With apologies to author Robert Fulgham, I couldn’t help but recall his enormously successful book as I’ve listened to the heating debate about immigration among Republican presidential candidates. Insofar as every one of those leaders is a product of immigration to this country, I thought it might be of some value to recall at least some of the admonitions for wisdom that Fulgham offered in his classic book.
Share Everything- We’re taught at an early age that it’s important to ensure everyone has enough: toys, cookies, rewards, being loved and respected. By and large, we haven’t done very well with this as adults, especially with basic life necessities. We’ve heard many times how something like 80 individuals in the world own as many resources as half (or more) of the rest of the people on the planet. That’s not a very convincing example of sharing, particularly when so many of the have-not’s are living day-to-day in sub-human conditions. History and reality both suggest that a primary motivation for many immigrants is the need to improve their economic status. Most don’t wish to leave their homeland for another spot in the world; they simply must go to where the opportunity is. Sometimes it’s good to give up our place in the lunch line for somebody else.
Play Fair- A corollary to the above, playing fair suggests that in a competitive world where people should expect to be rewarded according to their efforts, a rigged game signals to the players that there are no rules anymore, that everyone is subject only to what he/she can gain for him/herself and that creative sidestepping of the rules is not only permissible but oftentimes heavily rewarded. If CEOs and investment bankers and even nations are immune from penalty for violating rules, the signal is clear for someone considering a cross of the nation’s border. What is there to lose? If the teacher is a cheater, the lesson to be learned is that fairness is for fools.
Don’t Hit People- Especially not with clubs or tasers or fists or bullets. Regardless of where any candidate might stand on the immigration issue, the matter resides at a level of importance somewhere far below the sanctity of human life. As complex and persistent as the immigration problem has become, its solutions won’t be found in the box of punitive punishment. Not even death itself has proven to be a deterrent for the desperate. Hitting just hurts, and not only the victims.
Clean Up Your Own Mess- A push in kindergarten is almost always preceded by an instigating act by someone else, whether seen or not. The push is merely the response that happens to be observed. Illegal immigration is most often motivated by untenable economic circumstances. And those circumstances have been magnified by treaties, agreements and accords that favored our country and its own economic interests in exaggerated ways. As a result, the option of remaining in Mexico or Nicaragua or Honduras evaporates in the wake of the social and economic consequences of messy agreements. Our political candidates claim that illegal immigrants cross the U.S. borders knowing what the consequences are likely to be. But those same candidates must also recognize the likely consequences of economic repression, one of which is desperation-fueled immigration. It’s easier to serve as a model for international behavior if our own cubbyhole is clean.
Don’t Take Things That Aren’t Yours- For every crayon pilfered in kindergarten, there are at least an equal number of excuses for the theft offered up by the filching felon: “it’s my turn, he doesn’t need it, she’s had it long enough,” or “I need it to finish my own work.” While any of them may be true, none excuse the behavior. It’s no different in the competition for resources across the globe. Whether oil, agriculture resources, water, geographic access or any other motive, taking what belongs to someone else is wrong, even when we’re the ones doing the taking.
Keep Your Hands (and arms) to Yourself- If economic desperation is one of the prime motivations for immigration, then flight from the ravages of war is the other. When physical danger from bombs and gunfire threatens life, then there is nothing to lose in trying to flee to a safer zone, even when such flight violates law. Too often, the manufacturer’s label on those ammunitions contains the words “Made in U.S.A.” Even when our nation is not engaged in confrontation with one of our national neighbors, our fingerprints are curiously omnipresent in the horrors of many homelands.
Say You’re Sorry When You Hurt Somebody- Apology and forgiveness. They are the cornerstones of any relationship, because we live in an imperfect world with fellow humans who are as imperfect as we ourselves. No individual, no nation, is without fault. But the offering of forgiveness is a response to apology; it works best when the apology comes first. The immigration conundrum might be less divisive, less of a political “cause celebre” and even less complex when our nation acknowledges a system that is misleading and unfair to all the kids on the playground.
Well, Fulgham’s treatise on living life well has been panned by many as being too simplistic for the sophisticated and complicated world of today. It might be too simpleminded for immigration analysis, as well. Perhaps. But it also offers an alternative to the process in which we find ourselves today, where political rhetoric includes demonizing an entire ethnic class, building higher walls between nations, and minimizing the desperate realities of other human beings. Maybe there’s one more Fulgham idea worth contemplating: hold hands and stick together….
RANCHO SANTA FE, CALIF. — Drought or no drought, Steve Yuhas resents the idea that it is somehow shameful to be a water hog. If you can pay for it, he argues, you should get your water.
