Thursday, June 28, 2007

Farewell, Salto!

In three hours I will be boarding a bus for Montevideo, which will be my new home for the next five months. I've said goodbye to my elementary school students, fellow teachers, friends, favorite waiters, and even my taxi driver...and as hard as it may be to believe, I've even finished packing.

At the elementary school, the teachers had chicken catered for lunch yesterday (my last day there), and, afterward, I was almost crushed (in a good way) beneath a huge group of children giving me farewell kisses. In one of the fourth grade classes, each student wrote me a farewell card, complete with a colorful drawing. It was really a great farewell!

The university students reserved their largest residence to throw a farewell party for us last night. The English teachers and students were all there, dancing and serving unlimited hamburgers and cake. Apparently, after four burgers and two pieces of cake, my insatiable appetite is now legendary.

Of course, in spite of all the celebrating, any time like this is bittersweet. In a conversation club (the English class we lead for high school Engish teachers) last week, one of the teachers asked me what I've learned since coming to Salto. I couldn't give her an answer, not because I haven't learned anything, but because there are so many ways I could answer the question. In addition to being my introduction to everything Uruguay (the language, mate, traditions, people, and much more), Salto is also the smallest, most isolated place I've lived for more than a few weeks. There is a lot to learn from living in such a place. One of the things I've learned is how intimate a small town is. The negative side of this is that everyone knows everything about everyone else (I mean everything). The positive side, though, is that it is not difficult to get to know people here on a very personal level. Some of my most cherished experiences here have been visiting the homes and families of my friends and coworkers, and immediately being taken in as a close friend. Just this week I interviewed an ex-guerrilla (who was wearing a Rolex, which I thoughts was interesting), who, following the interview, invited me to a bar-b-q at his house, then offered to let me stay there any time I visited Salto. The friendliness of the Salteños is amazing!

A major reason why leaving Salto is a bit easier for me is that I will only be moving six hours away, to Montevideo. I am certain I will come back, and I'm looking forward to doing so. Nonetheless, leaving Salto is definitely bitter. There is, though, a sweet side. Moving to Montevideo is going to provide me with a completely new and distinct view of Uruguay. The Uruguayans have emphasized this to me. There is a significant difference between Montevideo (the "exterior") and the "interior," which includes the rest of the country. Montevideo is seen as industrial, international, and dangerous, while the interior is agricultural, local, and "tranquilo." To people living in Salto, Montevideo is a completely different animal, filled with fast-paced lifestyles, frequent crime, and a huge population. The funny thing, though, is that Montevideo is a much safer place than the cities in which I've lived in the US, and isn't much larger either. Compared to Salto, though, Montevideo is pretty much exactly as the people of the interior describe it.

And that is another aspect I will miss about Salto. Without any exaggeration, it is the safest city in which I've lived, so my time here has been very refreshing in that respect. An entertaining story:

Late one night during my first week here, I had been working in an internet cafe with my laptop, and at 2am I decided to walk back to my hostel. With my laptop in my backpack, I was walking down a quiet, dimly lit section of the main street when, a short distance ahead, I saw a group of about twenty people. My immediate thought was that the group consisted of wayward teens, and that they would undoubtedly give a gringo a hard time, if not try to take his laptop. As I approached, I saw the group was painting something on the street, then I noticed they all had long hair. Come to find out, it was a group of high school girls painting messages for their friend's 15th birthday. Laughing at myself was all I could do to attempt to preserve my pride.

The whole town is like that! People just don't worry about being mugged, or anything of the kind. In fact, the people here have been shocked when I describe how in some US cities there is violence simply for the sake of violence (drive by shootings, for example). I'm definitely going to miss this aspect of Salteño life.

But there are many, many other things I´m going to miss about Salto, most of them being close friends I've made over the past few months. Now, though, it's time for me to look forward to life in Montevideo.

I'll be settling into Montevideo this weekend, attempting to find an apartment (or at least a hostel). I'll keep you all posted on that process. Next week and the following week are Uruguay's winter break, which means I have a very long vacation. I've decided to put these two weeks to good use to schedule a trip I've been dreaming about for several years now--Brazil!

