long walks to the bus, kisses on the cheek, and the sudden change from overly-air conditioned rooms to humid courtyards.
It sounds like: reggaeton, car horns, spanish argot, telenovelas, tropical birds, the crying baby next door, and host brother swearing when he can´t what he´s looking for in the kitchen (usually rice).
It smells like: cigarettes, car exhaust, humidity, and the trees the maintenence men are trimming down the street.
It tastes like: rice, cilantro, cinnamon, fruit juice, and 7 different kinds of bananas.
It looks like: traffic, iguanas, palm trees, mangroves, and post modern architecture.
It feels like: tile floors, full tummies, long walks to the bus, kisses on the cheek, and the sudden change from overly-air conditioned rooms to humid courtyards.
It sounds like: reggaeton, car horns, spanish argot, telenovelas, tropical birds, the crying baby next door, and host brother swearing when he can´t what he´s looking for in the kitchen (usually rice).
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Yo Nací en Este País
Yo nací en este país
que sabe a caña y algodon
que se ilumina mucho antes de que salga el sol
Yo nací en este país
de niños pobres de almidón
enlodado con los mismos que se lo llevaron todo
Un país llena de historia
de hombres y mujeres de hormigón
llenos de coraje y de temura
llenos de pasión
Yo nací en este país que va
con alegrías y dolor
con gente linda
y con canallas que nos roban la ilusión
que no le teme al por venir
que no se deja derrotar
que no me pide visa
y al que siempre quiero regresar
Pero yo nací aquí
y aquí aprendí a caminar
aquí te conocí
aquí me enamoré de ti
Este país lleno de historia
de hombres y mujeres de homigón
llenos de coraje y de tenura
llenos de pasión
- Juan Fernando Velasco
que sabe a caña y algodon
que se ilumina mucho antes de que salga el sol
Yo nací en este país
de niños pobres de almidón
enlodado con los mismos que se lo llevaron todo
Un país llena de historia
de hombres y mujeres de hormigón
llenos de coraje y de temura
llenos de pasión
Yo nací en este país que va
con alegrías y dolor
con gente linda
y con canallas que nos roban la ilusión
que no le teme al por venir
que no se deja derrotar
que no me pide visa
y al que siempre quiero regresar
Pero yo nací aquí
y aquí aprendí a caminar
aquí te conocí
aquí me enamoré de ti
Este país lleno de historia
de hombres y mujeres de homigón
llenos de coraje y de tenura
llenos de pasión
- Juan Fernando Velasco
Cinco Siete Cinco
World Civ. ran a little long last night...
My stomach is sick
battlefield on my insides
lots of gatorade
No more chicken, please
if I eat more meat I´ll cause
open rebellion
I feel sort of sick
who knows, maybe I´m dying
Shelby gets my door
[notice a theme yet?]
Spanish was cancelled
I fear this class is pointless
I should have stayed home
Dear stomach critters,
please up and die already
you are unwelcome
Microbes: rent is due
you should consider this your
evacuation notice
A senseless haiku
pop culture reference needed
so, ¨This is Sparta¨
My head is pounding
I think it´s a tumor
I watch too much House
All men are soldiers
women run government
Well, this is Sparta
[the lecture was on ancient Greece]
¨I´m going to start¨?!
It´s been forty five minutes
Dear stomach, hold on
I love my sister
even when she creeps on me
Facebook stalking, much?
Hana Casita
your name has five syllables
perfect for haikus
Paper is precious
It has so many uses
write, draw, fold, toss gum
Yo, preggo lady.
I think you´re beautiful
You know who you are.
Socrates, buddy
stop making people look dumb
they´ll kill you for it
[an ode to Plato]
My imprisoned soul
cannot reach full potential
locked in this classroom
[Laurel]
A little birdie
told me that you like haikus
let´s share some, shall we?
You argue a lot
it´s making my brain sleepy
Kum Bah Ya, my friends
You´ve said ¨Last¨ so much
I don´t want to raise false hope
in case you talk more
My stomach is sick
battlefield on my insides
lots of gatorade
No more chicken, please
if I eat more meat I´ll cause
open rebellion
I feel sort of sick
who knows, maybe I´m dying
Shelby gets my door
[notice a theme yet?]
