31 May 2015

31 May 2015

Every journey has an end, true, but a journey never really ends. It's always part of a larger picture, a human life, which envelops it and weaves it into the tapestry of conscious thoughts and unconscious feelings comprising a human being. So I will miss Columbia, the beautiful people and places I've come to love here, but I am grateful that they will never really leave me. I have learned so much about peace, violence, rural life, government corruption, youth, and humidity here, unforgettable things.

You have heard me talk about many of those things in past blog post, hard issues that made for hard writing and likely hard reading. My purpose today is simpler: to whisk you away to Columbia with me for a few moments, to immerse you in the reality we've lived here, and to thereby communicate the otherwise incommunicable about this month.

It's 6:15pm (18:15, in local terms) as I stare out the window. A heavy sun hangs just over the horizon, streaming a tired red-orange light through the huge trees which overhang the single entry into the airport. The landing strip is surrounded by trees, a reminder that the world outside this air-conditioned refuge is as good as any greenhouse, with hot, thick air and frequent rain. And not merely outside – rare is the house with air conditioning in this developing area. I think of Osman preparing breakfast this morning, gleaming from head to toe after an hour of frying fish on a heavy gas stove in the kitchen. Or I think of hot days in Lani's oven-apartment in Libertad, beads of sweat forming on our faces as we worked or talked despite two fans blowing steadily on us. And that was when the power wasn't out, which was not uncommon.

An tree frog unperturbed by my camera flash

Yet somehow life continues here, at a more leisurely pace to accommodate the heat but surely and steadily – yuca is sown and harvested, corn is sown and harvested, cattle are sent out to pasture and milked and slaughtered, chickens are fed and their eggs taken and then they too are slaughtered. Every plant and animal has its part in this ritual of life, even the semi-stray dogs which wander through every small town and sometimes through big towns. Indeed, I sometimes feel the dogs symbolize the communal side of life here, for while most dogs have a family they "belong" to, the ownership is rather loose. The dogs wander about town, listlessly barking at strangers or residents they've come to dislike and begging for food anywhere they spy its consumption. In many towns the dogs are joined by pigs of all sizes, also of the semi-communal nature. These trot through dusty or muddy lanes, depending on yesterday's weather, rooting through the frequent piles of trash and relishing mango pits and half-eaten plátanos. Since it is quite rude to keep your door closed during the day – what kind of neighbor shuts out potential visitors or shouted greetings? – houses that sit at street level receive frequent visits from these semi-communal friends. What's a dog or two under the table, after all, when they – like everyone else – are just struggling to get by?

It was into this world that I was plunged a month ago. I thought perhaps I was ready. Then I attended my first community council meeting in Libertad, just days into my stay, and I hardly understood a word. Between new accents, new names, and new concepts, I was lost. Fans droned on in their lazy turns across the room, trying their best to put me to sleep. Council members droned on in their bickering, not helping my drowsy state at all. I only woke up when I heard everyone chuckling and discovered to my horror that my napping had been pointed out by one of the council members. It was a humbling experience, the kind everyone should have during their first week in a new country.

Pichilín, the town of green hills and thatched roofs

By contrast, the last week of my stay has been intellectually and emotionally captivating. The first two days were spent in a remote village of 300 people, doing our last workshop and survey. It was a beautiful town surrounded by high green hills and acres of rich farmland. The houses, unlike most in this area, are set well apart from each other and back from the road. Each house, whether cinderblock or wood-and-mud, is relatively small but includes a large shelter in back with a roof of thatched palm. These shelters serve as kitchens, laundry rooms, and gathering places for friends and family. Some are even lighted by a single door dull bulb for further enjoyment in the evenings, when they gather and talk about the day's work on the farm or gossip about neighbors. We slept in one of those small houses both nights we were in town, and both nights were accompanied by heavy rainstorms. Under the tin roof the raindrops sounded a sharp fusillade, a strangely pleasing serenade. Rain has a different, life-giving meaning in the countryside.

The next two days were marked by heavy work on the computer in the office, compiling survey data and creating recommendations based on the month's work. Aside from the entering of data it was remarkably interesting, figuring out how to present the information in a succinct and powerful manner. The following Tuesday we presented the information, which was well received by the whole team and discussed as the basis for the next step in the project: to help the youth launch a regional project.

Then the last two days were spent accompanying a group from George Mason University, here studying conflict resolution. We talked with professors and human rights activists from across the region until late into the night, fans whirring overhead in our outdoor shelter as we learned about massacres, political intrigue, and acts of selfless heroism. One professor, a former guerrilla collaborator, told the story of how the first paramilitary massacre had taken place in the same peaceful town where rain has lulled me to sleep just a few nights before. I was translating for him at the time, and I struggled to make it through that story without having to stop and weep.

How could I forget this place? So much suffering, so much goodness, so much beauty. I think a good God for this opportunity. I'm grateful for the redemption of Christ, through which all of our imperfect efforts to improve things here will be made perfect. I pray the blessings of God on this people and this nation, that peace will come quickly and that justice will follow closely on its heels. I pray the same for my own nation and the rest of the world.

Sunset in Colombia

24 May 2015

24 May 2015

I wanted to write today's entry with a different focus. In past entries I have spent a good deal of time discussing the problems and questions encountered here. But today I want to draw out the beauty of Colombia and of humanity that I have encountered on this trip. I will also catch you up on the week, naturally, but I hope to do more.

One of the beautiful things about the heat and humidity on the Colombian coast is that plants grow everywhere. Within 15 years abandoned buildings have vines and plants all through them. Trees spring up on plains, over mountains, by rivers, next to homes, the regular rains providing enough water for them to grow anywhere. Where humans or animals don't regularly travel, the ground is covered in grass, shrubbery, and general greenery. On Monday Jorge and I took a hike through one of the greenest parts of the coast, the Alta Montaña (high mountain). The hills aren't very high compared to the Rockies, but they make up for it in pure green – dark where the trees cover the curiously steep hills, light where rain or sun have made clearings for grass, neat rows of green where farmers have made clearings for corn or yuca. I only hope the picture does it justice.

