Reminders of Many Good Things

We're all challenged to do the good things we can where we are. The challenges abound in all our lives. When I write about my own activities related to the people I work with here, I always feel a little self indulgent, so I remind myself that many people have contributed to my being here and that they might want to know more about what I'm doing and how that's going. I also remind myself of the good work going on back home, and that leads me to my favorite example of a boring blog entry--writing about brushing my teeth.  I'll be brief.

I was brushing my teeth and stroked my way to a crown¹ where once a mighty molar had stood.² The crown is faring well, and for some reason I remembered at that moment that my dentist in Nashville who had installed the appliance had remarked when he heard that Lynn and I were becoming lay missioners with Franciscan Mission Service, "you know, I believe Arlo Guthrie became a Franciscan a while back." So, when I had a free moment today I poked around on the internet and found the website for the Guthrie Center, a physical and virtual site for the promotion of spiritual positivism. What a great idea to sponsor interfaith dialogue and respect for indigenous cultures, especially within a nation of such diverse beliefs. The philosophy and activities relate directly to what Lynn and I have been doing here, especially regarding some of the activities in October.

On October 8 the Franciscans in Cochabamba held the first annual national song festival to encourage contemporary musicians to compose songs that relate to the spirituality of Saints Francis and Clare. On the evening of the eighth the best entrants from around Bolivia performed their songs live.  The opportunity to perform their songs was an award in itself, but the performers also received plaques of recognition, and the winner, an individual singer and guitarist, was also proclaimed. (I'll try to post a brief video clip here of some of the performers.) The idea for the contest and concert came from Juan Antonio, a Franciscan brother from Mexico who said that this is a very popular activity in Mexico as well.  When the concert for Franciscan spirituality in Bolivia was first being announced Lynn and I displayed one of the posters in Carcel Abra, the prison where we teach.  Unfortunately, I believe no one from the
prison submitted an entry despite there being a number of able musician/song composers there.

From the 11th thru the 14th of this month Lynn and I also attended several evenings of the local conference celebrating the 50th anniversary of Vatican II. As I look back on the presentations, I think what affected me most was the large attendance--more people than could fit into the large lecture hall.  It felt good to see so many people there, and among them to recognize the faces of people we've had the good fortune to meet and work with while we've been here--friends we made while we were students at the Maryknoll Language Institute but hadn't seen since we returned from Carmen Pampa, friends from our worksites, friends from our own Franciscan Mission Service, friends from our barrio--and some had been here in Bolivia only a few months, and others had been here for a few decades.  Overall, I think the talks emphasized the increasing role and responsibility of the laity and also reminded me that I had some reading to do on the documents of the Vatican II Council.

This past Tuesday we completed the course on Franciscan spirituality that focused on selections from the Admonitions. Here, we met more of the young bothers and sisters of the Order. The course was taught by Sister Ada Galioto, an Italian Franciscan. Despite our arriving late several times, she always welcomed us and included us in her congenial attack-mode style of teaching to be sure that we were listening and understanding.  On the final evening of the class we received our Tau-encircled diplomas. And, unexpectedly for me, she also called me to the front of the class and presented me with a beautiful old volume of the writings of Francis and Clare of Asisi in Spanish.  She wished Lynn and me the best of luck in our spiritual journey and asked me to read the bookmark card she had included with it. It depicted a payaso, or clown, above the following words:

Vive Mas Intensamente
Rie Mas Facilmente
Mira Mas Claramente
Ama Mas Profundamente

or, as many of us more commonly know it,

Live More Intensely
Laugh More Easily
Look More Clearly
Love More Profoundly

Of course, when included as a directive with the Franciscan Admonitions it seemed to me at first inappropriate, but I thought of the Apology of Socrates, and for that matter, the description of Socrates--I think by Alcibiades--as being like the image of a silenos, or lascivious creature on the outside but with the image of a god on the inside.  I think Sister Ada was alluding to the paradox that through the Admonitions one might embrace life more fully.  What a wonderful gift. It reminded me of two other unexpected gifts: once in high school when as a sophomore I was given a trophy for my effort in running for the track team (completely unexpected), and once at the end of our son Norbert's senior year when the head of the English department selected him to receive the award for outstanding writing and gave him a beautiful old volume of Shakespeare's history play Henry V. Norbert bore the honor well, and I hope Lynn and I will too.

Before ending this post I need to thank an old friend, Peter, for calling to my attention the History Channel's program about the prospect that outlaw Butch Cassidy survived to return in his later years from Bolivia to the US. With that in mind Lynn and I perused the bins of the street vendors here and found a copy of the film Blackthorn (Sin Destino). It does a good job, I think, of emphasizing the hazards of action or inaction in a morally ambiguous universe and will probably become one of the films in the next series of Filmanía at Pastoral Juvenil here in Cochabamba.

