N. 4 bus rides, politics and development

Hello to all. I hope that this latest entry finds you well and that you are reading this from the coziness of your homes or somewhere you enjoy being. The paragraphs that follow come from an email response inspired by the inquiry of my dear friend Tom Celona, who asked me to describe the culture and political climate of El Salvador. In my email response I only managed to touch upon political climate a bit, but will get into that more tonight, as I think a political and historical background is indispensable when trying to understand a place. Ask questions! Please! I am so thrilled that Tom did.
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“Sorry to hear about the snowy and cold weather, although part of me would really like to see the snow. It’s easy to miss it when people who have never seen it before respond to pictures of that white fluffy stuff with a ‘¡Dios mío! ¡? Nieve?!’. For the most part, it's been pretty hot here. It’s not too bad in the city, but pretty unbearable in the rural areas. As for the culture, it is like nothing you would expect and something rather hard to describe. Perhaps you will understand it best if I explain today's bus ride...
I've been taking some language classes on the other side of the city to brush up on my Guatemalan style Spanish -apparently Guatemalan Spanish and El Salvadoran Spanish are quite different- and for another source of cultural, historical and political insight. The school, CIS, is super groovy and has a completely socially conscious atmosphere, as most of the students taking classes there are either volunteers or working for NGOs. And almost all of the teachers are survivors of the war in one way or another (more on that later).
Ok, so as for the bus ride...
Picture this...
Laura Smith standing contently on the side of the street sipping a papaya liquado from a plastic baggie, when ZOOOOM... along comes an old US school bus spewing thick diesel clouds and sporting neon colors and the number 44 splashed across the cracked window in old English font. Shouting and whistling a man shoos me onto the bus for a "coda, coda” (US quarter). More passengers, means more money for the drivers and we'll call them "accosters" of these governmentally subsidized buses. This means they are always in a hurry, which for me signifies that I must have my "coda" ready and a free hand to grab onto tightly to the handle bars that run along the ceiling, or I will lose my liquado and quite possibly my consciousness. As I squeeze into a seat next to a Salvadoran teen dressed in a blue and white school uniform, a man comes by shouting something or other about the lord and how he will only save me if I give this man a "coda". For fear of angering Mr. mighty with the booming voice, I hand over the change and wait to be saved.
As the bus Lurches and screeches, reaching alarming speeds of 60 miles an hour, Pizza huts, Mister Donuts, and Little Caesars whiz by the window. We also pass many a street vendor, selling anything you can possibly imagine, including fraudulent DVDs and videos. Apparently, violating the copyright law has been labeled as terrorism down here and anybody caught in such acts is fined ridiculous amounts of money which they don't have, but as usual, the government usually finds a way to get the benefit.
Carrying on with my super surreal ride to bulevar los heroes...
So, as we stop at Metro, one of the busiest stops in the city -Mr. Mighty is long gone, already on another bus finagling money from other persuadable souls- the air in the 44 gets smoggier and thick as other buses emit their contaminating clouds. I cover my face with my bandanna and risk appearing like an ignorant gringa who thinks she can save those lovely pink lungs of hers in this city of bus fumes and everything vendors. I haven't mentioned yet that my height makes me an immediately noticeable gringa, as the majority of Salvadorans are not very vertically endowed. This may have something to do with the age at which they begin drinking coffee in these countries, but I'm entirely not sure. Esmeralda, the 8 year old daughter of my host family in Guatemala, and Brian the 5 year I mentioned a few entries back from Tierra Nueva, both drink their coffee with lots of sugar.
As the bus sits in neutral, the "accoster" is pacing around outside shouting, whistling and waving more people onto our bus. Sometimes it is hard to imagine how more people will fit into these crowded buses, but a will usually finds a way. As he continues his recruiting, a man selling a book on the English language and another on the human body pushes his way through the aisle. A dark haired señora pays a dollar for an English book and the man ascends the back of the bus content with his sale.