Next Monday, I'm leaving for Rio de Janeiro, where I'll be for about five days. I'll be staying on Ipanema beach, and visiting such sites as Cristo Redentor and Copacabana. I'm also going to try to go hang gliding over Rio one day, and to visit Buzios, the "Ibiza of Brazil."

During the following weekend, I plan to visit Ouro Preto, an old colonial town and UNESCO World Heritage site located to the north of Rio. The next day, I'll take a bus to São Paulo, the largest city in South America (about 20 million people live there).

Following my weekend in Ouro Preto and São Paulo, I'll fly to the northeastern city of Salvador de Bahia, which is one of the oldest cities in Brazil, and the point where many of Brazil's slaves arrived from Africa. I have been told that the feeling of northeast Brazil is very different from that of other parts--it has a very strong African influence that is apparent in the food, music, and dance, for example. I plan to spend about four days in Salvador, learning about the city's history and, of course, spending plenty of time on its beaches. I've heard Salvador has some pretty cool diving opportunities, too, which I'm planning to take advantage of.

The following weekend (my final weekend in Brazil), I'm planning to take a bus to another northeastern city, Recife. This city has an old colonial section called Olinda, which is my real reason for visiting.

I'll be returning to Montevideo via Rio on July 17th, and I'm sure I'll have plenty to share with you all about my experience!

I should get off the Internet and get ready to leave for Montevideo. The United States is playing Argentina right now in the Copa America (the score is 1-1), and the Uruguayans are supporting the US. Also, some friends from the university just stopped by the hotel to wish me a good trip. I'm going to miss this place!

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Bella Unión: The Birthplace of the Tupamaros

Not long after I finished typing the final, slightly frustrated statements in my previous journal entry, I decided to go to the far north of Uruguay to visit the birthplace of the revolutionary movement that shook Latin America during the Cold War--the Tupamaros. The name of the town where the Tupamaros originated is Bella Unión, which lies at the point where Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay meet. Upon deciding to travel north, I spoke with a couple students at the university who live there, Andrea and Mayra, and asked them to help me find a place to stay and people to interview. They were both incredibly helpful--within a week I had a place to stay and a wonderful list of interviews lined up. This journal entry is about my time in Bella Unión, which is where Mayra lives. I also visited Artigas, Andrea's home, as well. Here's a map so you get a better idea of where I was (Bella Unión is the red dot on the left, and Artigas is the dot on the right):



Bella Unión surprised me. First of all, with only 12,000 people, the town was less than half the size I thought it would be. When, on the bus ride there from Salto, I asked the attendant when we would arrive at the bus terminal, he laughed at me and said Bella Unión doesn't have a bus terminal. I was dropped off on the sidewalk. Nor does it have a taxi service. Mayra picked me up on her scooter (which she let me drive!) and took me to my hotel--the only hotel in town. Here we are soon after my arrival:



Only about fifty years ago in the tiny town of Bella Unión, Raúl Sendic organized a group of revolutionaries into the Tupamaros. Bella Unión would also be where the repression under Uruguay's military government would be harshest. As I soon learned, even today the legacy of political struggle and the Tupamaros is an inseparable part of Bella Unión.

The monument to Sendic:



With only about 12,000 people, it is difficult to believe that Bella Unión's scars are not more blatant than they are. Mayra told me she had not spoken with anyone in her hometown about the repression and torture there, and it was precisely for this reason that she was so interested in and eager to help me set up and listen to my interviews. In the same conversation, Mayra revealed an example of how deep the town's scars really are. Mayra told me there is a doctor in the town who, during the dictatorship, had the responsibility of deciding how much torture each prisoner could endure. Although there was not enough evidence to convict the doctor of his crimes and role during the dictatorship, most of the people in Bella Unión know who the doctor is and what his role was. Nonetheless, the doctor, along with the people of Bella Unión, go on with their lives. The doctor still practices, and patients still visit him.

This example reveals a lot about Bella Unión--except for occasional monuments dedicated to Raúl Sendic, the history of the town isn't immediately apparent. But if you dig a little beneath the surface, you will find a rich history with not only pain and fear, but also hope and optimism.

