Happy Father’s Day from Bolivia. March 19, the feast of St. Joseph, is El Día del Padre in this country. At the Maryknoll Mission Center there was an acknowledgment of the men on staff who are parents; also there was an acknowledgment of the priests who reside here and are seen as spiritual parents of the people. May God bless all the men who take material and spiritual responsibility for the rearing and education of the next human generation.
I am writing this post in anticipation of the weekly cultural conference that we will have tomorrow morning. A man who is something like a political father of the Bolivian people in our generation, Óscar Olivera Foronda, will address the mission center about La Guerra del Agua—the Water War of 2000. This is a saga about the struggle for the right to water in Cochabamba and the recovery of human and Christian values.
It is ironic that a city whose name in Quechua is a compound of “lake” and “open plain” (qucha-panpa), flush with moisture, should face such struggles in providing this most basic element of life to all its peoples. Always an attractive place to live because of the spring-like climate all year round and the abundance of the earth, the population has grown sharply in the last 30 years. A complex of economic, political, and social changes led to a massive migration into the city after 1985, including miners living and working in the mountains and indigenous persons from the campos. This has made the provision of basic services, including water, sanitation, health care, and education a challenge.
The Bolivian government decided at the end of 1999 to privatize water, approving a Water Law and concluding a 40-year contract with the Bechtel Corporation. The law and contract together rendered all water resources, including rivers, lakes, lagunas, deep wells, and even the snowcaps and rainfall, to Bechtel. All the water in Bolivia had been converted into a commodity to be manipulated by private capital and the free market. Cochabamba was the first city to have its water privatized, with the cost of utilities tripling quickly.
Needless to say, this mercantilist vision went completely contrary to the vision of Andean culture. To the peoples, water is a living being; it is a common good, a gift of Pachamama (Mother Earth) for the reproduction of life. It is not given to anyone in particular, but to all creatures, and not only human beings, for water has no owner, no master. Doesn’t this sound a lot like Catholic Social Teaching? Doesn’t this sound Franciscan to your ears, to those of you who sing in the Canticle of the Creatures of “Sister Water, so useful, humble, precious and pure”?
The remembering of these values united all the peoples of Cochabamba: women, men, youth, girls and boys, elders, who formed a popular rebellion against the government to recover their water rights from private interests. For five months the people laid siege to their own city and shut everything down. There were barricades in front of every house in the city and the campos. The roads were barricaded. No business and no transportation. Everyone had said, ¡Basta! Enough! These barricades communicated to the obdurate government the values of mutuality, reciprocity, respect, solidarity, and transparency. These barricades symbolized popular democracy. With great courage, the people overcome the tear gas and even the bullets of the police and army. They organized committees for the defense of their water rights. And by April 2000, the people had won from the government and private interests the power to define the destiny of their water resources.
It was more than an economic victory; it was also a vindication of the power of popular movements to counteract the power of malign power and achieve positive social change.
However, the struggle for justice must be taken up anew in every generation. Access to water in Cochabamba remains a great problem. There is great inequality between the wealthier peoples who live to the north and possess water tanks and reliable utilities, and the poorer folks in the south, where the infrastructure is ancient and inadequate for the swelling population, and flooding is common. Despite the best intentions and good will of political leaders, administrators, engineers, and unions, the system by which water is provided is inefficient, ineffective, and irrational. The people are not united as they were in 2000. The political challenge once more is to organize; to construct a collective social agenda; and to recover decision-making power for the people. The spiritual challenge is realize once more that all peoples are equal; and to be like water itself: transparent, joyful, and always in movement.
I thank Óscar Olivera Foronda ahead of time for sharing this outline of his presentation that I have just roughly translated for you, and I thank him for his courageous and prophetic leadership of the people who thirst for justice and righteousness.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Monday, March 18, 2019
Medida
“ ‘Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap’ ” (Luke 6:38).
A quick word of thanks to everyone who tunes in to the blog. I appreciate the comments I receive from everyone, both offline and on the blog itself. We remain united in a communion of words and prayer.
Another quick word of thanks to the Maryknoll Fathers, who last evening with wonderful hospitality opened the doors of their home at the mission center to the language students, and to other friends and colleagues. Sunday was the Second Sunday of Lent, but it was also March 17, the feast of St. Patrick. Of course we could not let the day pass without a celebration of Christian faith and Irish heritage! And a fine dinner party it was. But it was more than that. The Maryknoll community is a global family, and the missionaries take pride in every people from every land. So as the guests tucked into Irish beef stew and mashed potatoes, and maybe sipped Irish coffee and whiskey, too, they also enjoyed guacamole, quinoa, and salsa from the Americas; and chapati from Kenya. The best of African, American, and European cuisine at one table of plenty.
