Winds of Peace Foundation

Steve Sheppard | February 2, 2012

While in Nicaragua last month, we made our way to visit a number of partners and prospects for funding, as usual.  A week’s worth of visits that includes sixteen visits within five departments of the country can make for a tiring itinerary, but there is always a boost of energy that comes from the people themselves.  Corporate CEO’s may receive perks from their jobs like access to private jets or luxurious vacation getaways under the guise of “business meetings.”  But MY perk is found in the faces and voices of rural Nicaraguans, peasants mostly, who are as basic as the earth they work on.  And every once in a while I meet one such person who can absolutely light up a room, his/her peers, and my own soul.  That’s what I experienced a few days ago.

Our final day found us in the northern department of Madriz, in the town of Somoto.  We made an early departure in order to take the long, slow drive to Venecia, a tiny wide-spot-in-the-road where the women of COMUNEC cooperative would be meeting.  The road is barely a road; four-wheel drive low is a blessing and a need, and we may have averaged 5-10 miles per hour for the hour to get there.  The region is as scenic as any spot on earth but for the occasional reminders along the way of how many of the rural poor must live, in marginal dwellings that barely qualify as sheds.  The way up the mountain is stunning: stunning in both its exquisite nature and its intense poverty.

The meeting to which we have been invited is essentially a one-year celebration of the formation of this group and Winds of Peace support of it.  The women arrive on foot, many having come from long distances.  One young woman has hiked for three hours down the mountain to where we have gathered.  Her neighbor has traveled even further, although with the luxury of a horse.  We meet inside the house of one of the members, a smiling, ebullient woman who is as fussy about her guests as any socialite ever was, even within the sparse darkness of her dwelling.  But the energy level is high; the chattering and laughter fills the room.  Shyly, every woman in the room offers a hand of welcome.

This scenario is not uncommon among the visits we make during my time in Nicaragua.   Certainly, groups are always eager to thank those who have provided resources of any kind.  And Nicaraguans in general have always shown themselves to be gracious and friendly in whatever the setting.  So the start of our visit with the women of COMUNEC was not singular by any means.  What it evolved to was something else.

The women began telling their stories of the past year, of how they sought to create an economic initiative of their own, of how their husbands were invited to deed one manzana (1.68 acres) of land to their wives, of how 34 actually did so, of how that transfer created access to funding for the cultivation and care of the land, and how the harvest was now fulfilling dreams.  These are moving stories of individuals who likely have never belonged to any organized group in their lives, who have lived lives of exclusion under the authority of their husbands, and who yearn for their own voices and standing in precisely the same way that women from western societies do.  And maybe for the first time in their lives, they are beginning to feel the empowerment of such achievements.

The stories are told quietly but with confidence, until one young woman stood to share her experience; it was the woman who had hiked for hours.  And her recitation immediately elevated both the impact of the meeting as well as the self-assurances of everyone else in the room.

Her name is Gladis del Socorro Herrera.  She articulated what was held in the hearts of the others in the room and injected an energy and passion that was tangible.  ”To say that I have my own plot of land, that’s a beautiful thing.  It is the first thing I have ever owned that is truly mine.  I can hardly believe that I was out there on this piece of land that was mine! ”  The excitement in her voice was tempered only by the slight quiver of emotion as she spoke it.  I had been attentive to the others prior to this, but Gladis spoke with a fervor that grabbed me entirely.

“This chance makes us owners of something, something that belongs to us, and an experience that we can share with one another, these sisters.  Sharing our excitement, our experiences, our training and our learning, is wonderful!  To have had our heads filled with knowledge, we are brand new people!”   I would never presume to say that I know what Gladis was really feeling, but I do know that her words sent chills up my spine and drew a tear from my eye, such was the power of her testimony.  Her unfiltered, uncensored joy over this simple plot of land- its importance in her life, and how it had even strengthened the relationship with her husband as they compared notes and counseled with one another about the harvest- spoke eloquently about its impact.  Her enthusiasm prompted others to speak with emotion, as well.

“I had never taken a loan before.  I was always frightened about such things.  But the trainings have removed my fears; I’m past that.  I understand how the loan works and it has changed me.”  These small loans from the coop were transformative in small but very personal ways.  I noted especially the reactions of several women in the room who had not yet joined the cooperative and who were as riveted by the stories as I was.  I thought that I perceived looks of hopefulness, if such can be identified.

The elements of life which give us hope, which satisfy our longings and fill us with happiness are likely far different from what we in “developed” countries identify as gratifying; I often find myself asking the question of who is really the more developed?  For one small group of Nicaraguan women, joy has come not from riches or technologies or accumulation of things, but from a plot of earth that they have as their own and the pleasures of sharing such a rare experience with others.

“If you’ve come to take something away from this visit, take our happiness in being able to work together; that is our wealth.”  I did come away with a clear sense of their happiness, and it’s a lesson that perhaps we would all do well to understand….

