Journal, January 28

Two weeks ago, I had the incredible opportunity to attend the 6^th International Congress of Youth Environmentalists in Concepcion, a small town in the central highlands of Peru.  Under the theme “Ecological Challenges in the New Millennium,” more than 200 people from Bolivia, Chile, the United States, Germany, Canada, and 6 departments of Peru participated in the event.  The main events of the conference included presentations by experts and youth, an educational fair, visits to the regional eco-protection centre and wastewater treatment plant, and a protest at a government health building.  As well, we enjoyed an exhibit of youth environmental photography, a play by a local youth theatre troupe, and a cultural night where all of us shared the music and dance traditions of our home countries.  It was thrilling to take part in this dynamic event, and come together with like-minded youth from all over the world who were working to address their local environmental realities.

As the conference took place in La Sierra (Andean region) of Peru, and many participants came from Andean communities in Bolivia and Chile, a common theme among these local realities was the environmental devastation caused by mining activities.  While the North American delegates were warmly welcomed to the conference, those from South America openly expressed their anger toward the North American mining companies that were contaminating their lakes and rivers, poisoning their children, and mutating their animals.  They did not understand how these companies could be allowed to cause this damage in South America, but not in their own North American backyards.  This was a difficult question for me to swallow, but it was one that I was prepared for.

For my presentation, I had chosen to discuss Idle No More, an indigenous movement that was consuming (or rather, being consumed by) Canadian media at the time, but that had hardly reached the Spanish-speaking world.  I had intentionally chosen this topic in order to start breaking down stereotypes about “development” in the North, and raise awareness about First Nations social and environmental issues.  Most importantly, the presentation allowed me to build solidarity and a sense of common purpose between the Northern and Southern environmentalists present at the conference. 

Through Peace and Conflict Studies courses I have taken at UW, as well as through my work with the Centre for Black Peruvian Women’s Development, I have seen how the work of building international solidarity networks is foundational to movement building.  Not only do these networks facilitate knowledge sharing and collective actions, they allow activists to scale up successes by strategizing together and turning isolated local activities into calculated steps toward structural reform.   And with the social networking tools that are now available to us, the 21^st century is a better time than any to build these connections.

While it is exciting to take part in this work, it is clear that the environmental movement is not yet at its peak.  We are still in an organizational phase, in which individual groups are working for limited reform.  Although some of these organizations are now forming alliances, they have yet to attain the transnational cohesion and power of the corporations they are trying to confront.  But at the conference, I could feel the winds changing, and I sensed that when the youth environmental movement fully emerges, it might be Southern-led.  While many Canadian activists like me struggle passionately on behalf of small island nations and vulnerable Inuit communities, the truth is that we tire easily, because in the end, it does not always feel like our own lives are at stake.  But the Southern activists that I met at the conference have everything to lose, and they have dedicated their lives to the struggle.  They are going to university with specific goals, and returning to their communities 5 years later to work passionately, tirelessly, and skillfully to protect the environment.  It was inspiring to witness their dedication and professionalism, and I am excited to see a global environmental movement with these youth at the helm.  

 

Journal, January 14

Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. These words came to mind as I turned on the tap in the riverboat bathroom, and watched a brown stream of water wash down the drain, and back into the Amazon River. Although the other passengers readily washed themselves with the water, I could not ignore the fact that our raw sewage and garbage were being dumped into the same water. The situation hardly improved when I arrived in the city of Iquitos, where I was to be spending my New Year’s vacation. Even at the Camiri Floating Hostel, potable water was scarce and the toilets flushed directly into the water in which the hostel was floating. These experiences saddened me, but I was not prepared for the experience that was Belén.  

