Kate - Life in Community

What do you get when you put a native Bostonian, a Cuban-American Miami girl, a Texas Christian graduate, a New Orleans Frat boy, a Northwest tree-loving chica and a son of Vietnamese immigrants in a four-bedroom apartment for a year? Your first guess may be “Real World: Volunteer,” but this is actually Jesuit Volunteer Corps. Welcome to my community.

I am having trouble articulating what it actually means to live in community. And I think every community is very unique (for example, we happen to have six very strong personalities; the advantage being a lack of passive-aggressiveness and no one being walked all over, the disadvantage being sometimes we are just, well, aggressive). I have tried New Orleans Crawdaddy delight and Cuban Rice and Beans, sat through many an agenda meeting, argued about levels of cleanliness and about who actually knows how to clean. We have our share of fun too – impromptu dance parties, lots of laughing, a Sunday spent taking a Christmas photo (Alana made us wear matching clothes) and making an Advent wreath, good discussions and girls’ nights, and jokes about our Tapestry-covered TV.

It is far easier to talk about community superficially. I think I entered this program being very excited about the community aspect of JVC; I was going to have an opportunity to live with people who must be similar to me; I mean, we all are probably coming from the same place in that we share these four values. That assumption was my mistake, and the fact that it is not true a blessing in disguise.

My housemates are the people most different from me that I have ever lived with. I have come to realize that while I do believe in the four pillars, the ways those beliefs are manifested is not the same for everyone. I think to fully grow from this experience you have to let go of your own notion of what spirituality or community or simplicity or social justice looks like, and be completely open to somebody else’s interpretation of it. I don’t believe that I have completely done that, but I do think it is the way to get the most out of this experience. Ego has to go, and the fact that I have spent a good portion of my life in community does not make me a better housemate than anyone else.

I feel both challenged and blessed by my community. I am incredibly grateful for these people and the gifts they bring (JT’s generosity and delicious desserts, Eric’s easygoingness and dance moves, Susie’s considerateness and outfits that only she could pull off, Alana’s friendliness and endless labeling/color-coding of our lives and Joe’s listening skills and Latin music). We have had our ups and downs, but at the end of the day I come home to a home where I feel safe, supported, and loved.

Learn more about Kate here.

Daniel - A Day at LINK

The other day I was having the typical morning at LINK Community School. I arrived barely on time, cold and hoping to learn from the mistakes I made the day before. I kept telling myself that today I would actually give a detention to every kid that said, "shut-up" or rolled their eyes or sighed when I gave directions to the class. Or, today I would make sure that I was constantly present in every conversation I had with a child. These seem like pretty strait forward goals, and yet, they become so difficult. I'm halfway through my day and I realize that I've lost. Conversation after conversation become one long day, and at the end, I stand in front of an empty class asking myself, "Did I reach them today?" "Did I make a difference?" Will I ever know the answers to these questions?

These are the thoughts that greet me each afternoon, but thankfully I have found a release. Beginning about two weeks ago I began working everyday with the 7th and 8th grade girls and boys basketball teams. (For those that don't know me, I love basketball. I have been playing competitively and for fun for nearly 14 years, beginning in the 3rd grade). My role on the LINK staff is the assistant coach, a position of authority--but the role of disciplinarian and all-around tough guy is reserved for Coach Jones. It’s at this point that I can talk to the kids about something they love and make them appreciate it even more.

It’s a chance for me to talk about something I love and know. I feel like that's major part of being a successful teacher - when a teacher is passionate about a subject, not because they have to teach it, but because they love the subject itself. When the time comes for them to share their knowledge, it’s not a class/teacher scene, but a conversation between people. They bounce ideas and questions off each other to find the best understanding.

I've had one of these "conversations" recently. Cassie is not your typical/ideal student. She is not eager to pay attention to a teacher lecture about algebraic equations or scientific theories. But, mention basketball, and she is all ears. Sort of. She is a 13 year old girl, born and raised in Newark, New Jersey. You can't tell Cassie what to do; you just hope when you give her an assignment, all you get back is a sigh and a role of the eyes. It’s that, or she is out the door ready to do her own thing.

