tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52737493798816999942024-03-13T01:13:13.586-07:00A Different Sort of LivingExploring ways to live and love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-1602274516072252782015-12-31T07:09:00.000-08:002016-01-01T00:06:40.095-08:00Statements and Moments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsuHuoI4uSaO5TiLtAOgOJN0MGECSyszfj6hOrE6nl5Y6xUwHwN1hbz7hj6eQj4p0P7I7DkHCRDxJZtChyTI_kC8dSOxYUizkRaOtpyAZAyZGLJaKwT000gPy6PTwU7sN4SSbZssecfY7/s1600/Paris2015-43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332.5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsuHuoI4uSaO5TiLtAOgOJN0MGECSyszfj6hOrE6nl5Y6xUwHwN1hbz7hj6eQj4p0P7I7DkHCRDxJZtChyTI_kC8dSOxYUizkRaOtpyAZAyZGLJaKwT000gPy6PTwU7sN4SSbZssecfY7/s400/Paris2015-43.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="500" /></a></div>
A tall woman stands, feet together in reasonable beige heels. A long navy blue overcoat reaches down to just above her feet, revealing only a few inches of the navy blue hose covering her ankles. Holding her matching beige handbag with hands covered in black leather at her waist, she stares forward. A navy blue cloche hat with a navy blue bow protects her ears from the cool breeze. Her straight brunette hair continues the length of her hat to gently brush her shoulders. She lightly purses her lips, revealing a bit of age around her lips. Still, tall, and statuesque, she stands. The wind of a final car passing by lifts her hair slightly, the only clue that she was not in fact painted stone. Cars come to a halt, the green man is bright, the statue moves. To one side and then the other the hair turns, and then the beige heels, as if on runway, step from the sidewalk into the street.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJQxgCffxswTF689hq_yxjViPGGRotjSgnm-8rA-KUXet1rRpHzdSlQQ8LiZM3dl04IhRArXzc5YQ4Bf__1mBzUld3YmxdiT8mtzVjdiQQtCUujxDYSGMS-hozeOWun7g-v7aAGxr6gkA/s1600/Paris2015-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJQxgCffxswTF689hq_yxjViPGGRotjSgnm-8rA-KUXet1rRpHzdSlQQ8LiZM3dl04IhRArXzc5YQ4Bf__1mBzUld3YmxdiT8mtzVjdiQQtCUujxDYSGMS-hozeOWun7g-v7aAGxr6gkA/s400/Paris2015-23.jpg" width="332.5" /></a>Two large turquoise doors open, permitting a father and his young daughter to board the underground train. The little girl with long blond hair, a pink coat, white hose, and pink tennis shoes, pulls her father’s hand toward the area that connects the two train cars, between large accordion-like (fitting for Paris) mechanisms. As he sits in the seat in front of the metro’s joint, he lets go of his maybe 7 year-old daughter’s hand, with an expecting and knowing look on his face. Before the doors close, she is positioned with feet spread apart directly on top of layered metal plates. She lifts her hands for balance, turning back to her father smiling, waiting. As the doors come together, her eyes widen, her smile broadens, and her hands prepare. Her purpose becomes clear as this metal earthworm leaves the station, twisting and turning through stone tunnels. As the two giant accordions begin to inhale and exhale and the metal plates under her feet shift above and below one another, she surfs the metro line. Her father smiles with an outstretched hand, waiting in case she needs to grab hold. She shifts her weight, lifts her hands frantically, and moves her body with the curves of the underground subway, smiling intensely. As the train comes to a stop, she doesn’t move, ready for the next challenge. Unfortunately, as the doors open, I step out, hoping that this little train surfer never stops facing challenges but also never finds out that some people surf on top of trains.</div>
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A man with spiked hair that is as white as snow but pitch black at its roots stands on the subway platform in black leather riding boots. His long black overcoat is swept up in the air from a metro train passing on the opposite side. With one hand holding a black leather handbag and the other gently flicking the air at the wrist, he recounts a story in English thick with a French accent to his companion. His black vest covers a silver tie that nearly matches his hair. As I walk by one of the few conversations I could understand in the subway, I catch a glimpse of his perfectly tailored eyebrows raising as he emphatically states, “All women lie.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSp9hOyxLrmnSe6mxz-5vQNvzJGkSiLfwre5nkCUCSLawW0exhP56amdaHzPDMKtxcFGXLpqHLGklHKYzlLf8al3hVDTu4ldLa8VoVRH6zImFlC6O_qkiO6J3B6HxiVIP9129dNpdQxeZ0/s1600/Paris2015-70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332.5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSp9hOyxLrmnSe6mxz-5vQNvzJGkSiLfwre5nkCUCSLawW0exhP56amdaHzPDMKtxcFGXLpqHLGklHKYzlLf8al3hVDTu4ldLa8VoVRH6zImFlC6O_qkiO6J3B6HxiVIP9129dNpdQxeZ0/s400/Paris2015-70.jpg" width="500" /></a>Weaving through Parisian market goers, I step to the left, closer to the pungent aroma of uncooked shellfish and cod. Evading the interesting, yet somewhat discomforting smell, I move to the opposite side of the small walkway where customers are allotted in the street market that spanned at least 5 blocks. Trapped for a moment by an elderly woman at my front and a thick current of people to my left, I am given the short opportunity to watch a fruit vendor work. The most interesting aspect of this particular vendor was the tan cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. It caught my attention, I believe, because you don’t often see food workers actively smoking during service. However, rather than offending, this little stick of tobacco seemed completely in its proper place, part of a proper character. The cigarette moved up and down as the bearded and mustached lips raised and lowered prices during negotiations. Smoke followed the vendor’s head, caught under his dark brown cloth flat cap as he turned to weigh a bag of oranges. As he turned back to his buyer, a small bit of ash fell toward his shirt, but was prevented from burning it by the long brown apron he wore. As I stepped into an opening within the street current, I wondered how his mouth found time to draw from the cigarette and from the wallets of Parisians at the same time.</div>
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As the Eiffel tower’s four legs straddle thousands of tourists, we try to make our way out of the crowds. As we emerge, Ben points to a man jogging to our left. He is particularly conspicuous because of the jingling of hundreds of metal Eiffel Towers he holds in his hand on a wire half circle. He is not dressed for exercise; in baggy jeans, an old leather jacket, and worn tennis shoes, he frequently looks over his shoulder. His skin is significantly darker than the tourists around him, likely an African immigrant who had come to Paris to work. Suddenly, I notice another one of these men, carrying even more Eiffel Towers in his arm, jogging cautiously, continuously checking behind him. Then another and another. Turning, I finally see the impetus for their odd actions. Maybe seven men and women in blue uniforms with <i>Police</i> written in white across the front and back walk forcibly, in a disparate arc reaching from one side of the tower to the other, through the crowd. They create a slow moving wall that, like magnets of the same polarity, creates an unseen force that moves these street vendors out of the area. As the men scatter and the police converge, none are arrested. The vendors convene just next to the street, continuously checking their backs, as the police group together into a circle apparently finished with their task. A few men double back, continuously watching their law enforcement foes, returning to their prior position until the next sweep. As we cross the street and continue on toward Notre Dame, I can’t help but wonder if there is better way of regulating commerce than herding people like animals.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmW03wi94EIqSimh9WFSWeYElkNnEJQKlgs3oKGBeSrn5UCHjV-dEXhM-q4UkysO86_vlRLnBnrDZ60P_0b0f4jIkfQQswqKz_tMzFoDzBhfmjlfTwOef7S93caf4IzSZRVGGA-JQa2TT/s1600/Paris2015-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332.5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmW03wi94EIqSimh9WFSWeYElkNnEJQKlgs3oKGBeSrn5UCHjV-dEXhM-q4UkysO86_vlRLnBnrDZ60P_0b0f4jIkfQQswqKz_tMzFoDzBhfmjlfTwOef7S93caf4IzSZRVGGA-JQa2TT/s400/Paris2015-21.jpg" width="500" /></a>An older woman sits in the final wicker chair at the end of a long line of chairs facing the street, but is turned toward the pedestrians walking along the street. A small espresso size cup of coffee sits beside her on the café table, half full – or empty depending on your mood. Crossing her leg in front of her, bending forward, placing her elbow on her knee, she gently lifts a cigarette from her mouth and slowly blows smoke out of the corner of her ruby red lips. Her red, maroon, black, and purple coat with a boisterous pattern, which can really only be described as eccentric, drapes over her neatly touching the wet sidewalk. She smiles as we walk by, proud of the statement she is making.</div>
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Within two hours of being in Paris, this is what became quite clear: It is a complicated, busy, beautiful city, and most of the people within it have some sort of statement to make. Yet, whether due to previous media influence and cultural stereotypes or the real character of Paris, it is still clear that Paris has interesting, beautiful, romantic, and romanticized moments to offer to its visitors.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-88056499108627962202015-12-24T10:31:00.001-08:002015-12-24T10:31:05.314-08:00A Different Sort of Tourism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEK0jIKn3IFSiTOtfwLZDIg2ZiLVPwP-2XmtNw956x5OBlveout73IKMlmjY4hjdk04Z-VKed42CiqkV6XJimU4q1GB5Z_paQp_sUiKGWoduVltUklZLq_z2Lob9TQoe84KUSwLMq8uj1/s1600/Prague2015-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEK0jIKn3IFSiTOtfwLZDIg2ZiLVPwP-2XmtNw956x5OBlveout73IKMlmjY4hjdk04Z-VKed42CiqkV6XJimU4q1GB5Z_paQp_sUiKGWoduVltUklZLq_z2Lob9TQoe84KUSwLMq8uj1/s400/Prague2015-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Resting on the cushioned metro seat, feeling the vibration and sway of the train as it passes through the underground tunnels of Prague. No music and little talking. On each side the light of the train illuminated wires, pipes, and walls of the subway through the windows quickly passing by, inspiring a sense of riding a claustrophobic spacecraft at light speed. The loud whirr of the train passing along the tracks mellows the senses and calms the atmosphere. The squealing of the breaks alerts the passengers to brace for the slowed speed as we approach the next stop. Falling out of the underground wormhole, suddenly a whole side of the train is filled with columns, signs, and people waiting. As we begin to slow, they begin to move. Fifty people shift their weight toward the new arrival. Some stand from benches, others begin to stroll toward the tracks. As the train slows to a stop, they take small steps to position themselves in front of the nearest door.<br />
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One such passenger, a middle aged woman, with a purple scarf, black boots and pants, and a brown winter coat, holds a canvas bag full of bread, vegetables, and other groceries. She reaches to push a small button surrounded by green lights on the train to signal that the door should welcome her onto the car. As she steps across the gap, she scans for an open seat, quickly claiming one that faces me directly. She positions her groceries on her lap and hastily begins daydreaming while staring passed me toward the back of the train. We make eye contact for a brief moment, and then, with no significant or notable qualities, the moment is over. This was the moment I realized; tourism in Prague was different.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y9Y6oNPdbvV5taAXCWV2_Ldb-LB26_8GBR-axocGIX5cr_oECEivs1x-o6GYaJ-NBfNQo_EglBN_UByTpziBpmvNPY0ujBeeZmM-9R-tF13tYYuLauRCPxWitSOuFraD9MAwN6eMhBFs/s1600/Prague2015-46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y9Y6oNPdbvV5taAXCWV2_Ldb-LB26_8GBR-axocGIX5cr_oECEivs1x-o6GYaJ-NBfNQo_EglBN_UByTpziBpmvNPY0ujBeeZmM-9R-tF13tYYuLauRCPxWitSOuFraD9MAwN6eMhBFs/s400/Prague2015-46.jpg" width="400" /></a>Arriving in Prague, the uncertainty of a new country, place, and culture seemed to be alive and well as we fumbled our way through catching a bus from the airport, missing it twice because we didn’t realize there was a separate pick up and drop off location for different buses (albeit with the same number). However, once on the bus, we were easily able to navigate the public transit, including a transfer to the metro, because each stop was announced and many of the instructions were provided in both Czech and English. Our observation skills were our biggest hindrance rather than any deficiency in information provision.<br />
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The ease through which we managed the public transit was quite a bit different than what I have experienced in Nicaragua and Guatemala, where a significant intuition, problem solving skills, and luck are fairly necessary, especially if you don’t speak the language. Conversely, the Prague public transit, and later we would find most of the city, was largely set up for easy and intuitive tourism. You were immediately swept up with directions, signs, and announcements that indicated where and when you were supposed to act. I hardly had a moment to notice the wet smell of winter as we transferred from bus to metro. With our luggage in tow, we arrived at Ota’s House, a small bed and breakfast resembling a hostel more than a B&B, on the outskirts of Prague. Miroslav, the caretaker, welcomed us warmly in English to his home and gave us a wonderful tour of the common kitchen, shared bathroom, and back patio. He offered helpful information, unlimited transportation passes, and even a fridge with beer for purchase.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSd_cJSk-pZu9TCUBp7lO_YuIR2LAo9EVXF5Rcn1Ycx2E7AEWHpbSAASqxQjG4RQ1vqODZaiqeQuSnkGEb4d-SQ1RVOE5e5jpA8XewtnWMkBTuOnwSD3PDUGV2wut7h3djn5XBXNwMhfx/s1600/Prague2015-73.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSd_cJSk-pZu9TCUBp7lO_YuIR2LAo9EVXF5Rcn1Ycx2E7AEWHpbSAASqxQjG4RQ1vqODZaiqeQuSnkGEb4d-SQ1RVOE5e5jpA8XewtnWMkBTuOnwSD3PDUGV2wut7h3djn5XBXNwMhfx/s400/Prague2015-73.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
As we explored Prague, a simple “Hello” upon entering a shop, restaurant, or bar immediately triggered English as the language of communication. On our first night we made the unfortunate mistake of not beginning with hello, staring at a busy bar tender as she spoke Czech to us. When we provided our best impression of a deer in headlights, and asked if she spoke English, she replied quite frankly and somewhat abruptly, “Of course I do. You didn’t tell me you spoke English.” When we entered into a quaint little antique poster and bookshop on the way to the main castle in Prague, the shopkeeper greeted us enthusiastically with both a Czech and English greeting. When we returned an English response, she immediately pointed us to the English section of her shop and pulled a variety of large posters for us to explore. While we perused the communist-time posters, movie advertisements, and random maps she brought us, two more tourists entered. These however, replied to the shopkeeper’s Czech greeting. During our stay, there were many Czech tourists who seemed to frequent the shops of Prague as well. The newcomers asked her a question, and she pointed them to a section in the back, disappearing into her back room for a moment to retrieve something that was apparently relevant to their inquiry. Finally, a young Japanese woman came in, unable to reply to either of the shopkeeper’s greetings. The shopkeeper went to work motioning and pointing. It was unclear if either of them really got much out of the interaction. However for us, throughout this beautiful European city, we were not challenged to learn the Czech language because they already knew ours.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR37k2cQmjD_mQ3kFR88olWNTg0eEFBX2cSBrLGE41CHD3UfTKox94Vp5J8dQUUAUAIFrvI6qu1IceEAHqydLAcJLqrpqiVHqmeVSbbZ5qORPywXBKtzDgl9wbxmhhA8qgU_VKkN_O9pqv/s1600/Prague2015-78.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR37k2cQmjD_mQ3kFR88olWNTg0eEFBX2cSBrLGE41CHD3UfTKox94Vp5J8dQUUAUAIFrvI6qu1IceEAHqydLAcJLqrpqiVHqmeVSbbZ5qORPywXBKtzDgl9wbxmhhA8qgU_VKkN_O9pqv/s400/Prague2015-78.jpg" width="400" /></a>We found one poster that we both enjoyed and prepared to haggle for it. She gave us her price. We told her we would think about it, plus we didn’t want to carry a tube around with us all day. So we left to explore more gothic architecture, Christmas markets, and watch towers. We returned to the store to purchase the poster, assuming that leaving and coming back would potentially help lower the price. Ben asked if she could lower her price by 50 Czech Krona (~$2). She definitively jabbed back, “No.” and gave the exact same price as before. This was new. In shops, markets, and town squares of Central America, I have seen vendors slash their prices in half just to make a sale to tourists. Here, the shopkeeper wouldn’t even budge. If we didn’t want to pay her price, we could take a hike. Desperation was nowhere to be seen in this woman’s eyes.<br />
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All of these moments came together to form a realization as I briefly glanced in another Czech woman’s eyes on the metro. This random Czech passenger, riding the public transit home from the grocery store had no idea I was a tourist. With my camera hidden away in my backpack, a skin tone similar to most others around me, and winter clothes that matched the trends of the fellow metro riders, I fit into the crowd of Western European, mostly white, mostly middle-class, mostly comfortable Czech citizens. The constant awareness of my foreignness in Central America was not present here in the Czech Republic, my privilege as a tourist or extranjero was not as overwhelmingly present in every action I took. The power and privilege differentials here were different from those I so commonly experienced in Central America. I cannot presume to say they were less influential or less severe even, but what I do know is that they were different, more hidden and subtle. This was a new sort of tourism and travel for me, one in which I could easily find myself comfortable and hidden, one in which it was much more difficult in many ways to be aware of how my actions relate to the citizens of the Czech Republic; how, or in what way, I was participating in the globalized power structure.<br />
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There were two edges to this sword. Traveling here was much more comfortable, easy, and inconspicuous, but at the same time that ease potentially facilitated the blind tourism we often critique in visitors to Central America. It was a challenging and informative endeavor to experience this different sort of tourism, one in which the mind was not so easily handed the ways in which power and privilege exist in the world. However, at the same time, the beauty and ease of Prague was comforting to say the least, and I would definitely go back. Next time though, I would like to have a conversation with that woman on the train to understand her world and country more than through its castles and Christmas markets.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-81191600285386972182015-12-17T01:05:00.001-08:002015-12-17T01:11:04.265-08:00A Turkish Thanksgiving<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRGz48WjhGeNFJUYs3pAI6R_dFFBei9RsY4Jc9sHCqyiaT46_V7J3huCm_4TR18VdI58BCY3h9CfqHIpWfo_91vWQrSqH-5kopSwNwquOv4_fnUr0MGaZDGQ7zEYtpGvTiSrPsa2v1DCS/s1600/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRGz48WjhGeNFJUYs3pAI6R_dFFBei9RsY4Jc9sHCqyiaT46_V7J3huCm_4TR18VdI58BCY3h9CfqHIpWfo_91vWQrSqH-5kopSwNwquOv4_fnUr0MGaZDGQ7zEYtpGvTiSrPsa2v1DCS/s400/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-1.jpg" width="265" /></a>When he walked through to door, nonchalantly setting his backpack down, his roommate, Casey, frantically greeted him, "We're having it here!" His eyes widened as he responded, "What?! We're having it here?" I could see the stress level rise exponentially. His hands immediately went to work, cleaning, rearranging, and preparing for the landlady to return. "Do we have everything we need up here?" "Let's hope." Within five minutes, the landlady, Senem, had burst through our door ready to help prepare the evening's meal, <i>mantı</i>. Now by burst, I don't mean physically. She cordially knocked before entering, but once she had entered the apartment, her personality filled the room. With a welcoming and energetic face framed by a turquoise and purple print <i>hijab, </i>she immediately went to work giving Ben directions and preparing the various parts of the meal.<br />
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After setting Ben to task mincing garlic, cutting onions, and watching for the sugared water to boil, Senem set up her dough rolling station in the only free space available in the apartment, the hallway floor. Lily, the other roommate who had just returned from the store, correcting a cheese and yogurt mixup that we realized earlier, told us that two more guests were coming, an English tutor and an English teacher from their university. Weaving between people and door frames, Casey and I moved the drying rack filled with his shirts, underwear, and socks to Ben's room to make space in the living room for guests. Apparently, including Senem's family, the guests, and all the roommates, ten of us were eating. This gathering was turning out to be more than expected on all fronts.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUqbW15f91F-gUbkRhrUQfYakjnZB9f8CfmZ5tz5FFJbWAymwxaTF0YaxeW9fIWksFyIutjL4BcY7k6x0aaLpis8Y5AzdsLOvmkc8vxDFr5N-AagyOtOy6UI59eB48NYFwk2wRdMa7wyr/s1600/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUqbW15f91F-gUbkRhrUQfYakjnZB9f8CfmZ5tz5FFJbWAymwxaTF0YaxeW9fIWksFyIutjL4BcY7k6x0aaLpis8Y5AzdsLOvmkc8vxDFr5N-AagyOtOy6UI59eB48NYFwk2wRdMa7wyr/s640/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-3.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
Senem sat in the hallway in a shirt proclaiming "You Make Me Feel Alive" rolling dough into thin crepe-like pancakes, cutting them into small parallelograms. Speaking in Turkish to Lily and motioning with her hands to me, she asked us to wash our hands and begin the process of making <i>mant</i><i>ı</i>. Sitting cross legged on the floor next to a large bowl of ground beef mixed with spices and onions, Senem demonstrated how to fold the dough around small pellets of meat and onions, pinching it shut on the ends to create something akin to a triangular ravioli. Each <i>mant</i><i>ı</i> held a thumbtack sized amount of filling, and we had a whole mixing bowl full of it. This was going to take awhile. We sat on the floor making <i>mant</i><i>ı</i> while I learned, through translation, where Senem was originally from and why she had moved to Konya. Over the next hour or so, we each took turns filling dough and throwing our creations onto a huge circular bowl covered in flour. Senem's teenage daughter soon joined us, sheepishly sitting behind, timidly smiling whenever we made eye contact.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgiSUoxRP-nYGTAZPO19r9oQWy6irZYv0ncnISS9VufEIRGbXYy0Xi3objTNdVjZxlcWetkOAV-XoW1gTgcznoK4SCFRkTAgf-tqfDmttKfm_UOaVuVigGDfMClTywAPgUK-vHoeYL6LE/s1600/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgiSUoxRP-nYGTAZPO19r9oQWy6irZYv0ncnISS9VufEIRGbXYy0Xi3objTNdVjZxlcWetkOAV-XoW1gTgcznoK4SCFRkTAgf-tqfDmttKfm_UOaVuVigGDfMClTywAPgUK-vHoeYL6LE/s400/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-5.jpg" width="266" /></a>A knock was heard on the door. The English tutor had arrived. At this point we moved our <i>mant</i><i>ı</i> making station into the living room so more people could sit around the bowl of beefy onions. Senem continued rolling <i>mant</i><i>ı</i> dough in the hallway while monitoring the syrup, sauce, and desserts in the kitchen. We discussed the cost/benefit analysis of food that requires this much repetitive preparation.<br />
"But it is so good," offered Casey.<br />
"But it is so tedious," Lily retorted.<br />
"It would make a great fine motor therapy session," suggested the occupational therapist in the room.<br />
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By the time we were nearing the end of our bowl of oniony meat paste, the English teacher and her 2 year old son had arrived. The terrible twos, it seemed, was something similar between our cultures. With four people making <i>mant</i><i>ı</i><i>, </i>we quickly finished the bowl and carried the small mountain of Turkish raviolis to Senem in the kitchen who dumped our work into a large pot of boiling water. The next task was setting up a make-shift, and completely unplanned, dining area. Improvising with a small kitchen table and Ben's desk, we created a large dining room table in the living room, utilizing desk chairs, patio chairs, and couches to provide seating. Senem's husband arrived, a shorter full bodied man who wore dress pants, a black vest, and a white collared shirt. He only wore socks on his feet, something true of all of us and congruent with the fairly rigid Turkish custom of leaving your shoes outside the door before entering a home. This was particularly noticeable on him, though, because of its contradiction with his formal attire.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomMgOG9UzphOdDk7uQ0hYWtne0YFsY96FdXMoaV5JyXXD6VSBuvi9S8UPARwviQxT9fJl5koGAVKBA5Q7VuAlTTHhEhDSm1_QKakSOUUewnydFiyI0kNtIq7jvbiexNyL0mAnqxM6Nn7V/s1600/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomMgOG9UzphOdDk7uQ0hYWtne0YFsY96FdXMoaV5JyXXD6VSBuvi9S8UPARwviQxT9fJl5koGAVKBA5Q7VuAlTTHhEhDSm1_QKakSOUUewnydFiyI0kNtIq7jvbiexNyL0mAnqxM6Nn7V/s400/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-14.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
As the dining room came together, we all gathered in the small living space of the Fulbrighters' apartment. The craziness of preparation and the in-prompt-to dinner party settled as we each took a seat around the family dinner table. The <i>mant</i><i>ı</i><i>, </i>which had been covered in a white yogurt sauce and topped with the leftover dough fried into crunchy crouton-esque accoutrements, along with red tomato-like soup, baklava, Ş<i>ekerpare - </i>biscuits that had been soaked in a simple syrup, and freshly baked bread filled the table to make something that felt a bit like a Turkish Thanksgiving dinner.<br />