People “should not be forced to live on property with brown lawns, golf on brown courses or apologize for wanting their gardens to be beautiful,” Yuhas fumed recently on social media. “We pay significant property taxes based on where we live,” he added in an interview. “And, no, we’re not all equal when it comes to water.”
Yuhas lives in the ultra-wealthy enclave of Rancho Santa Fe, a bucolic Southern California hamlet of ranches, gated communities and country clubs that guzzles five times more water per capita than the statewide average. In April, after Gov. Jerry Brown (D) called for a 25 percent reduction in water use, consumption in Rancho Santa Fe went up by 9 percent. -Washington Post, June 14, 2015
So now the line has finally, openly, been crossed. No longer do such feelings reside in unspoken thoughts or in dark corners of consciousness. Someone has finally come out to state the perspective of many affluent “one per centers” around the world: when it comes to human essentials like water or food, we are not equal. In other words, one man’s green lawn should take priority over the very lives of others, as long as he can pay for it.
This may not come as a surprise to everyone. After all, in a world which produces sufficient food to satisfy the entire world’s hunger, we allow more than 795 million people to struggle with insufficient food access, even today. We seem content to live with that fact, so maybe this class perspective with regard to water is simply more of the same. (Whether people elsewhere die from starvation or dehydration is of little importance, I suppose. As long as I have mine, who cares?)
But somehow, the attitude reflected by Mr. Yuhas, above, has an additional callousness and arrogance attached to it. His attitude might be more easily overlooked if it pertained only to poor people in far-off countries; after all, we find distance an immense comfort to conscience on such matters. But in this case, his disdain is aimed at fellow Californians, fellow Americans, his neighbors. It represents a purity of narcissistic selfism to claim that his non-essential desires for water use should take precedence over others’ essential water needs, just because he is capable of paying for them. In a just society, citizens espouse prioritization on the basis of human values, not cash in hand.
In a country which loves to tout its sense of rugged individualism, we would do well to remember that the privilege of that individualism is not without boundaries. Nor was that privilege attained by virtue of single actors creating that reality. We became a vibrant society by virtue of collective effort and actions, deferring to the greater good when the larger goals dictated it, forging collaborations and reaping the rewards of that cooperative spirit over generations of self-sacrifice. If the elitist point of view from California is any indication, those lessons would seem to be lost. If an elected leader pleads for citizen participation and pain-sharing, the better response is apparently to behave even more wantonly.
We reside, together, on a finite planet. None of us own any of it. We are merely stewards of its resources and beauties for a limited time. That stewardship includes the degree to which we ensure that sustainable human life takes precedence over golf greens and that, indeed, we are all equal when it comes to the rights for water….
I was talking about Winds of Peace Foundation with a contractor who had come to our house; he had asked me what kind of work I do. When I described to him the work of grantmaking and microlending in Nicaragua among the very poor, he responded enthusiastically with, “Wow, what great work that must be! I’d love to be doing something like that.” I explained that the work was really the legacy of Harold and Louise Nielsen and that I was merely privileged to be administering the process. Nonetheless, I agreed that the work has been not only interesting but very fulfilling.
The man’s reaction to the work of Winds of Peace was not at all unusual. Wherever I have had the opportunity to represent the Foundation, people have been very vocal about the way they perceive the work, frequently offering both congratulatory words of encouragement as well as wistful wishes about someday doing “some kind of work like that.” Indeed, the way people used to respond to learning that I was a CEO of a company was far different than their reaction upon learning that I work for a private foundation serving the rural population of a very poor country.
We seem to have an innate awareness that work which serves others is somehow a higher calling, something we should aspire to, more deserving of our appreciation, embodying perhaps a selflessness. I can make the generalization because I have experienced the shift in perspective of others as I made the transition from corporation to non-profit. I also admit that I have some of the same feelings myself: foundation work in Nicaragua has greater meaning to me than my corporate responsibilities ever did, despite the fact that I valued those days of corporate organizational development.
We just know, don’t we? For most of us, there is the recognition that we’d love to be making a positive difference in the lives of others. It’s why we have reverence for firefighters and nurses and teachers. It’s the same emotion that grabs us when we hear a news report about some bystander performing an heroic deed to save the life of another. We love to imagine ourselves accomplishing something so life-changing. We hope that we’d be capable of mustering the unselfishness to act in such a way. The notion taps into our need for a bit of nobility in our lives, to see ourselves as being significant enough to be making even a tiny difference in a very big world.
We know that the need is deep inside of us. We long for its manifestation. It resides in us as a psychological desire for meaning in our lives. It also resides in us as a physical desire to affirm our connections with others: it coaxes the tangible sense of joy that often washes over us when we perform an act of charity or help for another. In other words, the need is as much a part of our makeup as head or heart.