During a recent practice Cassie was taking several jump shots, becoming more and more frustrated with each subsequent miss. I walk over to the basket and begin rebounding for her. She misses again and is ready to chuck the ball through the ceiling. Luckily, I retrieve the ball first and calmly walk over to her. I hand her the ball and remind her that Steve Nash shot 1-9 the previous night and he has two MVPs under his belt. She nods her head reluctantly, takes the ball, and then we begin to talk about her form. We decide on a comfortable shot for her and test the results. She makes the first shot from twelve feet out. She makes the second. I pass her the ball and remind her to use her legs. She hits a third shot in a row. She begins to smile and quickly hides it, because for Cassie, she expects to make every shot. We work for another 25 minutes. She takes nearly 60 shots. When practice ends, she jogs over to me and asks if we can work on her shot tomorrow after practice. I say yes, of course--trying to hold back my own beaming smile, less she find out exactly what that means to my heart.

Learn more about Daniel here.

Dermot - El Hogar del Buen Samaritano

I feel that my fellow countrymen and women of the developed world have failed the people of Viñani. Worse still, I feel that we have failed them not by our indifference (normally the great obstacle to realizing change), but by our moral certitude in knowing what is “right” for those people. With reference to my November entry, I give great credence to Ivan Illich when he says that the road to a third world hell is paved with good (Western) intentions. I see Illich's “path” clearly visible every time I walk into the Hogar del Buen Samaritano in Viñani, a place almost destroyed by the altruism of Western volunteers and NGOs.

The outward appearances of the Hogar are probably what you expect when you hear “third world orphanage.” The building is decrepit, the 17 kids who live there flea-ridden, their clothes threadbare, and their physical size well below the average for their age. This place is right out of a late-night infomercial for Save the Children.

The Hogar is run by an enigmatic and now-evangelical ex-convict named Fermin. He is the type of person who would be barred from running such a social service in the US. I sometimes think that Fermin is a reformed man who was raised on the street and is now desirous to give back to his community, even if he lacks some of the skills to do so effectively. Other days, I think he might be a scoundrel who has successfully manipulated well-intentioned North Americans and Europeans into supporting an enterprise that is more exploitative than it is nutritive to the kids he is raising.

I can’t divine Fermin’s intentions. I can’t determine if the kids are abused or if they would be better on the street. But worse still, I always leave Viñani with the dangerous belief that more Western investment will solve all the kids' problems. I know that my family and friends are a generous bunch (many of whom donated to JVI, when asked). If I merely asked them to support me again at the Hogar, I am confident that I could raise a substantial sum. I am now convinced, though, that money is the wrong solution to this problem, given how ineffective I have seen such donations to be in the past.

A generous French NGO, for example, gave Fermin a new van to drive the kids around. Donating a car to the orphanage might sound like a great idea, as the kids could use a safer form of transportation and Fermin would not have to spend money and time on bus rides. Unfortunately, the van costs more to maintain and fill with gas than the amount saved on bus trips, a situation which is worsened by Fermin's overuse of the car for trips of convenience.

Similarly, a German Rotary Club built Fermin a bakery, in the hopes of making the Hogar economically self-sufficient. They forgot to consider, however, that making profits on bread requires constant, stream-lined, and large-scale production, a goal which cannot be achieved with Fermin's three small ovens. Adding to this problem, before I arrived in Peru, Fermin tried to launch the bread-making enterprise and forgot to factor the cost of electricity into the price of his product. He now faces a $200 electricity bill and another $200 in fines for failure to pay on time. Thus, the kids at the Hogar remain in desperate poverty, despite Western investment of what I would estimate to be over $15,000 (more than enough money to feed the orphans for years).

Fermin has also learned that Westerners are a good source of funds and continually asks me for money. It is easy to understand why. Our relationship from the beginning has been tainted on account of the donations made by my gringo antecedents. I have trouble leaving the place, knowing that I could give money to help out these kids, but cannot shake the idea that I could be contributing to a problem. With reference to my November entry, Bill Gates was right: complexity is a heady opponent to realizing change. As a corollary to this rule, charitable Westerners who oversimplify the poverty of the developing world do so at the peril of those they are supposedly trying to help.

I have no idea what to do at the Hogar. My current solution is to continue to accompany the kids. I organized a tooth brush campaign to get them all brushing their teeth a few months ago (see photos) and feel that this was at least partially helpful. I also continue to be the most popular person to give piggy-back rides and can take some comfort in lightening the mood for little kids who have too much to worry about.

