altruism while ignoring our own oppressions

Joyce is a shortish women with piercing blues eyes. She pulls up a seat next to me at the meeting in the working mens social club. I read her clothes and accent, working class. We are here to talk about how to fight back to prevent the rich from taking the little that remains of peoples means of survival. We begin to get to know each other with hushed conversations reflecting on what the bigger group is talking about.

We are talking about the divide between rich and poor on this island. She focuses her reflection, not on material wealth, but on relationships across class and how we get divided by them. She says with clarity “I wouldn't like to be rich because then the poor wouldn't like me”. A desire to live in a classless society because only then can we relate to each other as humans.

She was here, not because of herself “I am doing ok, I have a roof and my pension, I am getting by, but I came here to support my friends” pointing to two people she had came in with. She echos a sentiment I heard often in Colombia. Young women at a workshop in La Vega, Catatumbo, tell us how they are ok and they want to help the people less well off than them.

What is this pattern of people choosing to play down their own oppressions, to think they are ok and to be altruistic all about?

The altruism is uplifting. Rather than “charity which hands down from above” what both Joyce and the Catatumbero women seems like an “altruism that reaches across with solidarity and empathy”, as equals.

Playing down their own oppressions is to accept daily reality as it is, it is to not risk anything for fear of disappointment, it is to fear hope itself.

To name oppression is to dream of changing it. I ask the question against.

What is this pattern of us choosing to play down our own oppressions, to think we are ok and to be altruistic all about?

She goes on to tell me that she works as a cleaner a few hours a day. It is not worth the money she is paid but she enjoys doing it. She likes making the place clean. It gets her out the house. Again she does not question the shit wages which you can barely survive off for doing such an important job but rather she focuses on taking pride in what she does. Amelia, from Ciudad Bolivar, Colombia said the same. While society fails to value the cleaning work that her and Joyce and millions of other women do around the world through mass exploitation, on an individual level they strive to live with dignity by valuing it for themselves.

She shows me how I too have also been trying to create meaning and value, to be satisfied withh the work I have been doing in Health and Social Care at the council. I get why we do this. But valueing what we do each day seems to easily turn in to being satisfied with how things are.

I hope that young women in Colombia while valueing their role of keeping their family home clean can demand respect for the work they do and continue to push the boundaries of what their social role is. I hope that Joyce while valuing her cleaning work can demand respect from society for the work she does, which would be minimally reflected in better wages, and can have the opportunity to get out of the house to do other fun things. 

I hope I can value my skills assessing elderly and disabled peoples personal care needs and set up the care and support they need to have a dignified life while dreaming of being able to do this in a work place where my work is not so tightly controlled and monitored, and where I am not pressured to “save money”, words if more truthful would say “save money for the rich”. I am dreaming of us demanding that peoples needs must shape social services budgets, not the other way round.

* names are changed as I did not ask if I could write about them.

Dominga: an unknown victim of EU "free" trade agreement

News is just coming out that in the EU “free” trade negotiatons with Colombia, the first victims are to be the small scale milk and cheese producers. The Andean price band, a system that stops the price going too low or too high, will be elimiated and Colombian milk will have to compete with subsidised milk arriving from Europe. This will have an effect on 450,000 milk producers

“Thousands of small milk producers, that are not able to access loans nor do they have leverage in high government, will suffer from an avanlanche of 5500 tonnes of powdered milk, 2310 tonnes in cheese and 1100 tonnes of other milk products those arrival in the country will increase by 10% annually until this vital part of the peasant economy disappears. Is this not about the human rights of thousands of peasant families?”[1]

Photo: Dominga leaving to take her cheese down to the main road, one hour away.

One of these families is that of Dominga, who I first met and wrote about in October 2008. I have been to stay with her several times since then. Darian is now living in the nearby small town where he can continue his studies. There is no secondary education in his hamlet. Cheese production pays for his transport, food and accomodation costs.

The last time I stayed with Dominga was in January. I told her about my good friend who has recently been sentenced for a year and a half after being found with two kilos of cocaine on him. He was doing the more risky job of carrying out the region as his two babies had rashes and he needed to buy medicines urgently.

She wasn't that sympathetic. “those lads in the

se coca areas just want easy money without having to do much work” I remember her saying. An interesting conversation around the kitchen table followed where we chatted about why we each thought that there had been a big increase in coca production in Catatumbo:

- paramilitaries imposing it as got 70% of their national revenue from cocaine in that one region

- twelve hour walks from many farms to just get to the road makes transporting yam or plantain very costly (you would need a lot of donkeys) for the price you would be able to sell it at while a kilo of cocaine in the rucksack is practically actually possible
- lack of State support for peasant farmer agriculture

Photo: Milking her cattle, the daily morning work.