That need, that higher calling, is an inextricable extension of our humanity, and it’s also as accessible as the next person we encounter. Important work isn’t defined as an occupation or limited to dramatic circumstances. It doesn’t require a change of vocation or geography. It’s available in the way that we live. It’s in our interactions with every other soul in our daily lives. “Great work” isn’t limited to the rural poor in Nicaragua or the rescue of a small child from a burning building. Great work is to be found in every niche of our existence, if we will just look for it and see it for what it is. Of course, that’s the tough part, sometimes even more demanding than entering a burning building.
We know what works need to be done. In lifetimes limited by time and circumstance, we are simply required to gather the courage and heart to contribute that which we can….
Before Memorial Day week is history, I thought I’d offer a few thoughts about remembering those who have fought and died for a cause.
Memorial Day in the U.S. is a day in which to remember those who have fought and died in military conflicts on behalf of the United States. Like most of our holidays, the original meaning behind the day tends to become lost in the commercial aspects of the celebration. But upon reflection, many experience- even if only briefly- a somber recognition of the debt that we owe to those who have perished defending our nation and fighting injustice. Our military dead have not always been fighting for such altruistic reasons, but motivation is perhaps a reflection for another day. On this occasion, we honor those who have sacrificed their lives believing the forfeit was as important as the cause.
I like the idea of remembering and honoring those who have sacrificed. Not only is it owed behavior, but it also possesses a cathartic quality, as though we have somehow paid off a bit of an ongoing obligation. It feels right and good to acknowledge the debt, particularly so when I was neither called nor conscripted to make such a commitment.
As I reflected about this on the holiday, I began to contemplate other groups of people who perished in the line of “duty.” For surely, every nation has its own version of Memorial Day, a time set aside to recall those patriots who fought for the ideals of their homelands, whatever those ideals may have been, within whatever historical context existed at the time. Loss of fearless young men and women is a universal experience, wherever one calls home.
In every case of military conflict, both sides of the battle honor the selfless martyrs who were willing to give everything for their cause. It is the human condition. We are compelled to remember because such acts represent the final measure of what a man or woman can give. It is a state of being that we honor, glorify and celebrate. And as I reflect upon the reverence we express on our Memorial Day gatherings, I wonder about those who have died “on the other side,” the families left behind, the dreams unrealized and the opportunities lost forever.
For, when it comes to grief, war favors no one. Though one side of a conflict may emerge from battle having outlasted the other, both sides end up grieving for their losses. One nation’s sorrow is not less than another’s. The pain of loss is no less for one family than another. Indeed, the loss of human potential is an affliction suffered by all of mankind, pieces of the grand puzzle that are gone forever.
From that perspective, I contemplated Memorial Day 2015 in a broader view. It had less to do with remembering the issues that occasioned fighting, or which side might have fought a more justified war; every nation has been on both sides of that equation. (Even the U.S. has history of now-indefensible initiatives, such as against Native Americans, African slaves and incursions into places like Viet Nam and Nicaragua. And around the U.S., memorials are held for both Union and Confederate soldiers from its own Civil War.) My thoughts this week had more to do with trying to comprehend the nearly-unfathomable costs that humankind has paid for its military ventures, whatever the motivations.
I am not naive nor even a pacifist; my intention here is not to suggest those circumstances which might define “a good war” nor to lessen the importance of the sacrifices that men and women have made in the name of justice. But for this year, at least, my understanding of just who deserves remembering has expanded significantly, and it extends beyond the colors of any one flag and the borders of any one state or nation….
investment banker Bowie McCoy, we learn what it means to focus on “the point of the trip.” McCoy and a friend take advantage of a six-month sabbatical offered by his company and they travel to Nepal and the Himalayas, there to rediscover and energize themselves, and maybe to sharpen the sense of meaning in their lives. Climbing the treacherous peak requires strength, persistence and a constant eye on the weather, which provides for only brief opportunities to actually reach the summit.
While on their ascent, a New Zealand climber shows up at their camp with the nearly frozen body of a Sadhu, a religious mystic, and leaves the man with the Americans to rejoin his own party. Short on time and weather opportunity themselves, McCoy and his companion decide that the suffering mystic should be taken down the mountain to a Japanese camp, where perhaps someone there might better minister to the Sadhu’s needs.
McCoy’s companion volunteers to help the Sadhu and does not meet up with McCoy again until the following day. Distraught, he relates the seeming indifference of the Japanese climbers to the plight of the Sadhu. They, too, are focused on the brief window of opportunity which the weather provides to climbers. The companion relates how he has left the slightly-revived Sadhu at the Japanese camp, uncertain as to their intentions toward this inconvenient intruder.