The Alta Montaña, from our hike

Thursday brought another adventure, prior to a workshop, in Mampuján. In 2000 the entire town was forced to leave their homes by a paramilitary group for supposedly aiding and abetting rebel guerrillas. There is no way to justify such displacement in any context, but to make matters worse townsfolk say that most of them never aided the guerrillas except for giving them food when threatened at gunpoint. Nevertheless, the townsfolk stuck together and established a new town by the side of the nearby highway, just a few miles from their original town. There, under the protection of the municipal seat, they have build a new life and some beautiful homes thanks to victims' reparation money from the national government. On Thursday we went to visit the old town, an eerily quiet ghost town with about ten inhabitants. We walked through houses covered in vines and bushes and pondered what it would be like to leave this ancestral home and start fresh. A humbling experience.

Then, on Friday, I was privileged to attend an inter-religious meeting over breakfast at SembrandoPaz. It really was a privilege – the religious leaders who were invited were genuinely interested in promoting dialogue and peace throughout the region, and they spoke with respect and eagerness to get something done. Ricardo Esquivia, ever the diplomatic leader, made sure to guide the meeting in a productive direction; in this case it was a forum, to be hosted at the largest local university with the help of a Catholic priest who works there. I was so pleased to see this small city starting such an open-minded and inclusive project: they have involved agnostics, Jews, indigenous shamans, Mormons, Episcopalians, Catholics, Protestants, Mennonites, and more. If all the world were capable of such meetings, many of our problems would be quietly resolved.

A peaceful evening with a fine group
of people, in El Carmen de Bolivar

But much of the beauty of Colombia has been its simple, gracious humanity. Just last night a sweet family offered me their biggest bed for the night while several of them slept in hammocks. Indeed, I've been treated like family out here many times, offered food or drink and called at the end of the journey to make sure I arrived safe. The other day I was riding in the back of a pickup truck with some friendly villagers; when I ask them what they liked about Colombia, without skipping a beat they said, "Everything." I love that pride – they know it's not perfect, but they love their home. I also love the fact that I could sit around with some friends the other night and talk about football/soccer for two hours, drying on every scrap of football knowledge I've gained since I started following it in high school. In fact, I have seen much that moves me here: memorials to village members who were massacred during the conflict, a young woman recounting how she felt like she had many mothers in the town because they all worried about her safety, a father who drives his bus home late from the big city to be with his family, a mother gushing about her daughter in the states and how much she misses her, youth determines to build parks in their communities (never knowing how much work it takes), and so much more. I have been offered much by people I barely know, for people here live the call to become brothers and sisters to everyone, to love like family. May I carry a portion of that spirit back to the states with me, and may it take root and grow into a towering tree of love and life.

17 May 2015

17 May 2015 - Sunday

Three blessedly cool days. The clouds have come and brought relief from the suffocating heat we sometimes experience. I am grateful for that.

Yesterday we taught our second youth workshop. I don't think I've yet described what they are or why we do them – it is about time I do so. We decided to base our workshop on a "Serious Legos" training that has been done around the world with business executives and communities. Several people at SembrandoPaz had been through it, and upon hearing about it we thought it would be excellent for the youth. Using Legos, they construct themselves, their community, and their future. Then, as a group, we reflect on what they've built and what it reveals about their wants and needs. The goal is to familiarize the youth with their region's wants and needs, giving them the tools to unite and launch projects across the region. I'm only here for the initial stages of the project, but I think we're starting an important process.

Then last night Lani and I attended a "quinceañero" (Colombian for quinceañera). It was so fun to see the combination of Black and Latin cultures in these people. The result was a not-overly-pompous but poignant ceremony for the girl's 15th birthday and coming of age, pounding Caribeña music, couples dancing everywhere, much alcohol, and a long night – many were there past 5am. I left much earlier, which I sometimes do even at American parties, but was very glad I had the chance to see a 'fiesta' down here before I left.

This morning we made the long trip back into the beautiful semitropical hills of the Alta Montaña, headed for another Lego workshop with a youth group in there. It's a younger group, mostly 10 to 18, which is a little outside what I imagine to be the prime age for organizing the youth in the area. But if they're willing to work we are willing to take them; youth need to support each other in positive projects at every age. And I am impressed at the spirit which prevailed in this little group when we met briefly to introduce ourselves – it is clearly built to make these youth better people, not for any outside benefit. They plan to learn guitar together, play foosball, and generally become more well-rounded and wise. I admire that. I hope it works.

I have been reading a book out here which has caused me to reflect on the creation of strong communities and governments. I have recently come face-to-face with the drastic implications of the nonviolent teachings of Christ through research for work and my own study of the Scriptures. He truly was the prince of peace, and I believe he meant for us to turn the other cheek, love our enemies, and never use violence or force – only to invite. But being here in Colombia, watching violence and anger and apathy slowly break communities down, I am reminded of another philosophy: Niccolo Machiavelli. Machiavelli wrote a brilliant treatise on the peaceful government of a republic, but his most famous work is 'The Prince', which instructs absolute monarchs on how to do their own populations. His idea seems to be that a powerful prince has to require people to behave, giving them a certain level of virtue before those people can take part in their own governments as a republic. In the novel I read, a king came to the same conclusion: he was trying to lead by example and invite people to do good, but he decided that he needed to subdue them and teach them forcefully before they would be ready to live virtuously.

In moments, I have wondered if some of the developing world has the same need as Machiavelli and this fictional King identified, strong-armed governments who instill a basic sense of civic virtue in the populace so that they can govern themselves well in the future. But that seems to run contrary to the universality of Christ teachings, our imperative to govern always bye love, humility, and difference to free will. Is it possible to be both strong-armed and Christlike? Furthermore, this idea forces me to re-examine my own cultures past of colonialism, both in the United States and Western Europe. Many of those colonists were sure they knew better than the people they encountered, determined to "civilize" them by strong-armed tactics (forced Christian conversion, imposing Western standards of dress and art, breaking down tribal councils and existing governments). And I look at the awful consequences of such overconfident reform in Africa, Latin America, Asia, and think: "Never again." There is certainly value in strength and in setting high standards, but it must never come at the cost of essential freedom for humankind. There must be a way to balance those needs.

