When Walking in Solidarity, Sometimes you have to RUN!

For those interested I was involved in the cowardly and violent attack on the University of Arizona Presbyterian Campus Ministry students and their Peruvian partners on Wednesday, March 16th in La Oroya. I accompanied the group on an invitation, and frankly would not have wanted to have been anywhere else...SOLIDARITY. I am bruised emotionally (from having someone slap paint all over my face) and physically from being hit in the shoulder and back by paint cans with full force). I am one of ¨the 2 American leaders living in Peru¨ mentioned in the article, but not out by a long shot, just indignant. My wounds and remnants of a painted face are because I (and my compañeros) were shielding the bodies of Peruvian children and youth that the workers were trying to grab. Just remember that violence ran us out, but peace and non-violence won the day, not hired bullies who think they are the law.

**This photo was taken in the darkness of the little tienda that we were cornered in by the angry mob of workers that chased us up a hill, and were angrily calling for us to come out. I believe it is the only photo that was taken (by us) in this tienda.**

k to the PC(USA) News Article that includes a Press Release from the Joining Hands Network Peru

http://www.pcusa.org/news/2011/3/22/presbyterian-students-back-us-after-attack-peru/

It is interesting how this incident gets mixed reviews. People are entitled to their opinion, just like I am, becasue this is my blog. I must say that the group and I did not travel to La Oroya, Peru planning on being attacked by 200 plus angry workers from a mineral smelter that is currently not functioning. We didn´t say to ourselves ¨YEAH! Let us go get the beatdown for Jesus!¨ There are supportive people who are glad you are safe (me too!) and that no one was seriously injured (me three!). Then there are those who want to know ¨Why were you there in the first place, aren´t their needy people in the United States?¨ Somehow they are missing part of the point, so let me offer a bit of one person´s missiological perspective (i.e. - me). I must respond that yes there are needy people in the United States who need our love and support, as well as someone to accompany them in solidarity, but the in the Gospel of Mark chapter 12 we are called to ¨Love God with all our hearts, mind, and soul, and to love our neighbor as ourselves.¨ Our neighbors are not just the Smiths and the Jones who live on either side of us in Our Town, USA. Our neighbors, as a young man named Orlando, in Ayacucho recently told me ¨Are the people in front of us at any specific moment...that means at some point everyone is our neighbor.¨ In this increasingly global culture, and as our backyards get ever increasingly smaller I cannot see how this commentary couldn´t be more true. When I was traveling in South Africa in January of 2009 this same theme emerged in a conversation about extranjeros or foreigners participating in the anti-apartheid movement. At that point in my theological training I was not really sure how to respond to the assertion that ¨Americans should have just stayed out of it and worried about all of the problems of our own we had back home.¨ The gentleman from Austrailia or New Zealand that was leading that session, and was talking about a Healing of Memories Project, addressed this individual and this topic head on. I sat eagerly awaiting what he might say. The speaker, named Micheal, sat and calmly addressed this dissenting opinion, with two artificial limbs and a slightly scarred face that had healed over the years. Micheal came to South Africa to walk in solidarity with the men, women, and children who were protesting the evil system of separation and racism known as apartheid. He walked in protests, hand in hand with black South Africans, and for it he was severly injured when he opened a package mailed to house. It was a bomb wrapped in a copy of the Christian Century, and it exploded in his hands. Micheal addressed the idea in this way ¨If foreign countries and individuals, like America, had not gotten involved in the struggle against apartheid economically and socially, black South Africans would still be living under this cruel fate. When we choose to step outside of our comfort zone and risk who we are for the sake of others, we choose to walk in solidarity with others. When we maintain an inward focus of who our neighbors are by only focusing on our problems we miss the opportunity to walk in soldiarity with our neighbors both at home, and half a world away.¨ I think most of all we miss the opportunity to learn from our neighbors as we walk with and beside them. Some of my most profound life moments have occurred while walking in solidarity with both Americans, and foreigners that I have joined along the trail. Solidairty is a fellowship arising from common responsibilities and interests, as between members of a group or between classes, peoples, etc. It is a communion or community of people united by feelings and purposes. Walking in solidarity, for the purpose of a communal exchange of ideas and cultures, with friends and young people from Peru was why this group and I went to La Oroya, Peru. We did not go to antagonize or agitate workers, there was a reporter named Beatriz who is already pretty good at that. Social responsibility and where it intersects with my faith tells me that we were there to help amplify the voice of these youth through accompaniament (our presence) and learn from the silenced majority. The silenced majority are the children and youth whose blood contains levels of lead that are off the chart. A year ago a group of students from Colorado College made the same trip for the same purpose, and there were no incidents. Unfortunately, this year a beautiful week of cultural exchange, growth, and learning on all sides was marred by the thoughtless intentions of a small sector of individuals (okay well maybe 200 is not so small) who think that it is their job, since the plant is closed at this time, to defend it, obviously by any means neccessary. Where would they get such an idea? These men violated the human rights of all of those involved when their loud and belligerent inquiries (which they are entitled too) turned to physical violence (which last time I checked they ARE NOT entitled too). These thoughtless men only drew more negative attention to the town of La Oroya, Peru and its struggle with environmental contamination and a long running mineral smelter - Doe Run.