The situation might improve next year, as we will have a volunteer position at Colegio Santa Cruz in Viñani. Brad Mills, a fellow JV who served one year in Bolivia and will be finishing his service in Peru, has recently joined us here in Tacna and will increase our contact with the albergue (refuge). I pray that if I can have more contact with the kids through Brad's connection to Viñani, they will trust me more and I will become wiser in the ways I can help.

I still haven't had the space to address Illich's worthy critique of JVI. Frankly, I have run out of space here. The rebuttal must wait until my third entry in this blog. Until then, Illich's haunting words will cause me to continually scrutinize my actions in Viñani, with the goal of preventing my falling into the trap of providing the same type of hurtful “beneficence” to the poor of Tacna.

Learn more about Dermot, here.

Kate - On the Job

I work at the Lawyer’s Committee for Civil Rights, a non-profit law firm that offers free legal assistance in civil matters and litigates cases surrounding issues of race, class, and immigration. In the JVC application process, I applied for jobs very different from experiences I had already had, which is how I ended up with an office job in legal work as my first choice. I am much more of a direct services oriented person, but I am fascinated by law, and, while I do not see it as my career path, I do feel that it is an essential tool to social justice.

I also found it very hard to actually imagine the work you will be doing, day in and day out, based on the one paragraph descriptions you are given when choosing a job. I was explaining this frustration to my dad (why can’t we know more about the jobs that are about to determine a year of our lives), and he said that is part of the beauty of the experience: you are dedicating yourself to a year of service, and to whatever challenges and rewards that year brings.

These have been some of my challenges thus far:

· Getting use to an office job. This may not be difficult for a lot of people, but it is hard for me to sit still, so I frequently have to walk before, during, and after work to get rid of excess energy.

· Phone Connections. A lot of my interaction with people is on the phone, which is different than what I am used to. I sometimes feel as though I would prefer more direct one-on-one contact with clients because that is more emotionally draining and I want to be challenged. The lack of that contact is just due to the nature of the job. It is also good to realize all the non-direct work that needs to go on in order for direct services to be possible.

· Realizing sometimes you just can’t help, nor can you change systems that are unjust overnight. I have heard a multitude of life stories that echo this point, but there is not the space to write about them.

And these are some of the rewards:

· Personal Education. I feel as though I have learned so much about law and the challenges faced by people who are not listened to in society. Also, because I am not in constant contact with clients I have both the time and energy to really listen to their problems and sometimes I think listening is in itself a service.

· Great Supervision. By this I mean I was set-up to be successful, but at the same time, nobody is micro-managing, so I feel ownership in my work. Early on I mentioned my desire for more direct service to my supervisor, and was immediately given a list of projects I could work on that fit my needs. I feel as though my agency has gone out of their way to make sure I am happy here.

· The people I work with. Every single person in my office (18 staff) continually amazes me with their commitment to a better world, their humbleness, their work ethic, their ability to be light-hearted and yet still really care, and so much more. The first day I was told, “We’re like one big family here” and it really feels that way. Even though I am new here and here only for a year, people treat me as if I know just as much as anybody else (even though I don’t). I feel very lucky and grateful to work with such phenomenal people.

Learn more about Kate here.

Dermot - Looking back on year 1

Walking down Avenida Bolognesi, Tacna´s main drag, you almost forget you are in Latin America. You can buy ice cream, read the newspaper, and embrace a modern, internet-connected Peru. Less than three miles from the center, however, the street lights and paved roads disappear and the estera (cane) huts prevail, until you find yourself in the midst of some of the worst poverty in the country, in a neighborhood called Viñani.

When I think of the “third world,” I think of Viñani. I know that Peru is “developing” and that the term “third world” is offensive; but one trip to Viñani makes you realize the absurdity of maintaining a quixotic and semantic focus on the euphemisms we use to describe an impoverished existence that is so unjust and difficult. Viñani crushes all politically correct thoughts about poverty and “living in solidarity with the poor.” Quite frankly, the place feels other-worldly. I have trouble identifying with the people. Nothing will allow me to free myself from the privilege I feel over them and the distance I feel from them. I am most gringo when I spend time in Viñani.

Every time I visit the place, I want to curse. I resort to vulgarity not only because of my indignation at the injustice of the situation, but—more importantly—because I am presented with a frustrating problem that is so damn mind-boggling to solve. At Harvard’s commencement last year, Bill Gates said, “The barrier to change is not too little caring; it is too much complexity. To turn caring into action, we need to see a problem, see a solution, and see the impact. But complexity blocks all three steps.”