I wonder if Dominga will remember this conversation as she hears news of this threat to her livelihood. Will she have to turn to coca looking for a way to get food on the table and an education for her kids as the neoliberal policies continue to destroy peasant farming?

[1] RECALCA (Colombian Action Network against Free Trade) http://www.recalca.org.co/

Biviana's words - Palabras de Biviana

(en español abajo)

I came to this event to support the people here and to bring attention to the fact that the government is doing things wrong. I don't support the government because they do what they want without the the need to think about the people that they affect on the way, walking all over the rights of people humans.

I imagined that there would be less people, I never expected that so many would arrive. I would have like to have had the opportunity to get to know people from other regions more, their customs and what they have lived through, here everyone has suffered.

I have learnt a lot here, there is much to learn and much to contribute to those people who have no idea, to people who say that this government is the best because of benefits that they may have received but who don't think about the violations that it has brought to many communities. A topic I didnt really have clear before is, that while yes i have suffered from the violence but i have never had the opportunity to understand the topic really well and understand the reality. We say that, over there, they have suffered violence but we have never worried much about why people have suffered violence. Sometimes we have to see things with our own eyes to believe it, sometimes we don't see what we don't want to see.

In my community, people haven't lived so much violence as like here in Recetor. They are forgotten about, they are topics that for fear have never been brought out in to the open, for fear that it might bring more violence. One can't say that this person died because it is certain that they will come and imprisonme, or take reprisals against friends and families.

I was scared, there were people that said to me that if you go on the pilgrimage it is really like that they will take reprisals agaisnt you. I am not scared here becuase there is many people that can help you in many things. So,....,no , and fear, you must leave it behind to be able to be to do what you want to do, to be able to be yourself, and to inform people who dont know.

I think it is important that people know becuase we are being tricked with...with practically, the government, the government says, or it goes out on the news, what is in their interest , we never hear about what is not in their interest, people never hear the truth about what is happeneing.

The two masses that we listened to were good. Sometimes religion lends itself for many things, to cover up things. I have no disagreement with the catholic religion but there are some things that i don't like. I have never been to a mass like this one, where they talk about politics, practically revolutionary, a mass where the father is not bothered by what the high church functionaries think, where he felt and spoke about the reality that people live.

About the presence of BP in the region,..., well,...I don't agree with that either. I don't agree because this oil megaproject has caused many violations against people. Instead of bringing benefits for the community what it has brought is more war, more unemployment, more hunger. These companies are taking land from campesinos and not giving them any other opportunities.

These businesses are supported by the government, why? Because they bring in lots of money for the government and they don't care what a campesino things, rather what is important to them is to get more money at the cost of people having to suffer.

In my daily life, oil production doesnt affect me that much, but with time it is going to affect all of us because it is damaging the land and i think that what this region needs is land for campesinos so they can work and get the resources that they need to survive.

I want to keep living here, search for opportunities to be able to survive, as long as I can, because you never know in what moment violence will return again and we will have to leave and look for other ways to survive.

Palabras de Biviana

Vine a este evento para apoyar a la gente y dar a conocer de que ellos (el gobierno) esta haciendolo mal hecho. No estoy de acuerdo con el gobierno por lo que buscan sus objectivos o logran lo que quieren sin necesidad de pensar a los personas que les va a afectar a hacer eso, pisoteando todo los derechos de los humanos.

Me imaginé poco gente, nunca esperé que llegaran muchisima gente. Me hubiera gustado la oportunidad a conocer la otra gente más, costumbres y lo que viven otras comunidades, a parte de que se vive acá, acá a todo el mundo ha sufrido este atropello.

He aprendido muchisimo aca, hay mucho para aprender y mucho para aportar a gente que no tiene ni idea, a gente que dicen que eq que esta gobierno es lo mejor por los beneficios que de pronto les han traido pero sin pensar en los tropellos que les ha traido a muchas comunidades.

Un tema que no tenía en esencia claro, que si, yo sufrí violenca, pero nunca tenía la oportunidad llegar al fondo de tema y conocer la realidad, nosotros, ah si por alla tiene o tenía violencia, pero nunca hemos preocupado el por que esta gente sufrío violencia,

a veces nosotros tenemos que ver para creer las cosas. Aveces no vemos mas allá de lo que queremos ver.

En mi comunidad, no se vivía tanto la violenca como acá en Recetor, estan olvidados, son temas que por temor, nunca ha sacado al flote por el temor que puede traer mas violencia. No se puede decir que esto persona murio por que seguro que viene y me va a llever preso, que van a tomar represalias con mi familia o con conocidas,

Tenía temor, hubo gente que me comente que si vas pa' allá seguro que te tome represarias. Temor no lo tengo en este moment pq hay mucha gente y que lo pueden apoyar a uno en muchas cosas. Entonces, ….no , y temor, hay que dejar lo atrás para poder hacer lo que uno quiere, para poder ser uno mismo, y dar a conocer lo que mucha gente no conoce.