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With a mixture of Turkish, English, and confused looks on my part, food was passed, discussion was had, and everyone was a bit more than gently encouraged to eat an excessively filling amount of <i>mant</i><i>ı</i>. The main course was more tangy than sweet and more earthy than creamy, a flavor that tickled Ben's taste buds the first time he tried it, but took some coaxing for mine to come around. As we slowly but diligently cleaned the platter, the desserts seemed more and more out of reach. It was only missing awkward political conversations and tense religious debates to make it feel like a true Thanksgiving dinner.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_MzVNQ2zFjUqRY6O1rKsq1RD_Ke8BaFJitC1XdA_WT4rLRP7IzT2azVWEzu5AYlHb2otzBuHOCZaW90LMz5EtzE5KjP4_Dg9z5Ca_UPoeE22JbNky7Ph7CDgJ-BFlrbwPLU2WZRyx6dl/s1600/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_MzVNQ2zFjUqRY6O1rKsq1RD_Ke8BaFJitC1XdA_WT4rLRP7IzT2azVWEzu5AYlHb2otzBuHOCZaW90LMz5EtzE5KjP4_Dg9z5Ca_UPoeE22JbNky7Ph7CDgJ-BFlrbwPLU2WZRyx6dl/s400/Turkey2015+-+Dinner-23.jpg" width="266" /></a>When we finally felt like we could fit a bit more into our stomachs, we each took a Ş<i>ekerpare</i> and chocolate baklava. The Ş<i>ekerpare</i> biscuits melted in your mouth like tres leches cake, and Senem's husband demonstrated how to eat the baklava correctly by inverting each bite, placing the bottom and most sugary side of the treat on the roof of the mouth.<br />
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Instead of venturing to the television to watch a football game, nap on the couch with a stomach full of turkey, or clean the kitchen after the feast, tea was served at the table. Any sort of stress, franticness, or anxiety was swept away with the warm steam of the two kettles stacked on top of each other. One kettle held a concentrated steeped tea. In the other: hot water. One of the Turkish women poured a bit of the tea into each small hour-glass shaped cup, and another followed her with hot water. Sugar was passed to sweeten the drink. As discussion continued, tea would automatically fill your cup as soon as you neared empty. As the pot of tea approached its end, so did this improvised family dinner. Once the last person had placed their spoon on top their teacup, customarily indicating they had finished, the group stood to say goodbye. Thanks were given and the apartment emptied as quickly as it had been filled.<br />
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Exhausted, we all went to bed, feeling the fullness of a Turkish Thanksgiving in our stomachs.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-45562337807627486232015-12-15T01:45:00.001-08:002015-12-15T09:28:52.289-08:00Morning DaydreamsJet lag gently pulls at my eyelids, a tug toward consciousness. As my eyes meet the darkness of the early morning, the bluish inky blanket of light that isn't sure whether it wants to wake or not, I feel very much the same way. Confused, my body, aching from travel, asks me to stay in bed, while my mind pleads to greet the day whole-heartedly. They compromise by reviewing the last 12 hours or so in vivid detail across the blank ceiling.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo by: Benjamin Hershey</span></td></tr>
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When you first arrive in a country, you don't truly make its acquaintance until you have stepped out of the airport. From my experience, that acquaintance usually begins through the nose. I can still remember the smells of gasoline, heat, and burning trash when I first met Nicaragua. Burning rubber, humidity, and matured fruit introduced me to Guatemala. Those two were oddly similar, as if I were meeting cousins. However, when the automatic doors opened to breath in the air of Ankara, Turkey, it was clear I was in a completely different family tree. Cigarette smoke, muskiness, and earthy cold air met my nose as I was welcomed by the honk of a bus asking firmly for a taxi to get out of its way. The air was different here, cold yet heavy, crisp yet smokey, and much like its people, bold yet restrained.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo by: Benjamin Hershey</span></td></tr>
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As we quickly shuffled to find our bus, and Ben went to ask the driver if it was going in the right direction for our needs, it hit me for the first time. The experience of not being able to communicate verbally with the people around me, at least moderately well, has not been a part of my traveling experience really since my first time leaving the United States to go to Mexico in 2008. Even then, I had a basic ability to ask simple questions and understand simple answers in Spanish. I felt the weight of this realization slowly creep up on me as I watched Ben speak Turkish, annoyingly well for only 3 months of learning I might add, with the Bus driver. At the same time, I remember the frustration and weariness of having others rely on you for communication, especially if you were not anywhere near fluent, so I kept my distance and trusted Ben to get the right information. As we rode the bus through the outskirts of Turkey's capital, the roads were eerily similar to those of Guatemala, cleaner and with less pedestrians, but similar in their design. It was an odd experience to look at the name of a store, fully expecting to be able to read its Spanish name, and then be reminded by the "ç" or the "ş" that you have no chance. Well, no chance alone. </div>
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After hailing a taxi to finish our final leg of the trip to the train station, I sat listening intently to Ben converse with the driver. Similar to a dog watching a tennis match, I had no earthly idea what was happening in this game, but I knew something exciting was being tossed back and forth between the two and hoped at some point I might get to participate - I didn't. My face alternated between the Kurdish taxista and the American Fulbrighter, turning toward whomever was speaking, laughing when they laughed, quieting when there was a lull, understanding absolutely nothing except for the very loud "Obama good!" from the driver accompanied by a thumbs up - a thumb I probably would have preferred be on the wheel. To an American eye, the driving here is just as seemingly erratic but oddly well organized as Nicaragua and Guatemala.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo by: Benjamin Hershey</span></td></tr>
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Arriving at the train station, Ben's friendliness inspired the driver to only charge us 10 Turkish Lyra (TL) instead of 11 because he didn't want Ben to have to go looking for a single "Tay-Lay" as Ben calls them. (T is pronounced 'tay' and L is pronounced 'lay.') Saying farewell to our brief friendship, we entered, oddly through a metal detector and passed a guard who did not check us even though the detector went off. At first, I thought it might be because it was clear we were travelers, but in the next hour that we waiting in the train station, I didn't see him check any of the people coming through - interesting security measures. Sitting in the train station, it became quite clear just how diverse and heterogenous the Turkish people are. From tall to short, round and thin, darker skin and lighter skin, women who did and did not wear the <i>hijab, </i>men who were concerned and very much not concerned about their fashion statement, young teenagers with half shaved heads, and old grandfathers wearing three piece suits and berets. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo by: Benjamin Hershey</span></td></tr>
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Two sets of maybe 30 benches were situated like pews facing an altar, angled toward a surprisingly enormous LCD screen declaring the train arrivals and departures. Every bench was filled, and as soon as a seat emptied it was almost immediately filled again by a new body. Like pooling water in a stream, always moving, changing, and refreshing, yet seemingly still, calm, and at peace. We merged with the pooled water and sat for awhile watching the pigeons swoop down to pick pieces of <i>simit, </i>something like a turkish bagel, off the ground. Older men wondered throughout the echoing room, waiting for their train while probably trying to keep their legs from stiffening. With these men, I noticed something different. They made clear eye contact with the people around them, sometimes prolonged eye contact, with much more than what a individualized American might be comfortable. It seemed, from my initial people-watching analysis, people seemed to engage with their social existence much more. To be fair, there were still people on their phones, reading, or talking in their own groups, but similar to a Guatemalan town square, many fully recognized and engaged with the presence of others who they did not know.</div>
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After almost 16 hours of traveling, my exhaustion at this point was more prevalent to my senses than most of my surroundings. We rushed onto the train, finding our seats. I tried reading my book as the train sped in the opposite direction that I was facing. As Ben listened to music, I decided to lean forward with my head on my knees to rest my eyes. The train's 250 km/h movement was soothing and tranquil. My eyes closed, and I think we can all guess what happened next.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Photo by: Benjamin Hershey</span></td></tr>
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A deep male voice slowly emerges from the morning fog, seemingly sorrowful and longing. With words incomprehensible to my ears, the sound of the <i>imam</i>'s voice wafts through the residential buildings, through the glass of our window, and bounces off the ceiling on which my morning thoughts are projecting, pulling me away from my memory of napping on the train. Parallel to, but very different from the fruit venders screaming in the early Nicaraguan mornings, the call to prayer gently caresses my consciousness. More voices, from countless distant mosques, joined the originator. Like a chorus of sad souls calling for companionship, their voices drifted through Konya, welcoming my mind further into the day. As each called in his own unique way, their distinct voices merged into whatever the reverse of a lullaby would be, gently waking the city, breathing into it with their song.<br />
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There was no way I was going back to sleep.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-3058401269188966012015-06-16T14:29:00.001-07:002015-06-16T17:34:24.171-07:00A Single Breath<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAE3aAxdsjM-GwJyYayhBuUPnlXmJhtu-kLAAVnu4oi8SRZTUmdiv6-rgDfgK9F55S6VLg-YC8z_WzP6lV79Wnqyz1FveXFzpSmbxWwwsYbFNzEYW94BwReR_Dz-1C0bnEeP2vleSSJrq0/s1600/Guate-127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAE3aAxdsjM-GwJyYayhBuUPnlXmJhtu-kLAAVnu4oi8SRZTUmdiv6-rgDfgK9F55S6VLg-YC8z_WzP6lV79Wnqyz1FveXFzpSmbxWwwsYbFNzEYW94BwReR_Dz-1C0bnEeP2vleSSJrq0/s640/Guate-127.jpg" width="425" /></a>Sitting on a plastic chair in an open air patio where groups of children are playing everywhere around me, I take notes and observe the happenings. There are probably 30 children and a few adults surrounding a table shouting while passing fruit cups around. It seems quite disorganized and out of control. Others are sitting at tables playing with cameras or cell phones. The more energetic children are playing on the fake turf, doing hand stands, back bends, and cartwheels.<br />
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Music plays in the background from the kitchen area where 3 cooks are preparing today's lunch. The vibrant colors of the murals decorating the walls brighten up the area and make even the walls seem alive. One child lifts himself up onto his hands and walks down a ramp while balancing only on his palms. Some children stop and glance over at me in expected curiosity, but most keep their distance. But then, quite unexpectedly, a child sits down next to me and directly asks me where I came from, what I am doing, and what it is like where I live. He asks me questions about music, English, and my hairy arms.<br />
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My observation is taken from broad and encompassing to focused and narrowed in 3 simple questions. He challenges me to answer his inquisitive thoughts about what I am doing and why. He tells me that the students around the table are participating in a biweekly "store" where they learn business practices, which explains the scene's odd resemblance to the stock exchange. He calls friends over to talk to me and asks me to say English words. They tell me about their break dancing lessons. He tests his English skills on my native ears. With a single decision by a 12 year old boy, my entire observation is changed. My entire experience of that area, that moment, and that social interaction shifts with a single breath of "<i>hola"</i>. I began to learn about and understand the world more clearly, and then, rather than functioning on my previous assumptions, I was able to more appropriately understand what was happening around me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuiAcKkgxliui1tjaE1DvH0Vdivp2sj7ORSy-KStjPIBneQ_YAFJvCn9wf9KdTaqDcKx3bONR4xW4_7wQp3mRZApjHfk5Enm8q6m_tkyXAZ4gwPYSh-DKFtgvzcbaAS8zrK07lqU5nuAae/s1600/Guate-88.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuiAcKkgxliui1tjaE1DvH0Vdivp2sj7ORSy-KStjPIBneQ_YAFJvCn9wf9KdTaqDcKx3bONR4xW4_7wQp3mRZApjHfk5Enm8q6m_tkyXAZ4gwPYSh-DKFtgvzcbaAS8zrK07lqU5nuAae/s400/Guate-88.jpg" width="400" /></a>A young boy shifted my view, my understanding, with a simple word. He had the courage, or maybe lack of exposure, in order to defy the traditional fear and distancing from people who are different or simply older. He wanted to know some things, so he asked. Therefore, he not only molded my understanding of the world, but also his. Both of our worlds shifted because of a single decision on his part to say hello.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3n0BcQ8S4dBnrwclAdJGxJV38bODLq40IDjiG612Yrlhh1H8ZuYMrV5cPwKwcFbaH6dWpHHd8h-YhCgSDEfJzctRTEvom4Sz8B76Vy0PAhM4pP2VXEEsqG4hjMtXQ4Or3hs4WAKzCoz0/s1600/Guate-109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">.</a>I plan. I predict. I look ahead to my next conversation. And yet, in each moment my life is turning on the brief and seemingly minuscule breath flowing in and out of my lungs. Every moment is new, different, and unique, yet I fool myself into believing that what I already know will be forever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3n0BcQ8S4dBnrwclAdJGxJV38bODLq40IDjiG612Yrlhh1H8ZuYMrV5cPwKwcFbaH6dWpHHd8h-YhCgSDEfJzctRTEvom4Sz8B76Vy0PAhM4pP2VXEEsqG4hjMtXQ4Or3hs4WAKzCoz0/s1600/Guate-109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3n0BcQ8S4dBnrwclAdJGxJV38bODLq40IDjiG612Yrlhh1H8ZuYMrV5cPwKwcFbaH6dWpHHd8h-YhCgSDEfJzctRTEvom4Sz8B76Vy0PAhM4pP2VXEEsqG4hjMtXQ4Or3hs4WAKzCoz0/s400/Guate-109.jpg" width="400" /></a>I am pulled this way and that way, pushed and shoved by structures and norms, motivated by emotion and desire bubbling up within. In every situation, there are tensions; realities that must be held in contrast to one another without ever letting go of either. I navigate and explore these tensions with every step I take into the unknown future, constantly rewriting my understanding of the world. However, I never really know if I could end up selling bracelets at a lake in Guatemala or teaching a class on occupational therapy in a university. Everything is subject to change and nothing seems to be completely predictable.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwGpviPn1vuiri60lyUovVGWwrUS9uYVLrERRgtXkEQXzWP17Rd1wMbpbt0qbz28hLSX80mrHsgobDnDJPnsOgL3ASIkOqSCFXwg_k4Xu4_Bq6mRcTaGyIjB71AbG3WSGiGznjy1v_abX/s1600/Guate-136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwGpviPn1vuiri60lyUovVGWwrUS9uYVLrERRgtXkEQXzWP17Rd1wMbpbt0qbz28hLSX80mrHsgobDnDJPnsOgL3ASIkOqSCFXwg_k4Xu4_Bq6mRcTaGyIjB71AbG3WSGiGznjy1v_abX/s400/Guate-136.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Views and opinions clash in classrooms, churches, and political debates, synthesizing new and different understandings of the world. Ideas are digested and processed by small groups and large scale media. My mind is changed, formed, altered, and shifted while at the same moment it is changing, forming, altering, and shifting the world through my actions. I am constantly changing, learning, redeveloping, and emerging with the world and the others in it.<br />
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I can look out on to the world and see every raindrop like the last, every ripple in the lake as a repetition, and every man who approaches as simply another homeless man asking for money. Alternatively, I can see every droplet as a new addition to the puddle, every ripple as movement that has never occurred before in the water, and every approaching person as an opportunity to learn from someone new.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bqP0tuc0ZSlIkfdS6FgomMwtrAhZpwAetHZmqaJ9yDhWk9vXSTqaE6EHXDN1rThGUHk9YcCDkT7BCiRGSWHS5aLN1BUT4wZOHR5yD0b6sdEl8Vwekglo-2KX5lHQpfJR-BWhK8pYQQLn/s1600/Guate-126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bqP0tuc0ZSlIkfdS6FgomMwtrAhZpwAetHZmqaJ9yDhWk9vXSTqaE6EHXDN1rThGUHk9YcCDkT7BCiRGSWHS5aLN1BUT4wZOHR5yD0b6sdEl8Vwekglo-2KX5lHQpfJR-BWhK8pYQQLn/s640/Guate-126.jpg" width="640" /></a>Scary yet comforting. In every moment I have an opportunity to change, to make a decision, to do differently, however the pull and strength of my past, my expectations, and current understanding deter me from believing a new or unexpected way of thinking is possible. I am pushed to believe that I can predict what I will be doing tomorrow, next week or even next year, but simultaneously I am consistently reminded that every moment and every person has the potential to reorganize and reshape my understanding of the world.<br />
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I often feel tied to the past, incarcerated by its seeming rigidity, its cyclic and repetitive nature. But then sometimes in just one moment, I am reminded of the value of the unexpected and the consistent ability for the world to change, the consistent ability and right for us to change together. I am not bound by the past, in shackles of consistency. We can change, evolve, and understand the world together.<br />
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In a single simple action, like saying hello to a stranger, I can change the world for myself and those around me. By standing up and doing, I can begin a process of change, initiate a conversation, explore new ideas from different perspectives, and challenge the status quo, all with a simple breath. Who knew something so small could be so influential? Who knew we were allowed to be so malleable as humans? Imagine what more we can do if we take a breath, let ourselves shape and be shaped by the world around us, and remember that we are all just figuring it out as we go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMpF6eywEju01El44ktNE-QrdC-OqmN5WnUw6vPtbruu9POpN7z-ywUwNhs6Vaww8FvmxO18RnuMTZGiSb8VbHirk0mLFqFrvL6kjtmWEzV-SKFk5_wvMv-vZOo8NWcanHQn8WfQ_UIMn/s1600/Guate-93.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMpF6eywEju01El44ktNE-QrdC-OqmN5WnUw6vPtbruu9POpN7z-ywUwNhs6Vaww8FvmxO18RnuMTZGiSb8VbHirk0mLFqFrvL6kjtmWEzV-SKFk5_wvMv-vZOo8NWcanHQn8WfQ_UIMn/s640/Guate-93.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-44650199342270211412015-06-07T16:32:00.002-07:002015-06-08T20:11:51.716-07:00A Church I Can Believe In.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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His voice echoed agains the walls as he began his sermon, reverberating against the golden pillars and through the glass protecting ornately decorated ecclesiastical statues. Slightly muffled by the low quality microphone, the deep and somewhat monotone voice was difficult to understand as he discussed Corpus Christi and the transubstantiation of the bread and wine. My mind wondered, dazed with a long night's sleep the night before. My Spanish brain was not working as well as it should have and the content seemed like sermons I had heard before. A piece of soft sheer vanilla-colored fabric attracted my eye as a breeze, from some unknown origin, lifted and spread it out in front of the congregation like a sail that had just caught wind. Several large pieces of fabric, cream and wine colored, decorated the aged walls of the Cathedral. The breeze gently caused them to dance, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, in and out of the view of the church goers. One brave soul attempted to tame these delicate beasts but unsuccessfully resigned to their presence over and sometimes touching his head.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDXz4fCPvDFeBn8siEUDOKlzGhLtHwUWDK2h3l0GBLIXU2cmumM58oy-r1ScPwxfJHjKSQP8AAi-FpqDVQfr9Cl60GpYHQQxRuIlW6XOj-YiasyyJk2Wna48ulvruyfQ3Xm60e4RPrUvE/s1600/Guate-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDXz4fCPvDFeBn8siEUDOKlzGhLtHwUWDK2h3l0GBLIXU2cmumM58oy-r1ScPwxfJHjKSQP8AAi-FpqDVQfr9Cl60GpYHQQxRuIlW6XOj-YiasyyJk2Wna48ulvruyfQ3Xm60e4RPrUvE/s640/Guate-39.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
As I sat distracted and feeling uneasy with the amount of wealth and treasure that adorned the walls, a woman nearly in front of me fanned herself with the church bulletin. From outside, the sound of an ice cream salesman's bell harmonized with the priest's resounding tone. A baby cried in the back of the church and then a shuffling of chairs to allow the mother to stand and walk with her child up and down the aisles. I repositioned myself against the back of my pew which seemed to be designed at a ninety degree angle to keep anyone from slouching even in the slightest. As a variety of sounds from a distant car alarm burst through the open doors of the church; the flames of the candles covering the altar seemed to shiver at the intrusion into the solemn and respectful space.<br />
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"...e<i>l descubrimiento de la corrupción organizada en entidades estatales..."</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCfNRK294yK2dmt3WczGi3F6K8QfbQ1V25LhaSHebsZamqJ3s8B2CHionYZ68B2-BUvUv3ycd4L7Ce_hA4JXkqMYp6rPXmYdFl6skERx609krXCNwriwI6fqRKeaGuPtKcJK9T_G5Bi_4/s1600/Comunicado+de+la+Conferencia+Episcopal+de+Guatemala+2015+Corrupcion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCfNRK294yK2dmt3WczGi3F6K8QfbQ1V25LhaSHebsZamqJ3s8B2CHionYZ68B2-BUvUv3ycd4L7Ce_hA4JXkqMYp6rPXmYdFl6skERx609krXCNwriwI6fqRKeaGuPtKcJK9T_G5Bi_4/s400/Comunicado+de+la+Conferencia+Episcopal+de+Guatemala+2015+Corrupcion.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Guatemala Pains Us"</td></tr>
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The word <i>corrupción</i> immediately caught my attention since corruption has be a main topic in the political discourse over the past few weeks here in Guatemala as the country approaches presidential elections this fall. As my ears were redirected to the priests words, his tone and energy shifted from somewhat monotone and obligatory to animated and passionate. It seems the content of his homily had shifted to something a bit more timely and political. I was interested to see how involved the sermon would be in making commentary on the political situation of Guatemala. At first it seemed more informative than opinionated, providing information that recounted the scandal of the Vice President as well as other high level officials who had been embezzling money through a variety of sources. I thought it might simply be a public service announcement to make sure the church was aware that the rich had stolen from the poor – an ironic public service announcement at that, seeing as it was given from a pulpit and altar decorated in gold and jewels. It turns out, instead, he was actually attempting to bring to life the content of a communication, found on the back of our bulletin, from the Episcopal Conference of Guatemala, a conference of bishops that had both opinions and advice for their flock.<br />
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The priest passionately and pointedly describes the tumultuous and broken system of political parties and bureaucracy that faces Guatemala, "...<i>un deterioro profundo del sistema político guatemalteco"</i>. He began to criticize <i>all</i> the political parties for disregarding the needs of the people and only playing<br />
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political and economic<br />
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games, claiming they "<i>...surgen y desaparecen en ciclos breves, se caracterizan más por la personalidad de quien los organiza y menos por la propuesta política que los inspira"</i>. He blatantly describes the disenfranchised people and a skeptical mentality that prevents many from participating in the political process. But he also commiserates with them, recognizing that their options, as they stand now, are between bad and worse. But, he says, this is why there have been "<i>manifestaciones multitudinarias que expresan..." </i>the indignation and wrath of many citizens. He proclaims that the demands of the protests and demonstrations in the streets across the country over the past few weeks, which have only been peaceful, must be answered and resolved immediately.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvRun7CVggboi5IkDmmU4Jkk7fFfO_LlFM5mhROFWahSE2Bc74ykaMNuEpOfENrpBqItgatpSz-c8YDbQRQYOdmvJ_XIzzVYHvtii5MSLNe5aVOd01XXz759GISKdSeP_cOaOWwZZjB5X/s1600/Guate-46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvRun7CVggboi5IkDmmU4Jkk7fFfO_LlFM5mhROFWahSE2Bc74ykaMNuEpOfENrpBqItgatpSz-c8YDbQRQYOdmvJ_XIzzVYHvtii5MSLNe5aVOd01XXz759GISKdSeP_cOaOWwZZjB5X/s640/Guate-46.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Additional to this demand of the government, he reminds his people that they are also responsible for the situation of their country. When it rains, "<i>las calles en Antigua están inundadas por la culpa de ministerio publico..." </i> but the roads are also flooded because the people continuously throw trash into the drains. He reminds his congregation that, as Christians, they must participate and support their country in a governmental process that resolves issues like child malnutrition, corruption, and poverty. He challenges them to confront the false christians who are stealing from the Guatemalan people, to not stand with "<i>brazos cruzados,"</i> and instead ask what they can do to decrease corruption and improve the political stability of their country. Because they, as Christians, do not place their faith in a political party, not in a candidate, but instead in <span style="text-align: right;">"...</span><i style="text-align: right;">el amor de Cristo Jesus." </i></div>
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His tone and emotion had reached out and pulled every eye toward him, seeking to not only move the soul but also the body. It almost felt appropriate to stand up and clap at the end, but no one did. As the priest left the podium and the mass continued, my companion, Juliana, leaned over to my ear and said quite matter-of-factly while nodding her head, "<i>una charla tan buena."</i><br />
