earth and starrs

i am black (country) and beautiful

2010-02-21T11:32:00.000-03:00

As the train raced alongside the canal that links Birmingham to Wolverhampton, the teenager sat next to me turned to his mother and proclaimed, ‘It’s like a war zone.’

His condemnation had royal precedent; Queen Victoria drew the curtains of her carriage as the royal train travelled this section.

Wolverhampton’s reputation has been further undermined in recent months. Lonely Planet listed it as the fifth least favourite city in the world, and last week it was singled out for having one of the highest proportion of closed shops in the country.

Ugly, poor, with a reputation for racism, the city would seem an unlikely sanctuary for a Bengali runaway. But in Raphael Selbourne’s novel, Wolverhampton provides Beauty, the eponymous heroine, with at least temporary refuge. And amongst unexpected allies, Beauty finds respite as she struggles to reconcile family duties and her own well-being.

I read Beauty while researching the Song of Songs, a collection of Jewish love poems that somehow secured its place in the biblical canon. Moving between the two texts, I found resonances of those erotic poems in Selbourne’s essentially chaste novel, which in turn offered new paths back through the landscape of the Songs.

Redefining beauty

Your lips are like a crimson thread,
and your mouth is lovely.
Your cheeks are like halves of pomegranate
Behind your veil. (Song of Songs 4.3)

The compilation of the Song of Songs is understood to have taken place during the post-exilic emergence of the priestly class. With the book of Leviticus, the priests sought to control the body, delineating pure from impure, sacred from profane. Contamination of the body, caused by routine work or bodily functions (such as menstruation), required cleansing via an elaborate and costly system of temple sacrifices.* In contrast, the Song of Songs affirmed the fundamental dignity of the body. Indeed, the lovers delight in their bodies, in eating and loving. Beauty also craves good things for her body - halal food, a place to wash and rest. And slowly, like the female lover in the Songs, she begins to claim her beauty, to say, 'I am black and beautiful' (Song of Songs 1.5**).

Love not bought for a price

My mother’s sons were angry with me;
they made me keeper of the vineyards,
but my own vineyard I have not kept! (Song of Songs 1.6)

The woman of the Songs seeks to gain control over her own body, against the will of her brothers who aim to profit from her bride price (Song of Songs 8.7-12). That women continue to be exchanged between, and for the benefit of, men is evident in Selbourne’s novel. Beauty's forced marriage to a Bangladesh elder is socially beneficial for her father and, particularly, her brothers. And her refusal to stay in the marriage threatens their standing in the community.

Beauty enacts madness as a strategy of survival; hacked-off hair, screams and silence finally convincing her Bangladeshi husband to send her back to England. Incarcerated and beaten by her brother, she exploits her few options, balancing risk with necessity. She chooses, to some extent, when to leave and whether to return.

In the Song of Songs the lovers flee to the fields, away from temple, palace and household, from institutions that seek to control and profit from human love. Beauty’s salvation is connected to the city, although again away from patriarchal institutions (the father’s house). She and Mark mis/encounter each other at the jobcentre and on the edge of violence, before finding refuge in Mark’s dog-filled house. Like the lovers in the poems, Mark and Beauty’s friendship crosses ethnic and social divides, provoking hostility, even violence.***

Making their rounds in the city
the sentinels found me;
they beat me, they wounded me,
those sentinels of the walls. (Song of Songs 5.7)

The violence of the watchmen is echoed in Beauty's assailants who assume any woman out on the streets by herself at night must be a prostitute, and that prostitutes and other public women are fair game. But Beauty comes to claim the city as her space, refusing to be restricted to her father’s house.

Liberating desire

My beloved is mine and I am his;
He pastures his flock among the lilies. (Song of Songs 2.16)

The poems celebrate the mutual desire of the lovers, a desire that does not objectify or disempower (unlike in Genesis 3.16).**** Beauty rejects the gaze of relatives and elders, of the men who leer over her on the street. But she does not reject the power of desire. Increasingly alert to her own passions, her dreams of her future are shaped around a small flat, a cat, her sister safe with her. And later, to read, to care for those abandoned by their families, for justice for herself and other women.

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm;
for love is strong as death,
passion fierce as the grace. (Song of Songs 8.6)

-----
Beauty is published by Tindal Street Press. Read the Independent review and one minute with the author, and the Times interview.
*Nancy Cardoso Pereira, “Ah... Amor es delicias”, RIBLA 15 (1993), p.59-74; Ana Maria Rizzante Gallazzi, “‘Yo seré para él como aquella que da la paz’”, RIBLA 21 (1995), p.91-101.
**This verse was for centuries mistranslated, ‘I am black but beautiful.’ See, Randall C. Bailey,“The Danger of Ignoring One’s Own Cultural Bias in Interpreting the Text.” in R. S. Sugirtharajah (ed.), The Postcolonial Bible, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998, pp.66-90.
***Renita Weems, “Song of Songs”, in Carol A. Newsom & Sharon H. Ringe (eds), Woman’s Bible Commentary (expanded edition with Apocrypha), Louisville KT, Westminster John Knox Press, 1998 [first edition, 1992], p.164-8; p.168.
****Phyllis Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, Philadelphia, Fortress Press, 1978, p.159-60.

christmas card

2009-12-24T09:00:00.000-03:00

The stories we treasure
The ones we ignore
God’s story at Christmas
Makes room for them all.

Los relatos que guardamos
Los que ignormas
El cuento de Navidad
Tiene espacio para todos.

some other blogs while i'm not blogging

2009-06-30T19:44:00.003-03:00

Two blogs I've discovered recently and am very much enjoying:

The Fidra Blog
Children's bookshop and publishers in Edinburgh. Promotes great books for girls (JILL!!!). Critiques not so great books for girls... read the damning review of Twilight, and watch how Buffy might deal Edward's stalking.

fbomb
Written by Julie Zeilinger, teen feminist. You get trashy pop culture plus feminist critique. What's not to like?! Read Julie on her crush on Zack Efron, but not his film 17 Again. Or see her latest post on Wimbledon's ranking of women players based on 'box office appeal' rather than, er.. tennis? (Is this really true? Along with the 'women player can't shout coz that would be unladylike' crap?)

Christian Aid Week 2009

2009-05-09T16:42:00.002-03:00

equation

2009-05-05T16:15:00.000-03:00

thesis + panic - time = no blogging

Marcella Althaus-Reid

2009-04-02T16:24:00.002-03:00

I caught up late on the sad new that Marcella Althaus-Reid, Professor of Contextual Theology at New College, Edinburgh, died at the end of February.

Reading the tributes left by students, colleagues and friends, one thing stood out - Marcella's constant support - academically and personally - for all those trying to make their own unique way in the world.

I had read Marcella's work on indecent theology, studied at ISEDET where she also studied, and discovered many mutual friends before I met her in January 2007. We met in her offices overlooking the foreboding front quadrant of New College. I had found her abundance of theological ideas at times difficult to grasp. Moreover, her willingness to sub/vert, per/vert, long-established theological dogma was both thrilling and disturbing. I was expecting to be overawed by such a formidable intellect.

I was not prepared for this petite chic woman, a red shawl swept across her shoulders, a warm welcome and attentive ear.

I only met Marcella once but I was delighted to have done so. Her fierce critique and bound-less creativity will continue to inspire me.

God, she wrote, will always escape our ideologies. God is not bound by our morality. Indeed, we would find God indecent, queer, clandestine, unlawful. God the boundary-crosser, the transgressor, the cross-dresser, the whore. A God who loves without censor, without purpose, without limits, without end.

wonky tiaras

2009-03-28T17:46:00.004-03:00

What I appreciate most about Mark Kermode's weekly film review on Five Live is his direct confrontation of nasty, stupid and dangerous perceptions of women in film.

It's rare for a male media personality to reference Andrea Dworkin; rare for a man to unambigiously criticise films that objectify, sideline, attack and fear women. So even though I don't share his interest in horror movies, or agree with his critique of SATC, I am regularly encouraged by Mark's feminist insight and commitment.

I wish more men would hold other men accountable for their treatment of women. I wish more men were brave enough to apply feminist perspectives to their work. I wish more men promoted strong, healthy, intelligent, independent role models for women and girls.

Mark's recent review of The Young Victoria is a case in point. He praised the film for its portrayal of a young woman finding her own way - yes, in partnership with her beloved Albert, but not at the expense of her own purpose and vision.

And on that theme... I'm loving this from think geek, via the consistently inspirational feministing blog

that introduced me to another man doing the feminist thing - author Robert Munsch and his creation, The Paperbag Princess.

Prince, frog, dragon...who needs them?

counting the cost

2009-03-24T18:14:00.004-03:00

Today Argentina marks 33 years since the start of the military dictatorship.

2818. The number of days under dictatorship (24 March 1976 - 10 December 1983)

30,000. The number of people who were kidnapped, tortured and 'disappeared' by the military

500. The number of babies taken from their mothers and illegally given up for adoption.

97. The number of children who have discovered their true identity - the latest in February of this year.

500. The number of illegal hidden detention centres established by the dictatorship. The largest of these was the former Naval Academy (Escuela de Mecánica de la Armada) in Buenos Aires, in which some 5000 people were held and tortured.

46,000 million. The number of dollars of external debt owed at the end of dictatorship.

517. The percentage rate of inflation between 1976 and 1983.

14, ooo. The number of soldiers and conscripts sent to the Malvinas/ Falklands in 1982.

694. The number that died.

29. The number of months since Julio Lopez, aged 77, disappeared for the second time, hours before he was due to witness against a former police investigator.

--
This is a translation of an article in today's Clarín

fairtrade fortnight 2009

2009-03-03T17:57:00.002-02:00

This past year, £700 million of Fairtrade products were bought in the UK.

Tate & Lyle went Fairtrade last year. Starbucks, Sainsburys, more and more big companies (and lots and lots of small ones) are going Fairtrade. Great!

During Fairtrade Fortnight why not:

Go Bananas - Be part of the world’s biggest Fairtrade banana-eating record attempt. Join in by eating a Fairtrade banana anytime between noon on Friday 6 March and noon on Saturday 7 March.

Buy one of three thousand Fairtrade products - maybe one you've never tried before.

Start campaigning for a Fairtrade Olympics in 2012 - watch out for more details from the Fairtrade Foundation; and for now:

Play some Fairtrade games with sports balls – footballs, volleyballs, netballs and basketballs with the Fairtrade mark are all available
or, power your Olympian efforts with a Fairtrade banana smoothie (you can even use a pedal-powered smoothie maker!)

Elena Poniatowska - Here’s to You, Jesusa!

2009-02-10T08:00:00.002-02:00

Elena Poniatowska’s testimonial novel is based on extensive interviews carried out between 1963 and 1964, with Josefina Bórquez, an elderly Mexican woman. Through the novel, Josefina morphs into the character Jesusa Palancares as Poniatowska pieces together her ethnographic field-notes into a narrative that shifts between Spiritualist visions and surreal recollections of a life lived in bars and on the battlefield. Jesusa works as a domestic servant, in factories making boxes, and as a professional drinker, betting on herself to out-drink the men. At night she makes a space for herself where she can: in a woman’s prison, on the frozen ground of the army camp, along a narrow balcony, or in the corner of a stranger’s courtyard.

In such a precarious life, there are few moments of rest, as Poniatowska discovers when she tries to interview Josefina. There is no time to talk, only time to work (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: viii). She alone ensures her survival (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: 101, 132).

Survival means staying afloat, breathing calmly, even if it is only for a moment in the evening when the chickens no longer cackle in their cages and the cat stretches out on the trampled earth. (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: xiii)

Jesusa is a fighter, ‘fiercer than a female fighting cock’ (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: 155). She endures life on the battlefield, first with her father and then with her abusive husband, neither of whom survive the Revolution. She relishes the tough life of a soldadera (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: 212, xvii), and returns to army life when the opportunity presents. Her father once gave her gunpowder water to make her brave (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: 5), and it seemed to work.

Her dignity is essential to her survival. She is fiercely proud, refusing to drink coffee grounds or eat bean soup (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: 241), to be treated as poor. Neither charity nor friendship suit her: ‘Her isolation is striking’ (Franco 1989: 179). At the end of her life, she does not falter: ‘She died as she lived, rebellious, obstinate, fierce. She threw the priest out, she threw the doctor out’ (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: xx).

Nevertheless, Poniatowska, in her account of the interview process and the two women’s cautious friendship, recalls moments of tenderness and tranquility: settling the chickens on the narrow bed; examining the dolls Josefina bought for herself but kept wrapped up; the exchanging of postcards while Poniatowska travels to France. More than anything else, Josefina is revived by the telling of her story:

On Wednesday afternoons, as the sun set and the blue sky changed to orange, in that semidark little room, in the midst of the shrieking of the children, the slamming doors, the shouting, and the radio going full blast, another life emerged – that of Jesusa Palancares, the one that she relived as she retold it. Through a tiny crack, we watched the sky, its colors, blue, then orange, and finally black. A silver of sky. I squinted so my gaze would fit through that crack, and we would enter the other life. (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: xiii)

Through the construction of her own version of events, Josefina places herself at the centre of her world. After a life lived in the shadows, dismissed by those a few rungs up the social ladder, she is able to speak her truth, account for her actions. Once the book is published, Josefina asks Poniatowska for twenty copies to give to men in the neighbourhood, ‘so they’d know about her life, the many precipices she had crossed’ (Poniatowska [1969] 2002: xx).

--
Elena Poniatowska ([1969] 2002) Here’s to You, Jesusa! [First published as Hasta no verte Jesús mío Mexico: Ediciones Era. Translated from the Spanish by Deanna Heikkinen, 2001] New York: Penguin Books

As a testimonial novel, Here’s to You Jesusa is concerned to honour and enable the voices of those absent from the literary canon. Testimonial literature seeks to represent the social and political experience of the illiterate, the prisoner, the slave descendent, the trade-unionist, the member of the pueblos originarios, the slum-dweller, etc.; in short, all those who exist at the margins of Latin American society. Through testimony, such works seek to raise awareness and to promote social and political change.

See also, NY Times review and other.

tracing out shapes

2009-02-08T20:37:00.006-02:00

On the corner of our estate, where there was once a church, stands a bright new health clinic. A giant dandelion clock blows over it. And, if you are lucky, the bus driver will drop you off at the entrance, even though it is between stops.

I never made it to Mass at that church, and I only peeped through the windows of tiny St Thomas' opposite where my grandparents, father, great-grandparents, great aunt and uncle once lived. I wish I had known what it was like to worship, to make peace and to seek justice in those churches. I wish I knew how they fitted into the threads of prayers and song that are woven through this community.

But there are still three churches within a brisk walk from my home. A simple building perched atop the hill is the home of the Anglican church. Years ago, I went to morning prayer there, trying to find a start to my day.

The second church is the Christian meeting house, and, to be truthful, we are all a little scared of it. 'Come and here God's word preached,' it invites us, then, flashing with fire, sends us running, 'if the LORD wills.'

And the third church. It was familiar ground even before today. I knew this church - simple, friendly, reliable. But it didn't know me, so today I decided it was time to introduce myself. I turned off the road sooner than usual - a good mile short of my Methodist home - and popped into the United Reformed Church. Light dazzled us, turning white walls to silver, and trembling voices into song. A man preached simply and honestly, lifting up his fears for us to take comfort from. A woman welcomed me in, and told me how the church keeps welcoming, all week long.

I'm taking things slow, this settling in. I'm tracing out shapes and seeing how this place, in this moment, holds together; and how I might fit into it.

ex tenebris lux

2009-01-27T23:52:00.000-02:00

The Sunday ahead of us finds its place in the Church's calender as the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany. It's not a snappy title. Even if we remember what Epiphany was about (three visitors to the stable at Bethlehem), we may feel that, four Sundays on, it is time to leave be, to look forward rather than back.

As the readings for this Sunday explore, once the clear light of the Christmas star fades - and fade it does - it is not so easy to find our way. The year settles into routine, and we loose the clarity we enjoyed when the year was bare, unmarked by arguments and wasted days.

I am spending my days, some wasted, others not, perched high at the edge of a glass-fronted library. My vision framed by the weathered red of St Peter's and the sharp gold of Molineux, I watch the light scan the sky. Today the clouds came down to touch the fields ahead of me. Yesterday, where the clouds lay today, the softest trace of green marked out low hills on the horizon. So although today I could not see them, I still knew they were there.

I thought back to an exhibition I went to at the Studio Museum in Harlem, of the artist Norman Lewis*. One canvas was almost entirely black, with the slightest line marking out a shape. It was a painting of a mountain that Lewis studied in Greece. He knew the lines of the mountain so well, he could paint it at night. Hidden from view, maybe, but still there.

Light for our eyes
Darkness to rest
Light of the way
In the dark we hold trust

--
*I am checking whether it was Norman Lewis. If so, this article would fit.

bus people

2009-01-15T21:14:00.004-02:00

In the lobby of the LA motel, the breakfast crowd thinning out, I phoned Kimberly. 'Which train do I catch to Orange County?' I asked. There was a pause. 'I'll come and get you,' she said.