One of my good friends, Jorge, next to a beautiful mural in a tiny town.

One last thought before bed. I was talking with a friend today about the apparent paradox between the giving spirit in these communities and their ability to work together toward ideals of order, cleanliness, and progress. He has been living in one of these communities for a while and suggested that much of the supposed problem may stem from the fact that the communities function more like families than like associations of neighbors. Most of us can agree that accomplishing something within the family is often more difficult than with strangers, particularly if it is a new or complex problem which needs to be solved. Financial problems are notorious and marriages and I've heard many couples who advise against going into business together after having tried it. Children can be pediment, spouses stubborn, grandparents bossy, uncles and aunts nosy. So if the family is even slightly dysfunctional, it can make accomplishing tasks very difficult. Well, these rural communities are often more like family than not: most are related by blood or marriage, they grew up together on the streets and in the schools, everyone knows the gossip about everyone. And I would not call these community-families particularly functional much of the time, for reasons outside of my ability to comprehend. So I think my friend had an excellent point. These communities love each other and are loyal to each other like families. They also fight like (somewhat dysfunctional) families. That makes working as an outsider a great deal harder.

PS The stars here in the hills are extraordinary. I spent a few minutes looking up at them through the palm trees as lightning bugs flashed around me. They are so bright, so near. Like friends. But the kind of friends you don't quite comprehend, despite your mutual respect.

15 May 2015

15 May 2015 - Friday

Today we walked over 12 miles gathering surveys from the youth in the area of Libertad. We are trying to get as much feedback as possible for our future project proposals, seeing what a good sample of youth from the region wants and needs. We had about ten youth walking with us, bravely approaching people – many older than them – and asking them to fill out a fairly detailed form. It was fun to watch them become more bold, more excited, and more willing to help. Youth is a wonderful time of life, with such desires to make a difference in the world and a willingness to do it in small contexts. I am blessed to be working with youth during this month.

A few of the youth we worked with on the long walk in Libertad -- Yeison,
María, and Paloma.

One other thing which made up for the long walk was the beach. The first town we visited was built on the beach, not within view of or overlooking the beach but on the beach – we entered the town through fields and trees and exited on the shores of the Caribbean. Fishing shelters dotted the shore and boats the sea, small outboard motorboats and little wooden canoes with fisherman leaning out and spreading nets into the sea. The waves were soft and calm, moving as if the warm climate left them just as dozy as the people onshore. And the warmth of the water – it made me want to fling myself into the welcoming waves and swim far from the shore. But considering my jeans, shirt, and long distance from a change of clothes, I decided that would be unwise. So I walked through the shallow waves instead, drinking in the salty breeze and watching the youth joke and laugh on the beach. I treasure those moments.

14 May 2015

14 May 2015 - Thursday

(Note: I've decided to just title my posts by the day they were written. Simpler and more true to the spirit in which they are written.)

The last few days have been nice. After a couple days of traveling and teaching in hot weather, we have been able to recover a little in the Alta Montaña and in Sincelejo. I had a really nice conversation with a Mennonite friend who is here visiting a college friend, an employee of SembrandoPaz, discussing religion and Brandon Sanderson and college and much more. I also had a nice long talk with Ricardo Esquivia, the director of SembrandoPaz. He was a little curious about Mormons, so we traded stories about our religions and then moved into international development, political philosophy, and other related topics. He is a wise man who has found a corner in life where he is both effective and happy. He has done such good things for the Montes de María region, a series of dozens of town on the Colombian coast which were heavily affected by the armed conflict. In addition, he lives just out of town on a farm and has time to work in the garden, direct the planting of rare or historical plants, and sit on the porch with his wife (who works with the organization as well). It is a simple yet powerful life.

In fact, I had the fascinating opportunity to visit Ricardo's farm yesterday. The major thrust of the farm is to develop a self-sustaining agriculture, which Ricardo feels is lacking in the modern capitalistic system. He has all sorts of trees growing there: mangoes, plantains, limes, Haitian limes, oranges, coconuts, and several which I have never heard of but which apparently provide great nutrition with less intensive farming than plants which must be replanted each year. But he also grows herbs and more traditional crops: several strains of corn descended from old indigenous plants, tomatoes, and the like. The entire idea is fascinating. Oh, and since the farm manager climbed a coconut tree I decided to try it myself. I only got about 5 feet off the ground and paid for it with several small scrapes, a hearty laugh from the manager, and a sheepish grin. Totally worth it.

Ricardo's farm, with some yuca plants growing. They are a root, and one
of the most common foods eaten on the coast.

Our First Workshop

11 May 2015 - Monday

I'm standing outside listening to the persistent hum of cicadas in every surrounding tree. Down the street someone is celebrating, a large band playing – mostly in tune – as the laughs of revelers float between notes. The warm night is a relief after the hot, humid day, the air less suffocating. It's a good time to be in Colombia.

Yesterday I was able to go to church again. It's funny how the whole city feels more comfortable now that I've come back home to it from a short trip, and that includes church here. It was nice to see familiar faces, to trade a couple of jokes, to give the closing prayer in one meeting. It makes me miss having a nice routine, but I came here for different reasons.

After church it was off to the Alta Montaña for our first youth workshop. A week and a half of sporadic planning have brought us to an unusual plan – the workshop is based on a set of "Serious Legos" that SembrandoPaz obtained a few years ago. Youth build models of themselves and their communities, then work in groups to build a shared vision of the future. Through this "hands-on, minds-on" tactic we strive to help participants and facilitators gain new perspectives on the needs and capabilities of youth in each community. Our goal is to get representatives from each area who can later come together and share what they learned in the workshops to build an over-arching project proposal for the youth organizations in this rural zone. It's an ambitious plan, but our small start should at least give an idea of its viability.

Our road into the Alta Montaña.

First, before we even began the workshop, our motorcycle ride there was glorious. We followed a winding dirt road that climbed and then plunged through forest and thickets, revealing layer upon layer of jagged hills covered in lush greenery. And riding through that country on motorcycle was somehow so freeing – wind rushing by, insect noises everywhere, the thick tropical air filling lungs and heart alike. I have rarely felt so alive.