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How amazing to see the church taking an active role in the political support of its people, supporting, not a party, not a candidate, but the people and their needs as a whole. This was not a call to believe or passively live morally well, instead it was a stimulation of action, a fanning of the fire for change, an instigation for the pursuit of justice, and a reminder of the value of peace. This was a church I could feel a part of, even with a physical appearance that so contradicted the message it sought to proclaim. I could feel welcomed in an institution that stood by what that priest had offered to his people. At least for this moment, for that hour, my beliefs and understandings of the world greatly coincided with this institution that is often so complex and convoluted. I felt at home within those walls, even though I absolutely would have decorated them differently.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhF562tvGHohiDYSVrSCu31StBXkDbNbKmkBpD2w5LsiaS_OqgGFbQJPW7tcjpGNwh4n2IJfkTgD2esk2i37trWPdOkAFCw62BL4cl-PR9el7pXj7mSqBaIkGSMunkczQFbcPN4853w0f/s1600/Guate-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhF562tvGHohiDYSVrSCu31StBXkDbNbKmkBpD2w5LsiaS_OqgGFbQJPW7tcjpGNwh4n2IJfkTgD2esk2i37trWPdOkAFCw62BL4cl-PR9el7pXj7mSqBaIkGSMunkczQFbcPN4853w0f/s400/Guate-31.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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As I stepped out into the street after mass had ended, navigating the cobblestone stairs, I felt rejuvenated and hopeful. I felt that the world could change, and that it just might. In that moment, I turned to Juliana and said, "Esa, esa es mi iglesia."<br />
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That, what I had just heard, is a church I can believe in.</div>
<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-35174231749459265362015-06-02T23:54:00.000-07:002015-06-03T00:09:36.163-07:00Never separate, always connected.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigxs8iAoU7b9FXDlb5Cg4EaFbFjpNIiDa-13js5NcHYw9hjy1P_gL3N8rPXbR0rDRM8aJxujb71ASggpGyfhJoeWa0KcW-0WqCiBGwR7w5Hh5HazqCwB13xe3uG4WsTOxecwpJ0vkOIvh7/s1600/Guate-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigxs8iAoU7b9FXDlb5Cg4EaFbFjpNIiDa-13js5NcHYw9hjy1P_gL3N8rPXbR0rDRM8aJxujb71ASggpGyfhJoeWa0KcW-0WqCiBGwR7w5Hh5HazqCwB13xe3uG4WsTOxecwpJ0vkOIvh7/s640/Guate-26.jpg" width="360" /></a>I feel the pressure of the concrete pushing up on my thighs. I sit on the waist-high shelf formed from an entrance to the ruins of the old church. My heels press against the wall as I look out at the yellow <i>pilas</i> where indigenous women used to wash their clothes. Cars, <i>tuk tuks, </i>and motorcycles pass in front of me on the cobblestones, sometimes fumigating me with exhaust. The missing pieces in the arch overhead create a pattern of firm smoothness and aged scars, a testament to its many experiences. My hands press firmly on the rough surface, creating intricate and complex patterns in the skin of my palms. Seemingly ancient twenty foot doors tower behind me, emitting both a sense of wisdom and wear as if they embodied the priests who may have once served within the church.<br />
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I realize if I lift my legs up and scoot back into the recessed concrete cove, I could hide myself a bit from the world. I re-situate myself, crossing my legs and supporting my back against the worn wooden door frame, I open my back-pack and begin to observe the world through the lens of my camera. A group of teens sitting in the <i>pilas</i> populate my frame for a moment. A police officer and his friend walk along the uneven sidewalk entering my view and then disappearing again. Two women sit gently speaking with one another as my small window of the world passes over them. I feel almost invisible, safe behind my shield with life continuing around me, seemingly unaltered. I am nearly separate, unnoticed, and external, completely invulnerable and inconsequential to those around me... or so it felt for a moment.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9hCglh2_MNU8s9U2T-5VZfNonWRee2NHqruUcLhFBRzUjMyLNH8plC7BzqBr07ZWFGmeGppn1vP0kNcpoopJPB29NDzxW9Zd0hPqq6WOxR83sBKHS9ZaY2TLfSqTg4jYVplcxYj6X8g-/s1600/Guate-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9hCglh2_MNU8s9U2T-5VZfNonWRee2NHqruUcLhFBRzUjMyLNH8plC7BzqBr07ZWFGmeGppn1vP0kNcpoopJPB29NDzxW9Zd0hPqq6WOxR83sBKHS9ZaY2TLfSqTg4jYVplcxYj6X8g-/s400/Guate-19.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
As I observe my surroundings from a distance, continuing my plan to remain unnoticed, suddenly a older gentleman appears directly on the sidewalk before me. He turns and notices me almost immediately, somewhat surprised to see a random man with a camera sitting in the recesses of the church's entrance. He says hello and somewhat quizzically asks "¿<i>Como estás?" </i>At first it seemed peculiar, almost uncomfortable, that this man could somehow see into my little world, my closed off reality. How did he so matter-of-factly find me in my separateness and what made him decide to stop and inquire? We begin a polite conversation that eventually and oddly leads to the topic of my home state of West Virginia and the song <i>Country Roads, </i>a song he apparently loves. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he says "<i>Tenga un buen día"</i> and continues walking toward his destination. My sense of separateness was dissolved; my cove of solitude, revealed to be false; my distance from the situation, imaginary.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2CqETuKTn_GixATCK12RueirPie0k-sP2OMsl5eIxUHZosgjuT3wAVfdqkd8K1Xh5g0eCSHBacDZL2AQ7zuP2fesKFcxrgC1MjU2XgfOjSN7GPhwwUbqueuO1Qynlhg50P7I5aLRQMri/s1600/Guate-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2CqETuKTn_GixATCK12RueirPie0k-sP2OMsl5eIxUHZosgjuT3wAVfdqkd8K1Xh5g0eCSHBacDZL2AQ7zuP2fesKFcxrgC1MjU2XgfOjSN7GPhwwUbqueuO1Qynlhg50P7I5aLRQMri/s400/Guate-24.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
It was impossible for me to hide, separate myself from the world. I could not remove myself from the goings on of Antigua, Guatemala. My mere presence was altering the path of a gentleman, enlightening me on the popularity of a song, and calling attention to the oddity of my actions. Life was still going on with me in it, whether I wanted to recognize it or not. This connectedness to the world and people around me is both daunting and exciting. In every moment my body, mind, and presence is interacting with and influencing the actions, perceptions, understandings, and ideas of people around me. In every second, I am influenced and changed by every aspect of the world around me. Even the direction of the wind is altered as I feel it pass across my cheeks, sending chills down my spine. It is inescapable.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAcOiznnNSllSBh6uZs3l-7MLUGyrqY53dOZhNXbUTVAc5hSq34iVe2ixjFgzb-iohUm2PLTTpo5ZM39m1A72aaxEmRaRA2v4Y-sux51Ki5d9DBWUvKBiQM1GnBSK04EAd5hZrXJhRssu/s1600/Guate-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAcOiznnNSllSBh6uZs3l-7MLUGyrqY53dOZhNXbUTVAc5hSq34iVe2ixjFgzb-iohUm2PLTTpo5ZM39m1A72aaxEmRaRA2v4Y-sux51Ki5d9DBWUvKBiQM1GnBSK04EAd5hZrXJhRssu/s400/Guate-27.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I am integrated – linked to every atom, substance, and person in the world. Even memories of people and years past, influence how I interacted with that man. Songs I have learned, languages I have stumbled through, and obstacles I have overcome all emerge in my interactions with the world today. I am connected and carry the years of my experiences and interactions with me. I cannot elude the reality of my synthesis with the world. I am, in every moment, affecting you, and you me. We each carry that effect with us for the rest of our lives, holding the experience of the other in ourselves, remembering, learning, and feeling.<br />
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Once, a long time ago when I was very young, my family experienced a great loss, a time when it felt like the whole world had been ripped away from us and we stood alone, separated, angry, and isolated. At this time, for some odd reason, I made up a song: <span style="color: #073763; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">"A line, a line, a so far line. That's how we stay together."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1adn0A2t18L52U3I8vQTuXb0gfNSbLaT1y6Q0EFTq80wc4q9WDhi4sga3fRv_Z2nkKyo3UVyn95M_-sdJGz5tNUF8BJxQrpjX1XjY1N57yPjTeoDk7ZQe8-r-BmpvqZk_BNPmVPn-GEwg/s1600/Guate-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1adn0A2t18L52U3I8vQTuXb0gfNSbLaT1y6Q0EFTq80wc4q9WDhi4sga3fRv_Z2nkKyo3UVyn95M_-sdJGz5tNUF8BJxQrpjX1XjY1N57yPjTeoDk7ZQe8-r-BmpvqZk_BNPmVPn-GEwg/s400/Guate-21.jpg" width="400" /></a>It seems silly to think of a simple line connecting each and every one of us, passing through time and space to connect us to someone we had lost. But maybe my five year old brain was grasping at something it took me 20 more years to even begin to understand. We are all pervasively consequential to one another. We are linked, whether we like it or not.<br />
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We are connected. We are integrated with and through each other. I carry the love, experiences, challenges, and interactions with all my family members, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances with me every day. Sometimes they reside in the recesses of my soul, hiding, seemingly forgotten. However, every once in awhile, a moment occurs, a man asks me how I am doing, and I am reminded that I exist as a deeply connected being to everyone and everything around me, even those who have left us. I carry them with me in the way I say hello to a stranger, care for a friend, or say I love you. Our connectedness does not stop at the living. Their memory and existence have forever altered the trajectory of my life and will always have a place in my soul. They are never lost – nothing is ever lost.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRvisYI2OI2k_CgOksn7xCDmMjtGFUJuZQaqqxbm-3p5QGe1pmjpLsoWlRKW6jzjg8jMDNhybI4Y4m_e56XFY59XusIheSnnB4CTzNOJLYhwWm7BdVOYR8PsGAFrcdYITCuCAO0sbkbdD/s1600/Guate-29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRvisYI2OI2k_CgOksn7xCDmMjtGFUJuZQaqqxbm-3p5QGe1pmjpLsoWlRKW6jzjg8jMDNhybI4Y4m_e56XFY59XusIheSnnB4CTzNOJLYhwWm7BdVOYR8PsGAFrcdYITCuCAO0sbkbdD/s640/Guate-29.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Although we sometimes don't want to admit <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/5258-we-are-here-to-awaken-from-our-illusion-of-separateness">the illusion of our separateness</a> when it means loving and caring for those who we don't really enjoy, it challenges me to live life continuously reminded that I am always deeply consequential to others and they to me, even with the most random of passers-by. And further, it gives me great comfort to know that, no matter how far or where I go, I carry with me the love and experience of those who have left me. I always carry them with me in every breath I take and every action I do.<br />
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I am never separate, even from them. Instead, always connected.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-9760455126148519872015-05-24T18:51:00.000-07:002015-05-24T19:18:26.183-07:00Centimeters apart...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2wOvIo6ZQuIaNjXW131ddB1xdFCrA0nJL6NRWCNNDDOTP6uwFSdJfP1uHTcwYRa9Ly62OrMDRh9yKLzfWYm08Qxzk9lu6U1Ed4lhLePxVciQe-f-FFASb3SlywXDJCVJyh-RC9Dr_pV8/s1600/Signs-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2wOvIo6ZQuIaNjXW131ddB1xdFCrA0nJL6NRWCNNDDOTP6uwFSdJfP1uHTcwYRa9Ly62OrMDRh9yKLzfWYm08Qxzk9lu6U1Ed4lhLePxVciQe-f-FFASb3SlywXDJCVJyh-RC9Dr_pV8/s400/Signs-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Have you ever closed one eye and quickly switched to the other, back and forth, to see the ever so slight change in perception between the two? Have you ever noticed that you close one eye when you are measuring something because using both just doesn't seem exactly clear?<br />
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Mere centimeters separate your eyes yet when looking out the window of a plane, each eye has a bit of the image that the other doesn't. Each has its own view, and if you look at it just right, you can see there are two different images. Which is correct? Which centimeters of the image are "correct" to include in the view? Which view is more true? Does it matter?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8LgaZ38NqCYQzl8zsQIstPbp9X0I54RvXhoNiZywOIOe97T4u3REHl6lt_6sdgbYq41KjNaIqIslWLrLpPFlwncCkRLa3nGgpzlefOdK33kDdkmCqCSs4QNiKUsACrGuvZ44J05ocM4r/s1600/Signs-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8LgaZ38NqCYQzl8zsQIstPbp9X0I54RvXhoNiZywOIOe97T4u3REHl6lt_6sdgbYq41KjNaIqIslWLrLpPFlwncCkRLa3nGgpzlefOdK33kDdkmCqCSs4QNiKUsACrGuvZ44J05ocM4r/s640/Signs-7.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
As I walk through airports and sit on planes, it makes me wonder just how many people there are out in the world. Airports, the great mixers of culture, people, and baggage, place random people who would have never had any contact with each other in close quarters. Thousands of different perspectives, millions of unique experiences flowing in and out of one another's lives. Accents, languages, clothing, awful smelling cologne... inevitably infiltrate the senses, facilitating exposure to the new and different or sometimes the old and familiar. A new fashion statement, a familiar language, an old friend, or a different food -- all can be found in the airport amongst the thousands of clusters of experience trying to figure out where baggage claim is and from which gate their next flight is taking off.<br />
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Each of us, each and every single one of us, carries a unique never-before seen experience of the world through our own personal set of eyes, influenced and formed by a life no other person has lived. Some may have lived remotely close, coming from the same country, speaking the same language, or even coming from the same family, but still they do not hold the unique lineage of experience I embody as I awkwardly step off the moving sidewalk, trying to remember how to walk on a non-moving platform. If even our own two eyes see the world differently, imagine the diversity that exists between people.<br />
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Yet, seemingly paradoxically, we are not individuals. We are integrated, even integral, to everyone around us. We are dependent on them and they on us. I depend on the passengers in front of me to enter the plane in an orderly fashion so that I can more quickly sit in my uncomfortable seat. They depend on me not to scream as loud as I can mid-flight because my feet are so damn cold. My family depends on the pilot to do his job safely and effectively, and he depends on me to buy a ticket to fly across the continent.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7J0MBV-SgMo7IbX0Lv1-EZymHC8pRgr5dkaOY0txTW4f_UwZull2-69qq9kfjlBuLx6_bqwLN9cv_USUJeuelDGWEWafZP7Ao8ZJ0KNSLz-h9KW_E4QhNEL43CKc_Ia5fqLM3jwQ1uoSc/s1600/Signs-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7J0MBV-SgMo7IbX0Lv1-EZymHC8pRgr5dkaOY0txTW4f_UwZull2-69qq9kfjlBuLx6_bqwLN9cv_USUJeuelDGWEWafZP7Ao8ZJ0KNSLz-h9KW_E4QhNEL43CKc_Ia5fqLM3jwQ1uoSc/s640/Signs-8.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
We are interconnected, all of us. Pervasively influential and essential to one another, flowing, sometimes more smoothly than others, through our ever changing trajectories of action. In some situations we make minor adjustments to our ways of doing: shifting in our chair, popping our ears on a plane, drinking a liter of water before going through security because we forgot about that rule and we don't want to waste it. Other times we rearrange our entire way of doing: speaking another language, wearing different clothes, driving on the other side of the road, in order to co-exist alongside the many others like us in the world, holding in tension the me and the us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzh2VvbGQklDGwGzxhKQdnBy09r5pbLSzb3cdSbCtX-EWGhA5bNIuhCCuaN-a89hXS89B6Ujx7se0XAgLmrWuXPv7DWeCdgfLi02BSvLFNQA5R7NaLdZDmcUKtdZbYDM2evRoftAGfFyTk/s1600/Signs-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzh2VvbGQklDGwGzxhKQdnBy09r5pbLSzb3cdSbCtX-EWGhA5bNIuhCCuaN-a89hXS89B6Ujx7se0XAgLmrWuXPv7DWeCdgfLi02BSvLFNQA5R7NaLdZDmcUKtdZbYDM2evRoftAGfFyTk/s400/Signs-5.jpg" width="400" /></a>What an exciting yet frightening thought.<br />
I see the world like no one else, yet I am inextricably tangled and inseparable from it. The power to be so uniquely influential, yet the bearing weight of all the expectations and cultural norms that form me. The fantastic opportunity to learn and grow from the billions of unique perspectives out there, yet the challenge of discovering and asserting my own as valuable.<br />
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It can be quite overwhelming sometimes to try and sift through it all, to understand the complexity of the way we all work, to see the clarity and the obscurity in the perspectives of others. But maybe, if we take the time to realize how many different perspectives are out there, just for a moment, and actually close one eye and try to look at the world through some of them, we can begin to see what each perspective offers and what each is found wanting.<br />
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What if I take a moment each day to remember that even my own two eyes<br />
see the world in two different ways, even being only mere centimeters apart?</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-48810280019693697382014-07-02T09:56:00.000-07:002014-07-02T09:56:10.528-07:00Facing My Privilege: The End of a JourneyAnyone who has left behind the comfort of privilege and thrust themselves into a situation that we might call "unjust" or in "poverty" understands the wave of emotions that rolls over as you are faced with the realities of our world. Stepping into a homeless camp, a "third world" country, or even a prison, as part of the privileged class, I was taught first to feel pity and sadness for the unfortunate situation before my eyes and gratitude for the situation I left behind at home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEqxvR0XfjJKlvkOQ7NYTRbI-ND_4fjj5U8fuZJAicbHEU2lcWJZzHUtb829PPL3Xya8BzF6ZVtq57_oF3OcMDWGTDXKTmgm1VI4Fm9liVTmUXL68glGeJz-aNuF8AOmYSyqDaDCNp7Ycn/s1600/IMG_9570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEqxvR0XfjJKlvkOQ7NYTRbI-ND_4fjj5U8fuZJAicbHEU2lcWJZzHUtb829PPL3Xya8BzF6ZVtq57_oF3OcMDWGTDXKTmgm1VI4Fm9liVTmUXL68glGeJz-aNuF8AOmYSyqDaDCNp7Ycn/s1600/IMG_9570.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a>As you dive deeper into the injustice, you realize that this pity and gratitude you have been taught to feel can be detrimental and hurtful to many people and therefore begin to leave behind these first reactions to excavate new truths that inspire new emotions. Learning of the connections between my own country and the civil war and poverty that occurred and is still occurring in Guatemala, seeing the connection between health and poverty in the United States, understanding the relationship between politics, business, and the provision of medical technology, understanding the economic control exerted over countries or communities in order to exploit and use the poor, crime connected to prejudice, prejudice connected to history, cultural norms that disregard some humans while affording advantage to others for arbitrary characteristics, accepted realities of competition, profit mongering, selfishness, ignorance, hatred and finally the realization that our world functions on systems that are so complex, so intricate, so compounding, that it is impossible to articulate or even imagine what a world might look like in which each human was treated with love, value, and joy, all come together to create an overwhelming, distressing, and frustrating gauntlet between us and the realization of a loving world.<br />
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Anger, frustration, pain, and guilt emerge each time I find myself in these situations, as I sit in realization that even in my attempts to approach poverty, human rights violations, and injustice in a way that breaks the norm of dependency and subverts control over the poor, I, a white cis-male US citizen, from a middle class family, many times simply reinforce and sometimes further the oppressive system in place. I cannot separate myself completely from the world in which I was formed, from the unchanging "truths" of western culture and the culture of the United States. It seems that I cannot step back from myself and sift through these truths and find which ones are valuable and which are not. It feels almost impossible to discover which ideals hurt and harm the people around me and know then that I should leave those behind. When you pull on one string of injustice, three more appear, when you try to pull the choking vine from the tree, branches fall on your head.<br />
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We become overwhelmed and saturated with the complexity, jaded by the constant uphill battle, and frustrated when people simply choose to be selfish, greedy, and deceitful. We feel like single droplets making no difference in the ocean of injustice. As we turn home, we feel broken, incomplete, and sorrowful as we face the privileged situation before our eyes and feel longing, shame, and discomfort for what we leave behind. We recognize that no matter what, we can always return to our safe havens, our comfortable homes, and our distracted lives. We know that we will never be able to feel the full extent of the pain and hardship of those people who are suffering at the behest of our lifestyle of imprisoned consumerism and forced individualism. We always have an escape. We always have a plane ticket out of poverty. We always have a ride waiting for us at the airport when we get home. We throw ourselves onto our soft beds in our warm houses and cry because our privilege permeates even our very blood.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-HiqOA7aaHf2VeHkdkSeG5P5zl55iCVeczFGiNPmmWeBG4gNCrmKiv6K__-c2HHbt4gk2kmkbH_Mm_bmMfDwcPQYsDcx4jAYrTtQr9QKCUsIG77PtwBBR3U-9kReMwwK-7eJnquHAozG/s1600/IMG_9630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-HiqOA7aaHf2VeHkdkSeG5P5zl55iCVeczFGiNPmmWeBG4gNCrmKiv6K__-c2HHbt4gk2kmkbH_Mm_bmMfDwcPQYsDcx4jAYrTtQr9QKCUsIG77PtwBBR3U-9kReMwwK-7eJnquHAozG/s1600/IMG_9630.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>But then, as you lift your face from your tear-stained feather pillow, as you feel the wounds from standing next to the oppressed, the broken pieces of yourself laying around you, and the voids in your soul calling for fulfillment, the faces of the many people you met along the way emerge, little by little tending to your wounds, aiding your recovery, sorting the pieces of yourself into piles to keep and piles to throw away.<br />
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You allow the smile of a young shoe shiner to leave its mark on your soul through compassion, reminding you of his passion for learning, his dedication to his family, and his ability to simply sit in peace even at 10 years old.<br />
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You feel the care and guidance of the powerful spirit of your mentor, an occupational therapist with a heart for true solidarity and mind for true understanding, helping pick up the pieces of yourself that were broken, putting them back together, maybe in new places with new purposes.<br />
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You feel the embrace of a new friendship emerge from an unexpected relationship, holding your hand as you drive along the hard road of analysis, understanding, and true recognition of the complexity of oppression, pain, and anger.<br />
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You feel the energy of humans colliding together from all sides of the planet to learn, grow, and change with one another, opening up themselves to the souls of others.<br />
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You hear the laughter of new friends echoing off the cobblestones of an old colonial city, sending vibrations of hope through the hardest of stones.<br />
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You see light peek over the mountain of pain and injustice before you, reminding you that there is hope, there is joy, and there is a possibility for a better future.<br />
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You touch the scars from your past wounds, reminders that the wounds of the oppressed don't often have the time or privilege of healing into scars. You are reminded that the work is never done, and you have been forever changed. You hear the call to return to solidarity, to leave your privileged life, give back what has been stolen from the deprivileged people of our world. As you look in the mirror to see who you have become and what you might provide to our world, your ears are forever tuned to the cries for human dignity and human rights.<br />
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You bring your past experiences with you as tools for the future, filling you with the fuel of passion, driving you to stand up, open your windows and your heart, and scream to the world that you are ready for change, ready to be a small part of a body, walking toward justice, taking on the challenge of imagining the potential for a better world alongside your fellow humans. You are ready to listen with your whole being, to be moved by the poor and shaped by the suffering. You realize as you turn to face your privilege that, although it affects your life so much, it does not have the final word.<br />
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You are ready to reclaim what it means to be human, what it means to be a part of the human community. You are ready to make the final word something much more powerful than privilege: love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-29548825878451387472014-06-16T00:16:00.000-07:002015-05-26T10:24:53.389-07:00Speaking Without Words<div style="text-align: right;">
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Over the past 4 years, I have traveled to Central American many times, each time with a particular purpose: to explore, understand, and support the resolution of the injustices that are present here in the world between the United States and Colombia. Each journey dove deeper into the structural, cultural, and political causes of the hunger, violence, and injustice prevalent throughout this land of lakes and volcanoes. Each time I set foot in these places my agenda was "analyze", "ask questions", and "find answers", however in the past few weeks, it seems my agenda has included a more diverse schedule.<br />