Prior to founding the Tupamaros, Raúl Sendic organized Bella Unión's sugarcane workers into the UTAA or Unión de Trabajadores Azucareros de Artigas (Artigas Union of Sugar Workers).



The UTAA held strikes and other activist events in order to fight for improved working and living conditions for the workers, or "peludos." This group is seen as the forerunner to the Tupamaros, and a profound influence on the formation of the guerrilla movement. For this reason, I decided to begin my visit to Bella Unión by going to the sugarcane plantations that still exist around the town. This was my view while heading to the plantations:



The plantations are also known for the annual burning of them, which I got to see very briefly:



This is one of the homes located on the plantation. There are many homes like this. You can see the sugarcane in the background.



One of the workers:



On my way to the plantations, which are not far from the town center or the borders with Brazil or Argentina, I saw worse poverty than I have seen since arriving in Uruguay three months ago. There were one-room shacks made of sheet metal and broken pieces of wood that housed families of five or six people. Uruguayans use the word "rancherio" to describe the small shanty-towns, although I was reminded of the term the Brazilians use to describe their cities of poverty: "favela." The poverty is a result of the town's economy being reliant upon the sugarcane plantations, which, depending on the world economy, sometimes lay off large numbers of people. Almost fifty years after the revolutionary movement of the Tupamaros, the peludos still live in conditions of poverty that do not appear to be significantly different from the conditions under which they lived before the movement. I tried to imagine the thoughts and emotions of Raúl Sendic in the last days of his life, with the knowledge that the everyday conditions of poverty of the sugarcane workers to whom he dedicated a large part of his life--and for whom he endured torture--is not very different from the days during or before the revolution and the dictatorship.

Here are a few pictures of some of the homes I saw while near the plantations:









After seeing the plantations, I interviewed, individually, three men who were politically active and experienced repression under the dictatorship firsthand. While talking with these men, I began to see that Sendic's perspective could very well have been one of hope rather than desperation. Of the three men I interviewed, each one had an optimistic perspective toward the current and future of Uruguay, its people, and the Frente Amplio political party that is currently in power (which, by the way, is led by several former Tupamaros).

The first man I interviewed is a writer and literature professor. He lived in Bella Unión during the repression, and his brother was executed there at the hands of the dictatorship. Today, he identifies himself as a strong supporter of the Frente Amplio.

The second man was an active member of the Communist party in the years before the dictatorship. At that period, immediately following the success of the Cuban Revolution, people who dreamed of political and social change in Latin America felt that anything was possible. Under the dictatorship, he was imprisoned and tortured, and this dream was demolished.

The third man, who faintly resembles Raúl Sendic, was from a family of sugarcane workers. He was imprisoned thirteen years under the dictatorship. While incarcerated, he learned to read and write, and he focused his attention on the importance of preserving human rights. Following his release from prison, he began to write books on politics, as well as children's books.

Each of the three individuals I interviewed had a different experience and perspective, but from each I acquired a sense of hope and optimism. I asked them about how their revolutionary dreams during the Cold War are still relevant today. In response, they told me the world context has entirely changed since the Cold War, and now Uruguay should better integrate itself into the world economy. Cooperation with the United States is also necessary, they said. These men, each a former revolutionary, told me Uruguay does not need a Hugo Chavez, but a country that plays a more active role in world affairs.

With respect to the road to achieving this goal, these men spoke about the Frente Amplio with hope. I asked them how they would respond to the criticisms of the Frente Amplio that many Uruguayans are voicing (see my previous post for more on these criticisms). One man responded, "If this government had already solved the 'serious problems' of Uruguay in the two years since it has been in power, it must have been a lie that the problems had ever been that serious to begin with." After stating that change needs time and patience, he asserted, with a hopeful smile, his belief that Uruguay is on the path toward realizing these changes.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

The night the people took to the streets

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to interview a political figure here in Salto who works with one of the two traditional parties--the Colorados. Historically, barring the dictatorship, either the Colorados or their political opponents, the Blancos, have held power in Uruguay. As of 2006, though, a new political force was elected into power, the leftist Frente Amplio (Broad Front). This group, which consists of various political groups including the Tupamaros, identifies itself as primarily socialist.