The workshop itself, despite the unusual heat of the day, went quite well. (Note: I don't actually notice when one day is hotter than another because they all feel so stifling to me, so I rely on accounts from others for comparison.) The youth in Alta Montaña have been organized for a while, so they have several solid group efforts going and some beautiful goals, educational and otherwise. What struck me the most, however, was their vision of the intergenerational character of the work. They wanted to build so that others after them could continue these youth organizations. They wanted to build so that their children and grandchildren could build on the foundation. And as I listened to them talk, I was struck by the intergenerational character of everything that we do. We build on what our parents have given us, we never build completely anew; our children and grandchildren are likewise blessed and cursed. Real cultural change takes generations, but that is no reason to ease up in our efforts to change the world – indeed, it should make us work harder. If we can merely help cultivate a kinder, wiser, nobler view of the world in younger generations, the world will slowly approach God. "Shall we not go on and so great a cause?"

A picture from the workshop, with the youth working on Lego models of
themselves and their communities.

Day-to-Day Life in Colombia

10 May 2015 - Sunday

I've been wanting to describe the place I live here (or places, rather, given the extensive traveling we do). First, despite the fact that this part of Colombia (the Caribbean coast) rarely dips below 90% humidity and 75°F (hotter during the day), air conditioning is a rare thing. It's most a function of income, of course – that's a huge monthly expense and a big drain on an already stretched power distribution system – but some people here genuinely dislike it. They've grown to love the heat, tolerate the sweat, and take cold showers when it gets to be too much. I, however, will be glad to have air conditioning, cooler nights, and varying seasons back in the states.

The normal flow of water from

a Colombian showerhead.

At any rate, no air conditioning means fans are on constantly. Also, all houses are open to the air (cracks under the doors, holes under the eaves, windows in inside rooms) to allow for as much airflow as possible. That means houses get more bugs and dust than in the US, which rules out the possibility of carpet or many cloth furnishings. Furthermore, out in the countryside, running water and electricity are technically installed but go out often, especially the water, meaning we shower
with buckets or bowls much of the time (and wash dishes, etc.). Even if the shower does work, it's rarely a shower head – just a normal stream of water. And always cold – it's too hot here to be worth heating the water, even in the city. Finally, water here is rarely filtered so foreigners like me have to buy filtered water by the bottle (or by the bag, a common thing here).

It's hardly a complete description of living conditions here, but it's as close as I will get to trying. Just know that I am almost always hot and at least a bit damp.

Today I also made the long trip from Lani's little town back to Sincelejo. I started on motorcycle taxi, but halfway to our first destination we felt the beginnings of a torrential downpour. Luckily the driver was wise enough to pull over to a small shelter which housed over two dozen people like us, travelers escaping the rain – most were talking, half-heartedly gambling on a few old tables, or staring glumly out at the rain (see right). On the other hand, I was thrilled. It had been weeks since I wasn't hot and wet, and now I was at least cold and wet. We finished the drive as the storm turned to a drizzle, which left me soaked and a bit colder but still happy. The country was beautiful in the rain, and the post-storm climate was the least humid it's ever been during my time here. From that destination I caught a bus back into Sincelejo, and settled in for at least one night back "home."

On the way I was thinking about the pace of life in Latin cultures, especially rural. Anyone who knows me has probably noted that I like to move at a hundred miles an hour whenever I can, stretching myself thin and overcommitting myself to get as much done as possible. Latin people think that's crazy, at least many of be Mexicans and Colombians that I've spent time with. In Mexico I learned to tolerate the different way of life, starting meetings late and waiting for friends and rescheduling appointments as needed. But I didn't let it go through me – when I returned to the states, I quickly adopted the same hectic schedule as before. This time around I've been forced to reconsider that posture and make sure it is (1) healthy and (2) genuinely good in the long run. I was talking with a friend who lived her childhood in this slow-paced coastal region and her college/post-college years in faster-paced Bogotá, and she mentioned the unfortunate habit of many people with fast-paced lives to focus on products rather than people. It's a familiar attitude in economics, where labor is often reduced to a variable on par with with utilities or cost of materials. And that is not the way I want to see the world. So first, as far as the health part goes, I think there is something to be said for slowing down. But I am often much more fulfilled and emotionally healthy when I am "anxiously engaged in a good cause." If I also manage to sleep enough during those times, I usually feel physically great as well (or no worse than average). So as long as I pay attention to my emotional and physical well-being, I'm not too worried about the health of a rushed life.

The view on the way home to Sincelejo.

The issue of caring more about products more than about people is, however, a bigger one. There is certainly a balance to be achieved here – we must always care about people AND get things done. Indeed, not getting enough done can actually hurt a community in the long run. So the question I must ask myself is whether I am sufficiently watching out for people as I strive to get things done, or, on the other hand, if I need to take a page out of the Latin American book and care more about people. I certainly do a better job of that when there is less on the line – here with SembrandoPaz, I feel like I've been very relaxed and easy on the people I work with because I don't have to prove myself here. On the other hand, with school or work projects (especially in consulting case competitions) I have been less forgiving because jobs are on the line. During school, I often work from morning tonight on weekdays, though I have made a pretty regular habit of taking time out of my evenings if someone needs it. Weekends are much better – dates or friends Fri/Sat nights, usually some activity Saturday (sometimes schoolwork), visiting and worship on Sundays. You know, I feel pretty comfortable with that. It's not community-centric like the lives of people here, but it's allowed me to maintain some incredible relationships while achieving some very important goals. I will have to find a new balance during consulting – especially since weekdays will be even less free than during school – but I don't think I'm on the wrong track. I suppose I can only hope.

Conflict and Reparations in Colombia

9 May 2015 - Saturday

In the mid-1960s, Colombia began sliding into civil war. The causes were complicated – a 1940s assassination ushered in a repressive anti-communist regime, which was soon challenged by the 1960s pro-communist tide in Latin America. Harsh government tactics against the movement led to the formation of violent rebel guerrilla groups (like FARC), so then the US intervened militarily in what it saw as another communist revolution. With the national government on its heels, rich Colombian landowners formed their own "paramilitary" groups for protection. In the chaos, both guerrillas and paramilitaries (especially the latter) turned to producing and selling cocaine for funding, which got the US even more involved.