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In some moments, as I step across the familiar cobblestone streets of Antigua, walking to the print shop or passing by Central Park on my way to buy some bread, as I sit at the bow of a boat skimming across the silky water of Lake Atitlán, feeling just a sprinkle of rain hit my skin, as I feel the warm sun on the back of my neck as I talk with a young Guatemalan with the soul much older than mine, or as I sit at dinner with friends discussing fears and personalities, I feel myself forget to analyze. I forget to connect all the social and political factors together into a map leading me directly to my place in society at that moment.<br />
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Instead, I feel the pressure of each stone through my shoes on the balls of my feet, the sharp and the dull, the angled and the flat, the rough and the smooth. I hear the music of flutes and drums in Central Park as a band plays for onlookers. I let the wind of the lake whip across my face, holding my attention with its gentle touch yet roaring sound.<br />
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I feel the droplets of rain touch my skin as small reminders that I am alive. I sit and do nothing, creating space to see the people around me as humans rather than sociological pawns. I hear the laughter of a friend as I feel the same sound escape from my own chest.<br />
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As we drive home from a National Hospital, the smell of the truck exhaust in front of us pinches my nose with its unnatural stench. The spiciness of jalapeño pupusas sits on my tongue for just a moment longer than usual, breaking from my usual hasty eating to experience the food. I walk lightly through ancient ruins, imagining the people who 500 years ago walked the same path.<br />
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I feel the soft touch of a friend's hand as we dance together, laughing and smiling as the only ones brave enough to let the music move us. I see the reflection of people in a puddle as they walk by, a portal into another world. I feel the bump and rattle of the <i>camionetas</i> we ride to class each Monday and Wednesday, noticing the detail and intricacy of the designs on each one.<br />
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In these moments I am pulled from my demanding mind and find peace in the sensory experiences of the world around me. There is no analysis, there is no larger contextual connection, there is only feeling, tasting, hearing, seeing, smell, and moving. The details of the world around me light up through my senses, reaching deep into my muscles, telling me each stone's texture through my toes, each droplet's weight through my skin, each human's emotion through my eyes, and each taste of life through my tongue. Without words, the world describes itself to me.<br />
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I am not sure why these experiences have been so prevalent lately. Maybe because my purpose on this trip is not really to analyze or process, maybe because the person who taught me the value of these experience has been on my mind quite frequently of late, maybe it is because I am not engulfed in searching for an answer because I have not asked a question... there could be many reasons. It really doesn't matter why.<br />
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Sometimes the only thing that matters is that I am here, in this complex and diverse world, filled with experiences, people, tastes, sounds, sensations, and emotions. I am one living organism speaking with the world through my life, a dance of soul and sense, a moment in time to be felt to its fullest extent.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-52743707162013005272014-06-05T07:52:00.000-07:002015-05-26T10:25:23.742-07:00Identity, Occupation, and Environment<div style="text-align: right;">
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In many ways, I think my generation in the United States has become obsessed with the idea of authenticity, identity, and the true self. I am not sure exactly why this preoccupation has emerged within my age group, and one could speculate reasons regarding many things, both negative and positive like narcissism, historical context, or even a reaction to a consumerist and wasteful culture. Whichever may be the cause, we have seen the emergence of identity seekers shape the environment and occupations of our society into a young generation that values local beers, "alternative" lifestyles, nuanced or sometimes new aged religious beliefs, and diversity. Our identities, our true selfs, emerge from the interaction between our agency and the environment around us, <i><a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2012/08/some-important-terms.html">occupation</a></i>. Our occupations become integral to the expression of our identity, acting as the means through which we create our persona in this world.<br />
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I am laying on a blanket in a park in Cincinnati with my shirt off, reading <i>Pedagogy of the Oppressed </i>with a friend playing Arcade Fire songs on her guitar next to me. These activities relate to and facilitate an identity for myself both in my mind and the minds of others, a university educated, urban living, male in the United States.<br />
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I sit in a coffee shop with another student discussing our shared experience in Nicaragua and the merits of fair trade products and the potential pitfalls of genetically modified organisms. An identity emerges through this engagement, a traveled, cultured, socially aware global citizen.<br />
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These occupations, the ways that we live our lives, create an identity that our generation believes is deeply rooted in the authenticity of the soul, the true human essence.<br />
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As I spent the past week and a half here in Guatemala, I have realized that there is both a lasting truth and deceitful lie intertwined with this <i>true self</i> concept. As I have walked through the streets of Antigua, spoke with locals, and simply sat in the park, I have found a forced identity shift because of the changes in what I am doing and environment in which I am doing it.<br />
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I sit modestly dressed, with a backpack sitting next to me, camera hidden within, taking notes on a bench in Central Park. In that moment, no matter what, my white skin, height, clothing, and my lack of a native routine will always connect me to my identity as a visitor, a foreigner. This identity is forced to the surface of every unclear interaction, unfamiliar exchange, or even passing glance. In the United States, I may have thought of myself as <i>alternative</i> or slightly outside the mainstream, yet here I am far from the most alternative gringo who walks barefoot in the street with Aladdin-like pants, a tie die tank top, dreadlocks, and a guitar slung around his back. I am foreign, white, and most usually expected to not speak Spanish and never expected to speak any of the 23 native languages.<br />
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Here in Guatemala, my environment has had a profound impact on what I do and how I do it which therefore has had a noticeable impact on my perception of my own identity. But is this such a bad thing, to be forced to reform and reassess my identity within this new context, new environment. Some in my generation might claim travesty that the Guatemalan context simplifies me to a white foreigner, most likely "helping" poor Guatemalans through a mission trip. People my age might say I am being unfairly pigeonholed into an identity that isn't "truly" me.<br />
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Is it not? Is this white, middle class, man, taking notes and pictures here in Guatemala not who I "truly" am. Well, like I said, this is both a truth and a lie. As much as my generation might want it to be, I have come to realize, our identity is not like a stone sitting in a river, being moved or thrown about, chipped our smoothed on the surface but with an unchanging, unbending core. We are not the same in every environment with which we interact.<br />
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We are much more like a toy box, filled with many different identities, both small and large, some of which have drifted toward the bottom. The identities that lie on the surface, just as you open our lid, depend on what the person who you are engaging with most usually plays with and toys you make most easily found. Your environment through your occupations within it, often pulls to the surface the part of your identity that it most wants, sometimes taking just what is on top, and sometimes digging deep into the parts of ourselves with which we have never engaged. We are always changing, reorganizing, and reinventing the identities within our selfs to interact with the world. We might be able to maintain a static identity if we did not <i>do</i> anything, however to be human is to occupy our time, to do, to be, and to be alive. Our identity is something richer, deeper, and more fluid than a simple label or <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story">a single story</a>.<br />
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So yes, I am a university educated, urban living, male as well as a somewhat traveled, generally socially aware person. However, part of my identity is also simply a white person from the United States who is visiting Guatemala for a short time. This is no more or less authentically part of who I am and becoming aware of that fact may inform and enrich how I go about engaging with this new context. Understanding what that newly emerging identity means for my place here in Guatemala challenges me to understand how I fit into this contextual puzzle, if I am, as Frank Kronenberg would say, "doing well with" the Guatemalan people.<br />
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Recognizing the many parts of my identity through the things that I do every day, being aware of them, and understanding their relationship to the world around me will help me to better understand how I can use the many toys in my toy box to support change toward justice in our world. Being aware the many facets of my being will better equip me to relate, engage, and be open to the people and experiences waiting for me in the world. Our generation has clung to the idea that we each have an single unchanging truth that runs in the core of our being, and that may be true in some ways, however our identity and the occupations associated with it are malleable, changing, things that allow us to disconnect and connect with our world.<br />
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We are part of the world around us, shaping and being shaped by it. We exist with our world, not in spite of it and our occupations help us discover what that existence looks like and means.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-52024460464486232082014-05-28T13:22:00.000-07:002015-05-26T10:25:49.040-07:00Back in Guatemala: Thinking about Productivity and "doing nothing"<div style="text-align: right;">
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I am back in the wonderful country of Guatemala this week, preparing for the <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/napaotfieldschoolguatemala/">National Association for the Practice of Anthropology - Occupational Therapy Field School</a>. I was lucky enough to return to Antigua as the coordinator for this fantastic fieldwork experience for both anthropology and occupational therapy students. We will be going on a whirlwind adventure of four weeks exploring and researching various topics including Pediatric Development, Sustainable Technology, and NGO Networks in Health.<br />
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Before that adventure begins, I have had some time this week, as we prepare for the fast paced weeks to come, to explore and spend some time simply being in Antigua. Today, I found myself sitting on a bench in the middle of the city. In the center of this small colonial town sits Parque Central, a hive of activity, events, and interactions. People, both Guatemalan and foreign, walk, talk, and move throughout the green plants, cobblestone streets, and small stores. Venders selling ice cream, bracelets, table centerpieces, and shoe shines meander through the park gently and sometimes more aggressively engaging with those passing by or seated on the benches. Tour guides and instant photographers linger around the fountain in the middle of the square, waiting for someone who needs their services. Young children play around the fountain and old men smoke cigars, commenting on scantily clad <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gringo">gringas</a> walking by. Pairs of police officers wearing intimidating military-like uniforms stroll through the area eyeing the people with a heightened awareness.<br />
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Guatemalan teenage school girls sit in a circle around one of the benches in the park surrounding a laptop computer looking at something that periodically makes them shriek like... well... school girls. They giggle and glance at the older boys who walk passed them, all of them dressed in the typical white and blue uniforms of Guatemalan public schools. A young mother and her child sit near the edge of the fountain. The little boy chases the pigeons as she texts on her cell phone, taking a moment to stop and give her child a peck on the lips when he approaches. Today, there is an event for a local gym in which children from all the local schools came out and did something akin to Zumba with the gym's instructors. There was music and microphones echoing throughout the square, but one could always still hear the constant flow and splash of the center fountain over it all.<br />
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As I sat on that bench I pulled out my old Spanish class notes to review some vocabulary. After a few pages, I realized there was no way I would remember any of it with everything happening around me so I opened my notebook and began journaling some thoughts. As I looked around, the majority of other park-goers who were sitting on benches had no notebooks, books to read, crosswords to fill out, or even cameras to take pictures. They were doing nothing. I realized I had pulled out my notebooks to provide some impression that I was not just sitting there watching everyone; I was being productive and had a reason for sitting down and being in the park. However everyone else had no intention of creating an image of productivity, they were doing nothing. Doing nothing, what an interesting idea. Is it even possible?<br />
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I guess in reality, these people were doing. They were talking with each other, they were simply being present in the community, and they were watching, breathing, seeing, itching, smoking, hearing, touching, simply existing for a moment to experience the world around them. Such a foreign concept to my mind, marinaded in the protestant work ethic and the fast paced productive culture of the US. How often do you see people at the park in the US simply sitting and watching the other people at the park? They are reading a book, doing homework, exercising, or doing a variety of other things, but few are simply existing in the space, experiencing the world around them without being productive. We march through life with productivity as our goal.<br />
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As I sat staring into my world of occupation and analysis, I had stopped writing and was simply glancing around. In that moment, the Guatemalan man who was sitting near me on the bench began a conversation with me. We talked about his teacher in Guatemala City and about some sicknesses he had. He asked about why I was in Guatemala and how long. Then we stopped talking as he told me "I didn't mean to interrupt your work, you can continue working now." He went back to staring and I returned to my notebook.<br />
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My apparent productivity had stifled an opportunity to engage the people around me. Holding still in my productive timeline allowed someone else to catch up to me and connect. When I opened up to the world around me and allowed an empty space to emerge in my productive life, it was quickly filled with community. I wonder what else could fill up in those spaces if we just allowed them to happen? Maybe "doing nothing", something so countercultural, is actually an opportunity for the world to fill in the vacant corners of your life, allowing the nuances of people, the smells of the air, the sounds of a fountain, and the sights of a community to enter into the dance we call life. Maybe in spending some time "doing nothing" sometimes we learn to exist together and taste the diverse flavors of this world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-84528155445229165502014-03-08T20:46:00.002-08:002014-03-08T20:46:30.326-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Final Presentation</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-85462311829019519642013-09-25T17:45:00.001-07:002015-05-26T10:26:28.845-07:00Crossing Borders, Culture Blindness, and Understanding the Client<div style="text-align: right;">
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As with most journeys like this one, I set out with a specific trajectory in mind, however I arrived at a very different destination than what I would have expected. My goal in
the beginning of this project was to understand how Occupational Therapy
was being provided to Guatemalans and Nicaraguans based in their own
culture and from native therapists in hopes of informing and developing
the approach therapists take when working with these specific
populations. My question was originally, "How does occupational therapy
change and adapt to the cultural differences of Guatemalans, indigenous
and <i>ladino</i>, and Nicaraguans?" When looking deeper into the current situation of these countries, along with the current status of Occupational Therapy in them, I realized this question was not so simply answered.<br />
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We believe that Occupational Therapy is a client-based profession, one in which therapists must understand their patients' goals and meaningful activities to truly provide effective therapy. However, naturally we, as therapists, employ our own cultural framework to expedite this process. We function from assumptions about our patients that are inherent to our own culture, using presumed and simply understood cultural paradigms to approach therapeutic intervention. When crossing cultures and even sub-cultures this becomes an obstacle to effective therapy delivery. To provide effective therapy to individuals from diverse socioeconomic and cultural backgrounds, therapists must step outside of what occupational therapy scholars have called "culture blindness", being immersed in one's own culture so comprehensively that the therapist does not recognize their own cultural influences in the therapeutic relationship.<br />
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From my experiences in Guatemala and Nicaragua, I have come to realize that for culture blindness to subside and culturally competent occupational therapy to be delivered, therapists must take a step back from their traditional and assumed interventions and approaches and begin to look first at the theoretical foundations of occupational therapy. Therapists must first shave off the culturally biased flavors in which occupational therapy has developed and discover the raw underlying philosophy of the profession. From there we can allow this raw philosophical seed to grow in the natural culture of our patients, bearing the appropriate interventions and approaches rooted in the patients' own cultures and experiences.<br />
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This process requires a variety of factors to be in place. The first and foremost is rich soil into which <span id="goog_926105220"></span><span id="goog_926105221"></span>the occupational perspective can be placed. Resources, time, and support are all necessary for the <span id="goog_926105223"></span><span id="goog_926105224"></span>occupational perspective to be cultivated within a population in a way that connects theory to the patient in an authentic and effective manner. Unfortunately, just as Guatemalan <i>campesinos</i> have little land to cultivate their own crops, Guatemala and Nicaragua have little room to develop the occupational perspective. In Guatemala, the healthcare system is overburdened, disjointed, plagued with ethnic tension, overrun with NGOs, and has little room for prioritizing occupational therapy. In Nicaragua, what little occupational therapy is present is restricted by economic and political limitations, having neither the time nor the resources to effective emerge through the Nicaraguan culture.<br />
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Secondly, for the occupational perspective to take root and emerge through a new culture it must be interpreted effectively. Because of the huge presence of NGOs, service organizations, and foreign aid in Guatemala, much of the therapy is provided by non-Guatemalans who, although with good intentions, may not be providing the most effective or appropriate interventions for Guatemalan people. On many occasions, therapists provide interventions and techniques that come directly from their experiences in their respective countries instead of providing the reasoning and underlying philosophy behind those interventions to native therapists or caregivers. This creates a situation where patients, family members, or caregivers are performing interventions that may not make sense, are not effective, and maybe even create more of a burden rather than alleviating a problem.<br />
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As caregivers or therapists begin to realize that these transplanted interventions are not effective with their population, for example in Nicaragua, they resort to simplified non-occupation based techniques that do not resemble true occupational therapy. The occupational perspective, which was cultivated in Western/Developed cultures, has not been effectively interpreted for cultural differences outside that paradigm. Occupational therapy, because it is such a client based approach, must be acculturated before it can be sustainably effective. For this to occur, occupational therapists must step outside their own cultural paradigms and begin to understand the many structural and contextual factors that influence the efficacy of the therapy.<br />
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Understanding that in Nicaragua, the idea of <i>independence</i> may not be the most meaningful concept for a 75 year old woman because culturally she expects her children to care for her. Understanding that the routine of an indigenous woman in Guatemala may not have the flexibility to provide extra exercises to her child with special needs. Understanding that the standard approaches and solutions for assistive equipment, adaptive solutions, or even safety procedures may not be accessible, affordable, available, or of high quality. Understanding that therapists are viewed with less authority and less respect in some cultures. Understanding that sickness, disability, poverty, and independence are all viewed very differently within these cultural contexts. <br />
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For therapists crossing borders, it is integral to first understand these factors that affect their clients' in order to be creative, innovative, and revolutionary practitioners and effectively facilitate rehabilitation and/or change. Therapists crossing borders, whether that be across national borders or stepping into a homeless camp, work with tools that both hinder and facilitate potential success in their practice, having to take the time and effort to understand the full context of their patients while also bringing a new and diverse perspective on ways to resolve obstacles for their clients. It is the responsibility of therapists to find a balance between these two, uncovering a manner in which they foster occupational justice while preventing the imposition of their own culture. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrjlblPuOi8lhEIRbl0KqZiwjNEzY6Ry0KRLsAyL6Y47PAHWgeb2mwTMbGkPC_XFh2CdCaXIVj6QQgVDFUbbMMOYNHnF5HZcTRQpCGYWzXdlV5kh9c2tPc7pVv1QwznCwTWESNl4BZblZ/s1600/IMG_5117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrjlblPuOi8lhEIRbl0KqZiwjNEzY6Ry0KRLsAyL6Y47PAHWgeb2mwTMbGkPC_XFh2CdCaXIVj6QQgVDFUbbMMOYNHnF5HZcTRQpCGYWzXdlV5kh9c2tPc7pVv1QwznCwTWESNl4BZblZ/s400/IMG_5117.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Translation: "I want to be happy: To study and to play"</td></tr>