Then, after the meal, a night of singing! Someone provided a songbook of traditional Irish tunes. We went well beyond “Danny Boy.” We put our hearts and lungs into what Bob Dylan called “those rousing rebel songs,” and those who knew the tunes well went for them with gusto. My favorite new song is “Wild Colonial Boy.” You can see and hear a lively rendition here. Again, this being Maryknoll, we celebrated the most beautiful songs of several nations. So we also sang songs from Bolivia, Chile, Mexico, and the United States. I stepped up to deliver “This Land Is Your Land” with my fellow Americans, every verse filling me with pride. One Maryknoll priest said Woody Guthrie’s song ought to be the national anthem; I agree with him. I got to practice my listening skills as we heard several Spanish songs. I’m glad we heard “La Bamba” from Mexico; the lyrics are simple and repeated often.
I bow to everyone who prepared the table spread: the Maryknoll priests and staff, the seminarians and language students, and the guests who brought their favorite dishes. (I didn’t do any cooking, but I did bring some nice cookies.) A very pleasant evening was had by everyone. But it was more than that. The work the missionaries do is hard. The work the students do is hard. Sometimes you can feel the weight of the work. Sometimes you can feel the weight of living in another land. And sometimes the troubles of the world can make you flinch from the work God give you to do. So thanks be to God for celebrations, for spontaneous expressions of beauty and goodness and truth. May the measure that the Maryknoll community gave everyone Sunday evening be given back in good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing.
A quick word of thanks to everyone who tunes in to the blog. I appreciate the comments I receive from everyone, both offline and on the blog itself. We remain united in a communion of words and prayer.
Another quick word of thanks to the Maryknoll Fathers, who last evening with wonderful hospitality opened the doors of their home at the mission center to the language students, and to other friends and colleagues. Sunday was the Second Sunday of Lent, but it was also March 17, the feast of St. Patrick. Of course we could not let the day pass without a celebration of Christian faith and Irish heritage! And a fine dinner party it was. But it was more than that. The Maryknoll community is a global family, and the missionaries take pride in every people from every land. So as the guests tucked into Irish beef stew and mashed potatoes, and maybe sipped Irish coffee and whiskey, too, they also enjoyed guacamole, quinoa, and salsa from the Americas; and chapati from Kenya. The best of African, American, and European cuisine at one table of plenty.
Then, after the meal, a night of singing! Someone provided a songbook of traditional Irish tunes. We went well beyond “Danny Boy.” We put our hearts and lungs into what Bob Dylan called “those rousing rebel songs,” and those who knew the tunes well went for them with gusto. My favorite new song is “Wild Colonial Boy.” You can see and hear a lively rendition here. Again, this being Maryknoll, we celebrated the most beautiful songs of several nations. So we also sang songs from Bolivia, Chile, Mexico, and the United States. I stepped up to deliver “This Land Is Your Land” with my fellow Americans, every verse filling me with pride. One Maryknoll priest said Woody Guthrie’s song ought to be the national anthem; I agree with him. I got to practice my listening skills as we heard several Spanish songs. I’m glad we heard “La Bamba” from Mexico; the lyrics are simple and repeated often.
I bow to everyone who prepared the table spread: the Maryknoll priests and staff, the seminarians and language students, and the guests who brought their favorite dishes. (I didn’t do any cooking, but I did bring some nice cookies.) A very pleasant evening was had by everyone. But it was more than that. The work the missionaries do is hard. The work the students do is hard. Sometimes you can feel the weight of the work. Sometimes you can feel the weight of living in another land. And sometimes the troubles of the world can make you flinch from the work God give you to do. So thanks be to God for celebrations, for spontaneous expressions of beauty and goodness and truth. May the measure that the Maryknoll community gave everyone Sunday evening be given back in good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing.
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Herencia
“A deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a great, dark dread descended upon him” (Genesis 15:12).
On this cloudy Sunday morning, as I look at the colorless sky, I feel for Abram. I feel for this wanderer who wonders about his future. He believes, but he worries. He trusts, but he fears. He dreams, but he dreads.
Are you with me? Are we not with Abram? Even when we converse in the presence of God, we have uncertainty. We have confusion. We have doubt. We have anxiety. We are uncertain we can make a sacrifice of ourselves, in faith. We have confusion about who we are and what we are supposed to do. We have doubt because we see the world going wrong and continuing to go the wrong way. And we have anxiety because we are casting everything we cherish into the abyss (of God), and we don’t know what will become of it all.
Yes, today I feel for Abram. See him fighting the birds of prey that are trying to take away his sacrificial offerings. See him slumber under disturbing dreams, while God sends mysterious signs of light and smoke and dissolves the veil between dreams and reality. And in the midst of this obscurity, a raising of the stakes. There comes a promise and a covenant: Abram will receive everything. He who has left everything and is letting go of his claim to anything nevertheless will find and enter into everything. This is good news, right? Isn’t it good to be chosen and beloved? Yes, but still … today, the implications of God’s wondrous love feel difficult and hard. I believe … help my unbelief!
On this cloudy Sunday morning, as I look at the colorless sky, I feel for Abram. I feel for this wanderer who wonders about his future. He believes, but he worries. He trusts, but he fears. He dreams, but he dreads.