Creo que es importante que gente conocza por que estamos engañados con.....con practicamente, el gobierno, el gobierno dice o pasa en loas noticas o todo eso , lo que les conviene, nunca pasa lo que no les conviene, nunca la gente se entere, que es la verdad que esta viviendo.

Estas misas eran cheveres. A veces la religion se presta por muchas cosas, se presta por tapar cosas. no estoy en ningun disacuerdo con la religon catolica pero hay cosas que en me gusta. Nunca había ido a una misa donde se han tratado el politico, practicamente revolucionaria, mas que todo es es, una misa donde no le importa lo piensa lo alto cargos en colombia, donde se siente y se dice la realidad que la gente vive, 

De la presencia del BP, …..pues..... no estoy de acuerdo tampoco, no estoy de acuerdo por que al hacer un megaproyecto, el petroleo, ha traido muchas tropellas contras las personas, en vez de traer beneficios a la comunidad lo que esta traendo es mas guerra, mas desempleo, mas hambres. Por que son empresas de que, les estan quitando la tierra a los campesinos y no les esta dando otras oportunidades.

Pq ellos son una empresa que esta apoyado por el goberino, por que? por que traen mucha plata por el gobierno, y ellos no les importa lo que piensa un campesino, sino lo que les importa es conseguir dinero a costa de hacer sufrir mas gente.

En mi vida cotidiana el petroleo no me afecta tanto, pero con el tiempo nos va afectar todos pq esta deteriorando mucho la tierra y pienso que lo que necesita en este region es tierra por campesinos y poder trabajar y poder conseguir sus recursos para sobrevivir. 

Quiero seguir viviendo en el campo, buscaré las oportunidades, poder sobrevivir, hasta cuando se puede no, pq pues uno no se saben en que momento vuelva la violenca, y tendremos que salir y buscar otra forma de sobrevivir

Jacquelina's story - La Historia de Jacquelina

El articulo en español aparece al final del texto de inglés.

Sifting through the mound of family's daily washing which all but covered the double bed Jacquelina aged 19 tells me how she doesn't want to get married yet. “Not until I have finished studying and trained in something....If things went badly what would I do, I couldn't leave if I didn't have my own job.”

                                                                   
She tells me about her dad as i edge on to the bed, slowly becoming visible as the clothes get stacked into eight piles, one for each family member. She was nine the day the paramilitaries arrived in La Gabarra and took control through the barrel of their guns. Hundreds were murdeded but her family stayed. Her dad a fisherman in the river Catatumbo. His life and livelihood the river. 

His daily catch diversified from the fish the length of his arm, fish that fed his family. He took on the gruesome task of fishing parts of mutilated body out of the river. He would later bury the remnants of touch, smell, sound, sight, taste, spirit, along the banks of the river. 

                                           ~

She is bored at school. A few years ago she had friends with whom she would play sport, organise fiestas and practice dances. Baseball is her favourite sport. But these girls all left school early, pregnant. She is the only one of the ground left and none of the others want to do anything fun. She goes to school, attends classes and comes home. Bored. 

                                           ~

Her dad was taken by a group of paramilitaries one cloudless beautiful early morning. Her mother searched for him, for the shadow of him, from the hour of making the arepas to the hour of washing the kids after much play in the unpaved streets. As dusk passed her rapidly by, she found the courage to visit the paraco in charge in his office. Her mother, with dignity, asked if he knew why her husband had been disappeared. It hadn't been an order and the paraco was feeling generous that cloudless starfull evening. He ordered her husband, not yet a shadow, to be turned out on to the streets. 

                                          ~

She loves physics and maths but struggles with chemistry. Snap. She has friend in the town council and is hopeful that once she finishes college she may be able to get a job there, starting at the bottom and working her way up, learning skills and earning a salary as she goes.

                                          ~

Aged 10 her and her mother found a dismembered body on the river bank.  Arms, legs and head cut off, the chest wide opened. She describes me the details calmly, no big deal, as we sit resting in chairs outside in the front street, washing all folded and put away now.

                                           ~

She tells me how she bashed into someone earlier, a teenager from one of the delegations who have came on this Pilgrimage, the political – cultural -religous journey that brought 300 of us to La Gabarra. She tells me how embarrased she was but that the lad had responded with a lovely smile and made her laugh. 

                                            ~

She was too young for her to be taken as a “girlfriend” by one of the paracos. “Lots of teenage girls had to be the girlfriend of one of them. They did horrible things to them. I don't want to think about it.”

                                            ~

Some of the teengage lads from CISCA walk past a few minutes later. In the dark street she thought it might be one of them. I call them over with the excuse of asking what time we are meeting for the final rehearsal before the perform their drama piece about displacement, death and life. I look at her and she shakes her head, not one of them. They move on.