I can now identify with Gates on how complexity thwarts progress on poverty, as I feel overwhelmed by the challenges of confronting it and will protect myself with something that feels like indifference. When I am not indifferent, I feel that I can only apply small bandages on a gaping wound. I am completely uncertain if I am actually helping anyone when I visit those I have befriended out there.

On second thought, the last paragraph also explains many of the problems with “Western” philanthropy in Viñani. Did you notice what I did? Look at how this do-gooder JV described his relationship with the poor. I offered vague terms to describe the “desperate masses.” I rightly expressed my frustration and indignation, but incorrectly presumed that I am helpful in applying the “small bandages” that I can offer, or that I have sufficient experience to “solve the problem of poverty.”

I also set up a nasty relationship with the “poor,” in treating them as nothing more than passive repositories of my charity. I am the doctor; they are the patient. I know what they need and I will provide it. JVI challenges us to examine these unjust dichotomies that we can often create in our interactions with the poor.

On my Reo/Diso this past month, I read a speech by the radical Catholic priest Ivan Illich, who notes that “the road to hell is paved with the good intentions” often carried out by North American volunteers serving abroad. In a brusque and often cynical form, Illich goes on to indict my work, writing to a departing class of volunteers to Mexico, “You are ultimately-consciously or unconsciously- ´salesmen´ for a delusive ballet in the ideas of democracy, equal opportunity and free enterprise among people who haven't the possibility of profiting from these.” Illich goes on to condemn the very existence of organizations like JVI, which send volunteers into “developing countries,” as we will only experience a very damaging false solidarity with the poor whom we are purportedly “serving.”

Illich would have me pack my bags and return to the US tomorrow. Moreover, his strident indictment will serve as a constant reminder to me in my second year, of the dangers endemic to acting with self-righteousness as a JV. For better or worse, though, I am still in Peru. You call me a hypocrite or a seductive salesman of corrupt Western values. I will explain in my next entry why I do not believe this to be the case, yet will definitely give Illich his due, given the infernal pain I have seen “well-intentioned” NGOs cause at an orphanage here in Tacna.

Learn more about Dermot here.

Daniel - Orientation

A little after midnight on August 16, I boarded a red–eye flight to Baltimore with my best friend. We both had chosen to dedicate the next year of our lives to living in service with the Jesuit Volunteers, fighting for social justice, and growing spiritually.

Our flight brought us to Texas and then to Baltimore, where we caught a taxi that would take us to the Hagerstown Greyhound bus station. We anticipated meeting other JVs at the bus stop. My thought was that we would arrive, chat with other JVs, maybe meet my first housemate, and then board the bus that would take us to Blue Ridge Summit for our four-day indoctrination into the JV community.

That was the plan. But—as I and nearly thirty other JVs learned, plans have a mind of their own.

The wait at Hagerstown, which was supposed to have been about a half hour, turned into a 5 hour ice breaker. Greyhound decided that it best to over book their buses for that particular day. Looking back, I don’t think that I would have had it any other way. The long wait forced many of us into those early awkward conversations of asking each other where we were from, where we went to school, where our placement was located. As ordeals often do, it bonded us in our hatred of a common villain—the Greyhound bus depot. I should really send them a thank you card.

We were finally rescued by members of our support staff—Beth, Katie, and Stephen. So instead of riding in a cramped bus, filled with strangers, we were able to travel in style, crammed in three 12 seater vans in the company of those who, just hours before, were nothing but strangers.

Once settled in our rooms, the thought on most minds was lets have some food—or was that just me?

Over the next few days, I met amazingly gifted, goofy, and interesting people from all parts of the United States. Many from schools I’d heard plenty about, but never visited. It was a chance to put faces to names, and shake off the anxious feeling of wonderment as to what your housemates were going to be like.

I remember thinking to myself, both on the way to the retreat center and during, that I wanted to be active and step outside of my shell. This was an opportunity to share my gifts of spirit and laughter with others who had chosen a lifestyle similar to my own. I told myself that I wanted to be present in every conversation, mindful during every prayer, and open to new ideas and outlooks on life.