While public transport is thankfully much more integrated into British life than it was in LA ten years ago, I'm still noticing a difference with Argentina.

During my three years in Buenos Aires, I only met two people who owned a car. Everyone caught the bus. And they ran day and night. Packed jam full. Sure, I sometimes got a taxi. But - as long as you had got hold of enough monedas - the bus was how you traveled.

It feels different here.

I don't know if it was the smell of cigar smoke tonight, or how the bus queue seemed to merge with the overspill from the city pub. Perhaps it was something about how we stood hunched up, a couple of Tesco bags resting on the shelter seats. Or how the man in a bright yellow jacket moved around us picking up rubbish with a stick. But waiting for the bus this evening, I felt poor.

Years ago, friends in LA told me that the term 'bus people' implied the very poorest, most marginalized people who, in that city of cars and freeways, had to take the bus.

In my city, plenty of people catch the bus or train to work every day. But with my 'off-peak' travel pass, I don't share my bus with the workers. In the mornings, the seats are filled with elderly neighbours and school kids. But in the early evening, we seem a desperate bunch - tired from the day, waiting in the drizzle, we file on and shuffle down the aisle. The day's dirt imprisons us, smearing the windows. There is a dank smell.

But we settle down. Warm up. Maybe say a few words to the girl next to us. Maybe peer out to see the park. And soon we are home.

Bus people.

Women's Institute survey on violence against women

2009-01-13T14:25:00.002-02:00

As part of its Violence Against Women Campaign, the WI has commissioned research from the University of Bristol to look at the needs, views and opinions of women on the topic of violence against women.

This is not just a survey for women who have experienced domestic abuse. It is for all women to fill out and asks questions on what you consider violence against women - for example do you think prostitution is a form of violence against women?

You can complete the 10 minute survey here

Preliminary results from the survey will be launched on International Women's Day, 8 March 2009, with a more detailed report available from the WI website by the end of April 2009.

Perla Suez - La pasajera

2009-01-07T20:40:00.004-02:00

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Perla Suez sets her most recent novel besides familiar waters. La Pasajera is set in Entre Rios, the province to the northeast of Buenos Aires. It is a story of transition and adjustment.

Tránsito and her sister Lucía have spent forty years caring for the Admiral and la señora who live in an isolated mansion, inspired by the chateaus of France, but situated on the banks of a tropical river. The river both separates and connects the sisters from their island home, the place they grew up together before coming to work in the city.

The novel takes place on the afternoon of the funeral of the Admiral. With the death of their patron, Tránsito prepares to leave her life as a servant and return home. She is tired of caring for a house that is not her own, and of playing a minor role in someone else's story.

Yo ahora voy a remontar en canoa el río ancho, mirando mi cara en el agua hasta llegar a ese lugar, cruzando el canal, donde madre dijo que me dio a luz.
Now I am going to travel upstream along the wide river in the canoe, watching my face in the water until I arrive at that place, crossing the channel, where mother told me that I was born. (Suez 2008: 45)

The afternoon of the funeral, Tránsito tries to persuade her sister to return to the Delta with her:

Tenemos que cruzar al otro lado, y aunque hayamos dejado la vida aquí, quiero que regresemos juntas. Le prometí a madre que nunca te iba a abandonar.
We have to cross over to the other side, and even if it means leaving the life we have here, I want us to return together. I promised mother that I would never abandon you. (Suez 2008: 80)

But Lucía has already bought herself a plot in the city cemetery. She will not go back. Tránsito has to make the journey home on her own.

---
Suez, Perla (2008) La Pasajera (La otra orilla) Buenos Aires: Grupo Editorial Norma

la Nochebuena

2008-12-24T15:56:00.002-02:00

The good night:

And she gave birth to her firstborn son
and wrapped him in bands of cloth,
and laid him in a manger,
because
there was no place for them in the inn. (Luke 2.7)

adviento 4: bienvenida

2008-12-22T14:20:00.004-02:00

Greetings, favored one! (Luke 1:28)

Mary's story is about recognition. The angel sees Mary's courage, and she in turn sees the hope a child brings.

Mary's faith and courage are clear from the text we read during the final week of Advent. She makes her decision carefully, weighing up the risks involved.

Why is it then that we are often offered a submissive, silent image of Mary? As Brazilian theologian, Wanda Deifelt critiques:

Dominant male attitudes establishes the values and standard behaviour for men: aggressively; virility; success and power. What defines the standards for women is Mary-ness (the cult and idealization of Mary). Mary is the submissive, tranquil, introspective woman, the one that said yes. (Deifelt 2003: 108)

But what did Mary say yes to? Not purity, not submission; but justice and hope. Mary accepted the risks of unmarried motherhood because she longed for justice, because she wanted to sing of God's steadfast love:

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever. (Luke 1. 46-55)

How will we greet the world this week? How will we greet the people and possibilities that come to meet us? And what will we say yes to?

--
image: by Chicana aritst, Alma Lopez Coyolxauhqui Returns as Our Lady Disguised as La Virgen de Guadalupe to Defend the Rights of Las Chicanas, Acrylic on Canvas, 24" x 24", 2004 www.almalopez.net. For the merging (and domesticating) of Latin American goddess figures with Mary see:
Anzaldúa, Gloria (1987) Borderlands/ La Frontiera: The New Mestiza San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books

Deifelt, Wanda (2003) “María ¿una santa protestante?” en RIBLA46 (2003/3) Quito: RECU/ Editorial DEI, pp. 98-112.

This weeks readings can be read here.

if I hadn't come to Argentina...

2008-12-18T03:18:00.000-02:00

I may never have:

tasted locoto and maracúya

failed to learn Hebrew for the third and fourth time

adjusted to the evening starting at 11, 12 or 1am

remembered how frustrating it is to be stuck in a rubbish lecture

taken film-going advice from Mark Kermode

been flooded five times

become a café regular

tangled up my 'oi's and my 'hola's

become addicted to 'facie-bookie,' as the Brazilians call it

discovered how beautiful Argentina is

longed to be as persnickety as Veronica Mars

woken up at the sound of rain to watch the storms roll

a perfect palermo morning

2008-12-15T22:25:00.003-02:00

Just as I like San Telmo because it feels so Buenos Aires, I like Palermo because it doesn't.

Palermo is full of ex-pats and exclusive boutiques. The skyline is yet uncrowded and the parks are green. One of my favourite cafés (oh, there are so many...) is there - Mark's. So this morning I went first to Miles CD and bookstore, where I finally bought La Pasajera by Perla Suez. And then onto Mark's for a frozen and fresh limonada and choc-chip cookie (if you were to do a comparison with yesterday's post, you would see a pattern emerging).

I crossed the rail tracks, sizzling in the heat, and into Palermo Hollywood, where I met a friend for lunch at Arevalito. We like this small, fresh vegetarian café, but agree it's not the same since it moved from behind the orange door.

an evening in san telmo

2008-12-14T23:13:00.004-02:00

I'm doing the farewell rounds, and that includes saying goodbye to my favourite barrios.

A couple of my friends don't like San Telmo and hardly ever visit. True, there are crumbling buildings and dark corners, and it's overrun by gringos. But it feels like the heart of Buenos Aires to me.

I went first to Walrus Books and, after a leisurely browse, exchanged one paperback for another (Well I have to have something to read on the plane.. what, I already have 50-odd books to fit into my baggage allowance? shush...). From there, I walked past the South American Explorers Clubhouse which I first joined way back when in Lima.

I popped into Cafe Notorious music store and once again the older man and the younger man who work there selected the perfect CD for my requirements. This was the store where I cried on hearing Maria Betania's Pirata album. No tears this time round, just a discussion of whether the English think Argentines eat rubbish potatoes (I know - how random?!) which then moved on to wondering what the English ate before they stole from Latin America: potatoes, tomatoes, chocolate, coffee, etc.

It was time for a last ice-cream from Nonna Bianca's. Mint and lemon, with white chocolate and sugared orange peel. A read of the paper and a look out on the evening street.

I walked up to Plaza Dorrego and stood in the crowd gathered to enjoy the weekly milonga. First the couples danced chacareras then tango under the street lamps. They danced in killer heels and sharp dresses, in jeans and pumps, in sombreros and suits. Some forgot the steps, some chatted, some performed to the crowds, and some leaned close and danced as if it was their last night on earth.

I walked past Origin café, waved goodnight to the waiter there, and waited for the 126 bus to take me home. Maybe it's that I often take it at night through the quiet back streets, maybe it's the hope of catching the disco-bus that sometimes runs this route, maybe it's because it drops me off half a block from home, but this is my favourite route.

adviento 3: bálsamo

2008-12-14T11:15:00.004-02:00

The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners (Isaiah 61:1)

The 3rd Sunday in Advent turns around John the Baptist, who survived in the desert on locusts and wild honey (Mark 1). It seemed fitting therefore, that this week I met again with Alicia who teaches beekeeping at the University of Buenos Aires. We first met in the company of beekeeping friends visiting from England and, on the day after the first snow in Buenos Aires for 89 years, we donned hats and nets and peered into the frost-covered hives where the bees huddled together to keep warm.

Alicia's passion for beekeeping is a delight. We talked about the devastating impact of genetic soya on honey production; examined tiny sting-less bees native to Missiones, in the tropical north-east of Argentina; and discussed her advisory support for several projects working with pueblos originarios (original communities) in the north-east, including GESER, which supports rural women in a range of activities, including herb cultivation.

This time round, we also talked about the traditional healing properties of honey and how closely (in language, life and theology) healing is connected to salvation. Similarly, through her work with African-Brazilian traditions, Silvia Regina de Lima Silva writes of God as the one who soothes and heals, in many ways including medicinal herbs and teas, songs and dance, care and conversation (de Lima Silva 2005: 243).

A few years ago I read Sue Monk Kidd's novel, The Secret Life of Bees, which has just been released as a film (see trailer below). The book is about the hospitality of three African-American sisters towards a runaway white girl and her African-American carer. The sisters keep bees and make honey which is sold in jars bearing an image of a black Madonna. This image of Mary is part of their spirituality and at the centre of the community that gathers at their home. Honey and wax are used as a salve both to maintain the wooden statue of Mary and to sooth and protect her faithful followers.

Once again in this week's readings, we hear the prophets telling of God's saving grace and desire for the healing of ourselves and this broken world.

--
Silvia de Lima Silva (2005) “Fe y “Axe”: sanción como experiencia de encuentro con la fuerza que nos habita.” in Ecce mulier Homenaje a Irene Foulkes, San José, Costa Rica: UBL, editorial SEBILA, pp 231-45.

The readings for the 3rd Sunday of Advent can be found here.

what scares me about going home

2008-12-11T15:37:00.004-02:00

I'm scared I'll forget all my Spanish (especially since three people in recent months have told me my Spanish has gotten worse!!)

I'm scared I'll be too cold when studying - even after being so so too hot this week, and even with my trustworthy pink blanket (everyone should have one).

I'm scared about negotiating my way back into my family's and friends' routines. Jetting back over the past three years for a couple of weeks here and there, I've been treated like royalty. I've been the star of the show - everyone rushing round after me, ferrying me about, fitting into my schedule. I need to ajust to normal pace.

I'm scared of loosing momentum and focus on my thesis. And scared of my thesis - full stop! But as Alicia today, Muriel a few months back, and Elaine many times, have told me - it won't be perfect, it won't be the definitive word, it just needs to get done. Good advice.

I'm scared I'll never go riding in the Andes again on a crillo horse called Martina. Nor learn to jump under the watchful eye of Grace or Julia.

And I'm traumatized at the thought of no more Spanish classes with Cecelia. Best. Spanish Teacher. Ever.

I'm scared I've not done everything I set out to do these past few years.

I'm scared of all the books I haven't read in the library. And that absolutely essential reference I will have forgotten to photocopy which is unavailable in England and which I'll have to fly back to Bs As just to copy..... (this is a good idea to write down all these fears and see how silly some are!)

I'm scared I'll talk to Dad and Jon less once we stop using Skype. And how will I managed without Mum's emails which always start 'This is the second time I've sent this. The first one disappeared.' But with less punctuation.

I'm scared there will be less space to talk about my thesis, hopes and ideas with friends and family. I'm loosing the distance that emails and this blog give me to be honest. Why is is harder to be honest when talking face to face?

I'm scared of how much a hair cut costs in the UK! And that I'll disgrace Debs with the state of my clothes after three years of the ISEDET washing machine. Well, it won't be the first time I've disgraced her in public!

I'm scared of never getting a job. Ever.

I'm wondering how Mum and I will ever choose the books for our club. So many to read!

I'm fretting about living in a town without 24 hour public transport and the loss of independence that means.

I'm scared of having a TV again. Although I have found other ways to time-waste admirably via youtube, fanpop, etc.

I'm scared of not being the glamorous (ha!) girl living in Buenos Aires.

I'm scared, along with all my family, about exactly where another load of books are going to fit. Everyone is making suggestions for sneaking in a few books here and another shelf there. I fear a cull.

I'm scared of expectations, my own and others.

I'm horrified at the thought of no more maracuyas!

Most of all, I'm scared of how excited I am to be coming home.

adviento 2: consuelo

2008-12-10T20:42:00.002-02:00

The second week of Advent encourages us to reflect on the prophets, their passion for justice and their courage to speak the truth. But when I turned to this week's Bible readings, I stopped at the first verse.

Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God (Isaiah 40:1)

It is good to be reminded that the prophets didn't only speak of God's righteous anger; they also spoke of God's compassion and abiding love.

In the film, Junebug, a recently married couple visit his family in North Carolina. In the clip below, we see the varied responses to the son's singing of the hymn, 'Softly and Tenderly.' Surprise, delight, brokenness, and longing are there.

This week's readings tell us that God has not abandoned us. Indeed, God is close at hand.

Believing in God's faithful care, we find a way home - the place we long to be.

---
This weeks readings are available here.

And, p.s., since I've just finished watching The OC, this clip is particularly fitting...

adviento 1: aguanta

2008-12-03T22:06:00.007-02:00

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down (Isaiah 64:1-9)

The first Sunday in Advent was a Saturday for me. I spent last weekend staying with a religious community in Rosario, and we went to misa on Saturday evening in the chapel of the school-that-was-once-an orphanage where my friends live. It was one of the sister's birthday and so after the mass, a crowd gathered at the house for birthday cake, tea and maté. Someone played música folklórica on the guitar and others danced between the kitchen and the hall.

In the middle of the festivities, I chatted with one of the sisters. We talked about the limitations placed on women by the Church - some subtle, some more upfront. We wondered how to discern when we should wait and when we should act; when to keep our head down, and when to speak out.

The theme of the first week of Advent is hope, or more accurately, hopeful waiting. It is not an endless, fruitless wait but a time of preparation for what is to come. In the reading from Mark 13, Jesus warns his disciples to 'Keep awake!' They, like us, are to be wired up, alert to change, and ready to act.

So how are we to know when to hold on (aguanta), and when to act? We know that to preach (hopeless) patience is often to be complicit with injustice. Instead, God calls us to watch for the tearing of the heavens, the coming of justice. More than that, God calls us to be justice-makers.

This week,
May we hope for God's coming (this, this is Christmas).
May we discern God's call for peace and justice.
May we hold on to each other.
And may we act with love, tearing open a way between heaven and earth.

--
Bus Shelter Nativity, Church Advertising Network
This week's Bible readings.

world AIDS/ SIDA day

2008-12-01T17:12:00.004-02:00

World AIDS Day

today and every day: let's end violence against women

2008-11-25T21:08:00.002-02:00

Today is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women and the start of 16 days campaigning against gender based violence.

Since I've just spent five hours doing an exam on masculinities and violence, this post will be brief. Two things to note:

Juan Carlos Ramírez-Rodríguez (2005), working from the Mexican context, argues that descriptions such as 'battered women' or 'violence against women' fail to name men as the perpetrators of violence against women. His work, and others, calls on men to take responsibility for their collusion with patriarchal structures that perpetuate male control, domination and abuse of women (as well as children, animals, and even other - marginalized- men).

Second thing: I got back from my exam and checked my emails. A friend from Peru, who I have known since he was fourteen, had emailed round notice of an event he was participating in to mark the day against violence against women. He will be presenting a paper on feminicide (the killing of women because they are women).

After a day of reading about the intertwining of dominant masculine identity and violence, it is heartening to be reminded that there are many men actively committed to breaking with violence. Are you one of them?

---
Ramírez-Rodríguez, Juan Carlos (2005) "Más allá de un videoclip de violencia: la argamasa entre varones y mujeres" Estudios Sociales volumen 13, número 26 (julio-diciembre de 2005), pp. 7-25.

la noche de los museos 2008

2008-11-16T12:24:00.005-02:00

My third Museum Night in Bs As, and a lot to fit in. In 2006, Mum and I had visited an photography exhibition remembering resistance to the dictatorship, and gathered with the crowds on the steps of the Museo de Bellas Artes, before collapsing in a café (well, we had been to Brazil that morning!). Last year, Aunty Syl and Uncle Tony were here and we spent the evening in Monserrat, visiting the Museo Etnográfico Juan B. Ambrosetti (and a few others), and watched tango in the narrow streets, before enjoying a hot chocolate with a view of the Obelisco.

