The Austin Delegation (from left to right) Vic, me, Jennifer, and John in front of a map showing immigration routes from El Salvador to the north.
On Thursday, May 9 a group of 3 members from the Austin sister cities committee arrived in El Salvador for a week of basking in, gulping down, and weaving the solidarity that makes up the work of Sister Cities. I have written in the past about how delegations are very special times for me, full of inspiring moments, renewed energy and enthusiasm, and gratitude for new relationships; and this delegation was all of those things. But this delegation was also extra special to me, coming from my home in Austin, and coming to my home in Guajoyo. Needless to say, this week has been fully inspiring and refreshing and fun and exhausting and wonderful. Our conversations were so rich, and I wish I could just transcribe a few of them here, but my memory doesn’t serve me that well. So I’ll try the best I can to offer some sort of summary.
“Welcome in the name of all the people of the community of Guajoyo, where you plant a seed that today blooms into a flower that will later become fruit”
The first part of the trip was spent in Guajoyo, 3 days jam packed with meetings, sharing meals in different homes, visiting projects, and even a dip in the Lempa River. It is so exciting to share a place that has become home with new eyes, because I am able to see it in a new way as well, and what a beautiful sight. I saw again the warm hospitality and the eagerness to treat new friends with dignity and honor that characterizes Guajoyo. But mostly I was again impressed by the incredible accomplishments of a community that was started 22 years ago and was made up of people from all over the area who came together with the common mission of starting over with new life after a time of unimaginable death. As I live my normal day-to-day life in Guajoyo it is easy to forget that 22 years ago this land was barren, there were no houses, no school, no crops, no health clinic, just an abandoned dirt road winding solemnly into the creases of the hills. Now there is a thriving community of over 600 people, a school that serves 3 communities, a health clinic, a community building complex, a break dance group, a theater troupe, a mill, fields of various crops, 3 churches, public transportation, and a decent number of houses that are at least rain and wind proof. And all that accomplished by the efforts of a population of hard-headed communist rebels (at least that’s how they were seen by most of the world around when the war ended) who hardly see a dollar pass through their hands in a day. Can you believe it?
The young generation in El Salvador.
But there have been and continue to be gargantuan obstacles along the way, especially with the ever-approaching threat of gang violence and social deterioration. The situation is kind of simple: you have a country full of hardworking people who do not have access to opportunities to work. There are no jobs and agriculture is quickly crumbling, and it costs more to cultivate a field of corn than the finished crop is worth. So you have all these people, and so so many young people, who are without options and without hope, and some of them find that through gangs they gain a sense of power and an ability to attain the things they need — money to buy food and clothes and shelter. And then others faced with this grim future risk their lives to migrate to the United States, where they have to live in hiding but at least they can work and feel productive and save enough money so family members back in El Salvador can buy a bag of beans to eat. But all these dismembered families created by so many people going north mean that the social fabric that used to be the strength and base of the country is threadbare, and so many are falling through.
The president of the community council and the coordinator of the community mill work together to start the 10 horsepower engine to show off their new mill
And you can see it when you go to a community like Guajoyo. You see these kids who work their butts off to grow their family’s crops and go to school, and maybe if they’re lucky they get to go to high school, and maybe if they’re really lucky they get to go to the university. But at the end of the day there is no work in Guajoyo, and the situation for small agricultural producers becomes grimer by the day, and even the possibility of subsistence farming — growing the basic grains consumed by the family — will soon be impossible. And you realize how huge the need is to have something to work towards, something to give a ray of hope, and that in a community like this the people will grab ahold of that hope and run with it.
That’s why Sister Cities funds small projects, projects that in the scheme of things are not that big. A few thousand dollars for a corn mill, a couple thousand to outfit a cyber cafe, a few hundred to throw a party commemorating the repopulation of the community. But these small projects are a huge benefit to the communities. They create a space around which to work, and they are small footholds on the ever-upward climb that seems to be eternally vertical for this community. But coming with this delegation and hearing updates on the projects, touring the projects, and having conversations with people from their community about things they are proud of, what they are concerned about, and what they hope out of life, it is clear that these small contributions are hugely impactful. And that is why an organization like Sister Cities is so beautiful, because imcredible things are done with relatively small amounts of money. The organization is the heart of what has propelled this community forward, and part of what projects give is something to organize around, to keep the momentum going.
As we were driving to the airport to drop the Austin crew off, we were reflecting on the ways that engaging with the disparities and injustice in the world is a liberating experience. In the end, the goal of everyone, regardless of where they come from, is to be more alive, and when we engage with the suffering of our neighbors or begin to question the cost of our own comfort, those struggles make us more alive. But it´s not something you can impose on someone. I would love to think that anyone who reads this blog might have the same soul-shifting experience that I am having, but I know it is different for everyone. But I hope that each of us — each of you — is able to engage in the world in some way that makes you more alive and that makes you uncomfortable with the injustice around us. Because really, if you´re not uncomfortable about something, you´re probably not paying attention.