Wait, What?

. . .

Tiempo Tiempo

Mediodía estancado entre relentes. Bomba aburrida del cuartel achica tiempo tiempo tiempo tiempo. Era Era. Gallos cancionan escarbando en vano. Boca del claro día que conjuga era era era era. Mañana Mañana. El reposo caliente aun de ser. Piensa el presente guárdame para mañana mañana mañana mañana. Nombre Nombre. ¿Qué se llama cuanto heriza nos? Se llama Lomismo que padece nombre nombre nombre nombre. Cesar Vallejo

Gatito

I met this cat in the summer of 2009, in a small village in Peru called Motupe. I snapped this photo just has she stretched out and rolled around in the dirt to scratch her back. Several locals, amused by my amusement, shouted out, "Take her home with you! Don't you need a kitten?"

Motupe, Peru

Unfortunately, they were wrong, I didn't need a kitten. She stayed there and I went on my way, leaving behind Motupe, Peru, South America.

The Invisible Shield of Anonymity

Here at school, discussions on the student listserv often devolve into inflammatory (and often elementary) name calling. I think there are several basic reasons for this. In the first place, emails are often half-read, or skimmed. People jump head first into these arguments after having read just the first of four paragraphs of an argument. Conclusions are jumped to, and responded to, even though they might not have ever existed.

Read carefully.

Things quickly become personal. It starts with subtle jabs, questioning someone's ability to read, think, or articulate. These are always degrading and condescending. "I'm left to wonder if Mr. Jones has even travelled abroad, or knows what it's like to be in prison." You could always present your argument by explaining the benefits of traveling abroad, for example, or by describing the realities of prison life, ooooooor you could simply deconstruct your opponent by making blanket assumptions and sweeping judgments about the value of their life experience, or lack there of. You don't need to know if these things are true, just say them anyway.

From here things often turn ugly. Sure, there are always a couple of reasonable, even handed responses, usually sent with the intent of cooling the flames or putting an end to the ridiculousness that is ensuing. These messages are either ignored entirely, or repeated (practically verbatim) by others who feel the same way and either didn't read the first message, or just want their moment on the soapbox.

The conversation is instead dominated by the loud and obnoxious, generally. Despite spending countless hours in Legal Writing classes, learning how to carefully articulate arguments and present ideas, law students quickly fall back on more primitive tools of persuasion, like using ALL CAPS for the REALLY IMPORTANT WORDS, such as, "YOU'RE AN ASS!" or "APOLOGIZE OR ELSE." Keep in mind, these discussions are taking place before an audience of hundreds.

What's striking is not the language used, or the elementary argumentation taking place between groups of grad students. Rather, it's the ability of human beings to forget that they actually know the people they are talking to or about. It's our ability to write an angry, impassioned, and inflammatory email about a person who we see on a weekly, if not daily basis, and then knowingly send the email directly to that person.

Even if you never have to face the person (as is the case with the law school listserv), don't we all have to co-exist? Don't we have a kind of evolutionary duty to not fall back on our most cowardly, ineffective, lazy, and hurtful tools of argument?

Or don't we?

(Note: This is not to say that a person doesn't occasionally deserve a swift kick in the pants or an angry/impassioned email. It's just to say that a person doesn't deserve to be insulted when they disagree with you on basic questions of policy, law, etc.)

Hike with a Friend

I went hiking a few weeks ago with a friend of mine. I told my friend that I like music that makes me feel something. I like songs that can make me feel like I'm going through a break up or loss of a loved one, even when I am not. I like music that makes you want to move and dance and forget your worries.

This conversation got me thinking about the power of music. These songs and artists aren't just things that we listen to, but powerful arrows in our quiver. They can be used to motivate, tranquilize, relax, excite, and console. We have control over when and how they will be heard. Today, we will dance. Tomorrow let us be pensive and introspective. Should I clear my mind, or invite distraction? These are the things that can shape our mood, and consequentially the way we interact and are perceived by others. Will I be open to new ideas, new faces, new horizons and possibilities--or will I hunch under the stormy rain cloud that exists only in my distorted perception?

I have never being all I want to be. But maybe tomorrow I will be.

Rejected

Rejection letters are cold, blunt, and economic in word use.

"We reviewed your application and will not be hiring you."