Category: Making An Impact, Microfinance, Reflections, Rural development, WPF partners | No Comments »
Tags:

Steve Sheppard | January 28, 2012

In light of the current status of banks and banking in the U.S. (wretched), I suppose the last institution with which I’d like to be affiliated is a bank.  Central banks and those deemed “too big to fail” contributed mightily to the near-collapse of the U.S. economy several years ago, and their persistent breaches of integrity place them firmly at the lowest end of the scale of trustworthiness.  It’s a bad place for banks to be, when they represent an institution that really should thrive on their customers’ trust.  (Just this week I was prompted to contact one well-known national bank to inquire about when they might be predisposed to distribute a small remainder of my parents’ estate, the bulk of which was settled months ago.  Oh yeah, they replied, we probably can release those funds now.  Hm.  Who knows how long they might have elected to hold onto the funds if I had not inquired.)

Last week, however, I had an entirely different experience with a banking operation in Nicaragua.  I visited again with The Nicaraguan Association for Sustainable Development (ANIDES) and its visionary leader, Gloria Elena Ordoñez Vargas.  This is an individual and an organization that understands what banking is supposed to be like, and it puts to shame most of the other organizations I know that go by the name “bank.”

Winds of Peace has funded ANIDES previously, in an effort to assist the organization with the establishment of five communal banks.  These are small, local banking offices to promote the economic and organizational autonomy of more than 200 women who live in extreme poverty in very rural locations.  Indeed, the offices more often than not are simply the homes of the local leaders.  But what these banks have been able to do, what they have represented for the women members is nothing short of remarkable.

With a very modest funding by Winds of Peace, in a little more than a year ANIDES has been able to establish a revolving credit fund for the 220+ members, establish two business groups to coordinate independent “home” businesses, provide training in the creation of a savings culture, nurture a positive capital growth in each of the small banks established, offer education and assistance to women victims of domestic violence, enhance the access to basic food needs and boost the local economies of the communities served.  This is banking in its most holistic form, integrating elements that are social, organizational, cultural, economic, human, spiritual and environmental in scope.  When was the last time your bank inquired about your social, human or spiritual needs?

What is even more remarkable about this initiative’s success is that it is being achieved with women members who have almost no previous economic experience or training.  Meeting with the women for the first time last September, I was struck by their shyness and humility, but also with their tenacity (many came from miles away on foot) and their outright success: only one of the small community banks was showing deficits by its neophyte members.  Members themselves were providing the tracking, the follow-up and the solidarity with one another to make sure that their borrowing was matched by their repayments.  In other words, the bank existed to facilitate both the needs and the strengths of its members, not to impose onerous conditions that would encourage failure.  What a novel concept for banking.  What an amazing impact on the lives of some very poor people.

The intended extension of this banking project is that the women, who now have softened some of their previous fears about borrowing money, might be encouraged to invest in the improvement of their rudimentary homes and living conditions, including the installation of ecological toilets.  This amenity- sounding so essential to so many of us- has been considered an absolute luxury by many rural residents.  With the presence of the communal banks to accompany them, such an amenity now seems within reach, and along with it rises the self-esteem of the women who can provide it.  The existence of a small bank can allow these women to take control of their lives in ways they previously could not.

What can a bank do?  Merely channel the empowerment of its members, provide access to credit and tools for investment, facilitate education to recognize and respond to gender oppression, encourage healthy habitat conditions, grow self-esteem, foster economic autonomy and teach people how to take more control of their own lives.  In a world where the future for many banking institutions seems to include implosion, we could learn a great many lessons from these communal banks in Nicaragua.  It might even beg the question, “Who really is the more developed….?”

 

 

Category: Making An Impact, Microfinance, Reflections, Rural development, WPF partners | No Comments »
Tags: Banking, Credit, Poverty, Success

Steve Sheppard | December 22, 2011

I spoke with my daughter this morning about upcoming preparations for the Christmas holiday and the things that are currently occupying her time.  Like the rest of us, she and her husband are busy with holiday tasks (some enjoyable and some less so), now with less than week remaining.  As both an attorney and a social worker, she also cited a few of the difficult circumstances with which she has become familiar over recent weeks: families with little to eat, children with few prospects for a Santa gift and parents who continue to fend off the stigma of unemployment during a very difficult employment environment (despite the assertions of certain political candidates).

At one point in the conversation, she observed her own discomforts of late, saying that despite the charitable gifts that she and her husband had made thus far during the season, she thought the gifts to be inadequate, insufficient, too insignificant to have any meaning for those who are in great need.   She wondered aloud if she was doing enough, whether she could be doing something more meaningful to make a difference in someone else’s life.  I noted that the tone of her voice had dropped rather dramatically by the time she came to this juncture as she envisioned just how enormous the “needs of others” really are at home in the U.S. and around the world.

Such reflections are not uncommon, perhaps especially at this time of year.  Yesterday morning my physician mused about the very same point, saying that he thinks of himself as an active “peace and justice guy” but  speculating about the threshold of sufficiency.  ”Do I literally give the shirt off my back?” he wondered.  ”How do I handle that with my own family?”  Wow!  Quite suddenly I have found myself surrounded by deep philosophical and moral questions relating to the poor.  Unfortunately, my own answers feel as insufficient as my daughter’s charity seems to her.