McCoy and his companion press on successfully to the summit and down again, but never discover the fate of the Sadhu who had come so briefly and awkwardly into their lives. And it is only then that McCoy, a church elder himself, comes to realize the missed opportunity of his search for renewal. So focused on the climb and the summit, he misses the noblest and most important chance of all, that of saving the life of another human being. McCoy has spent his days since that trip in “public confession” and teaching ethics to those who will stop long enough to listen.
I continue to reflect upon the activities and the lessons of the recent Certificate Program for cooperatives in Nicaragua, though several weeks have now elapsed since the event. While I participated as one of the “teachers,” my greatest take-aways were from the perspective of being one of the “students.” The faculty and the participants assembled by organizer Rene Mendoza were so good that absorption and reflection were inevitably created in every participant, even if he/she did not actively seek such personal impacts.
One of the more dramatic lessons took place mid-week, at a point when the group likely needed a break from the seminar format and would be most open to learning of a different sort. Our assignment was simply this: report to the learning center at 6:00 A.M. to commence the hike to the top of Peñas Blancas. Guides would lead the way for us, and we were all encouraged to make the hike all the way to the top. We were assured that the climb would be worth the effort, that the view was spectacular and the richness of the forest would reward even the most casual observers.
Peñas Blancas
Surveying the group before departure, I began to wonder whether such admonitions were entirely appropriate for some of the participants. We ranged in age from approximately 18 years of age to perhaps mid-70’s. Some women were attired in skirts. Others wore open-toed shoes. Beyond that, while I knew that I would be hiking among people who made their livings through hard physical work and who regularly traversed difficult terrains, I also knew that hiking up the side of a mountain required an entirely different set of physical strengths. I wondered whether the climb was really well-advised for every member.
We set off on the journey full of enthusiasm, high spirits and anticipation. Our first half-hour presented only a gentle slope as we followed a rough road to the base of the cliff. We stopped to admire and climb a truly “big rock”
The Big Rock
in the backyard of one of the cooperative leaders before continuing on; energy conservation had not yet become a consideration. Conversations flowed easily among us. One participant even approached me to try out some of her English as we walked.
Some forty-five minutes into our adventure, we reached the base of the cliff and the origin of the narrow hiking trail upwards. The tightness of the path dictated a single-file line, though it didn’t seem to limit the ongoing give-and-take of the hikers. If anything, the laughter and the noise we created seemed to grow in their intensity as we ascended. Now-steep elevations in the trail began to test our resilience and leg strength. The trail became more slippery, a combined outcome from the previous night’s rain and the footfalls of some fifty hikers. Periodic stops along the way signaled the growing fatigue of some, but in every case the cluster of people around them patiently waited for recovery while offering swigs of water from bottles carried by others.
And at each moment, words of encouragement and support were poured out upon each other. The most savvy and stable of the forest hikers, without request or prompt, assumed personal responsibility for those in greatest need. Even for me: more than once, as the muddy trail slipped out from under me, Edmundo or Lester were there at my side to offer a hand. (I suppose they needed to watch out for the gringo.) But I remember thinking to myself how good and supportive that felt, even in the face of my prideful determination to navigate independently. The spirit was the same throughout: the group had become determined to ascend to the top as a group, with no one left behind.
The long line of marchers eventually separated a bit into faster and slower groups, though continually within earshot of one another. I had chosen to move ahead with the faster bunch, eager to reach the pinnacle and take in the views. My own energy remained good and I was particularly grateful to be wearing my trail boots on this occasion, convinced that they were giving me an advantage over the terrain that most of the others did not have. At the precise moment of that reflection, I noted the shoes of others nearby and was amazed to see one tiny lady of our group sporting flip-flops for the climb. I felt sheepish about my footwear despite- or maybe because of- their utility.
Four hours into the adventure, the first cluster reached the small clearing at the summit. We became rather subdued in that moment, a reverential peace and quiet descending upon us in the face of a panorama that literally took our collective breaths away. There is something about mountaintops that perhaps suggests closeness to heaven; we all might have been feeling that.
They All Arrived
And then the others arrived at the peak, in twos and threes from the forest trail, tired from the journey but equally transfixed at the valley sights far below. But of equal importance was the greeting that each successive cluster received as they joined the rest of us. Cheers and congratulations and laughter resounded from that peak, joy that we had all achieved the summit, that even the oldest and most unconditioned and reticent of us had persevered together. There was water and snack crackers for everyone, the largesse of several members who simply chose to share.