I'm not sure what's worse, a heartless rejection letter or the straight up silent treatment. The rejection brings closure and allows you to move on. It's also a brutal blow to your ego which can take days or weeks to recover from, something that the silent treatment spares you. Just once I would like to receive the following rejection letter:

Jean Smith, VP Human Resources

Dream Employer Incorporated

Pleasantville, USA 90001

November 17th, 2009

Dear Applicant,

I recently had the pleasure of reviewing your application. It was awesome. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but unfortunately we can't hire you. I know what you're thinking, but trust me: it's not you, it's us.

First of all, don't be self conscious about your cover letter. It was the perfect length, nearly typo free, and that quip in the second paragraph nearly made LOL. Seriously! It was awesome that you spent last summer in Peru, you seem like a really great guy. It kills me that we can't hire you!

You're probably going to think that your resume isn't up to par, but don't. Your resume was great. Sure, you don't have any directly relevant experience, and there's no real indication that you'll excel with us, but it looks like you're involved in some great activities. You worked at a call center during undergrad? That's amazing, I'm sure you're really hard worker.

The truth is if it were up to me I would have hired you. There are just a lot of factors involved that are totally outside of my control, and your control as an applicant. I mean, you are amazing in every way, and still didn't get a job with us? I guess it's all about who you know, which is total bull crap because you're awesome.

Keep your head up. You're young and in control of your soon to be flowering young career. Someday we'll be kicking ourselves for passing you up, I'm convinced of that.

Sincerely,

Jean

4th Meal

You know we have a weight problem when Taco Bell's "4th Meal" advertising campaign, which is basically an attempt to insert a giant calorie-heavy meal into the middle of the night, seems like a good idea to a large part of the population.

Desafios

Un desafio me enfrentaba.

No era uno sino varios, pero todos de la misma pinta.

Una, dos, tres oportunidades de ser el que quería y quiero ser.

Una, dos, tres oportunidades perdidas para siempre en el viento del pasado.

El mismo desafio me enfrenta vez tras vez en estos días, viejo amigo, llamándome lo que soy--cobarde.

Agobiado me siento bajo las oportunidades perdidas y fallas cometidas, y me pregunto sí es posible, ¿regresar?

The Beatles

I broke down and bought one of the new digitally remastered Beatles albums yesterday. At one point I had all their music, but CD's got scratched, cassettes were discarded, and my record player is in my parent's garage (a problem that must soon be remedied). I have a few of their albums on my computer, but I'm pretty far from having a complete collection.

I decided to get the White Album, the Beatles only double album, a welcome departure from Magical Mystery Tour, but not quite as good as subsequent albums, in my opinion.

I played the CD in the car on the way home. In a weird way it was like seeing an old friend for the first time in years. The first track I listened to was Birthday, a vamped up, cheesy ,and happy-go-lucky birthday song. The very next song is Yer Blues, which opens with John Lennon proclaiming, "Yes I'm lonely. Wanna die." The sort of natural high inspired by Birthday is wiped away in the first five seconds of Yer Blues. The contrast between these first two tracks was striking and immediately apparent. According to some it's the kind of contrast that helped make the Beatles great. Paul's "yeah-yeah-yeah's" and John's "wanna die's" represent the inevitable highs and lows, good times and bad that paint our lives.

It's funny what stands out when listening with 27 year old ears, as opposed to teenager ears. Sad songs seem sadder given a deeper contextual backdrop. Happy songs are richer and more alive than they ever were growing up. I realized that no song is written in a vacuum. Instead they are dressed in the pain, beauty, disappointment, and fears of the song writer. An early death of a parent, abandonment, ecstasy, the birth and death of a friendship. These things lie hiding behind the words and notes. The more the listener experiences in his or her own life the more these things begin to peek out into the open.

And in the end . . .

My wife picked me up at the Portland Airport after approximately 24 hours of flying in the air and sleeping on the floor in strange airports. As we drove home, happy to finally be together again, we decided we were both hungry and in the mood for something . . . healthy. Not a burger, or ten dollars worth of french fries. Something clean tasting and delicious. I immediately thought of the many juice stands in Peru, where a dollar or less can get you a tall glass full of fresh squeezed orange juice, or papaya with pineapple if you're in the mood. Unfortunately the signs on the freeway continued to point us towards Wendy's, Carl's Jr., and McDonalds, not a juice stand in sight.