I suppose these kinds of topics come up due to the work that Winds of Peace Foundation has undertaken in working with the very poor in Nicaragua.  But I have yet to develop a satisfying answer to those who wonder if and how they could possibly make a dent in the needs of the world.  How can I even begin to clarify that question for others when it’s the same nagging uncertainty that I experience myself when confronted with the economic and social injustices that exist in the lives of those with whom we partner?  But as unsatisfying as it may be, I have acquired a perspective which at least allows me sufficient calm to get to sleep at night.

It is this: we are only and fully capable  of doing what we can do.  For Bill and Melinda Gates, the scope of monetary capacity is enormous and their resources can change the landscape of an entire region.  For a grade-school child, a visit to the local food shelf or nursing home can touch someone in ways that money cannot.  The nature or size of the gift is not how it’s value is measured.  Rather, it is measured against what we are capable of being or doing in someone else’s life.  It’s a cliched notion, of course, but it has only become trite through its universal and eternal truth.

I like to think of us as existing on a continuum, where every human being is placed according to his/her capacity to give, whether money, goods, time, spirit, or whatever else we have been blessed with.  We see ourselves as somehow being “ranked” on this continuum, thus frequently gazing upward and fantasizing about what it must be like to be “higher up” on the placements.  We fantasize about what we might be willing to do if only we possessed the money, the skills, the connections or the temperament of those higher up on the scale.  But what we must not lose sight of is that at that exact same moment, there are others on that continuum who are gazing upward at us, as well, and fantasizing about what they might be willing to do if only they could be in our shoes. Our reality is that we all have more to give than we do, more time than we admit, and a capacity for greater sacrifices to make without pain.

And perhaps greater responsibility than we like to admit.  The answer to the dilemma is to be found in our own hearts and minds, and will therefore be as different as we are from one another.  What we owe to ourselves- and the rest of the world around us- is an honest, thoughtful consideration of the quandry.  That exercise won’t guarantee the “right” answer, but we’ll never come even close to a right answer without asking the question….

Category: Making An Impact, Reflections | No Comments »
Tags: Charity, Sharing

Steve Sheppard | November 27, 2011

What if the lives we are living were not at all about how much we could earn, or what we could accumulate for ourselves, but rather about how much we could give away, sort of a “reverse competition” of life as we know it?  Would there be an intensity to our turmoil as we no sooner had given resources away but somebody else had unloaded their resources upon us?  The world might become a new “everyone for himself/herself” kind of place as we sought to outdo each other with our giving, and in the meantime each of us would have more than we wanted rather than less than we needed.

What if the idea of being in power pertained not to the ability to force one’s will on others- whether individuals, organizations, nations- but rather to be the one first in line to offer help, solace, sustenance, education.  Would the now-upside down nature of governments and corporations alike compete for recognition as the best among their peers in creating sustainability, sufficiency, and being the best stewards of the abundance that the world has to offer? The world might create a new definition of fame and fortune wherein leaders would be extolled for their servanthood instead of their domination.

What if the notion of having enough to eat referenced the minimal amount which we needed for sustenance rather than how many additional calories we were able to consume as a show of our success and abundance?  Would we not only not want a second helping of Thanksgiving dinner, but also feel insulted at the idea of eating more than was needed?  And what would that mean to our health?  The world might soon discover that food is not a symbol but a right of every living thing, and that as such, there is plenty of it on earth.

What if we were somehow able to view ourselves as all part of a magnificent quilt, whose beauty was comprised of different colors and textures which made for the exquisite whole, rather than exhausting ourselves in the pursuit of identifying differences which do not exist?  Would harnessing the strength of collaboration create a new source of atomic power  in the process?  Understanding how my own well-being is directly tied to the well-being of everyone else might cause a new form of fusion.  The world might suddenly find that its energy crisis had been quite different than it imagined beforehand.

What if we were born with the bias toward inclusion and regarded exclusion as some sort of abomination?  What if this was our only bias? Would we be able to see ourselves more clearly as a result, and thus know our place in the world, the universe, differently?  Would that make a difference? The world might discover a meaning and a purpose for itself which reaches far beyond the atmosphere of this very tiny place in the cosmos.

What if the questions here represented reality instead of sounding like fantasy?  How would my life be different?  What might have been my experiences in such a world?  What might I have known, learned, lived?

I find myself musing over such ” what if” questions from time to time, especially during the holidays when the blessings that I have received in my life are so particularly clear.  But it’s the perfect time of year to revisit such questions, as each of us seeks gifts to give, perfect and meaningful symbols of friendship and love, and preferably ones which have never been received before.  There are perfect gifts to be given.  They will not be found at midnight in a department store, but rather, deep within our psyches and waiting to be discovered and freely given, as they have been since the dawn of humankind.  It’s a new type of “shopping” that we must do if we truly seek the greatest bargain of all….

 

 

 

Category: Making An Impact, Reflections | No Comments »
Tags: economic crisis, Living with the Consequences

Steve Sheppard | November 23, 2011

After my most recent entry here (“Not A Nicaraguan,” posted 11-17-11), I got to thinking further about the reflection and wondered what is my objective in sharing my thoughts every week?  I suppose it finally dawned on me that a series of seemingly random, disconnected essays ought to have a goal to be achieved or an end in mind.  Being a writer at heart, I never really questioned myself about my purposes in opining here each week or so; a person who loves to write simply does it because he/she must.  And while I’m not obsessive about my written expressions, I do confess to a certain compulsion to write about the people and perspectives of Nicaragua.  So upon consideration of the question about my aims in writing here, I was able to figure out, at least in part, why I take the time to do this.