Belén is an extremely poor shantytown of 65,000 people in the floodplain of the Itaya River, on the outskirts of Iquitos. This city on stilts, also known as the “Venice of Latin America,” has become one of the tourism highlights of Iquitos, and visitors can hire guides to give them one-hour motorboat tours of the district.  It was certainly the most interesting part of my trip to the Peruvian Amazon, but I left with many concerns about the area. When we first got into the boat in the Belén Market, the smell of the polluted water was so bad that we were all holding our breaths. Garbage clogged the alleyways, and the stagnant water provided a perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes.  One can imagine our surprise when we saw children swimming. Our tour guide, a resident of the area, explained that residents regularly swim, bathe, do laundry, and wash dishes in the water. This leads to a high incidence of water-borne diseases and drownings. Besides these and many other profound health issues that result from a complete lack of sanitation and waste management, residents suffer from a lack of electricity, education, and employment, and encounter significant violence in their homes and communities.

Belén is a poignant illustration of the spatial dimensions of poverty. Around the world, the poor are found living in densely populated, marginal areas, where potable water and other natural resources are scarce. The residents of Belén are extremely vulnerable to natural hazards, and have suffered terribly from environmental degradation following the severe flooding of early 2012.  Not only was their infrastructure affected, there were thousands of injuries, and the floods brought malaria- and dengue-carrying mosquitoes to the area. The risk of natural disasters such as this will only increase as climate change continues to affect precipitation patterns in the Peruvian Amazon. On the other side of the poverty-environment nexus, the residents of Belén contribute significantly to environmental degradation through the disposal of garbage and untreated sewage into the river. Our tour guide explained that most people are unaware of the impacts of their actions, but even if they were aware, there is no waste management system. Consecutive mayors have been elected on promises to bring development to the area, but they have not followed through. One mayor apparently even had the courage to say that it was not his fault if people chose to live in marginal areas. This lack of political will leaves many residents feeling hopeless. It was hard to imagine that conditions would improve for them in the near future.

Our tour guide did seem to be optimistic when we asked him about the role that tourism is playing in Belén’s development and his own life. While his neighbours are struggling to find work in such a marginal area, he is thriving as a self-employed tour guide. This path, however, is inaccessible to many. When I asked him if most people in Belén work in downtown Iquitos, he said that it is too far away. In reality, it is only a few blocks away, showing that the class difference between the two areas is more of a roadblock to employment than geographical distance. He further explained that it is difficult for Belén residents to work in Iquitos because of their poor education. Even working in tourism requires knowledge of English.  It seems that economic development in Belén should be the government’s first priority, as it would bring much-needed income to the area, which would allow for taxation and services such as electricity and waste management.  In the meantime, however, the people of Belén have urgent needs for health services and education that could be met by NGOs.  I have hope that conditions in Belén will eventually improve as this young community becomes more established, and I think that aid could play an immediate role in Belén’s relief and development. 

Journal, November 19

Last weekend, CEDEMUNEP received a distressed phone call from Carmen, the young rape victim who we have been accompanying over the last few months.  Through her tears, Carmen explained that on Wednesday, she was to participate in the Reconstruccion de los Hechos (Reconstruction of the Facts), and she was in urgent need of emotional, legal, and political support.  In Peru, the justice system requires that the victim be reunited with the accused in a meeting with their lawyers, in the physical location where the crime took place, in order to tell their respective versions of the story.  The lawyers press both parties for details, while the interrogated try to deliver convincing narratives (sometimes complex webs of lies) with no contradictions within or between them.  This is obviously an incredibly traumatic event for the victim, as s/he must come face-to-face with his/her offenders, usually for the first time since the crime was committed, and watch them deny all responsibility for their actions.  I was shocked that Carmen, or any victim of sexual violence, would have to endure this, and I agreed to travel with my co-workers to Ica to accompany Carmen through the process.

Although I have studied Conflict Resolution at the University of Waterloo, and have some knowledge of the criminal justice systems in Canada and the United States, the concept of the Reconstruction of the Facts was new to me, and I certainly was not prepared for what I encountered in real life.  What took place at the Municipal Building in Ica on Wednesday was strange and horrific, and if it was painful for me, it was much worse for Carmen and the friends and family who had come to support her.  Although Carmen entered the meeting in a remarkably calm state, she fled the building hours later and sobbed in her father’s arms, while a crowd of cameramen and photographers surrounded her, and her supporters hurled biting insults at the municipal officials as they ducked into their cars. 

