Cambios grandes, pasos pequeños

A very exhausting week had gone by, but I wasn't nearly as tired as I was apprehensive. Why? Beatriz was leaving.

From the very start of the planning of this project back in July, my name had been in the spot I least wanted it to be: director. To most people it would be strange for them to hear me say that. There are countless times where I've stood out as a natural leader, even when I didn't intend to, or indeed even when some of the people I was “leading” weren't very happy about it. The truth is, though, that I would much rather just follow someone else and have a specific task to complete. The problem is that in doing my work I always seem to be able to find time to see the errors of the other people working alongside me, and then feel the need to take control so as to minimize those errors. I suppose the jury is still out on if that is a fundamentally positive or negative aspect of my personality. Either way, not having Beatriz to follow scared me to death. I began recognizing all of the things that she had been able to accomplish so easily, realizing that my talents were nothing next to hers.

But this is what I chose. I could have backed out whenever I wanted to. Certainly I did not have the wit, tact, and spontaneity that draws everyone to Beatriz, but I did have one thing: dedication. A lot of it.

With that in mind, we cleared up some technical details and laid out a general plan for the following three weeks until she would be back again. We moved into a rented house (with a large room that conveniently can be used as a depository for donations) which was actually quite cozy once we cleaned out all the cobwebs and arranged a few pieces of furniture. Bathroom, hot water (electric heater), and gas stove, all for $125/month. A steal. We became fast friends with our landlord—the local justice of the peace—whose wife even promised to make us homemade bread every week.

As for the project plan, we settled on a single objective: do a house-by-house survey of every home in the community. Even though we already have a general idea of the necessities of the Wichí, to begin organizing the community—the first phase of the project—it would be necessary to have a very clear idea of how many families live in La Misión, and know exactly what problems they are facing. Given that there are only four of us here permanently—two social workers from the UAP (Silvana and Laly), a veteran ADRA volunteer (July), and myself—such a large scale survey would be very time consuming without some extra help. So, we decided to run a class in the town of Rivadavia to formally train students and adults in the art of surveying, promising a certificate and the possibility of future work in the area.

Preparing for the class was a little intimidating. Because of our lack of internet, we had very little source material, and it had been quite some time since Research Methods from college. Even then, my knowledge is oriented much more towards the construction and analysis of a survey or test than it is on what we needed to train people in: the interviewing process itself. In the end, however, that didn't matter as much as I thought it would. Silvana and Laly came up with some great material and activities on their own, and it turned out that what was much more helpful was my extensive training in PowerPoint layout and organization (a skill acquired from my wonderful psychology professors). Apart from the 15 elementary school teachers who dropped out of the course at the last minute because of conflicting meetings, things have gone incredibly well after the first week of classes. Even if the 30 people who did show up didn't fully understand the lecture I gave on Thursday, they were at least nice enough to pretend they did!

When we weren't working on the class, we were doing our best to inform members of La Misión about who we are and what we are doing. This was without doubt the more challenging half of our workload. There are so many barriers between “us” and “them” that it is very difficult to communicate effectively. It is not simply that our language and culture are vastly different. A long history of manipulation and false promises has made the Wichí extremely skeptical of outsiders, even those—maybe even especially those—who come in the name of help and support. In order to get our message across, we either have to oversimplify it or spend a significant amount of time explaining it in detail, neither of which are very appealing options. By simplifying we run the risk of having the other person fill in the details themselves, which can lead to serious errors—for example, thinking that we are a political group. By spending too much time on any given conversation, we are limiting the already small amount of time we have to reach other members of the community.

Most of the time the most we can expect is a muffled si or a slight nod of the head, but every once in awhile there are a few that open up and talking feels much more rewarding. For me this usually happens with the men of the community, with whom I feel more comfortable as I ask about fútbol or the history of La Misión or what they do for a living. Of course these topics are somewhat superficial, but they also create exactly the kind of confidence we are trying to gain, opening the door for more serious ideas—ADRA, plans for the future, community organization, etc.—to be discussed.