This year, I began with a visit to the Biblioteca Nacional designed by Clorino Testa, Francisco Bullrich and Alicia Cazzaniga. From the reading room, I looked over the Plaza de la Lectora - a park for reading - and the streets framed with jacaranda blossom.

Along Avenida de la Libertador, the Museo Nacional de Arte Decorativo, and its beautiful French courtyard café, had attracted quite a crowd. With Louis decor and an enormous ballroom, it was like a (not so)mini Versailles.

At the back of the Spanish Embassy, the Casa de la Cultura del Fondo Nacional de las Artes, had a band playing upstairs, and the sound bounced off the crisp white walls.

I had wanted to visit the Museo de Arte Popular José Hernández for a while. There were some beautiful portraits of farmers and artisans from the North East of Argentina taken by Ricardo Wetzler to record the work of an Italian NGO, ISCOS (see photo above).

Across the courtyard, already filling up with musicians and guests, I found a small room in which two Shipibo women from the Peruvian Amazon were demonstrating traditional weaving. The exhibition was called Shinakoshobaon Bakebo (Daughters of the Spiders) because the forest spiders are believed to have taught the women to weave cloth. The shamanic healing powers of the women are connected to their designs. Instead of singing the ícaros, the women weave the songs into the cloth:

Este diseño es una canción... la melodia es una melodia de bienvenida de los húespedes a la fiesta. This design is a song... the melody is a melody of welcome to the guests who have come for the party.

I crossed the grand avenue, caught a bus and walked to my final museum of the night. The Museo de la Deuda Externa is housed in the tired-looking basement of the Economy Department of UBA. It was 10 at night, but the space was filled with people diligently following the curator around the graphic tale of Argentina's debt - Baring Brothers Bank, railways, dictatorships and dirty debt, growing interest and unemployment. I felt like I was stepping back in time to the days of the Jubilee 2000 campaign. The exhibition ended with Argentina's paying back of its debts to the IMF in 2005, but of course other debts owed to the Paris Club, etc. continue to be in the news, as Christina pledges to pay back these debts also. But at what cost?

While others continued their caminos around the city's museums, and as yet more bands and theatre groups entertained and informed the crowds, I caught the bus home, bringing my last noche de los museos to a close.

telefono donna

2008-11-14T22:15:00.003-02:00

Italian rape helpline, Telefono Donna, has met with opposition from rightwing politicians in Milan over its recent campaign poster to encourage women to report rapes. The organization states that only four per cent of women who suffer sexual violence report their assailants.

The politicians claim the image is 'sexually provocative.' Such an attitude once again places the blame on women for provoking sexual assault, rather than challenging male behaviour. In response to the poster's question, Who pays for man's sins? the answer remains: women.

This is not the first time women have been portrayed on a cross or in a 'Christ-like' pose. Such images tend to be controversial because they suggest women can represent Christ:

left image: Christa, by American sculptor, Edwina Sandys

right image: Gomez cross, of María Cristina Gómez, El Salvador.

Representing women on the cross reveals the violent and suffering reality of many women's existence. It also demonstrates a solidarity between women and Jesus, who also suffered.

Most of the opponents of the Telefono donna poster are not, I fear, interested in either revealing violence against women, or acting in solidarity with women who are raped or assaulted.

However, there are other questions that such images provoke. While I once found these images helpful, they now make me uneasy. I affirm the Telefono Donna campaign but at the same time want to encourage caution in the use of such images of crucified women.

Too often women are called to bear their cross and accept their suffering. Are women only Christ-like in suffering? Where are the images of women as healers, teachers, justice-bearers, peace-makers? Women alive and resilient in the face of death?

This last week, visiting a number of projects working with women who have suffered domestic violence, I have witnessed such Christ-like women. Women who refuse to bear their cross in silence, and who summon all their strength to get down from the cross, and walk away from death into life.

--
Some information taken from The Telegraph.

magical realism

2008-10-28T21:16:00.003-02:00

Summer beckons. The blossom sheds purple scent on the people below, who stumble through the day confused by the abundance of light.

Beneath the trees, a child counts puppies only she sees. 'Hurry up querida,' calls her mother. The child laughs in delight, 'Cinco perritos! 5 puppies!' and runs on home.

At Primera Junta, outside the station, a man weaves through afternoon traffic. A black cat sits on his neck. They cycle past the bus, but only one passenger notices.

A group of boys call out to each other, as oblivious to the crowds as the crowds are to them. They are the ones who turn cardboard into bread.

The woman who sits on the pavement where the bus stops, is selling soft lemons and clasps of herbs. She bends her head to listen to the murmur of the crowd.

The walls speak words that the crowd can only hum: 'Yesterday we remember, today brings fresh trouble, and tomorrow there will be more.'

At the park, one pool is blue but dry. The other is overflowing with brown water and plastic bottle boats. A woman searches for words in her puzzle book.

Stopping off at the heladería on their way home, two friends deliberate. The owner looks at the girl, then scopes pale orange ice from a silver drum. He offers her a taste. 'Maracuyá!' she gasps, 'How did you know?'

Signs and portents, prophets and wise ones. The invisible made visible to those who look, who listen, who believe.

---
Still thinking about Luke 13: 6-9

this is not an invitation to rape me

2008-10-22T22:36:00.003-02:00

In 2002 the UK Home Office published the findings of a British Crime Survey to which 6,944 women had responded. Nearly half (45%) of rapes reported to the survey were committed by perpetrators who were victims’ partners at the time of the attack.

Women who are raped by their partners are much less likely to report the assaults against them or seek legal redress than those attacked by strangers.

Fear of retribution, a sense of family loyalty or even a lack of awareness that what has happened is against the law, silences many women who have been assaulted by their partners, and prevents them from naming it as rape, even to themselves.

Rape in marriage has only been recognised as a crime in Scotland since as recently as 1989 (and only since 1991 in England and Wales).

The concept of “conjugal rights” may have died out in the context of our legal framework, but the sense of a man’s entitlement to sex with his wife or partner is still very much alive in the minds and imaginations of many people, and often used to excuse or trivialise rape.

From Rape Crisis Scotland's current campaign, This is not an invitation to rape me, which challenges beliefs that dress, behaviour, drinking or relationship status, invite or justify rape.

Marcela Bosch - Del Dios sacrificador de la Doctrina de la Seguridad Nacional al Dios de la Vida

2008-10-07T20:39:00.006-03:00

When a centre of torture is considered an appropriate place for the ordination of a priest, we are led to ask what kind of God is being preached.

Marcela Bosch begins her thesis with a description of an ordination, which took place in 1989 at the Escuela Superior de Mecánica de la Armada, the Argentine Naval Academy that functioned as an illegal detention centre during the military dictatorship (1976–1983). How is it possible, she asks, for the Church to accept without comment, the torture and disappearance of thousands?

Through analysis of the documents and statements of the generals and bishops of that period, Bosch argues that the repressive Doctrine of National Security was supported by a theology of sacrifice, preached by the majority of Catholic bishops in Argentina at that time (Bosch 1992: 3).

At the beginning of the dictatorship, both Church and State claimed Argentina was in a state of chaos, infiltrated by 'subversives' who sought to destroy the unity and values of Christian Argentina. Sacrifices were demanded of the nation; and Argentines were called to place the 'common good' above any individual needs or desires.

The generals and bishops talked a lot about sacrifice. But despite the fact that the actual victims were those being kidnapped, tortured and killed, the dictatorship inverted the identity of victim and oppressor, so that the military appeared as the sacrificial victim, offering their life for the Patria. The military believed their blood shed in a battle 'without limits,' would redeem the country, and bring about peace and security (Bosch 1992: 248, 256-7). The blood of their victims: students and teachers, rebels and philosophers, nuns and priests, journalists and artists, did not have redemptive power. Such deaths were described (if acknowledged at all) as the removal of tumors, or the curing of diseases, that threatened the body of society.

The generals and bishops preached a God who crucifies without resurrection:

La Buena Nueva de la resurrección y de la vida se terminaría negando, para anunciar y practicar la buena Nueva de la Crucifixión y de la muerte.
The Good News of the resurrection and of life would be negated in order to announce and carry out a Good News of the Crucifixion and of death. (Bosch 1992: 261)

Bosch urges us to abandon a cross separated from Jesus - Jesus who died as a consequence of his 'subversive' ministry. For her, the crucified Christ is a sign of solidarity with all who suffer from hunger, unemployment, etc., and to follow Jesus is to be in solidarity with the poor and marginalized (Bosch 1992: 276-8).

In the midst of death, God nourishes signs of life. And it is everyday life that we seek God and God seeks us:

This generation cannot invoke God from a place of honour within a church, because God...long ago decided to take refugee in the streets. God sat in a train, was tied down on a table of torture and knew hell. God waits in turn in the waiting room of a ruined hospital in Buenos Aires, or waits anxiously for a first date. This God, who lives and whose heart beats, remains free of whatever ideology.. because human lives... are made up of tears, smiles, triumphs and failures. [They are] found in the small things. (Bosch 1992: 279)

---
Marcela Bosch is an Argentine feminist theologian and sexual health educator, working with young people and community groups on issues of self-esteem, violence and sexual abuse. She completed her Licenciatura in Theology at ISEDET in 1992, with a thesis entitled: Del Dios sacrificador de la Doctrina de la Seguridad Nacional al Dios de la Vida (Tesis de Licenciada).
See also "Alfie, la opción por un Dios de la vida"

She was awarded her Doctorate in Theology from EST, São Leopoldo, Brasil in 2001 with a thesis on developing an ethic of resistance for young mothers, entitled: 'El poder de la sumisión (una mirada desde la ética feminista militante y no violenta al embarazo de mujeres jóvenes de sectores populares. Estudio cualitativo y comparativo llevado a cabo en las Regiones Metropolitanas de Buenos Aires y Porto Alegre)' A summary article is available online.

*The photo was taken last month during a visit to ESMA, now a dedicated site of national memory, given over to various human rights groups.

ugly

2008-09-30T22:28:00.003-03:00

This is the stairwell to my apartment. It's been rotting away since I arrived.

Today has been full of ugly things; of miserable poverty, sodden cardboard and plastic bags, dirt-covered buses, caca. Today I saw a woman bent over with age and need, screaming at the lucky ones catching a bus somewhere else. I saw posters for iPhones along a street where no-one had work, and not all had food.

But hidden behind the ugliness, there is sometimes kindness, friendship, hope.

A man with a terrible tattoo, as if his drunk mate had scribbled on his arm with a blue biro, pushed back the window of the colectivo and called out encouragement to a cartonero, pushing his cart of cardboard and plastic through the hot streets. Both away from their barrios doing what they needed to get by.

On the cold, miserable bridge, as trucks screeching through the gap and the stench of smoke grew worse, a hand touched my shoulder and I saw the bright face of Marga, resplendent in an aqua turtleneck.

A raggedy boy in dirty clothes, his one eye twisted, walked past the bus-stop begging. A young man offered him his Coke bottle. The boy took a swig, handed the bottle back, and moved on down the line.

And the wall? I came back home to the wall and seeing it made me smile. Because as I left, Rocky, my favourite builder and the only one I am glad to see, had been scraping away at the plaster, ready to repaint the wall. A sign that finally, the floods of the past three years are coming to an end.

si no existe el más allá

2008-09-21T00:59:00.002-03:00

Si no existe el más allá, la injusticia del pobre se prolonga eternamente. If there is nothing more, the injustice of the poor will go on for ever.

Colectivo MR is Spanish art critic, Ricardo Ramón Jarne, and Peruvian photographer, Marina García Burgos. Their latest exhibition, currently on display in Buenos Aires, is a collection of portraits of a family from Huancayo, in the Peruvian Andes.

The regional outfits change in each portrait, as does the setting. The scenes were all shot in fashionable Miraflores and San Isidro, the wealthy districts of Lima. The family sit in a luxury restaurant, at a stylish bar; they gather around the exercise machines of a gym, or the clothes of a designer store. In other shots, they sail on a yacht, wait to board a plane, or look out from a private theatre box.

The exhibition suggests that it is still strikingly unusual for pueblos originales to be present in such situations. They are unwelcome and excluded; sometimes directly bared from entrance, more often, unable to afford such experiences. In the fancy restaurants of Lima society, people in traditional dress entertain, but never eat.

One of the photos will be exhibited later this year at the National Portrait Gallery in London, I think as part of the Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize 2008.

--
Photo via this blog. See also this report.

on seeing the hats again

2008-09-21T00:55:00.000-03:00

It was on the way here that we turned up at the wrong place, lost each other buying provisions, and took a taxi backwards, before scrambling onto the bus.

It was hours later that a man called Pablo met the bus and cooked us banana pancakes. It was here that I slept on a mattress with no sheets, stumbling across the black courtyard to clean my teeth before morning.

It was a mile or so away that we drank sweet tea, and ate bread and boiled eggs, as the sun rose pink against the far snow. It was at Cruz del Condor that the condors rose swirling from the canyon below. For an instant they drew level with us, then up, gone, away.

It was here we parted ways. It was heading back to Cabanaconde that the man overcharged us such a small amount, but the woman sitting next to me rebuked him and reminded him to welcome these strangers.

It was from the mountains that two bearded Americans appeared, holding an empty, blue plastic water can. It was here a child played in the muddy street, and offered us lúcuma, a melon-peach fruit that we peeled with a pen-knife. Sunset fruit. It was in the square where we whiled away the afternoon sun, watching kids play football outside the white church.

It was here an old man, alone in his house, made delicate hats of black woolen cloth, steamed into shape, and covered in embroidered flowers and birds. It was in this tiny village that the women wore plastic bags over their hats to protect them against the rain.

It was here, years later, a friend read in the guest book that I had hurt my finger; but I don't remember how.

It was from the canyon's edge that far below we saw a footprint of green, El Oasis, and a boy offered to take us there on his mule. It was in the plaza that I would have eaten roasted llama, had it not been for a friend's warning shout.

It was from here that we caught the wrong bus back down the valley.

the rabbit house

2008-09-17T22:32:00.007-03:00

La Plata, 1975-6

I don't know who had the idea of the rabbits...Rabbits? Why did we have to take in hundreds of rabbits to protect ourselves?

The Rabbit House is Laura Alcoba's attempt to explain her childhood, or lack of it. Until she was ten years old, Laura lived in Argentina. But because her parents were militants, members of the banned Montoneros organization, she has pieced together her memories without the help of family photos, or school friends.

This was a childhood of life-or-death secrets: a printing press hidden behind rabbit hutches; a father in prison; and a mother who hid under bright red wigs. The book describes a transitional life, moving from one safe house to the next, and from one surname to another until, when the fashionable yet friendly neighbour asks Laura her name, she cannot think what to say.

I said only 'Laura' because I know that this is the only part of my name that they let me keep. Straightaway, she asked me, 'Laura who?' And truthfully, I don't remember what came next. I must have started to panic, because I know very well that there is a warrant out for my mother, and that we are waiting for them to give us a new name and false documents...What is, after all, my name?

In my tutorial today, we talked about how even (especially?) the most idealistic movements betray themselves, giving into violence and fear, and demonstrating an abject failure to care for and protect their members, especially those lower down the scale.

Murder and kidnapping are always inexcusable. But state murder and kidnapping, that uses the instruments of the State - the armed forces, medical profession, church leadership and judiciary - against its own people, must be judged with even greater severity. Such are the conversations we have here, as we watch the long-awaited trials of military generals, who, thirty years on, still claim torture, murder and kidnapping are legitimate tools of the State.

Laura Alcoba's testimony ends with her search for Clara Anahí, the baby of the couple her and her mother lived with in the rabbit house, who is suspected to have been illegally adopted following the murder of her parents in 1976. The recent review in the Guardian notes that several thirty-two year old women have come forward since the book was published, wanting to establish if they are the missing Clara Anahí.

Both Laura Alcoba and the still missing Clara Anahí must piece together their childhood, out of the silences and secrets, the missing photos and false names. There is still much truth to be told in this land. There is still much truth to be told in every land.

The Rabbit House was published in English this month and is available on Amazon.

Photo of Clara Anahí with her mother, Diana Teruggi.

rabbit factory

2008-09-17T22:32:00.003-03:00

Lima, 1995

The visit was not a success. I could barely look at the caged rabbits as the priest explained the project. Wool and meat, he told me, for the people of this pueblo joven set on a stony hillside.

Wool and meat. A rabbit factory.

I didn't feel like eating. But from the hall, we stepped into the dining room. The brown wood and thick carpet did not match the dust outside. Neither did the stew the housekeeper brought. Gravy smothered the boiled potatoes and carrots. I scraped off the brown liquid and swallowed quickly.