Moving on Up

On March 10th I moved from my home on Jiron Grau to Carmen Alto. So I am no longer living with the Sulca-Tucno Family in the city part of Ayacucho. We both came to realize that my host parents spend a large majority of their time focused on and at the private Christian school that they run. This did not leave a lot of time for interacting with me. As the new school year set into motion in March it was evident that our quality time together was only going to become less. Now I live in Carmen Alto which is one of the distritos that surround the city proper of Ayacucho and helps make up the provincia of Huamanga, so now I am even more Huamangina than ever!! My house over looks a soccer field and the valley of Ayacucho, so at night it is all lit up with rows of streetlights in the distance. Quite striking actually. I am now living with the Quispe-Cerda Family. Paco, Celia, and their full of joy and energy/2 year-old son Franco (Franquito). They are expecting their second child in June, possibly a little girl. I will let you know. The funny thing that I realized in discerning with my facilitator in Lima, and the folks at Paz y Esperanza-Ayacucho was that having someone to share meaningful conversation and meals with was more important than cable television, a washing machine and a more ¨well to do¨ house in the city. Do not get me wrong, my other family was nice, but one of the underlying and grounding principles of the YAV program is accompaniment, the idea of learning by being, moreso than doing. That is challenging when your schedules sort of conflict and you do not see a whole lot of one another. Paco is a welder and all around handyman, studied as a secondary classroom teacher, and trained at the Andino Seminary in Ayacucho to be a Presbyterian minister. He remains without a church because frankly there aren´t any in Ayacucho that do not have a pastor. He stays at home and takes care of Franco. Celia is trained in women´s health and obstetrics, and works for World Vision International in Mayurina, a rural pueblo just north of Ayacucho. She is working on her Master´s Degree in Cergincias Sociales...I am still trying to figure out what that one is. Franco (Franquito) is a blossoming 2 year-old who will be 3 in June. Franco has Down´s Syndrome. He is full of life and Paco and I are still try to translate what ¨BA¨ and this sadistic giggle that he does sometimes really means, along with some of his other words. Franco´s hobbies include throwing objects out of the side window of the house or off the rooftop kitchen and then laughing. He also likes to steal the soccerball out of my room and run a few laps around the den with it, then brings it back. Franco started attending a preschool with other young children last week. He will have a little uniform, and has a lunch box that Paco packs each morning with fruit and chicken and rice, and a mochilla or backpack. Franco gets to paint, listen to music and stories, and interact with other children his age. Of course everyone thinks he is an angel. All of the women in market oogle over him and give him little snacks. He came home with a big scratch on his face yesterday via another child, and Paco was not happy...Celia even less happy when she arrived home. So for now I settle for the random Franco run by and exploration of whatever is in my pockets while we are at church. In my new home I still have my own room, actually a slightly bigger one, and it is blue (my favorite color). Bonus!! There is cable television and Paco moved the television out into the den for my arrival. Oh and bonus x 2!! There is internet, but the best part is that Paco loves coffee, to talk about anything, but especially scripture, theology, and the church. So in many ways, Paco and Celia who were worried because they do not have a lot of money, may not realize it but by moving to Carmen Alto I haved moved up, literally and figuratively.