Watching the entire collection of unlikely teammates, I eventually began to discern the point of the trip, the lesson of the day. This demanding hike, though not of the intensity or scope of Bowie McCoy’s, offered a renewal. It had not been about physical condition or our universal longings for achievement or even recognition of our need for a collective stewardship of a beautiful planet. The exercise revealed something far more crucial for those inclined to see something deeper in the sweat and the mud. The lesson was revealed in the gathering of all hikers at that clearing on the top, the fact that a very disparate and unlikely consortium of human beings collaborated, persevered, helped one another and triumphed, that we each had been presented with an opportunity to serve another. Every participant brought an energy and a contribution to the Peñas Blancas effort, even an outsider who did not even speak the same language as the rest.
Our wealth is in each other. Our achievements and treasures, if won in the solitude of self, hold no import without context. And there is no context in our lives but for the lives of others. That was our lesson of renewal.
The point of the trip. It’s an easy thing to miss, even when it’s staring us in the face. It’s an ancient truth, but one easily forgotten in our competitive, self-driven lives. The lesson was well worth the climb….
We’ve all experienced it. It might have been a classroom where none of the other students were known to you. Maybe it was a conference where every other attendee, except you, seemed to have an old friend with whom to sit. Perhaps the first day on a new job left you feeling as though you had taken on the loneliest assignment in the world. As adaptable as we human beings are, those moments of being “the other” can be among the most excruciating experiences we encounter. Such occasions are the very definition of being alone. Whether due to being new to a group, or of different race, gender, age, language or any other distinguishing characteristic of ourselves, it’s a role likely each of us would rather not have to play.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve found myself in just such circumstances a number of times. Among several college classroom presentations, a conference in Nicaragua and a seminar at a New England retreat, I occupied the role of the other, unknown to those around me, unfamiliar with people who generally seemed to be quite familiar with one another, and in one case, not even able to converse in the same language as my peers. To be sure, each of the venues was voluntary on my part and my expectations of unfamiliarity were identical to the reality in each situation; there were no surprises. But anticipating that reality did not make for an easier adjustment to it.
What is the element deep inside that moves a group toward exclusivity and separation? Comfort? What is it inside of our own cognizance that tends to inhibit an immediate acceptance of each other? Fear? What is the addiction we have to being part of the group, even at the expense of one who is not? Suspicion? Psychologists have the answer to these and related questions, I’m sure. As for me, I’m just left with the uncomfortable feelings.
But I experienced something else, an unexpected phenomenon. Within these moments of feeling apart from the group, one venue left me feeling welcomed. And interestingly, the place where I was in fact the most “other-wise” than my fellow participants, is where I became most comfortably assimilated.
Seminar Breakout
My week in Nicaragua was spent attending a workshop for rural cooperative members, a “certificate program” which presented the holistic elements of successful organizations and individuals, including elements of cooperative history, organizational innovation, gender issues, environmental impact, spirituality in work and organizational/individual health. (We even shared a hike to the top of Peñas Blancas mountain, together!)
Everyone to the top!
I arrived at the conference site on Sunday evening. By Monday morning there were no cliques or sub-groups, only a room filled with expectant participants, fifty Nicaraguans and two gringos.
Did I mention that, to my great embarrassment, I still do not speak Spanish? That every word addressed to me and every response I offered had to be filtered through an interpreter? Integrating with a new group is hard enough. Inserting oneself into an assembly in another country is more so. And acceptance in the face of differing languages is a gulf many of us might deem too wide to conquer. In truth, I had met some of the attendees in previous settings. But the gathering at the base of Peñas Blancas embraced me as a full partner in our mutual journey of education, and in ways I do not always experience in such gatherings of such disparate folks.
A smile, a nod, a handshake and even a wave each have the capacity to draw one into the heart of a crowd; I received gifts of each. Few words were exchanged among us, given my previously-referenced language deficit, but that insufficiency mattered not. I felt “at home.”
One week later, I attended another seminar, with attendees of similar outlooks on topics such as the environment, energy and the economy. We traveled from different sections of the country, sought the same kinds of insights and shared similar expectations. We even spoke the same language. Yet here, among fellow countrymen and women, I experienced a curious solitariness. Small groups had assembled for a social hour and busily chatted away, I imagine sharing their stories of travel to the site, renewing perhaps previous acquaintances, discovering those elements of likeness which cultivate the feeling of belonging to one another and the group at large. Several times I sidled up to a cluster in hopes of inserting myself, and each occasion was met with barely an acknowledgement. Of course, each moment made the next even more awkward.
Over the course of the weekend, my role as the other dissipated and I connected with any number of friendly and enthusiastic people. Small group interactions which necessitate collective participation and expose your thoughts, experiences and uniqueness usually open the doors to collegiality and even friendships. But I can’t help but wonder what there is in our national culture or customs that seems to require this sort of justification before acceptance is extended to strangers. Are they less worthy in one moment than the next?