I guess you really don't appreciate what you have until it's gone.

Of course, a fresh squeezed glass of juice for only 30 cents also represents a great injustice, and in many ways the imbalance that exists in our world. A woman once sold me a glass of cebada for 15 cents. It was so delicious that I paid her quadruple, a whopping 60 cents. Her eyes lit up and she immediately rejected my offer, insisting that she couldn't possibly accept so much money. I explained that it was a tip, and with gratitude in her heart she finally accepted. Who would have guessed that 45 cents could literally make someone's day, and maybe even their week.

The more I learned and observed in Peru the more I realized that we shouldn't feel sorry for people just because they're poor. I watched kids play in the dirt with homemade toys. They smiled and laughed and genuinely enjoyed themselves, even without plastic army men or toys that light up and talk.

We don't necessarily need to get upset about the fact that some people can't afford the new Nike running shoes, or a trip to the Bahamas. The thing that we should really be upset about, and be working constantly to overcome, is that fact that some people can't afford even the most basic education and health care. I worked with kids who had big dreams for their future, but at just 15 years old (or younger) they were forced to leave school to find a job.

Reflejando . . .

I was originally presented with the choice of working in Lima, the capital of Peru and home to over 9 million people, or Chiclayo, a town that I had literally never heard of. I decided right away on Chiclayo for a hodge-podge of reasons. I think I was under the impression that going to a smaller, more out of the way city would give me a chance to get to know the "real" Peru. This of course was a ridiculous assumption since there's really no such thing as a "real Peru. Peru, like any other country really, is full of a wide range of realities, none more authentic or true than the other.

What is life like in Oregon, for example? That would depend on if we're talking about the dairy farmer in Woodburn, the banker in downtown Portland, or the transient (or law student) in Eugene. Each represents in their own special way what Oregon is about.

I've spent the last 24 hours in Lima, and the one thing that I've enjoyed is not standing out. In Chiclayo people stared, mostly because of my height and giant shoes. On Monday I went and did some house visits in the rural areas of Chiclayo. At one point a young boy came out of his adobe home, looked up at me and said to himself in disbelief, "¿Tan grande?" as if to say, "people come in that size?!"

But in Lima I'm just another guy. There are enough tourists and caucasian Peruvians to blend in and go unnoticed, which is nice.

I'm currently sitting in the airport, waiting to make the last leg of my trip here in Peru. I'm headed to Cusco where I will learn a bit about what Nexos does there, and get to see Machu Picchu. I've got the full range of emotions brewing. I'm excited for Cusco, but more than anxious to get home to my wife and family. At the same time part of me is sad about leaving Chiclayo and the people I met there. In review, that's excited, anxious, and sad.

I'm about to board, I'll post more tonight.

Evidencia

The other day I was reading a Smith Institute report on Juvenile Justice in England and Wales. The forward said something that I thought was interesting:

It is almost 10 years since the Attorney General of the US, Janet Reno, submitted an independent, scholarly report to the US Congress entitled Preventing Crime: What Works, What Doesn't, What's Promising (1997). When I read that report shortly after it was published, I immediately sensed a sea change in the way democracies would talk about crime prevention. No longer would we focus just on ideology. Evidence would soon take a much larger role in the debate.

This struck me because so much of what we do, especially in the world of criminal justice, is based on abstract ideologies, theories, or even raw emotion. We are angry and outraged when someone commits a crime, we paint them as someone outside of society and often throw them in prison where they are supposed to learn a lesson. And certainly there are crimes that merit this kind of punishment. But the great mistake in the American justice system is failing to realize that nearly everyone who is put in jail will some day be released. Ignoring the needs of those who break the law (drug rehabilitation, education, etc.) has been proven to lead to an increasing number of repeat offenders.

We can continue to build more and more prisons, or we can get smart about the way we do things, focus on the evidence at hand, continue to collect more evidence in the future, and do what's best for society as a whole.

More to come soon . . .

Art Classes

One of my newest projects here in Peru is an Art/Drawing class with some of the kids involved in our program. These kids are mostly from rough backgrounds, and they have some history with the law. They've also expressed some interest in art, graffiti, drawing, or some combination of the three.