Are you with me? Are we not with Abram? Even when we converse in the presence of God, we have uncertainty. We have confusion. We have doubt. We have anxiety. We are uncertain we can make a sacrifice of ourselves, in faith. We have confusion about who we are and what we are supposed to do. We have doubt because we see the world going wrong and continuing to go the wrong way. And we have anxiety because we are casting everything we cherish into the abyss (of God), and we don’t know what will become of it all.
Yes, today I feel for Abram. See him fighting the birds of prey that are trying to take away his sacrificial offerings. See him slumber under disturbing dreams, while God sends mysterious signs of light and smoke and dissolves the veil between dreams and reality. And in the midst of this obscurity, a raising of the stakes. There comes a promise and a covenant: Abram will receive everything. He who has left everything and is letting go of his claim to anything nevertheless will find and enter into everything. This is good news, right? Isn’t it good to be chosen and beloved? Yes, but still … today, the implications of God’s wondrous love feel difficult and hard. I believe … help my unbelief!
Let us never forget the marvelous signs God has showed us to help us on our way. There have been so many! But let us also not underestimate the heaviness, at times, of faith. Look no further than the disciples Peter, James, and John, thunderstruck when they got a glimpse of God’s glory on the mountain alone with Jesus. A preview of the resurrection and the new creation—and they were terrified. Everything, everything was there, right in front of them. They did not know what to say or do. (At least Peter tried; James and John seem to have been dumbstruck.) Then, a cloud envelops them, and they’re really goners, as God speaks words of love for Jesus the beloved, the chosen, for them to hear.
Then, the moment passes. Now what? How do you carry on, after the transfiguration, after God is made manifest?
Time after time in my life, I come back to this question. I ponder the question on my knees. Living into and after the transfiguration is not easy. Everything is yours, and nothing is yours. Still you can’t hear what God is saying; still you don’t know what to say. Still the poor, the mourners, the hungry-thirsty-and-homeless, the meek, and the persecuted are waiting for your love. Are you ready? Are you ready to throw it all away, for God’s sake?
Then, the moment passes. Now what? How do you carry on, after the transfiguration, after God is made manifest?
Time after time in my life, I come back to this question. I ponder the question on my knees. Living into and after the transfiguration is not easy. Everything is yours, and nothing is yours. Still you can’t hear what God is saying; still you don’t know what to say. Still the poor, the mourners, the hungry-thirsty-and-homeless, the meek, and the persecuted are waiting for your love. Are you ready? Are you ready to throw it all away, for God’s sake?
As I sit pleasantly but quietly, uncomprehending most of what the friars are saying at mealtime, this is literal for me. As the poor sit and stretch out their hands on the crowded, dangerous avenues and streets, this is literal for me. As I lift up my eyes to the mountains, this is literal for me. Abram, Peter, James, and John are here, and they are my companions.
Here, at the convent; here, in the mountains; here, in the streets, God’s luminous mysteries envelop me. God opens my eyes, my ears, and my lips. I want them to open more; still they feel so closed. God loves me and sends me people to love. I want to give and receive more love; still I feel and give so little. God helps me to say Yes, and I say Yes. Still I want to say Yes more, because I know other words get in the way. God, give me all of this, again and again.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
Terremoto
For the last month, Cochabamba, Bolivia, has been the whole world to me. Colorful, musical, beautiful. And it has felt stable and secure. There is, of course, a much vaster world out there, deep, wild, and sometimes unsettled. Physically speaking, some Bolivians living in the departments of Cochabamba, Oruro, and La Paz were jolted into awareness of this by a 6.8-magnitude earthquake that struck at 1 a.m. on Friday morning.
Spiritually speaking, the chances are good that you were jolted into awareness of the wider world by another kind of earthquake, when a shooter let slip the unspeakable violence he committed against Muslims in Christchurch, New Zealand that same day, hours before the tremor in Bolivia.
The epicenter of the quake was only 34 miles southeast of Cochabamba. I felt nothing that night. But today I feel unsettled by the killings in the mosques in faraway Christchurch. Because we in the United States have suffered the same sacrilege: our Jewish neighbors in Pittsburgh, and our Christian neighbors in Charleston.
In the aftermath of inhuman carnage, everything looks gray, feels tattered, seems useless. And small. Life doesn’t look so charming today. It feels stale, listless, flat. Our own problems and preoccupations are petty. We can feel helpless or hopeless. If not for the sadness or anger you may be feeling, life may almost come to be meaningless.
But there is a living God, and it seems to me God is saying: Don’t let them do it. Don’t let them take the savor of life from you. After all, ain’t you got a right to the tree of life?
The primary emotion I feel is anger. Still we are sacrificing others instead of sacrificing ourselves. What can I do with this anger against anger itself? This was from the Gospel reading yesterday:
Jesus said to his disciples:
“You have heard that it was said to your ancestors,
You shall not kill; and whoever kills will be liable to judgment. But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother
will be liable to judgment,
and whoever says to his brother, Raqa,
will be answerable to the Sanhedrin,
and whoever says, ‘You fool,’ will be liable to fiery Gehenna.