                                             ~

She overhears a man in a shop that morning. He is angry with us. This is not a commemoration but a celebration of death. He spits the words out. She translates him. Anger, impotence for what happened. Impotence for what may happen again.                                                       

                                                                       

               "In spite of the hard hits we endured, we can still smile."

She is really suprise that so many people have come to take part in this event to remember the 10th anniversary of the massacres in La Gabarra. “It's awesome that people have not forgotten what happened to us here. And others are happy too even though they didn't take part in the march this morning. They were waiting for the mass to begin. I saw a big group of people from the village in one corner. And they later went to the bridge and took part in the act there too, throwing flowers into the water. ” 

She liked what the bishop had said in the mass. People that forget their histories run the risk of repeating it. Me too. 

La historia de Jacqueline

Arreglando el montón de ropa para lavar de toda la familia que cubría la cama doble, Jacqueline, de 19 años, me cuenta que todavía no quiere casarse. “No hasta cuando haya terminado mis estudios y aprendido algo … Si las cosas van mal, ¿qué haría, no podría salir si no tuviera mi propio trabajo.”

Me cuenta de su padre en cuanto me acerco a la cama que poco a poco aparece debajo de ocho pilas de ropa, una para cada miembro de la familia. Ella tenía nueve años cuando los paramilitares llegaron a La Gabarra y tomaron el control a través de sus fusiles. Cientos fueron asesinados, pero su familia se quedó. Su padre, un pescador en el río Catatumbo. Su vida y su medio de vida fueron el río. 

Entonces sus pescas cambiaron, ya no eran sólo el pescado del tamaño de un brazo, el pescado que alimentaba la familia. Asumió la espantosa tarea de pescar del río partes de cuerpos mutilados. Más tarde enterraría los restos de tacto, olor, sonido, vista, sabor, espíritu en las orillas. 

Ella se aburre en la escuela. Hace algunos años tuvo amigas con quienes jugaba deportes, organizaba fiestas y practicaba bailes. Baseball es su deporte favorito. Pero las muchachas dejaron la escuela temprano, embarazadas. Ella es la única que queda y los otros no quieren hacer nada divertido. Ella va a la escuela, asiste a clases, y regresa a casa. Aburrida. 

Una hermosa mañana despejada su padre fue llevado por un grupo de paramilitares. Su madre lo buscó, buscó su sombra, desde la hora de marcar las arepas hasta la hora de lavar a los niños luego de muchas horas de juego en las vías destapadas. A la hora de caer el sol juntó la valentía de buscar al paraco encargado en su oficina. Su madre, con dignidad, preguntó si él sabía por qué había desaparecido su marido. No era una orden, y el paraco se sintió generoso esa noche estrellada. Ordenó que soltaran a su marido, todavía no una sombra. 
                                           
A ella le fascina la física y la matemática, pero lucha con la química. Tiene un amigo en el concejo y espera que cuando termine el colegio vaya a encontrar un trabajo allí, empezando desde abajo y escalando con su trabajo, aprendiendo habilidades y ganando un salario.  
                                          
Cuando tenía diez años, ella y su madre encontraron un cuerpo desmembrado en la orilla. Brazos, piernas y la cabeza cortados, el pecho abierto. Tranquilamente me describe los detalles, no parece nada serio, nosotras descansando en sillas afuera sobre la calle, con la ropa doblada y ahora guardada. 
                                          
Me cuenta cómo antes se tropezó con alguien, un joven de una de las delegaciones que vinieron para la Peregrinación, el viaje político-cultural-religioso que trajo a 300 de nosotros a La Gabarra. Me cuenta lo avergonzada que estuvo, pero que el joven respondió con una sonrisa hermosa y la hizo reír. 

Ella era demasiado joven como para ser “novia” de un paraco. “Muchas jóvencitas tenían que ser novias de ellos. Hicieron cosas horribles con ellas. No quiero pensar en eso.”                                          
                                           
Algunas de los jóvenes del CISCA pasan unos minutos más tarde. En la calles oscura ella piensa que tal vez es uno de ellos. Los llamo con el pretexto de preguntar por la hora en que quedamos para el último ensayo antes de la presentación de su obra de teatro sobre desplazamiento, vida y muerte. La miro y mueve su cabeza, no es uno de ellos. Siguen su camino. 
                                          
En la mañana escucha a un hombre en una tienda. Está enfadado con nosotros. No es una conmemoración sino una celebración de la muerte. Escupe la palabra. Ella lo traduce. Rabia, impotencia por lo que pasó. Impotencia frente a lo que pueda ocurrir otra vez. 