Spanish was cancelled
I fear this class is pointless
I should have stayed home
Dear stomach critters,
please up and die already
you are unwelcome
Microbes: rent is due
you should consider this your
evacuation notice
A senseless haiku
pop culture reference needed
so, ¨This is Sparta¨
My head is pounding
I think it´s a tumor
I watch too much House
All men are soldiers
women run government
Well, this is Sparta
[the lecture was on ancient Greece]
¨I´m going to start¨?!
It´s been forty five minutes
Dear stomach, hold on
I love my sister
even when she creeps on me
Facebook stalking, much?
Hana Casita
your name has five syllables
perfect for haikus
Paper is precious
It has so many uses
write, draw, fold, toss gum
Yo, preggo lady.
I think you´re beautiful
You know who you are.
Socrates, buddy
stop making people look dumb
they´ll kill you for it
[an ode to Plato]
My imprisoned soul
cannot reach full potential
locked in this classroom
[Laurel]
A little birdie
told me that you like haikus
let´s share some, shall we?
You argue a lot
it´s making my brain sleepy
Kum Bah Ya, my friends
You´ve said ¨Last¨ so much
I don´t want to raise false hope
in case you talk more
Friday, September 10, 2010
Allow Me To Introduce...
Juan Pablo, my host sister´s boyfriend.
He speaks really fast Spanish, doesn´t drink, thinks I´m ¨precious,¨drives a tricked out green sports car, asks me to translate Black Eyed Peas, and doesn´t like cucumbers.
He speaks really fast Spanish, doesn´t drink, thinks I´m ¨precious,¨drives a tricked out green sports car, asks me to translate Black Eyed Peas, and doesn´t like cucumbers.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Laughing Words
Circe McDonald, you may be the only person to fully appreciate this.
I have the Ecuadorian version of Dominican University´s Dr. Momo as a professor for one of my classes. I´ve been saving some quotes to share with you. He and the class shall remain unnamed, just in case. Rest assured that his words are meant only for humor.
Parental Advisory - Some instances of strong language.
¨Say you have a boyfriend. He is a sonofab!tch. You still think you can change him, no?¨
" I don´t want to breastfeed my baby. My boobs will sag."
"Do you want to live forever?...No? ...So you wanna die."
"If your marriage is not consumed....¨
"There was no time for the human need to just sit down with the one you love and bullsh!t."
"I ran in Olympia. Where the atheletes run. So I made myself to think that I was running nude. Because they used to run nude.¨
I have the Ecuadorian version of Dominican University´s Dr. Momo as a professor for one of my classes. I´ve been saving some quotes to share with you. He and the class shall remain unnamed, just in case. Rest assured that his words are meant only for humor.
Parental Advisory - Some instances of strong language.
¨Say you have a boyfriend. He is a sonofab!tch. You still think you can change him, no?¨
" I don´t want to breastfeed my baby. My boobs will sag."
"Do you want to live forever?...No? ...So you wanna die."
"If your marriage is not consumed....¨
"There was no time for the human need to just sit down with the one you love and bullsh!t."
"I ran in Olympia. Where the atheletes run. So I made myself to think that I was running nude. Because they used to run nude.¨
Mi Compañera Chileana
Note - Parental Advisory: Some instances of strong language.
Dearest Bethany
Some haikus from Guayaquil
I know you love them.
Boys here are ballsy
I guess that gringas are rare
Want to get pizza?
I want to be friends
Let´s go have pizza, not sex
Damn cultural norms.
Neighborhood noises
Baby crying, phone ringing
Despues, regreso.
Stop honking at me
I find your stares offensive
Please leave me alone.
Host brother smells good
takes good care of the gringa
feels like real family
High speed internet
I didn´t know what I had
I need you. Find me?
Aqui en el sur
Oigo muchas palabras
no entiendo.
I am a stranger
when I go out and about
in these city streets.
Dearest Bethany
Some haikus from Guayaquil
I know you love them.
Boys here are ballsy
I guess that gringas are rare
Want to get pizza?
I want to be friends
Let´s go have pizza, not sex
Damn cultural norms.
Neighborhood noises
Baby crying, phone ringing
Despues, regreso.
Stop honking at me
I find your stares offensive
Please leave me alone.