Our driver has been pumping the breaks and flipping through stations for about 5 minutes now as we wait ever so patiently. Finally, he lets go, steps on the gas and "the accoster" jumps on. Vanilla Ice begins to blast from the speakers, and a smile creeps onto my face, partly from the hilarity of it all, partly for the gratitude I feel to be part of this scene and partly due to the irony of how tranquil I feel in this moment on a this frantic bus in San Salvador that will continue lurching and screeching the same rout as I am well underway learning new endearing Salvadoran lingo.”
When I first read about San Salvador in my Lonely Planet On A Shoestring guide to Central America, I got a bit nervous, as it spoke mostly about the gang violence and the visible impact of the war and current poverty and day to day hazards. “Spend a few days in San Salvador” it says “but don’t get stuck here.” In my first few days, stuck is exactly how I was feeling. Armando, my fountain of knowledge with his thorough awareness of available project needs, was in the hospital and I was presented with the opportunity to figure things out on my own. For almost three weeks now, I have been asking questions, taking buses, slowly getting answers and slowly creating a project proposal based on observations, experiences and gut feelings. I have begun to absorb the pulse of this city rhythm into my day to day life, and for possibly the first time, I am able to contradict my traveling bible, The Lonely Planet. Not only do I feel safe here, but every day I am growing more infatuated with this place and I’m starting to think how hard it is going to be to leave when I head out to Sacacoyo.

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A bit of History and Political Climate
(This one’s for you Tom, and anyone else who’s listening.)

For most Salvadorans the war is still very fresh in their minds. It is undoubtedly the most prominent and nagging aspect of El Salvador’s past and its effects and tragedies are certainly visible in this city and throughout the country. People my age endured more hardships in the first few years of their lives than I have in my lifetime.
A girl I work with, whose name I will not mention is twenty five years old but due to the war she lost the first two years of her life, literally. When she was still relatively protected in her mother’s womb, and nearing birth, her pregnant mother had to flee for the mountains, as the violence was growing hastily near their home on the outskirts of San Salvador.
Before the war began there had always been looming tension between the rich and the poor, those in power and the completely powerless. The first of many martyrs for the oppressed was a man named Augustin Farabundo Marti who led the poor working class and indigenous people in an uprising against their repressors in 1932. The FMLN, El Salvador’s first and only socialist party that was later born after long awaited peace accords in 1992, was named after this man who was arrested and killed for his actions of solidarity with the poor. But first a war would rage for 12 long, destructive years.
The war did not actually officially commence until 1980, after the assassination of another martyr for the oppressed. Monseñor Oscar Arnulfo Romero was “la voz, de los sin vos,” meaning “the voice of those without voices.” He lived in solidarity with the country’s poor and initiated a group that spoke out on their behalf. The day of his assassination, March 24, 1980, was the official date the war began; the irony being his non-violent approach to “fighting” for liberation. Many people in El Salvador and internationally now refer to him as a San Romero, Saint Romero, and his the image of his face is painted and represented all over El Salvador.
The brutal war brought twelve years of violence, torture, and rape between people born from the same “tierra,” earth. The number of deaths on a day to day basis was devastating and women, children and men alike were all victims. Like the recent devastation of child soldiers in Uganda, children here in El Salvador were also kidnapped and trained to kill. The only difference, is that here, the side doing the kidnapping was the government, as apposed to the side trying to overthrow it. My Spanish teacher, who was born a year before I was, forced back tears last week as she told me about her friends who were killed when she was only six years old and father who died for defending his people.
The military was cold and heartless, as they always are. They massacred countless villages and captured and killed thousands without remorse. They were afraid of losing power, and wanted to eliminate anyone standing in the way of that power. Educated people or those struggling to receive an education were seen as a threat to government and needed to be eliminated. Throughout the war, soldiers would surround La Universidad Nacional and students would get trapped inside and usually shot. Up until a few years ago, when my teacher began going to school there, the walls were still riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Apparently, students always wore sneakers to class so they would be ready to run from the military.