Está realmente sorprendida que tanta gente han venido a participar en ese evento para recordar el décimo aniversario de las masacres de La Gabarra. “Es bacano que la gente no ha olvidado lo que nos pasó acá. Y otros también están felices a pesar de que no participaron en la marcha esta mañana. Estaban en el polideportivo esperando a que empezara la misa. Vi un grupo grande de gente del pueblo en un rincon. Y luego se fueron al puente y participaron en el acto allí también, tirando flores al agua.”

Le gustó lo que dijo el obispo en la misa. Gente que olvida su historia corre el riesgo de repetirla. A mí me gustó también. 
                                          

Dignity of Women - a women's space

In August 2004 the Colombia army detained Raquel in Saravena, Arauca. In November 2006 she and Samuel were convicted of “rebellion”, a common strategy by the Colombian government against those who insist on contining to educate, organise and mobilise communities to defend their rights to life and territory against the big oil sponsored militrisation of their lands. Another response is to murder them. In the same 2004 military operation three trade unionists were shot at point blank range by the Colombian army.

In August 2007 she was released but is unable to live in Arauca. “They [the state] wouldn’t let me return. They would get rid of me again if I dared” she tells me. Yet last Tuesday we are on a bus together travelling to Saravena for the First Assembly of AMAR (Organisation ‘Awakening of Women in Arauca’) As the event unfolds I see what drives Raquel to return .
Raquel was an outspoken and active member of the Teachers Union of Arauca for the twenty years before her arrest. It is as a passionate educator that her contribution to this assembly is really important to the growth of this young organisation (just 2 years old – very young in Colombian terms).

She tells me that in the assembly there is a session for exchange of experiences and wants me to speak. I ask S~ what she sees as the difficulties to participation in AMAR. Answer: choices controlled by jealous (or insecure?) husbands; societal pressure to be a ‘good’ wife and ‘good’ mother (so stay at home to cook, clean and bring up the kids), a cycle of women being told they have nothing to contribute outside of the kitchen, never learning new skills and thus reinforcing the myth that they are of no use; those who do break the cycle have their contributions criticised and undervalued. Constant battles with self-esteem

For many women just getting permission to attend the assembly is a big deal. A tactic used is to be very attentive to their husbands in the run up so they can get a pass out. Tellingly, the women who live this reality do not tell me this. A two-day event, with underconfident women is very little (compared to two-days with confident trade unionists) for building trust across differences.

I decide to share with them my community’s response to me being sexually harassed in Bristol. I had worries about doing this but decided to continue, and to also share the worries. I hoped they would contribute to building a space of truth and respect.

“I worry that what happened to me is so small that you will think why all the fuss. It is certain that far worse things happen to women in England and Colombia. But this does not cancel out the reaction that I had nor how it affected my daily life.”

I shared with them details of the harassment, how low level fear affected my and how it affected my confidence. I spoke about how if it wasn’t for the words and love of both informal and formal groups around me it would have been much harder; how my community took responsibility to hold him accountable for his behaviour.

“He wasn’t the enemy but every person has to take responsibility for the impact of their actions on others”.

This echoes the delicate path that AMAR are walking – holding men accountable for the violence within families yet clear that they are not the enemy. The women of AMAR wish to walk side by side with other social organisations, united against the violent policies of the government. It is already a hard task. They desire to build trust with men in the social organisations, showing them that that they are on the same side, build unity but just not ignore the shit the women have to put up with in their homes. Dignity for all, women and men.

“Alone, we are weak, our fears, insecurities overwhelm us. But together I had the strength and support to manage this situation. I see that AMAR can play a similar role for the women of Arauca. Creating a space where we can support each other, grow together, encourage each other, be gently critical without damaging our self-esteem. We must laugh together”

These were my honest words to these women. Speaking honestly with these women when I live such different experiences and priviliges is tough, it challenges me. I do not live surrounded by police, army, paramilitaries (who work alongside the army), and guerillas. When I share my perspective, shaped to encourage and support them, what accountability do I have to the suggestions I make? When I am told that to take action about an abusive neighbour is dangerous because you don’t know who they might be it reminds me how little I understand how this two decade long war over a land rich in oil weaves in to daily life. When I do not have to live with the daily consequences of my perspective what is my responsibility to the influence I may or may not have?

But as I spoke, nods, laughter and smiles held my hand and gave me a squeeze of reassurance. And it is these nods and smiles, not just to me, but to every woman who shared a part of herself, that makes AMAR such a powerful, exciting and necessary organisation. It is this womens’ space, where quiet women come alive with hidden energy and enthusiasm when we started talking about ideas for projects, where Sa~ shares an inspiring story of how she managed to help another women find her dignity and leave her violent husband, where we can dance together to end the meeting, that draws Raquel back in to the fabric of an Araucan social organisation. ”Having to live in Bogota and work on a computer all day as a continued prison, a form of pyschological torture.” Here she feels and acts with vibrancy I had not seen before. So despite the police monitoring of the house where we were sleeping, despite the nervous hands which shows what her face has the strength to hide, I imagine we will be back.