Enough for now.

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¹ I was brushing with a generic toothbrush with "extra suave" bristles and using Aquafresh paste. No, there are no stars in my crown.
² Was this the place that crunched a thousand chips? (Thanks and apologies to Chris Marlowe.)

Around Our Barrio, October 25, 2011

I intended to take a photo of our street, Colibri, before the paving process began.  Unfortunately, I laggardly missed that by a day, so I took a photo just after the street had been sprayed with a thick oil in preparation for the trucks with hot-mix asphalt, the spreader crews, and the steamroller.  I know that aphorism the road to hell is paved with good intentions may not seem to apply to this instance of my failed intent, but the pre-sprayed street was a worthy photo subject because here many of the roads, our own Calle Colibri¹ included, are paved with carefully arranged-by-hand stones, the sections delineated by continuous lines of stones about 5 feet² apart, the broad sweep of which on a gentle curve is--despite the jarring effect if you're fortunate enough to be passing quickly over them in a cab--a pleasing sight. I would romanticize this paving if I said "alas, poor _____," and so, no more; however, the stone streets can be a beautiful example of the manual arts and as sensible a use of abundant stones as are the walls between fields on the island of the white cow³.

The pavers did come to Colibri, and I was on hand with camera in hand to preserve a glimpse of the interment of the earlier paving technology, thus:

The paving process was followed by, on election day for judges here in Bolivia, another Dia del Peatón, which brought many of our neighbors (and Lynn and I as well, see photo) out to celebrate pedestrianism with a good walk on a fine, sunny afternoon.

Once paved, the street needed a line to demarcate right-of-way for two-way traffic. This brought an interesting series of events.  First a continuous double yellow line appeared.  Then it vanished.  Some said it was the work of the ladrones (and most probably Peruvian ladrones, I heard) who could be expected to steal just about anything. A close look at the pavement, however, revealed that black paint now covered the area where the double yellow line once had been.⁴ And then a day or so later a single white dashed line appeared on top of that, and shortly after that crosswalks demarcated by lines of raised caution-yellow reflectors and a speed limit sign of 10 kilometers per hour (kph). This was an excellent idea because the new paving seemed to have instantly increased the average auto speed by about 30 kph, a real hazard because at the top of the block there is a school and almost always there are groups of children going to or from it.

The name of the school, 26 de Octubre, is an important part of these goings on in this barrio as well. That date--tomorrow's date--is also the birthday of President Evo Morales.  Tonight the residents of the barrio have been preparing for a big celebration (see video) of President Morales' birthday. Lynn and I walked up to the school, which will be the center of the fiesta, to chat with neighbors (Marcela, our favorite tienda lady, hit me with a wad of confetti) and celebrate the improvements (in-ground natural gas lines, asphalt streets, speed limits, crosswalks, a beautiful school) that all together will make life in the neighborhood easier and better. Happy Birthday, Evo, and thanks!

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¹ more formally, Cerezos del Colibri.
² or 1.524 meters.
³ Inishbofin, where building stone walls also clears more land for planting, though plowing still is probably best done with a short coulter.
⁴ I did not remove any of the black paint to determine whether the yellow line was still beneath it, but, the character of the Peruvians aside, I believe it to be so.

Nostalgia

Yesterday morning Lynn put a card with this quote from St. John Chrysostom at my place at the table:

Do not fear the conflict, do not flee it.
Where there is no struggle, there is no virtue.
Where Love and Faith are not tempted,
it is not possible to be sure whether they are really present.
They are tried and revealed in adversity,
in difficult and grievous circumstances.

It's a nice reminder.

Mid-October

During the last couple of weeks Lynn and I have been busy with teaching during the day and with various learning activities at night, such as a short course in Franciscan spirituality and a 1-week symposium celebrating the 50th anniversary of Vatican II. My favorite teaching sites are at Abra, a men's prison on the other side of the mountains to the east of where we live, and at the Santa Vera Cruz hospice of the Calcutta Sisters, which is on the other side of the mountains to the west of us. Cochabamba has excellent weather, so while going to or from either worksite, just the ride itself is uplifting. On the way to either destination, the various sections of road change from dirt to rock to asphalt and back again as they jolt and wind from neighborhood to city to community.¹ We are approaching the rainy season here, but the weather is almost always sunny, cool in the mornings and evenings, and hot at midday, but always with low (30-35 percent) humidity. So getting there is a time to reflect on how lucky we are to be able to volunteer our labor in such a beautiful place.