I don’t want to ruin the surprise for future JVs, so I’ve decided, will all the restraint I can muster, not to go into any real detail about the activities we did, prayers we offered, masses that were held, people that spoke, games that were played, or food we ate. When Sunday rolled around, I found myself driving with two of my housemates on our way to Newark, New Jersey, a place I had often heard about in the news, but had never stepped foot in. As we drove I noticed something really amazing. After only three days, I already felt so close, not only to my housemates, but to the mission of JVC.

For all those that were concerned, Greyhound did refund most of our tickets. You can rest easy now.

Learn more about Daniel here.

Gisella - How I got here

JVC is something I have been looking forward to for quite a while. Growing up in Peru I was used to volunteering here and there but I had never heard about people taking a year off to volunteer, especially in the United States of America where stereotypically everyone one is supposed to care only about themselves. So when I heard about my friends from Loyola Marymount University joining a volunteer program to intentionally serve the population I have always longed to serve, to grow in faith and community with each other and to be challenged to grow, I knew it was for me.

I specifically decided to apply to the Midwest because no one in my school applied there. Whenever I told anyone that I wanted to go to the Midwest, they would look at me weird and say “ . . .But why?” That’s when I knew that it was the place for me. I wanted to go where not many people want to go, I wanted to go to a place that would challenge me to experience different things, a place that will challenge me to grow into the person I long to be – a servant for and with others. What can be more different from Lima, Peru and Los Angeles, California than THE MIDWEST!!!

I didn’t take my application process for granted, I had a systematically organized system of what I needed to do and when. The application was so long but it helped me understand more and more why I wanted to do JVC and what I wanted to do. I waited anxiously for the interview and I cried when I was finally accepted. I was actually taking an Ignatian Spirituality class during the time I decided to apply to JVC so I used Ignatian Spirituality throughout the process. As I got interviewed and heard all the amazing opportunities I would have to experience with JVC I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt what the Jesuits call a sense of “consolation” or God present in my life every time I thought about being a JV. I had so many people encouraging me and helping me read my application and giving me honest feedback, like my spiritual director Brendan and my “advisor in JV life” Tom, both who are former JV’s. I also had my little English angel Maria who helped me correct my application so I would use the best words possible to describe my feelings. In writing my application and throughout the whole process I grew much stronger in friendships and faith, knowing that through the process God was there letting me know that what I was committing myself to was his will for me. At the end of the process I felt that I was following God’s call for me, I knew I was called to be “Ruined for Life,” THE JVC WAY.

Learn more about Gisella here.

Kathleen - Life on the Border

El Paso is really unlike any other city I have seen. With the downtown right on the U.S./Mexico border, it is truly an international city. For 35 cents, we can walk across a bridge to Cuidad Juárez and with 30 cents (exact change) and a license we can cross back to El Paso. Yet, while the international boundary line divides these sister cities, they really operate more as one large community—with one being a part of the so-called “First World” and another in the “Third World.” The dividing line between these two cities is clear, and disparity in economic and structural wealth is readily apparent.

As part of our local orientation, two of the JVC support people—local residents of the JVC city who are there to assist the JV’s throughout the year—took us to a part of the border fence in New Mexico. Within seconds of parking, a Border Patrol agent drove over and asked what we were doing at the fence. In our conversation with him, he said he had seen some pretty difficult things at the fence—especially the children trying to cross. But, he added, his training taught him to leave his heart at home and that is what he has to do.

As the conversation ended, some children ran up to the fence. We chatted with the five boys for a while, then, spying my water bottle, one boy asked for a drink. Through the chain links, I offered the boys my tap water—clean, safe, and free. Two thoughts immediately hit me: how lucky we are to have that necessity running through our taps whenever we need it, and how I wished I could just touch them. It just felt wrong to have people fenced off from one another because they happen to be born on one side of this arbitrary line. Those were my brothers standing on the very same soil as I, but we could not embrace, or hold hands, or play games.

I cannot stop thinking about this first encounter with the border. And I cannot stop thinking about the immigration debate in Washington taken up, for the most part, by people who have never actually seen this border and how much these cities depend on each other economically, with thousands crossing every day for work and to visit family. Certainly, the whole immigration debate in our country is a complex issue, and it appears very different on the soil of El Paso/Cd. Juárez. It is not an easy question to answer; nor is it a simple issue to comprehend. I just keep thinking of the dignity we owe to one another, whether that person is on the opposite side of the fence or guarding that fence.

Learn more about Kathleen here.