It has been a slow-burning conflict ever since, but that hardly means it hasn't affected the country. Mistrust and frustration abound. In the 1980s more than 500 leaders of a leftist/communist political party were killed, including several presidential candidates, possibly by the government. Over 200,000 people, the majority civilians, have died over the years. And approximately 5 million people – 10% of Colombia's population – have been displaced from their homes, mostly ancestral farmland in rural areas, because of fear or threats from both guerrillas and paramilitaries. This means huge shantytown slums around the bigger cities, broken rural homes, suspicion within villages, the breaking of centuries of tradition, lost youth, and much more. Into this mess has stepped SembrandoPaz, the organization I am working for, trying to build peace by helping affected communities develop healthy dialogue and healthy political processes. My job specifically is to help youth (15-25 ish) get involved in that process through organizations, projects, and work.

The location of Sincelejo, on the northern
end of Colombia. The towns we work with
are north of here for an hour or two.

Given that background, we have an interesting situation here in Colombia which may or may not have wider application. I just sat through a series of three 3-hour workshops in a small community, conducted by a government-employed, university-educated architect who has devoted himself to teaching oppressed and indigenous communities about their rights. The major reason seems to be that the government has been remiss in its task of helping poor and oppressed communities. Several articles of the Colombian constitution and laws require support for these remote regions, especially in reparation for the decades of armed conflict that tore them apart. So this government employee and his organization have decided to go to these communities and help them take charge of their own reparation and advancement, teaching them about applicable laws and government programs. Their eventual hope, it seems, is that the communities will figure out things that they actually want, will organize, and will demand help from the government. Essentially, they want these communities to take the future into their own hands and not depend on distracted and slow-moving government officials.

My question is this: are we moving in the right direction? It took twelve years for a recent reparations plan to make its rounds through this area, and by the time it started to kick in the pertinent national laws had changed. The government might move slowly, but in legal matters (especially in complicated plans) it may still move faster than fractious communities. The towns can make their own proposals for what the government should do, but the government officials will only do it if it fits in their larger plan. The exception is when the majority of the community gets behind a simple, powerful idea and demands government action. Think of India: "One hundred thousand Englishmen cannot rule three hundred million Inidians if those Indians refuse to cooperate." Or the civil rights movement of the 1960s in the US. Or even the uprising here in this town in the mid-2000s, when they rose up against the harsh rule of an armed paramilitary group and liberated themselves. Those were simple, powerful ideas. But the complicated reparation plans which follow those conflicts, figuring out who gets which resources and how to reconstruct civil society – that's the long work of political entities. People can participate in town meetings and give feedback, of course, but communities simply do not have the time to sit in hours of meetings and fight over endless details of complex plans. That's why they elect representatives! And if those representatives do a poor job of meeting the needs or interests of the citizens, in a democracy they can theoretically be replaced. It's more difficult than that, of course, but the basic idea should work.

So what is the role of outside organizations, if the main work must be done within communities and their local political processes? I think the best outside help, and this includes national government, comes in (1) education, (2) administrative consulting, (3) basic civic structures, (4) a basic safety net to prevent absolute poverty, and (5) health consulting. I'm sure I missed a few things, and those would come out in further discussion, but the point is that getting the community to demand complex reparation plans is both outside the role of a community and unhelpful for their dependence on outside entities. We want self-sufficency, ultimately, in the interest of human dignity. These communities have open elections, full political enfranchisement, freedom from armed violence (largely) – the big demands are largely met, the kind that the civil rights movement fought for. Now the long, hard work of constructing a civil society begins, and it cannot be done at a national level. It must be done on the ground, by the people who will participate, in their own way and in their own time. And this is why the work of external community organizers worries me – the evolution of daily interactions and social power structures must come from within.

So let the Colombian government do what reparations it will, listening closely to feedback from communities. But our energy as outside actors should be spent creating the conditions for growth – removing obstacles (absolute poverty, lack of meeting space, lack of education) and providing outside experience (in administration, health, and more).

To the Countryside

7 May 2015 - Thursday

Tonight is my first night out in the 'campo'. I traveled out with my supervisor (ish) Lani, talking about Colombia and home and her decision to spend at least four years of her life with SembrandoPaz here. She loves the work, as well as the people, and really feels she has purpose here that she doesn't have back in the states. Well, I know some returned missionaries who feel the same way, so I don't blame her at all. She will probably come out a better person for it, though it's not an easy road.

After a long bus ride (with a good deal of waiting interspersed – that is normal in developing countries, I think) we arrived in the city in which Lani serves as a liaison. It is a small-ish town of Afro-Colombians, not 10 minutes from the Caribbean coast and still humid like Sincelejo. We got here just in time for a meeting with some government representatives about making a plan for "collective reparations," which is a common theme in these communities. They include community structures but also community councils, better teachers for the schools, and such intangible benefits. It is closely related to SembrandoPaz's work, trying to move beyond cash payments or physical construction into the world of communities and ideas. Hard work, but important.

A typical street in Lani's community.

As Lani and I were discussing this theme on the way here, I started to ponder these poor rural communities (Latin and African in particular) that are often seen as more communal but have something very uncooperative about their actual communities. Why is that? It struck me that they are definitely better at fulfilling direct obligations incurred by family or relationships – kids take care of parents, government officials give cousins jobs, parents sacrifice everything for kids (crossing the border). Howver, interestingly, they don't have the same abstract sense of justice many Western societies have inherited, the kind that considers all people equal before the law. I think that is still kind of silly to many of them – my grandmother is not just like every other old lady, and I should stand by her even if she does something contrary to societal law. In a fascinating way, I think this even affects their view of themselves – I am not just some other guy, I am me, the only one who watch out for me in the end. I shouldn't see myself in some removed, dispassionate flight.