Evolving rural life

The boy Darien shies from me, hiding his face in Dominga’s embrace. “Why does she look different from us, mami? Why does she look a bit like a man, mami?” Doña Dominga answers “because people are different.” And yet hours later we are sharing animal noises, laughing at the different sounds a cockerel makes in our different languages. The following morning he leaves some plastic yellow flowers on top of my bag as he leaves for his school. If we could learn from children – to trust and love across difference so easily.

That evening when Damien returns from school we study together, sharing new words, how to shape our mouths, tongues so the syllables sound right. As he, the sharpest and quickest english student I have ever met, writes ‘I like sheep, you like cows, we like pigs,…’ the sun sets and we switch on the bare light bulb.

It took twenty men from the community seventy working days to bring light to their farms. After many years of pressure, the council provided the materials. This was in 2004.

It’s so easy to see people living without amenities (running water, electricity, gas, roads, schools) as a permanent state and not recognise the sheer amount of hard hard physical work that has gone in to getting what they do have, nor to know of their plans for improvements for the future. Their time scale due is different – growing food and getting the money to pay for the materials must come first (no buy now pay later offers for a new bathroom - but change comes. And rather than just ‘home improvement’ change, they also have an idea of community improvements. Their next task is to dig drainage for the road to prevent it eroding away in the rains.

Education and collective organising are crucial to improving their lives. As Dominga told me “with education comes the confidence and skills to confront those in power who would otherwise ignore us.” With collective organising comes the capacity to improve more than just their homes and gardens, but their schools, roads, health access.….

Raul and I were there to help build some basic shelters for making compost for all in the vereda. The land, while lush and green, is not too fertile. I helped the men with the building - they didn’t comment on me doing such work, they didn’t say much to me. Shy – perhaps unsure of this strange person like Damien on the first morning. But with age – insecurities around difference are deeper, and it was tough for me to break through.

With Dominga, it took time too but through conversations while milking cows, making cheese together and washing up, we shared intimate moments. With me, she spoke openly about how her brother and husband ignore her opinion, yet later say she was right in the first place. She tells me she has had very little education, “women don’t need an education as they are only going to cook and look after the house and children" she was told..... I ask her how she has continued learning, despite being denied formal education. “I started recently going to meetings and there I have learnt a lot. I don’t speak but I learn. Some of the women think it is odd that I go to meeting but I tell them that we are as much a part of this community as the men”.

Our farewell suprises and moves me – we embrace for what feels like hours. She cries and tells me she loves me. I hold her dear to me. What do I mean to this kind strong woman? Why was my stay of just two days and two nights a profound experience for her? I hope I can return and spend more time with her, to find answers to these questions. For now I can only imagine.....

....that to spend time with another person with whom she could talk more openly (my gender was crucial for this trust to be built so quickly) is something she rarely has the opportunity to do as her imposed responsibility in life has been in the kitchen. Certainly not to talk and share ideas with others outside of her family.

This relationship prepared me a little more for the next part of my trip – participating in a workshop with a group of rural women, some of whom asked COS-PACC (the org. i was accompanying) for support in creating a women’s organisation so that ‘we leave from the kitchen’.

We did a few activities, intended to help them understand and reflect on their own situation in their community, and to start thinking of possible responses to their dignostic. I have my own views on what I think is really good about the rural way of life and what is not. But what I liked about the workshop was that the women from COS-PACC asked questions, instead of judging or being opinionated.

What did surprise me was how unique and rare the space created is and that the idea of the women of the community coming together every few months to eat, laugh, talk together is a powerful act for them. We left it in their hands. We could support them but they had to decide what they wanted and make the next step. I hope I go back there, as will mean that even though they were mainly pretty shy, that they enjoyed and valued the space and want to continue meeting.

Daughters of Slaves

“Colombia is built from the physical work of blacks, yet 150 years after the legal end of slavery we continue to work as slaves and live in the worst conditions.”

The Afro-colombian students and young people I met at their National Gathering are very aware that they are the luckier ones, able to get an education and leave poverty, while the vast majority continue live in terrible conditions. They want to change this. It was a full on, powerful, intense, priviliged, exciting experience to be in the presence of three hundred Colombian students as they conversed "how will we create a positive transformation in the lives of Colombia’s black population".

After being delayed twice due to threats from paramilitaries and guerilla groups, the event took place in Buenaventura. Four days of debates, analysis, heated discussion. Daily my mind got too full of new thoughts for me to think any more and my notebook crammed full of reflections. Dancing was a welcome respite at the end of long days where I quietly observed and pondered the debates.......

How to we break Eurocentric control over culture, education, economics? How do we decolonise our minds, our institutions? Is Afro-centrism a good response?

Should our political position reject both left and right wing positions as they are both Euro-centric concepts and have been historically racist? Or can we build alliances with the left, yet maintain our identity and challenge racism.

