Winds of Peace Foundation

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….

 

 

 

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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….

 

 

 

 

 

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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….

 

 

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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….

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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….

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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….

 

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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….

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Steve Sheppard | July 25, 2011

A wonderful component of my summers over the past four years has been The Scandinavian Institute, an extended visit to Decorah, Iowa, and surrounding areas by residents of the Scandinavian countries.  These guests travel to Decorah and Luther College to learn about America in all of its dimensions through lectures by Luther professors, visits with surrounding societies such as the Fox Native American settlement and local Amish communities, interactions with local residents, dinners with host families, and an overall immersion in American life as experienced in the midwest.  Their weeks spent here are intended to be not only informational and broadening, but also to provide the fun and enjoyment of experiencing a different culture.   I have participated with these groups over the years as presenter, dinner host, participant and friend.  I have found new friendships and learned more about the cultures to be found throughout Scandinavia than mere books and myths can impart.  The point of the visit is to provide a learning opportunity to our guests, but in reality, those of us who participate are given an equal opportunity to grow culturally, socially and emotionally.

On Thursday evening my wife and I hosted a Norwegian couple for dinner at our home.  Jann and Marit are absolutely delightful people who are soaking up every moment of the experience here, during this, their first-ever visit to the U.S.  We dined outdoors on a warm summer’s night, escorted by the evening cheering of Cardinals and the phosphorescence of fireflies, a lovely local specialty.  We shared stories of family, cultures, careers, loves and losses.  There are few occasions when four hours pass by so quickly and richly.  By the time we walked them back to their campus quarters, a bond had been formed in this world which had not existed before; we made arrangements to attend church together on Sunday.

And now, the news from Oslo, Norway, where a gunman has destroyed government buildings and many young lives.  The pictures are difficult to watch, the anguish in parents’ eyes indistinguishable from past faces from 9/11 or from shot-up schoolyards across the U.S.  in recent years.  The news is eerily familiar although distant, but this time it has a new dimension to it.  It’s the homeland of not our own, but of new friends, who are forced now to grasp the enormity of this event from afar, to wonder and worry and anguish from here in the U.S. while those in Norway do so with each other.  The tragedy is a national and international one and thus is best absorbed and grieved over with closest family and friends.  But that will not be available to our summertime guests in Decorah.  They will have to use the good wishes and prayers of relative strangers for comfort during this crisis, tiding them over until their eventual return home.

The visiting members of the delegation have all expressed horror, of course, and have cited the surreality of seeing such a senseless act of violence occur in their own country.  ”That’s not something we experience in Norway,”  several have said.  ”This has been only something from the United States or elsewhere in Europe,” some have observed.  But unfortunately the carnage in Norway is all too real,  and, in a way, made even moreso to us by the presence of new acquaintances who live there.  The sadness has been made more tangible for us in Decorah.

That reaction is a universal one.  Naturally, we feel a greater intensity of emotion when we have a personal connection with a victim, as we recognize a closeness to the tragedy that otherwise does not exist.  It’s an outgrowth of the instinctive question, “How close did this come to me?”  or, “How will this affect me?”  We are, after all, very egocentric beings.

This summer, this day, the answers to these questions have become crystal clear:  every incident of hatred comes too close to us, every episode of violence affects each one of us, each injustice makes us less than we might be.  We do not escape the impacts of evil, only the intensity.  Whether the victims are family or friends, unnamed strangers from Nordic Europe or Central American Nicaragua, we hurt with our fellow human beings because they are us.  We are the same.  One only requires a simple meal with visitors from far away to recognize how quickly, how naturally, “one” becomes the “other.”  Today, the English in me is as Norwegian in character as if I had been born in Norway, as if the pale faces of the terrorized were those of my own children.

We have everything to gain by understanding that facet of our existence together, and everything to lose by ignoring it….

 

 

 

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Steve Sheppard | July 18, 2011

The weather has turned hot again in this part of the country, with predicted heat indexes to be over 100 degrees for most of the week.  Whenever the long winter months finally give way to heat, everything changes: moods, activities, habits, even expectations.  We like our winters in the Upper Midwest for the most part, but when summer finally breaks through, we are ecstatic.