First, like all too many residents of the United States, I grew up and was educated in a cocoon of sorts.  While I understood that there was this thing called poverty in the world, I never had to come face-to-face with it.  Reading about it and perhaps participating in some safe, classroom discussions about it were as far as I was required to go in confronting the topic and that was just fine with me.  Once out of college, I married, set about the task of finding work, creating a career, having a family and pursuing my own part of the “American dream.”   Drawing upon those earlier, brief exposures to the reality of poverty in the world, I never lost sight of what I perceived to be my (limited) role in addressing it: charitable giving became an early and important part of our household budgeting, done comfortably at arm’s-length with a check through the mail.  But I never allowed myself to inch much closer to the truth of poverty.  In fact, I was never able to embrace the issue of poverty as my own responsibility  until I traveled to Central America and came face-to-face with live human beings immersed in need.  Then it became real.

Unfortunately, that’s the way it is with most of us.  Awareness is only afforded to those realities which are directly in front of us and which can therefore demand our attention.  But most of us will never travel to the poorest regions of the world.  And the only means by which I can address that reality is through sharing my own experiences from visits that I have had the good fortune to make.  The great sorrow and shame that is poverty in our world is too easy to overlook, too comfortable to forget, without some kinds of reminders to penetrate our consciousness.  I have family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances who have curiosity about Winds of Peace and who thus follow what I write here, so my entries provide one tiny pinprick of reminder about the contrast between our lives and the ones about which I write.  And that awareness is a necessity, whether it’s comprised of fifty readers or just one.

Second, I feel the need to put a face on all of this.  One of my difficulties in seeing poverty as belonging to me was the impersonality of it.  By remaining at safe distance, by relegating it to statistics and percentages and far-off lands, the issue could never become a personal one.  Throughout my entire high school years I did not personally know any poor person .  Churches were not yet creating opportunities for such encounters.  Holiday service opportunities, if they did exist, were unknown to me.  But when a young Nicaraguan boy, after seeing the photos of my own Korean-born children, asked me whether I might adopt him as well, the hook had been set in my heart.  My clear belief is that we all need such a hook, not because we are “bad” people ignoring the poor, but because we have not been given the chance to feel the heartbreak of impoverishment in the lives of others.  We’re all capable of feeling that connection and these essays are sometimes aimed at exactly that target.

Third, perhaps I am “selling” something, as well.  Wrapped up within the emotions and experiences described above is the hope that somehow I might reach someone else who is just like me at that earlier time.  That individual has remained insulated from the discomfort of an impoverished world, is someone who could be open to genuinely caring about the fate and future of people unknown to him/her, who simply needs a small push to be jostled from the comfort of a privileged life.  Maybe these reflections of mine could motivate even one person to step out from the shadows of insensibility to seize some greater responsibility for a humanity that is in tremendous need, not for solving all of the world’s problems, but for lightening the load for just one other life.

Fourth and finally, these entries are as much for me as they are for you, the readers.  Having had the chance to get close to the Nicaraguan reality, I have experienced what many travelers experience when confronting another space in the world.  My emotions run the gamut each time I’m in Nicaragua: I see despair, I hear great hope, I observe inspirational perseverance, I am frustrated by our human proclivities and shortsightedness.  I am disoriented every time I return to the United States.  I need days to step back into the perspective of an affluent North American when I know that I cannot entirely do so, not in light of the circumstances I have just left behind.  I order something from an Internet site with little more than a thought, and then find myself  weeping at the inequity of being able to do so. I am amazed at what my Nicaraguan connections have taught me, about a different society, alternative ways of looking at our world, our spirituality, our selves.  Writing about these juxtapositions is a healthy thing for me, an outlet to expunge some of the conflicting and unresolved emotions that inevitably come with getting close to people who are not just like me.  I have experienced more personal questing and growth in the past six years than in the previous twenty, thanks to the wisdom and lives of people whose language I do not even speak.  I know the need to express my gratitude and amazement at such an unanticipated transformation.

So there is my motivation for what you read here from time to time.  I doubt that it represents great writing, tight strategy, effective philanthropy or even observational sociology.  But if it provides even one insight about what is undeniably an injustice to the human condition- and therefore to ourselves- then the writing has been an appropriate use of time.  We are capable of being only as well as those who are around us.  That wellness is global in its scope and the strengthening begins one at a time….

 

 

 

 

 

Category: Reflections | No Comments »
Tags:

Steve Sheppard | November 17, 2011

I passed another of those milestones not long ago, euphemistically called employment anniversaries when they are little more than giant ticks of the clock.  For six years now I have had the privilege to represent Winds of Peace Foundation and talk with whoever might listen about the circumstances and causes-and-effects contributing to Nicaragua’s standing as the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.  It’s fantastic work, made especially so by the people I have encountered there, but also due to the continued presence of Founder/Patron Harold Nielsen, my colleague in Nicaragua Mark Lester, and the unwavering support of office administrator Bobbie Jones.  They have all made me feel as though I belong in this role, and from that posture I have become ever-more confident in representing the work that the Foundation has undertaken.