Naturally, we are all inclined to make judgments about others based upon what we hear and the behaviors we observe. But in the wake of the unqualified reception I received in one setting and the awkward time of trial in the other, I now more clearly recognize the duty that I have to others. New acquaintances deserve my immediate and best efforts at inclusiveness. It may just be that my Nicaraguan associates have experienced sufficient hardship and trials in life to understand that there is no time for artificial barriers when it comes to embracing the other….
Autonomy and the Multiethnic Country in Decisive Moments
René Mendoza Vidaurre, Nora Sánchez, Celia Benjamín, Jairo Zelaya. Klaus Kuhnekath and Alejandro Pikitle*
Mahoney (2001)[i] defines “critical juncture” as the moment of contingency in which a decision is made for one of various options, an institution that is self-reinforcing and that is challenged through the processes of reaction and counter-reaction, reaching new results. In terms of the Atlantic Coast we are watching two “critical junctures”, the first in the context of liberal policies of annexation of the Mosquitia Reserve in 1894; and the second, the autonomy law within the context of a war in 1987, resulting in a multiethnic Nicaragua. This process was reinforced in 2001 with the decision of the Interamerican Human Rights Commission (IHRC) in favor of Awastingni, and in 2003 with Law 445 for the titling and demarcation of communal lands. As a result, by mid 2014, 37,190 km2 of Indigenous and Afro-descendent territory (31% of the national territory) had been demarcated, restoring the rights of 304 communities. Under this framework we argue here that the multiethnic country is facing a new “critical juncture” whose decision will mark the decades that follow.
Multiethnic territory under challenge
The titling and demarcation of territories has been preceded and accompanied by the advance of the agricultural frontier and the systematic extraction of natural resources by large businesses. Two cases illustrate something about this complex situation. The case of the community of Awastingni (AMASAU territory) with around 69,000 hectares, between 2001 and 2015 went from controling 95% of their area to less than 15%, and the mestizo families from controlling 5% to 85% (according to Larry Salomón Pedro, Mayangna leader, 92% “is invaded by settlers”, LP-25-07-2014 http://www.laprensa.com.ni/2014/07/25/nacionales/204699-piden-saquen-a-colonos); and that less than 15% is area divided up among Mayangna families. In practice there is no communal territory, except legally under the territorial title. And the case of the Miskitu communities of Saupuka, Ulwas and Bilwaskarma, with the change in the course of the Rio Coco caused by Hurricane Mitch (1998), with that river defined as the “dividing line between Nicaragua and Honduras” (http://www.laprensa.com.ni/2012/06/22/nacionales/105922-si-el-rio-se-mueve-se-mueve-la-frontera), they lost 4,400 hectares that have been occupied by Honduran landowners from Olancho.
The causes that led to these results are reduced to blaming the “mestizo invaders” and the natural phenomenon of Hurricane Mitch, and from within this framework “compensation” policies are proposed, that the State expel the mestizos and negotiate with the Honduran government so that the “dividing line” be where the river used to flow. In what follows we seek other explanations and then sketch out a proposal.
The weight of structures and actors
The history, production systems, markets and forms of organization explain the situation presented above. Concerning the former, Mayangna-Miskitu relationships have been tense historically, including expulsions from one territory to another, and even had to do with the change of name from Sumo to Mayangna. In reference to Awastingni in 1991 a group of Miskitus participated in an arrangement with the Solcarsa company to extract wood from Awastingni, the same happened in 2003 with Madensa, situations which led the Mayangnas to sue the State in the IHRC; in 2009, a year after the titling of the AMASAU territory, a group of Miskitus tried to take part of the AMASAU, were prevented from doing so with the support of mestizos that the Mayangnas called “human boundary stones”; and in 2010 the Mpinicsa wood company started an agreement with Miskitu groups to extract wood from Awastingni, which was resisted by the Mayangnas. These relationships, according to a Mayangna leader, created a sense that “the land is not going to be respected”, with this accelerating the Mayangnas taking the land and selling it to mestizos.
In the case of the Miskitu of Saupuka, Ulwas and Bilwaskarma, the “hacienda” institution has made itself felt; a good part of the areas today claimed by them prior to 1980 were a livestock ranch of a Creole family, and since 2006 claimed by ranchers from Olancho. The persistence of the hacienda, which many times caused confrontations with the Miskitu communities of Nicaragua and Honduras, is well known in Latin America for its economic, social and political despotic relationships. In other words, with or without the change in the course of the river, most of these areas have been governed by the haciendas.
