From Otovalo, Ecuador, 22 July 2006

22 July 2006 Otavalo, Ecuador

What is security? My sense of safety and security has been challenged since the planning stages of this trip. Before I left I had so many fears about what it might be like. I was afraid of being mugged, robbed, assaulted, kidnapped, murdered. I was afraid of looking poverty in the face from my own ridiculously privileged point of view. I was afraid that my Spanish would suck and that I wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone. I was afraid of amoebic dysentery, malaria, diarrhea. These were the things on my mind a little more than three months ago when I set out.

Not only was I was never mugged, robbed, or assaulted, but I was hardly even startled by anyone. Certainly the threat of murder and kidnapping was way over done; while Colombia does have a historically high rate of murder and kidnapping, if either fate came close to being mine, I am blissfully unaware of it. I have looked poverty in the face over and over again, right in the eyes. It always leaves me wondering how I could be so lucky, as I certainly did nothing to earn my place in the world. While it makes sense to be afraid of the impoverished, who far outnumber me, my experience and history tell me that oppression is horribly effective at smothering the urge to rise up. My Spanish doesn’t suck entirely. I still really struggle to understand others speaking and my speech is far from eloquent, but I can always get my needs met and I’ve been able to have countless, wonderful conversations in Spanish. Finally, I drank the water. I have eaten all sorts of things unpeeled, uncooked, touched with dirty hands (as well as cooked, peeled, and prepared with great care) and thus far I’m still standing.

So what am I afraid of now? Traveling through the countries that I have has certainly shaken my sense of security, even while I faced and conquered the fears I brought with me. We live in the U.S. with this incredibly complicated and seemingly foolproof series of safety nets. Safety nets that continue to build layer upon layer. We have 911, EMTs, firefighters, emergency rooms, seat belts, vaccines, antibiotics, helmets, traffic laws, anti-bacterial soap, rigorous health codes, clean water, garbage pick-up, smoking restrictions, school busses, police, military, anti-missile defense systems…you get the idea. And still, we get sick, hurt, beat up, robbed…we die. Latin America is not necessarily lacking any or all of these things. Nicaragua being the poorest of the three countries I visited has the least amount of resources of course, but Colombia and Ecuador are quite civilized by U.S. standards, with many if not all of these same safety measures in place.

What does differ is the ever present and overtly visible private security and military presence. Both public and private security forces are armed with incredibly strong guns from automatic rifles to submachine guns to dolled up sawed-off shot guns. They wear bullet proof vests, lead fierce, muzzled dogs around by leads, patrol banks, ATMs, shopping malls, government buildings, tourist attractions, public transportation, markets and neighborhoods. A majority of the lodges I visited had security guards after dark. I don’t think I’ve stayed anywhere that I didn’t have to buzz or ring to be let in all hours of the day or night (there were some exceptions in Ecuador). Private security guards monitored the streets of the neighborhood where I stayed in Managua 24 hours a day. Homes are like fortresses with tall wrought iron gates or brick walls topped with barbed wire and broken glass bottles. Certainly in countries torn to pieces by civil war, guerrilla fighting, insurgency, and “terrorism,” certain precautions become necessary, I understand, but I just can’t shake the feeling that all of this precaution is just a way to assure that the poor don’t come for us. Because you can’t live the life of a comfortable, well-off rich person right in the face of crushing poverty and not fear that one day they’ll come for you, or worse, one day you’ll end up there yourself. I know this because I feel it myself.

Which brings me to my point, the thing I leave Latin America fearing the most, is that its only a matter of time before my country looks like this. I’m afraid that its only a matter of time before the gap between the have’s and the have-nots is sufficiently wide enough to necessitate armed guards, fences, dogs. Its only a matter of time before all those chickens come home to roost. I’m afraid that knowing this, the U.S. will choose to build more shields of armor, sacrifice more civil rights, further develop the public and private military industrial complex, rather than make attempts to right what’s wrong with the world.

I learned early in this trip that I had two choices when confronted by my fears; I could retreat, hiding behind what I know and am familiar with or I could put my faith in my fellow human beings, look people in the eye, be true and be safe while I stepped out into the big, bad world. I’ll tell you again that I have not been robbed, assaulted, injured, sickened from “bad” food, kidnapped, insulted, or made fun of for my poor Spanish. I could mark this up to luck, many folks do, but I think its more than that. I give more credit to my refusal to retreat and my faith in the goodness of people, that has kept me safe. (And the fact that I don’t behave like an idiot, mind you.) I offer up a piece of myself to the folks I encounter on the street and off. I look people in the eye so they know my intentions. I treat them and their culture with respect and try to remember that I am a guest here and to act like one. I also try not to presume too much. I can’t erase who I am or where I come from and I surely can’t hide my privilege but I can try to share myself with others and offer up an attempt at bridge building which will hopefully illuminate the ways in which I am similar to those I meet, not different.