Host brother smells good
takes good care of the gringa
feels like real family
High speed internet
I didn´t know what I had
I need you. Find me?
Aqui en el sur
Oigo muchas palabras
no entiendo.
I am a stranger
when I go out and about
in these city streets.
Rights, pt. 2
They say there is cycle and a system to cultural adjustment. That all extranjeros follow a certain pattern, to some extent. Along this pattern line there is a point where we´re all supposed to face the deeper differences between our host culture and our home culture. Perhaps I´ve hit that, and perhaps that´s why this question of rights continues to pop up.
Background:
I used to be a poli-sci major. Keeping up on the news was part of my morning ritual. Wake up. Brush teeth. Read headlines. Put on socks.
But since arriving in Ecuador, I´ve fallen off the bandwagon. Thus, I only found out two days ago that the U.S. is leaving Iraq. This realization sent me in search of more U.S. news, and so yesterday found me on the NYTimes website. I stumbled upon the Terry Jones story.
Mr. Jones is the preacher who is promoting Sept. 11 as ¨International Burn a Koran Day.¨ Perhaps you heard of him.
I won´t recount the story here, because it´s pretty easy to find and read for yourself. But my reaction brings back this question of rights.
When I read the articles about Mr. Jones, I was shocked, angry, and hurt, for several reasons:
As an American, particularly an American in a foreign country, I am dissapointed to be associated with his xenophobia. I´m the only U.S. citizen in one of my classes (and one of two in another). This makes me an ambassador of sorts when we talk about cultural values, and to have stories like this circulating makes it that much harder to explain to my classmates that not all Americans are the same.
As a Christian, I am offended to be linked to his intolerance. How can I expect people to believe me when I tell them that I serve a loving and merciful God, when someone is proclaiming hate and intolerance in His name?
As a human being, I am ashamed. One of the articles I read included an interview with a Muslim man in Mr. Jone´s nieghborhood. His concluding statement was that on Sept. 11 he will honor the American tragedy the same way he does every year, by going downtown and feeding the homeless. When people who don´t profess to following Christ do a better job of it than those that do, I have no choice but to question our motives.
Thus, I´m angered by this story. My brain is screaming. What right does Mr. Jones have to spread hatred and intolerance like this?
So, like any good 21st century American youth wanting to let off some steam, I posted my thoughts on facebook. [This in itself is shameful, but I´ll come back to that]. In response to my post, my good friend Aaron raised a valid question:
What right do I have to tell Mr. Jones what he can and cannot do? If he buys a book in the U.S., legally, he has the right to do just about whatever he wants with it. At what point do we draw the line?
Food for thought, at any rate.
In hindsight, I am ashamed that my first reaction to something I find unjust is to post it on facebook [and now, a blog]. My good friend Lianni used to remind me about the difference between charity and justice. Putting on a bandaid, and finding the source of the pain. Both are necessary. Perhaps this is a situation where I need to practice a little less lip-service charity, and seek out ways to work towards justice.
Background:
I used to be a poli-sci major. Keeping up on the news was part of my morning ritual. Wake up. Brush teeth. Read headlines. Put on socks.
But since arriving in Ecuador, I´ve fallen off the bandwagon. Thus, I only found out two days ago that the U.S. is leaving Iraq. This realization sent me in search of more U.S. news, and so yesterday found me on the NYTimes website. I stumbled upon the Terry Jones story.
Mr. Jones is the preacher who is promoting Sept. 11 as ¨International Burn a Koran Day.¨ Perhaps you heard of him.
I won´t recount the story here, because it´s pretty easy to find and read for yourself. But my reaction brings back this question of rights.
When I read the articles about Mr. Jones, I was shocked, angry, and hurt, for several reasons:
As an American, particularly an American in a foreign country, I am dissapointed to be associated with his xenophobia. I´m the only U.S. citizen in one of my classes (and one of two in another). This makes me an ambassador of sorts when we talk about cultural values, and to have stories like this circulating makes it that much harder to explain to my classmates that not all Americans are the same.
As a Christian, I am offended to be linked to his intolerance. How can I expect people to believe me when I tell them that I serve a loving and merciful God, when someone is proclaiming hate and intolerance in His name?