All these things are probably true, but there seems to be a lack of objectivity in these societies which could balance that subjectivity. (It may be the opposite in Western societies, but that's another discussion.) It's Kant's categorical imperative coming back to haunt me, despite my belief that the imperative is alone insufficient to guide human action: act as if you could wish everyone to act in the same way in a similar situation (roughly). Should everyone try to make personal trips on company money? Should everyone sell their vote for a few dollars? Should everyone beat up the neighbor who insults a loved one? Clearly reason is not enough to make a healthy society, but I think these communities could use some rational, universalizable standards of behavior.

While sitting in the meeting today, as well as yesterday's, I also began to ponder the importance of the lawyers. It's a bit silly, I realize, but I was struck by how often laws and articles of the Constitution came up. Humankind put so much stock in their hastily written, imperfect laws, and if people can be convinced something is required (and enforced) by law, they are much more likely to do it. That even includes many villagers, though the subjective perspective mentioned above probably makes that instinct less powerful. So in defending the rights of the poor and oppressed, if a lawyer can make a great case for a true moral principle by appealing to an existing law, the rest of society is very likely to go along even if it is not pleased. Additionally, if a lawyer can help the poor and oppressed fight for their rights through existing laws, the rich and powerful are more likely to listen. While that doesn't quite make me want to be a lawyer, it does make me re-think the value of a JD.

At the workshop on collective reparation.

One final thought on today's workshop. The facilitator, a nice guy with a European complexion, has clearly spent some time with these poor communities. He is determined to help them make proposals for collective reparation and is frustrated by the apparent lack of progress or effort in the community. But I think he overlooks the simple fact that every comment in the meetings focuses not on reparations or laws or definitions – they focus on relationships and trust (or the lack thereof). These people aren't concerned about collective land rights when they don't have a functioning council to govern the land, aren't concerned about making community-wide proposals when they can't even get the whole community to meet together. It seems that getting them to meet about and agree on smaller things might be better. Certainly it will also be important to educate the children, not just for a few years but constantly, in great schools, until they begin to balance the subjective outlook with (a reasonable quantity of) objectivity. But that's a work of generations, and we can't afford for these communities to fall into more violence and mistrust while waiting for the next few generations to take over. So how do we help communities racked by mistrust and self- or family-focus to function now, long enough for education to help?

Hard questions abound here.

On Rural Community Development

6 May 2015 - Wednesday

The work of SembrandoPaz (and other organizations I'm getting to know, like Pres. Obama's in Chicago) is so different from the typical poverty-fighting work done by governments and NGOs. The usual process is giving reparation payments, building low-income housing, redistributing income, opening homeless shelters and food banks, meeting real physical needs. But something is lacking in this work which has to do with long-term underlying structures, with the origins of the physical needs or the reasons that people can't meet their physical needs. That is the work which SembrandoPaz is trying to do: help communities select (better) representatives, help them understand the laws which concern them, help them organize to prevent violence and abuse, and help them become self-sufficient. It is extraordinary. The people here (in Montes de María) have suffered so much from guerrilla violence and rural poverty and government corruption (or misunderstandings) that I'm not sure they believe much can be done in their situation. This organization is trying to change that perception.

SembrandoPaz, in the process, has decided that the best way to help these communities become self-sufficient is to keep them where they are, to try to convince people not to move to the city. But the way capitalism has – according to the claims of its adherents – brought millions out of poverty is by involving them in the inevitably mercantile system present in cities and in surrounding areas. No one becomes rich in a rural collective system, and in years of drought or agricultural disaster people do die. But a capitalistic city-based system kills as well, from gangs and traffic to hearts. Cities are emotionally draining for the poor, both because of actual repression (police brutality in poor neighborhoods, real estate hard to acccess for the poor) and because of unintended repression/side effects (comparison with the rich, separation of families for work, moving constantly for work). Being poor is hard in any context, but I think it's harder in the city. (Except, what of the rural deep South in the US?) At any rate, does that mean that the best way to help these communities is to keep them where they are, more equal but more poor? It's an anti-capitalistic move, but that just may be what this region needs. However, a fast-growing population in a constantly shifting, global modern economy – is it capable of maintaining collective ownership without losing youth to high-paying jobs, property to the highest bidder, and lawsuits to city-trained lawyers? Is a communal system even sustainable in our modern world? If it's not, then it may not matter how much better it is for the soul. And certainly a communal system would take a level of cooperation which I don't know if I see here.

One of our views on the way to the workshop.

 Many of these feelings were brought on by a large meeting of community leaders that I attended today. Ricardo Esquivia drove a few of us three hours into the hills, the last hour over a winding dirt road that ducked and crashed through an incredible jungle. It was no Amazon, but it was just wet enough to support an impressive variety of trees, vines, and occasional stray dogs. The accompanying picture shows a bit of that scenery – it was stunning at moments. Then we joined the group for some conversation time, a huge lunch, and finally a large meeting with representatives from seven or eight communities. It was so interesting to watch them introduce themselves and their projects, though I missed quite a bit. I think the combination of clipped Caribbean-esque Spanish, a brand-new country, and new political terms has limited how much I understand in official and normal conversation here. Still, I know enough to recognize some serious wind-bagging alongside impressive accounts of how communities are making progress. Clearly they want to become strong communities, but doing so will requires significant change in their basic community structures, which seem to be rather torn between their traditional elder-centric culture and the new democratic structure that the government requires.

At the meeting of community leaders.

Last night I also had a nice experience. After a long day creating a survey for the youth and talking about how to structure our workshops, we closed up shop and I started working on normal evening tasks (emails, reading, blog). Somehow my hostess and I got talking, and soon she was deep in an account of her childhood. When she was only nine months old her mother left the family and her father raised them from there. My good hostess was always quiet, a stay-at-home child, though she began to go to a Christian church in her late teens and finally made some friends there. Then, incredibly, on her nineteenth birthday, she was conducted to her mother… but the story is not mine. Suffice it to say, it was a deeply human night. For everything that I learn when I travel, for everything new and thought-provoking, one of the best things about travel is being reminded of our shared humanity. Every individual struggles with social and familial issues, finds joy in relationships, loves and fears and cries and lives. It is beautiful, how much we share, and it gives me hope as we move into the unknowable future.