Therefore, if you bring your gift to the altar,
and there recall that your brother
has anything against you,
leave your gift there at the altar,
go first and be reconciled with your brother,
and then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:21-24).
Sometimes I feel like our sacred liturgies must fall silent. Sometimes I feel like the offerings at the altar simply have to cease while God weeps and rages at human hypocrisy. Muslim, Jewish, Christian. We are all one. Can’t everyone see? What in the world can we do about all the angry, hate-filled people?
We know the answer that comes from the living God. But concretely, I can’t give you the answer that the living God is giving you personally, the words and acts of love, mercy, justice, truth, and reconciliation you are to perform wherever you are. Read the signs of the times. Read the texts that are holy to you. Read your heart. Pray. Then you will know. And you will know the peace that passes all understanding.
Spiritually speaking, the chances are good that you were jolted into awareness of the wider world by another kind of earthquake, when a shooter let slip the unspeakable violence he committed against Muslims in Christchurch, New Zealand that same day, hours before the tremor in Bolivia.
The epicenter of the quake was only 34 miles southeast of Cochabamba. I felt nothing that night. But today I feel unsettled by the killings in the mosques in faraway Christchurch. Because we in the United States have suffered the same sacrilege: our Jewish neighbors in Pittsburgh, and our Christian neighbors in Charleston.
In the aftermath of inhuman carnage, everything looks gray, feels tattered, seems useless. And small. Life doesn’t look so charming today. It feels stale, listless, flat. Our own problems and preoccupations are petty. We can feel helpless or hopeless. If not for the sadness or anger you may be feeling, life may almost come to be meaningless.
But there is a living God, and it seems to me God is saying: Don’t let them do it. Don’t let them take the savor of life from you. After all, ain’t you got a right to the tree of life?
The primary emotion I feel is anger. Still we are sacrificing others instead of sacrificing ourselves. What can I do with this anger against anger itself? This was from the Gospel reading yesterday:
Jesus said to his disciples:
“You have heard that it was said to your ancestors,
You shall not kill; and whoever kills will be liable to judgment. But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother
will be liable to judgment,
and whoever says to his brother, Raqa,
will be answerable to the Sanhedrin,
and whoever says, ‘You fool,’ will be liable to fiery Gehenna.
Therefore, if you bring your gift to the altar,
and there recall that your brother
has anything against you,
leave your gift there at the altar,
go first and be reconciled with your brother,
and then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:21-24).
Sometimes I feel like our sacred liturgies must fall silent. Sometimes I feel like the offerings at the altar simply have to cease while God weeps and rages at human hypocrisy. Muslim, Jewish, Christian. We are all one. Can’t everyone see? What in the world can we do about all the angry, hate-filled people?
We know the answer that comes from the living God. But concretely, I can’t give you the answer that the living God is giving you personally, the words and acts of love, mercy, justice, truth, and reconciliation you are to perform wherever you are. Read the signs of the times. Read the texts that are holy to you. Read your heart. Pray. Then you will know. And you will know the peace that passes all understanding.
At midday prayer today I took consolation from this reading:
Remember these things, Jacob,
Israel, for you are my servant!
I formed you, a servant to me;
Israel, you shall never be forgotten by me:
I have brushed away your offenses like a cloud,
your sins like a mist;
return to me, for I have redeemed you (Isaiah 44:21-22).
Yes, we can change. We can break the idols of violence. We can resist the godless fundamentalisms of ethnic, national, racial, or religious superiority. We can serve the living God. Then there is the refuge of Psalm 46:
God is our refuge and our strength,
an ever-present help in distress.
Thus we do not fear, though earth be shaken
and mountains quake to the depths of the sea,
Though its waters rage and foam
and mountains totter at its surging.
Streams of the river gladden the city of God,
the holy dwelling of the Most High.
God is in its midst; it shall not be shaken;
God will help it at break of day.
Though nations rage and kingdoms totter,
God utters a voice and the earth melts.
The God of hosts is with us;
our stronghold is the God of Jacob (Psalm 46:2-8).
You have been shaken. But you will find the still place again. You grieve. But you will smile again. You hear nothing. But you will hear the sound of music again. You see darkness. But you will see the light again. You have fallen. But you will rise again.
Friday, March 15, 2019
Gustar
This morning with Profesora Liliana: a return to the verb gustar. This word gets a lot done, because it expresses a liking for something. The literal meaning of the word, as it is used in accordance with the rules of Spanish grammar, is “to be pleasing” to someone. So with respect to activities, the statement me gusta comer (“I like to eat”) would come out literally as “eating pleases me.” With respect to things, the statement me gusta esta camiseta (“I like this undershirt”) would come out literally as “this undershirt pleases me.” And with respect to persons, the statement me gustas tú (“I like you”) is literally “you please me.” You get the idea. There is implied in the logic of this grammar a sense of the external world having an impact on the subject (which is technically the object). Actions, things, and persons come over the subject and produce an effect on the subject. This is not to deny the agency of the subject who expresses a liking or a disliking. But the meaning that can be taken from the usage of the verb gustar is that the subject is overtaken by a strongly held feeling as a result of the encounter. The liking is an impact, the effect of what has happened to the subject. In the case of persons, me gustas tú implies a passionate reaction, an emotion that cannot be helped. You are pleasing to me. It couldn’t be any other way. Something happens, and the liking overcomes you.