Is the indigenous struggle over land rights also our problem as Afro-Colombians? How is capitalism and racism connected? How can we demand reparation for the work our ancestors have done?

Is learning about pre-slavery african history important for us in our present situation? Does the term multiculturality mean we are respected but still not included? How about Interculturality?

Outside, taking a break, I met a group of young woman, whose dads’ have been on strike for over 7 weeks and I asked if they would share with me their perspectives. They told me their families’ stories, passing, tugging and sharing the words out between them. We sat all together on the concrete ground. I seated myself carefully so we can talk as equals. I don’t want to interview them, rather hope they take the space as their own, to tell their own story.

Lorenza, Liliana and Vanessa:

Our relationships with our dads are difficult. We rarely see them. They leave for the sugar cane plantations at 5am and get home between 8 and 10pm. At school we were sometimes asked to do projects about our dads but this was nearly impossible. It is only when they have accidents that we see them more. “My dad lost his sight in his right eye”, “my dad had an accident with his leg and couldn’t work for six months – he got sick pay for three months”, “my dad has problems with his lungs from the dust“.

Things are really hard at the moment and we are going hungry because our dads have been paid for over six weeks. But I think the strike is just. They work like slaves in the fields cutting the sugar cane all day under the heat of the sun. Also, they are given protective clothing and a machete twice a year, yet the clothing lasts a month and the machetes just two weeks before they have to change it.

“I work from 7.30am to 6pm, 5 days a week doing housework. I get paid $230000 a month (£70). On Saturday’s I go to college to study nursery education. This costs me $100 000 a month.”

“I don’t have a job. I help at home. Because of the strike I don’t any money to pay for transport, or to print applications so it is difficult to look for a job.

If they win the strike, I will go to college to study nursing. I really want to be a nurse.”

On Sunday’s we all take part in a group [which organised for them to take part in this event]. Here, among many things, we talk about how to improve the relationships with our dads. They are sometimes violent at home.

“If I have an opinion it doesn’t matter to him because I am a women. If I do something, it’s often wrong, yet for my brothers it’s all good. I confronted my dad recently telling him this. He accepted it and we are talking more about this now.”

Our dads worry that if we go out to dance, we will get pregnant, but we get sex education at school and have a higher-level education than them. They have to understand that they can learn from us, their daughters. If education was free there would’t be this violence in the home, nor this war happening. Some students miss sex education at school, as they have to go to work. If our dads received higher wages this wouldn’t happen. If they win the strike there will be less poverty and less women getting pregnant.

We want this, we want something better for ourselves, for our children.

My racism that allows new futures for Gabo.

Five days in the hot tropical city of Barranca Bermeja where spanish words are harder to catch - muffled by the constant whirl of fans hanging precariously above us. The smell of yet more roast chichen wafts from the Mac Pollo restaurant over the road yet different from Bogota - at 35degrees every breathe feels strained.

A pattern of breakfast, meetings, lunch, siesta, meetings, sitting around in the hotel reception, dinner, bed is quickly established . Nothing visibly powerful to do or see.

Gabriel's (Gabo) story - the warm, funny, dedicated man who I accompanied - assures me that my presence is powerful. Here is his story.

"We moved to Sur de Bolivar in 1971, when I was 21. Before that we lived in Calda but there was already many small scale farmers and not much land. We found land in an area that was not occupied and we settled there. We were looking for a place where we could have a better quality of life.

There were 10 families to begin with and many more people started arriving from different regions. By 1998 there was around 1000 people living in the community.

When our children started to grow up we built a school. We found teachers who had a high level of education that meant every child could get a good education. We also started building good paths, and later, roads (35km’s worth) around the community and to other villages.

A normal day for me was to work from 6am to 6pm. I grew yuca, plantain and rice. I also looked after the cows and pigs. This was my life, my passion, mi gusto. For me this proves that things that appear impossible can become real when we work communally.

Then the paramilitaries entered the region in February 1999, just one hours walks from my farm. Over the next few years we organised 8 marches - in the municiapl towns and the Capital of the region – demanding our rights were respected and that the paramilitaries leave the region. I was singled out as an organised and so had to leave the farm.

I stayed in the region until 2007, moving between different places, supported by different communities, with my wife and young daugher. At times we had to walk for 25 days in order to leave the region to report murders.

What I saw wasn’t fair, what was happening. They were killing the young people, old people. There was masacares all over the region. I was not going to work on the farm any more, instead dedicate myself to social work, building up people’s skills, organising.

When the paramilitaries were there I could hide but now the army have arrived I can’t hide in the region. One has to understand that within the army are the paramilitaries so the army does not mean you have security.

Before the arrival of the paramilitaries, the army already disappeared, tortured, killed. There was so many reports made about this that they had to change their strategy. And so the paramilitaries entered – they could do the brutal things.