Part of that representation has taken the form of essays, or blogs, which I have placed here.  These musings have been a valuable asset for me to help sort out a multitude of mixed feelings that have occurred to me over these years.  Working between two very distinct cultures and world views, I have often encountered contradictory feelings on a wide range of issues, both political and social in nature.  Writing about such issues has helped me to process those feelings, as well as provide a forum for sharing them with people who have an interest in what Winds of Peace is doing.  I have logged over 100 of these meanderings here; for that I beg your pardon and indulgence.

So it was not unusual this week that I completed writing a piece in follow-up to the November general election in Nicaragua, one in which President Daniel Ortega was re-elected for another five years, to no one’s surprise.  A number of elements surrounding the election felt eerily similar to what I am experiencing here in the U.S. as our own election season gathers steam.  Consequently, I wrote about those similarities as I saw them and drew parallels between the two processes.  It was tough writing for me, and I never got into the flow of the essay in the way that I often do when composing.  When a chance conversation with Mark touched on the aftermath of the Nicaraguan election, I asked him whether he might review my essay and give me his thoughts, which he did.  (It’s not something I ask of Mark; the words are meant to be mine and, besides, Mark doesn’t need the extra work.)  His comments were excellent and presented from the perspective of a Nicaraguan, which he is.  As a result, I chose not to post the article, not because Mark “didn’t like it” or thought it was somehow inappropriate, but because reading it as a Nicaraguan was different than writing it as a North American.  For anyone intent on truly contributing to positive change in Nicaragua, that’s an Achilles heel.

I’ve spent a good deal of time and energy getting to know something about our neighbors to the south.  I’ve traveled there three or four times every year, I read periodicals written by Nicaraguan leaders and academics, I’ve come to know many of the issues facing our three primary partner groups: women, Indigenous people and the rural poor.  We have funded nearly two-hundred projects during my six years.  I even study Spanish (with some futility) so that I might understand more directly the difficulties being expressed by these tenacious and persevering people in their struggle for simply sustainable living.  Mark performs a yeoman’s duty to keep me informed of issues affecting Nicaraguan life.  I read books about the history and legacy of past years.  I do this because I am interested, because Winds of Peace does desire to make a positive impact in the lives of Nicaraguans.  But no matter the number of years nor the length of trips, I will never be Nicaraguan.

I cannot quickly absorb the lingering pains of a war which tore the country apart for so long.  I cannot re-live the seemingly endless natural disasters which have claimed so many lives and livelihoods.  I have not been trapped within a geography which has lent itself to invasion, occupation, exploitation and marginalization.  I have not known, truly lived, in poverty.  Likewise, I cannot feel the sense of familial antiquity, the honor of native generations spent in stewardship of ancestral lands or the pride of being Nicaraguan.  I can know these things, but I cannot live them.

As a result, I come dangerously close to presumption when trying to write with intimacy about political cause and effect, or religious motivation or social condition.  And I cross over the borderline if being prescriptive about how to create change.   My making judgments about the Nicaraguan election is an arrogance, because what I see and what I feel is filtered through my own life experiences, not that of a Nicaraguan.  In the end, comparisons I might feel inclined to make are valid only for me and my very personal perspective.  I have not earned the honor and the right to speak for Nicaraguans;  I can only offer my narrow opinion.  Nicaraguans are owed that respect.  And that’s why there is no election blog here this week, or ever.

As I reflect on these words, I am struck by another truth by extension.  Ultimately, speaking on behalf of ourselves is the best and most that any of us can do, because we do not truly walk in any other man’s or woman’s shoes, only our own.  We can articulate what we believe and why we believe it, we can model that belief and even proclaim why we might feel that someone else might be strengthened by it, but not why they must believe it.  There’s a big difference between those two approaches.  It’s one that I wish was more widely-recognized throughout our country as we seemingly become less tolerant day by day.

It’s one more belief I’ve learned from Nicaragua, and one which those of us who purport to offer assistance and leadership in any endeavor would do well to remember….

 

 

Category: Announcements, Making An Impact, Reflections | No Comments »
Tags:

Steve Sheppard | October 13, 2011

In working with a few of our cooperative partners in the workshop sessions last month (see some of our recent blog entries here), participants were working toward the objective of forming alliances with one another.  By bringing together the various players in the coffee commercialization chain from the San Juan del Rio Coco area, workshop facilitators Rene Mendoza and Edgar Fernandez orchestrated a dawning realization among participants that their mutual collaborations could strengthen each organization, both individually and collectively.  Such strength-through-solidarity may seem obvious to some, but for rural Nicaraguans it’s not a model that automatically takes hold.  Hence, the workshops to develop such thinking.

The discussion around formation of alliances got me to wondering about similar connections in my own experiences.  I recall alliances between our company and others, among the various chapters of a national association which I served, organizations within our home community and even political alliances around important national issues.  I even recall an uneasy alliance with a fellow manager with whom I did not share a “friendly” relationship, but who sought my support on a questionable initiative.