As a human being, I am ashamed. One of the articles I read included an interview with a Muslim man in Mr. Jone´s nieghborhood. His concluding statement was that on Sept. 11 he will honor the American tragedy the same way he does every year, by going downtown and feeding the homeless. When people who don´t profess to following Christ do a better job of it than those that do, I have no choice but to question our motives.
Thus, I´m angered by this story. My brain is screaming. What right does Mr. Jones have to spread hatred and intolerance like this?
So, like any good 21st century American youth wanting to let off some steam, I posted my thoughts on facebook. [This in itself is shameful, but I´ll come back to that]. In response to my post, my good friend Aaron raised a valid question:
What right do I have to tell Mr. Jones what he can and cannot do? If he buys a book in the U.S., legally, he has the right to do just about whatever he wants with it. At what point do we draw the line?
Food for thought, at any rate.
In hindsight, I am ashamed that my first reaction to something I find unjust is to post it on facebook [and now, a blog]. My good friend Lianni used to remind me about the difference between charity and justice. Putting on a bandaid, and finding the source of the pain. Both are necessary. Perhaps this is a situation where I need to practice a little less lip-service charity, and seek out ways to work towards justice.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Thought Words
¨Ojos que no ven. Corazon que no siente.¨
¨Eyes that don´t see. Heart that doesn´t feel.¨
It has become my practice, as I walk to the bus stop every morning, to count how many times I get honked or yelled at. So far the highest has been ten times. By the time I get on the bus my American pride is usually seething. What right have THEY to talk to me? To yell at me? To look at me? I´m not here for their enjoyment. Why can´t they just leave me alone? Just because I´m a good six shades lighter than they are doesn´t mean I don´t understand the words they hurl at me. Their advances are unwelcome. And I have learned very quickly to make that explicitely clear through facial expression and body language.
But it´s a funny word, ¨rights.¨
The proverb at the top came up in a discussion in my World Civ. class last night, and it got me thinking. The ten minute walk to the bus stop leaves me perturbed and insulted, internally justified that I shouldn´t be subject to unwanted attention, but once I get on the bus, are my eyes open to the world outside the window? Even the catcalls are a sign of an underlying social...something. I´m here to learn and to absorb. But in the process of that learning, what right have I, especially as a proclaimed member of the body of Christ, to close MY eyes to the world that I am now immersed in, strange as it may be?
This is not to say that I´m ever going to be comfortable with the attention I get in my neighborhood. But perhaps a better solution than running to the CEI - Center for International Education - and asking them what Ecuador´s self defense laws will let me get away with, I should instead ask them to explain to me the cultural undercurrents that determine things like women´s rights here. Perhaps.
¨Eyes that don´t see. Heart that doesn´t feel.¨
It has become my practice, as I walk to the bus stop every morning, to count how many times I get honked or yelled at. So far the highest has been ten times. By the time I get on the bus my American pride is usually seething. What right have THEY to talk to me? To yell at me? To look at me? I´m not here for their enjoyment. Why can´t they just leave me alone? Just because I´m a good six shades lighter than they are doesn´t mean I don´t understand the words they hurl at me. Their advances are unwelcome. And I have learned very quickly to make that explicitely clear through facial expression and body language.
But it´s a funny word, ¨rights.¨
The proverb at the top came up in a discussion in my World Civ. class last night, and it got me thinking. The ten minute walk to the bus stop leaves me perturbed and insulted, internally justified that I shouldn´t be subject to unwanted attention, but once I get on the bus, are my eyes open to the world outside the window? Even the catcalls are a sign of an underlying social...something. I´m here to learn and to absorb. But in the process of that learning, what right have I, especially as a proclaimed member of the body of Christ, to close MY eyes to the world that I am now immersed in, strange as it may be?
This is not to say that I´m ever going to be comfortable with the attention I get in my neighborhood. But perhaps a better solution than running to the CEI - Center for International Education - and asking them what Ecuador´s self defense laws will let me get away with, I should instead ask them to explain to me the cultural undercurrents that determine things like women´s rights here. Perhaps.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Pablo Clabo un Clabito
I'm in Guayaquil with my family.
I like them a lot.
I love Ecuador.
School is good.
Friends are great.
Buses are confusing.
Internet is intermittent.
But I'm happy.
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