In Abra we (Lynn and I) are not allowed to take cameras inside the prison with us, so I won't be sharing any photos of the students there.  We have a hard enough time getting our electronics in on the occasional days when we try to work in popular songs or video in English. As frustrating as the entry process can be, I understand the need for the caution, and from my limited experience with the interior of US prisons, this one is far less bleak--with flower gardens, pet dogs, visits from wives and children--and even a food court with tiendas and the occasional waft of chicken or beef kebabs on a grill.  This, of course, belies the reality that the money allotted for food in the prison is very low, so those inmates with more money will have a better time of it.

My forearm with a day's worth of entry stamps.  The three
friendship bracelets are, from right to left, one given to me by
Sandra, a student at Carmen Pampa, a green and brown one
I bought because the design and colors reminded me of Emer,
our daughter, and one with my name on it, made and given
to me by José, a student at Abra.

To enter with audiovisual equipment, we have to present a list of the equipment, have that checked against the equipment itself, then wait to see if the approval for entering with the equipment is there at the front desk. Frequently it is not, and I begin the process of entering without the equipment, seeking the delegate who has the approval form, then requesting that he visit the outer office to verify that I have permission to enter with the equipment.  That being done, I then can return to the outer office, have a pat-down search to be sure I'm not sneaking in drugs, weapons, phone cards, flash drives, cameras, etc., (this is sometimes more thorough, sometimes more challenging, because the personnel always changes) then have my forearm stamped with approval, then re-enter the main gate of the prison, verify that I have the pat-down approval stamp (black), then receive my second approval stamp (red) to enter the yard where the men can congregate.  Of course, during the time we teach we can always hear a loud speaker blaring orders for individuals to report to various locations.  Sometimes there is more than one class in the teaching space (sanctuary of a Catholic church within or a small classroom/library) or more than one teacher vying for the one whiteboard.

I just took a sip of coffee and read over that last paragraph. I laughed because while all of the details about the inconvenience are true, I cite them with full knowledge that at the end of each class-day I will gather up my things, make the usual kinds of "next time" remarks, note the requests and comments, and then leave.  Of course, I understand that's what prison is all about, sitting with one's wrong doings in an environment of deprivation. And I don't question the men about what things they have done that resulted in their being where they are, so maybe I shield myself from that shock and horror.  But in the eight months that I have been going there to teach I think I have begun to see a different kind of risk or addendum to the punishment of the time sentence. They all want to be more than just the person who committed the crime, and they all seem to be at risk of a kind of decay of their own individuality.

This last element seemed most apparent to me recently when Lynn and I decided to show a full-length film to both of our groups--the beginners and the advanced--on one day and to discuss it with both groups combined on the following day.  To hold their interest and to stimulate discussion, we decided to show the film² with Spanish subtitles and to allow the discussion in Spanish as well.³ On the day of discussion everyone had something to contribute, and by the end of the hour and a half class it seemed like the whole class felt closer together, and this despite the usual disagreements as they contributed and worked through their differing perspectives. They saw in the film no perfect cultures, the need to learn from all of them, the vulnerability of youth, the pain of being parents, the pain of being children, the way incidental incursions of one culture into another can have great consequences.

I didn't come away from the session feeling that anyone was being wrongly punished. Fortunately I wasn't in charge of meting out sentence time. Without questioning their characters, I simply recognized that they needed a chance, a safe forum from which to express their opinions and learn from each other. Despite the deviation from our curriculum, Lynn and I decided to repeat the film/discussion format once a month if possible.
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¹Sometimes it seems like Bolivia is the elephant graveyard for all the world's clunkers--heavily polluting, frequently without brake lights, often without any lights at night--but spanking new beamers and hummers are out there as well.

²The film was Babel, which, along with 4 others ( A Beautiful Mind, The Adjustment Bureau, Spirited Away, and Madeinusa) comprised the first episode of the film series Filmanía that Lynn is coordinating with the group Pastoral Juvenil in Cochabamba.

³I remember my own difficulties during language school when I needed to respond to something but my vocabulary or sense of grammar wasn't sufficient to relay my perceptions in the new language.

Plaza Principal

Yesterday I visited the Plaza Principal here in Cochabamba where, among other errands, I paid our monthly bill¹ for the cost of water for sewage. The streets around the Plaza were more crowded than usual--even for midday--because a large group of people was demonstrating there.  As I approached, I noticed that many of the demonstrators wore white lab-style coats buttoned over their street clothes. The demonstrators were too old to be colegio students, and as I walked closer I began to hear the chants and read the banners as the people marched around the corner to parade rest on the north side of the Plaza. This demonstration represented the pharmacists and doctors united against--as best I could determine--the distribution of pharmaceutical products and medical services by non-licensed agents. I wasn't sure if this was a response to pending legislation, but it was good to see that people had the freedom to express their opinions and protect their interests.