This grammar lesson brings to mind a spiritual lesson, through a remembrance of things past. I lived in Central America in June and July 2014. It was my first immersion in another language and culture. Those six weeks were among the most difficult in my Capuchin journey. I spoke very little Spanish; I understood less. Much of the time I was cranky, nervous, and tired. And frustrated! Little to nothing about Honduras held any charm for me, nor did I seek its charms. And I told myself, over and over, it is because you do not understand the people or the environment around you. With more understanding, you will love them and their world. Well, I did not gain much understanding, and my love remained small and cold. I realized, late and to my regret, I had it backward. Love does not come with understanding. Understanding comes with love. Bring love, and you will find understanding. And more than that: if you have no love to bring, ask God to bring love to you. Since that summer of struggle, whenever I have found myself in unfamiliar or difficult places, whenever I have not felt at home, I have asked God to do more and bring love, or at least more of a natural liking, to me. Awaken me to the charms of other people, places, and things, so that grace may find a foothold on nature and get to work. This has been my Lenten prayer against timesickness, my prayer to appreciate la vida cotidiana. Indeed, it is a prayer I have been practicing more these last few months. And I think it has pleased God to answer my prayer—a Dios le gusta responder a mi oracion. It pleases God to grant more gustar, to overcome me with a holy pleasure in what God has sent with love.
Profesora Liliana played the music video for “Me Gustas Tú” by Manu Chao for Joshua and me. It’s a fun song and a playful video. And it’s an unexpected tutorial in the usages of gustar.
This grammar lesson brings to mind a spiritual lesson, through a remembrance of things past. I lived in Central America in June and July 2014. It was my first immersion in another language and culture. Those six weeks were among the most difficult in my Capuchin journey. I spoke very little Spanish; I understood less. Much of the time I was cranky, nervous, and tired. And frustrated! Little to nothing about Honduras held any charm for me, nor did I seek its charms. And I told myself, over and over, it is because you do not understand the people or the environment around you. With more understanding, you will love them and their world. Well, I did not gain much understanding, and my love remained small and cold. I realized, late and to my regret, I had it backward. Love does not come with understanding. Understanding comes with love. Bring love, and you will find understanding. And more than that: if you have no love to bring, ask God to bring love to you. Since that summer of struggle, whenever I have found myself in unfamiliar or difficult places, whenever I have not felt at home, I have asked God to do more and bring love, or at least more of a natural liking, to me. Awaken me to the charms of other people, places, and things, so that grace may find a foothold on nature and get to work. This has been my Lenten prayer against timesickness, my prayer to appreciate la vida cotidiana. Indeed, it is a prayer I have been practicing more these last few months. And I think it has pleased God to answer my prayer—a Dios le gusta responder a mi oracion. It pleases God to grant more gustar, to overcome me with a holy pleasure in what God has sent with love.
Profesora Liliana played the music video for “Me Gustas Tú” by Manu Chao for Joshua and me. It’s a fun song and a playful video. And it’s an unexpected tutorial in the usages of gustar.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Treinta Días
Today is the thirtieth day of my Bolivian journey. One month has passed already. How the time has sped swiftly in thoughts, words, and deeds. What will the next five months bring? Where should I go and what should I do? Do you have any suggestions, dear readers?
This day has been ordinary in its course. Four hours this morning with my classmate Joshua and our trainers, Profesoras Liliana and Julia, honing our literacy with the numbers 1-1,000, learning to use comparative phrases accurately, and understanding the language and culture of Bolivian dress. We had an interlude, me and Joshua and his fellow Maryknoll seminarian Charles, to go to the local migration office. There, I presented my passport and visa to extend my stay for the next 30 days. Thank you, Anita from the Maryknoll Mission Center, for steering me through this errand painlessly. The migration officer even complemented me for speaking Spanish well.
Following the coffee break at Maryknoll, Profesora Julia took Joshua and me to Museo Casona Santivañez, one of the historic and cultural landmarks of Cochabamba. It is a well-preserved example of late colonial architecture, dating, I believe, to the early 19th century. For about an hour and 15 minutes we toured the quarters, which have been partially or wholly restored. We marveled at the longest dining room table I’ve ever seen, with seating for over 40 people! We entered an interior balcony, where Profesora Julia explained that the chairs were for the men and the long benches were for the women, owing to the great width of their dresses, as was the fashion for the time. There, on the benches, the women would knit and weave. We stepped into a salon that came straight out of the courts of Louis XV of France. This room featured space-enhancing mirrors, a grand piano, lamps of crystal and bronze, marble tables, fine seats and sofas, and a recreation in paint of ornate wallpaper, all in imitation of the royal style favored by the aristocratic family that dwelled here. Just about everything in these preserved quarters reflected the Eurocentric cultivation and sensibility of the Santivañez family. The patriarch, Jose Antonio Santivañez, was a criollo, a Latin American of full Spanish descent. Hardly a trace of indigenous culture appears in these quarters, save for one painting of the Blessed Virgin Mary, represented like Pachamama or a mountain deity, that is far more abstract than the pious, dolorous paintings of Christ, Mary, and the saints that predominate throughout.
