Pain and Suffering amidst the Joyous Christmas Spirit, and Hopes for the New Year

Coming up with titles for my blog posts is my least favourite thing to do, but I wanted to show the huge (and uncomfortable) contrasts that I experienced over my Christmas holidays in Guatemala City, as well as my daily life here in San Salvador.

Since high school, every Christmas I have always given some of my money to help the poor, be it through local food or toy drives, or donating to MCC. These things are important, and I hope I will continue to be able to afford to do this in the future. These acts of charity always give me a nice feeling inside, for helping people less fortunate than I. But unfortunately, it also somehow gives me “permission” to continue on with the rest of my Christmas traditions of consumerism, eating too much food, and being in the company of my middle-class friends and family. This Christmas was different – I was living in a developing country, and instead of giving my money to people who had less than me, I was sharing my time and friendship with them.

Some days I have a hard time dealing with the guilt I feel here. I am a rich, white, healthy, university-educated, North American (and I’m sure my list of privileges could go on). Even though I’m living much more simply here than I did in Canada (when I was a so-called “poor” university student), I am still so rich compared to the majority of the people here. Even living on a meager MCC budget, I can afford to go to the mall once and a while and buy myself (or waste my money on?) an expensive iced cappuccino, a delicious slice of Oreo cheese cake, and a new pair of cute sandals, that I probably didn’t really need as much as I thought I did. What I spend in one afternoon, could maybe help a poor family struggling to make ends meet, have enough food for a week or two.

On top of all this, I feel guilty for the fact that my whole life I took for granted what it is like to live in a safe and secure country, where I am able to walk on the streets after dark (or even during the day!) without a second thought, or fear that I will get robbed, or worse. There are some Central Americans that have never had the privilege to know what this is like. Yet back home in Canada, we don’t even think twice that this is a privilege or realize just how lucky we are. I never realized how much security impacts your day to day life, until I moved to Guatemala and El Salvador, 2 countries with some of the highest murder rates in the world, and plagued by violence, gangs, the drug trade, and poverty.

In past years, the month of December for me has been a time of stress about exams and final papers, as well as excitement of getting into the “Christmas Spirit”. This past December, although also a time of anticipation for Christmas, it was also a time when I heard countless stories of suffering, and cried to myself in my room numerous times at night. From my co-workers, families at the pre-school where I work, friends, host families, and neighbours, in both Guatemala and El Salvador, I have heard heartbreaking stories of family members and friends murdered. I have heard the effects that gangs, poverty, crime, violence, domestic abuse, alcoholism, divided families etc. have had on people’s lives. Whereas back home in Canada (or at least the comfortable small city where I am from) these stories are the exception, here in Central America these stories are almost the rule: practically every family has stories of intense suffering they could tell, from either during the civil wars in the 1980s, and/or in recent years due to the rise in violence. (According to some recent stats, today there are as many murders committed daily, as there was during the civil war). Sometimes I wonder how they can still go on with their lives, with all the suffering they have faced and continue to face, especially since there isn’t much hope for things to change anytime soon.

Although not nearly as dramatic or intense, I wanted to share 2 stories of my own that happened to me over my Christmas holidays.

On Dec. 23^rd, I went to do some last minute Christmas shopping (although in Guatemala, I think they just call it Christmas Shopping – “last minute” isn’t really so much a concept here, but a way of life!!) with some of my host siblings, who were buying gifts for all their younger cousins. We spent 6 hours, and went to 2 different shopping centres. Driving on a busy main city street at around 8pm, heading to our second shopping destination, we drove past a bunch of cop cars with flashing lights, pulled over on the side of the street. I couldn’t see what was going on, but after we drove by, I overheard one of my siblings saying something about “un cuerpo” which means a body. It turns out we had driven past a murder scene, and they had seen the dead body lying on the street.

Murder. And Christmas Shopping.

Two things I would have never put together in the same story before. Suddenly Christmas shopping didn’t seem so important after all. I was really shaken up, but once we arrived to the next mall, and started shopping again, I somehow had forgotten the whole thing. I didn’t remember it again until 3 days later, when my host brother read in the newspaper that 74 people had been killed in Guatemala during the Christmas holidays, Dec. 23-25. Although Guatemala has one of the highest murder rates in the world, this is high even for Guatemalan standards. I’m not sure why the whole incident startled me so much, since I read about people being killed every time I pick up a newspaper here. During my joyful Christmas holidays though, this was definitely not something I was comfortable hearing or thinking about, let alone driving past.