El Mercado Santa Clara

The Mercado Santa Clara is one of the bigger markets in Ayacucho. It is located in between Jiron Grau and 28 de Julio, just down the street from my old house, and just down the hill and around the corner from my new home in Carmen Alto. I think the only bigger market in the Ayacucho Valley is the one that receives all ofthe fruits and vegetables that are imported. That is where all of the people who sell things, like fruit and vegetables, in Santa Clara go to buy in bulk. So, back to Santa Clara. The name comes from the Catholic Cathedral and monastery that is across the street. It is one of the 33 major ¨anitgua¨churches/cathedrals found in the city. There is one on the way to Carmen Alto that is from the 1530´s. I guess this does not include the plethora of evangelical churches in the area. Sort of Peru´s own Holy City (look out Charleston, SC!). I am told that on the morning of Easter Sunday, those 33 churches all begin ringing their bells at sunrise, following a 4 a.m. candlelight processional. Again, I digress, back to the market. Santa Clara is made up of several mercados smushed together. There is 12 de Abril, which is mainly domestic goods, clothing, and shoes, then there is mercado San Fransisco, becasue of its proximity to the Arc de Triumph (arco San Fransisco) and the Cathedral bearing the same name. San Fransisco is hooked onto the back of the Mercado Santa Clara. This where the meat market is. I think the live cows arrive in the morning becasue there is ¨evidence¨ that they were there (wink wink!). Usually I try to run through this part because it smells funky, and the sound of butcher blocks and humongo knives does not exactly entice me to chat it up with anyone here. I do want you to know that you can buy ALL parts of a chicken, sheep, cow, or pig rest assured. Some of my friends are still wanting me to try an Ayacuchano delicacy, Caldo de Cabeza or cow head (face too) soup. So far I have managed to avoid it, but not the ingredients staring you down in the meat market, as I sprint by. Sometimes someone gets in my and it slowss me down. AHHH!!! The meat market is sandwiched in by bread sales. Wua-wau´s, roscitos, Frances, and chapla. Little bags, big ones, you choose. The women sit with these big wooden crates, a plastic bag in one hand, and another bag covering the hand they grab their bread with (how hygenic!). BREAD IN AYACUCHO IS SO WONDERFUL AND UNIQUE!!! I think besides potatoes it is one of the gastronomical things that I will miss the most. Gastronomia here is what we call culinary. Beyond the bread and meat there are some stalls that sell artesinal items or handicrafts. Everything from hand woven blankets and mantas, to retablos (hand carved scenes that depict daily life), hats, skirts, scarves, spoons, you name it!! Finally, before you hit the street are the juice stalls. Stop in for a surtido, which is a mix of juices...my favorite is carrot, beet, alfalfa, and a smidgen of piña or apple for sweetness. AHHHH!!! There are wings off of Santa Clara, like to the left is shoe paradise. They all sell the same shoes at pretty much the same prices. I guess you just have to make friends with someone who is willing to negotiate. Something I have learned is that copyright laws do notseem to translate to Peru. I can buy shoes that look like Nikes, Puma or Adidas (but do not feel like them). Music and movies are another one. I can get a copy of the latest Hollywood blockbuster for $1, and no noone even gets up to get popcorn and a drink in the middle of it. Granted you take your chances with the copy you get. Along the backside of these markets, on Avenida 28 de Julio, toward the right end are the fruit and vegetable stalls. For yards, apples, oranges, bananas, lucma, maracuya, grapes OH MY!! This is where it is fun to check out all the different variety of potatoes. There will be something like 7 large 100 lb burlap bags in a stall and sittting in the middle of them is usually a little women who say ¨¿Que quieres mama?. The variety of Peruvian potato is fascinating. See other entries on that. The markets in Peru are usually organized by what they sell with all the shoes in one area, craft supplies in another, and meat in another, but every once in while you run across a stray DVD stall or find a juice booth mixed in. I love to go to the market and just walk around. The sites, sounds, and well yes even the smells are interesting.

Up, Up, and Over the Continental Divide

On Sunday March 14, 2011 on my way to La Oroya, Peru which is about 4 hours north and west of Lima (the capital), I crossed over the Continental Divide which sits at just under 16,000 feet. Can you feel the air getting thinner? It was quite cold up there, thus the jacket. A big temperature and alititude change from Lima, and even higher than Ayacucho, where I normally live. What a geographical fete!! This is my second time "crossing over," but my first time stopping. I also made the trip to La Oroya in November for the Day of the Child and to visit with the Cambialo kids for their presentations.