What we now understand is that people were killed and disappeared because other interests appeared in the region, interests of multinationals.

They killed my son, they disappeared another. Brother of my wife was also disappeared. My son was killed on the 22 Sept 2002 in El Pairaiso, the army disappeared my second son in the middle of May 2005.

I’m not one to cry too much but everything that happens to you, your family or to your neighbour or friend, it reinforces your work. And you begin to understand who is the enemy.

The debate around the Law for Victims (that we went to on Thursday) to me is very dangerous as it supports impunity. It can’t ignore why we are victims, who benefitted from us becoming victims. The truth wil be when the state recognises that what has happened is a project of the state.

The land has to be taken away from the paramilitaries, from the multinationals and people can return to their territories. They must return my land, my house, and that they leave us in peace.

Those who are guilty must pay. But the guilty is not the person who shot, he is not the enemy, he probably didn’t know why, he was just ordered. Those who give the orders - they kill.

Now my wife and I live in the flat of my daughter in Bogota. We are looking for some land, as we are campesinos. I would like to live in the Sur de Bolivar but it is not possible. To go there I need to have accompaniment but this isn’t possible all the time so a bit of land near Bogota would be good."

The fact of my place of birth and my skin colour means that Gabo can return and work in his region. He knows that the political costs of disappearing him are raised higher with the presence of the likes of me.

I am strategically using racist structures - ones which make clear that my life as a white European is worth more than a brown Colombian. And as I do, I am complicit with racism. This is difficult. How do I ensure I don't reinforce a sense of European superiority over the Latin American's with the people I meet. Perhaps I can't - they will read my body as they choose. But I can think about how my behaviour, mannerisms, ideas, words might be interpreted by the people I am with, and with this I can try to walk a sensitive path.

Words and Mining

“Our language indicates conscious decision about who we want to talk to”.

Donna Hightower Langston

How do I write to you all at once: old and new friends, family – each one different, my past and present lovers, my old colleagues, fellow rising tide and espacio participants, and people who I’ve maybe never shared an intimate space with but are curious as to what I am doing in Colombia.

You play a part in shaping me as I am. Each of you has your own past which has shaped the reality of how your/the world. I want to share with each of you what it means for me to be here in Colombia, but my words could builds walls between you and me. Perhaps they already have.

I have nurtured and grown my own evolving political ideas in my reality in the UK. I have clashed with you, oppositional thinking has dominated. Yet I also know that there are places where we meet and smile together.

Now in Colombia, my political ideas will continue to mature as I experience, participate, reflect and have periods of clarity. I want to share this process with you. I dream my words create a bridge of understanding between peoples’ lives here and your life.

My words may get tough to relate to. I ask you not to become defensive, or to see only difference but; to go beyond the differences and look for common ground. I ask myself to do the same.

And so I tentatively search for words to describe to you only one week’s worth of newness. I have spent the week since I arrived in Bogota, capital of Colombia and home to 8 million people.

Life for people here appears either the same or very different to yours – depending on how much money you have. As I walk the streets sorting out boring admin stuff, I see people dressed as diversely as I would in bristol, I see people selling sweets and cigarettes on the street, bored looking police on duty outside shopping centres, banks, monuments. I see Mercedes and hand pulled carts laden with fruit.

I hear the chorus of car horns as vehicles swerve in and out of each other, avoiding the buses that stop to pick you wherever you want, I hear the sound of guitars practicing Nirvana songs from garage doors.

I hear people asking me so politely for money to buy some food for themselves. I struggle to look her in the eye as I feel powerless to change her world with a few pesos, but yet I want her to know she is not invisible.

And I smell mainly bakeries, roast chicken and trafffic fumes.

Daily normality for people in the capital city.

While this goes on in the city, I have been taking part in other events: the Andean Forum against Large Scale Mining where people from all over Latin American came together to talk about how the mining industry affects them. This declaration emerged from the event.

What I found inspiring about the forum, and there was several things that weren’t, was that it brought together indigenous people, farming communities, small scale miners and workers in the mining industry.

Each group has their own problems with multinational mining companies: labour rights, water sources drying up, destruction of indigenous ways of life…. Each also has their own regionally specific vision of what kind of mining, if any, they would accept in their communities.

This difference is respected, and common ground is found – an opposition to the current situation where by the majority of people in Latin America still live in poverty despite such huge quantities of wealth beneath their homes.

And as I sat listening to so many peoples testimonies about mining and later looking at a map of Colombia which marks all the mines in operation in the country I re-remembered so quickly that everything we see around us must come from somewhere. Everything has a root, and then thrown into the pot of the market and comes out somewhere, it’s history unknown and so it often convinces me that it came from a peopleless, cultureless, nothing kind of place. At the forum I was reminded that isn’t the case.