The people fighting for their land, their lives and their dignity were considered the guerilla party, later referred to as the FMLN and under the presidency of Ronald Reagan, the United States gave both economic aid and military support to the Salvadoran forces who were fighting to do away with the guerillas. Not only did the US fuel this war with weapons and money, but it trained thousands of soldiers in techniques of torture and combat in La Escuelas de las Americas (School of the Americas) in Georgia.
Since my first trip to Latin America I have always been warmly welcomed into people’s homes and embraced by the incredibly kind folks of this region. Last year in Nicaragua, I had been walking on the beach for 2 hours and in the last stretch of my walk, I met 10 year old Maria Elena. She lives in a very modest home made of bamboo and a tin roof. Her family has very little, yet she offered me a cookie and walked with me for the last mile holding my hand and asking me about the United States and my life there. Traveling in these countries, I have always felt torn when people ask me where I come from. “I live in the United States,” I say, “but I was born in Switzerland”. I cling to the beautiful neutrality of the land where I was born, and hope that they forgive me for what the US has done, or not done in this little country the size of Massachusetts. I am fully aware that the United States has also done a lot of good in the world, but where I am now, people have been so incredibly affected by our countries power, that it is hard not to feel a little resentment. What makes this even harder is having a president who is fighting another war which is tearing apart families and doing irreparable damage all over again, like we did here years ago. So I would not say that I´m ashamed to be an American. I am so fortunate for the freedom and right to travel, earn a living, go to school, drink clean water, etc. But I must say, that even with their faults, the Swiss do not have such a reputation here, and are not addressed as ¨gringos,¨a term that came from the a the fighting comand,¨green go¨.
In 1992, after more than 75,000 casualties, the war finally came to a close with long awaited peace accords. The FMLN was acknowledged as a political party, although to this day ARENA is still in government. Though the war is officially over, life here for many is still tainted with fear and poverty. Every street corner, ice cream shop, bakery, you name it, is protected by a man in uniform with a stern face and a sawed off shotgun in tow. The gap between the rich and the poor is still bewildering and growing profoundly. So many people here are neglected of basic human rights like clean water, proper education and the list forebodingly rambles on. Maquilas, what most of us know as sweatshops, are scattered throughout the country. The conditions of these places are so terrible, that absolutely no outsiders are ever allowed in; for fear that the obvious corruption of this multibillion dollar industry would be confirmed. I did however find an article written about an article that was suppressed immediately after it was published, if you’re interested in reading more.

http://www.ksworkbeat.org/Globalization/El_Salvador_Sweatshops/el_salvador_sweatshops.html
I won’t even get started about maquilas right now. Just the thought of them puts knots in my stomach. It’s the kind of situation where “you’re damned if you do, you’re damned if you don’t.” Pulling, Nike, GAP… out of this place would mean unemployment for the thousands. As meager as their wages may be, they are wages.
Regardless of such a dark past and daunting reality, many El Salvadorans remain hopeful and many are among the kindest, strongest and most admirable that you could meet.
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If I think about this stuff too much, it can really bum me out, so I’ve been trying to stay optimistic and focus on development and productivity. I’m also re-attempting to teach myself how to play the guitar. I’m learning how to play El Salvador style though, b/c when I ask people around FUNDAHMER to teach me new cords, the quick sit down lessons usually come with a new rhythm and way of strumming that you don’t normally hear back home. It’s great, it helps me gather myself at night and I think it would be really great to be able to play a few things in the youth center. Music always seems to create community, which is exactly what we need in El Centro Juvenile, Sacacoyo.

As for Sacacoyo, I went for a visit on my birthday to see the center and meet the community leader, Ricardo and his wife Dorita. They seem really nice, and the center is well, in need of some life, but exactly the blank canvas that I thought it would be. It stands behind the house of Dorita and Ricardo, surrounded by coffee trees and more trees. The space inside is quite simple with lovely white walls that will be perfect for covering with murals and lively art work!
I´m going back tomorrow with Miguel to hold my first reunion (meeting) in El Salvador. I´m really excited and also a bit nervous.