However, outside the preserved quarters, the rest of the building, the ground level specifically, is dedicated to modern art and photography. Here, indigenous culture and its blending with the colonial heritage, receives its due. One of the current exhibitions presents the masks and costumes of Carnaval, the customs of the Compadres and Comadres celebrations, and the enduring devotion in the department, or state, of Potosí to El Tío de Las Minas. El Tío is a god of the underworld believed to provide protection to the miners of Potosí. It is a strange coexistence, Christ and the indigenous deities and spirits, but as I have written before, the people of Bolivia today have eyes to see the light wherever it shines, and they have arms wide enough to embrace the contradictions that arise.
This day has been ordinary in its course. Four hours this morning with my classmate Joshua and our trainers, Profesoras Liliana and Julia, honing our literacy with the numbers 1-1,000, learning to use comparative phrases accurately, and understanding the language and culture of Bolivian dress. We had an interlude, me and Joshua and his fellow Maryknoll seminarian Charles, to go to the local migration office. There, I presented my passport and visa to extend my stay for the next 30 days. Thank you, Anita from the Maryknoll Mission Center, for steering me through this errand painlessly. The migration officer even complemented me for speaking Spanish well.
Following the coffee break at Maryknoll, Profesora Julia took Joshua and me to Museo Casona Santivañez, one of the historic and cultural landmarks of Cochabamba. It is a well-preserved example of late colonial architecture, dating, I believe, to the early 19th century. For about an hour and 15 minutes we toured the quarters, which have been partially or wholly restored. We marveled at the longest dining room table I’ve ever seen, with seating for over 40 people! We entered an interior balcony, where Profesora Julia explained that the chairs were for the men and the long benches were for the women, owing to the great width of their dresses, as was the fashion for the time. There, on the benches, the women would knit and weave. We stepped into a salon that came straight out of the courts of Louis XV of France. This room featured space-enhancing mirrors, a grand piano, lamps of crystal and bronze, marble tables, fine seats and sofas, and a recreation in paint of ornate wallpaper, all in imitation of the royal style favored by the aristocratic family that dwelled here. Just about everything in these preserved quarters reflected the Eurocentric cultivation and sensibility of the Santivañez family. The patriarch, Jose Antonio Santivañez, was a criollo, a Latin American of full Spanish descent. Hardly a trace of indigenous culture appears in these quarters, save for one painting of the Blessed Virgin Mary, represented like Pachamama or a mountain deity, that is far more abstract than the pious, dolorous paintings of Christ, Mary, and the saints that predominate throughout.
However, outside the preserved quarters, the rest of the building, the ground level specifically, is dedicated to modern art and photography. Here, indigenous culture and its blending with the colonial heritage, receives its due. One of the current exhibitions presents the masks and costumes of Carnaval, the customs of the Compadres and Comadres celebrations, and the enduring devotion in the department, or state, of Potosí to El Tío de Las Minas. El Tío is a god of the underworld believed to provide protection to the miners of Potosí. It is a strange coexistence, Christ and the indigenous deities and spirits, but as I have written before, the people of Bolivia today have eyes to see the light wherever it shines, and they have arms wide enough to embrace the contradictions that arise.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Reconcebir
“ ‘At the preaching of Jonah they repented, and there is something greater than Jonah here’ ” (Luke 11:32).
This morning at Maryknoll: the weekly conference, today on the subject of violence against women. We applied the method of social analysis used in Catholic Social Teaching to understand the topic: See, Judge, Act.
This morning at Maryknoll: the weekly conference, today on the subject of violence against women. We applied the method of social analysis used in Catholic Social Teaching to understand the topic: See, Judge, Act.
To see better, we received the following information from Profesora Liliana, our presenter:
Direct Violence
In Bolivia, 9 out of every 10 women suffer some form of violence, whether sexual, physical, or psychological.
At some time in their lives, 7 out of every 10 women suffer sexual abuse.
Only 0.04 percent of the incidents of abuse reported to the authorities results in punishment for the attacker. Only 1.3 percent of domestic violence cases reported to the authorities results in a conviction.
Every three days, a woman is murdered, a victim of femicide. With 128 such murders in 2018, Bolivia unhappily ranks third in South America in femicides, behind Colombia and Brazil.
Structural Violence
In Bolivia, 63 percent of the population lives below the poverty line.