This was not what I had hoped for. No-one sang cantos del pueblo. No bright arpilleras bore witness. There was just a man, longing for brown stew, and seeking ways to 'feed his flock.'

promised colour

2008-09-15T22:55:00.002-03:00

graffiti near a hospital

2008-09-08T00:33:00.004-03:00

Si el papa fuera mujer, el aborto sería Ley.
If the Pope was a woman, abortion would be legal.

Católicas por el Derecho a Decidir are one of several groups working in support of women's reproductive rights in Latin America. The US sister group is Catholics for Choice.

el nido vacio

2008-08-31T20:15:00.002-03:00

El Nido Vacio The Empty Nest (2008) is set in a Buenos Aires that I have never seen. Even if you account for the film's middle-class literarty setting, it's hard to get your bearings. This is a city bereft of buses, with litter-free streets and few dogs. In this version of the city, there are no botched-plastic surgery inflicted women, nor asado-loving men.

This was the first film I had seen with Cecilia Roth in it - oh, no it turns out it wasn't as she was in Pedro Almodóvar's Hable con ella (and several other of his films). Nevertheless, I was interested to see her work and I liked the exuberance of her character Marta.

The film is concerned with some favourite porteño preoccupations - group psychotherapy, empañadas, late-late-night dinner parties, adored authors (and the book they are struggling to find time to write), smoking (and quitting), sex and seduction. But above all it's about family, and how a couple adjusts to their 'empty nest.'

Watch the trailer below (sorry no subtitles):

Anoche. Un baile de tango

2008-08-29T14:05:00.008-03:00

They opened up the old Harrod's building on Florida yesterday. It was the second time in twenty years. Someone had repainted the walls a stark white.They had polished the wooden floors and fixed the chandelier lights.

The people came back to visit their old haunt. They sat on the elegant lounge chairs as if nothing had changed in so many years, designer purchases set down beside them. They sipped café cortado and talked about the day's news.

But more than shop, they came to dance. They made a milonga between the smooth wooden pillars. Strangers met for a moment under the pink lights. Glittering gold, bright red zapatos de tango were on display. An old couple lent heavily against each other, as if this were to be their last dance.

Anoche. Un baile de tango, part of the Tango Buenos Aires 10th Festival, recreated scenes from a night at a dance hall. The crowd mingled, partners shifting and changing as the night wore on. A shy couple, stuck at opposite ends of the room, finally met as the last note was struck. A maestro made a couple dance in their sleep, dancing first with the woman, and then with the man. Three girls lept up, all convinced it was at them that the handsome young man had winked. A young woman was rescued by her friend from a man who talked so much he kept missing his steps, and misplacing his dance partner. Three men - one too tall, one too short, and the other too..?, intercepted each other as they sought the hand of a beautiful dancer.

As the night drew to a close, we slipped out into the street and away.

--
See more photos of the Harrod's event here.

murga

2008-08-23T21:11:00.000-03:00

Yesterday in the courtyard of ISEDET, the German volunteers were learning how to dance a murga. The battering of drums drove me out of the library to watch. Two tall pale boys kicked their legs high and flung arms wildly. The drummers drummed, the ring broke for a moment, and another pair took over the dance.

The day before, I had breakfasted with María Alejandra, and, amongst many other fascinating things, she told me about a group of young people from her barrio in Rosario, who had recently performed a murga dance and song, commenting - as murgas always have - on their daily life, their struggles, and their hopes.

Today, Cecelia told me that once the drumming starts in the neighbourhood plaza, it's hard to stop it. The drummers drum, the ring opens for a moment, and more and more dancers are spun into the circle.

---
Murga Argentina by Juan Carlos Caceres is available in the UK

el último beso abajo la luna llena

2008-08-19T21:12:00.003-03:00

Before the moon took back the night sky, I stole a last kiss.

Yesterday in Palermo, I carried my books from café to café, ending the evening at el último beso.

For several hours, I sat in one of the interlinked rooms, the light of dusk soothing the cream walls. Each table was set with pink and white freesias and mismatched china. As the darkness grew, candles were lit and their flames reflected in the fountains. Friends and lovers gathered around the courtyard, walls overtaken by trailing vines, corners lit up by pots of red cyclamen and tender citrus trees.

The tea menu paid homage to 'the most acclaimed, anticipated and passionate kisses of the silver screen.' Maybe you can identify a few: '...a blend of white flowers like the cotton that grows in the southern States;' '...green tea, mint, and Fez rose petals..;' 'with red Rooibus tea leaves, of the same crimson colour as the locks of Rita.'

I selected Before Sunrise ('...perfumed with the scents of eternal love') having recently enjoyed rewatching it and it's sequel Before Sunset, but they were out of the blend, so I settled for You've Got Mail ('..blue petals like the ones in the garden in which they finally meet').

But do not despair, my critical faculties had not abandoned me! In the midst of all this romance and loveliness, I continued reading Rosemary Radford Ruether's feminist reassessment of Christian marriage. The perfect antidote!

camacuá y bonifacio

2008-08-15T00:51:00.005-03:00

I went out to pay the phone bill. Today is the last day. Nora who cleans and washes and keeps all in order crosses the road ahead of me. "Nora! wait up." We chat. "Lots of noise from the builders drilling," she says "And the street being dug up," I say. "But what about the Germans?" she asked. "What?.. oh, no.. no problems this year," I tell her. We stop outside the pago facil (the irony) It's locked up - something about the system being down, but there's a notice about a new place to pay. "I'll go back and find it," I tell Nora. "Chau, chau, hasta mañana"

Back track one block but the new pago facil is not yet open.

OK, so Disco supermarket is my best bet I figure. I retrace my steps, cross the road by the flower stall on the corner. Walk to Disco. "José! Professor!" I touch the sleeve of his blue cotton jacket, "Hola, cómo está?" I often see him out and about, completing routine tasks or enthusiastically debating a theological point with a student. José heads out, and I breath a sign of relief that the checkout queues aren't long. At the one till where it is possible to pay bills, a man in front of me points out to the cashier that she has only entered 5 of his 6 bills. It's my turn. "Just the phone bill" I say hopefully. The bar code won't scan. She tries to enter the barcode manually and the numbers stream across her till-screen. No luck. "Maybe the systems down.." she says. "But today's my last day to pay!" I plead with her not to give up. And then, it goes through. Hurrah.

I'm at the locutorio and see Hugo. Hugo is golden - dependable, helpful, everything you want at the front desk. "Hey," he asks, "Have those Germans been bothering you?" I laugh, "Nora just asked me. But no, this year's volunteers have been fine. Not like last year. I had to get up in the middle of the night and yell at them to stop banging saucepans!" We get to the door and Hugo stops to finish his smoke.

Evenings are quiet. I write and email, drink cups of tea and follow the medal chasers in Beijing. But soon there come the rubbish trucks, and the motorbikes; and in the morning, the drilling and the digging will begin.

Nuestra Señora de Luján

2008-08-13T22:01:00.005-03:00

I finally made it to Luján last Sunday, taking the Lujanera bus with Ulrika. Luján has been a site of Marian devotion since 1630 when a wooden statue of Mary miraculously stopped by the river Luján, en route from Brazil. Since then various miracles have been associated with the statue (the picture is of an 'accessible' replica at the back of the church).

The Virgin of Luján is patroness of both Argentina and Uruguay. The first Saturday in October and 8th December are both days of pilgrimage to Luján, with devotees setting out from the chapel of San Cayetano in the barrio of Liniers.

I've been reading about the numerous appearances of Mary across Latin America, many - such as Guadalupe - appeared at existing sites of devotion to goddesses or other divine figures. The Virgin of Luján is not linked to any pre-Columbian goddess figure, sadly. Moreover, her dark identity was soon lost, as the simple wooden statue was covered over in the European blue and white robes of Mary, and ‘whitened’ through silver overlay (Trillini et al. 2004: 135).

Unlike other Latin American Marías, it's difficult to find stories of resistance or challenge associated with Luján; rather the opposite. The Argentine dictatorship aggressively promoted devotion to the Virgin of Luján as a method of maintaining traditional Catholic morality and devotion (Althaus-Reid 2000: 59). And Pope John Paul II visited the Luján during his 1982 visit - praying at the shrine and calling for peace but failing to challenge with any conviction either the military Junta or the Falklands/ Malvinas conflict.

Nevertheless, the Virgin of Luján opened up space for justice in one specific moment – it was in October 1976 on pilgrimage to Luján that the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo chose to wear white headscarves (actually cloth nappies once used by their children) as a way of identifying each other. Lost in the crowds of pilgrims, they were able to meet, talk and be found by others also looking for their missing children. In the plaza outside the church at Luján, the Madres petitioned for their children.

So much for Luján. After a quick peep inside the church, and an interesting lunch experience, I ventured into one of the many Santerías around the plaza. Inspired by Marcella Althaus-Reid (and who isn't?!) I was looking for a couple of more risqué characters.

Like a child collecting football stickers, I gave a little whoop of joy when the helpful staff deciphered my mispronounced request and, out of a back room, produced a devotional card of Santa Librada, a crucified female saint (or a crucified Mary, or even a cross-dressing Jesus, see Althaus-Reid 2000: 80). Santa Librada, also known as Wilgefortis or Uncumber, to whom women pray for delivery from abusive husbands or unwanted suitors. I'm sure I'll have more to say about her in some later post...

Buoyant with success, but failing to remember the name of the second santa, I resorted to dramatic interpretation: "She's a woman, in the desert... one of her breasts is exposed.. she has a baby..." Holy charades and - hurrah! - a card of La Difunta Correa was mine for 75 centavos. La Difunta Correa is connected to women who work as roadside prostitutes (Althaus-Reid 2000: 85), and is another marginal figure, caught between scandal and sanctification.

Accompanied by Santa Librada and La Difunta Correa, we left the banks of Luján and headed home.

---
Althaus-Reid, Marcella (2000) Indecent Theology Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender and Politics London/ New York: Routledge

Trillini, Coca; Andant, María Teresa; y Bani, Claudia (2004) “La Virgen de Luján y la fuerza de los arquetipos” en Verónica Cordero, Graciela Pujol, Mary Judith Rees & Coca Trillini (2004) Vírgenes y diosas en América Latina. La resignificación de lo sagrado Santiago: Con-spirando; Buenos Aires: Red Latinoamericana de Católicas por el Derecho de Decidir, pp.117-38.

running away with the circus

2008-08-06T20:26:00.004-03:00

white plaster flakes drift down
everything is movement
even the walls

spinning, spin
twisting
the purple drapes bite into flesh
hang on - hang on!
breath

i watch his hands
one, two
one, two
drop. they scatter to the walls

in front of me Gabriel gurgles
unfocused eyes glimpse
a girl in a hoop

i hope you're not involved in it

2008-08-04T22:14:00.005-03:00

Foro de Género de CLAI Argentina (the Gender Forum of the Council for Latin American Churches, Argentina) has issued a statement calling for the reform of laws concerning trafficking and prostitution.

Many of the women who enter prostitution in Argentina are kidnapped. Once used, they are often killed. Brothels are illegal in Argentina but officials often turn a blind eye to their activities. Exploitation of women and children depends on the complicity of the state and media and other institutions, including the church.

Without men who pay for sex, there would be no prostitution or trafficking of women and children for sex. These men are fathers, husbands, lovers, friends, colleagues of other men and women, all of whom may have opportunities to challenge their behaviour.

CLAI are calling for the following changes to be made to the recent law on trafficking:

Removal of the requirement for victims of human trafficking who are over 18 to prove they have been trafficked, since this wrongly implies some women may be complicit in their own trafficking.
Custodial sentences for crimes related to trafficking and pimping.
Financial support for victims of trafficking and prostitution.

On the idea of church complicity in the exploitation of women for sex, I wondered, What might a sermon about prostitution read like? Not one that speculates on the identity of the 'penitent sinner' in Luke's gospel, mixing her up with Mary Magdalene who is thus portrayed forever after as a prostitute, not an apostle and leader of the early church; nor one on how Jesus had compassion for - shock - prostitutes and sinners; nor even those prophetic ones that call for support for women forced into prostitution. No, what would a sermon about prostitution look like, a sermon that addresses the thousands of British men who pay for sex - men sitting in front of, or even behind, the pulpit - and speaks a word to them...

A sermon about prostitution
In 'When the sun goes down,' the Arctic Monkeys song about prostitution, there are three men. One is the pimp, one is the man who buys sex, and one is the man who chooses not to. Which one are you?

Oh what scummy man. Not to be trusted, he protects himself while placing the women he controls at risk. He stays warm out-of-sight while they freeze on the street corner. He uses drugs, violence and fear to keep 'his girls' on the street. He has a nasty plan, involving other men who trick young women and girls with offers of good jobs, women and girls who are forced into having sex with anonymous men. His nasty plan makes the most of Britain's inhuman treatment of so-called illegal immigrants and asylum seekers. His nasty plan is helped by 'lads mags' and other forms of pornography. His nasty plan is one step further to being realised every time some woman is called a whore or slag or slut.
I hope you're not involved in it.

The second man. Isn't he Mister Inconspicuous? He could be anybody. He drives a Ford Mondeo. He is the silent partner, the hidden face of exploitation. What he does has only just begun to be seen as a crime - indeed, in many places, what he does is seen as natural and acceptable. A boy's night out. Some harmless fun. Let's make a man of you! He tells himself, 'If I didn't pay her, someone else would - and at least she's out of the cold.' But it is his sense of his right to sex, his belief that this is normal behaviour, his ability to use another human being for his own satisfaction, that enables prostitution to continue. He looks at this woman and sees only himself. He is at the heart of the nasty plan.
I hope you're not involved in it.

And so, the third man. He looks at the girl and sees her. He sees a story, something that has gone wrong. He sees the dirty, cold misery of it all. He's nervous about being there, embarrassed to overhear the woman being ordered to approach him. He comes from the same town as the other men. He's used to the same culture and jokes as they hear. But he chooses to be different: 'Sorry love I'll have to turn you down.'

In the stories we have been given about Jesus, prostitutes are mentioned as examples of faith. They who survive outside of acceptable society, on the dusty roads or at the gates of the city, they are the ones who look at Jesus and see good in him. Jesus teaches us again and again to look and see each other as humans, with stories to tell, and dreams to dream. We are not objects for another's use. Neither are we bound to social expectations of what is acceptable or normal behaviour. By God's grace we are free to live and love, to honour and cherish ourselves and others. Like Jesus did, we are called to look and see the world for what it is.

We can always say no to participating in the harming of another. We can break the silent acceptance of violence against women. We can ensure we are not involved in it, on any level and to any degree. We can always change our minds and begin believing in a different way of living, the way that Jesus taught us.

Jesus said to them, "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him. (Matthew 21: 31-2)

man to man

2008-07-30T13:55:00.006-03:00

I was really encouraged by an interview in today's Guardian with Vernon Coaker, MP with responsibility for police and community safety.

During his time in office, he has focused on getting men to take responsibility for their actions, and those of their friends, work colleagues and other men, as the recent campaign against use of brothels highlights.

His legacy is likely to be that he helped to make men accountable for rape and domestic violence, and to change minds and attitudes, as well as crime statistics and conviction rates. "This is about the sort of society and communities we want to live in," Coaker says. "It is about men challenging other men's behaviour."

The key issue for Coaker is public education. "You make the absolute assertion that rape is a criminal act, one of the most heinous we know, and there will be consequences. It is about teaching respect, and educating men to bring about attitudinal change.

Read the full interview here.

on not being everything

2008-07-28T18:04:00.002-03:00

A monotheism that idolizes one god sustains and is sustained by the exclusion of gender and ethnicity. Perhaps because of this, the theologies that are being woven by feminists and by ethnic groups inside and outside Christianity are able to be put forward as participants in an ecumenical conversation and coexistence on the frontier of multiculturalism in Latin America.

Why do they not fear to not be One, to not be Everything?…because they know that they are [only a] part…[and are] letting go of the crumbs of power that Christianity still receives from the powerful of the continent as part of an exchange of favours at both symbolic and material level. (Cardoso Pereira 1996: 458)

--
Cardoso Pereira, Nancy (1996) “Damned, Pleasure-Loving and Devout: Women and Religion” in International Review of Mission Vol. LXXXV No338 July 1996 Geneva: WCC, pp. 447-59.

the price of bread

2008-07-26T16:30:00.008-03:00

Via MEDH, the ecumenical human rights organization here in Argentina, I received yesterday a letter from the Bishop and staff of Humahuaca. Bishop Pedro Olmedo has pastoral care for one of the poorest regions of Argentina, in the far far north of the country. The region, encompassing parts of Salta and Jujuy, is stunningly beautiful, but living is difficult in a harsh climate with high unemployment and isolated communities. The mining industry, while providing employment, is contaminating the landscape.