In many ways, the election of the Frente Amplio was an example of the Latin American political pendulum in action once again--the same device that regularly sees conservative leaders followed by liberal ones, and vice-versa. Following the military dictatorship, the Colorado party once again found itself in power. Due largely to the economic crisis preceding the 2006 elections, the people wanted a change. As I have been told on various occasions, even many of those who had supported one of the two traditional parties decided that perhaps 2006 was the time for a change...and the Frente Amplio was elected.

But, as the people soon learned, many of the promises of the socialist Frente Amplio party were hollow. Arriving on the scene carrying the baggage of its revolutionary past, the party found itself in a new millennium, and in a completely new context that had forgotten the Cold War and had embraced capitalism. While many people criticize the Frente Amplio for not pursuing the social and economic policies it had promised--and, additionally, for the corruption that plagues the Uruguayan government in spite of the party in power--some others have a more historical basis for their criticism.

A few weeks ago, while in Montevideo, I was walking to an evening movie when I noticed flyers littering the busy sidewalk and street.



I picked one up and read "The Revolutionary Socialist Party" along with the primary demands of the "party":



As I continued walking, I found another, somewhat different flyer, which contained a stark image of one of the individuals who was protesting Bush's visit earlier this year. Apparently, the man was arrested for protesting the visit, and the flyer was attempting to arouse criticism of the man's punishment:




As I continued walking to the movie, I found myself face-to-face with an enormous group of people marching down the street--there must have been tens of thousands of people, and, needless to say, the streets had been completely blocked. The somewhat shocking thing, though, was that the protestors were mostly silent, and only made a significant sound when they sang the national anthem. As I observed the march, I learned that the two flyers I found portrayed the two primary issues the manifestation was attempting to bring to light: the empty promises of the current government, and the preservation of the people's ability to protest.



One of the issues that emphasizes the disparity between the Frente Amplio's rhetoric and its actions is that of the "desaparecidos," or those individuals who disappeared under the military dictatorship. These people were purposefully imprisoned, tortured, and executed by the authoritarian government, but their files have never been disclosed. This has left an open wound in Uruguayan society (and the societies of Argentina and Chile, which also experienced vast "disappearances" under their respective dictatorships). When many of the individuals who are currently serving in the government were Tupamaro revolutionaries, they were directly threatened by these disappearances, and during their campaign it was an issue that was harped upon. Once in power, though, these same individuals have been forced to consider the practical and economic consequences of digging into their country's history and attempting to resolve this tragedy--an action that is even more controversial considering that the Uruguayan military has been given amnesty, and many people would like to put the period behind them, in spite of (or because of) the terror they suffered.



Many of the thousands of protestors that I ran into, though, were part of the group that would rather the government follow its rhetoric with action, and work to reveal the history of their disappeared loved ones. It is true that many individuals were marching simply to remember their lost loved ones so that such a tragedy never occurs again, as is apparent in the faces and signs that they carried:



For many others, though, the march signified an attempt to push the current government toward acting upon the promises it has made throughout its history. As the flyers revealed, the majority of these promises were made in a different context, and reflect demands that would have been valid during the Cold War. But are they still valid today?

This is the question I faced as I watched the march, and read the flyers that portrayed a persecuted man beneath the Golden Arches: is the United States still at fault for the difficulties Uruguay faces today (poverty, for example)? As an American, what is my role and responsibility in this? As I reflected upon these questions, I came to the realization that the people protesting the US were not only doing so because of difficulties they faced, but also because of sympathy they have for those who are suffering--namely, Iraqis. US imperialism is something that wounded Uruguay during the military dictatorship, and something that has left a scar ever since. In many ways, this experience has caused Uruguayans to be more sensitive when they perceive the influence of the US being used malevolently in other countries.

While interviewing the man I described at the start of this post, I asked him how he would change Uruguay's current society, if at all. He told me that he wishes the Uruguayan people could focus their attention on the future and how they can improve their country, rather than dwelling on the mistakes of the past.

In the months preceding my college graduation, I decided to use the time immediately after college to experience firsthand the suffering that many people in this world endure on a daily basis. I had tasted it in Mongolia, and a bit in Colombia, but I wanted to experience it further, believing it would affect me in a way that is necessary if I am to dedicate my career to human rights and development. Through the influence of various factors and forces, I eventually found myself in Uruguay, where, although I hear about this suffering occasionally (in the form it took under the dictatorship), I am about thirty years too late in seeing the suffering firsthand.

While visiting Paraguay a couple months ago, and being struck by the poverty there, I wrote in my journal the following thoughts, which were only reinforced last night as I watched an NBC special on the genocide in Darfur: "I sometimes wonder, when I see the utter poverty and suffering of another country, why I'm working in Uruguay, in complete comfort and security. I wanted so much to work toward alleviating that suffering, and still I find myself so far from it."

Friday, June 1, 2007

motos, mongols, y música

I can't believe it, but more than two months have passed since I arrived in Uruguay, and I now have less than one month left here in Salto.

The past week has been a whirlwind of events and experiences. Unfortunately, it seems as if I'm just now finding my role as a teacher at the university--over the past couple months there have been occasional cancellations of classes, frequent teacher strikes, and, additionally, it has taken some time for the professors at the university to discover and decide how to best use Holly, Liz, and myself in the classroom. But, now that they have, I've been endlessly (but happily) busy preparing lesson plans on immigration in the US, Transcendentalism and education, diversity in the US, and the US Civil War.

Over the past three days I have given four lectures at the university on immigration (with Liz and Holly) and Emerson. The immigration lesson was complete with images of the border, songs from Mexico's Los Tigres del Norte (such as "Orgullo Mexicano" about a man who illegally immigrates to the US, finds a job, but will always have a red, white, and green heart), and real-life stories from individuals who have attempted to cross the border.



I also led a handful of classes in Spanish on the cultural and geographic diversity of the United States at a couple of high schools in the area. Once given the opportunity to teach on the topic, I asked myself, "what better way to portray this diversity than through my experience riding the motorcycle around the country?" The presentation was an instant hit. The kids especially loved the pictures of California's coast, the redwood forest, and 1200cc's of raw power cruising the wide-open road. The presentation was spiced up by my inability to express certain feelings and emotions in Spanish, which came out in such expressions as "Después del viaje, no podía sentir el culo." And they absolutely couldn't believe me when I told them the motorcycle I ride could go from a stop to 60 mph in 3 seconds. After class, they led me outside and started pointing to the 50cc scooters parked nearby, and claimed each one as their own. Then they begged me to send to Uruguay the motorcycle I rode in order to trade it for their scooter. The teachers, on the other hand, just asked me to send my dad to Uruguay.



In one high school class--which lasted a full two hours--after lecturing on how to tame the curves in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I gave a presentation on living in Mongolia. The kids (and teacher) especially liked seeing the Mongolians in their traditional clothing--which they related to gaucho clothes--and the small huts and teepee I lived in. I think the presentation made them appreciate how developed Uruguay is. In a moment of inspiration, unable to resist, I shared with them my experience watching the castration of a sheep. They loved it.

In the past, before coming to Uruguay, I had never thought I had a special ability to teach. The experiences and feedback I've had here, though, have been so encouraging and inspiring that I'm beginning to think that perhaps I should take advantage of any opportunities I have to teach in the future, including being a teaching assistant for some law school courses. On many occasions teachers who are overseeing my lectures here have pulled me aside after class and told me I have a unique ability to lead a classroom and teach--an ability some teachers feel even they and many of their fellow teachers lack. In one of the most touching moments I've experienced in the classroom, a class of my oldest students at the university applauded me once I finished a lecture on Emerson's philosophy toward education. After class they told me that the lecture, which (in a very watered-down summary) emphasized the importance of each student and the teacher as the culminator of creativity and self-reliance, arrived at the perfect moment, when many of the individuals in the class were struggling academically and second-guessing their purpose as teachers.

On a slightly unrelated note, the university celebrated its 10-year anniversary last Saturday with a semi-formal dinner, concert, and dance party. The dinner was nice, the concert entertaining, and the dance, which drew students and professors alike, an all-out rave. My inability to dance with any one girl for more than five minutes earned me the name "picaflor," and the director of the university, who I also danced with, said, at the end of the dance (6am), that it is clear that I have Colombian blood in me. I call that a successful night.