While I am a strong proponent of Restorative Justice, which helps to bring together victims, offenders, and the community to engage in a process of healing and restoration, I believe that it should be a voluntary process.  From what I observed on Wednesday, forcing the victim to confront his/her attackers in a situation in which both parties are primarily concerned with “saving face,” rather than building relationships,  pits both sides against each other, and causes community members to take sides, escalating the conflict and nearly eliminating any chance of future reconciliation.  As a student of Development, I am deeply concerned by the immediate emotional harm, and the long-term social harm that this process does to individuals and communities that are required to participate.  Who is the justice system serving, if not those who have been affected by crime?  Must victims be re-victimized by the criminal justice system?

In light of Restorative Justice Week, which begins today, I have been moved to envision what a true Reconstruction could look like.  What if the government established victims’ assistance programs that ensured that low-income victims like Carmen had the legal representation, and mental, physical, and social support they needed to recover from violent experiences and navigate the justice system?  What if there was a professionally-mediated space in which the mayor and his cronies could express remorse, and Carmen could talk about the pain that she has experienced?  What if, instead of leaving “justice” up to the state, the victim and offender worked together to create their own solution, and the community created a circle of accountability and support to facilitate long-term development?  While it seems like Peru is impossibly far away from achieving these ideals, I am inspired by the knowledge that what is now a worldwide Restorative Justice movement began in my own hometown of Kitchener-Waterloo, with folks like me who just wanted to do things a little bit differently.

Journal, November 5

Last Tuesday, theory met practice at the Afro-Peruvian Roundtable’s discussion on “The Afro-Peruvian People and their inclusion in the Political Constitution of Peru.”  I was excited that my supervisor had invited me to attend, as the theme of the discussion was directly related to my INDEV 474 research paper on the collective identity and rights of Afro-Peruvians.  I looked forward to learning more about a topic that I had already researched extensively, and hearing from Afro-Peruvians themselves, rather than North American academics’ perspectives on Afro-Peruvian issues. 

 I arrived early at the Afro-Peruvian Museum, where the event was to be hosted, and so I had the chance to wander through the exhibits while I waited for the discussion to begin.  Historical drawings of African slaves waiting on their Spanish colonial masters gave me a glimpse of Afro-Peruvians’ long history of humiliation and exclusion from society, while rooms full of percussive music and videos of traditional dances filled me with a sense of their cultural richness and strength as a people, despite centuries of hardship.  After reading about their incredible political achievements in recent years, including the government’s 2009 Historic Apology, I entered the meeting with a feeling that Afro-Peruvians were riding a tide of success, and that there was much hope for their future.

However, as four o’clock came and went, and the small group of eight Afro-Peruvian civil society leaders realized that no one else would be coming to the event—not the congressmen who had confirmed, nor the Minister of Culture—the feeling of humiliation and exclusion became real.  The discussion was moved from a large event hall to an actual roundtable, at which I even had a seat.  At first, the discussion had a fairly negative tone, as the group felt somewhat defeated before they had even begun.  However, they soon turned to constructive conversation on the rights of Afro-Peruvians and strategies to realize them.

From what I understood of the rapid and intense discussion, the main issue regarding Afro-Peruvians’ inclusion in the Constitution is that they self-identify as a distinct racial and ethnic group, needing special civil and political, as well as economic, social, and cultural rights.  They do not, however, fit into the state’s definition of an “indigenous people” that would be guaranteed these rights, and so they do not receive the special protection that indigenous groups do.  My research paper explored the justification for their claims to racial and cultural group identities, and found that they were, in fact, justified in claiming both.  I wanted to go further in my analysis and make recommendations for policy changes; however, I struggled to determine which definitions of racial and cultural groups were of significance to Afro-Peruvians.  At this roundtable, I learned that the important definition is that of the International Labour Organization, which states that an “indigenous people” is one that was present during the period of conquest or colonization, or when the state’s borders were established.  Clearly, this definition excludes groups that are original to Peru, but that developed after the state was established.  This leaves no path for Afro-Peruvians to claim the kinds of rights they need for protection against past and present discrimination, and the preservation and development of their unique culture.  I now know that for Afro-Peruvians to be included in the Constitution, this definition needs to be expanded.