This was perhaps most true as we conversed with two of the teachers from the bilingual annex (Wichí-Spanish) to the elementary school in the community. Other times when we visited on other business, Beatriz and I had talked with them briefly as they sat outside watching over children at recess. Those times that we met they seemed to be rather non-plussed by our presence, and they were quick to mention other projects that had come before and failed. At one point one of them, Demetrio, had even spoken against the housing project in the name of all Wichí (“Los Wichí no estamos de acuerdo con...”). Later on we discovered that he might have in fact had the right to do so, because he is the de facto cacique of La Misión (see previous post), although most in the community do not recognize him as such. With this new information I felt the need to speak with him again, and although he still maintained some distance I think something changed in that moment. As I spoke, I could not help but voice how dedicated we are to helping La Misión, how much we feel their pain, how committed we are to not let things keep happening that way, and how this time things will be different.

Clearly what I say—or what anyone in our group says—is not the only important factor in achieving the closeness we are looking for. Having a bilingual aid, even though she is from another community, has been elemental to much of our progress. But after that conversation, I stopped feeling nervous about confronting the issues and, more importantly, I started to see a change in how people reacted to me. Now they seem to be listening more to what I say, and are more likely to enter into a real conversation--even offer to help us reach out to others.

And Demetrio greets me with a smile.

Other moments that stand out:

“You guys need to have neighborhoods with streets and houses. You have to stop living like animals”, the words of the agricultural surveyor of the municipal government to one of the pastors of the Wichí Anglican church in La Misión.

Talking with the two cooks at the “school cafeteria” (3-walled structure with a grill over a hole) about what they make for the children, where they get their food from, and what they thought about our project.

Discussing the possibility of a bilingual dictionary with Demetrio and his co-worker

Realizing how expansive and disperse the community really is. In some places you could walk for almost two miles from one end to the other.

Mispronouncing “democracy” multiple times during my presentation.

Talking with a nearly deaf elderly man who had been sleeping with the radio on full blast playing Lady Gaga. When he finally came out to talk to us, he was legitimately interested in everything we were doing, and made sure he remembered our names.

¡Gracias, REVO!

To the REVO team and all of PUC:

Although words alone cannot express my gratitude for all that you have done, I cannot go without saying a few things. First: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. Although I am thousands of miles away, your effort, dedication, and generosity have had a profound effect both on me and on ADRA's work here in Argentina. Simply put, this project would have been impossible without your help. You have chosen not only to help people in need, but to bring attention to the many problems facing the indigenous cultures of Argentina, a reality that most people would rather forget or ignore.

As a former student at PUC, I know that sometimes it can be difficult to feel that you are really making a difference, but your participation in REVO—in whatever way you might have been a part of it—is a clear example that you are not “waiting on the world to change”. The revolution of REVO has just as much to do with creating positive change in the world as it does with creating that same change within ourselves: increasing our awareness of what is really happening around us, and refusing to let it stay that way. It is saying NO to poverty, sickness, and death. NO to injustice, prejudice and oppression. And ultimately, NO to complacency, stagnancy, and ignorance. Whether that “NO” is a quiet whisper in the back of your mind or a shout on the tip of your tongue, it must never be silenced. The passion and compassion we have for others is what unites us, and indeed it is the only thing that makes life worth living.

So again, I say thanks to all of you. To the REVO team for their hard work, to President Knight for her incredible generosity—along with other other anonymous donors—and to PUC, my beloved alma mater. Our ADRA team is working tirelessly to make this shared vision a reality, and we are forever indebted to your service. Thank you.

Empezando con el proceso del cambio

“¡Zach!”

“¿Qué?” I respond, more than half asleep.

“¡¡¡ZACH!!!”

“¿Qué pasa?”, still disoriented.

“I think they are taking some of our stuff off the bus!”, said Beatriz (in Spanish, of course).

“Tranquila, Bety. No pasa nada...”, as I drift back into my dream.

Surely there was some danger of losing some of our cargo--by malice or more likely by accident—simply because there was just so much of it; somehow we had fit what seemed like an endless amount of boxes and bags in the carriage of our bus. But after having travelled so many times like this, I had learned to worry about lost bags at the end of the trip. There's just not much you can do, and I desperately needed sleep as we made the big move from Salta Capital to Rivadavia, an 8-hour overnight ride on mostly dirt roads.