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As a global community and a global profession, we must learn to share ideas across cultures effectively and dialogue between therapists, professions, and nations. As occupational therapists, the adaptive thinkers that we are, we approach obstacles from a new and exciting way, thinking of new and sustainable ways to overcome occupational injustice using innovative minds and passionate communities. When we hone the ability to apply the theory, values, and principles of our profession across cultures, socioeconomic statuses, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and countless other diverse contexts, we will make a new step in becoming a globalized profession seeking to support occupational justice for all people both locally and on an international scale.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-83367002867225119742013-09-07T21:14:00.000-07:002013-09-11T15:24:41.258-07:00Nicaraguan Occupational Therapy: Seeing the Whole Picture<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-XxTmk4itQFO5KMVuA7k5Oxu0Slc4piYR0eBdnU1ZcZ7HpACiKQO9cefmVGB4Z74Nx4soSLqLWKoZ6LuROxXk4DHBBlq4hjaAiS9K1IE5aU3KfakuWNqScirluw5a_pV8s9SnfsQR6C3/s1600/IMG_6254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-XxTmk4itQFO5KMVuA7k5Oxu0Slc4piYR0eBdnU1ZcZ7HpACiKQO9cefmVGB4Z74Nx4soSLqLWKoZ6LuROxXk4DHBBlq4hjaAiS9K1IE5aU3KfakuWNqScirluw5a_pV8s9SnfsQR6C3/s400/IMG_6254.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Craft Materials</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I began my observation and participation in occupational therapy in Nicaragua, I was planning on providing a reflection on each of my days at the hospital where I am working. It quickly became apparent that this was not going to be an effective manner of conveying my experience because to truly</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">display and understand the complexities of what is happening in Nicaragua with OT would take much more time to understand or even reflect on. Therefore I altered my approach and attempted to dive deeper into what I was seeing in the therapy room, what I was hearing from the therapists, and connect that to what I already knew about Nicaragua.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Block Pusher</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This week has been an interesting and fulfilling experience to say the least. I have been fully immersed in one of two or three locations (still uncertain) that officially provide occupational therapy in Nicaragua, a rehabilitation hospital called Aldo Chavarria (Aldo for short). However, the occupational therapist who I am observing noted that she was unsure that the other places still gave OT. When it comes to receiving OT, Aldo is the place to go in Nicaragua.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aldo has many departments including physical and occupational therapy, prostheses, aqua-therapy, and others I am sure I have not seen. I have focused all my time in the Occupational Therapy room working with a Nicaraguan occupational therapist and a physical therapist who has taken some courses in occupational therapy. I arrive at 7:30am every morning and begin observation from 7:30am to 10:00am. I have performed two different types of observations: 1) Patient observations - noting every exercise or action the patient performs during their time in therapy and 2) OT observation - noting every interaction, activity given, and other activities performed by the OT. These hours are the most populated by patients. After these hours I begin lending my time as a student by treating patients and actively observing treatment of other patients.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rheumatism Gym - Excercises for neck</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From my observations I have come up with a typical session within this OT room: 1) Patient enters and greets therapist 2) Therapist takes appointment card and sends patient to an exercise for a specific amount of time (usually between 5-15 minutes) 3) Patient performs exercise while therapist is giving activities to other patients (sometimes up to 10 patients), doing paperwork, or standing watching the room 4) Patient alerts therapist when time has been completed or therapist stops patient 5) Therapist directs patient toward a different exercise 6)This continues until end of 30 minute session. The OT occasionally will provide further explanation or instruction to the patient and observe them perform the activity for a few seconds, however the majority of the time she does not have one-to-one interaction with the patients for more than the time it takes to set them up with a new exercise. On some occasions, the OT will stand back and watch the room of patients without interacting with anyone. On a few occasions, I have seen the OT have increased interaction with more severely involved patients with stroke or spinal cord injury. Some patients come with a family member or helper who provides one on one interactions with the patient during their session, sometimes even taking the patient through a set of routine exercises they have </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILC521m_erAD1Uq24WBzY9RuVWhmbBY5qaaYeRl2qj95aFgleJsLCuwg-P0lAmpbCv2jD3-SHxqDDTk3Y5BRzdjkT1GODyrlrZvjcmQQIZGA51AU3i-lhKgpkN3dmdfzbC5M6IvaYfbC2/s1600/IMG_6246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILC521m_erAD1Uq24WBzY9RuVWhmbBY5qaaYeRl2qj95aFgleJsLCuwg-P0lAmpbCv2jD3-SHxqDDTk3Y5BRzdjkT1GODyrlrZvjcmQQIZGA51AU3i-lhKgpkN3dmdfzbC5M6IvaYfbC2/s400/IMG_6246.JPG" width="266" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Large Peg Board</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">learned, without consulting the therapist. In many ways, these helpers and family members are actually providing therapy to the patients, however they may not always be providing the most effective or most beneficial techniques.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of the typical activities used are: large peg board (placing pegs in and out of holes), small pegs or blocks, standing while sliding objects across wires, wiping a slide board, removing and placing small velcroed squares or large tic tac toe pieces on a board, lifting rings from one pole to another, general shoulder exercises, wrist machines, squeezing hand strengtheners, screwing nuts on and off bolts, weaving shoe laces through small holes, finger ladder, and making circles and arcs on the table with an ace bandage. (See pictures of some of these activities throughout post). In the fact that I am able to even attempt to list most all the activities I have seen in one week, one can seen their repetitive and unvarying nature.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sensory integration, autism, adapted technology, occupation based interventions, therapeutic use of self, mental health approaches, and environmental approaches, all of which are huge focuses today in OT, are rarely if at all present in the occupational therapy I am seeing in this Nicaraguan rehab hospital. Physical rehabilitation exercises and the bio-medical model prevail over any specifically occupation based theories or approaches. The PT told me that in the 80s, occupational therapy was provided to the psychiatric hospital near the rehabilitation hospital, but it no longer offers that to their patients. In my </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlaJOjkPPV4XKxwXgOkhoMcqFBvUWz_wKxqHu7pq2PnpJS0iyQL_K14dGdo9YHKIiWSqfWVsG4fiblZVVASOPcx1DmH4ocy-6si_xKTjoz9fU1mznExqGKP1dtCEhRlbGEsWe3ikBxERT/s1600/IMG_6245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlaJOjkPPV4XKxwXgOkhoMcqFBvUWz_wKxqHu7pq2PnpJS0iyQL_K14dGdo9YHKIiWSqfWVsG4fiblZVVASOPcx1DmH4ocy-6si_xKTjoz9fU1mznExqGKP1dtCEhRlbGEsWe3ikBxERT/s400/IMG_6245.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ring Poles</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">observations in the past week, I noted 4 patients in the OT room of probably around 100 who received ADL training (wheelchair to bed transfer and functional mobility). The physical therapist performs many of the ADLs in the inpatient rooms. She travels throughout the hospital working with referred patients, maybe 5-7 per day. Otherwise patients, especially out-patients are performing usually one of the repetition based exercises above for sometimes up to 20 minutes. Entering the room, and after a little searching, one can find many materials that could be used to do crafts, games, or creative activities. When speaking to the OT, she recognizes that they have these materials, but she does not use them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">As I sat on my first few days, observing and noting all that I saw, I felt a pinch of condescension and authority believing that I already could see ways therapy at this hospital could be improved. </span>As a student accustomed to the fast paced, function based, productivity oriented, and necessary one-to-one therapy of the United States, my first few days of observation left me frustrated, irritated, and asking </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Finger Ladder</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the question, "Why won't they do more?" From an outside and foreign perspective, especially one educated in the contemporary OT theory emerging in the US, Europe, and other "developed" countries, I was tempted to harshly judge this OT's methodology for being non-occupation based, simply medically oriented, and far from holistic. Sometimes we are even be tempted to patronize the therapists we seek to serve when we travel abroad and volunteer our time because, "they just don't understand or know". We may believe they don't have a good answer to the question, "Why won't they do more?'</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">After a few days of internal self-touting, the OT actually asked me directly, "What are you seeing? What do you think about me?" with the attitude that she already knew what my answers would be, and she did. I provided my observations just as I did above. She then proceeded to explain to me her reasons why she had to provide therapy the way she did, recognizing very blatantly that she knew about occupation and occupational therapy and that she knew what she was doing wasn't the best therapy possible. As she continued, each of her reasons sharply poked holes in every view and recommendation I had. I slowly began to realize I had been roped into superficially looking at a situation, allowing myself to forget what this whole project has been about. By the end of the conversation, I realized instead of asking the question "Why won't they do more?" I should have been asking "Why can't they do more?". I needed to step back, understand the context, and see the whole picture.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the next few paragraphs I will attempt to present my thoughts as to what the answer to this question might be, based in and informed by my observations, quite frank conversations with both therapists, and my current knowledge of Nicaragua and its structures.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When OT is Emphasized</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CVvm2kqPZZLMOU5cdZKy5L_7p7ppdF3VQpPD1QIBXh_uGKTUoDNZvPmzZ4xf3y1D-GOpBKdhurrva9UIBmnjgk1G-H0ktYMzC7L_P4mPe5wwZ_haPKYV9NF8TuQLjV4iksMEPXftrbfY/s1600/IMG_6231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CVvm2kqPZZLMOU5cdZKy5L_7p7ppdF3VQpPD1QIBXh_uGKTUoDNZvPmzZ4xf3y1D-GOpBKdhurrva9UIBmnjgk1G-H0ktYMzC7L_P4mPe5wwZ_haPKYV9NF8TuQLjV4iksMEPXftrbfY/s400/IMG_6231.JPG" width="343" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Exercises for the elbow and wrist</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">According to the PT, in the 80s occupational therapy was focused on in Nicaragua. This was a time </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">directly after the victory of the Sandinista Revolution and during the Counterrevolutionary war which I assume would require from occupational therapy a much more medically focused approach to meet the needs of the physically injured soldiers. However, as stated in</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="http://ajot.aotapress.net/content/38/1/15.full.pdf" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">this paper</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> by West (1984) published in the American Journal of Occupational Therapy, seated crafts were still considered the standard for OT intervention and only just then were beginning to be critiqued. Imagine a Nicaraguan soldier returning from guerrilla war in the jungle after losing a leg and being asked to make a basket or sew a design in cloth. OT's craft focus at this time may not have helped its proliferation within the Nicaraguan culture especially since many of the crafts, ideas, theories, and methods were based in other cultures not experiencing the social and economic obstacles Nicaragua faced then and still faces today. This may have left OT to be misunderstood and not respected within the rehabilitation world.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Materials in the Closet</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.77777862548828px;"><b>How OT is Viewed</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">As OT has grown its authority, prestige, scope of practice and scientific base as well as broadened its interventions through a deeper understanding of its philosophy and purpose, Nicaraguan occupational therapy has been left behind in a resource scarce context. As therapists become more respected in the developed world, the OT here notes that she feels least respected of all the therapists and that no one thinks OT is important. In the developed world, therapist have the ability to evaluate their patients and plan their treatments, here in Nicaragua the doctors decide the amount of time a patient will be in therapy, how often they will go, and sometimes even what specific activities they will be doing. She stated that patients often refuse to do what she asks and treat her poorly. Unfortunately, she also notes that her job is at risk if patients complain about things like her being too hard on them. For this reason she feels she cannot have more in depth and challenging relationships with the patients and therefore stands back and keeps her distance during therapy. With the patients who she can tell want to work and be challenged, she says she does build rapport and works with more closely. She does not enjoy the job security and support of an administration like many therapists do in the States when it comes to therapist respect, patient interaction, and complaints.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How OT Comes</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOrnwX7OzoClF1IiL5snXG8E4xiCHFLTBLFZMWefs97y-4DaLSVAsDnKMV5kZ4ZryC47AlTyGJ1Ueh3Rd9dsoUAnzeydipkZRO-wN7sewVudtAIBmb6zVmUTWYeFFqSUaSQkqPzsPmldX/s1600/IMG_6221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOrnwX7OzoClF1IiL5snXG8E4xiCHFLTBLFZMWefs97y-4DaLSVAsDnKMV5kZ4ZryC47AlTyGJ1Ueh3Rd9dsoUAnzeydipkZRO-wN7sewVudtAIBmb6zVmUTWYeFFqSUaSQkqPzsPmldX/s400/IMG_6221.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tactile Materials</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most commonly occupational therapy arrives in Nicaragua through the hands of foreigners. US </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">citizens, Japanese, Canadians, and others who come to Nicaragua and provide activities they have learned in their own cultures. In essence, occupational therapy has not bee translated for Nicaragua, it has been transplanted from other cultures. The local university, Universidad Nacional A</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ut</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">ónoma de Nicaragua (UNAN), had an OT program that apparently chronically lacked resources and has since been closed. I cannot find any information about this program, how long it was open, how many students graduated from it, or who the professors were. However, the OT at Aldo is one of those graduates. She stated that she had classes for three years on activities, medical conditions, and some psychology to receive her degree. It is clear however, that this program neither had the time nor the resources to truly begin teaching what I might call "Nicaraguan" occupational therapy.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ca6soWhD1CQjsuDtc8FU-2FMGvynGCwHbyl15BwDeXvsee4L5V933v4nqtwZW6sVVGDeQqq9XPVQFiXgj1BGORB-1pW6tFCNHQ5BeZtT5rXhE3SILRyp8QIYFf4dLRgHQ2t2U0b7Hb7F/s1600/IMG_6255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ca6soWhD1CQjsuDtc8FU-2FMGvynGCwHbyl15BwDeXvsee4L5V933v4nqtwZW6sVVGDeQqq9XPVQFiXgj1BGORB-1pW6tFCNHQ5BeZtT5rXhE3SILRyp8QIYFf4dLRgHQ2t2U0b7Hb7F/s400/IMG_6255.JPG" width="266" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Craft Materials</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">From my observations and conversations with the OT it seems the activities that Nicaraguan OTs were taught to use are not meaningful or desirable for the Nicaraguans. She says she has tried to use crafts and the patients think they are silly and prefer to come in and do repetitive exercises and leave. The patients do not enjoy nor understand how making a craft like </span><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">origami,</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> which has no cultural significance, will benefit their progress after a stroke even if the therapist attempts to explain it to them. According to the OT, these crafts do not speak to Nicaraguan patients. The occupations the OT was taught to use do not find meaning in the hearts of Nicaraguans so she stopped attempting to use them.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><b>How OT has Adapted</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">It hasn't. Occupational therapy has not had the opportunity, resources, or </span><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">personnel</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> necessary in Nicaragua to flavor the profession to the needs of the Nicaraguan people. The occupational therapist has outdated and, due to the culture, ineffective techniques for providing therapy. She therefore resorts to non-function based repetitive exercises that lack the attributes that characterize</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> occupational therapy. She understands the value of the diversion activities for mental health and the physical benefits of specific movements during those activities. However, I do not think the underlying philosophy </span><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">of using meaningful occupations of the patient as a means and ends (which </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">has more recently been more deeply developed in the profession) was emphasized greatly in her education due to context and time in which she received it. The other therapist who is by profession a physical therapist, commented that she had received one class from a professor from </span><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">Philadelphia</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> that did focus on this perspective. The professor supported the idea of using occupations relevant to Nicaraguan culture and the Nicaraguan people (e.g. planting a garden for the those patients who come from the countryside). The therapist said this could not continue after the professor left because the hospital did not have the resources to provide it. The lack of emphasis on this philosophy as well as the many other structural factors facing occupational therapists have hindered at least this Nicaraguan OT (one of the only ones giving occupational therapy) from applying it to her own culture and social systems, preventing her from developing applicable activities and occupations for her patients to perform. This leads to a stagnant and irrelevant existence for occupational therapy in Nicaragua as nothing more than physical exercise for the upper body.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><b>Continued Conditions of OT</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">The word that I can use to best describe the OT I work with is burnt out. She is sometimes required to<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimoNqK-oFGIW3jggiHtXtTrL1TLCSLXxjgY-7HFBpLKgoJeqB4s0M_Mq_vHLb0XJIEl8lyX4FhloOcHmNQoiBrtGD4BYi9cZhQAHjfL9bHUuwIEvLD5TCpBSyAcdqVWHkFeOBgvS3RfOjy/s1600/IMG_6261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimoNqK-oFGIW3jggiHtXtTrL1TLCSLXxjgY-7HFBpLKgoJeqB4s0M_Mq_vHLb0XJIEl8lyX4FhloOcHmNQoiBrtGD4BYi9cZhQAHjfL9bHUuwIEvLD5TCpBSyAcdqVWHkFeOBgvS3RfOjy/s400/IMG_6261.JPG" width="393" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small Pegs</td></tr>
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treat all the 30-60 patients that come through her door each day. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she is virtually alone due to the responsibilities of her partner who is the department head. When her partner is there she is not alone, but she is still treating 20-40 patients. Most of these patients come in the morning because they refuse to come later in the day. According to her, if she tries to schedule them later, they tell her no and to schedule them earlier or they just won't come. She cannot use activities that require too much one-on-one attention due to the patient caseload or non-reusable materials due too lack of physical resources that she cannot replenish. She cannot prescribe adaptive technology because there is no way for the patient to get it. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">I am also not sure how much education she has had with assistive or adaptive equipment in general, let alone</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 17.77777862548828px;"> classes or workshops on using local resources to create the equipment. Wheelchairs are often donated and therefore she does teach patients wheelchair mobility and transfers. In my first few days, I was constantly wanting to use a slide board for spinal cord injury patients, a walker for stroke patients, and gait belts for everything else because that is the safety measures I have been taught. However, it would be impractical and actually not function-based to offer a slide board or a </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jdjltwN7NzzGC17LctOTjKfWfddLUSxkPwDSefH6DBNb1GMzwm3doohzvkSAuRJUrHZpYifLcw0pE-NKN9v5X1zL5gt8mzUgrLR5mVh4nIDG4sgXGbak_45tWKLGQhGERIyXYA3uDwaf/s1600/IMG_6228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jdjltwN7NzzGC17LctOTjKfWfddLUSxkPwDSefH6DBNb1GMzwm3doohzvkSAuRJUrHZpYifLcw0pE-NKN9v5X1zL5gt8mzUgrLR5mVh4nIDG4sgXGbak_45tWKLGQhGERIyXYA3uDwaf/s400/IMG_6228.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wrist Machines</td></tr>
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walker to a patient who will not be able to acquire one outside the hospital. With all of these obstacles and demands placed on the OT, I can see why the OT is not the happy fluttering butterfly full of energy and new ideas that we often envision ourselves needing to be as occupational therapists. Therefore she is demotivated and overworked with little resources, leading to therapy that does the job, but is the bare minimum.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I began my week in the mind set of an occupational therapy student from the United States. As my week comes to an end, I find myself adapting and changing to the needs of the patients here, learning and understanding how to function within this setting. In my short time here, I won't be able to truly understand the complex situation that occupational therapy is existing within in Nicaragua, but I can at least gain a taste of the structural factors and circumstantial obstacles that face the occupational therapists working here. In the upcoming week, I hope to reflect more on how my own treatment, approaches, and presence changed as I begin working with more patients.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-46210734874318209372013-08-31T15:11:00.001-07:002013-08-31T22:53:31.483-07:00A Special Familiy: A Nicaraguan Beginning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-Xv5pOkZHO9LKxkQoKOFr9bzxEfgq5nGLdLkW7TCx-dBvlRO7vkrP5CxZVl77b6DD6PT32Q85PcXz3g3f5Ro0GthER_aKeWpjeZU41hmevAR9DANfkaUtCQU3TDos8HCtsaJH0m2Nx21/s1600/IMG_6113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-Xv5pOkZHO9LKxkQoKOFr9bzxEfgq5nGLdLkW7TCx-dBvlRO7vkrP5CxZVl77b6DD6PT32Q85PcXz3g3f5Ro0GthER_aKeWpjeZU41hmevAR9DANfkaUtCQU3TDos8HCtsaJH0m2Nx21/s640/IMG_6113.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Many organizations in many countries work with individuals with special needs, however I have yet to come in contact with an organization that fulfills this goal from a community perspective more so than <i>Familias Especiales </i>[Special Families] in Matagalpa, Nicaragua. With practicality, comprehensiveness, and above all the community's needs informing its approach, the organization, over the past 2 decades, has learned that the driving force behind the services they provide has to be a dedicated commitment to listening.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL33kR_7bgeaXdPYq5Rqcoudiej69mT47TNLDzAwE99Bb4jIux_n-rd6Z2o23jDTxWnpVVbUJLD1HMIGSvYUGbFNll1sAT06AT2k2JpG6NEHigzkP_yB2LF12TJ39CKUPkBLuqYr0nLrI6/s1600/IMG_6091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL33kR_7bgeaXdPYq5Rqcoudiej69mT47TNLDzAwE99Bb4jIux_n-rd6Z2o23jDTxWnpVVbUJLD1HMIGSvYUGbFNll1sAT06AT2k2JpG6NEHigzkP_yB2LF12TJ39CKUPkBLuqYr0nLrI6/s400/IMG_6091.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accessible playground equipment at Familias Especiales</td></tr>
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From the beginning, listening to the families with individuals with special needs became an integral tool in responding to the factors influencing these families. In having an open conversation with these families in the the Matagalpa community, the organization began to discover that the families were being affected by factors that medical-oriented therapy could not solve. Factors such as, stigma for people with disabilities, lack of accessibility to public places, caregiver burden on already poor families...etc. These are what occupational justice theory names structural factors as well as the interaction between contextual and structural factors.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the therapy room</td></tr>
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Structural factors are the large cultural, economic, social, and political systems that create the structure on which a society is built. Contextual factors are the characteristics of an individual or population that must be viewed through the lens of the structural factor. For example, gender norms (socially expected behavior for gender identities) are a social system to which a majority of a population subscribes, thus a structural factor. Therefore, gender identity (a contextual factor determined by the individual) must be viewed through the contemporary lens of the relevant and contextual gender norms. More clearly, being female in the United States and being female in Nicaragua are two very different experiences even though the gender is the same because the gender norms of each country differ. The structural factors differ therefore the experience and effects of the contextual factor differ.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accessible playground equipment</td></tr>
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In the same way, disability or special needs, a contextual factor, affects individuals and families differently based on structural factors. These factors could include: stigma or negative views of people with disabilities and their families, medical, therapeutic, economic, and nutritional resources available to individuals and families with special needs, opportunities for social integration and participation for those individuals and families, or strains on the family due to special needs. Understanding the interplay between structural and contextual factors is a complicated and intricate process but it allows a more holistic and comprehensive approach to overcoming obstacles that face an individual, community, or population.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIfYq-VmcgwlaCnPNBdLt6mPIhKR6uTeDk2a8lIDhx2y2kYpqQU6RlUgGQRUR4zdsfJWn91aoLC_tb5-aT7mZl9pfHwmWVdJ0NuLjybkNqXWzLsIFIUihyphenhyphenEhujp7ymD6Ymz1S8IBKFFi8/s1600/IMG_6111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiIfYq-VmcgwlaCnPNBdLt6mPIhKR6uTeDk2a8lIDhx2y2kYpqQU6RlUgGQRUR4zdsfJWn91aoLC_tb5-aT7mZl9pfHwmWVdJ0NuLjybkNqXWzLsIFIUihyphenhyphenEhujp7ymD6Ymz1S8IBKFFi8/s400/IMG_6111.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All programs of Familias Especiales</td></tr>