The letter is in response to the ongoing crisis between the Kirchner government and the campo (countryside, but more specifically here the farmers - especially the soya farmers who export the majority of their crop), arguing that forgotten heart of the matter is the impoverishment of an increasing number of Argentines.

It calls attention to the people who are dying for lack of medicines and medical attention, noting also:

Malnutrition, that appeared to be under control, is adding to the harsh reality of hunger and poverty, but... [the government] continue to give the same level of support as in years past. It is impossible for children and young people to be fed today on 60 centavos (10 pence) per day.

The bishop goes on to criticize the government for its massaging of statistics concerning the level of inflation and cost of living. Insted of relying on such figures, people need to look at the cost of basic goods: a few months ago bread cost 3 pesos per kilo (50 pence), today it costs 5 pesos or more (~85 pence); a litre of oil has risen from 3 pesos to 8 pesos.

According to the bishop, 60% of the region's inhabitants struggle to survive below the poverty line. Regional and national migration has increased, causing further problems in urban centres.

There is sense of being isolated, far from the centre of power in Buenos Aires. The government seems unconcerned about the growing poverty and has failed to initiate programmes of support.

Inflation is having an impact on my daily routine too as I look at the price of a cup of coffee or get the bill from the photocopiers and think 'ooch.' But it's nothing compared to the experience of those who were already only just clinging on.

The bishop's letter, accompanied by photos can be read here. I read it and remembered our trip to Salta and Jujuy this time last year. This is a area out of sight and out of mind for many porteños, except as a winter holiday destination. But many of the people who live there are struggling to get by. Like in so many other countries, such day to day poverty fails to get the attention of the wealthy and powerful. But it's time it did.

---
photos July 2007 (2nd by Caz)

no ser dios y cuidarlos

2008-07-25T13:20:00.002-03:00

No ser Dios y cuidarlos had a limited release in Argentine cinemas last month. I missed it but found first the trailer and then the whole film on youtube. The film is a documentary about a degree programme run by the University of Buenos Aires (UBA) within the high security prison, Cárcel de Devoto (the setting for Manuel Puig's Kiss of the Spider Woman). The Centro Universitario Devoto (CUD) began in 1985 and the film blurb suggests it was pioneering work, enabling university professors to work with the prisoners directly.

The reoffending rate for ex-prisoners in Argentina is 70% but the film offers evidence that it is as low as 3% for those who have participated in CUD since the prisoners are enabled through their degree qualification to find work on returning home.

Here is the trailer:

I haven't yet watched the film but when I do, I'll make some further comments.

Carlos Páez Vilaró - fragmentos

2008-07-13T22:37:00.016-03:00

Inspired by this article from La Nacion, read over coffee and medialunas one morning, I gathered up a few friends and took the train to Tigre to visit the new exhibition of paintings and sculpture by Carlos Páez Vilaró. Páez Vilaró has been painting for a long time, hanging out with the likes of Picasso and, alternatively, Albert Schweitzer at his leprosy hospital in the Gabon. (*painting to the right entitled, "Suddenly, another sun was born.") I had wanted to visit his Casapueblo near Punto del Este in Uruguay but it was this paragraph that made the exhibition a must see for me:

Su amor por las orillas de Uruguay y de la Argentina, su interés por la cultura afrouruguaya, su pasión por los viajes y por la pintura que, en sus propias palabras, "le dio todo", se imbrican de forma tal que es difícil separar al artista del hombre.
His love for the river banks of Uruguay and Argentina, his interest in African-Uruguayan culture, his passion for travel and painting, in his own words, 'say it all,' are interwoven in such a way that it is difficult to separate the artist from the man.

I spent a long time with his most recent paintings imagining the resistance of Africans to slavery and colonialism.

"I was present when the African revolution shot its first arrow" (part)

"I stayed magnetized on arriving at the shores of the island of Fernando Pó"

At his home in Tigre, a quiet walk down the river bank, the late afternoon light flooded the enclosed garden, and lush green prevented all but glances of the casapueblo-style house constructed there.

it's oh so quiet...

2008-07-09T11:17:00.004-03:00

"Where is everyone?" I wondered, peering out of my window at the empty streets below. It's cold this morning. Cold, quiet and foggy. Foggy weather equals smelly weather, as the city's refuse decomposes and the damp air holds everything down.

Feeling like everyone else was in the know, I reached for my guide to Buenos Aires and, with a sinking feeling, confirmed that today, 9 July, is a national holiday.

Now once upon a time I loved holidays. But these past three years have put me right off them. Holidays in another country are often lonely and frustrating days. Holidays in Argentina mean for me:

No heating - I only get heating when the offices downstairs are in use.
No-one to sort out my hot water heater - it worked Monday but has now packed in.
No library! - no-where warm and comfortable to work.
No friends to meet up with - everyone is busy with family.
Shops open only part of the day - thankfully I endured Disco supermarket yesterday (...now maybe that was why the checkout queue was over 30 minutes long - then again, that's normal in Disco).

Actually, I'm feeling fine today - off to a more lively part of town and taking my books with me for a lovely afternoon in my favourite cafe. Then a festive trip to the cinema.

But my dislike of holidays has given me an insight into the loneliness of Christmas, Easter and other occasions for those far from home. And that's no bad thing.

Welcoming the stranger who lives amongst us is one of the duties of Christians, Jews and other people of faith. Indeed, the experience of being a stranger in a strange land is fundamental to the Jewish people and it is by reminding them of this that God calls on them to offer hospitality and care to the stranger amongst them:

You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. (Deuteronomy 10:19)

Befriending the lonely, reaching out across national and religious divides, enlarging our circle a little more. All these are good things to celebrate today and everyday.

¡Feliz día de la Independencía!

leonera

2008-06-15T22:29:00.004-03:00

Leonera (The Lion's Den, 2008) has received more international press than usual for an Argentine film due to being part of the official selection at Cannes. This afternoon Ulrika and I finally got to see it.

For a film set in a woman's prison in Argentina, it was a lot more uplifting that expected. And thankfully held back on the 'drama,' extending the camera lens over four years.

Julia has her son Tomas in the maternity wing of a prison in the north-eastern tropical region of Argentina. It's undeniably grime but there are no stereotypical bullies or baddies, either amongst the mostly female guards, or the inmates. Instead the film portrays the day-by-day adjustments and struggles of the women as they make the best of it. Maté is shared, as is the care of their children. The women cook, shower, do laundry, argue, cry, even laugh a little.

When Julia returns to the wing with Tomas for the first time, both she and her tiny newborn baby are fingerprinted (or, in the case of Tomas, foot-printed). This scene is in the trailer below and was one of the moments that most affected me; the innocence of tiny feet jarring with the institutionalization of mother and child. The endless cycle of documents, fingerprinting and officials also reminded me of my own - thankfully limited - encounters with Argentine bureaucracy.

Amidst the routine, come birthday parties, goodbyes and celebrations. As fireworks scatter light across the dense black sky, the women and their children laugh and cheer as Santa Nöel dances along the barrier wall, dressed in red and sparkling like the fireworks around her.

The official site gives a useful synopsis and details of reviews. And you can see the trailer (without subtitles) here:

two queers

2008-06-14T23:45:00.002-03:00

Eleanor Rigby died in the church
and was buried along with her name.
Nobody came.
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands
as he walks from the grave.
No one was saved.

John Lennon reportedly once described Eleanor Rigby as a song about 'two queers.' Two lonely people who meet only at the end of life.

I thought about people who keep a face by the door, and pick up the rice scattered at other people's weddings; people who struggle to be heard, and who must be their own companion. I thought about loneliness as I sat in my coat in the church sanctuary last night, listening to members of an small inclusive fellowship describe their struggle to accept and be accepted in their sexual orientation. "Conviction," Marcelo said, "you must have conviction of your value and dignity."

Ai, Dios, that we the church, the body(s) of Christ, have managed to destroy the truth and joy of the lives of others and our own.

Marcella Althaus-Reid (and this would be better if I could find the reference) says something like, all Christians should aim to be queer - willing to distort doctrines and dogmas, and to get lost in the maze of faith. So, I ask, is the church ready to embrace it's queerness? To hear unspoken names, to build arches for queer lovers, and to be home for all the lonely people?

"Two queers," said John, "belong."

For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them. (Matthew 18:20)

leaf

2008-06-13T23:13:00.001-03:00

El otoño es una segunda primavera
en la que cada hoja es un flor.

Autumn is a second spring
when every leaf's a flower.
(Albert Camus)

Outside the restaurant was a small tree, its trunk metal-grey, and the last leaves sparkling like shards of green glass.

from the ground up

2008-06-10T13:46:00.002-03:00

Video created by local Oxfam volunteers and staff in Birmingham.

puzzling it out

2008-05-31T20:06:00.004-03:00

The blue and green plastic bottle tops had been compacted into the soil over time. They reminded me of an exhibition I saw last year in Centro Cultural Borges. Blue, green, white bottle tops scattered over the gallery walls, curving and swirling, and cut into flower shapes. Who knew rubbish could be so pretty?

But there was nothing beautiful about this place. The ash from the burning rubbish tasted sour and I was glad Arturo had told us to be quick. We were visiting an after-school project supported by MEDH in Villa Itatí, just outside the city of Buenos Aires. Since it was Saturday, there were no kids about, but a volunteer told us how the one-room building next to the sorting barn offered space for local children to do their homework and chat over milk and rolls.

Villa Itatí is a large villa (shanty town) of over 50,000 people (2001 figures). People began settling in the area when the autopista (motorway) was constructed several decades ago. The excavations for the motorway left an empty valley into which came the poor. At the bottom, Arturo tells us, are those who are the poorest of all. They live at a level that is at constant risk of flooding. Many cartoneros live and work there. They gather recyclable material from the city's bins and haul it back to be sorted. Their roughly constructed homes sit cheek-by-jowl with the rubbish. All the children, Arturo tells us, have respiratory problems, and their arms are often covered in sores.

If I leave my flat I will see cartoneros searching through the large bins on the street corner. They pull their carts themselves now; when I first arrived tatty ponies trotted along the capital's streets at night, the carts stacked higher and higher behind them. I usually try to catch the eye of those cartoneros I pass on the street, say a brief buenos or hola but I'm not sure it that makes them (or me) feel better or worse. How can I begin to imagine there is a connection between us? That we share enough in common for us to share greetings? They live off my waste.

The barn and after-school club are at the edge of Villa Itatí, just visible as we passed over the rim of the crater. A line of clothes gathered from the rubbish hung drying in the smoke. We weaved through bales of cardboard and flattened plastic, ready to be sold on. With the support of MEDH and other organizations, the cartoneros of this sector of the villa formed a cooperative Asociación de Cartoneros de Villa Itatí, about which a documentary was filmed in 2003. They get a better price selling 100 bales of cardboard than 10 bales individually.

Saturday lunch-time and a calm had settled over the villa. A child was showing off a new puppy, clasped tightly in his arms. In the sunshine outside the barn, six young men lent against plastic bales of sorted rubbish. I felt embarrassed to be there, walking past them, talking in English. We said hola, and it felt awkward. As we left we said goodbye chau, gracias, chau gente. For once I was standing on their ground. This was their barrio and I was the intruder, allowed in for a brief few minutes.

As we left, the young men resumed their conversations. A couple of them were leafing through magazines, salvaged from the day's findings. And one was relaxing in the Saturday afternoon sun with a word-search puzzle. Figure that out.

---
Image of cartoneros via this article but originally from here.

Image of bottle tops design by Fran Crowe - read more about her work on BBC.

Rio Negro massacre convictions

2008-05-29T23:12:00.005-03:00

The BBC reports

A court in Guatemala has sentenced five former paramilitaries each to 780 years in prison for the 1982 murder of 26 indigenous Mayan villagers.

They received the maximum sentence of 30 years for each of the murders which took place during an infamous massacre of 177 women and children in Rio Negro.

The victims died refusing to move from the site of a new hydroelectric dam.

The church-led report Guatemala, Nunca Más has been published in English in summary form. The report of the UN sponsored Commission for Historical Clarification (CEH) is available online in English in summary.

26 lives taken; 26 years waiting for justice.

three glad moments

2008-05-27T20:21:00.002-03:00

1. Running into the amazing and beautiful Ana Inés on the doorstep of ISEDET.
2. Spotting a neat box of maracuyas at the grocers, and buying three of them.
3. Hugo waving a letter for me - an invitation to James' baptism.

lovely!

¡hasta la fotocopia, siempre!

2008-05-23T22:49:00.004-03:00

Ah, the photocopier. Not very exciting.

But what if photocopying led to the revelation of those involved in human rights abuses? What if mindless photocopying became an act of civil disobedience, a revolutionary act?

I re-encountered a story I'd heard a while back this week, about a secret operation to record military abuses during the Brazilian dictatorship (1964- 1985). Like many Latin American regimes of the time, torture became a standard means of control. In 1979 both political prisoners and state security agents were granted amnesty, preventing investigation into torture and detentions. The law, however, did allow lawyers to see official court records and even take away individual files for up to 24 hours. The records included detailed accounts of torture, including the witness statements of victims, who were often then returned into the hands of their torturers by the military judges.

A presbyterian minister and the Archbishop of São Paulo together spotted an opportunity to exploit the law. With funding from the World Council of Churches (smuggled into Brazil by individuals carriers) they hired a small group of lawyers. The lawyers began accessing the military records under the pretense of preparing amnesty submissions. Each file was formally checked out of the military archives and taken to a small office in the centre of Brasilia, equipped with three photocopiers. The team worked ten hours a day, seven days a week, to copy the records in time to return them without suspicion the next day. The photocopies were backed up on microfilms and smuggled out of Brazil to the World Council of Churches offices in Geneva. For three years volunteers and lawyers worked in secret, until the entire archive of one million pages had been copied.

At the same time, the team had begun to process the information, producing a seven thousand page report into state violence. Two journalists were employed to write a popular version of the report. On July 15th 1985, without any advance publicity, copies of the book, Brasil: Nunca Mais (Brazil, Never Again) began surfacing in shops throughout Brazil. The military at first attempted to ban the book, but soon discovered the book was about to be published in the USA and that a complete backup of the archive existed in Geneva.

Nunca Mais proved conclusively that torture was fully part of the military justice system. Some months after its publication, a list of more than four hundred people responsible for the torture was made public, leading to the torturers removal from state office. In 1999 Brazilian medical associations began hearings to revoke the medical licenses of doctors who took part in the torture of political prisoners between 1964 and 1985.

We are called to be truth-tellers, peace-makers, justice-bearers. Our chances to do such work may be limited to the dull and routine, but they are there, waiting for us to take them up.

----
Much of the text describing the process in Brazil is taken from the Oxford Research Group's booklet on peace-making, available for free download on their site.

Harper, Charles R. (2006) O Acompanhamento – Ecumenical Action for Human Rights in Latin America 1970 -1990 Geneva: WCC Publications

See also Lawrence Weschler’s account of the Nunca Mais project, A Miracle, a Universe - Settling Accounts with Torturers (University of Chicago Press, 1998).

William Cavanaugh - Torture and Eucharist

2008-05-19T20:54:00.005-03:00

To participate in the Eucharist is to live inside God’s imagination. It is to be caught up into what is really real, the body of Christ. As human persons, body and soul, are incorportated into the performance of Christ’s corpus verumm, they resist the state’s ability to define what is real through the mechanism of torture. (Cavanaugh 1998: 279)

Although William Cavanaugh's book is now ten years old, and concerned with events of the 1970s and 1980s, abduction and torture are not yet consigned to Latin America's history. At the beginning of this month, human rights activist Juan Puthod was kidnapped in Buenos Aires Province. Puthod was due to testify against military officials accused of crimes carried out during the dictatorship. He was the third witness to be abducted in the past three years (Julio Lopez disappeared September 2006 and has still not been found; Luis Gerez, also abducted 2006, was found after 48 hours).

Fortunately, Puthod was found in little over a day following a massive police hunt. This was not the first time he had been illegally detained and, as before, he was blindfolded and beaten by his captors, who told him, ‘buddy, you don’t understand that we still have your life in our hands. Even after 32 years, your life still belongs to us.'

In such times, Cavanaugh argues that the Eucharist can function as a method of resisting violence, fear and torture. Being part of a Eucharistic community should shape believers according to Christian virtues of peace, justice, hope, love and forgiveness. It should make visible an alternative way of living, based on mutual relationship rather than control.

But if fails to do that, the Eucharist can also function as a method of discipline, through the act of excommunication. Cavanaugh traces the use of excommunication by the Chilean Roman Catholic Church. He notes that as early as 1626, the Synod of Santiago excommunicated slave traders. Promising, I thought. But he goes on to list a whole range of instances in which the church uses excommunication to protect its position in politics or the law etc, or to reinforce "traditional" morality (outlawing abortion and divorce). The church in Chile at various times excommunicated both those who joined the Communist Party, and rich patrons who didn't pay their workers a just wage.