We arrived at around 8:30 in the morning, probably exhausted more from the preparation and rush to the bus terminal in Salta than the trip itself. Fermín, Secretary to the municipal government of Rivadavia and our main contact in the region, eventually arrived with his pick-up truck to take us to the hospedaje where we would be staying for the next week or so as we settled in.

And then the fun began.

As soon as we had unloaded our gear and eaten the semblance of a breakfast, we were on our way to meetings. Meetings and meetings and meetings, to establish ourselves in the community and form mutual relationships with institutions that will help us reach our goals.

But first, some political context. Rivadavia is a small town--probably about 3000 inhabitants--which is surrounded by indigenous Wichí communities, some closeby (1km), some quite far away and isolated (60km or more). Even so, the politics are fierce and dirty. In terms of elections, buying votes with favors is commonplace, and often politicians will provide transportation to the voting booth on election day to ensure they get that community's vote. Once in office, the situation doesn't improve very much. Conflicts of interest are well-known and accepted (for example, the Director of Public Works also owns the company that builds public housing units), work is slow and inconsistent, and the mayor--who has a 7^th grade education and recently won his 3^rd term--is never here. Earlier this year when Rivadavia was in crisis due to flooding, it took his staff almost two days to find him. He was at a folklore fiesta in the wine-country town of Cafayate. Needless to say, most people seem to be in disagreement with the government in general, but are also typically dependent on it for their welfare, however mismanaged the process might be.

Since I don't want to bore everyone with every detail of every meeting over the last week, I'll outline here what happened at each place:

MUNICIPAL GOV'T

Main contact: Fermín (Secretary)

What we asked for: Technical, financial, and moral support for the project

What we were offering: Improved quality of life for citizens

Most important thing learned: A housing project had begun in “our” community (La Misión), with 40 homes being constructed and 40 more promised

Most impacting images: The run-down building and primitive technology; the line of Wichí waiting to submit requests and complaints with the gov't

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

Main contact: Director

What we asked for: Attendance records for children from La Misón

What we were offering: Assessment of children with learning disabilities by two social workers on our team

Most important thing learned: A shockingly small percentage of children who finish 4^th grade in the school located in the community continue on to the 5^th grade located in the town, and those who do are in segregated classes

Most impacting images: The classroom of Wichí children reading their dictionaries; a quote on the main blackboard about the cultural value and richness of the indigenous peoples of Argentina

HIGH SCHOOL

Main contact: Director

What we asked for: Students who might be interested in volunteering in the project

What we were offering: Guest lectures in our areas of specialty

Most important thing learned: Only 1 or 2 Wichí youth finish high school every year

HOSPITAL

Main contact: Director

What we asked for: Health records for inhabitants of La Misión; participation in community workshops on health

What we were offering: Donated medications and equipment; general help from our social workers

Most important thing learned: The water of Rivadavia, even in the town, is not drinkable (maximum level of arsenic in water should be below .01% according to the WHO. Here, it is .2%, 20 times the limit)

Most impacting image: two Wichí mothers—aged 13 and 15—nursing their babies

RADIO

Main contact: DJ

What we asked for: Permission to promote our project on the radio

What we were offering: Awareness

Most important thing learned: Listening to the radio is very common, and the staff is completely open to our participation

And finally, the community itself. La Misión is rather unique among Wichí communities. Unlike others we have visited, it lacks a central hub of homes and instead is comprised of a number of disperse hamlets, usually made up of only one or two extended families living in proximity. Also notable is the diversity of living conditions, ranging from stake and plastic lean-tos to humble adobe houses to full-on brick constructions. Most interesting, however, is their apparent lack of a cacique (chief). It is normal after the death of the cacique that there be some dispute about who be chosen for the position, but typically after a year or so most of the community will recognize the new leader. Not only has La Misión been missing a cacique for over two years, it appears that no one is really interested in having one. The priests of the local Anglican church seem to have any sway at all, and even then it is only over a very small portion of the community.