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<i>Familias Especiales </i> demonstrates not only an understanding of this concept but also a dedication to improving structural factors affecting the families with which they work. For that reason, <i>Familias Especiales</i> takes the sunflower as its logo, a flower with many petals nourishing one plant. <i>Familias Especiales </i>has over 20 programs that seek to nourish one community from a variety of angles. Yes, this organization focuses on families of people with special needs but in working to support this portion of the population they have found ways to support the entire city of Matagalpa, including the special families.<br />
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For example the first big project the organization undertook was to build an accessible park in Matagalpa that both children with special needs and typical children could enjoy. This serves multiple purposes, however the two primary are firstly to provide a park for children with special needs and secondly to create a space for children and families of all types to come together, play, and interact as a community. This not only provides the occupation of play for many children, but it also uses occupation to facilitate a structural and social change in the community. Increased interaction with people with special needs will increase acceptance and integration in the community as a whole.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTMB0jr_Qw6ejERrSpak-xnYy1KUUl-fh5AvXxZkfWXGALrowSbsJHFPuTX4_LezGtXz1S6S3kvBJTi9R6CryJIn1Hr_7csmG1xZa5KmeEG6JjSjZnF3zi_pfIszzoPA1boatwLhH_XZ8/s1600/IMG_6104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTMB0jr_Qw6ejERrSpak-xnYy1KUUl-fh5AvXxZkfWXGALrowSbsJHFPuTX4_LezGtXz1S6S3kvBJTi9R6CryJIn1Hr_7csmG1xZa5KmeEG6JjSjZnF3zi_pfIszzoPA1boatwLhH_XZ8/s400/IMG_6104.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playground</td></tr>
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Today, <i>Familias Especiales </i>provides programs from horse therapy for children with special needs to a yogurt factory in which the mothers of youth with special needs work and earn a living while also providing a healthy nutritional alternative to the greater community. The organization provides psychological, psychiatric, and medical support as well as therapy on site and within homes. They are currently working to create an "integrated therapy" that will teach mothers therapeutic techniques to use when a therapist is unavailable. Social workers also organize mother leaders in various zones throughout the community to spearhead community organizing and communication. <i>Familias Especiales </i>provides employment to young people with special needs by running a recycling operation, special art programs, piñata making, gardening, a small eatery, and a variety of other jobs within the organization. They also have a wheelchair workshop that assembles, repairs, and performs maintenance on over one thousand wheelchairs per year that are then donated to the community. They have a variety of other programs that I did not get a chance to see in action. One needs to spend at least a couple of weeks or more with this organization to fully understand all of its many programs and how comprehensively it approaches family and community-oriented intervention.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfHthHvapiXWwGOzGMZSIbhVSMp2l248Nd01K0sk6ZceMV5pNjyrGFHaULbtX65i11zobRRuA4IoDCiOBgH7Zs64UL-L9kcV_ybm5KD5-2ubs8dy2z7LERppX6bVqucNCr9JvQXLRAUaH/s1600/IMG_6126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfHthHvapiXWwGOzGMZSIbhVSMp2l248Nd01K0sk6ZceMV5pNjyrGFHaULbtX65i11zobRRuA4IoDCiOBgH7Zs64UL-L9kcV_ybm5KD5-2ubs8dy2z7LERppX6bVqucNCr9JvQXLRAUaH/s400/IMG_6126.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheelchair Workshop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The passionate administration, social workers, therapists, workers, and families of <i>Familias Especiales</i> truly exemplify an effective model for integrated community-oriented therapy and social change, using play, work, social engagement, and countless other occupations to provide therapeutic change to youth with special needs and structural change to the community surrounding them and their families.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgUWifqCLf8_f98tJQVEMB1mAEBdhp4PmOoPHXplhYob1oUqIh8_WXCew_kb2OXfI49hbWvJQmVLYuZHtjLLED9IYcjbbViGNTHhSk1od5HCtiRqsiyoxttXyq-BoJYPaPw5SUmKvdtTM/s1600/IMG_6074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgUWifqCLf8_f98tJQVEMB1mAEBdhp4PmOoPHXplhYob1oUqIh8_WXCew_kb2OXfI49hbWvJQmVLYuZHtjLLED9IYcjbbViGNTHhSk1od5HCtiRqsiyoxttXyq-BoJYPaPw5SUmKvdtTM/s400/IMG_6074.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recycling Operation</td></tr>
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Although this organization is utilizing occupation to achieve its goals, it has severe difficulty finding occupational or physical therapists willing to work long term with them as well as understand their community-oriented approach. This obstacle limits the progress and success of the organization.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHH-g_wL0i5f0Ch7wpPJt5mr0JSYqiP6AuRhovjV79-TsfJcxGd_Zz43ZolcXYhHdf9XlbId_6fBDAC3TXc1lV4rgY9oZ7dBsNPACoPURoWYdZF0I8Y2keuwkmFi-V3YQuQKW-5PtZ9mg3/s1600/IMG_6079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHH-g_wL0i5f0Ch7wpPJt5mr0JSYqiP6AuRhovjV79-TsfJcxGd_Zz43ZolcXYhHdf9XlbId_6fBDAC3TXc1lV4rgY9oZ7dBsNPACoPURoWYdZF0I8Y2keuwkmFi-V3YQuQKW-5PtZ9mg3/s400/IMG_6079.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piñata Making<br />
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Nevertheless, the persevering staff and families continue working to improve Matagalpa and the lives of all the people within it, especially<br />
those with special needs. They support from all angles, attempting to recognize and work with all the factors affecting the special families. Their holistic and comprehensive practice of integrated community therapy has been an unprecedented model in my experience as an occupational therapy student. I hope to see more organizations like this one begin to emerge within the formal and domestic structures of all countries because the model and practice used by <i>Familias Especiales </i> is both inspiring and effective.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-66331493471337246162013-08-26T21:34:00.000-07:002015-05-26T10:28:24.100-07:00Thinking of Guatemala<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOfhekYYxChrL88IwAXBL64MypCt2bUCfTfDHvNEeDMAXID1xRDzbFY7X-IDvp7nr-3u72PNCgCGHZqmbFtlkxene12jDPOhBGzZoytJJpMRkw29edK1plGuer45BcVJVi4S_GfVn42Wi/s1600/IMG_5280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOfhekYYxChrL88IwAXBL64MypCt2bUCfTfDHvNEeDMAXID1xRDzbFY7X-IDvp7nr-3u72PNCgCGHZqmbFtlkxene12jDPOhBGzZoytJJpMRkw29edK1plGuer45BcVJVi4S_GfVn42Wi/s640/IMG_5280.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Guatemala was a long road, but it was a wonderful, colorful, and exciting adventure.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDSFwYZoCfWdEw9gr3FRASE4T5DnUn6sW2_7eAMlyuufhrZEwsxL6igRo9LTZIYw_7Do0KeDX5SLEHQ_5WqNELeNFSu7v-0GiWoEkXFejYiMAdfphZ3kkh1oPR0gdT3JVAqgvgPHXu1aB/s1600/IMG_5215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDSFwYZoCfWdEw9gr3FRASE4T5DnUn6sW2_7eAMlyuufhrZEwsxL6igRo9LTZIYw_7Do0KeDX5SLEHQ_5WqNELeNFSu7v-0GiWoEkXFejYiMAdfphZ3kkh1oPR0gdT3JVAqgvgPHXu1aB/s640/IMG_5215.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>We learned about the good, the bad, and the ugly.</b></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNb3vbaevKpZirBWfS5x9cAmUoDVH217TYk8MzVhH8YcZlOo0in5FQ6KHw_QIaD3efBtQ04jDWIEaGaOlJkfDLl6UamyayoI8DIzLYYu9AQgXbsa78BK_IlqS_RO1QEVtYBZQOz1CmZFy/s1600/IMG_5310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNb3vbaevKpZirBWfS5x9cAmUoDVH217TYk8MzVhH8YcZlOo0in5FQ6KHw_QIaD3efBtQ04jDWIEaGaOlJkfDLl6UamyayoI8DIzLYYu9AQgXbsa78BK_IlqS_RO1QEVtYBZQOz1CmZFy/s640/IMG_5310.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>We tasted the rich resources Guatemala has in its beautiful hills...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDK3NBhsxE4bIsSmrgnJQit0wNM5kkRiI1Uis-Wjx8hQL6uiTSXHVcZlz36YDd5bMs5lCUXpCbqUHDkCnPZvPepwVk8IPAMi0JO4AcoJ87agF25srYzYD8OGGF4tmhl1vR4Z-mexiYcuVt/s1600/IMG_5530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDK3NBhsxE4bIsSmrgnJQit0wNM5kkRiI1Uis-Wjx8hQL6uiTSXHVcZlz36YDd5bMs5lCUXpCbqUHDkCnPZvPepwVk8IPAMi0JO4AcoJ87agF25srYzYD8OGGF4tmhl1vR4Z-mexiYcuVt/s640/IMG_5530.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...and saw the beauty this country has to offer.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklfOtfmAXe2m0yNhcxYZWwttvn21_scsBpp-sjc51QouWPAZhLDQcFRQ4ZDHygZtQEmfvbX-OXggODszzVn6vzlxA09BAs1PfvbKYflWS1mhyVRvrySbxN54qQe1sRhYp8Glrj7EZBUsR/s1600/IMG_5340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklfOtfmAXe2m0yNhcxYZWwttvn21_scsBpp-sjc51QouWPAZhLDQcFRQ4ZDHygZtQEmfvbX-OXggODszzVn6vzlxA09BAs1PfvbKYflWS1mhyVRvrySbxN54qQe1sRhYp8Glrj7EZBUsR/s640/IMG_5340.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>We were inspired by Guatemalan youth stepping out from the shadow of a civil war in the face of ...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfhptNGa3ubH4H_9QYllWSnI35XXHJ9u4oJINLkx7K4MdiBcs81NLhbfspqkhL0NrULaxqRltDi8BunV5Nb8H6oqJJK-khmTuoZpF-3BKoz18_uYmDVNFCkk61hk1v-NJaB5WgoZz9unJ2/s1600/IMG_5476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfhptNGa3ubH4H_9QYllWSnI35XXHJ9u4oJINLkx7K4MdiBcs81NLhbfspqkhL0NrULaxqRltDi8BunV5Nb8H6oqJJK-khmTuoZpF-3BKoz18_uYmDVNFCkk61hk1v-NJaB5WgoZz9unJ2/s640/IMG_5476.JPG" width="427" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...poverty that still exists and oppression that continues to restrict human rights.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK9kHOb3qxwKFZ_jhmQjLNp40MXL7CbPx2imVwxYH-PqrBGSGL0nw1pngE0b5sM9uw5DNRCNUKcEyvPIurunN0_E8Ysh-Ns3XW1cc-6Oc-3ISi_S1DJA4_K0s9lIKk5KkEyfLKPmKY356/s1600/IMG_5501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK9kHOb3qxwKFZ_jhmQjLNp40MXL7CbPx2imVwxYH-PqrBGSGL0nw1pngE0b5sM9uw5DNRCNUKcEyvPIurunN0_E8Ysh-Ns3XW1cc-6Oc-3ISi_S1DJA4_K0s9lIKk5KkEyfLKPmKY356/s640/IMG_5501.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Its people are diverse.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJ9Kcf9xJ2J_1NvdFwClRD6v-Qdrd1C07ZRMAethLqgvMN0bt3J2Mkf-bX9314q9m4F8t8yGs86m23bcuEMqWEHFwCP5ERcCVbvpQrorV0hscg6Ri2b0g_Qz4aH4E6jicKkdf2mSnt4Yy/s1600/IMG_5807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJ9Kcf9xJ2J_1NvdFwClRD6v-Qdrd1C07ZRMAethLqgvMN0bt3J2Mkf-bX9314q9m4F8t8yGs86m23bcuEMqWEHFwCP5ERcCVbvpQrorV0hscg6Ri2b0g_Qz4aH4E6jicKkdf2mSnt4Yy/s640/IMG_5807.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>They adapt...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBpEJMEisgBYRg5N4GsiTfqZtcvOl0yJF2luYrMdCy3OCngkPOzT78dpxsTxHNeIDisSn3HHOUVxW8WW2-9zFhRimnkRRYdIvaj6F-N62l1ztoCkWmLIPygeWwyBj2b7zBH3atCVjbgJ3/s1600/IMG_5821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBpEJMEisgBYRg5N4GsiTfqZtcvOl0yJF2luYrMdCy3OCngkPOzT78dpxsTxHNeIDisSn3HHOUVxW8WW2-9zFhRimnkRRYdIvaj6F-N62l1ztoCkWmLIPygeWwyBj2b7zBH3atCVjbgJ3/s640/IMG_5821.JPG" width="424" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>They work hard.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQcoRnvPhVbeDMYJgz7i3ZKTKwhVY5HSM7CejbpsHzUhl6SmKB_rppCeZp2NNJDk2wGHkbbQa6JSl0hRZPJRIaxFlaY-tDPcwA4Mh3mhKX6Iw32scFycuahA80DYd3vJo2bhjxzFKZuZm/s1600/IMG_5822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQcoRnvPhVbeDMYJgz7i3ZKTKwhVY5HSM7CejbpsHzUhl6SmKB_rppCeZp2NNJDk2wGHkbbQa6JSl0hRZPJRIaxFlaY-tDPcwA4Mh3mhKX6Iw32scFycuahA80DYd3vJo2bhjxzFKZuZm/s640/IMG_5822.JPG" width="426" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>They celebrate.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMBL0-Dm03o0QKAtu2kzCJW5IwU7JpNNQXGvmuLjuvWunJMD3SLARaSNKgjPBkreciMj_Pa5LmAHtZSs7mK5B_r4get8JtwONps-4Lru_Ob4bzzEJC94BYJLdNwIffTxPFWEqbA_f2Hml/s1600/IMG_5761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMBL0-Dm03o0QKAtu2kzCJW5IwU7JpNNQXGvmuLjuvWunJMD3SLARaSNKgjPBkreciMj_Pa5LmAHtZSs7mK5B_r4get8JtwONps-4Lru_Ob4bzzEJC94BYJLdNwIffTxPFWEqbA_f2Hml/s640/IMG_5761.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h2>
<span style="font-size: small;">And they live their lives, just like the rest of us...</span></h2>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoObvhtIH-UGwGUsBAa4JwkUpYl4Pyv4L88uvWOBx2oJn_Vxuw_H9ys38TVtQvTzFShc4OZc7kvH5IiOkp8fP63j6AnLL-H-Rk52B7Noq9oL-LoBIGevNLMRBZExRxL2mbI9F5IJH3NAt/s1600/IMG_5560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoObvhtIH-UGwGUsBAa4JwkUpYl4Pyv4L88uvWOBx2oJn_Vxuw_H9ys38TVtQvTzFShc4OZc7kvH5IiOkp8fP63j6AnLL-H-Rk52B7Noq9oL-LoBIGevNLMRBZExRxL2mbI9F5IJH3NAt/s640/IMG_5560.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><h2>
<span style="font-size: small;">...asking only for their human rights...</span></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpWo3pQnE9dCsovIlV194t73bMcnVopjJquJz2xMxCkJGbS5-bfUWjGE3UWNDffndCT05cCG4enfToZ4qjOQzmBefggm6Y96SImlAFsXugZyvJDsPtYTgGojPHu6YwDnyjynh5sGiu4Wu/s1600/IMG_5721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpWo3pQnE9dCsovIlV194t73bMcnVopjJquJz2xMxCkJGbS5-bfUWjGE3UWNDffndCT05cCG4enfToZ4qjOQzmBefggm6Y96SImlAFsXugZyvJDsPtYTgGojPHu6YwDnyjynh5sGiu4Wu/s640/IMG_5721.JPG" width="424" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...in an uphill struggle...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEplkDJQxngkAc8Yi23MEBcFUt1kDYh4JbgeVwIqF9_eeZpSgcZUr69aYbMb-mJuCNtKwIgzdd8O6NpI1CTNduTFv1hyQmZqunU4OHWjlf36DIrethHxgom4ckF34F_qyqQIKMGcfM3QPO/s1600/IMG_5804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEplkDJQxngkAc8Yi23MEBcFUt1kDYh4JbgeVwIqF9_eeZpSgcZUr69aYbMb-mJuCNtKwIgzdd8O6NpI1CTNduTFv1hyQmZqunU4OHWjlf36DIrethHxgom4ckF34F_qyqQIKMGcfM3QPO/s640/IMG_5804.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...against a visible and severe wealth disparity...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vePqm2a4nDBBHo9PiZDc1CFBT_0BuSM8MbkGiHzMzoDhuuyHz3Kj46XL7FXQXR1VKTaH-IF_ByvxOrVu3pgchaDRrv3j_pGprggSyvohkmzssn8U2u-07n9MGYuxqxw3WKLuiP0SmDmM/s1600/IMG_5714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vePqm2a4nDBBHo9PiZDc1CFBT_0BuSM8MbkGiHzMzoDhuuyHz3Kj46XL7FXQXR1VKTaH-IF_ByvxOrVu3pgchaDRrv3j_pGprggSyvohkmzssn8U2u-07n9MGYuxqxw3WKLuiP0SmDmM/s640/IMG_5714.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...disease....</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhof8NFbChBUBPIOqeRZthkOCueyLouxwHr9c7N42Sx4x1vGZx_EJPo6EiTHuDHvZhLusWAJ9YPhQRXAqsxiEsRrhVu8RFm_3vDnSL0aXq1GqmssUm93eP3hcZP_izMa7LCRrfKQTqEtOfy/s1600/IMG_5705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhof8NFbChBUBPIOqeRZthkOCueyLouxwHr9c7N42Sx4x1vGZx_EJPo6EiTHuDHvZhLusWAJ9YPhQRXAqsxiEsRrhVu8RFm_3vDnSL0aXq1GqmssUm93eP3hcZP_izMa7LCRrfKQTqEtOfy/s640/IMG_5705.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...and overwork...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh2L4gAiReswzuHvVMEBcBwdLJst8eh-6NrhB8mrq8lcHkC5MlzFfmXVmxFD-b0R1ybzotogldfe-G9gSafJn63ndpzDjEf89uiOMU4HHb60t1xd6cuekoyZ8a5XXDG1X0gJbWKG9mGb0/s1600/IMG_5872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh2L4gAiReswzuHvVMEBcBwdLJst8eh-6NrhB8mrq8lcHkC5MlzFfmXVmxFD-b0R1ybzotogldfe-G9gSafJn63ndpzDjEf89uiOMU4HHb60t1xd6cuekoyZ8a5XXDG1X0gJbWKG9mGb0/s640/IMG_5872.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...but with a vision of hope Guatemala continues on...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9-vdy7m-DHL3uacvmzmMIIZ8BIWpke_F5tT4kdZQ85W4iGbenCHnTRqw4h3Ocuup2oRK8DWu7liTSTEeh-YGUQdDQ0s-zzY_cyzHlQrzhCs7RT6gyPOOPgaVsUre729DCtL8SVz-I4Pv/s1600/IMG_6065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9-vdy7m-DHL3uacvmzmMIIZ8BIWpke_F5tT4kdZQ85W4iGbenCHnTRqw4h3Ocuup2oRK8DWu7liTSTEeh-YGUQdDQ0s-zzY_cyzHlQrzhCs7RT6gyPOOPgaVsUre729DCtL8SVz-I4Pv/s640/IMG_6065.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...day by day...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKufUdCJjdiCc13XZW07Xmmz47K7CPE6wCHJhRCQLtNxZQ8VSP_XP-Ab6iqzO50x-ydZoUUv5i4RfKE96PtY1fvSbqKd3cVWoIj2iEgXqPyKMa7HLaVqmOip5l0I0ak963nIqfK8cBbh7I/s1600/IMG_5894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKufUdCJjdiCc13XZW07Xmmz47K7CPE6wCHJhRCQLtNxZQ8VSP_XP-Ab6iqzO50x-ydZoUUv5i4RfKE96PtY1fvSbqKd3cVWoIj2iEgXqPyKMa7HLaVqmOip5l0I0ak963nIqfK8cBbh7I/s640/IMG_5894.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...seeking peace, security, and love in a chaotic world...</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UjWFCr943IONVRK0Md10YOGYupqhq4I5e3VJ2uF-hq_fyt_AkXF6_MSoDxDCeypeVw4oIyEyQ0-jE9mnG6H0LrX7KYH_RBLsSBoZ919yQcUG0rMYg6-6LE0L0vgABxlJZ79Ie3epgGJo/s1600/IMG_4480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UjWFCr943IONVRK0Md10YOGYupqhq4I5e3VJ2uF-hq_fyt_AkXF6_MSoDxDCeypeVw4oIyEyQ0-jE9mnG6H0LrX7KYH_RBLsSBoZ919yQcUG0rMYg6-6LE0L0vgABxlJZ79Ie3epgGJo/s640/IMG_4480.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>...and looking toward a better future.</b></span></td></tr>
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<b> On to Nicaragua....</b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-90550175277619690142013-08-18T14:45:00.002-07:002015-05-26T10:29:16.024-07:00The State of the Youth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaItFfkkeMBciPlOGeXzuBlWBfYR4LKJVV7v9N6E0-zNPa70z0Oi9cWHJLTYdYgqWR6nxnyBjPxAzyqBHjatmUrM4WRO13DwT6mtIy_10SNv7T8si6dW5LiDSW-Xm4U3ODW-OfdziXIFo/s1600/IMG_5373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaItFfkkeMBciPlOGeXzuBlWBfYR4LKJVV7v9N6E0-zNPa70z0Oi9cWHJLTYdYgqWR6nxnyBjPxAzyqBHjatmUrM4WRO13DwT6mtIy_10SNv7T8si6dW5LiDSW-Xm4U3ODW-OfdziXIFo/s400/IMG_5373.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Walking up the dark 6th street of Guatemala City this past Sunday evening, we came upon a boisterous group of people standing around a large bonfire set up in front of a stage in the middle of the square facing the National Palace. A stage lined with candles, occupied by 5 or 6 people leading songs and chants to the rhythm of a drum line, was located behind the large circle of young people. Surrounding the fire, demonstrators, some of which were on stilts, of all ages, with painted faces, and seemingly modern interpretations of ancient Mayan clothes danced and sang around the burning fire pit. From adolescents to young adults, all were enjoying the brisk night air, the heat of the flames, and the opportunity to set their spirits on fire.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9IuIshj-n5wFKygfjk_D_G2eIubfAsgwHBY4Gt_uJg-pkU8rZRYxjnnZPprby0AfRdSSANB_LJ6187I-yqM7J2e9k4ddwAvVnTosIPw4J3Udwpy3piXwlLfoEIRyhXiVEfYwO8mfDgL6/s1600/IMG_5409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9IuIshj-n5wFKygfjk_D_G2eIubfAsgwHBY4Gt_uJg-pkU8rZRYxjnnZPprby0AfRdSSANB_LJ6187I-yqM7J2e9k4ddwAvVnTosIPw4J3Udwpy3piXwlLfoEIRyhXiVEfYwO8mfDgL6/s400/IMG_5409.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A booming female voice, sang and chanted over large speakers on either side of the stage. She, led by the drum line, came down from the stage and entered the circle around the fire. She was clad with a crown of leaves and a staff covered in vines; she was the leader of this celebration. This was a celebration of the youth; an indigenous celebration modernized as a demonstration for life and peace.</blockquote>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;"> "We are the youth! We are the children of the children of the children of the children of slaves."</span> </blockquote>
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The drums accompanied the chanting crowd as those present lifted their hands together in celebration. </blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDc0PMVX5T4eZHR-gLYeVPD8FlxK5yAHC3Po32CUL-Wbpm-8KuCiVxEHWPya-VqArhd8mU2ipB9DXug1kWtKy0q90HsIZ3tYi_q1DWGE_QbpoMCf5YHB93P90HQKIL9vJDuEheSTwms8g0/s1600/DSC_0646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDc0PMVX5T4eZHR-gLYeVPD8FlxK5yAHC3Po32CUL-Wbpm-8KuCiVxEHWPya-VqArhd8mU2ipB9DXug1kWtKy0q90HsIZ3tYi_q1DWGE_QbpoMCf5YHB93P90HQKIL9vJDuEheSTwms8g0/s400/DSC_0646.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo By: Benjamin Hershey</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">"We are here to celebrate life! We are here for all the victims of genocide!"</span></blockquote>
The group denounced the death and violence occurring in Guatemala, calling for peace and for love of life.<br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">"Life is Beautiful! <i>Viva la Vida! </i>[Live the Life] <i>Viva la Vida!...</i> "Live for the dreams, the song, the body, the dance. Feel it deeply in your heart!" </span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QyDuy0hu_QEZHFoAoWsjaCfuX0xeNbt6flziC_l3QGYPqA5Atn-fkVETCvtzIOMxHnx0VVdzmb_xeEWkdXvwITwvblaylsZJorzOYKzytXgJ40hSajbuznJEnqPRrs2vAvARKpNT3aNP/s1600/IMG_5514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QyDuy0hu_QEZHFoAoWsjaCfuX0xeNbt6flziC_l3QGYPqA5Atn-fkVETCvtzIOMxHnx0VVdzmb_xeEWkdXvwITwvblaylsZJorzOYKzytXgJ40hSajbuznJEnqPRrs2vAvARKpNT3aNP/s400/IMG_5514.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
The young people, the new generation, was embodied in this small celebration under the looming shadow of the National Palace. As rain slowly began to fall on the heads of the demonstrators, they gave thanks to the Earth for the water. They continued dancing in celebration of the gift from their mother the Earth. The demonstration slowly subsided, but the Guatemalan youth had shown that even when the rain falls, they will find a way to celebrate living.<br />
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This was the event that began this past week, my first week out of the NAPA-OT Field School. As the week progressed, this spirit-filled night continued to sit in the back of my mind. I began to reflect on the spirit of the youth and the presence of the new generation in Guatemala, to think about all the young lives and young leaders that were lost to the internal conflict.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMk7KOXkI2XFDipkKuCzC0zNq6Z924UMINrXW_ZYb4CXRQ5aB5s6do4oBEzwtAMKgt2n3yBigI26eRBT9NvsREZiJSO5PWK0FC27eXo2waTqtsMJehfHA_Pvw1OjnGodL5UOMC_p2Iqa_/s1600/IMG_5119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMk7KOXkI2XFDipkKuCzC0zNq6Z924UMINrXW_ZYb4CXRQ5aB5s6do4oBEzwtAMKgt2n3yBigI26eRBT9NvsREZiJSO5PWK0FC27eXo2waTqtsMJehfHA_Pvw1OjnGodL5UOMC_p2Iqa_/s400/IMG_5119.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">(Not at La Limonada)</span></td></tr>
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On Tuesday, I had the opportunity to visit<a href="http://www.lemonadeinternational.org/"> La Limonada, an officiated slum in the ravines between Zone 1 and Zone 5 of Guatemala City.</a> This community is famous for its violence, crime, and also its part in the documentary <a href="http://www.athentikos.com/reparando/">Reparando</a> which you can watch on Netflix. Within this community, we visited a small supplementary school for children during their time outside of normal classes. Here they receive class, a meal, activities, and are also supported by a psychologist. This school has worked with our very own <a href="http://www.cintiotinstitute.com/">Cincinnati Occupational Therapy Institute (COTI)</a> which provided sensory equipment such as a large platform swing, pillows, and sensory toys. The psychologist had received some training from occupational therapists in how to work with children who may need occupational therapy. She reported that she often uses the equipment with children during her therapy sessions and has used it with some students that she believes specifically need sensory strategies.<br />
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However, the most impressive aspect about this small school is clearly the young inspired staff of teachers and psychologist working there. They are all young adults who have decided to spend their time and career working in La Limonada to support the youngest members of the community as they attempt to gain an education. Bear in mind, we brought no cameras, no phones, and as we walked towards this area, a car actually stopped and warned us that we were in a dangerous place. Even Guatemalans have stigmas and fear concerning the community that these young people have chosen to make their responsibility. They are a clear testament to the power and strength of the Guatemalan youth as well as a clear symbol of the new generation emerging in Guatemala, a strong generation that has not had its leaders systematically killed in genocide or civil war. These leaders are beginning to take a stand.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsF6B9cbxQqLDjDPuBosEzpiN1pWoxRaO4bphjNpSdimsaBmEJXsNB5n-l5haGwqXlvcbepWyaIInbTv6oX2hLkK0PLyEq-qWLmqH9sLXIH3SfI42uPw02W_cS_kZW7WCO9ndsdNJaw1P/s1600/IMG_5620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsF6B9cbxQqLDjDPuBosEzpiN1pWoxRaO4bphjNpSdimsaBmEJXsNB5n-l5haGwqXlvcbepWyaIInbTv6oX2hLkK0PLyEq-qWLmqH9sLXIH3SfI42uPw02W_cS_kZW7WCO9ndsdNJaw1P/s400/IMG_5620.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
On Wednesday, with a visiting family from the United States, we visited a young man that I had the pleasure of meeting two years ago when I came to Guatemala with Xavier's Occupational Therapy Department. Gerson Cerritos and his family lead a small church called City of Refuge that focuses in community outreach. One of the programs we learned about and were able to serve at was a weekly breakfast for individuals living with addictions. We heard the story of a man who was able to overcome alcoholism with the support of the community he found through the church. Gerson's parents began the church in order to provide, support, food, and in many cases housing to many of the community members. Gerson's family has grown far beyond all his brothers and sisters who continue to have strong involvement in the church to individuals who have no blood relations at all.<br />
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Gerson led us to the terrace of his home where we could see a vast overlook of Guatemala City. Here he passionately laid before us the vision and goals of his family for their ministry of solidarity in their community, <i>Linda Vista. </i><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">"You cannot really serve or feel empathy with someone unless you live and walk with them. This is what Jesus did; he felt what [the poor] felt." -Gerson Cerritos</span></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJJV_wCybqMFnERrbzh_Woeb0p_BqeKullmGeBl91Dep_rRRIKAr216o2JiEBbYqXUG-bDhO7oYEjTIGUQQ1-yIstI2SOsF9N4fJfUgXE_NY1WgxGe9pAXViKgZEOV9ShcagOD7wgP2T_/s1600/IMG_5682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJJV_wCybqMFnERrbzh_Woeb0p_BqeKullmGeBl91Dep_rRRIKAr216o2JiEBbYqXUG-bDhO7oYEjTIGUQQ1-yIstI2SOsF9N4fJfUgXE_NY1WgxGe9pAXViKgZEOV9ShcagOD7wgP2T_/s400/IMG_5682.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the summit of Volcano Acatenago</td></tr>