My second uncomfortable story happened on Boxing Day. I took a day trip with some friends to Antigua, a beautiful touristy town, 45 minutes out of the city. The bus was packed full, and I was sharing my seat with a woman and her son, and a huge garbage bag. Since the rest of my friends were hidden by people standing in the aisles (there’s a reason why they call them chicken buses!) I was bored and decided to strike up a conversation with the woman beside me. She was an indigenous woman from Santiago Atitlan, who now lived in Guatemala City with her two children. I was very excited to share with her that I actually knew where Santiago Atitlan was, and that I had visited there a few times, and that it was a beautiful place! Since it was Boxing Day, typical “small talk” is to ask how your Christmas went. So I asked her if they did anything special for Christmas. I’m not sure why her answer surprised me, since I know that poverty exists, and I see signs of it every day. But it made me feel uncomfortable/embarrassed/guilty, when she said that no, they didn’t have resources or money to do anything for Christmas.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I think I mumbled something like “I’m sorry” and then explained to her that I experienced Guatemalan tamales for the first time with my host family, which is something we don’t have back home for Christmas. It turns out she sold bread on the street for a living, but today she was going to Antigua to sell toys, which was what was in the giant bag on her lap. When I told her that I was here with an NGO, working at a day care in a marginalized community, she asked if I knew of a place where she could send her kids. She had tried getting them into a daycare run by another NGO in the city, but they had been turned away. Sadly, I had to tell her that no, I didn’t know how to help her. Just before I got off the bus, I brought out my breakfast that I hadn’t eaten yet, and shared it with her and her son, who eagerly accepted the offer, and we said goodbye.

I think the reason why this interaction affected me so much was not just because they were poor, but because I had been so surprised by it. Sitting next to her on the bus, she was a “normal” person, just like me. She was my equal. Not someone who could barely make ends meet, and struggled to feed her 2 children every day. If I had have seen this same woman and her son on the street, trying to sell bread to me, I would have quickly walked on by, without giving them a second look. How hypocritical of me, that by doing this, I am ignoring the very people who I have come to serve. I work with poor people every day in El Salvador, but I don’t think of them as “poor people”, but as my co-workers and my students and their families. Yet when I step out onto the streets, among a sea of unknown people, I go back to stereotyping the poor, even if it is unintentional.

These stories, and many others, are why I have been struggling so much with the privileges I have, and the guilt I have been feeling because of it.

The theme of the December issue of Geez Magazine was privilege, and a couple of their online articles really helped me these past few weeks. Here is the link for the first article, written by the editor. http://www.geezmagazine.org/magazine/article/turn-outward-listen-fumble-for-love/

She says:

“Privilege is what Sara Ahmed describes in her book, The Cultural Politics of Emotion, as a “sticky object.” A lot of emotion, especially negative emotion, comes together around it. When we recognize the hidden function of unearned advantage in our well-intentioned movements and communities, we feel anger, paranoia, fear, despair and shame. With all these yucky feelings, we can get stuck.”

“I think positive engagement with privilege requires us to turn outward; to become listeners and followers instead of always speakers and leaders; to step outside outdated patriarchal, sexist, white supremacist and oppressive ways of thinking; to feel our way – as the “occupiers” of Wall Street and all the other co-ops, collectives, coalitions and faith communities are trying to do – toward a kind of solidarity we hesitantly call love.”

Another article talked about privilege and how to deal with it and your guilt, and invite grace into the mix, which has been a big help for me.

http://www.geezmagazine.org/magazine/article/a-walk-in-the-dim-valley/

I am still struggling to make sense of life in Central America, and I’m sure I always will. These articles remind me that it is ok to feel guilt now and then, and it is ok to focus on stories of suffering and despair sometimes, and to have a good cry once in a while. What helps me a little bit, is to know I am not alone in these feelings. Yet it is also important to show myself grace – I can’t help the fact that I grew up in a context very different than that of Guatemala or El Salvador. I can’t let my guilt or shame paralyze me. It is also important to remind myself (and well-intentioned people back home, wanting to help “those poor people in Central America”) that although many of my Central American friends, co-workers, family members, strangers on the street, gang members, homeless children, abused women etc. have many stories of suffering, they also have stories of joy, love and strength. Although I know it will still be difficult for me, I am looking forward to continue hearing the stories of my Salvadoran and Guatemalan neighbours.

The thing about privilege though, is that naming it is not enough. My goal for the new year is to take some tiny (but still important, I think!) actions:

-         listening more

-         buying and consuming less

-         continuing to critically think about my own privileges and wealth, and how to undo them when possible

-         giving myself, and others, grace, because we all make mistakes daily

I hope that the things I have been learning and experiencing so far here in Central America, will help shape how I view, prepare for and celebrate Christmas in the coming years, and truly take into heart (and action!) the story of Jesus being born as a refugee, in a stable, among the poor. Because often times in North America (and even in Central America) we somehow forgot or ignore this fact while celebrating the Christmas season. For me, I think it is because it is so much easier to fall into the warm and fuzzy feelings of Christmas, than it is to think critically about the true lessons of Christmas, which may require us to feel sadness, pain, guilt or anger, feelings that are not so warm or fuzzy at all.

On a final note, I want to reassure everyone back home, that I am safe! Foreigners are rarely targeted or affected by gangs and violence. I just wanted to let people know what’s been going on in my life lately, and not just the good stuff.

Henry Nouwen has a quote that I like, which says:

In this crazy world, there's an enormous distinction between good times and bad, between sorrow and joy.

But in the eyes of God, they're never separated.

Where there is pain, there is healing. Where there is mourning, there is dancing. Where there is poverty, there is the kingdom.