Around 2.5 million persons, or 20 percent of the population, has migrated out of the country.
Among children and teenagers, 7 out of every 1,000 live in a condition of sexual exploitation. The most vulnerable are minors who suffer from family disintegration.
Of every 10 persons, 5 consume alcohol regularly. Of these, 20 percent suffer from alcohol addiction.
Cultural Violence
Around 2.5 million persons, or 20 percent of the population, has migrated out of the country.
Among children and teenagers, 7 out of every 1,000 live in a condition of sexual exploitation. The most vulnerable are minors who suffer from family disintegration.
Of every 10 persons, 5 consume alcohol regularly. Of these, 20 percent suffer from alcohol addiction.
Cultural Violence
Profesora Liliana says there are attitudes and beliefs that form the dominant discourse in Bolivian society and that favor direct violence and structural violence. These attitudes and beliefs refer, for example, to gender roles and concepts about the female body. For instance, cultural codes consign women to private spheres, as passive recipients of the goods and money provided by the men who alone occupy the public sphere, who alone exercise authority over the community, who alone are the protectors of society. Women are objects carefully guarded by the men who possess autonomy and a monopoly on power, knowledge, and ability to act.
Moving to the second step of social analysis, we judged for ourselves what it means to be a woman and to be a man in the context of this systemic violence. We found ourselves uncovering the traditional roles for men and women, which can both promote the common good and the flourishing of persons—and also inhibit their creativity, restrict their freedom, and create the environment for unhealthy attitudes, beliefs, and values leading to outright domination and violence. I noticed that the questions themselves—What does it mean to be a woman? What does it mean to be a man?—come laden with assumptions. Well, what kind of a woman are we talking about, and what kind of a man? Are there not many varieties of femininity and masculinity? What is a feminine trait and what is a masculine trait? Moreover, the experiences of LGBT persons do not fit in neatly with these questions. The questions we received strongly assume the norms of heterosexual, cisgender men and women. There is an LGBT movement in Bolivia, but it’s dangerous to be out and/or trans. But let us have perspective. For the people here, to challenge, denounce, and recover from sexism, and for the Church to join in all of this, is courage. Seeing the humanity of persons who do not fit in the binary of gender is the next frontier.
What is to be done? How are we to act? One of the candidates for the presidency of Bolivia has suggested permitting women to bear arms to defend themselves and their children from any and all violence. (It is illegal for anyone to bear arms in Bolivia.) We discussed this proposal among ourselves. This proposal struck me as a very macho thing, to say nothing of the Pandora’s Box it would open. But my main thought was, I want to know what women in Bolivia themselves propose as a solution to the violence they suffer. Profesora Liliana described some advances, led by women, in the midst of real difficulties in Bolivia and throughout Latin America. She lifted up the examples of the Madres de Plaza de Mayo of Argentina, who demanded justice for their children, disappeared during a time of dictatorship; Ni Una Menos, a movement to denounce gender-based violence that has spread from Argentina across the continent; and the Mujeres Creando movement, a Bolivian artists’ collective that fights poverty through street theater and direct action. Finally, she called for reconcebir, a reconceiving of femininity and masculinity, in which all persons are recognized as unique, free, strong, and dignified, capable of acting in justice and solidarity with others.
Moving to the second step of social analysis, we judged for ourselves what it means to be a woman and to be a man in the context of this systemic violence. We found ourselves uncovering the traditional roles for men and women, which can both promote the common good and the flourishing of persons—and also inhibit their creativity, restrict their freedom, and create the environment for unhealthy attitudes, beliefs, and values leading to outright domination and violence. I noticed that the questions themselves—What does it mean to be a woman? What does it mean to be a man?—come laden with assumptions. Well, what kind of a woman are we talking about, and what kind of a man? Are there not many varieties of femininity and masculinity? What is a feminine trait and what is a masculine trait? Moreover, the experiences of LGBT persons do not fit in neatly with these questions. The questions we received strongly assume the norms of heterosexual, cisgender men and women. There is an LGBT movement in Bolivia, but it’s dangerous to be out and/or trans. But let us have perspective. For the people here, to challenge, denounce, and recover from sexism, and for the Church to join in all of this, is courage. Seeing the humanity of persons who do not fit in the binary of gender is the next frontier.
What is to be done? How are we to act? One of the candidates for the presidency of Bolivia has suggested permitting women to bear arms to defend themselves and their children from any and all violence. (It is illegal for anyone to bear arms in Bolivia.) We discussed this proposal among ourselves. This proposal struck me as a very macho thing, to say nothing of the Pandora’s Box it would open. But my main thought was, I want to know what women in Bolivia themselves propose as a solution to the violence they suffer. Profesora Liliana described some advances, led by women, in the midst of real difficulties in Bolivia and throughout Latin America. She lifted up the examples of the Madres de Plaza de Mayo of Argentina, who demanded justice for their children, disappeared during a time of dictatorship; Ni Una Menos, a movement to denounce gender-based violence that has spread from Argentina across the continent; and the Mujeres Creando movement, a Bolivian artists’ collective that fights poverty through street theater and direct action. Finally, she called for reconcebir, a reconceiving of femininity and masculinity, in which all persons are recognized as unique, free, strong, and dignified, capable of acting in justice and solidarity with others.