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Even as leaders and innovators begin emerging in from the new generation of Guatemalan youth, there is still many obstacles to face for youth of this country. Throughout Guatemala children's homes for both children with and without special needs exist. Due to lack of resources, accessibility, affordability, and quality of healthcare, education, and other obstacles families are forced to give up their children to save their lives. Many Guatemalan children, both in homes and out, deal with violence, fear, and poverty every day. There are still many mountains to climb. However, the youth of Guatemala today show resilience, passion, faith, and determination in the face of oppression, poverty, prejudice, and structural violence, celebrating the hope they see on the horizon.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-10539179081922976852013-08-05T12:54:00.000-07:002015-05-26T10:29:37.551-07:00Complexities of Culture<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtGHuH8mW5XCk2iHNMavyZXg8hJA7LT_AQALWpoqHQSyb8vgDkPljviaW8EScTVU8xShk9m1lVTlJHhyYL_WboZKZfefmG2BtS9hJVvOU_tODRajXa7V_q2-0hGZLu2kzYHn7o2ZeeqKw/s1600/IMG_4438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtGHuH8mW5XCk2iHNMavyZXg8hJA7LT_AQALWpoqHQSyb8vgDkPljviaW8EScTVU8xShk9m1lVTlJHhyYL_WboZKZfefmG2BtS9hJVvOU_tODRajXa7V_q2-0hGZLu2kzYHn7o2ZeeqKw/s400/IMG_4438.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DIEeEkkpOco6VEObUOJgI7t8VRyGrV8DyOI1E1qLNN2ZUH-4jIV-ajMdKh5CTWMpm16vkWpTwg8pf35SqXOhYjyIYw62BFxjOxNJOA-kkWK7lzZr4RFXFBKCYa2M_91P9Zqe3PE0ZRv8/s1600/IMG_4439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>My Spanish teacher is a bit of an odd guy. Besides being a self proclaimed rebel, rocking the long hair, and wearing at least one large silver or gold ring on each finger, he approaches the world and its diversity with some pretty strong and interesting opinions. He has told me stories of using his status as a basketball player for the Guatemalan army during the war to escape torture. He has recounted telling a variety of very important people to "<i>Come mierda" </i> because they didn't like his hair and rings or they simply obligated him to do something. He apparently hates being obligated to do things. He has participated in multiple strikes here in Guatemala during his time as both an urban school teacher and a rural school teacher working with indigenous children who only speak the language K<i>achiquel</i>, he is a "professional singer" (which I often get impromptu samples of during class), and he is a very talented artist. The shear dynamic nature of this guy is overwhelming and makes him a bit of a cultural phenomenon in and of himself.<br />
In my 9 hours a week with this gentleman we dive into conversation of human rights, Guatemalan women, the culture of the United States, the death penalty, education, same-sex marriage, and really anything else we decide we would like to discuss. We sit on the terrace of an Italian restaurant in Guatemala and discuss the depth and breadth of the Guatemalan culture.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjty4WbSkV9YTJwBZl8zspv83UTstP12ka59-KHqYQfpH5KwlSVpXwBuvbu9DvN-IzR6cjczpiX9oReVS-vIUunrl5wsOhkum6SZHv960qyNiR4rvB3oKYhGZWBsEXXcEGY7U4Iz4zlygJQ/s1600/IMG_4605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjty4WbSkV9YTJwBZl8zspv83UTstP12ka59-KHqYQfpH5KwlSVpXwBuvbu9DvN-IzR6cjczpiX9oReVS-vIUunrl5wsOhkum6SZHv960qyNiR4rvB3oKYhGZWBsEXXcEGY7U4Iz4zlygJQ/s400/IMG_4605.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
During my most recent class, a conversation with this <i>Guatemalteco </i>about the indigenous culture gave rise to a discussion of cultural conservation and change. Here in Antigua, it is not an uncommon sight to see an indigenous woman, dressed fully in traditional <i>traje</i>, talking on a cell phone, while riding in a <i>tuk tuk, </i>a woman conserving traditions from before the conquistadors while also participating in contemporary society. In one small moment, you see the new and the traditional abruptly coexisting.<br />
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We had the opportunity to visit a group of indigenous <i>Kachiquel </i>women in <i>San Antonio Aguas Calientes </i>who demonstrated their indigenous roots by showing us how they traditionally weave, grind coffee with a stone, have elaborate marriage ceremonies (<a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2013/07/week-2-guatemala.html">of which I was a part</a>), and cook tortillas over a fire. While there I almost forgot I lived in a world with cell phones and the internet... until one of the women answered her blackberry during their presentation. What a fantastically odd cultural phenomenon, seeing a woman who uses a stone to grind her coffee answer a smart phone that had been tucked away safely in her indigenous g<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>ü</i></span><i>ipil</i>. I saw two worlds collide in the hands of someone who speaks a language tracing its origins to before the conquest of the Americas.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwn5G76mKJ-R2bitEspDClwbv5ax1afKwFCB0AI7O-IthtTA5e_HUDKIjXm3QLwQRw6MTGJSS8zXtkOUsb0b8a5BAQWDUZE7m2g57RYl6KvKQ0MWQAegpyp-TjHTid1yRjmVRGVd2egk0P/s1600/IMG_5125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwn5G76mKJ-R2bitEspDClwbv5ax1afKwFCB0AI7O-IthtTA5e_HUDKIjXm3QLwQRw6MTGJSS8zXtkOUsb0b8a5BAQWDUZE7m2g57RYl6KvKQ0MWQAegpyp-TjHTid1yRjmVRGVd2egk0P/s400/IMG_5125.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
It makes me ponder the idea of conserving culture. Can the indigenous culture truly be conserved as if existing in a vacuum far removed from the "developed" contemporary world and its technology and ideals? It is always a bad thing to allow culture to change and be transformed by the times, to not preserve the culture? Could this idea of "culture"..."our culture"..."indigenous culture"..."developed culture" to which we often apply inherent worth, actually separate people sometimes because we want to conserve our separate "cultural identities" so fervently? How do we preserve the wonderful values of some cultures that are countercultural to the majority? How do we comprehend the mixture that comes from the new and old colliding? How do we reconcile a world of many cultures when those same cultures, be it North or Central American or any other, sometimes contribute to human rights violations, misogyny, hunger, greed, and structural violence?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcrXvsEZMRAC7i5eKtSY34s3igz1CX1ednuqqTcmKlXRZadvCpQmIe6Sh4VK5h57ttTYc-hZctgmh9B9B_BYOv77S5REFsMTtdcN-FYCyfOdxKbZlTBbohfVK5FrGncI-oHO5jFGn4WS1/s1600/IMG_5105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcrXvsEZMRAC7i5eKtSY34s3igz1CX1ednuqqTcmKlXRZadvCpQmIe6Sh4VK5h57ttTYc-hZctgmh9B9B_BYOv77S5REFsMTtdcN-FYCyfOdxKbZlTBbohfVK5FrGncI-oHO5jFGn4WS1/s400/IMG_5105.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
These are the questions my Spanish teacher and I attempted to answer in our 3 hour class this past Thursday. Obviously we haven't solved the worlds' problems yet, but our discussion did seem to boil down to the idea of "dialogue. We found that it is not that change in culture is always a bad thing; rather change is unjust when it is <i>forced</i> by the hand of another. When respectful dialogue occurs between cultures, those qualities that make a culture rich and beautiful can be preserved, while those qualities that lend towards more negative effects on our world can fall away into history. We realized that we have to approach other cultures... actually we should approach any conversation in general... with intent for dialogue.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8PHIKT4pe5bpsxZWwaiy5jtv-Am8qCIWXE-CvPX-IHEI9nWWJW_sL25OJSJrPwGbJ7KG45Td9l90o-cFL_I52w0o_fJaz2k39b0NHZ99vulbu1MvutLEW3bAfdpmmgQpOHTu1UncROXl/s1600/IMG_5158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8PHIKT4pe5bpsxZWwaiy5jtv-Am8qCIWXE-CvPX-IHEI9nWWJW_sL25OJSJrPwGbJ7KG45Td9l90o-cFL_I52w0o_fJaz2k39b0NHZ99vulbu1MvutLEW3bAfdpmmgQpOHTu1UncROXl/s400/IMG_5158.JPG" width="268" /></a></div>
As occupational therapists, especially those that cross the larger cultural spectrum, it is important to approach your client with a listening ear, an ear ready to converse and discover the most appropriate goals and methods. It is in dialogue that we uncover the most valuable and effective ways to walk with our clients. We first must be ready to listen and take the time, sometimes the large amount of time, to truly understand our clients. In reality we need to take the time to truly understand our friends, our parents, our teachers, and even our enemies. We can use dialogue to discover a stronger truth and see the humanity in the other rather than separating ourselves into cultures of "us" and "them".<br />
It seems to me, that it is in that dialogue that we break down the complexities and deceptions of our world that allow us to persecute and oppress our fellow human beings. We then can walk with each other toward a simpler, more loving human culture -- a simple human culture expressed through the filters of our diverse experiences, resources, and actions.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-71349125180954000662013-07-30T21:56:00.003-07:002015-05-26T10:30:10.873-07:00The Power of the Imagination<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As we explore and learn about the educational system of Guatemala, read articles about the educational modalities often used, and see first hand classes being given, we have come to realize, as mentioned in <a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2013/07/week-2-guatemala.html">my previous post</a>, that imaginative play and practice of creative thinking skills may not often be seen within the school system or even within the home. Bear in mind this is simply a perceived generalization rather than something we have discovered through our research, nevertheless it is worth contemplating.<br />
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This idea of the lack of opportunities to practice using the imagination, creative play, or critical thinking inspired a bit of reflection on my part in ideas of the imagination and its importance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gQlvcEGMstYs0O9WKI5w4a3JN3Nv8W-tZLAex8YrYmobhbVweUDf91dx6bIxMYxDZH5qiSFwAAOrECMTix0U-XVvPve-Rn8_Xw-TBFMRo0NWcFTOyLP-FxbVPwwB_9lUm5li7oN2dC-w/s1600/IMG_4882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gQlvcEGMstYs0O9WKI5w4a3JN3Nv8W-tZLAex8YrYmobhbVweUDf91dx6bIxMYxDZH5qiSFwAAOrECMTix0U-XVvPve-Rn8_Xw-TBFMRo0NWcFTOyLP-FxbVPwwB_9lUm5li7oN2dC-w/s400/IMG_4882.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Take a moment and imagine if using the imagination were not revered or encouraged, and looking past reality to pretend were an unfamiliar exercise. Imagine if you were not taught to practice using creative skills to believe in a better tomorrow, to believe that you could be unique and anything you wanted to be, but rather you were taught to simply memorize the reality of the present given to you by those around you. Imagine if your innate human ability were to be suppressed by a hostile fatalism. Imagine if your future were determined by options defined by others, potentially others who do not want you to succeed, rather than your own dreams and ingenuity. Imagine if you were told that your fate was to be poor, and then you were never even given the practice, let alone the opportunity, to believe in the possibility of an alternative. Imagine not being able to experience even this simple exercise because you had never learned to suspend perceived reality for a moment.<br />
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The power of the imagination lies in its ability to look beyond the perceived present, liberate the <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.kidsrestaurante.org/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzs1XSLR-afIvM7vyFw_6c01uDHJlMXipSZr2YDcSRA_5SjuHmpvaqkzLQ72x3vOxKdR6KLW-R1GwfGovPkju7m4VSiAhnchuAanGTESuZ1JzP-8wjTaUY8duAfiXgw077qjuJZWN6dYyY/s400/IMG_4807.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.kidsrestaurant.org/">Kids Restaurant</a></td></tr>
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mind from perceived restrictions, and allow a view of the world from a different angle. From childhood we pretend. We create worlds without rules or at least only with the rules we want. We create friends who are purple and tall with five eyes and tiny feet. We apply only the limits we define for ourselves.<br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">"Freedom of choice does not constitute the basis of real power; rather it is the faculty of defining possible social choices that is the main source of power in any society." (Mulot, 2004)</span></b></span></blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macadamia Nuts</td></tr>
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It is in learning to define our own limits that we experience the freedom to imagine our future in whatever light we see fit. Our belief in a malleable future pulls us toward achievement, creativity, progress, and social change. Imagination allows us to live in a mentality where the answer to "What do you want to be?" and "What can you be?" are the same.<br />
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Imagination is what allows us to create organizations with radical ideas of changing the world, protecting the earth, or simply providing macadamia nuts to undernourished Guatemalan children. It allows us to believe in ourselves and our ability to design our own future.<br />
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Imagination allowed young activists to believe in civil rights and the potential for their realization within the United States using creative, imaginative, and non-violent stands against injustice. It is the imagination that allows someone to have the silly idea of making a bathroom into a garden. Young entrepreneurs, today, seeking new, sustainable, and beneficial services to provide the world are using their imaginations to believe in and work toward a better tomorrow for themselves and their community. <br />
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With the power of the imagination, we gain the countercultural idea that we can step outside the individualism, selfishness, prejudice, and stereotypes perceived as normal today in order to believe that we can care for someone, who maybe we never expected, more than ourselves. In all of this I came to realize, that it is from our innate ability to imagine that we also gain the experience of love.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnYDkL817f9K_tn3TiNb9gfDsCji1in9jHR9teP5VMo3WZFLVTDvC1pIcXxGkaEC5J_OC7kiIxmNy4QXaxefje7Y0CgOwqzLAdYu-dzdNPuLqQ4hwmBzTF4NaIcMCJz3eJhZT9-o1XKyz/s1600/IMG_4945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnYDkL817f9K_tn3TiNb9gfDsCji1in9jHR9teP5VMo3WZFLVTDvC1pIcXxGkaEC5J_OC7kiIxmNy4QXaxefje7Y0CgOwqzLAdYu-dzdNPuLqQ4hwmBzTF4NaIcMCJz3eJhZT9-o1XKyz/s400/IMG_4945.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Reference<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Mulot , E. 2004.
A historical analysis of the educational modalities of inequalities management
in Costa Rica, Cuba and Guatemala. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Compare:
A Journal of Comparative and International Education, 34</i>(1), 73-85.</span>
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<span id="goog_390515734"></span><span id="goog_390515735"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-36704542800636092642013-07-28T19:00:00.001-07:002015-05-26T10:30:39.999-07:00Occupational Imprisonment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The NAPA-OT Group</td></tr>
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The idea of occupational imprisonment emerged from a discussion of the daily lives of those we are observing here in Guatemala as well as the impoverished in general. Occupational Imprisonment arises when an individual's occupational "need-to-dos", those tasks that we all must participate in to survive (e.g. finding/growing/earning and consuming food and drink, maintaining shelter, sufficient clothing), overburden all other occupational opportunity. <br />
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In a sense naming this phenomenon occupational imprisonment is a bit ironic in that many who are currently imprisoned within the penal system are in fact experiencing occupationally deprivation, having little opportunity to participate in meaningful activities, the exact opposite problem I am attempting to describe.</div>
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If someone is experiencing this occupational imprisonment, there is little opportunity to diversify the occupations performed by that individual, little room for Miss Frizzle's favorite advice, "Take chances, make mistakes, get messy." For example, an indigenous woman in Guatemala who is responsible for cooking tortillas, cleaning the home, caring for children including getting them to healthcare, weaving to earn an income, pleasing her husband, and abiding by social requirements for community ceremonies has little space or "occupational opportunity" to make progress toward something like women's equality or organizing communities to prevent land loss.</div>
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In the same way, a poor <i>ladino</i> man who wakes early to collect firewood for the breakfast fire, works all day in a construction site, returns to his own small rented plot of land to tend his own garden, and works to maintain their small <i>casita</i> has little opportunity to further his education so that he can acquire higher paying and more stable job opportunities. This also occurs in the United States. A homeless man who wakes at 4:00am under a thunderous overpass from a sleep only coaxed into existence through exhaustion works a day labor job all day to pay for his dinner, walking 6 miles to and from the labor office, has neither the energy nor the time to lend toward properly advocating for affordable housing in the urban center.<br />
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Because the systems are built in such a way that leaves no room to
explore adaptations to these occupations without severe sacrifice and
risk, it is nearly impossible for the impoverished to explore potential
new methods or technology to increase resources or time. A woman making
tortillas will not attempt a new method or a different meal because
failure means her family does not eat that day when they need to, so she
maintains the routine and never tries to innovate or imagine something
different.<br />
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Those with the privilege of already having a surplus of technology and resources attempt to step in with NGOs or Non-profits and insert a solution that did not emerge from the people, that was not born of the native culture and customs. Therefore this new synthetic solution doesn't work or at least work well because it did not organically grow from the imaginations and hearts of those who need it. </div>
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The oppressed become imprisoned in an impoverishing routine of their own necessary occupations, leaving no opportunity for imagination and innovation.<br />
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Then we, as the privileged, are able to step back, watch the systems and impoverishing routines, and say, "Work harder and you will make it. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and you can be successful. You are poor because you are lazy and not working enough." When in reality they are poor because they can do nothing else but work.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-74231090480199127692013-07-27T15:59:00.000-07:002015-05-26T10:31:12.454-07:00Week 2 - Guatemala<div style="text-align: right;">
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After two weeks here in GA, I am absolutely loving this
field school. We have performed over 25 observations of social work visits and
educational promoter observations. Our research is based in a small town called
San Miguel Milpas Altas, a mostly sustenance farming village further into the
mountains. We visit for approximately 4-5 hours a day and I and my partner
follow an educational promoter around within the classrooms she is working or
hike up and down the very steep streets to visit different homes and check on
families and children with a social worker.<br />
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We have visited multiple levels of the tiered Guatemalan
Health System and I believe I am beginning to understand some of the many barriers to
health care delivery. The complex system of State organizations and NGOs create a healthcare system that is often inefficient and not client centered. However, on paper, the healthcare system and educational system look fantastic with multiculturalism, equality, and equal opportunity built right in. The caveat to this paper paradise is the actual enforcement and implementation of the laws that have been put in place. Based on different sources, somewhere between 2-5% of homicides are investigated, let alone convicted. This statistic parallels the implementation and resources allocated to the education and health care system by a largely corrupt government.<br />
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We began the process of Qualitative Data Analysis this week by forming the
beginning ideas for a code book. We still have some data collection to finish
up next week but because we have little time we are beginning early. We will be
producing a 60 page written report from our findings hopefully at the end of
the 4 weeks. <br />
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This week we spoke with the dean of the college of social sciences at a large
university in Guatemala City concerning the history of structural violence in
Nicaragua and the niece of a former president of Guatemala who is doing
anthropological (and in my opinion occupational) research into safety
perceptions and environmental risks for young girls. Her project is actually
very interesting in that it first has multiple levels. She has a complex
process of finding and working with women and young girls who have experienced
domestic or sexual violence. Using the occupation of not only documenting the
issues facing these girls but also allowing the girls to tell their story on a
larger scale through videos this anthropologist is empowering and rehabilitating. </div>
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The second level of her project is something they
have named Safe Scaping. The young girls take GPSs throughout their town and
mark down coordinates of where they feel safe, mildly safe, and unsafe. Using
this activity the researchers have been able to pin point locations that are
problematic for young girls and are now taking steps to alleviate those
problems.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ashley and Ryan</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Also this week, I was indigenously married, for the second time. This is
what I get for always being one of the only boys in this profession.<br />
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My best moment this week probably was discussing within our smaller group a seeming cultural norm that may be impeding huge amounts of progress for Guatemalans. In reviewing and discussing our observations within the classroom, we have realized
that critical thinking and imaginative play are severely lacking within the education
system as well as in general. Granted a generalization at this point, but it
seems that ingenuity and imaginative thinking are simply not taught or at least
not taught often. The main technique is rote memorization. For this reason, Common Hope has made it a particular goal to increase critical thinking within the school setting. </div>
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The most exciting
realization then was that the educational promoters, after looking back on our
notes, were actively working to resolve this problem. For example a teacher
asked questions about a book, "What color was the lion?", "Where
did the mouse like to run?", whereas the promoter stepped in and began
asking questions like, "If you were the mouse what would you have
done?", "If you were a hunter and saw the mouse eating the rope, what
would you have done?". The promoter then praised those students who were
able to think outside the box and create answers that weren't based on pure memory of the story.</div>
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Worst moment... definitely tripping in the street and straining a tendon in my
knee. It definitely reminded me of the many physical accessibility barriers that are still very present within Guatemala. But before we make Guatemala wheelchair accessible, we may want to also focus on decreasing barriers to actually receiving a legitimate wheelchair through the Guatemalan health system. </div>
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This is a very typical dilemma of a socially or otherwise oppressed group. The sufficient provision of resources is being prevented not only because resources are scarce, but also because the systems (international and domestic) are built in such a way that removes the power from the oppressed, effectively creating a web created to keep them trapped. </div>
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We have learned that this can be referred to as the "core" and the "periphery". For example, countries who are part of the "core" hold the power to manipulate and form structures that then affect the periphery. An example of this might be CAFTA. Much of Central America currently could not function without the aid and economic interaction from the US. Therefore they have no ability to refuse or bargain for a more appropriate agreement that does not tip the scales in favor of the core. Because the oppressed countries are functioning on a baseline of survivorship, they have no room to take risks or make bargains. Literally, one day of bargaining or community organizing for some members of the community we are working in would mean no food for the family sometime later.</div>
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We are exploring and attempting to understand how the complex systems of economies, politics, healthcare, and education negatively affect the ability of everyday Guatemalans to perform in meaningful and sometimes even necessary areas of occupations.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-45945842886155298482013-07-27T11:07:00.003-07:002015-05-26T10:32:12.404-07:00Week 1 - Guatemala<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBWH6srvne4QrxaAfUGoHvFxYI_WJEwZYpurp1Xcdfvg6lmXpO02SVB41mItv11OCq18VtltuHEYxCV_DI-QBEIpk0JpslyXpC3alnDOluNGnd4cXK07co1QA___S0vOHTqawk8LWRvTX/s1600/IMG_4351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBWH6srvne4QrxaAfUGoHvFxYI_WJEwZYpurp1Xcdfvg6lmXpO02SVB41mItv11OCq18VtltuHEYxCV_DI-QBEIpk0JpslyXpC3alnDOluNGnd4cXK07co1QA___S0vOHTqawk8LWRvTX/s400/IMG_4351.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>
After a hectic trip of 18 hours due to delays and then the airline
delaying my bag, I finally arrived in GA Saturday morning July 13th at
7:00am. I spent the weekend with a friend visiting a variety
of groups of people affiliated with different organizations here in GA.
