I can hear a rooster crowing. It’s 4 am and I wanted to be
asleep about 6 hours ago. I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, but so
nauseous I can’t sleep. Don’t worry…just took my first antibiotic so I should
be fine within 12 hours. But I figure if I’m not sleeping I might as well use
this golden free-time for blogging.
Antigua is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.
Everything about it is just adorable and rustic and rich in culture. Most of
the buildings here are older than the US. There are cobblestone streets and
fountains and lights in trees. The weather is seriously perfect; 75 to 80
degrees with a breeze. The people are warm and friendly. The coffee is local
and delicious. And the food…don’t even get me started. It’s too good.
Like most beautiful places I’ve been, there’s a lack of
congruence. The surrounding beauty lacks conformity with the way of life.
Guatemala is the most populated country in Central America, the second poorest
country in the western hemisphere and has the fourth highest rate of
malnutrition in the world.
I think I’ve been having a hard time connecting the dots
here in Antigua. Last year I lived in cultures of poverty all around the world.
I sat around the table, worked and did life with friends who can barely
afford to survive. This is not something new to me. I have looked in the face
of a starving child, helpless to offer much except a bowl of rice and beans.
While the idea of poverty and injustice grieves my
heart, I think I’ve also become desensitized to it. It’s so overwhelming an
issue that I can’t bare the reality. The stories of the children we meet should
bring me to tears, yet they don’t. Because I have heard these stories over. and
over. and over. And maybe there is more to share than just what we see.
I've heard it referred to as poverty porn. One sensationalized and graphic story of one persons poverty helps us
understand. It takes an issue of extreme systemic problems and simplifies it
into what is observable. This elicits an emotional response (as it should), typically for the purpose of fundraising. And yes, we
ought to have empathy for our fellow human, but…
I’m having a hard time knowing the best way to honor these
beautiful people I encounter each day. I want to share their stories without
removing their dignity; without making them just one more poverty narrative.
Story is sacred and valuable, not something to exploit for the sake of profit
or blog views or even good conversation.
I have a feeling that sometimes we’re missing the point. And
I’m not sure I know the answer right now. I just know that I don’t want to
objectify a person by stripping them of their humanity and defining them by
their suffering. Because there is so much more going on here.
“The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue,
but that they are incomplete.”
Jesus loved people in a way that lifted up and empowered.
His followers that were the start of a revolutionary way of living were
fishermen, tax collectors and former prostitutes that went on to transform
their own communities.
So how do we do a better job of telling stories in an
honorable way? Perhaps it has to do with who is telling it. Whose voice emerges
from the stories we share? Whose agenda are we promoting? These are all
questions I’m asking myself as much as anyone else. I’m still trying to figure
it out. Let me know what you think.
I think this poem by Micah Bourne sums it up pretty well.
“If I refuse to look at you, would that make you invisible?
My ignorance can never strip you of your substance.
When we speak of justice, we flatter ourselves.
"Let's be heroes, a voice for the voiceless."
But what makes a person voiceless?
The fact that we ignore them, then try to speak on their
behalf?
Instead, let us speak humbly for ourselves,
and allow others to tell their own story.
For every voice has something to teach,
and there is no such thing as a voiceless person,
only a world who must learn to listen.”
so much love,
nic