The Roundtable discussion was necessary for clarifying the group’s goal of modifying the state’s definition of a “people.”  However, it may be a struggle for the group to gain the political leverage needed to accomplish this, as government leaders clearly do not care enough to sit down and work together.  The vision for the Roundtable is to be a space for dialogue between the political administration and civil society, but it remains to be seen whether or not the political administration shares this commitment.    

Journal, October 22

                From the moment that I arrived at the office last Tuesday morning, I felt welcomed into the CEDEMUNEP family.  I was greeted by my two new co-workers with warm hugs and kisses, and I took my place by their sides, working hip-to-hip in our tiny apartment-office in Lima.  Over the last two weeks, we have learned to communicate across the language barrier and work together effectively.  As it is my first time working internationally, and their first time hosting an international volunteer, it is a learning experience and an exercise in patience for all of us.
          When I first arrived last Tuesday, I sat down with my co-workers for tea and conversation about their current projects.  As a civil society organization that is highly responsive to the needs of the community, CEDEMUNEP is engaged in many diverse activities, ranging from a clothing drive for a town devastated by an earthquake, to summer education programs for youth in Lima.  They are also currently providing legal and psychological support to a young woman who was raped in June of this year, and whose case is being ignored by the judicial authorities.  My supervisor explained that the woman, Carmen, was working as secretary to the mayor of a nearby town, when she was drugged and raped by the mayor with the complicity of several colleagues.  Because of the political nature of the case, and because Carmen is Afro-Peruvian and poor, the authorities are trying to sweep the incident under the rug.  CEDEMUNEP was asked to get involved, and so we are working to break the silence and put pressure on the judicial authorities to issue a court ruling.  Cecilia explained to me that we would be writing a letter to the crown attorney, which would be sent out to organizations in our regional, national, and international networks for them to endorse.  I thought it was a great idea, until I realized that the “we” she was talking about was me.  I would be writing the letter—in Spanish.  
           I awkwardly tried to explain that my Spanish writing abilities were fairly basic, but my speaking ability was also poor enough that I did not quite communicate this critical point, and a few minutes later, I found myself staring at a blank Word document with a pile of confusing papers in my lap to work from.  It was one thing to write a paragraph about women’s issues in Spanish class—it was quite another to feel that the future of Carmen’s case rested on my ability to write a grammatically-correct, and even convincing letter that would achieve the endorsements of hundreds of civil society leaders and eventually be read by the crown attorney.  Talk about responsibility.  Despite my lack of confidence, I told myself that I had come to Peru to help in any way that I could, and that I should at least try.  After hours of untangling the messy details of the case, I finally began to grasp what had happened, and outline a letter.  With much assistance from a dictionary, I was able to complete the letter one day later.  My co-workers were thrilled and I was proud, and together we made some final corrections and began to mail it out.
         When I had the opportunity to meet Carmen and her mother the next day, and listen to her talk about the challenges she has faced over the last few months, I was completely humbled by her courageous and relentless pursuit of justice—not just for herself, but for all victims of sexual violence in Peru.  When I gained a little perspective, I saw that my own challenges in writing a letter paled in comparison to her struggles with the entire government system.  Not only that, I grieved that my inarticulate letter could have more political power in Peru than her own voice.  When she looked me in the eye and thanked me for my help, I finally realized that the responsibility that I had been entrusted with was no longer something that I wanted to run away from, but rather something that I wanted to fulfill to the best of my ability.  Like my friends at CEDEMUNEP, I hope that I may have the courage and strength to fight for justice until the very end.