In the Gospel reading for today, Jesus admonishes the wicked crowd that seeks a sign from God that they are missing “something greater than Jonah here” (Luke 11:32). Could we not say that the resistance women are valiantly making against direct, structural, and cultural violence is a prophetic call to repentance; and more than that, a call to all of us to have more faith in what these women are doing to overcome inequality and oppression? It is impossible to make too little of these movements. They have always been underestimated, too little esteemed. There is something greater than Jonah here. Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.
How do we increase our faith? Scripture also tells us, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). In the context of today’s presentation, and our judgment on the signs of the times, I hear a call not to think or say “male” or “female” in ways that over-determine the role of any particular person or which hinder any person from taking one’s rightful place in the body of Christ, as members gifted, talented, beloved, and necessary for the fulfillment of God’s work. One of my pastoral colleagues writes to me, “Toxic expectations can exist for all gender identities. It is for each person to determine what is an authentic and healthy expression of their gender identity, and it is for the society to create space for each person to express and inhabit their identity in a meaningful way. It is also for society, I think, to integrate and equally celebrate both traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine traits. That is not currently being done in the way that feminine stereotypes are associated with weakness. Through Jesus’ life, Jesus models for us an integration and equal celebration of both masculine and feminine traits. Jesus models bravery, tenacity, tenderness, compassionate, gentleness, ferocity, determination, mercy, wisdom, humility and generosity.”
In Bolivia, and anywhere, can women and men reconceive their identities and make Jesus’ way their way? My pastoral colleague believes it can be done. “At church, I have witnessed many men’s stories—stories of heartache, struggle, loneliness, longing, joy, insecurity, anxiety, depression, love, and wonder. I have remained with them. I have prayed with them. I have found they could relate to me in the full expression of who I am—my strengths as well as my struggles. Moreover, when I preach on anxiety, I have found that I get a strong, positive reaction from the congregation, but the strongest is always from the men, without fail. My words of vulnerability and humility are needed. I give permission to people not to have it all together. These days, our veneers are falling off—veneers of macho-ism and certitude—and what is left is integration, authenticity and humanity.”
We can have faith. We can find hope. A parishioner from Church of the Good Shepherd reminds me, “We as a universe are moving closer to being one with Christ. Humans, male and female, become who they are as they participate in this evolution.” All persons, however they live into their personhood, are needed to bring God’s work of creation to fulfillment. For all persons to participate fully in God’s creativity, we must not put any hindrance or obstacle in the way of their becoming who they are. Bringing an end to violence to women, and to all persons, is not only an act of justice but also an act of continuing creation.
How do we increase our faith? Scripture also tells us, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). In the context of today’s presentation, and our judgment on the signs of the times, I hear a call not to think or say “male” or “female” in ways that over-determine the role of any particular person or which hinder any person from taking one’s rightful place in the body of Christ, as members gifted, talented, beloved, and necessary for the fulfillment of God’s work. One of my pastoral colleagues writes to me, “Toxic expectations can exist for all gender identities. It is for each person to determine what is an authentic and healthy expression of their gender identity, and it is for the society to create space for each person to express and inhabit their identity in a meaningful way. It is also for society, I think, to integrate and equally celebrate both traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine traits. That is not currently being done in the way that feminine stereotypes are associated with weakness. Through Jesus’ life, Jesus models for us an integration and equal celebration of both masculine and feminine traits. Jesus models bravery, tenacity, tenderness, compassionate, gentleness, ferocity, determination, mercy, wisdom, humility and generosity.”
In Bolivia, and anywhere, can women and men reconceive their identities and make Jesus’ way their way? My pastoral colleague believes it can be done. “At church, I have witnessed many men’s stories—stories of heartache, struggle, loneliness, longing, joy, insecurity, anxiety, depression, love, and wonder. I have remained with them. I have prayed with them. I have found they could relate to me in the full expression of who I am—my strengths as well as my struggles. Moreover, when I preach on anxiety, I have found that I get a strong, positive reaction from the congregation, but the strongest is always from the men, without fail. My words of vulnerability and humility are needed. I give permission to people not to have it all together. These days, our veneers are falling off—veneers of macho-ism and certitude—and what is left is integration, authenticity and humanity.”
We can have faith. We can find hope. A parishioner from Church of the Good Shepherd reminds me, “We as a universe are moving closer to being one with Christ. Humans, male and female, become who they are as they participate in this evolution.” All persons, however they live into their personhood, are needed to bring God’s work of creation to fulfillment. For all persons to participate fully in God’s creativity, we must not put any hindrance or obstacle in the way of their becoming who they are. Bringing an end to violence to women, and to all persons, is not only an act of justice but also an act of continuing creation.
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