Striking Realities

It's very challenging to know where to begin.

It's been over two months since I've written a blog post, but I kind of predicted this would happen. But here I am again, and I'm going to begin by sharing some of my most recent experiences.

Two weeks ago, I returned from the land of La Primavera, Guatemala, where I had the opportunity to travel with the Guatemala Human Rights Commission and 14 beautiful women from across the United States to learn more about the situation of violence against women, in particular, the femicide that is taking place there. As with most immersion trips or international delegations, it is easy to get caught up in the busyness of every day life upon returning to the U.S. and simply put on the back burner everything that was heard or witnessed. In the following days/weeks, I am going to attempt to keep the memory of the women whose stories we heard alive by sharing small experiences that struck me throughout that powerful and empowering week.

It is impossible to understand Guatemala's present without looking too at its history- the 36 year civil conflict, relations between indigenous communities and Ladinos, land rights struggles, US involvement in the region, etc. This is a long and complex history of periods of spring but also long periods of winter.

On the first evening of the delegation, we met someone who was able to give us a glimpse into this history. Jennifer Harbury is a graduate from Harvard law who journeyed to Guatemala during the civil war to witness to and document human rights abuses taking place. It was during this time that she met her husband, Efrain Bamaca Velasquez, a Mayan resistance leader. Efrain was captured by the Guatemalan government and Jennifer was told that he had been killed in combat. Jennifer later learned that he was in fact still alive and being tortured for information. In attempting to seek justice, Jennifer went on several hunger strikes, the longest being 32 days in Guatemala. After two and a half years of misinformation, she learned her husband was murdered by key military officials who were also on CIA payroll as paid informants.

As Jennifer began to give us a glimpse into her life and the immense struggles she has had to deal with over the past 18 years, I was overcome by anger and grief at the involvement and complicity of the U.S. government in cases such as this. I was also moved by Jennifer's courage and her willingness to continue fighting for justice despite overwhelming odds. Many of those who have sought to help her in this case have been threatened or killed, and as Jennifer said, "Everyone is under fire."

Jennifer pointed out to us that the violence of the past is closely connected to the violence that exists today against women- "the manner of mutilations are exactly the same as what we saw in the 1980s." The military developed very disturbing sexual preferences that are now passed on to gangs, who are trained to kill people in the most gruesome ways, using barbaric methods of intimidation.

When we asked Jennifer what she thought we could do, she had a few suggestions. She emphasized the importance of supporting human rights defenders through accompaniment and also urging the Attorney General of Guatemala to push the 10 paradigmatic war crimes cases forward. For more information about Jennifer Harbury's case, sponsored by GHRC, please see http://www.ghrc-usa.org/Resources/UrgentActions/bamaca_case/action_center.htm

Family Ties

I recently returned from a trip to the beautiful state of Indiana. Every couple years or so, my family gathers together for a reunion at a beautiful plantation mansion just outside of the historic town of Madison. Overlooking the Ohio River, this site has been the gathering space for celebrating graduations, weddings, baptisms, and anniversaries. Our weekends are usually filled with fun and relaxing activities-swimming, running around with the kids, eating DQ, and playing corn hole.

Although I was excited to see my family, I was also a bit nervous. I’m not that great at keeping in touch with all my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandma, but it turns out my anxiety and fears were pretty unfounded. As usual, my family picked up where we left off, and (it seems) we enjoyed catching up with one another, reading out loud from “shit my dad says,” touring grandma’s garden, and participating in graduation festivities.

While sitting with my family on the patio during Abbey’s graduation party, my brother Tony mentioned to me something my grandma had shared with him. As she pointed to all of her children, grandchildren, and now great grandchildren- she exclaimed: “Look! I started all this!” Now, my grandma has a pretty feisty personality, and at times, we have not always gotten along because of our differing views of politics, religion, etc. But, during this past reunion, I decided to refrain from any of these sorts of discussions and focus on learning from grandma and respecting her wisdom. At 87, she appears to have more strength and vigor than most people in their 20s do. As I walked through her garden and learned about how to plant corkscrew willows and nurture African violets, I wondered at her understanding and respect for nature. Although she has more plants than she knows what to do with, she admits, “I just have to keep growing stuff!” I couldn’t help but think that at her age, it must be pretty remarkable to look out at her family and her garden and exclaim, “Look, I started all this!”

Turning point

I'm never quite sure what to blog about. Do I talk about issues that concern me? People that have influenced me? Do I share a favorite recipe or poem, write about the environment, movies, music, historical figures, or theology? All of these things interest me, so it often takes me about half an hour to actually decide what I want to spend time reflecting on.