The importance of consolidating strengths is hard to overstate, yet maybe even harder to teach.  In a world where “me first” seems to have become the norm, the value of a strong alliance can be missed by people who are laser-focused on what they might have to give up instead of what they might stand to gain through forging an alliance.  Rene and Edgar did a good job in setting the table for that understanding through examples, parables, and entertaining an idea that emerged in the discussion.  That notion suggested that before alliances can be effectively formed outside an organization, they must be firmly established inside the organization.  The workshop attendees seemed to grasp this importance pretty quickly and the conversation moved on to other elements.  As usual for me, I found myself falling behind the discussion:  I wanted to continue wrestling with this question of how effective alliances are born.

If effective outside alliances are predicated on the presence of strong inside alliances, then perhaps those inside alliances stem from some earlier base, as well.  And that base just might be the alliance that exists within ourselves, an alignment among our personal values, our courage to remain true to those values, and the actions we take as a result of that alignment.  That’s the alliance which lies at the core of every relationship we build, and which ultimately determines whether we can ever be successful in constructing alliances with others anywhere.  It’s an alliance that is more difficult to discern and to honor than any of the other alliances which may grow out of it.

The notion of personal values likely resonates with everyone, yet our abilities to articulate those values, to fully describe what they are like and how they came to be, is often beyond our reach.  Most of us simply haven’t taken the time from our busy lives to stop long enough to fully identify that which drives us from the deepest levels of our being.

The courage to act on those values is often muted by the fact that we really haven’t fully identified them; it’s hard to stand up for something when you’re not fully aware of what it is.  Most of us are brave to act when we know clearly that which we would defend.  Self?  Of course.  Family?  No doubt.  Values?  Well, what are they….?

Finally, actions are a reflection of what’s on our minds at any given moment.  And if we aren’t continuously conscious of our values, of our willingness to stand up for them, then our actions are likely to be as scattered and disconnected as random thoughts.  It’s how fundamentally good people sometimes perpetrate horrible acts, and then end up wondering why.

Alliances among disparate entities can be almost soothingly integrative; they rekindle a deep-seated hope that somehow, at some level, we can come together for everyone’s advantage, that the world can indeed “work.”  But for that to emerge, for the courage to fight for that hope, we have to start by aligning ourselves with what is fundamental, true and essential to our own cosmic truths.  It’s excruciating work when it’s done seriously.  But when those ideas are united within us individually, only then do we stand a chance at successfully collaborating with others….

Category: Making An Impact, Reflections, Rural development, WPF partners | No Comments »
Tags:

Steve Sheppard | September 23, 2011

I’ve just returned from another visit to Nicaragua, an eight-day stay that featured partner visits, prospective partner discussions, a workshop on coffee cooperatives, an update on the Indigenous people of Telpaneca and their struggle to retain land rights, and a visit with women of the communal banks of ANIDES.  It was a full week, as usual, and one which provided me with many learning opportunities, and especially with the women.  Let me share a lesson in embarrassment.

Our visit with the women was scheduled for my last day of the trip, the end of a long week and many miles of almost-roads.  One year ago, Winds of Peace had made a small grant to ANIDES for the purpose of establishing a series of small community banks for the women who resided in the region.  These are women with little or no previous financial experience of any kind, and the ANIDES experience was to provide training and opportunity for the women to establish some sort of economic foothold.   Now, one year later, the women had come together from their rather distant communities to celebrate their accomplishments.  In anticipation, the director of ANIDES contacted my colleague, Mark, and requested that he attend the gathering since Winds of Peace had provided the funds for the enterprise.  Mark mentioned that I would be in the country at that time, and the stage was set: we would simply have to make an appearance as part of the celebration.

All week long I wondered what the expectation of us might be at this celebration, what roles we could be expected to play.  As the date drew nearer, I even speculated out loud that this could be one of those settings where a lot of people wanted to say their thanks to the Foundation, with each woman wanting to express her own gratitude.  Such occasions of gratitude happen from time to time and create an awkwardness that I find difficult to channel; gratitude is not one of the outcomes we seek in the work of the Foundation.  With great trepidation, therefore, we snaked along the rocky path toward the site, over boulders and through fender-high streams to the very interior of the countryside, the small community of Pueblo Viejo.  And all the while I winced, not at the jarring ride but at the prospect of having to accept copious thanks.  I asked Mark again what he thought our presence was for, but he could offer me no relief.

As we drove up to the meeting site, I grimaced at the banner hung over a fence: “Welcome Friends from Winds of Peace- Women of Cerro El Padre, San Marcos and Pueblo Viejo.”  Clearly, this was to be an event of thank-you’s and I dreaded it.  It’s an attitude that comes from not being particularly gracious at receiving either gifts or gratitude.  But the intention of the gathering was clear and I prepared myself for the discomfort of very poor women offering heartfelt thanks to representatives of a North American foundation.  I thought to myself that we should have perhaps begged off from this stop and avoided the ungraceful moment.

We were led to the very front of where the women were seated and immediately asked to offer words of support and encouragement.  That’s something which is easy to do for people who have so little and who try so hard.  It’s not difficult for me to express my admiration and respect for the people with whom we work.  But mostly, I stood in apprehension of what was to come.  And then an interesting thing happened.  As I shared my thoughts with these women, I saw faces that were attentive, focused and eager to hear what this “gringo” might have to say.  And their interest embraced me.

