"Embrace wisdom..."
I had been carrying around an empty journal - something I needed to give over in some way as a symbol of the closure I had experienced. This day the opportunity arose - because Joel had run out of pages in his own notebook from the 17+ hours of interviews we had done. I was happy to put the journal to good use, and out of my hands.
In my own journal, I wrote: "...I've never been quite so anxious to get home..."
Friday was an important day. We finally interviewed Tomasa... and I think, at that point, I came to the end of myself. I had translated roughly half of the interviews - and Tomasa's was particularly emotional for me. As a woman of deep prayer, Tomasa seems to me to be the spiritual leader of this community. I feel, even now, a strong connection to her struggle and her wisdom. She started her story all the way back in 1970 - the year I was born. It was in this interview that I finally understood the structure that had followed them to Honduras - the forming of base communities. Just yesterday, I read in Nouwen's Latin American Journal an easily understandable definition of these base communities. People are encouraged to "meet regularly with people from their block, discussing common problems in the light of the Gospel, studying Scriptures, and praying." Once again I am struck by the absurdity of the question we SMC folk were asking ourselves a year ago: "Can Valle Nuevo be considered a community of faith?" This structure of base communities took the form of organizational survival units in Honduras. Every 10 families formed a unit with a leader. From there they assigned jobs - building dwellings (not once did I ever hear anyone call these "tents") farming, teaching making shoes, furniture, cooking, gathering water, ...and the list goes on. The idea of "organization" being "sacred" is something that rubs me a bit the wrong way. I actually tend to be very organized in many ways, but often feel stifled by the imposed organization of others. But for the people of Valle Nuevo - this organization brought a structure to their lives that was essential to their very survival - and not all of them did. There were many casualties not only to the violence of the military, but also to disease and malnutrition. There were spiritual casualties as well - some have never recovered mentally from the horrors of the war - and some did, indeed, lose their faith. Many of the organizations that have come to help the town of Santa Marta rebuild are far from faith based. The humanistic tendencies among some of the educated youth - stepping away from the church, are evident. The particular smaller community of Valle Nuevo within Santa Marta, however, seems to hold their faith dear. Tomasa seems to hint that structure and organization outside of a community of faith are to be observed with caution.
The other point of Tomasa's story that stands out in my mind was the moment it came to translate a particular horror of war that I had heard reference to before and have since read about in Ivonne's journal. Ivonne describes a particular story of a particular family, but it seems to have repeated itself - as I heard of this happening in the context of three different interviews. I hesitate to share this here, as it invokes a sobbing in me and seems too horrific to put into print. However, that these stories not be forgotten echoes in my head, so this I will share... and perhaps it is because my own children were born with the cutting open of my own womb - in a state of emergency where three lives were held in balance - that this part of the Valle Nuevo story is so emotionally charged for me. When the death squads would come to exterminate a family - upon encountering a pregnant woman, on more than one occasion, apparently, they would cut open her womb and rip the unborn child from her, leaving them both to die.
It is hard to believe that this same day was our trip to La Victoria, the radio station that even now continues to be harassed with death threats to their broadcasters for speaking out on issues of oppression and injustice (the most recent being the presence of the Canadian Pacific Rim Mining Corporation in the community of San Isidro. From there we made the long trek to the Lempa River, accompanied by Pastor, Margarita, and Juana. I almost forgot to mention the amazing lunch Margarita prepared for us beforehand - and the sharing of her story. She seemed disappointed that we didn't eat very much. I don't remember much from her story - probably because I had taken in about all I could hold in a week. But the trip to the Lempa - a large portion of which we had to walk as it was impassable in the bus we took - was significant. Walking with Margarita - watching her wash the mud off the feet of some of my former delegates along the way - listening to their memories as they sat on the stone wall overlooking the Lempa - and the song Juana sang - that tells the story of the crossing. All these moments and memories are very special - even sacred - to me.
Margarita and Juana, pointing to the place where they were able to come out on the other side of the Lempa River.
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