During Pinochet's rule, Catholic bishops issued two decrees of excommunication against the regime. One was against the security agents who harassed several bishops at Santiago airport on their return from a pastoral conference in Ecuador. Cavanaugh suggests this instance did not go much beyond traditional concerns over protecting the standing of the church hierarchy. Indeed the bishops were able to draw directly on canon law, which explicitly names violence towards bishops as a reason for excommunication.

The second instance was in December 1980 when seven bishops issued a degree of excommunication against all those involved directly in torture and those who authorized its use. Again, Cavanaugh argues the force of the degree was weakened by the lack of willingness to name names.

New to me (but not to the church who developed this belief early on) is the idea that excommunication, far from being a cutting off, is actually ‘an invitation to rejoin the flock.’ By pointing out to the guilty party that their actions have placed them outside the church community, they can begin to take the necessary steps to return.

Excommunication is the formal offering of reconciliation in the hope that even the most hardened offender will be saved...The only point to disciplining the individual sinner is to reconcile her to the body of Christ, for without incorporation into Christ’s body, salvation is jeopardized. (Cavanaugh 1998: 240-44)

Finally, by naming what is outside the church, excommunication also acts to make visible the true body of Christ. It is therefore an act of witness to the wider society; a proclamation of what it is (and is not) to be a Christian.

Both these functions of excommunication - to witness and to reconcile - appeal. But what concerns me is that excommunication has generally been used to enforce conservative private morality or to protect the political standing of the church. Much less frequently has the church excommunicated in order to reveal injustice, challenge violent regimes, or protect the poor.

I have a whole list at my fingertips of actions over which I would love to issue a few well-worded degrees of excommunication. But until we learn together what it means to be the body of Christ, there will still be confusion over what actions place a member outside the community.

I don't believe there is room for all in the church. But I do believe that every rejection should also be an offer of reconciliation, a hand that holds at arms length but holds, waiting for the one sent away to return.

---
Cavanaugh, William T. (1998) Torture and Eucharist Oxford: Blackwell Publishers

escuela sin gas

2008-05-18T23:29:00.002-03:00

On my bus route home yesterday, it was all about the petrol stations. Not my usual focus (usually I peer into ice-cream parlours or watch kids playing in the street on a lazy Saturday afternoon) but I was doing research. Actually, by the time I'd decided to do a non-scientific survey of the petrol stations along bus route 44, we were half-way home. But we passed three - the first had a sign saying 'No oil or gas'; the second was out of diesel; and the third had tape wrapped round its petrol pumps.

But it was when I got off the bus that something really caught my eye. As I walked the few blocks home, the local school had a new banner hanging over the gate. 'This school,' it said, 'doesn't have any gas.'

It's been a warm weekend so the lack of heating in college hasn't bothered me. But winter is on its way and the shortage of oil is going to be a problem.

Argentina has to buy in oil from neighbouring countries like Brazil and Bolivia. Last year rising prices and rising demand led to the government rationing oil supplies to certain companies. Unofficially, it also seemed that there was some rationing of oil to homes. That, or just another excuse from college for why the radiators weren't turned on.

In all this it will be the poor, elderly and vulnerable who are most affected. I wonder who made the sign outside the school, and what they hope to achieve. The banner makes visible the current economic crisis and how it directly impacts on people's lives. It makes me look beyond the school gate and into the unheated classrooms. My part of Flores isn't a poor area, so if schools here are struggling, those in the villas and poor barrios are facing an even tougher winter.

we're going to be here forever

2008-04-28T21:25:00.004-03:00

Today I read a crazy story about the qom people, Anglicanism and the Falklands/Malvinas conflict.

Gastón Gordillo has worked for several decades amongst members of the qom group (also known as toba). His anthropological research focuses on the qom living in western Formosa along the River Pilcomayo, whose shifting path has long caused territorial angst for the Argentine and Paraguayan governments.

In his book, Nosotros vamos a estar aca para siempre: historias tobas (We're going to be here forever: Toba histories), Gordillo collects and shares the memories of the qom people, interviewing numerous community members.

The qom were able to resist Spanish, and later Argentine, control due to their impenetrable home deep in the Chaco. They fought an Argentine army in 1917, having been warned of their approach by a shaman know as Yogodíñik. In the collective memory, this battle was a proud moment of struggle against the criollo people. However, the outcome was that many qom abandoned their land for a number of years. Difficult living conditions led to them taking up work at sugar mills, notably San Martín del Tabacal in Salta, often migrating seasonally for the work. They also worked on the construction of the railway. Both sugar mills and the railway were linked to British investors (more on that another time).

In 1928 the qom of the Pilcomayo region asked a local Anglican missionary (from the South American Missionary Society) to visit them. The missionary, Alfred Leake (whose son David Leake later became Bishop of Argentina), had a huge impact on the life of the qom. He was welcomed by many who felt they needed support in a fast changing context, facing conflict with recent criollo arrivals to the area. In 1938, the missionaries helped prevent a massacre of the people by the army. Toribio Sánches, one of the qom interviewed commented:

Era muy jodido antes cuando no había misionero. Todos querían matar al aborigen. It was damn awkward before when there were no missionaries. Everyone wanted to kill the indigenous people. (Toribio Sánchez, en Vaca Perdida, 1996)

But the mission also weakened qom traditions and methods of survival and resistance. Leake tried to stop converts drinking aloja, dancing, singing and consulting the pioGonáq (witch doctors or shamans). Not everyone was willing to turn their back on their culture, nor relinquish the guidance and healing offered by the shamans.

By the 1970s local lay workers had replaced the English missionaries but the qom community of Pilcomayo retained its Anglican identity, distinguishing it from other toba or qom groups that were predominantly Pentecostal. And this is where the trouble kicked in when Argentina came into conflict with Britain over the Falklands/ Malvinas in 1982. Argentine soldiers beat up local men and searched for weapons in their villages. The soldiers suspected the community of being loyal to the anglos/ anglicanos who had lived amongst them. They even claimed the qom were hiding an atomic bomb left by the English, to which one of the interviewees commented, 'The only bomb they left us was the Bible' (nicely ambiguous, I think).

Again, the qom survived and in 1985, after years of struggle, they finally gained official recognition of their ancestral lands.

This story is also a small fragment of my own, an encounter of English and Argentine, Argentine and qom. It warns me that good intentions can be marred by cultural arrogance. It alerts me to the easy excuses of those in power, searching for another justification for their violence. Most of all, the story of the qom encourages me to trust that holding onto the things that heal and nourish us will help us resist and remain, believing that, no matter what lies ahead, 'We're going to be here forever.'

---
Gordillo, Gastón (2005) Nosotros vamos a estar acá para siempre. Historias Tobas Buenos Aires: Editorial Biblos

on not giving to the temple

2008-04-22T22:27:00.003-03:00

So I've finally emailed off my paper on postcolonialism. I read a lot for this essay but the one thing that sticks in my head is something I read back one dark December day sitting in Queen's library.

That same evening, I remember driving down Windmill Hill with Dad (hello Dad!) I was gabbling away as usual:
- "Do you ever have one of those moments when you see things completely differently?" I asked, and before he could reply, I carried on, "Today I read this book by this man whose working in Birmingham and he was talkin 'bout the widow's mite. Do you remember the story?"
- "Yeph, yeph.. um.."
- "It's the one when the poor widow puts her money in the temple collection and Jesus sees her and comments how even though she has only given a tiny amount, it's worth more that what the rich people are giving coz it's all she had. Anyhow, the point is that I always thought, well, it's always said, that Jesus was saying how the gifts of the poor are worth more. Like if you give all you can, it's a good thing to do."

We get to the end of the traffic jam and turn into the main road. I pause for breath, briefly:
- "BUT that's not it. And I was like why didn't I see that before?! Because this person who I was reading today says that Jesus isn't saying the widow did a good thing giving her money to church. He was criticizing her. Or, well, he was sayin that she shouldn't put her money in the temple box. She should use it for herself. Because she needs it. But also, coz Jesus is saying, well he says in the part next to this story, that he is going to destroy the temple. And all the time he is challenging the religious authorities, so why would he encourage people to support them?"

Dad gets a word in. He thinks it's good if people without much money don't feel they have to give it to church. We get to where were going. Dad switches off the engine and gives a sigh of relief.

He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’ (Mark 12:41-44)

R. S. Sugirtharajah suggests Jesus is arguing that the widow has been duped or coerced into giving all she has to the Temple, which he goes on to say will soon be destroyed. Furthermore, in the verses immediately before the story of the widow's mite, Jesus specifically criticizes those who take money from widows (Sugirtharajah 1998a: 22-3).

Last night, my head still busy with my essay, I though about the widow's mite. I wondered for how long we should continue to support the institutional church with all its committees and creeds and 'this is how we have to do it' and 'my hands are tied' and 'Gene isn't invited.' It's 'let's be nice and not cause a fuss or get into trouble.' And it's mindnumbing dullness.

And that is not to say there is not also joy and true friendship, insight and courage, fresh flowers and cups of tea. That is not to say the church cannot be saved.

---
Sugirtharajah, R. S. (1998a) Asian Biblical Hermeneutics and Postcolonialism. Contesting the Interpretations Maryknoll, NY: Orbis

you don't know what you've got til it's gone

2008-04-21T12:11:00.002-03:00

Blue sky!
Green and gold leaves.
Fresh air.
Happy.

smoked out

2008-04-18T14:56:00.003-03:00

The third day of smoke here in Buenos Aires. First rumored to be the work of malevolent mayor Macri, burning the city's rubbish having been banned from dumping it in the province; it now turns out to be the fault of farmers in the Paraná region. They are burning scrubland to improve the land for...wait for it... cattle grazing! Great.

The smoke is covering the provinces of Entre Rios, Santa Fe and Buenos Aires, as well as parts of Uruguay.

Flights grounded, a further increase in traffic accidents, asthmatics being admitted to hospitals, washing having to be rewashed (my own personal annoyance), thick white smoke blanketing the city. And for what? More meat.

Photo and more from BBC .

time's up

2008-04-16T09:31:00.000-03:00

From today's Independent

How does eating meat cause hunger?

Because it is a very inefficient way of producing food. It takes 8kg of grain to produce 1kg of beef, and large tracts of forest have been cleared for grazing land that might have been used to grow crops. Chicken is more efficient to produce – it takes 2kg of feed to produce 1kg of meat. To maximise food production it is best to be vegan.

According to Simon Fairlie, in his magazine The Land, it would take just 3 million hectares of arable land to meet Britain's food needs, half the current total, if the population were vegan.

Come on people! Get it together!

walk like an egyptian, talk like an argentine

2008-04-08T09:17:00.002-03:00

From Diccionario del Habla de los Argentinos (3rd edition, 1995):

chamullo (Lunfardo) conversation, usually in a confidential tone (first recorded use 1957)
pibe, piba boy, girl, kid (1910)
cartonero person who reclaims and selects, from amongst the rubbish, cardboard boxes and other materials to sell (1998)
fideo wheat pasta of various shapes (1882)
guagua (from the Quechan word, wáwa) baby (1910)
balconear to look or observe with curiosity from a balcony or from any elevated location (1910)
yaguareté (from Guaraní) jaguar (1890)

under the southern cross

2008-04-06T09:59:00.003-03:00

I don't know how young I was when I first read Tschiffely's Ride but I remember searching for it years later to read once again. It was both the stars and the horses that enthralled me. I wondered about this Southern Cross. What it must be like to be guided by a different set of stars, a new arrangement.

So it was with contentment that I stood in the night air, the dog sitting on my feet, bare earth below and the Southern Cross bright above. And it was with delight that, earlier that day in Mendoza, I forged rivers and climbed hills, carried by Martina, a beautiful criollo pony just like Mancha and Gato, the two horses that carried Aimé Tschiffely from Buenos Aires to New York eighty years before.

But our adventures are not without stain (mancha). Postcolonial criticism has problematized the colonial travel-writing genre, finding in such tales of adventure a desire to name, map and exert control over foreign terrain. And feminists have made evident the symbolic connection between the conquering of land and the subjugation of women, particularly "native" or foreign women.

Furthermore, reading Ania Loomba's Colonialism/ Postcolonialism prompted me to pause at criollo. Criollo indicates the Spanish racial stratification of Latin American society. A criollo was someone born in the colonies but of 'pure blood' (limpieza de sangre). Criollo horses originated from Andalusian stock "gone native" on the pampas and plains of Latin America. To recover their pure state, seventy percent were slaughtered in the 1930s as part of a new breeding programme. My criollo pony was a survivor, her features deemed acceptable, and her blood pure.

Amongst postcolonial writers, however, it is mestizaje or hybrid identities that are celebrated, as colonial hierarchies of race and colour are broken down. Cuban-American theologian Ada María Isasi-Díaz urges Hispanic/ Latina communities to choose 'mestizaje as a way of understanding and interpreting ourselves’ (Isasi-Díaz 2004: 195). She goes on to point out that, ‘…in rejecting differences as substantive categories and attributes, what we are doing is welcoming our diversity as relational.’ (Isasi-Díaz 2004: 200). Our manchas or impurities are to be celebrated. The differences within and between us are our fresh blood, our energy for change.

---
Isasi-Díaz, Ada María (2004) En la Lucha/ In the Struggle Elaborating a Mujerista Theology, Tenth Anniversary Edition, Minneapolis: Fortress Press
Loomba, Ania (2005) Colonialism/Postcolonialism London/New York: Routledge, 2nd ed.
Tschiffely, Aimé Félix (1933) Tschiffely's Ride: Southern Cross to Pole Star London, William Heinemann

resistance

2008-04-05T19:58:00.003-03:00

In the quiet back streets of Santiago, women are called to resist.
The verb, resistir can mean to endure as well as to challenge. Gloria Anzaldúa observes:

Wailing is the Indian, Mexican and Chicana woman's feeble protest when she has no other recourse. These collective wailing rites may have been a sign of resistance in a society which glorified the warrior and war and for whom the women of the conquered tribes were booty (1987: 33).

How do we resist dominant (damaging) cultures and what they demands of us? How do we speak out, for example, in our churches; interrupting denial and the silencing of change? How do we suggest that being Christian does not require accepting the myth of life-giving death, does not prohibit abortion, does not equal family values, does not mean being better or right?

We may only be able to wail. We may only be able to stencil the city walls. We may only be able to refuse to go along with what is expected. We may be able to do more or less. It may take all we have simply to endure. But we must resist.

----
Anzaldúa, Gloria. 1987. Borderlands/ La frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute Books.

1 Congreso de Teólogas Latinoamericanos y Alemanas

2008-03-27T21:17:00.016-03:00

I've just got back from the Teologanda conference. It was an excellent three days with some major keynote speakers and a diverse programme of accompanying workshops.

What impressed me most, and in line with previous experiences of Teologanda, was the collaborative style of doing theology. The conference is just one part of a much wider process of developing the production of theology by Latin American women. Teologanda is training and nurturing women theologians, encouraging academic rigor and depth but within a supportive framework.

I presented a workshop paper on the motif of the home in Latin American feminist theologies. Fellow panelists were two theology students from Brazil exploring how the church might respond to domestic violence in light of a new law against domestic violence know as the Maria da Penha law, and a German student who presented a paper on the pastoral theology inscribed within the letters of Ita Ford, a Maryknoll sister murdered during the El Salvador conflict.

As ever, some of the most interesting discussions happened after the official presentations, outside over coffee taken in the sunshine, or around the book stall.

Teologanda are in the midst of publishing a five volume series on Latin American women theologians. Volumes 1 (an annotated bibliography) and 2 (key texts with introductory comments) are already available. Volume 3 (methodology) is set to be published at the end of the year.

everyday resurrections

2008-03-23T06:00:00.001-03:00

This picture was taken on a crisp autumnal morning in a park on the edge of a busy high street. A group of dancers hold the Jesus figure up in the air. She stands with her body arched, mirrored against the sky. It was a delicate and fragile posture to hold because she was effectively balanced on people’s upturned hands. The tableau suggests that Jesus’ reappearance from the dead was more tentative and hesitant than it is traditionally thought to be. In effect he needed to relearn how to think, feel, behave and engage with the world. He would not have bounced in with a boisterous “I am back”, but would have felt his way slowly, amazed at what had happened to him.*

In practice we must always begin again every day the search for salvation just as every day we have to begin again the actions of eating and drinking... this salvation is not a state one attains once and for all. It is there like a glass of water that quenches thirst for the moment, but thirst comes again, sometimes stronger than before... The moment of the hoped-for salvation comes, sometimes seen, sometimes unforeseen. No sooner it comes than it is gone: it escapes, flying away to prepare another and another. This fragile redemption is what we find in the everyday life of every person. (Gebara 2002: 123)

----
*The Resurrection (Dennis Morris/ Diocese of London/ CMS), accompanying words from Diocese of London study pack, available online.

Gebara, Ivone (2002) Out of the Depths: Women’s Experience of Evil and Salvation Minneapolis: Fortress Press

Please, no violence

2008-03-21T10:57:00.009-03:00

At the heart of Christianity is the death of a man on a cross.