Accompaniament by Chewing - a Quechua Vuelario

A Vuelario is part of the funeral ritual here in Peru. It would be most like a visitation or a wake in the United States. Monday evening I, along with Karina, and Felimon (two of my coworkers at Paz y Esperanza in Ayacucho) attended the vuelario of Victoria, the grandmother of Raul, the driver and my compañero at Paz y Esperanza. The office divided itself up and some went to the house on Sunday to be with Raul and his family, others are going on Tuesday to the internment.
Felimon, Karina, and I brought a spray of flowers on behalf of the Office. So as we were in the taxi heading up into the hills of Ayacucho, I had to admit to being a little nervous. I am unfamiliar with funeral traditions in Peru, let alone a predominantly Quechua and Catholic family, so Felimon, and Karina (chuckling at me) helped me prepare. I am always intrigued by this distinct Andean cutlure. I look forward to being exposed to more of its nuances and traditions each day. There is never anytime like the present to learn, am I right?
We arrived at the house of Raul´s aunt. A vuelario takes place in the living room of the house. There is no furniture. It has all been removed and replaced with chairs and benches. Then at the other end of the room is the coffin. It had 4 pillar lights around it, an angelic Jesus ceramic statue hanging above the coffin and Victoria´s signature gorra or hat that all the indigenous women wear was ontop of the coffin. When we walked in we gave the flowers to one of the young men and he placed it with the others around the coffin. Karina and Felimon told me that we will present the flowers, and then greet the family. I said ¨How will I know who they are, I only know Raul?¨ They told me that the family will be wearing all black. OK got it. We walked in and yup, there they were. The family was lining the walls around the coffin, in all black. The interesting thing was that all of Victoria´s daughters (Raul´s mom) were in a corner kind of piled up on rugs and blankets. The rest of the family was on benches or in chairs. After greeting the family individually we lit candles and placed them in the rack. Felimon gave corporate saludos or greetings on behalf of the organization and said that we would like to offer prayer. EVERYONE in the room stood up at once and men removed hats, and bowed their heads, some making the sign of the cross. Felimon and Karina had asked me if I would pray. I relunctanlty agreed, and was rather uncomfortable, but prayed nonetheless. Felimon followed my prayer up with a few Catholic rituals including the sinners prayer, a few hail Mary´s, and the Lord´s Prayer. I am glad he was there to do that becasue I did not know until we arrived that the family and Victoria were Catholic. SURPRISE!!! Not in bad way...
One of the things that I have noticed is that in Catholic Indigenous Quechua families their faith and indigenous roots are layered. This is different than in other cultures I have been in, like evangelical or protestant indigenous families where Christianity has usurped the place of all things indigenous. I think, and have heard that this is a part of what makes the Quechua culture unique say apart from some of the other nations colonized on behalf on the crown, which was followed by the cross. Here in Raul´s family, as well as in Cahtedrals around the country I have seen this layering effect. The indigenous Quechua features, rituals, practices, traditions, and beliefs do not disappear, but are layered and intermingled, as well as sometimes standing alone amongst Catholicism (the religion of the Spanish crown).
On Monday night two things stood out for me, to help illustrate this idea of layering for me. After we had prayed we ¨accompanied¨or sat with the family and others who had come to visit. When we sat down a woman came along with a big plastic bag of coca leaves and gave me a big handful. As I looked around the room I noticed a bulge in everyone´s cheek, and watching Karina and Felimon I remembered that you were to chew them. I had only had them brewed as a tea so far. The ancient Incas used coca leaves to fortify themselves. They chewed them for strength and endurance so they could work long hours. The QUechua people do the same today. You can buy the leaves in the market. Coca leaves are grown in the Andes Mountains and are used to combat altitude sickness. They also help regulate your blood pressure and blood sugar. Unfortunately, today the leaves are also ground up and mixed with other chemicals to make a paste that is used to produce cocaine. That makes Peru the 2nd largest producer of the raw materials (the coca leaves) used to create the drug further north.
As we sat and talked with some of the others gathered, Raul began walking around and offering people a little shot of a clear liquid out of a pisco bottle. It was served in a communal shot glass. So when in Peru...do as the Peruvians do! At first I thought it was pisco, but it was not as strong on first taste, and was sweeter. It was Caña Andino or guardiente which is like moonshine. Soon after another young man took Rual´s place and continued serving the liquid, and Raul sat with us. As I sat there chewing on my cheekful of coca leaves, and intermittently sipping shot glasses of Caña I wondered what it was for. Was this hospitality, was it custom, had the family not had time to go to the grocery store, and this was all that was on hand?
Tuesday morning one of my colleagues at Paz y Esperanza, Milagros, told me that the Quechua families serve the caña and coca leaves to the rest of the familyand the guests at a vuelario because they believe that the soul of the deceased person is present at the vuelario and grabs onto people who enter and can affect them. The caña and coca leaves are to fortify and protect them as they sit and accompany the family. So Monday we sat and talked, as well as drank and chewed to accompany our collegaue Raul and his family as they continued to walk a road of grief.