The classes are supposed to go about an hour and a half, or two hours at most. I always assume that the boys are bored because we're working on pretty basic concepts, and frankly drawing cubes in two point perspective isn't exactly mind-blowing fun. So today after about an hour and a half I wrote their homework on the board and told them to copy it down. I told everyone that class was basically over, but they were welcome to stick around and draw if they wanted. I started to pick up my things, thinking that the boys would welcome my invitation to leave. But they didn't. In fact, they stayed another hour and a half, drawing diligently, page after page, totally focused on the creative process.

I told my sister when I came here that traveling has a weird way of making you grateful for things you never knew you should be grateful for. My example at the time was city parks. My home town is full of places where you can go to run around in the grass, play frisbee or a game of soccer, baseball, whatever. Growing up I never thought to myself, 'golly, I'm sure grateful for these parks!' But you live a few months in a place with no real parks and suddenly you learn to appreciate what you had.

Well, I'm starting to realize how lucky I was to grow up with art classes. These kids are 14, 15, 16 years old, mostly having dropped out of school, and those who are still in school will never get to take an art class. This was especially obviously during class today, when five adolescent boys worked diligently for three straight hours on their drawings. It was like they were starving for some sort of creative output. Even having basic materials like clean paper and pencils seemed like such a privilege to them, and they asked permission every time they needed a new sheet.

In High School I was awkward. Puberty was brutal to me, I couldn't talk to girls, or even get up the courage to look them in the eye. And while I have plenty unpleasant memories from high school, the one place I always felt safe and comfortable was in the art room. Sure there were some weirdos there, in fact, we were all weirdos. And I guess what I never appreciated at the time, but I'm starting to see as a real blessing, was the endless supply of inspiration, materials, and new possibilities.

One of the kids in my art class here is a really good artist, despite having no training whatsoever. I don't have much time left in Peru, but I'm hoping to work with him and get him enrolled in an art school. He lives in a really rough part of town, and it might be his ticket to developing a real career and leaving the slums some day.

Episode I, 2.0

Growing up I was never much of a Star Trek fan, but I had something of an unhealthy addiction to all things Star Wars. I was still buying action figures when I was in high school. I had a long time subscription to the Star Wars Insider Magazine. I enjoyed going to comic book stores and thought the people who worked there were kind of cool (ok ok, I was right about that one). Luckily Episode I came out during my freshman year of high school and it sucked just bad enough for my interest in the Star Wars Universe to wane. I say "luckily" because I was well on my way to one day getting married in a Boba Fett costume. Episode II was worse, and frankly I had a hard time getting through it in one sitting. Things kind of came together in Episode III as several of the actors decided that it might be a good idea to show some emotion once in a while, and we got to see Anakin finally let loose. But really by that time it was too little too late. I'd moved on, seen other movies. It had been years since I'd read the Star Wars Insider, and I was totally fine with that.

After seeing the new Star Trek movie, which was awesome by the way, I started to wonder again why Star Wars had to go and make three lousy prequels. I found myself getting angry at my old friend Star Wars. That's why I have decided to constructively funnel my anger into reconstructing the three prequels with new actors, story lines, and action figure spin off series. Feel free to participate with suggestions and feedback.

EPISODE I, TITLE TBD

Ground Rules:

1. Anakin Skywalker will never ever ever, ever ever be called Annie by anyone for any reason. Ever.

2. The Jedi Council was one of the worst groups of characters ever assembled in the history of modern cinema. Apparently their job was to sit in a circle, occasionally look inquisitively at each other, and say extremely boring things. The new Jedi Council will be a two parts X-Men, one parts Super Friends (with Samuel L. Jackson and Lawrence Fishburn playing the Wonder Twins-type characters), and one part Young Guns:

Basically, if you want to be on the Jedi Council you need to have some sort of personality. Even Aquaman, arguably the most worthless Super Friend of all, had personality. It's not asking that much, really.

3. Anakin Skywalker cannot start out as a child. There are two very important reasons for this. First, kids can't act. Second, kids are not interesting. They play with blocks, watch cartoons, and laugh hysterically at words like "poo" and "toot." If we're going to watch the development of subsequent fall of Darth Vader, can we please just skip the prepubescent stage?