Faced with apparent failure, and seeking to hold on to belief in an all-powerful, all-loving God, the church has felt obliged to justify Jesus' death, claiming it was necessary for the reconciliation of humanity with God.

But for many feminist theologians, it is Jesus’ life, not his death, which redeems. The cross is no more, and no less, than a violent crime. It is neither the will of God nor Jesus’ fate.

In Latin America, women theologians also challenge the violence of many redemption theories. Marcela Bosch (1992) considers how sacrificial theories of atonement legitimated the violence of the Argentine Doctrine of National Security, introduced during the military dictatorship. Marcella Althaus-Reid (2006) argues that Christ's story is not about payment, but about open solidarity and gift. Elsa Tamez (1993) also rejects "salvation by merit" and the unavoidable requirement to pay back debts. Instead, she reiterates God’s abundant grace, suggesting God’s justice is revealed not in the cross but in the resurrection of the condemned and excluded.

Perhaps today, as Jesus is nailed to the cross once again, we need to turn our back on the crucifixion, and say, "No more."

No more taking up your cross.
No more suffering for others.
No more obedience unto death.

----
Althaus-Reid, Marcella (2006) "From feminist liberation theology to queer theology" in Cardoso Pereira, Nancy, Eggert Edla, and Musskopf, André Sidnei (2006) A Graca Do Mundo Transforma Deus : Diálogos Latino-Americanos Com a Ix Assembléia Do Cmi/ The Grace of the World Transforms God: Latin-American Dialogues with the 9th Assembly of the WCC, Colecão Valetas;. Porto Alegre, Brazil: Editora Universitária Metodista, pp. 64-8.
Bosch, Marcela (1992) Del Dios sacrificador de la Doctrina de la Seguridad Nacional al Dios de la Vida (Tesis de Licenciada) Buenos Aires: ISEDET
Tamez, Elsa (1993) The Amnesty of Grace: Justification by Faith from a Latin America Perspective trans. Sharon H. Ringe Nashville: Abingdon Press [translation of Contra Toda Condena]

one day of life

2008-03-02T12:18:00.005-02:00

When we arrived at Foz de Iguazu, Debbie and I took a taxi from the airport to the falls. She caught the park bus up to the start of the walk way, and began the climb down the path, with fresh vistas of the falls at every turn.

Having been to the falls once before, I waited at the entrance of the park. I ordered café com leite and sat at one of the plastic tables - bags and rucksacks surrounding me - and began Manlio Argueta's One Day of Life.

To be absolutely honest, I had begun to read it once before, on Ipanema beach. But beach volleyball and icecream sellers don't fit so well with a tale of torture and violence. But then, what does?

Manlio Argueta is a Salvadorean writer, exiled in the early 1970s for his writing and political activity to Costa Rica. He has now returned to Salvador and is Director of Art and Culture at the University of El Salvador.

The book is set in El Salvador in the period immediately prior to the complete outbreak of civil war (1981-1992). Published in 1980, the authorities immediately halted further print runs and ordered confiscation of all existing copies. In an undated interview (after 2000), Argueta comments:

The political tensions that surround my work have to do with my affinities concerning the rescue of historical memory. As such, they deal with the special circumstances of the prewar period that for me begins in 1932 and lasts until 1980; and later, to the references to the crisis of war (1972–92)...Well, I wrote One Day of Life before the civil war was declared (1981–92).

Un día en la vida /One Day of Life accompanies Lupe, a Salvadorean peasant, from the pre-dawn cry of the clarinero to the lighting of the candles as the day grows dark. The day and the memories of other days are broken by cruelty and violence. But Lupa sees beauty too:

When the hill begins to rise, the dawn's first rays appear. The color of a firebrand in the night. A burst of sparks that makes me say: How beautiful!As beautiful as the Virgin's mantel. Then the sky becomes as clear as well water at high noon. Little bits of colored glass. Chips from a broken bottle. And clouds floating under water. Clouds are the blankets of God. The sky is a Guatemalan weave of many colours. This is part of life. (Argueta 1984:5)

I read the book quickly, scanning the pages, and with one hand around my café for comfort. One day is how long I spent in El Salvador but in Lupe's voice I heard again the voices of friends and strangers who had described the trauma and loss of El Salvador, Guatemala and other Central American countries.

The climax of the story is the encounter between Lupe and her husband José, witnessed by her granddaughter and the soliders who bring José, tortured and unrecognizable to his grandchild, to their home. Lupe summons all her strength to deny José. In contrast to the passion narrative in which Peter's denial appears as an act of rejection that haunts him, Lupe's denial is an act of courage and an expression of love.

I saw that there was no other way out. And that's why you opened your eye when I had denied you, because I had already done the most difficult thing. I took it as a greeting, as if you were saying, "Thank you, Lupe," with that glance from your coffee-colored eye that had remained shut, shut by the same blood that bathed your head.. (Argueta 1984:192)

In poetry, in memory, in silence and in denial, there are acts of love.

-----
Manlio Argueta (1984,[1980]) One Day of Life trans. Bill Brow, London: Chatto & Windus - The Hogarth Press

available at Amazon UK here.

a further note:
Thinking ahead to my reading on postcolonial theory and literature, I was interested in the interviewer's, Claudia M. Milian Arias, comment:

A common observation raised by some critics is of your particular use of Salvadoran vernacular. Rather than noting how the Spanish language has many regionalisms throughout Latin America––indeed, is Salvadoran speech any different than the other transformations Spanish has undergone throughout the Americas?––the mere "distinctiveness" of Salvadoran speech is posed through a binary of inferior and superior cultures and languages. It seems as though the significance of your literary enterprises gets fairly diminished. Can one say that your books are not only in solidarity with the struggles and everyday speech habits of the poor, but also with linguistic practices by other authors that displace colonial tongues? I am thinking of writers like Nigeria’s Chinua Achebe, India’s Salman Rushdie, and Gloria Anzaldúa, a Chicana.

carnival

2008-02-21T16:30:00.010-02:00

Hi everyone and sorry for the lengthy silence! Too busy having fun! Here's some photos from Rio and blogging should return to normal frequency soon. x

Banda de Ipanema

later that night..

Sambadrome with Debs and Liz

beija-flor technical rehersal

2008-01-29T14:00:00.000-02:00

Beija-Flor de Nilópolis were rehersing on Sunday evening at the Sambadrome and, following an evening with rivals Vila Isabel at their weekly pre-carnival party, we went to see Beija-Flor´s technical rehersal.

The Sambadrome was packed to capacity with groups of friends and families enjoying the show. They were singing, cheering and dancing on the terraces (and at least one of them was also eating icecream...this is becoming a habit - samba and icecream - genius!)

O Beija Flor..de-de da de de de da
O Carnaval...de-de da de de de da
O Beija Flor!
(We´re still singing in our sleep)

One of the lead dancers, dressed like a king, or a jester, lept and twisted, barely touching the ground. In the photo you can see the ´aunts´ as they´re called - older women belonging to the school who twirl on mass, a swirl of blue and white.

On the drive home (once we´d found the car...), we passed a group of friends dancing samba on the street corner. I love how people take turns to keep the energy levels high. The beat goes on. The dancers call on the crowd, and the crowd responds with louder cheers and faster steps.

party for all

2008-01-28T14:05:00.000-02:00

We went back to the Feira de São Cristóvão on Friday for a great night of Forró music and dancing.

Forró is a style of dancing from north-eastern Brazil. You can read more about it here and check out youtube too.

It seems a very diverse type of dance. Basically a do-what-you-like, free-for all. Hence the name - from the portuguese for ´commotion,´ or in other versions, from the English, ´For all,´ meaning that the parties were open to local Brazilians as well as the English railroaders.

st francis

2008-01-27T22:38:00.000-02:00

Francis at the Cathedral in Rio.

three cheers for São Sebastião

2008-01-21T20:14:00.000-02:00

The feast of São Sebastião at his cathedral in Rio last Sunday was a cheerful affair. Lots of red - priests and people alike, lots of incense, roses and other red flowers, and lots of applause. Hurrah for São Sebastião! the priest would call out, and we all clapped and cheered.

I wasn´t sure about applauding the violent death(s) of this bare-chested boy. But I was happy to cheer both him and us all on, when the priest called for us to be both fragile and bold, like our brother Sebastian so many years ago.

party at the palace (well castle at least)

2008-01-19T14:32:00.001-02:00

Thursday evening, Rafael, the hostel owner is chatting to me.
-Rachel, we´re having a party tomorrow. It´s for the samba band I play in.
-Ok, sounds good, I say.

Friday morning, more details emerge.
- There´ll be lots of people, and the music and dancing will go on all night.
- Ok!, I say

Friday evening, I get back from class late. There´s a suited and booted bouncer on the gate. I go up the stairs. José and Tomás are sitting outside looking exhausted. When I get inside I see why - all the furniture downstairs has disappeared, a temporary bar area has been set up with bowls of chopped pineapple, passionfruit and limes ready for making caipirinhas, and Carlos the DJ is setting up a massive sound system.
- Just how many people are coming? I ask
- Oh, about 200, they tell me.

The party was to launch this years T-shirt of the bloco Rafael plays for, called A Rocha de Gavea This was them last year at the bloco:

People began arriving, students from PUC-Rio, friends of the band, people from the neighbourhood. The music began, the dancing began, the singing began. And didn´t stop all night. Carnaval´s here!

block party

2008-01-14T15:19:00.000-02:00

Not the group but what´s happening here in Rio every night, through the night.

Sunday evening, I stood on the terreza of my hostel chatting to the night manager José about his barrio of Santa Teresa, the best places to dance samba in Lapa, and these pre-carnival blocos, as a crowd gathered down in the street below us. The drum-beats were the loudest you´ll ever hear and they echoed up and down the hill. Through the trees we could see people from the barrio dancing faster, their feet spinning and whirling.

´Do you want to go down to join them?´ José asked.

But I´m waiting for Debs to arrive. Two weeks to Carnaval and I need to pace myself.

Catedral de Sao Sebastiao do Rio de Janeiro

2008-01-13T17:03:00.000-02:00

We had a drive-by look at the Catedral de Sao Sebastiao do Rio de Janeiro on yesterday´s city tour. I remembered I had been there before some ten years ago, while sitting in another beautiful modern church at the bottom of the tramline to the statue of Cristo Redentor.

The new Cathedral was of course controversal when first built, designed to appeal to ´modern youth.´ I´m also unsure about the grain funnel concrete tower from the outside, but inside the light floods in bands of colour. I´m eager to have another look.

The church is dedicated to Saint Sebastian, an icon of gay love and the patron saint of Rio. It´s Sebastian´s feast day next Sunday so I´m planning to get to Cathedral for the celebrations.

things I´ve learnt in portugese class

2008-01-11T15:49:00.000-02:00

1. I must not speak spanish.
2. ´Dirty foot´ bars along the beach serve the best sucos or juices.
3. Gender stereotyping (and other prejudices) are there below the surface in the most simple of conversations.
4. Brazil stretches accross about four time-zones. It´s huge.
5. PUC university security, catering and cleaning staff are gorgeously friendly and kind people.
6. Two out of my ten classmates have already been stopped and searched (with a view to a bribe) by the Rio police.
7. I must not speak spanish. ´Haquel! não fava espanhol!
8. 8.20 am is way too early for classes to begin.
9. O nome do blog é terra e estrela.
10. It´s great to be given the time and support to learn a new language.

going to church with lucas

2008-01-06T12:44:00.000-02:00

Where can I go to church? I asked Rodrigo at the door of my B&B. While he was thinking, he called out to a small boy walking down the road.
Lucas! Lucas! Are you going to church?
Lucas, in clean green top, new jeans and trainers, nodded.
Can you take this girl with you?
Lucas, with a 10 year old´s look of horror, nodded.

Lucas and I walked down the hill. Me chattering in spanguese, him getting more and more embarrassed as he passed his friends in the company of a gringa.

We got to the church - Igreja Universal. There is one of these shiny white and red buildings on every other block in Latin America. I´d never been brave enough to go inside though. But with Lucas solomenly holding the glass door open, we walked together up the steps. Inside was a huge conference hall with microphones, comfy chairs, stewards dressed in uniforms like air stewards, and lots of people.

You can sit anywhere, Lucas said (but please not with me and my friends!!) so I settled down next to a couple, and Lucas went on.

I gave thanks for the faith of the people gathered in Copacabana this morning. I gave thanks for their committment to live well, to be faithful people. I was glad of their singing and welcome. At one point a young girl came over and gave me a church newspaper that she had bought from the front to give away. It´s in my bag now, and whatever the theology within it, I am grateful for her generousity and care in giving me this gift.

We sang, we prayed - together, for others, for ourselves. We prayed outloud in a hum of voices, eyes closed and emotions bare for all to see. There was a sermon - from Mark 12 or 13 - at least that´s where the Bible´s around me were openned.

Of course, my understanding of church is different in many ways. I felt uneasy at the all male leadership and the corporate feel to the service. I questioned how many times the congreation were encouraged to give money - for CDs or Bibles, for a newsletter, and for their donations which were presented in gold string-tied purses. The money was placed on an open Bible, then placed in a sack. The givers walked on accross the stage to recieve a blessing with oil, and a card with a verse printed on it. I wondered about those who didn´t give. Where was their blessing?

But all in all, I was glad I went to church with Lucas. He, I think, was glad to shake my hand goodbye and run off home to play.

her name is rio

2008-01-05T19:48:00.000-02:00

bright yellow
soft pink
bright orange
soft red
lush green everywhere
as the bus winds through the mountains.

buy this
buy that
clean white lies
surrounded by plastic and poverty.

flip-flops
shorts
and tops off
waiting for the bus
sitting on the grass
on the roadside
talking with friends.

concrete
litter
children making a home on the streets
under the flyovers
and in doorways.

football
futbol
ronaldino
ronaldo
bright t-shirts
on white sands.

rio.

a new star in the stable

2007-12-24T14:49:00.000-03:00

The leaves turn gold,
the wind blows cold,
the sea clings to the shore.

In lands afar,
a new born star
is laid gently in the straw.

advent 4: trusting ourselves

2007-12-23T13:40:00.000-03:00

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. (Matthew 1.18-20)

Today's readings are about Mary. But Matthew's version of events (the gospel set for this year) pushes Joseph, not Mary, to the foreground. We see Mary through the eyes of Joseph, confused and angry at his fiancé's pregnancy. The story focuses on the scandal of the young unmarried mother, and in the still taken from Pier Paolo Pasolini's The Gospel According to St Matthew, Mary stands alone, while the village whispers and condemns.

In Luke, it is Mary who acts. She grasps hold of the angel's promise; that her child will be of God. A poor young girl, living in occupied territory, does not have many choices about what happens to her body. But Mary recognizes this encounter with the angel as a moment of decision, and in this she is blessed.

The desperation of poverty, and the violence wrought by occupying soldiers, continue to undermine young girls' control over their bodies. Sexual violence accompanies conflict and poverty, through prostitution and other forms of rape. Many poor young girls who are made pregnant are further denied the option of a safe abortion. Like Mary, they can be isolated and vulnerable.

The angel blessed Mary by giving her a choice. May it be that every girl and woman has control over her own body.

Abortion Rights is one of several reproductive health campaign organization working in the UK.

advent 3: courage!

2007-12-17T18:09:00.000-03:00

Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John:

"What did you go out into the wilderness to look at?
A reed shaken by the wind?

What then did you go out to see?
Someone dressed in soft robes?
Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces.

What then did you go out to see?
A prophet?
Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. (Matthew 11.7-9)

I'd never thought much about John being Jesus' cousin, maybe because I didn't grow up with cousins. But I imagine at their best cousins are somewhere between less-demanding siblings and more-familiar friends.

The gospels say little about Jesus' childhood, but it seems likely that John and Jesus would have played together, fought over one thing or another, and maybe, as they grew older, discussed ideas and shared their own hopes and fears.

I get the sense that John was the dare-devil of the family. The wild cousin, striding out into the desert sun, roughing it on locusts and bees' honey, and enthralling both the crowds and Jesus. John held his younger cousin to account, urging him on, keeping it real. A true trailblazer for Jesus.

In our lives, if we are lucky, there are people like John. People who believe in us. People who keep us up to the mark. People who don't let us become lazy. People who make us bold. Perhaps we are that person for someone we love too.

Read this week's readings online at
http://divinity.library.vanderbilt.edu/lectionary/AAdvent/aAdvent3.htm

the shopocalypse

2007-12-11T11:29:00.000-03:00

See the excellent buy nothing christmas for more, including Jesus goes sandal shopping.

And for full-on no-shopping craziness, Rev Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping is online here and you can watch the trailer for his film, What Would Jesus Buy? right here:

advent 2: keep hoping

2007-12-09T17:46:00.000-03:00

They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea. (Isaiah 11.9)

This week's reading from Isaiah is one of my favourites, as Bruce Forsyth would say. I love clarity with which it describes another way of being together. This is the future, this is our aim. If it were not so, how could we have hope?