The reunion will be from 2pm to 4pm and we are expecting about 30 people. For the sake of Artcorps I must go into some detail, so if you are interested bear with me. I will also come back with reflexions and updates next week. My apologies for not getting a blog up until now. This past week was spent recovering from a terrible tummy infection, which I found out was probably caused by contaminated water and/or food. It was not very much fun, I felt like death and I think that´s about all the detail you really want to hear.
Ok, back to development and productivity.
So, we will arrive at el Centro Juvenil Sacacoyo at 2 o´clock –supposedly, Salvadorans are pretty lax about sticking to schedules. Anita, will start by describing their Arts and Culture initiative that began last year, ¨Sculpting a New El Salvador.¨ She predicts that this will take roughly 15 minutes (again Salvadoran time).
Next, I will introduce myself and explain a little bit about Arcorps and my experiences teaching art and as an artist. To help them understand a my project and mission with artcorps a bit better, I am going to describe one project idea that has been burning a hole in my pocket ever since it came to me. This project idea is about creating communication sculptures on which we can write ideas, hopes, aspirations, etc. for the community. Initially we will write in chalk, and once a week or once a month, we will have meetings to discuss these ideas and see how we can take action to make them a reality. Once and action has been accomplished, that reality or process of accomplishment will be written in paint. The hope is that after a few months of reflection, action, reflection, the community will begin to realize how important communication is to transformation.
After this introduction I have a few dynamics planned, mostly activities that I learned in training that I´ve been excited to try out (thank you Aryah). The first two take place in a circle.
The first dynamic will be a hand clap game that involves eye contact and non-verbal communication.
In the second, ¨Quisiera Conocerlos¨ we will say our names one at a time, and simultaneously make a body movement that describes what we do for work, play, etc. The rest of the group then reflects that gesture and the person’s name. This way, we can get warmed up, start to feel more comfortable and get to know a little bit more about each other.
To get a better understanding of how people feel about art and culture and their experience, we will play ¨ Una Fila Imaginaria de Extremos.¨ ¨An Imaginary Line of Extremes,¨ will be explained by setting an imaginary line. One extreme is for people who have never used art, don´t have interest in trying, think it´s a waste of time, and have never understood why people create art. (Please excuse those harsh words).
The other extreme will be for people who LOVE art, have always been creative and artistic, think in color, compositions and space, an AH! are ignited by every aspect of art and creativity. After explaining the two extremes I will ask that people find a place on this scale of art. I will explain that they do not only have to stand at the extremes, but they can move freely within the two to identify their creative habits. Once we have done this, I will ask for people to share why they chose the space they did.
After these two activities, we´ll take our seats again, in a circle to brainstorm a bit about; what art is, what does art and culture mean? , what examples can they think of in their communities that involve art and culture, and what types of art and culture they would like to see in their community. I plan on bringing a big pad of paper so that we can record all these ideas, and in the days that follow I will go back into my plan of action and incorporate these ideas.
Next, I will share with them, what I have been brewing up in my mind. I have ideas of historical murals (a request from Armando), a sustainable agriculture project, a theatrical performance where the youth will be able to explore their dreams and understand better how to take control over their own future, recycled art workshops, workshops where we illustrate or build maps of risk, and so ooooon.
After I explain this, we will get into groups and I will give each group a chance to choose a project and give advice and write some questions. In training we also drew a map of the role of art in the community, the outcomes and the role of the artist, the NGO and the community. I am going to give each group a copy of the tree and ask them to fill in who fills what role. To make it more fun, we will give each group the name of a vegetable and will make a salad to share our ideas.
I´ve also created an idea box that will later find a permanent home in the center. In order to get their refreshments at the end of the meeting, I will ask each participant to bring a suggestion, idea or thought to the box as they line up.
But before we do this, Miguel is going to lead us in a song, ¨ Un Million de Amigos¨ which I love. We sang it my first day at FUNDAHMER and I think it´s a great way to initiate community.
So, that´s about it. I promise to report back next week to let you all know how it goes.
I hope this finds you all healthy and happy. And I´m very impressed if you´ve made it to the end of this entry with your eyes open. Thank you for being interested in what I´m doing.
Sending you all lots of love, light y abrazos!
Laura