Warmth generates an honesty that we miss in the wintertime.  People are outside both day and night, visible in their activities and even their shapes, as the bundled layers of clothing give way to minimalist drapery (which is sometimes good and sometimes not so good).  But it creates a freedom of feeling and movement regardless of the visual effect, and in a sense we feel as though maybe we can see people for who they are, without the subterfuge of hidden agendas.  We’re much more likely to see each other, walking, biking, running, just being.  There is a “coming out” that is the midsummer.  Backyard barbeques and community socials generate togetherness, a shared celebration of the return of warmth, and a closeness radiates among us as we jointly bask in the fervor of July and August.  Beaches, baseball, bare feet and fireflies light up a summer’s night as well as our own internal sense of bliss, no matter what the temperature extremes.  We become more mobile, and it seems as though we might smile and laugh louder and more frequently, though that could be simply because more people are out and about to hear it.  It’s as if we are somehow comforted at knowing our community is alive and well, that we can go about our daily work in the visual assurance that every one else is, too, and we just feel more like we’re together in this thing called life.  There is power in such belief that boosts our sense of well-being, even if in an obtuse way.  This week we will inevitably complain about the heat, just as we gripe about the cold in January.  But deep inside, we don’t mind it at all, because of its reassurances.  There is great solace to be found in warmth, and even the mere presence of one another.

The heat of a summer’s day is really more than 180 degrees opposite of winter’s cold.  The thermometer is but one measure.  In the winter the air is frigid and we normally don’t enjoy the daily presence of one another.  It’s more than the mercury that drops.  Spirits sag, as well, as we are hidden from one another in the confining clothes in which we surround ourselves.  Our immobility limits both our actions and interactions.  There’s even a medical condition that afflicts some during these dark and cold days, Seasonal Affective Disorder, that seems to embody at some level what is wrong with all of us who are cold.  We know the symptoms: slow responses, social withdrawal, unhappiness and irritability, loss of interest in activities and people.  It’s a list of symptoms that could be the mirror opposite of the positive phenomena described above, so it should be no surprise to learn the suggestions for treatment:  getting out, exercising and interacting can make the symptoms better. Keeping active socially, even if it involves some effort, has the ability to salve the symptoms.   It turns out that warmth is a pretty effective antidote for a lot of things.

I know that when I travel to Nicaragua I’ll be feeling the heat, no matter what time of year.  I marvel at Nicaraguans and their ability to live in the heat.  I know that warmth is part of their lifestyle and they embrace it as part of their heritage.  But I also know that they sometimes fear the frigid temperatures of the North, for cold can be a dangerous thing….

 

 

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Steve Sheppard | July 12, 2011

When I was a little kid (well, a young kid, since I was never that little), mealtimes were inevitably ended with the admonition from my mom that I should clean my plate of whatever items (usually vegetables) I had avoided during the meal, that there were starving children in the world who would give almost anything to have my unwanted food.  I used to ponder these guilt-inducing comments until I would realize that a.) there was no way that I could deliver the vegetables to my young Chinese counterparts and, b.) if there was a way, then the starving kids of China were welcome to whatever they wanted from my plate, but would they even want them?  This rationale never sat very well with my mom, but it usually deflected the issue of my unwanted food until I could get away from the table.

My mom never exactly conveyed to me the idea that those hungry children were my responsibility, but I grew up worrying about them nonetheless, especially since I could’t send my broccoli to them.  (And really, could an Asian or Indian child really get excited about Brussels sprouts or beets?)  These days, I don’t leave much on my plate, and I’ve become a devotee of most vegetables.  But I’m still trying to figure out what it means to be a “good steward” in life, so I still think a lot about those starving kids in China or wherever else in the world there is famine or poverty that threatens the well-being of children.

Whatever the real answers might have been back then in the 50′s, the answers are much different today.  In today’s context, we are capable of putting resources to work with pretty good precision in most corners of the world.  Cyber connectivity allows a ready awareness of where the needs are at any given moment (witness the post-tsunami response in Japan).  Internet technology makes for easy and instantaneous transfer of information and funding (recall the revolution in Egypt).  Airline access allows physical transport of goods within hours (just ask FedEx).  So the clever dodges that I employed as a kid are now non-existent for any of us.  The only remaining obstacle is my will, our will.

The reality today is that there are no hurdles to be overcome in cleaning my plate on behalf of others.  The U.S. philanthropic community may only show its largesse internationally to the tune of about 3% of all giving, but it’s not due to logistics, distances or even the tastes of hungry children in developing countries.  It has only to do with decisions about how and where we spend our money, and why.  International organizations with tremendously positive records of high impact in the countries they serve make it very easy  to actually pinpoint where a “cleaned plate” is going; in the case of an organization like Kiva, one can actually name the individual recipient.  It doesn’t get much more personal than that!

When our own children were young, my wife and I never used the old bromide about sending uneaten food to starving kids overseas, even though by then I had a response to the old excuses that used to work for me.   Instead, we tried to help them know how to actually share some of what they had, and in places other than the U.S.  Armed with that, they at least had the chance to become good stewards for others, though we admonished them to eat their greens nonetheless….

 

 

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