Plaza Principal is one of a number of plazas and parks in the city.  As its name implies, it is at the center of Cochabamba's municipal life with the Cathedral, Interpol, banks, and shops skirting the perimeter and a tranquil interior quad of palm trees, flowers, a fountain, and street vendors. Two weeks earlier (Sunday, September 18th), Plaza Principal was the start and finish site of a 7k race for young people sponsored by Monaco, one of the local sports equipment vendors. An estimated 3,000 people participated, most of them under the age of 25.^2,3

On the night of Tuesday, September 27th, Plaza Principal was the site of protest marches and a Franciscan ecumenical community prayer service, both in support of indigenous residents in their ongoing conflict with the Bolivian government that has made international news: the residents of TIPNIS (Territorio Indígena y Parque Nacional Isiboro Sécure) continue marching to oppose the construction of a highway directly through the land to which they have title. Government actions to halt the TIPNIS marchers have resulted in protest resignations in President Morales' cabine, skirmishes, several tear gas-related hospitalizations, and the reported death of an infant due to tear gas inhalation. On that Tuesday night Lynn and I had to make a choice between attending the second hour of our Franciscan Spirituality class or the activities in the Plaza.  With the teacher's permission we opted for the latter and thereby had both theory and practicum in the Franciscan way of peace. Following a slide presentation featuring reflections on the struggle for equitable peace from the words of Mother Teresa, Luis Espinal, Dorothy Day, Mahatma Gandhi, the 

Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Albert Nolan, Richard O'Barry, Salvador Allende, Cesar Romero, Margaret Mead, Martin Luthor King and others, we heard from a representative of the indigenous people in Cochabamba and from local clergy. One of the latter was our mentor and longtime Bolivian resident Ignacio Harding, OFM.4 Fortunately, I had a camcorder with me.

On the day following the activities in Plaza Principal the Government suspended its activities to restrain the TIPNIS marchers.  However, a headline in yesterday's Los Tiempos indicated that construction work on the disputed highway continues.
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¹ 12.8Bol = $1.85.
² My race number was 3494. I was one of the few well above the age of 25 and was also jogging although I wish I still could have run it.  Regardless, the weather was beautiful, as it usually is in Cochabamba, and the young people around me seemed more excited to be participating rather than worried about speed or place.
³ This event was in advance of the actual celebration of the Day of the Student, September 21, which was a very busy weekday.  Besides this celebration, on the Bolivian calendar the 21st was packed with celebrations: International day of peace, the first day of spring, the day of the student, the day of love, and day of the doctor. Staging the running event on the preceding Sunday was a good idea.
⁴ As Ignacio spoke I was reminded of a photo from a much earlier blog entry in our mission here in Bolivia because he was indeed taking steps and encouraging others along that road to peace as depicted in the mural.

The Higgins Connection

This past June, when Lynn and I returned to the US for a visit we had lunch with Bitsy Thompson, the younger sister of Jack Higgins. We had a pleasant time exchanging information with her about Jack's experiences as a Maryknoll missionary priest from the '50s and '60s in Bolivia and our own current experiences there. Since we had moved back to Cochabamba from Carmen Pampa in January, we had closer contact with members of Maryknoll. And since we would be returning soon, she asked us if we would mind presenting the Mary of the Mountain to members of the Maryknoll Society there in Cochabamba. Of course, we were happy to do that. At that time the centennial celebration of the Maryknoll Society was only a few months away, and Jack was one of the first Maryknoll missionaries to serve in Bolivia.

This copy of the Mary of the Mountain¹ picture was a significant gift because it had first been given by Jack to his own mother and was perhaps a reminder that their separation was a great sacrifice for both of them undertaken for a noble cause. Lynn and I thought of this as we remembered our separation from our daughter, Emer, while on mission and our need to work for the needs of others in honor of our son, Norbert. When we presented this picture to the Maryknoll Society in Cochabamba at a plenary meeting, we could see that all of us--from multiple generations--were accepting various levels of separation from culture and family in order to carry on good works begun by others. Only one of those present at the meeting was old enough to remember Jack, so we shared a few details about his life.
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¹ We also discovered that the Mary of the Mountain was created by a Maryknoll sister, Marie Pierre Semler, and that she also happened to be a relative of Nora Pfeifer, one of our fellow Franciscan lay missioners here in Bolivia.