Today, it will be an issue that concerns me.

About a year and a half ago, I sat in a classroom in 129 Lake St. and watched a documentary on the femicide that is taking place in Ciudad Juarez, a city that sits right at the US-Mexico border. Through this film (and subsequent readings and research), I learned about the unspeakable crimes against humanity that are taking place in Juarez, Chihuahua City, and expanding into Guatemala. As I watched families share photos and stories of their sisters, daughters, and friends who have been horrifically tortured, raped, mutilated, and murdered simply because they are women, I remember feeling bewildered and overwhelmed. Learning about the impunity that takes place in the face of such injustices caused me to think long and hard about the privileges I hold as an educated US citizen and the responsibility I have to better understand this issue and become an advocate for these women.

You could say that this film and the class I was sitting in marked a turning point in my education. Though I appreciated previous class discussions on important theological concepts and doctrines, this class incited a deeper passion and commitment to issues of gender and equality, a commitment that I believe will be a part of my studies and career for many years to come.

This issue poses not only a theological challenge for me but also a deeply personal one. I think it gets at the essence of my own vocation. How can I live my life in a way that will honor not only the memory of the hundreds of women that have been senselessly disappeared and murdered in the past decade and a half in these cities of Mexico and Guatemala but also the stories of the women, men, and children who are affected daily by the reality of domestic violence here in the U.S. and around the world?

What are ways that I can be an agent of change as an individual, a member of my family and community? How can I build connections and relationships, create supportive spaces for people to share their stories and to be heard? In what venues and contexts can I help to educate and advocate for those affected by this issue? When and how do I step in when I hear someone being degraded or abused? Beginning to ask these questions and live them (as Rilke says), I hope to somehow, someday live my way into an answer.

For more information on these issues, please check out:
National Organization for Women: http://www.now.org/issues/global/juarez/femicide.html
REACH Beyond Domestic Violence: www.reachma.org
Fundacion Sobrevivientes: http://www.sobrevivientes.org/

Thanks, have a nice day, and go Irish!

Driving up Notre Dame Ave this past weekend, I got that giddy feeling I often times do when I hear my favorite song on the radio or smell my favorite scent. It's tough to describe how stepping foot on that campus makes me feel, but I think those who have had the privilege of spending four or more years singing the fight song, lighting candles at the grotto, and running around the lake understand it very well. I try not to be the overzealous domer who shouts "Go Irish" every time I see someone wearing ND paraphernalia. But, who am I kidding? It's a special place and an incredible family. Although it has been lovingly referred to as the "Catholic Disneyland" or the "Superbowl for Catholics,” for many, it is also a place of retreat, a reunion of friends, and a home of memories.

Frosh-O could have been a painfully awkward experience, but I was blessed to find a couple of awesome girls to hang out with during the first few hours of being on ND’s campus. After karaoke with Lyons and listening to boys in kilts sing songs from Top Gun, I remember venturing to the grotto in the evening, lighting candles together, and sharing a bit more deeply about our families and experiences. After that first weekend, we became somewhat inseparable. We would get ready for football games together blasting the latest NOW CD while putting glitter on our eyes and green or leprechaun earrings on. We would walk over to Loftus and enjoy time with Grandma and Grandpa Frailey and eat those delicious chocolate chip cookies that I can never seem to replicate. We would make up cheers and dances in the bleachers when we would get bored of keeping track of the football game. AND, at the end of the day, we would meet together at the grotto, say a prayer, walk around the lake, and then go back to Howard to watch a movie in the green lounge. This is how my freshman year of college began. How blessed was I to have met such amazing, genuine, loving girls so soon?

I understand this is probably not everyone’s experience of college, and that’s why I find it important to write about today. I feel overwhelmed by the grace of friendship that I have received. I never could have imagined forming such strong, authentic, beautiful relationships then those I stumbled upon my freshman year. As these friendships have grown over time, and we are moving on to new stages (ahem, marriage), I just want to say thank you Katy and Emmie for being such strong supports in my life. I am incredibly grateful for not only the fun nights we spent at the Feve, our amazing win at the Chariot Races or our Badin Breakdown appearance, but also for the conversations, prayers, and walks we have shared and the sisterhood we have formed. Thank you for all that you have given me. I love you girls, and I can’t wait to dance to Cascada at the wedding soon!