In terms of the production system, the Mayangna families have their yamak where they plant beans (and plaintains), a yamak that annually rotates from one place to another, and that has responded to their consumption needs, while they have looked for money in cash to buy their salt or clothing by working in the banana fields and in mining (1950-70s), for the State (1980s), and for wood companies, mestizos, international aid and the State (1990-2015). The Miskitu from the 3 communities (Saupuka, Ulwas and Bilwaskarma) differ somewhat from the Mayangnas, they have their insla on the other side of the river which the ranchers permit, they plant beans and rice for their own consumption and part of that to buy their salt or clothing, they also receive pay for working on the haciendas, and get some resources through the sale of wood. Most of the indigenous historically have had annual crops, which along with the grazing fields of the ranching haciendas contributed to the change in the course of the river, because it is harder for a river to change course when it is bordered by trees and permanent crops. There are also some Mayangna and Miskitu families with permanent crops who produce and sell their products. Our hypothesis is that not producing for both purposes, consumption and to purchase products, has contributed to the fragility of their economic system and to the sale or loss of their lands.
The markets have hardened these practices of production just for consumption, and getting money through other ways. Awastingni in the last 20 years has enjoyed financial resources, having probably received millions of cordobas from wood companies (Madensa 1993-1998, Amerinica 2000-2003, Mpinicsa 2010-2011 and Dusa 2015-2020), the sale of land to mestizo families, that according to indigenous leaders includes a little more than 50% of the total area (with the rest of the area considered to be invaded by mestizos), and international aid or State projects. In Saupuka most of the wood extraction is happening between Waspam and Bilwaskarma illegally, which is why only a part of the small scale timber merchants are paying Saupuka; this situation has increased tensions, for example, between Bilwaskarma and Saupuka, expressed as a “dispute over property boundaries”; and given that the families of Saupuka are in a better economic situation than Awastingni, 6 km from the municipal capital of Waspam, companies like Curacau and Gallo mas Gallo leave them goods and equipment on credit with usurious interest rates.
Because of these 3 factors, the government structure in both cases has become pyramid-shaped and weak. Mayangna leaders and families sold their land, providing “possession documents” as the proof of the sale, and in many cases selling the same area 2,3 and even 4 times to different meztizo families; correspondingly, there is a leadership that operates more around external resources (mestizos, companies and organizations), with weak counterweights in the community that would help them to be transparent and use the resources well. In Saupuka the organizational structure, even though divided and with a certain level of community beligerancia, is surpassed by the hacienda institution. Overtime the organizational structures were shaped more around external resources and “freed” from those who had named them, a process fed by the external actors themselves (organizations, companies, mestizos) that just connected with the leaders, generally bypassing the communities.
In the face of a third “critical juncture”
With these elements, a tense relationship between the Mayangnas and Miskitus, intra-ethnic conflicts, Mayangna-Mestiza relations, the influence of companies and organizations, and a governance structure without internal and external counterweights, 31% of the territory of the country was able to be demarcated in the name of Indigenous and Afro-descendent communities, and that in practice this is in dispute given that the mestizos population in the Coast are more than 76% of the population (Gonzalez, 2014[ii]). Given this, we think that multiethnic Nicaragua is on the verge of its third critical juncture. Three paths are visible: one, complete imposition of the ranching hacienda institution (more than peasants), and of mega extractive companies with their multiple economic, social, political and environmental effects; two, indigenous self-government that includes respect for collective and individual property and respect for nature; and the third, a inclusive, multiethnic society with historical and grassroots alliances, accompanied by a model – as Polanyi would say – of “societies with markets”. We think that the first two paths are in conflict with one another, the former moved by the “domino effect” (Mendoza, 2004 [iii] ) with unfortunate consequences, and the second – even though it is more just and legal – is more and more reduced, which is why working pragmatically on the third path is urgent.
What would this third path consist in? First, that the indigenous families would promote diversified production systems that would combine forest, agriculture (annual and permanent crops), and ranching, ensuring their consumption and staggering their income. Secondly, weaving endogenous alliances between Mayangna families and mestizo families of peasant origin with diversified systems and agreements of possessing less than 100 mzs of land per mestizo or Mayangna family, combining respect for collective and individual properties, and an alliance between the Miskitu of Nicaragua and of Honduras; in both cases with the capacity of making the ranching hacienda institution withdraw beyond the border. Third, that the territorial and communal government structures would develop internal counterweights (e.g. commissions for administering external resources and rethinking their diversification strategies) and external counterweights (e.g. microfinance institutions of the Coast to protect the resources of the communities, and the Moravian Church, because of its historic connections with indigenous populations of the Coast, cultivating bonds with the Honduran side, concretizing its Gospel of spirituality, solidarity and training. Fourth, the BICU and URACCAN universities, in collaboration with institutions like Nitlapan-UCA, would reinvent their conflict mediation institutions based on participatory research to overcome the discourse of “invaders” and “victims” and glimpse the limitations and possibilities of collaboration behind the confrontations.