I so hope that the U.S., as a country, can set an example and face its fears. Face up to its mistakes and wrong-doings and learn to conquer hate with understanding and trust. If we can’t I’m afraid that our future will be filled with armed guards and steel fences and restricted movement. As I turn around and head home, I realize that fear is what I’m most afraid of, a funny place to find myself three months down the road.

From Managua, Nicaragua June 2006

I struggle with what it means to be a privileged individual with enough dough to traipse around Latin America for three months, dough that stretches a long way thanks to the suffering economies of these countries. My budget for a month in Nicaragua is about equal to the median annual income of this country. Sometimes I feel as if I have no right to be doing this. Shouldn’t I give all that money to someone who can make a difference here with it? While I find all kinds of ways to justify my being here, for better or worse, I like to think that most importantly , the experience of actually seeing how things are is quite important to further developing my ideas about development and social justice.

While in school, I focused a lot of my studies on Latin America, both in my Spanish language studies, and in areas of women’s studies and political science. As a result, I came here with a knowledge of Latin American history and current events. I also came with a pre-determined idea of what I thought things would be like. Like many an academic, I was pretty sure I knew a lot, and like many an academic, I’m so relieved to get out of the brick and mortar classroom and into the real world classroom, where its obvious I only know so much. If I had to name the most important observation I’ve made so far, it would be the vast number of similarities I find between the U.S. and Nicaragua when it comes to social issues. While I didn’t come here expecting to find all of Latin America suffering, a victim in need of help, I did expect somehow that things here would be worse or more ugly or more desperate than in the U.S.

And things are ugly here. There is a negligible lack of reliable infrastructure, the destruction and exploitation of natural resources is unconscionable, there is garbage everywhere, the buses and taxis are all on their last legs and totally unsafe, people can’t find jobs, the government is horribly corrupt, there is poor access to health care and good public education, children become sick and die from treatable illnesses, people live in slums, parts of Managua are considered VERY dangerous and the nicer neighborhoods hire private security guards to patrol the streets and people close themselves up behind security fence and razor wire and wrought iron bars. But when I compare it to the U.S., I don’t necessarily find an absence of these problems. I can’t say we don’t have horrible, desperate poverty in the U.S., nor can I say that everyone has access to health care and education. Both the U.S. and Nicaragua have high rates of single motherhood, teenage pregnancy, and domestic violence. The U.S. is not free of violence and filth and drugs and destruction. The things that I find shocking here, shock me because they are unfamiliar, but I think there are an equal number of shocking things in the U.S. that I have become numb to and have therefore become invisible, much in the same way that privileged people here become numb to the things they see around them.

For example, in Nicaragua, and all over Latin America, there is a huge number of homeless boys on the streets, many of whom are addicted to sniffing glue. In the U.S., it is not socially acceptable to us to have young children living on the streets and so even though the largest number of homeless in the U.S. are children, we do a good job of keeping them out of sight. Here, they are right in front of your eyes. Shocking? You bet, but less acceptable than homeless kids in the U.S.? Not really. And actually, you would think homeless folks in the U.S., of any age, would be far more unacceptable to us considering our wealth compared to a country like Nicaragua. So every time I see something and think that wouldn’t, doesn’t, couldn’t, hasn’t happened in the U.S., I have to stop myself and reconsider.

Here is where I can apply some of the things I did learn within the brick and mortar walls of the university. The key to creating change in the world is through coalition building and creating systems where help, ideas, solutions, and change flows in both directions, not just from the “top” down to the “bottom,” because the problems exist everywhere. I have just as much to learn from Latin America as I have to offer. The U.S. and the rest of the global north has not fixed all of its own problems nor will it be able to fix the worlds problems from the position of a benevolent patriarch. Many of the problems we have failed to solve ourselves are being addressed creatively and with a unique perspective here in Latin America. Our histories are deeply intertwined and there is no such thing as us vs. them as we benefit on the backs of these countries and we have a history of putting our boot down on the head of any attempt at their autonomy that goes against our idea of “democracy.” We are responsible for the exploitation of the natural resources here and we are responsible for the consumption and production of waste which has left a big, whopping hole in the ozone layer which lies over this part of the world. We are also responsible for the exploitation of Latin American labor, both within the borders of these countries and within our own. What is important about my relationship to Latin America as a U.S. citizen is what I share with the people here, not how I differ.

As I prepare to leave Nicaragua for Colombia, I think about all the warnings I received in the U.S. about going there. Isn’t it dangerous? Won’t you be kidnapped? Murdered? Robbed? While I’m certainly afraid of narcotraffickers and guerrillas and paramilitaries, I’m much more afraid of the power mongers in the U.S. whose insatiable need for blow drives the machine that makes Colombia so dangerous in the first place. Let me spell it out, Colombia is a dangerous country because people in the U.S. have a MAJOR drug problem. So why should I avoid going there? Why should I avoid trying to make a positive contribution to a country which has suffered so much violence directly and indirectly because of my country? So as I consider my safety and my position as a U.S. citizen traveling in Latin America, I realize that it’s not that Latin America is safe, necessarily, but that the U.S. is not as safe as it appears, either.