The First Day's Work

4 May 2015 - Monday


It didn't take long to meet most everyone on the SembrandoPaz team – I suppose getting to know them will be the harder part. We had our first meeting today and I met the majority of the team, from Lani (an American who will essentially be my supervisor) to Ricardo (the founder of and visionary behind SembrandoPaz). It is really an extraordinary organization, at least in the literal meaning of being unusual and by all appearances also in the superlative way. Ricardo opened up the meeting reading in the Bible, then he had each person at the table say how they were doing – not their work, not their stewardship, just them as a person. The heartfelt replies were inspiring. If only every team cared about each other this much! Not that every organization should replicate this exact exercise, but the general idea of explicitly demonstrating care for the personal well-being of team members is brilliant.

Lani and I spent the afternoon planning my month in Colombia, both in terms of schedule (five communities to visit in four weeks, each with its own schedule to balance) and in terms of our teaching. We know that we want to get the youth (ages 15-25 ish) of the area, who are mostly without work or future, organized and doing good projects that they come up with. We know that we want to help them get funding from the government or NGOs. So our job is somehow to start that work, to figure out what the youth want and help them select representatives to write proposals and find who to send proposals to. It's no easy task, but it's probably more important than any revenue stream I will generate with PwC. These are youth who were displaced by massive violence for much of their childhood, and helping them peacefully re-establish their lives – well, it is a glorious challenge.

Just a last word about Ricardo Esquivia, founder of SembrandoPaz. I was primed to be a little starstruck when I came, thanks to a friend's high praise, but still I have been so impressed with his wisdom, simplicity, and faith. He never makes himself out to know the most, but rather relies on the resources already in communities (or on his own team) to solve seemingly intractable problems. It means that his work moves a tad slower than some might like, but I think it ends up being more long-lasting than many other projects because it starts at the basic level, helping people become self-reliant. I'm grateful to be working with him.

Sincelejo - Home Base

3 May 2015 - Sunday

I arrived in Sincelejo last night. It is a small city of 250,000, medum-sized really but it doesn't feel that way. It has two or three big supermarkets (all one chain), one big plaza where people gather in the evenings, a tiny central market with temporary shops woven through the streets and walkways, a few small universities, and a new mall with a little movie theater. This means that the rest of the city is run like a huge series of small towns – tiny shops for food, clothing, motorcycle repair, and all the necessities of life dot the main roads far into the suburbs. By contrast, the Provo-Orem metro area has 300,000 people and is very different – 4-5 big movie theaters, 10-20 supermarkets (most bigger than those here), restaurants of every type, 2.5 large malls, two huge universities, the enormous University Parkway business center.

My room in Sincelejo. I'm there about half of my nights in Colombia.

But I'm not sure Sincelejo is worse off. I mean, sometimes I think so – part of me constantly pines for the states when I'm abroad – but I also realize much of the development I just mentioned is not very healthy. A simple life isn't so bad, though I don't think the simple life of the city is quite equal to that of the country. Simple city life often just feels like poverty. and perhaps it really is more "poor" in some sense of the word. So perhaps that's why Sincelejo is a little unattractive to me, in a way that the city of Bogotá or the tiny towns of Kenya and Mexico were not. But the issue of how I react to Sincelejo is probably more complicated even than that. No solving it tonight.

Sincelejo is also a very Latin/Hispanic city. Loud music in the evenings, motorcycles and taxis everywhere (read: 80% of vehicles on the road), a few bus lines, lots of people lounging outside their houses or shops or downtown, a surprising amount of staring (or maybe just because I'm a gringo), many small groups talking and laughing, a slower pace of life, a surprising amount of trash, awful driving, much honking of horns, tiny shops every 30 feet selling everything under the sun (including the same thing sometimes), a big Catholic Church, many pedestrians, warm nights, and no A/C. It's so different from home, and sometimes I love that.

Taxis and motorcycles. Everywhere.

Today I went to the LDS church in Sincelejo. It's part of the district, so no wards yet, but some of the branches are quite large. With fast and testimony meeting today, there were some sweet meetings. I went to two separate meetings, and in the smaller meeting almost everyone stood to bear testimony. While I don't generally love small units struggling to fill all the callings, this was a really nice experience – pure, good people. I think they will be excellent to spend time with.

Permit me two more descriptions. The people I have met with SembrandoPaz so far have been, quite simply, some of the most interesting and selfless people I have met in all my travels. This afternoon I spent a long time talking with a woman from Bogotá who graduated in social work. She later moved up here, just three months ago, to help however she could. She left a good job and many cultured friends in Bogotá and has been very lonely here, but she loves the work and is determined to stay at least a year. Then this evening I talked with a fascinating young man who lives in the mountains in a tiny village and it takes photographs of the people doing… everything. He has been there two years and loves the people dearly, and he thinks their slow integration into modernity (a new highway, clamors for electricity and cell service) is only going to hurt them. Perhaps he is right – sometimes I think the small towns are better off isolated. But with the lack of education and engagement with serious problems in the world around them, should they really live like that? We don't keep children eternally innocent; rather we teach them to be problem-solvers and serviceable to the world – should that change if people don't have to live in the world?

At any rate, Kristian (the photographer) is a character the likes of which I rarely meet. With no permanent salary, he has "considered the lilies of the field" and lived trusting in God to provide (as he told me), and provide God has. That's some faith! I'm looking forward to meeting the rest of the team soon.

The view from our roof in Sincelejo.

Wanderings and Musings from Bogotá

2 May 2015 - Sunday

Bogotá is fascinating. It is much more European than Mexico City, or than what I've heard of Quito or even São Paulo, yet so far from London that one simply has to create a new category. Much of the city is constructed of those cheap cement-and-brick structures so common in South/Central America, sometimes painted in bright colors and reaching up to 10 stories but always looking like the minimum viable structure. Nothing aesthetic about them. Kenya was the same way, which surprised me at first; I suppose I hadn't realized that housing might be similar across the developing world because of how tight money is or perhaps because of how fast their populations are growing.