With no central leadership, La Misión has been left to a mild but consistent discord and disorganization amongst its' members. As you may imagine, this creates a difficult situation when you are trying to initiate a community-based project like ours. Each time we speak with a different member of the community we receive a slightly different story, coupled with different motives, different ideas... different everything.

There is one factor, however, that might turn all of that around. As I mentioned before, we found out that the rumored government plan to build houses in La Misión had indeed begun. This was indeed the most notable difference we encountered when we first arrived at the community. They had built a temporary structure as an annex to the defunct comedor (soup kitchen, although its an awful translation) to hold and prepare the building materials. A group of four or five men was cutting iron rods which would be later bound together to form posts for pouring concrete.

Why would public housing unite the community? First, because it would centralize most of the members in one place, providing the combination of having a defined center and living in proximity would, perhaps, promote the idea of living as one unit rather than separated groups. Second, because it gives the community a central project that they can all stand behind. Third, and most importantly, because it simply provides hope that positive change is possible.

Still, the project is not without it's difficulties. Since only 40 homes are being constructed in the first phase, certainly some families will be left out of the selection, an unfortunate reality which is possible even after all 80 homes are completed. Also, some people worry that the small plot of land on which the house rests will become their only land, that the government will try to snatch up the rest of the property that they believe belongs to them. Obviously this worry is not without cause, as such practices are common in the history of the Wichí and indeed virtually all indigenous peoples.

Since the public housing project is already taking place, we are trying to show the community how this is an opportunity to reach even higher goals. Certainly the improvement of living conditions is important, but the betterment of nutrition, higiene, and community integration are goals that are necessary to create a real change in the overall quality of life. Furthermore, the existence of a new community structure also will allow for a more formalized request for the legalization of indigenous lands.

And it is on those four goals—nutrition, hygiene, community organizaion, and land ownership—that we are dedicated. We have not yet focused heavily on hygiene, but this week we made important steps in the direction of completing the other three major goals. We met with the national institute for argiculture (INTA) who tested the water and proposed how and where we would start the farming process. We met with the surveyor to discuss the integration of our plan with that of the new housing units. And we met with community members to discuss their perception of our plan, their doubts and dreams, their needs. Slowly but surely we are showing them that we are a hand that is reaching out to help. I hope that eventually the community as a whole will see us as something more, not just as helpers but companions in their struggle. I think it is possible, and will continue to be more apparent as time presses on. As one of the pastors of the church said in the Friday evening service we attended, “we are all one below the same God”.

One of our key phrases this week has been “Rivadavia no es pobre. Solo está en una situación de pobreza”: Rivadavia is not poor. It is only in a situation of poverty. (The use of es versus está es elemental. Both are translated as “is”, but es is a conjugation of the verb ser, a verb for “to be” which implies permanency [e.g., I am a blonde, I am American], while está is a conjugation of estar, also meaning “to be” but in a more fluid sense of things that are changeable [e.g. I am sad, I am tired]). Although our main focus is on nutrition, a fundamental part of that process is showing both the community and the key institutions of Rivadavia that there is a richness here that is in grave danger of being lost if the status quo does not change. As I have noted before, the richness of the land is already being extracted by outside interests instead of being used to feed those who live on it, the rightful owners. At the same time, the richness of the Wichí culture is slowly disappearing because their communities are in a seemingly impossible struggle to simply survive. Our mission is to make sure those two processes are stopped, and hopefully someday reversed.

I don't have time to go into detail about all of the things I have seen and heard, but I'll leave you with some of the most important things I haven't yet mentioned:

• The pastors of the church conducting nearly all of their Friday service in Spanish simply because we were there, and them asking us to speak up front (very nerve-racking!)
• The children of the community drinking water directly from the water spout with putrifying water surrounding them, all the while knowing that the source is poisoned with arsenic
• The worn and wrinkled faces of women not even my mother's age
• The way the surveyor talked about the Wichís living like animals
• The Wichí children surrounding us while we snapped photos of them, laughing and playing and fighting and joking in both of our half-Spanish tongues
• The two women who were kind enough to come to our meeting even we had invited nearly half of the community (who didn't show up)
• The endless repetetive songs in the church