4. Qui Gon doesn't get to be in the remake as punishment for sucking so bad at everything he did in the original.

More to come soon . . .

Tiempo Libre

The other day I was talking to an older man about the book Don Quijote. 

"Ah yes," he said, "I read that book back when I was in high school. I used to read a lot back then . . . of course, that was before television, when we had more free time." 

This guy probably watches 6-8 hours of TV a day. Little does he realize that TV hasn't taken away any of his free time, it has just changed the way he uses it. 

El Contraste

I've been here in Peru for about five weeks now, and I wanted to share with you a few images that stand out in my mind. In many ways the contrast between the haves and the have-nots is ever-present, but there two times when it was made especially clear.

It was cloudy when I flew into Lima. We spent a good twenty minutes descending until we finally burst through the clouds so I could get a peek at the place I'd be spending the next three months. The very first thing I saw was an adobe shack with a bamboo roof. It was in a general state of disrepair and desperation, conditions that most of us could not imagine. The thing that stood out to me was that everyday modern marvels of aviation fly over the same poorly constructed bamboo roof. The planes overhead contain wealthy tourists, visitors, and people like myself who are lucky enough to study and travel, while the people in the house below could not afford to study or travel, even if it was their one and only desire.

The second image that stands out to me was something that happened just the other day. I was in Mancora, a small surfing town in North of the country, for an extended weekend. The town is full of rich tourists and surfers from all over the world. One morning I was walking along the beach when I noticed a Peruvian woman bathing her two naked children in the ocean. At that very moment an American man and his young son walked by on their way to go surfing. At one point the two children, the American boy in his wetsuit and surfboard in hand and the young naked Peruvian girl who had just finished bathing, were standing side by side. They were about the same size and age, but couldn't possibly have more different backgrounds. There is a sad and interesting contrast in this image between the white man and the native, the rich and the poor, that has deep roots and a complicated past. Even if we change the way we think, can we ever change the effects of centuries of abusive and racist policy?

Food

Peruvians are very proud of their food. When I first got here everyone went out of their way to tell me how great the food is (especially in the North, they say). They would then rattle off three or four Peruvian dishes and tell me how important it was that I try them all. This made me wonder what kinds of foods I'm proud of as an American, and more specifically as an Oregonian. If a Peruvian came to stay with me for three days back home in the States, what would I make sure they tasted before they went home? I've put some serious thought into this, and I think it goes something like this:

Day 1

Breakfast--Homemade waffles with fruit and whipped cream, thick cut bacon and scrambled eggs. 

Lunch--Big Town Hero/Gandolpho's. American's have mastered the art of the submarine sandwich.

Dinner--Barbecued hamburgers, with blueberry cobbler for dessert.

Day 2

Breakfast--Denver Omelet

Lunch--Izzy's Pizza

Dinner--Barbecued Steak Marsala 

Day 3

Breakfast--

Lunch--

Dinner--

I need some help with day 3. Any suggestions??

"Yo no espero nada del estado."

On Wednesday I made house visits with our social worker Joyce.  When the adolescent is still in review, one of the things we do is pass by their house to get to know the family and their living conditions.  Joyce asks about the parental relationship, educational background of the family, and so on.  I've made house visits before, but these were particularly shocking.

The first home was built of adobe with dirt floors.  There were large gaps between the sugarcane roof and the walls.  Four chickens were wandering around the living room, bobbing their heads and looking around as if it were their first time in the house.  There was an opening in the back wall, and I could see other animals just outside.  As we talked to the adolescent's mother, one of the chickens paused in the middle of the living room and crapped all over the floor.  Several minutes later three more chickens came down from upstairs.  The house, we find out, has electricity (a single wire runs up the wall and across the ceiling to a bare lightbulb), but no water or sewer.  Both parents dropped out of school in the first grade, and the mother can neither read nor write. 

About ten minutes away in taxi there's a Starbucks, where people spend more on a frappuchino than this familiy will make in two days. 

My point isn't to fire up a pity party.  There are people in this world who don't even have adobe houses or a single lightbulb, and we sat around and felt sorry for people who had less than us we wouldn't accomplish much.  These are deeply rooted problems that cannot be solved with a telethon, or sad Christian Children's Network commercials.  Thirty cents a day may help feed a child, which is a more than worthy cause, but what is being done to make sure these problems aren't being perpetuated to the next generation, and the next, and the next . . . ?