In conclusion, in light of the third path as a realistic option within the current “juncture”, the problem is not the lack of financial resources, but of administering them; it is not lack of land and of laws, but of working respecting the national and international laws; and it is not a scarcity of leaders, but of an institutionality with counterweights above and below, with the participation of women in those structures, recovering the circular origin of the functioning of indigenous structures, and with the support of organizations that are connected with leaders and the population itself. Nicaragua in 1987 broke ground in Latin America with autonomy law; Nicaragua can once again break ground in the continent based on a strategic indigenous-peasant strategy for a multiethnic society, with an inclusive and sustainable development institutionality.
* René (rmvidaurre@gmail.com) has a PhD in development studies, is a collaborator of the Winds of Peace Foundation (http://peacewinds.org/research/), associate researcher of IOB-University of Antwerp (Belgium) and of the Nitlapan-UCA Research and Development Institute (Nicaragua). Nora is a professor of BICU and researcher of Nitlapan-UCA. Celia, Jairo and Alejandro are researchers of Nitlapan-UCA. Klaus is an associate researcher of Nitlapan-UCA.
[i] Mahoney, J., 2001, “Regime Change: Central America in Comparative Perspective” en: Studies in Comparative International Development 36.1
[ii] Gonzalez, M., 2014, “Autonomía Costeña, 27 años después” en: Revista Confidencial
I drove aboard a ferry this week, en route from an island back to the mainland pier. In the early morning chill, there were not many vehicles making the run. But there was one vehicle that caught my attention, first in a humorous way and then in a curious way. Let me describe the back end of the van.
The van was an older model, and clearly had seen some better days; it’s not unusual to see vehicles of this vintage decorated with interesting bits of bumper-sticker wisdom to consider as we drive along. On the left side of the back end was this quote: “It’s very frustrating to see otherwise intelligent people demonstrating their ignorance.” (In other words, sometimes people who you think are pretty wise can surprise you with their stupidity, almost always when they do not happen to agree with you.) I read it out loud to my wife and we shared a good laugh over its embarrassing truth.
But the sticker on the other side of the van quickly muted the moment. The sticker there read: “If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you can read this in English, thank a U.S. Marine.” (In other words, be grateful that you speak the only real language of importance and that U.S. military prowess has secured it for you.)
It’s not that I suddenly became all serious and sensitive over a simple bumper-sticker; I’ve seen many that were far more offensive in content. But in reading the second one after the humor of the first, I was stuck by a sense of pathos, both in what was being said and how it dovetailed with the lighthearted humor right next to it. Did the driver recognize that by posting the second, he fit right into the description of the first? As one who has struggled to learn Spanish over recent years, in order to better understand and appreciate Nicaraguans with whom we work, I was struck by the jingoistic flavor of the message on the right. The suggestion seems to be that English is the superior form of expression, that those who speak it are somehow better than others and that our historic propensities for war- as embodied in the exploits of U.S. Marines- are what have secured this preferred form of expression. I didn’t intend to frown or shake my head, but I did.
Then, of course, the universality of the first sticker occurred to me and I recognized two potential truths from this rolling provocateur. First, the owner of the van had hilariously (if unintentionally) demonstrated the truth of the first sticker. The utter nonsense of English-speaking superiority fits the definition of ignorance like a glove.
But then, second, the owner of the van maybe, just maybe, pulled me unsuspecting into a trap. It may be that in creating such a juxtaposition of messages there on the back of the van, he/she masterfully subjected me to the uncomfortable truth of the first message: no one has a corner on the market for being right. There will never be a shortage of issues over which reasonable people will disagree, and we run the risk of demise when we assume a default posture that implies any alternative opinion contrary to my own is “ignorance.” Did I condemn myself by regarding the driver as ignorant on the basis of the message with which I disagreed?
Well, the fact is that I did not ask the driver about the intended message; it is perhaps most likely that there was never any intentional synchronizing of the messages at all, and that they simply presented two unrelated statements, one clever and one rather overtly nationalistic. I find myself hoping that such was not the case, that the driver really doesn’t feel the superiority of an English tongue. (I can’t help it: he’s way off base with the second message.) But if the presence of the two stickers was more than a chance marriage of the two statements, then the back of the van has some grist for deeper reflection, about truths and disagreements and our world views.