I also made a connection that I hope to use to go into La Limonada one
of the most impoverished portions of Guatemala city.<br />
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I arrived at my home stay on Sunday night and met my family which
consists of two parents and two young boys as well as another OT student in the field school. They are in GA terms around
middle class and the mother loves to cook and explain her cooking for us. We began the fieldschool
on Monday and I don't know that I have ever been more excited for 4
weeks before in my life. We are a group of OTs, anthropologists, a
biomedical engineer, and a doctor who are first and
foremost attempting to understand Guatemala from a holistic and
structural perspective.So far we have had lectures looking at its history and health systems from a birds eye view. I am learning a lot of big picture
systemic reasons why occupational therapy meets barriers in
its delivery as well as the cultural differences that face potential
therapists or other healthcare workers.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9mxABp7Yyts31NbFl39QrvlBlND_JoSbQaiacKR3n_PBQZWPE6-q_2sqdHzkyvDEcWh7GcuJM-NAH9M22dHis_4FD8Q0x_tPpM8B1nWpAZyDbMMAXmeBdJ-9h56F60L5a9op0i8YsG_H/s1600/IMG_4460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9mxABp7Yyts31NbFl39QrvlBlND_JoSbQaiacKR3n_PBQZWPE6-q_2sqdHzkyvDEcWh7GcuJM-NAH9M22dHis_4FD8Q0x_tPpM8B1nWpAZyDbMMAXmeBdJ-9h56F60L5a9op0i8YsG_H/s400/IMG_4460.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
An interesting factor is
the historical
memory of the recent civil war and the desire to remember
what happened has created a distrust in medical workers because many
who reach out to the rural communities are employed by the government, a
government, supported by the rich, that committed genocide during the civil war. Many
indigenous are fearful of any interaction with government
workers therefore they choose not to receive medical care.<br />
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Another interesting cultural difference is that, in many ways, humoral medical beliefs still permeate the populations, both indigenous and ladino. This can sometimes cause confusion or distrust of certain medical interventions because from this perspective they may seem counter productive<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KhQPTE1rlZ8cf4GSRwl8xm2WWx2GS3QCr-6RDIbElvZH84KDoghKivFst-F04-XNuBZdBOOCmOPAqUPKvWFnEljTz7MwzAiI7XOyrr5MiaomjILUyTOphvlt824Jb0TzAakky9-oX427/s1600/IMG_4406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KhQPTE1rlZ8cf4GSRwl8xm2WWx2GS3QCr-6RDIbElvZH84KDoghKivFst-F04-XNuBZdBOOCmOPAqUPKvWFnEljTz7MwzAiI7XOyrr5MiaomjILUyTOphvlt824Jb0TzAakky9-oX427/s400/IMG_4406.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our fieldschool is divided into three groups researching a different
topic. One group is researching infant nutrition and cultural norms
relevant to it. Another is researching the systemic barriers present to
surgical referrals and reception. And finally my
group is partnered with a pretty great organization called Common Hope
and we are researching how social workers are supporting the progress of
children's education within the program by visiting their families and
how educational promoters
(pretty much teachers teaching teachers better
classroom management techniques) are being received by teachers. We
talk a lot about the occupations these two groups (Social workers and
educational promoters) use to create effective results and change within
each of their respective settings.<br />
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It is a wonderful
exercise in using occupation to create social and structural change on
an individual level as well as within the classroom as a whole. My job within this group is to do qualitative
observations of educational promoters interacting with the teachers and
students and social workers interacting with students and their families. I am responsible for taking notes on every single conversation
that occurs within the class and between the teacher and the promoter.<br />
<br />
I have 3 hours of one on one Spanish class/ 3 times a week with a Guatemalan Spanish
professor. That can be pretty tiring but I have found my professor to be
a rich resource for understanding structures and norms relevant to
medical service delivery.<br />
<br />
I have been surprised at how well my Spanish has held up, I have also
been wonderfully surprised to find a great group of OTs who are really
ready to think outside the box from the occupational perspective. I was
pretty tired after the first week for sure and slept for most of
Saturday morning. <br />
<br />
I am ready for the next week.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-42313489941044916142012-10-01T05:40:00.002-07:002013-03-06T18:39:01.877-08:00Occupational Therapy: A Profession Born from Liberation and Empowerment<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sciencephoto.com/image/222983/large/H4010028-Asclepiades,_Greek_doctor-SPL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.sciencephoto.com/image/222983/large/H4010028-Asclepiades,_Greek_doctor-SPL.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Asclepiades</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As discussed <a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2012/09/jeremy-and-american-dream.html">earlier</a>, the American Dream was an influential factor in the formation of the United States Culture we know today. A focus on working as a moral obligation shaped the way US citizens viewed their everyday lives and activities. Occupational therapy however, or at least the founding concepts, have been used for ages in places like Greece and Rome. In 100BCE activities like "therapeutic baths, massage, exercises, and music" were prescribed by the Greek physician Asclepiades to treat human patients considered to be "insane" while 100 years later, Roman Celsus prescribed music, travel, conversation, light, and exhausting exercise for those he treated (Quiroga). Regardless of historic examples, humans have been engaging in everyday activities to fulfill their lives and enrich their lived experience for much longer than documented history. It is a natural instinct for humans to seek out activities that provide them with pleasure and fulfillment. It was only in the beginning of the 20th century that therapists professionally began to use this instinct to influence health and wellness. The origins of the occupational therapy profession are deeply shaped by three national and global occurrences that very much encapsulate the ideology that fuels the occupational therapist's perspective: 1) the Arts and Crafts movement in reaction to the industrial revolution, 2) the return of veterans from World War I, and 3) the women's rights and suffrage movement<br />
<br />
<a href="http://thesocietypages.org/cyborgology/files/2012/03/assembly-line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="321" src="http://thesocietypages.org/cyborgology/files/2012/03/assembly-line.jpg" width="400" /></a>In the early part of the 1900s, two very important changes within our world were occurring that would ultimately affect the development and formation of occupational therapy. First, the industrial revolution was in full swing, increasing factory jobs but at the same time drastically altering what "work" looked like. Assembly line factories quickly overtook the job market and countless citizens found themselves completing only a portion of the work to create a product, sometimes never actually seeing the finished product. The creativity had been removed from craftsmanship, effectively degrading the individual to a single repetitive tool in a long line of tools to create interchangeable products. The Arts and Crafts movement, present in both Europe and the United States and usually only participated in by middle- and upper-class citizens, sought to counteract this distancing of the hand from creative work by studying and continuing various craft forms. Hand-made textiles, woodworking, metalworking, basketry, weaving, and sewing all became more than simple hobbies, but methods of liberation from the "tyranny of the machine" and grasping a more "productive and meaningful" lifestyle by working in the traditional manner. They sought to maintain a moral work ethic that did not demoralize the human into the tool of the machine, but rather abide by the cultural norms that had already been deeply rooted in the Protestant Work Ethic. From this movement occupational therapists, or reconstruction aides as they were called at that time, usually middle- and upper-class, found inspiration in how to provide treatment for their patients. By providing their patients with the opportunity to successfully complete the entire process of a craft, the therapists were able to provide a moral experience of satisfaction, self-worth, accomplishment, and learning while also possibly improving other aspects of the patient's quality of life in the same moment. This flavor can still be tasted in therapy sessions today, as craftsmanship are still used to evaluate, remediate, and support participation.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thehistoryblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/WWI-amputees-1919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="304" src="http://www.thehistoryblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/WWI-amputees-1919.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WWI Amputees 1919</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Secondly, the United States entered World War II in 1917, creating an influx of veterans suffering from physical disabilities, mental disabilities, and what WWI veterans called "combat neurosis" or "shell shock" (what we call today Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). The combination of this population as well as the already present needs for Mental Health services sparked an increased awareness of the need for "mental hygiene" services throughout the United States. Psychology, psychiatry, nursing, and doctors began to seek out methods to facilitate the rehabilitation or "reconstruction" of veterans with both mental and physical disabilities. Many men returned home, unable to work in the traditional manner, unable to provide financial resources to their family. There was a desperate need for a treatment that could effectively improve the mental status of these veterans and return them to their roles as breadwinner as quickly as possible. In a culture where idle hands were immoral and dependency on others was pitiful, these individuals needed to discover a way to regain their independence. Occupational therapy seemed to fill that need. After therapists formed their first professional association in 1917 called the National Society for the Promotion of Occupational Therapy (NSPOT), one of the first tasks they undertook "was to convince
the U.S. Army and the commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force in
World War I, General John Pershing, to order the hiring of 5,000
reconstruction aides to provide occupational therapy to the war’s
wounded."<a href="http://aota.org/About/39983.aspx">[Source]</a> In fact, one of the founders of NSPOT had seen occupational therapy as the solution to the difficulty of unemployment and disabled veterans previously and had already created a workshop for the chronically unemployed.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ergoterapeuten.no/var/ezwebin_site/storage/images/media/bilder/eleanor-clarke-slagle/3438-1-nor-NO/Eleanor-Clarke-Slagle_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.ergoterapeuten.no/var/ezwebin_site/storage/images/media/bilder/eleanor-clarke-slagle/3438-1-nor-NO/Eleanor-Clarke-Slagle_large.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slagle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/56/Jane_Addams_profile.jpg/220px-Jane_Addams_profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/56/Jane_Addams_profile.jpg/220px-Jane_Addams_profile.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Addams</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Eleanor Clark Slagle was one of the most influential founders of the occupational therapy profession. She set the stage for the growth and development of a new profession for young women in a time when the movement for women's suffrage was slowly emerging within US culture. Born into a family of abolitionists, she was surrounded by the ideas of liberation and advocacy from an early age. When Slagle traveled to Chicago in 1911, while most women were ascribing to the traditional ideologies of domesticity, purity, piety, and submissiveness, Slagle was surrounded by the women of the <a href="http://www.uic.edu/jaddams/hull/_learn/_abouthullhouse/abouthullhouse.html">Hull House</a>, notably <a href="http://www.uic.edu/jaddams/hull/_learn/_aboutjane/aboutjane.html">Jane Addams</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellen_Gates_Starr">Ellen Gates Starr</a>, who were actively involved in politics, pushing for the rights of women, and crossing social barriers not yet crossed by women in the US. Through her interaction with many who experienced social oppression and deprivation as well as the women of the Hull house, Slagle recognized her interest in the "unfair social attitude toward the dependency of the mentally and physically handicapped" by realizing the parallel between this social marginalization and that of the women of the time. Her experience working with people with mental illness specifically led her, in 1914, to found a workshop for the chronically unemployed called the Experimental Station. Once the high demand for this type of workshop for more individuals than simply those with mental illness was realized, Slagle began to accept individuals who were being limited by disabilities of all sorts. Because therapists had begun to use arts and crafts as a therapeutic
method, she was able to work with both veterans and others who could no longer
participate in the jobs they once had, to support themselves financially.
They were able to sell their products and thereby at least somewhat reconstruct their
roles within their everyday lives as a breadwinner and independent individual. She believed that not only could occupations provide effective rehabilitation for some illnesses, but it could also provide job training for those who might otherwise not have access, an ideology later employed by Herbert James Hall to support the Devereux Workshops.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.dunton.org/archive/biographies/William_Rush_Dunton/WilliamRushDunton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.dunton.org/archive/biographies/William_Rush_Dunton/WilliamRushDunton.jpg" width="248" /></a>But Eleanor Clark Slagle was not the only one concerned with liberation and empowerment; in the early 1900s, William Rush Dunton, Jr., the "father of occupational therapy" was forming the Sheppard-Pratt Hospital, a hospital that encouraged patients to take active roles in their own care. After being influenced by William Tuke of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Retreat">the York Retreat</a>, a Quaker-run home in England for those who experience mental illness, Dunton sought to incorporate a "judicious regimen of activities" into the care within his hospital. This "moral therapy" was meant to provide "habit training" for the patients, a method of replacing unhealthy habits by practicing new ones repeatedly, also allowing a more engaged participation in their own rehabilitation. At this point various institutions, mostly mental health facilities, were incorporating the idea of "occupations" into their everyday treatment by using crafts such as weaving, woodworking, metalworking, basketry, leather craft, and bookbinding. Patients were beginning to take an active role in their health and wellness instead of simply being the subject of treatments and surgeries by hospital staff. "Occupational therapy" began to be seen as a norm rather than an experiment and was largely recognized as an integral part in the betterment of patients' well-being, especially those within the mental health setting. Therapists and hospital staff were now able to provide services that surpassed mere "custodialism" and moved more towards a team effort between the doctor, nurse, therapist, and patient.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6159/6186521949_1bbfe73c39_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6159/6186521949_1bbfe73c39_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Meeting of NSPOT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And so began the germination of the profession we know today as occupational therapy. From its roots, occupational therapy is a profession that seeks liberation and independence. It seeks methods to empower the human person to achieve meaningful participation. From liberating ourselves from the tyranny of the machine, to reconstructing our roles after combat experiences, to claiming the rights of all humans, male, female, physically disabled, mentally disabled, doctor, or patient, occupational therapy has worked to empower men and women to claim their right to participation through the work of their hands. Today, we continue to teach, support, and encourage all those who are deemed atypical to rebel and liberate themselves from the idea of normal by walking with them as they take an active role in working toward accomplishing meaningful occupations.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
______ ______ </div>
<br />
But has occupational therapy ceased growing; has it become all that it can be? No. As a profession we are still learning and continue to reevaluate our perspectives and assumptions. Through globalization and cross-cultural interaction, we have begun to realize that many of the assumptions that stem from our roots in US culture may not apply in all situations. <br />
<br />
<br />
Quiroga, V. A. M. (1995). <i>Occupational therapy: The first 30 years 1900 to 1930</i>. Bethesda, MD: The American Occupational Therapy Association.<br />
<br />
www.aota.org <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273749379881699994.post-19483243150880776162012-09-12T20:10:00.001-07:002012-10-02T13:52:52.987-07:00Jeremy and the American Dream<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">What are some of the founding beliefs of the United States? Or at least the current ideas that we purport as the foundations of this nation?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />The two most prevalent words in the "American" language would most assuredly be </span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>freedom</i> and <i>equality</i>, concepts built upon a foundation of the Puritan work ethic<sup>1</sup>. If we are free we
can work, if we are equal we all have the same opportunity to work, and stemming from the Puritan work ethic we seek to work to assure ourselves we are one of the "blessed." The maturation of these two concepts throughout our history and culture along with the Puritan work ethic birthed the "American Dream." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_T4ReeA0ETPhnast5erc_j0Vs33SGFyUYvcYb0F2HJD_qsjX12hfik7KCkfT5aBeZHRe7PQERxuPI0mVggSV3OIUWX1P1TRIw_o72BBzOw-NynWH5jX04h_AEHKkIbYRJrIHpK7FR0bb1/s1600/American+Dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_T4ReeA0ETPhnast5erc_j0Vs33SGFyUYvcYb0F2HJD_qsjX12hfik7KCkfT5aBeZHRe7PQERxuPI0mVggSV3OIUWX1P1TRIw_o72BBzOw-NynWH5jX04h_AEHKkIbYRJrIHpK7FR0bb1/s320/American+Dream.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />What is the American Dream? Here at Xavier we have an entire center, </span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.xavier.edu/americandream/">The Center for the Study of the American Dream</a>, dedicated to studying and understanding this cultural phenomenon. Although the various forms and methods to achieve the American Dream have changed over the years, astoundingly, it does not seem to have ideologically changed much at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Today, most people would describe a picture of a husband, wife, 2.5 children, and dog named Spot standing next to a medium sized house with a white picket fence to encapsulate the ideology behind the American Dream. What does that picture represent? Does it represent the better life that countless immigrants are searching for as they walk, climb, and swim toward the United States? Is it the idea that some US citizens hold in their minds to push them through another day of an excruciatingly meaningless job? Is it the picture of what the poor and poverty-stricken have failed to achieve in their lives? Is it even what the majority of Americans really want?</span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1182118389p5/585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1182118389p5/585.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> John Steinbeck</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">One of the most influential and ingrained beliefs within this nation is that each citizen will move up the socioeconomic ladder proportionally to his or her own volition. This belief facilitates the existence and encouragement of the American Dream. In fact John Steinbeck brought attention to this idea when he said,</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.” </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtENTMCiJnQ2OCnAnhWEOcxwiAy0AyFcjV0imqziFSpzNolrt6Se0Y8bSUoHwMvRsHrz9Cf_vyPb4EYa9uzDQcNttGeXjl8SXgSoo7IB0fJsf4G_AZ0PVBRO6P9lKulBLFSHlka6PgYZQ/s1600/homeless-panhandler-0808-94322808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtENTMCiJnQ2OCnAnhWEOcxwiAy0AyFcjV0imqziFSpzNolrt6Se0Y8bSUoHwMvRsHrz9Cf_vyPb4EYa9uzDQcNttGeXjl8SXgSoo7IB0fJsf4G_AZ0PVBRO6P9lKulBLFSHlka6PgYZQ/s320/homeless-panhandler-0808-94322808.jpg" width="256" /></a>He explains that the poor within this country are taught and told that it is solely their fault that they did not achieve the American Dream. It was the poor who put themselves in poverty and it is up to them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. When they fail to do this, it is their burden to bear and their failure to endure. The poor are poor by choice - past choices, current choices, and nothing else.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Is this true? Whether it is true or not can be debated on another day, what is important is that Jeremy (see posts <a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2012/08/understanding-whole-picture_20.html">1</a>, <a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2012/08/putting-jeremy-in-context.html">2</a>, and <a href="http://adifferentsortofliving.blogspot.com/2012/09/jeremy-and-post-traumatic-stress.html">3</a>) is living within this belief system and living his life by the bible of the American Dream. This is specifically relevant on several fronts within his occupational performance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">On several occasions Jeremy has expressed severe self-deprecation by making statements such as, "I am not worth anythin' anyway, I am just here rotting on the side o' this big ol' city" or "I belong out here. I am a screw up, that's pretty obvious don't you think." Jeremy describes his experience of panhandling in Cincinnati,</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"I keep my head down and they do the same. They walk by without paying much attention to the bum sittin' on the side of the street. If I have a good sign or something then maybe one will throw a couple coins my way, but most the time I think that is more for them than it is for me. Feels good to give a lil' charity to the less blessed you know."</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRwTCpp3H1cEiRxqqcJbDSokosOHsZ6CEHA1gmRXkFBy9reo43WNR9fK74nrkekhnzBLE0ZNoAfMH0lRdgUd2531kI1UfqDgsZ3vKzWfEx41gV5i87QZ7SAMBYny6K8mSYY-vrglbXoxR/s1600/person2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRwTCpp3H1cEiRxqqcJbDSokosOHsZ6CEHA1gmRXkFBy9reo43WNR9fK74nrkekhnzBLE0ZNoAfMH0lRdgUd2531kI1UfqDgsZ3vKzWfEx41gV5i87QZ7SAMBYny6K8mSYY-vrglbXoxR/s320/person2.jpg" width="320" /></a> Here in the US, homeless people are <a href="http://www.wral.com/news/local/story/7509431/">beaten</a>, taunted, and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-IhGSCC3LlI#t=03m04s">left to die on the side of the street</a>. A homeless person is first homeless, then a person, dehumanized and forgotten as a failure within our society. We tell our children not to make eye contact, as we ourselves avert our glance. We try to ignore as long as possible as a homeless individual approaches us on the streets asking for money. We are afraid of the possible "crazies" out there, because only a crazy person would allow themselves to remain on the streets for years, months, or even days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">But interestingly, the first sort of community service most often suggested is "serving at a soup kitchen". What is it about this activity that is so appealing to those who have privilege? How is it that a society that casts out its poverty-stricken will so readily pass food across the counter to a homeless person for a night? The answer to this question, personally, comes from my own experiences in soup kitchens and visiting the people on the streets of Cincinnati: fear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNBKzATeRBzN0rDz29Y39Rhh2G9rZLzQeylnetcyNHWAPolChqjOjTGNewIP7RxmFTaT6ZHcn-HXtGeSfpxr9EcVBmDKP4hKdKPZcDncPfcFStRDv7N0JOYn36QxBHD1_puDaNmFPSp4I5/s1600/person3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNBKzATeRBzN0rDz29Y39Rhh2G9rZLzQeylnetcyNHWAPolChqjOjTGNewIP7RxmFTaT6ZHcn-HXtGeSfpxr9EcVBmDKP4hKdKPZcDncPfcFStRDv7N0JOYn36QxBHD1_puDaNmFPSp4I5/s320/person3.jpg" width="320" /></a>The fear within us towards the homeless is planted from the very first time our parents hold our hand a bit tighter as we walk past a man stooped on the corner of a city square. Fear germinates as we watch cartoons and television shows that depict homeless people as dangerous and psychologically unstable. Fear branches into indignation as we watch homeless men and women walk into rehabilitation programs and human service agencies while we work jobs and go to college to earn our dreams. Fear blossoms into hatred and sometimes violence as we pull ourselves far away from the idea that those people could possibly be the same as us. Finally, the fruit of fear is plucked as we stand behind the protective barrier of a soup counter and
hesitantly pass a plate of food to the homeless. We neither have to speak nor touch, both of which will remind us of their humanity. If they are not human, a person just like me, then there is no chance that I, who have worked so hard, could lose my precious American Dream. This is why we, or at least I, glanced away from our brothers and sisters on the streets but scurried to a soup kitchen to provide them with food. Standing behind a plentiful counter of food, serving those who had less without actually interacting with them solidified my belief that they need not be treated like humans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Non-human. This is what the culture Jeremy is surrounded by tells him that he is: anything but success and anything but human. He feels he is not capable nor worth being anything but homeless. He fought for a country that now is afraid of him.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">______ ______</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">It is this culture and these factors that you, as an occupational therapist, must take into account when working with Jeremy. You must understand that although your goal for him may be to adequately provide a roof and living for himself, there are more obstacles than simply motivation to overcome. Is there a place for him to go in Cincinnati? Will his mental condition allow him to work in any setting, let alone a traditional one? Can he overcome the culture that surrounds him on a national level without the support of a community that rejects that culture? These are the questions occupational therapists must discover through analyzing the context and specific situation of their clients. We are a holistic profession which means we not only look at the whole person, rather it means we also look at the whole picture.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><sup>1</sup> Cullen, Jim. <i>The American Dream: A Short History of an Idea That Shaped a Nation</i>. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003. Print. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/robincheers">Final two photos are from Robin Cheers's Everyday People Series</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09473647050978961753noreply@blogger.com0