Perú, hasta ahora

There are a lot of interesting things I could tell you about Peru. The food is good, the traffic is unbelievably terrible, and for some reason the Jonas Brothers have managed to catch on here. 

But there are other less quirky, and much more tragic observations. The streets are littered with garbage, 70% of the police force is corrupt (not to mention corruption higher judicial and political levels), many streets aren't paved, and the ones that are are littered with wide and deep pot holes, etc. As I walk to and from work everyday and I see all of these problems in play, it is hard not to feel overwhelmed with the task at hand. I find myself wondering what I would do if I were the President, the Mayor of Chiclayo, or even the Chief of Police. I've only been here a week and a half, and I'm certainly no expert when it comes to political or social science, but it seems to me that if Peru, or any other country for that matter, wants to improve on its current state, the only true long term solution is to invest heavily in its young people. 

Here's the thing: every government ends up spending money on young people. If you ignore the needs of children and adolescents, you end up building juvenile detention centers, hiring more judges, paying more defense attorneys, expanding the police force, and so on. The adolescents who were ignored at the front end will pass through the system, learn to fear the police, develop no real life skills, contribute little if anything to society, and many will never really leave the penal system, costing the government a fortune in the process. This type of investment does make sense for anyone involved, not for the government and certainly not for the child. 

The alternative would be to invest heavily at the front end, to develop preventative programs for young people where they can develop skills and a sense of self worth. This would include investing in the community, encouraging various outreach programs and making sure that adolescents feel they have a place in society. The idea is to get creative when it comes to finding solutions to these problems. For instance, Chiclayo has a lot of kids who have dropped out of school in order to work and support their family. They also have a major problem with littering and garbage in the street. The government, or a private non-governmental agency, could start a series of after-school jobs that involved trash collecting. 

There are a million reasons why this would work. First, the agency would have to pay well, which would make the trash collecting jobs highly desirable. A 15 year old kid who works his hands to the bone driving a mototaxi all day long will be lucky to make $20 a week here. What if he found out that he could make $40 a week by picking up trash for 2 hours a day after school (which only amounts to $4 an hour)? These types of jobs would only go to at-risk children who would have to drop out of school otherwise. Now we've found a way to keep those kids in school, clean up the streets, and plant a seed of change in the culture that says its ok to litter. 

There are problems with my idea, of course. But the idea isn't to find fool-proof solutions that will solve all our problems right this second, the idea is to be having ideas, to be thinking of new and creative ways to approach these issues. Maybe there is no government agency who is going to hire kids to clean the streets, but what about a neighborhood coalition pooling together some money to hire a couple of troubled kids to clean their streets? What if each of us invested just a little bit of time to think about solutions, or to ask a local school if they needed volunteers? Maybe an increased effort on our part is the solution. 

It's not a sexy solution with photo-ops and ribbon cutting ceremonies. It won't present immediate results, which of course doesn't bode well for elected officials whose eyes are fixed squarely on the upcoming elections. But investing in our young people is the best way to make sure that we have a better tomorrow. I'd love to hear what you think.

I'm just a big dumb tourist

My second day in Lima I had a brief orientation with one of my volunteer supervisors. She told me to beware of pickpocketers and swindlers looking to take advantage of confused/goofy looking tourists. 

Well, apparently I wasn't paying close enough attention. Yesterday I went out to explore Chiclayo, the city where I will be working. There were hundreds of vendors and little stores, markets, etc. A young boy approached me and insisted that he clean my shoes on his little shoe-shining box. I went ahead and let him clean my shoes, and after cleaning the first one he handed me his "price list," which conveniently showed that the service I was receiving was the most expensive: 22 soles, or about $7.30. I rolled my eyes and told him it was too much, but in the end didn't put up much of a fight. When he was done I told him I needed change, and when he brought me his change he told me that it was 22 soles for EACH SHOE. I protested but he just handed me my changed and quickly walked away. $15 dollars for a 3 minute shoe wash is not a good deal. I was angry at myself the rest of the day for being taken for a big dumb tourist, and not putting my foot down (literally) when this kid tried to charge me too much.