And I suppose that's what gets me – Bogotá doesn't really feel like the "developing world," at least not in any strong sense of the word. But Colombia's GDP per capita is lower than most Latin  American countries except for the very poorest ones: Bolivia, Paraguay, Ecuador.  Even Venezuela has a higher average income because of oil incomes, though it's hardly a more pleasant place to live for any except the oil barons.  Colombia does have successful banks, some beautiful buildings, thriving companies, and fairly rich natural resources (without being too dependent on them). But the attitudes in Columbia seem to maintain a third-world-ness, despite the country's prosperity and growth. There is always the problem of the internal violence, which has been constant for decades, but probably a larger issue is the abuse of institutional power. It happens in all nations, of course, but it is more pronounced in societies without a strict rule of law or dissemination of basic rights and equalities. Raise up the poor, raise up the indigenous population, raise up the women and children in a society, and you improve it vastly. Instill (somehow) an internal respect for that equality and at least a marginal desire to follow the law in order to show that respect, and improve it even more. In Colombia I see a great desire to do respect equality, but a lack of desire to respect it by following laws (in the governing classes particularly) seems to stymie many efforts. Naturally it is more complicated than this, but that's my go at it.

This spills over into the aesthetic sense of a society. There was a time, I think, when the poor members of society still built nice homes if they could… Now, is that true? The poor of ancient Rome, of ancient Athens, of 10th-century Paris, of 17th-century London, where did they live? The poor of ancient China or of the Aztec empire, where did they live? Were their homes any nicer than the inexpensive cement-and-brick eyesores which blanket the developing world? When individuals are poor, genuinely poor, I almost invariably notice a decreased lack of concern for surroundings because of their concern for basic needs. This is true in the trailer parks in Washington state, the rough side of Salt Lake City, the rural villages of Kenya, and the cramped urban housing of Mexico. And it's true here in Colombia, which has a bit more trash and a bit less nice architecture than I would like. But it is it more true in some of those places than in others? And if so, why would that be? Do people keep things nice when they take pride in their surroundings? And is it hard to take pride in what you have if others surrounding you have much more? People can learn not to compare, of course, but comparison is a natural reaction. Everything I study, everything I see in my travels, points toward at least one conclusion: equality of outcomes is more important than Westerners like to think. Unless they are socialist, of course. This seems to imply a listing of principles, in order of priority: 

1) All individuals in a society should have a basic level of comfort and freedom from want.

2) All individuals in a society should work for their own benefit and the benefit of the community as their abilities permit. 

3) Equality of outcomes should be maximized as much as possible given  (1) and (2).

4) Individual liberty should be as great as possible given  (1), (2), and (3).

But this is no liberal project – it is a semi-socialist, redistributionary, perfectionist political program! And while I support fairly intense redistribution, I am cautious about socialism (because of its authoritarian tendencies) and  perfectionism (because I don't trust human leaders to select and carry out programs which make individuals truly happy).  Indeed, the major problem with items 1-3 in this list is human fallibility – I don't trust human beings (in perpetuity) with the degree of power implied by these items.  Maximizing the quality of outcomes while maintaining a base level of comfort is theoretically attractive, but how could we make it work practically? 

However, I digress. Political philosophy has certainly captured my interest. Most who read this blog will just smile patiently, I hope. Now we get to the action of my first day.

My whirlwind exploration of Bogotá was genuinely lovely. It began slowly – I tried to take a bus out to the tourist area and ended up fairly distant from my destination, so I walked down the city's main street and soon found myself in the middle of a protest/march/parade. Apparently it happens every first of May, their Labor Day, and I have since heard that this is true in Paris, Turkey, and perhaps elsewhere. It was loud and disjointed, no real theme as far as I could tell, but I was interested by the scene nevertheless. Only after encountering increasingly long lines of riot police on the street did I begin to think that I might be in a bit of danger; I later learned that the march is often accompanied by bombs and teargas and that I did well to leave the route. I walked about for a while after that, but due to the holiday most of the museums I wanted to visit were closed. Finally I decided to check the bike tour which had been highly recommended online.

Montserrate, the chapel which sits high above the city.

I discovered the shop after a great deal of searching. It was run by a nice young man, and we talked while I reserved a spot and paid, but with an extra hour and a half to kill I decided I didn't want to sit around. In fact, I don't think I could have done so if I wanted – I get surprisingly antsy when traveling by myself. So I made my way to a nearby mountain, which is capped by a beautiful white chapel and gives us absolutely stunning view of Bogotá, and took a train up. It was worth every moment, even though it made me late to my bike tour.

The view from Montserrate.

As I scurried down the hill, failing to find an open taxi only at the very moment I needed it most, I ran into a group of tourists on bikes. After a little verification, I was certain it was the right group (they had started at the time I was signed up for) and they had someone bring me a bike. It was a lovely ride – through the old English and German neighborhood (remarkably European), down the main road which had been lined with riot police just hours before, through the great parks, past walls of incredible street art, to the new justice building in the central plaza. Along the way our guide mused on (rather than recited) a script which included political repression, homosexual rights in Colombia, social justice, drugs and their trafficking, indigenous rights, the art of conversation, conflict resolution, and a great deal more. It was fascinating. The basic feeling I came away with was that a massive mistrust exists between the government and the majority of the citizens of Colombia, fueled by actions on both sides. as for our group, it was composed of two Swiss, a German, two Irish (?), an Israeli, an American, and two Colombian guides – so cool. One of the Swiss, a woman, is here working with the Red Cross for a full year and is clearly a wise, humble person. I immensely enjoyed the opportunity to interface with them a little and see their perspectives on the world – it's one of the main reasons I travel.

Our bike tour on one of the side streets in Bogotá

When the tour finished, we arrived back at the bike shop to discover that it was a different one than where I had paid! Apparently there are two bike tours, which surprised me, and I had mixed them up when I met the group on the street. But I enjoyed the experience so much that I just paid the price over again. In fact, all in all I probably spent double what I planned in Bogotá for various misunderstandings (and conveniences), but it was totally worth the stop.