Grains of Hope

As today is the last day of my field placement at REACH Beyond Domestic Violence, I thought it would be appropriate to share some reflections about my time here. Many of my close friends know it has been a challenging year for me. Domestic violence is a tough reality to understand and its complexities often leave me feeling confused, sad, and overwhelmed. When I would find myself at get-togethers during the year, I often felt like a debbie downer as I described my field placement experience and the work that I have been doing. I sometimes caught myself wondering whether I am cut out for this type of work, whether I could personally handle the intensity of all of this. Although I have been engaging in more macro-level work, outreach and education, I find that I still take to heart and hold deeply the stories that I hear from my colleagues or become frustrated at the level of community denial that takes place around this issue.

Sitting around the table at a delicious Guatemalan/Salvadoran/Mexican restaurant today, enjoying pupusas and the company of my coworkers, I felt a wonderful glimmer of hope. These women have dedicated their lives to healing and empowering countless women, men, children, and families who have experienced the negative effects of domestic violence. These women not only serve as confidants and first responders but also activists and organizers. Reaching out to faith communities, schools, and businesses to educate on the dynamics of abuse and promote healthy relationships, they are forever seeking to "put themselves out of a job." Keeping with the theme of people who have influenced or impacted me in some way, the compassion and dedication of this wonderful group of women will always motivate me to be a part of the movement to end domestic abuse and violence in our communities and our world.

When faced with the overwhelming complexities of injustice that exist in our world--oil spills, immigration crisis, femicide, war and violence-- many may respond in apathy or perhaps feel a sense of paralysis. It's often difficult to know where to begin. Reflecting on my experience at lunch today reminds me that the small grains of hope that we have--shared conversations, food, family, community-- must be dispersed to others so that hope can grow. Despite feeling overhwhelmed at times, working at REACH over this past year has given me a strong sense of hope and renewal that the lives of a small group of people can have a powerful impact on many. I think this Denise Levertov poem helps to describe what I am feeling:

For the New Year, 1981

I have a small grain of hope–
one small crystal that gleams
clear colors out of transparency.

I need more.

I break off a fragment
to send you.

Please take
this grain of a grain of hope
so that mine won't shrink.

Please share your fragment
so that yours will grow.

Only so, by division,
will hope increase,

like a clump of irises, which will cease to flower
unless you distribute
the clustered roots, unlikely source–
clumsy and earth-covered–
of grace.

Remember Your Roots

I have no idea the reason why I feel the urge to start a blog at this point in my life. Maybe its because I have been inspired by so many good friends and acquaintances who are sharing their thoughts and stories online and I enjoy reading their posts on everything from delicious cuisine to profound social justice issues. AND maybe its because I just finished finals and so I have some time to sit down and think about things other than school. Part of my fear in starting a blog is that 1) Someone could actually read this 2) I'm not quite sure I have anything fun or interesting to say 3) I'll probably forget to update this thing and remember 3-4 months later. Regardless, I feel excited and motivated to write the things that are on my mind, to share poetry, pictures, and ideas, with anyone and everyone who is willing to take the time to read these thoughts.

The reason I have decided to post this picture is that it draws together so many ideas that have been floating around in my head and have inspired me for so long. As many know, my mother, Sofia, is from Panama. She grew up outside of a small town called La Mesa, and I have never actually been able to see where she was raised because you apparently need a donkey to get there. Ever since I can remember, mama has always said "Remember your roots," and has emphasized that these deep roots are what affect who I am, where I have come from, and where I am going. These words have stayed with me for so long and continuously remind me of the lives and experiences that have shaped the person I have become, the brief encounters or the long-term relationships that have formed me. These "roots" give me strength and nourish me, they give life, hope, energy, and abundance.

This tree (which kind of reminds me of the Lion King and Rafiki) is found on the grounds of Hogar Monte Carmelo, a home for children in El Mangote, Panama, run by the Carmelite sisters of St. Joseph. Two summers ago, I spent three months at this wonderful home, learn ing fro m the sisters and the children about what it means to live simply and in community. My days were filled with pure joy as I practiced "baila tipica," gardening, praying the daily office, washing my clothes by hand, helping in the kitchen, and teaching English. While I was in Panama, I also spent time with my family who live in Araijan. Having the time to sit with my abuelo on the porch and feed his chickens, learning from his gentle

wisdom and humility, was a moment of true grace. This tree reminds me of these experiences, of my family and friends in Panama--my roots.

Finding my voice and building confidence to share my thoughts continues to be a long process. But, I look at this tree and remember that I have stuff I would like to share. What we all have in us are worthy, beautiful experiences, narratives of joy and suffering that have shaped who we are. For me, I hope this blog will be a way to rediscover those roots and honor those experiences and relationships that have deeply influenced me.

EDM