This Christmas card arrived today from Guatemala. My friend there has worked in El Salvador and Guatemala for many decades. She has lived through hunger and poverty, through bombs falling on the church, through army threats and violence from all sides, indescribable violence and horror. She has witnessed fragile peace and ongoing corruption. She has refused to let memories die, and has kept knocking on the door for justice.

All these years, she has remained faithful to the child-man of peace, the God of peace and the spirit of peace. And her hope gives me courage to hold onto Isaiah's vision.

If the lion and lamb can lie side by side to watch the stars high in the night sky, we must believe we too can stretch out next to the one we have been told is a threat to us, the one we should hate or destroy; and point out the stars as they glisten and shimmer.

All today's readings are available here.

advent 1: seek peace

2007-12-02T10:52:00.000-03:00

In violent times, live at peace. This is one of the things we hear from the readings set for today in the Revised Common Lectionary, which include the following psalm, 122:

I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go to the house of the LORD!"
Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.
Jerusalem built as a city that is bound firmly together.
To it the tribes go up, the tribes of the LORD, as was decreed for Israel, to give thanks to the name of the LORD.
For there the thrones for judgment were set up, the thrones of the house of David.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: "May they prosper who love you.
Peace be within your walls, and security within your towers."
For the sake of my relatives and friends I will say, "Peace be within you."
For the sake of the house of the LORD our God, I will seek your good.

The psalmist promises to seek peace for the sake of loved ones, and because it is what God desires.

Beginning Advent once more, still at war, still not willing to acknowledge our wrongs, still not bold enough to make the first move to reconciliation; may we try again to say, 'Peace be within you' to all those we meet on the road and in the home this week.

martin fierro

2007-11-18T20:08:00.000-03:00

On Sunday we celebrated the Day of Tradition (officially, 10th November) in church, as well as Music Day (22nd November). These came together in a fiesta of traditional melodies and criolla stories.

At the time of sharing of bread and wine, we spoke in local dialects:

El pan hecho Dios me cambia
a otra vida santa y güena
como el soplo de una quena
se cambia en música y copla
porque es Dios mesmo que sopla
su propio aliento en mis venas.

By baked bread God transforms me
into another life, holy and good -
just as a blast on a quena*
becomes music and verse.
Because it is God, yes God, who blows
heavenly breath through my veins.**

-----
The Day of Tradition is linked to José Hernández, the author of Martín Fierro, an epic poem about gaucho life and the founding text of modern Argentine identity (published 1872-9). So it was fitting that Eunhye and I found ourselves at the local multiplex Sunday afternoon, watching the latest animated adaptation of the work.

My motivation for seeing the film was to save myself having to read the book. Two years in Argentina, and no Martin Fierro? It's a bit like never having seen or read Shakesphere. I knew I needed catch up. Armed with some vague ideas about bar-brawls, the struggle between an emerging nation and loyalties to the old ways of el campo, and a horse-riding, guitar-swinging hero, I settled down to watch the film.

But if things go on
like they have up to now
it can be that all at once
we'll see the country side bare,
except for the bleachin'
bones of the ones who didn't make it.
(Martin Fierro, stanza 2120)

The story deals with the many conflicts over the land here. It recognises the brutality of the army against both the small land owners and gauchos, and the original peoples. Fierro participates in destruction of the original communities and denial of their rights to the land; yet at times he empathizes with them against the sterile, dislocated and violent army mentality. And in the second part of the epic, which wasn't included in the film, Fierro goes to live with a native community - although that also ends in tragedy. In another episode, distraught over the loss of his family, Fierro harasses a black woman in a bar, picking a fight with her compañero whom he then kills. But again, in part II, he encounters the man's brother, in some kind of atoning scene.

For many Argentines, Fierro represents fierce loyalty and a simpler times when every man had his farm and independence. A century later, and Argentines are unfortunately still justified in regarding with suspicion and anger: unjust landowners, judges, generals, politicians and speculators. A century later, and a clearer condemnation of the racism and violence bound up in the establishment of this nation - and many others - is need.

For a plot summary click here, and for an online version in Spanish here.

*A quena is an andean flute.
** Spanish by Pablo Sosa and others (I think), attempt at translation by me.

life is rubbish

2007-11-15T22:25:00.000-03:00

I heard a man singing, as I walked down the dark street. Maybe it was a folk song he learnt playing as a child, or maybe it was a catchy latino-pop melody he'd caught on the radio that morning. Whatever song it was, he sang it - standing with his hands deep in the rubbish bin.

In Elsa Tamez's guide to the book of Ecclesiastes, she suggests we should translate the key Hebrew world hebel not as vanity or emptiness but as something stronger, "All is s••t." (Eccles. 1.2). Life is rubbish, suggests the writer of this small book of the Bible. Nothing changes, the rich and powerful exploit the poor and there is no justice.

And yet, we have to find ways to live in this paralyzing state. Ecclesiastes suggests finding joy and friendship in the midst of the daily grind, thus interrupting the dehumanizing rhythms of money-making, violence and control.

Costa Rican writer Fernando Contreras Castro, speaks of generations of garbage-pickers, who are called divers:

The imperceptible yawn of the flies and the fleet of vultures stretching their wings meant nothing new to the early-morning divers.

Tamez continues, 'There is nothing new, for it is what one sees every day in the underworld, where people struggle daily for the spoils of the vultures and the “divers” in a sea of garbage:

Between the persistent drizzle and the vapors rising from that endless sea, the last trucks, now empty, moved away to begin another day of collection.

In the narrated world of Contreras we find what people experience as hebel in daily life: waiting for garbage, seeing garbage arrive, choosing garbage, selling garbage, eating and wearing garbage...But incredible as it may seem, in this garbage-world it is also possible to find tender and true love, like the love of Unica, Contrera’s main character.’ (Tamez 2000: 41-2, citing Contrera 1994:85f)

Even when life is rubbish, even when justice seems far away, it is possible to share bread, to find love, and to sing an old song, or a new one.

-----
Elsa Tamez (2000) When the Horizons Close. Rereading Ecclesiastes Maryknoll, NY: Orbis

Fernando Contreras Castro, Unica mirando al mar San José: Farben Grupo Editorial Norma, 1994

white poppy for peace

2007-11-11T14:22:00.000-03:00

be at peace with one another
(Mark 9.50)

peace pledge union

then comes the blossom

2007-11-09T16:16:00.000-03:00

Giver of life, with flowers you write,
with songs you give warmth,
with songs you give shade,
to those who are to live on the earth.*

'The sacred comes to us as beauty, in warm colours and sounds; and we humans approach truth through flower and song, that is in xochitl in cuicatl.' (Irarrazaval 1996:106)

Silence my soul.
These trees are prayers.
I asked a tree,
tell me about God.
Then,
it blossomed.**

I have waited for the blossom to come. Too soon there is a flash of blue, a blaze atop the tree-green. Already it is falling, covering the ground below.

---
Diego Irarrazaval, "In Xochitl in Cuicatl of Women and Men in Latin American Theology." Voices from the Third World vol. XIX/ 1 June 1996, pp. 106-137.

*The words of Nezahualcoyotl, of the Nahuatl people, recorded in, Miguel Leon Portilla, Literaturas Indigenas de Mejico Mexico: FCE 1992, p.274

**In response to Irarrazaval, Chung Hyun-Kyung (1996:143) offered a poem from the Asian mystic, Tagore.

not good enough

2007-11-07T20:15:00.000-03:00

When I told people I was coming to Argentina to research feminist theology, a frequent response was, 'Good Luck!' Many assumed in the macho Latin culture, all women stayed at home, raised children and prayed to the Virgin.

Yet readers of this blog will know that feminism within and beyond the church has a long history in Latin America. There are no shortage of women en la lucha, in the struggle. This is the title of Ada María Isasi-Díaz's book on mujerista theology, from the perspective of Hispanic Women or Latinas, that is, women of Latin American origins living in the USA.

Ada makes a helpful observation about how macho and machismo have become common usage for sexist behaviour amongst English speaking people:

Use of machismo implies that Hispanic men are more sexist than Anglo men. Using machismo absolves somewhat the sexism of Anglo men and sets Anglo men and Anglo culture above Hispanic men and Hispanic culture. Hispanic Women do not deny the sexism of our culture or of most Hispanic men. But it is not greater than the sexism of the USA society in general and of Anglo men in particular. (Isasi-Díaz 2004: 37)

In conversations about my work in Argentina, I notice how we Brits persist in letting ourselves off the hook through comparisons with other cultures. 'It must be difficult living in such a traditional/ violent/ macho country,' they say. The implication being that we can pat ourselves on the back for our progressive, egalitarian society.

Argentina is a sexist society. I have been patronized, belittled, and ignored. I have been offered doors open, or a seat on the bus, in return for staying in my place and keeping my mouth shut. I have been the subject of shocked concern, 'Such a young girl like you? And all alone?' I live in a country where plastic surgery for women is scarily common amongst those who can afford it, and where the first elected female president was indecently quick in rejecting calls for access to safe, legal abortion.

But I also live in a city where women are often the ones who make things happen. They campaign for safer neighbourhoods. They take courses on community health care. They graffiti the walls of the cathedral calling for legal safe abortion. And they continue to seek the truth about their disappeared friends, children and grandchildren. When the Madres speak, we listen.

In Britain access to education, suitable health care, and less tolerance for domestic violence are some areas in which women have made gains. But the struggle continues. We cannot yet say that all girls and women are valued, are safe at home and on the streets, have control over their own bodies, and are free to follow their dreams. Telling ourselves we aren't as bad as somewhere else just isn't good enough.

Drawings by Jacky Fleming.

Ada María Isasi-Díaz (2004) En la Lucha/ In the Struggle Elaborating a Mujerista Theology, Tenth Anniversary Edition, Minneapolis: Fortress Press

tod@s l@s sant@s

2007-11-01T13:21:00.000-03:00

In holy places:

Sing for God's saints who have
travelled faith's journey before us,
who in our weariness
give us their hope to restore us;
in them we see the new creation to be,
spirit of love made flesh for us.
(Katy Galloway, Common Ground)

With holy people:

It isn't the noise in the streets
that keeps us from resting, my friend,
nor it the shouts of the young people coming out drunk from St. Paul's bar…

What keeps us from sleeping
is that they have threatened us with Resurrection!….

Because in this marathon of Hope,
there are always others to relieve us
in bearing the courage necessary
to arrive at the goal
which lies beyond death….

Accompany us then on this vigil
and you will know what it is to dream!
You will then know
how marvellous it is
to live threatened with Resurrection!

To dream awake,
to keep watch asleep,
to live while dying
and to already know oneself
resurrected!
(Esquivel l982: 59-63)

Of holy wisdom:

in every generation she passes into holy souls
and makes them friends of God and prophets.
(Wisdom of Solomon 7.27)

Julia Esquivel (1982) Threatened With Resurrection Elgin, IL: The Brethren Press
Elizabeth A. Johnson (1998) Friends of God and Prophets: A Feminist Theological Reding of the Communion of Saints London: SCM

la noche de las brujas

2007-10-31T13:17:00.000-03:00

The past decades have witnessed a rediscovery of the witchcraft tradition. Feminist historians have heard, and given voice to, the cries of women whose torture and deaths are recorded in Malleus Maleficarum (1484). Elizabeth Johnson's She Who Is offers a liturgy of remembrance for the victims of these medieval witch hunts.

Feminist spiritualities, nurtured by women such as Starhawk, have reconnected with pre-Christian pagan roots: honouring goddesses, forming covenants of support, dancing peace through the earth. Feminist Christian theologies have been enriched by such developments, particularly in the development of ecofeminist theology, the rise of Celtic spirituality, and the reappraisal of judgments against independent women and witches in the Bible.

What I appreciate about this re-entrance of the witch into Christian theology is that the witch is representative of all the dominant tradition fears: bodily cycles; heresy; independent, ageing and wise women; uncontrolled spiritualities; alternative communities and commitment; "deviant" sexuality. The New York's Village Halloween Parade* is a celebration of all that breaks through our morality and norms in queer, over-the-top abundance; fairies, witches, hags, fags and queens.

Once again tonight, the Con-spirando collective in Santiago de Chile will be celebrating la noche de las brujas with remembrance, resistance and a gran fiesta.

Ivone Gebara notes:

Witches and sorcerers are today symbols of resistance against a hegemonic and hierarchical system that impedes the proliferation of creative alternatives beyond money and competition. (Gebara 2002: 53)

Witches, she suggests, were not agents of death but defenders of life, practitioners of traditional herbal medicine, midwives, and carers of strays. While the discourse of the patriarchal church spoke of women's weakness and thus vulnerability to evil temptations, it was actually these women's alternative strength that threated, and continues to threaten, the powers-that-be.

Gebara celebrates that today there are still women (and men) who believe in alternative spiritual forces, in other ways of relating and trading that are not violent, competitive or destructive:

They are the heirs of those witches of the past who, with force and tenacity, saved many lives...The witches and sorcerers of the past live in a certain way in each of us, and they invite us to be in communion with nature and to the necessity of changing our behaviour in order to save life itself...¡vivan las brujas y hechiceras, amantes de la vida! (Gebara 2002:59-60)

Ivone Gebara (2002) "Brujas y hechiceras" in La sed de sentido Búsquedas ecofeministas en prose poética Montevideo: Doble Clic Editoras, pp. 53-60.

*to which, I confess, I did not go while living in NYC. I was not yet aware of the creative, defiant potential of this night, distracted by the commercialized, trick or treated, orange-plastic import that has swept across Britain, suffocating more ancient rituals and recordances.

icecream - the people's choice

2007-10-28T21:57:00.000-03:00

So today was hot, hot, hot. So hot we took it in turns to wait at the bus stop, or stand back in the shade.

I took the number 55 bus to meet Eunhye at mi lugar favorito, Mark's in Palermo. The bus was packed ensuring we swayed as one around the (fast) corners, and in and out of the gutter. By twisting in a certain direction, I could see the lines of people chatting in line outside schools and police stations acting as voting stations.

There's not much to say about this election. Presidente Cristina was a done deal before the election was even announced. There was no escaping her profile plastered over the city, weeks before other candidates emerged. By the way - there's a serious opportunity for marketing agents here; I spent a week thinking one of the candidates was a wanted poster!

It was encouraging to see more women candidates at all levels (president, vice president, senate, governor). But I don't feel Cristina's election is a great step forward for women here. Rather, it demonstrates the small circles power moves within, and thus the lack of real options for the voters.

That said, porteños did all choose something today; a "dry" election 24 hours, and a hot hot city meant, after voting, there was only once option - icecream.

And talking of icecream, a brand new today heladería y café has opened on the corner, making it the third within four blocks. I will do my duty and investigate further...

p.s. photo from the great icecream ireland

getting the poor down from the cross

2007-10-25T11:35:00.000-03:00

Despite living over here, I'm a little behind on the latest attack on liberation theology by the Vatican. Following fellow Latin American theologians, Leonardo Boff and Ivone Gebara (although each case is distinct) Jon Sobrino was officially reprimanded in March of this year.

The Notification of the Vatican focused on Sobrino's Christology as lacking in sufficient stress on the divinity of Christ. The document, Notificazione Sulle Opere Del P. Jon Sobrino, S.I.: "Jesucristo Liberador. Lectura Histórico-Teológica de Jesús de Nazaret (Madrid, 1991) e "La Fe En Jesucristo. Ensayo desde Las Víctimas" (San Salvador, 1999), 14.03.2007 suggests the process of investigation has been going on for some years, only now reaching the stage of notification.

Our understanding of God and ourselves grows through discussion and debate. However, when one conversation partner has the power to silence the other, the overwhelming emotion is fear. Fear from those who seek to drown out any dissenting voice. And courage from those who, despite all the risks, continue to call attention to God's disturbing presence in the world.

It's easy for those of us outside the Roman Catholic church, or theological circles, to see such official denouncements as little more than a joke. Yet, the reality is the Vatican has immediate power over priests and theologians. Thus, while the Vatican did not formally censure Sobrino, the decision was given over to the local bishop, Archbishop Fernando Saenz Lacalle, archbishop of San Salvador. And it has been reported that the archdiocese has stopped Sobrino teaching at the University of Central America (El Salvador).

Support for Sobrino has come from various quarters. A month after the notification, a group of EATWOT theologians published Getting the Poor down from the Cross: a Christology of Liberation. This collection of essays on the figure of Jesus is available to download free - an encouraging sign of collaboration, solidarity and accessible theology.

Fellow "reprobate" Leonard Boff comments (with some irony) in the forward:

Every word in this digital book takes advantage of the propitious occasion provided by the Vatican notification about some points of his Christology. It is a book that pushes forward what, in our opinion, Jon Sobrino, for his part, has written with such pertinence, orthodoxy, and orthopraxis in dealing with the meaning of faith in Jesus Christ, based on the humiliated humanity of millions of brothers and sisters of our peripheral societies. He has taught us how the Churches can join forces in the resurrection of those who are crucified.