When I had finished, Mark and I were offered an apology that more of the bank members were not present.  President Daniel Ortega had scheduled an appearance in the nearby city and sent buses, trucks and any other modes of transport into the countryside to ship people into town.  In most cases, this was not an invitation but a command performance, one that could hardly be refused.  Nonetheless, perhaps 40 women sat before us, an impressive group.  We were provided a narrative by one of the branch managers, a summary of what the banks had

established and how the women had actually been able to create significant savings accounts, despite their deep needs.  Forty-one women, three distant communities, and more than $5,800 saved: an impressive feat by women who have had no previous financial education or counsel, and who live day-to-day with needs that far outnumber their resources.  We were treated to a display of some of the produce they had generated by virtue of their loans, offered freshly-made tortillas and fruits, and listened to individual stories of how access to the bank had made an impact on families.  The stories were related with shyness but with pride, as well, and as each woman stood to recount her tale, I could hear the confidence in each voice increasing, each emboldened by the others, stating what they had done, and yes, grateful for having the opportunity.  I heard the testimonies as statements of achievement, existence, of people having made a mark by virtue of being given a chance.  And rather quickly, my initial feelings of awkwardness gave way to a wave of immense embarrassment.  For this meeting was not about WPF, and certainly not about me or how I might have preferred spending that Saturday morning.

Even as I work in Nicaragua with some of the poorest people on earth, as I try to understand and come to terms with the injustices that exist and how I fit into that equation, I can still feel the inclination to be more concerned about my own welfare, my own feelings, my own self, than the needs of others.  I traveled to this remote outpost with thoughts of my own comfort rather than what my attendance among these women might mean to them, and it’s a realization that still leaves me shaking my head.

Selfishness is a very real and present human condition for most of us, I guess, so there is some rationalized comfort in that.  (There I go again.)  But it’s when we discern how to suspend such feelings and we open ourselves up to others that we gain true clarity about ourselves and each other.  I readily confess that as we drove away from the celebration, the back of the truck filled with peasant women and children, I no longer preferred the idea of having begged off from the event.  With great chagrin I offered a silent thanks for perhaps my best visit of the entire week, and the chance to come face-to-face with human grace….

Category: Making An Impact, Reflections, Rural development, WPF partners | No Comments »
Tags:

Steve Sheppard | August 20, 2011

Winds of Peace has funded a series of workshops this year, focused on the value chain for rural coffee growers in Nicaragua, including small scale producers, first and second tier cooperatives, technical support organizations, buyers and funders.  The third in this series of workshops- all attended by the same participants- will be held during the first week of September, and the planners and facilitators of the conference are busy with preparations. Even WPF has preparation to do, as we have been asked to present some history and context on WPF Founders Harold and Louise Nielsen, the company they founded (Foldcraft Co.) and the unique way in which it has been envisioned, how and why WPF was formed after the sale of Foldcraft to its employees through an ESOP, and whatever other historical information might be of value to the workshop participants.  It’s a privilege to be asked to participate in this way.

Rene Mendoza, who has been the primary organizer and facilitator of these workshops, also sent along some questions about the visions which Harold and Louise might have had for Foldcraft, Winds of Peace, the people of Nicaragua.  The questions are deeply philosophical and invite thoughtful answers, which Harold has agreed to provide.  But there is one in particular which caught my attention and which I share here.  Rene asks,

As the expression of the Chinese teacher goes: “Knowing that 1 and 1 is 2 is important, but more important is understanding the “and.”  But I am not able to understand what they [Harold and Louise] understood. What is the “and” that Harold, Louise… understood?  Is WPF part of that “and?”  What is really the “and” … that only a few get to understand it and make it a reality?

Getting to the “and.”  That’s what Rene is asking for, to understand what exactly that means for people like Harold and Louise, why so few of us seem to understand it or demonstrate it.  It’s as if the “and” has some ephemeral or illusive quality worthy of the chase.  I’m sure that Harold will have some simply-stated, deep-truth answer to the question as he frequently does.  But it has also prompted my own thinking.

My first thought is that “and” means in addition.   ”And” is the addition, the action, the including connector between two or more of anything: words, numbers, people, things, whatever.  There is something incorporating and encompassing in that simple word, something that embraces rather than excludes.  There is at least one world-view that suggests everything and everybody on this earth is here for a reason, a meaning toward the whole, that our own purpose here is to discern what that role is to be, how we fit within the entirety.  In that world-view, the “and” is as essential as life itself, since we cannot complete the whole without every element of its makeup.  ”And” is a together word which presumes that there is no reason to leave something out, to exclude, to leave behind, to forget.  I suspect that Harold and Louise intuitively felt the sense of “and” on that very first journey amidst poverty and deprivation.

“And” also invokes adding to, as in the very example Rene uses, “1 and 1 is two.”  It is an indicator of a plus, creating something more than where you started, building something bigger.  It seems an irony to me that we human beings, who are always on the lookout for ways to create and have more of everything- security, food, comforts, satisfactions, achievements, things- seem to want to do so by and for ourselves.  And when we do see the need for collaborative efforts, such initiatives are short-lived for the most part, broken apart at the fear of having given up too much or at the lure of achieving some other objective for our own benefit.  Especially here in the United States, we revere the myth of rugged individualism, the perceived strength of “going it alone.”  It makes for wonderful storytelling but an inferior strategy.  No one of us is as smart as all of us.  Missing the plus of inclusion is like trying to fell a tree with a nail file: it’s possible, perhaps, but it could be done a lot faster and better.  Harold Nielsen learned that reality by building a business that could only be successful utilizing the skills and energies of all of its members.  It led to employee ownership and a participative organization wherein people were provided with the opportunity to understand the “and,” from both inside and outside of the company.

“And” implies a consequence, too.  The Nielsens elected to take that fateful trip to Central America all those years ago, and they were transformed.  Life truly lived implies some degree of risk-taking, a coming out of the comfort zone for the sake of learning, seeing differently, understanding the complexities of this world in new ways.  We will never understand all of it, but we are called to know more of it than we do.  The only way to achieve that look is through the lives of others, to see their realities in light of our own.  It was true for the Nielsens as they ventured far away from the safe confines of rural MInnesota, for the members of Foldcraft who are asked to see business in a very different way, and for all of us who allow the idea of the “and” to lure us to new perspectives.  There are consequences to such experiences; for some, the risk is worth taking, the consequence positively transformative.  For others, the risk is too great and the “and” remains an elusive curiosity.

Winds of Peace Foundation represents the “and.”  It is the current evolutionary place in a long journey of seeking, self-discernment, self-effacement, discovery and response.  It isn’t a perfect partner for those with whom it works, nor does it purport to be the answer to the myriad difficulties faced by its Nicaraguan neighbors.  But it is a manifestation of the Nielsens, and of those who have been invited along for the journey, to regard their own lives in a posture of servanthood and connectedness with the world at-large.  It’s a counterintuitive, countercultural view of life that runs contrary to the way most of us think and live, and why, when we hear of it in someone else, we behold it with a deep, wistful longing for ourselves….

 

Category: Announcements, Making An Impact, Reflections, Rural development | No Comments »
Tags:

Steve Sheppard | July 30, 2011

I really like salmon.  I’m not speaking about a dinner entre, but an amazing creature with habits and behaviors that defy conventional thinking and even science, to a degree.  Their early development, migrations to the sea, transitions from fresh to salt water and back again, and that amazing journey which they make upstream- theirs is a life story that is as cosmic and mysterious as the heavens.  I love that story.

Part of that fascination and admiration perhaps stems from the perception that these creatures have chosen to defy logic, prudence, even gravitational physics, in accomplishing their objective.  But in order for them to survive as a species, they absolutely must follow their evolutionary directive to not live their lives as most other sea creatures, but as salmon.   I doubt that salmon ever have the time or inclination to be jealous of, say, tuna, who spend their entire lives in the ocean swimming with the other fishes of the sea.  But if they did, they might look longingly at a life that seems much easier, outwardly more secure, and that requires less individual effort and determination.  Of course, if they chose such a life, they would no longer be salmon.

I sometimes think about the life cycle of salmon when working with some of our Indigenous partners in Nicaragua.  That may sound strange, but there are comparisons to be made.  The Indigenous, as original inhabitants of the land, see themselves as different from other Nicaraguans, and with a special history.  They know that their lives are different and perhaps even more difficult than their non-Indigenous cousins due to the changes they have had to endure over centuries of evolution.  They have an almost irresistible attraction to the places where they were born.  They have had to endure enormous changes and transitions in their ways of life.  They are subject to predators.  And most of the time, they are required to swim upstream to achieve what is most important in their lives.  Such are the tides of mainstream life.

In fact, for all of the tradition and richness of Indigenous history, theirs is not an easy life.  They are surrounded on all sides by encroaching societies that would gobble them up with ravenous appetites.  Identifying and then navigating the return to the home tide pools requires uncommon persistence and a reverence for that home space which defies obstacles in their way.  They do it for the sake of future generations, even if it consumes them in the process.  They challenge the waves of modern governance, political patronage, in pursuit of traditions which would restore them to an earlier, less complicated culture, all the while trying to remain ahead of sharks who would devour them.

Working with the Indigenous of Nicaragua has been an experience filled with fascination, satisfaction, pride, disappointments, friendship and inspiration.  I cherish the opportunity to work with the descendants of a culture which achieved amazing civilizations long before the arrival of European explorers. Today, they desperately seek a return to the place of their  heritage, to the way of life in which all the members of a community are “belongers,” where shared leadership provides for protections and provisions for all,  born of a certainty that every member of a people has worth and value to the whole.  It is an idealistic and honorable desire to go there, but a journey that is filled with obstacles made up of rocks and tempting side-tributaries and the real issues of gravity to bring them down to earth.  They are bound to be distracted, blocked and even wounded along the way.  But inherent wisdom forged over generations continues to drive them back to their native streams, their ancestry, their future.  Winds of Peace can wait with patience, respect and and a sense of partnership for the journey to achieve its end.  As is the case with salmon, I love the story….

Category: Announcements, Reflections, WPF partners | No Comments »
Tags: