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The Migrant

The Migrant (“El Migrante“) by Los Tigres del Norte — in honor of those who have crossed borders to live in other lands, those impacted by prejudice against foreigners and for those, like me, who at time grow homesick:

Soy emigrante que sufre
Al estar tan lejos
De mis padres y mi patria
Donde me vieron crecer
Un día cruce la frontera
Buscando el triunfo

Hay dios mío cuanto sufro
Quien sabe si volveré

La soledad me carcome
También el tiempo
Solo con el pensamiento
Regreso a donde nací
Lejos en tierras extrañas
Vivo el tormento

Cual si me tuvieran
Preso y no me puedo salir

Soy emigrante
Como extraño a mi país
A mis hijos y hermanos
A mi madre idolatrada
Al amor que me lloraba
Cuando me miro partir

El emigrante
Como debe de sufrir
Y quisiera ser el árbol
Que no cruza las fronteras
Que se muere en su tierra
Apoyado en su raíz

Hay patrias que te cobijan
Si les conviene
Y te violan los derechos
Y tu forma de vivir

Hay quienes se regresaron
De suelo extraño
Otros tantos
Que se fueron tan solo
Para morir

Soy emigrante
Como extraño a mi país
A mis hijos y hermanos
A mi madre idolatrada
Al amor que me lloraba
Cuando me miro partir

El emigrante
Como debe de sufrir
Y quisiera ser el árbol
Que no cruza las fronteras
Que se muere en su tierra
Apoyado en su raíz

I am an emigrant who suffers
To be so far
From my parents and my country
Where I grew up
One day I crossed the border
Looking for success.

Oh my God, how I suffer
Who knows if I will return

The loneliness eats away at me
Also the time
Only with the thought
That I return to where I was born
Far from foreign lands.
I live in torment.

What if I have become
A prisoner and I’m not able to leave?

I am an emigrant
How I miss my country
And my children and brothers
My blessed mother
My love who cried
When she saw me leaving

The emigrant
How he has to suffer
And wish to be a tree
That doesn’t cross borders
That dies in its own land
Supported by its roots

There are countries that shelter you
If it suits them
And violate your rights
And your way of life

There are those who returned
From strange lands
Many others
Who went alone
To die

I am an emigrant
How I miss my country
My children and brothers
My blessed mother
My love who cried
When she saw me leave

The emigrant
How he has to suffer
And wish to be a tree
That doesn’t cross borders
That dies in its own land
Supported by its roots

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Random Questions

What would have happened if Lance Orton and Duane Jackson, the vendors in Times Square, were undocumented? What would have happened if it occurred in Arizona? Would they have risked calling the police?

What would we be doing if the oil in the Gulf were flowing west or south onto the shores of Mexico, Colombia or Venezuela?

NOAA map of the 3,858 oil and gas platforms extant in the Gulf of Mexico in 2006.

What would be the effects if the oil blowout had happened during hurricane season?

Are we prepared to accept that the Gulf coast has been changed for at least the rest of our lives? In the Exxon Valdez disaster in Alaska, according to the Wikipedia article, “Despite the extensive cleanup attempts, less than ten percent of the oil was recovered and a study conducted by NOAA determined that as of early 2007 more than 26 thousand U.S. gallons (22,000 imp gal; 98,000 L) of oil remain in the sandy soil of the contaminated shoreline, declining at a rate of less than 4% per year.

And, it’s not just the oil. We have no idea what the effect will be of the tonnage of dispersants that have been pumped into the Gulf.

The number of U.S. structures in the Gulf is roughly 4,000, with 819 manned platforms. How many more disasters are out there just lying in wait? Is greed worth this price?

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Should I Stay or Should I Go? Part III

Bolivian Children

Children in San Pablo de los Guarayos, Bolivia

I hope that this can be the final installment of this little drama and I can get back to bashing Arizona and nudging Obama.

I have been thinking why I came to the missions. When I was looking at the Franciscans, the one ministry I really couldn’t see myself doing was the missions. “I’m too middle class,” I thought to myself. That challenge was undoubtedly one reason I chose to try it.

Also, when we started the Assisi Community back in 1985, I noticed that the people who seemed most committed to the work of justice were the ones who had spent considerable time among the people of the developing world. (Except, that is, for Marie Dennis, who seems to have arrived at it on her own.) A second reason I chose the missions was to educate myself to the realities of the world. The world looks very different from the perspective of the developing world — a view that most U.S. residents don’t have the privilege to see. I don’t know if it will have made me more effective, but I hope that it serves to motivate me for the years I have left.

A third cause was simply the people that I met when I first came to Cochabamba to study Spanish after the novitiate. Their friendship continues to sustain me and is one of the main reasons I hesitate to leave immediately.

The question now is whether I have met these challenges and it is, therefore, time to return to the belly of the beast. More and more, I think it is.

Meanwhile, here in Camiri, it is getting colder and colder. There is no indoor heat anywhere in Bolivia, except maybe the Radison hotel in La Paz, and so I am slowly adding more blankets to my bed. I’m up to three now and only have one left. I hope the cold breaks soon. Maybe, if I get back to the States soon enough, I can enjoy some of the beach. Wouldn’t that be a nice change!

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Show I Stay or Should I Go? Part II

IMG_1046.JPG

Santa María de los Angeles, Camiri

When reading over my last post, I in no way want to be too harsh on the Italian friars which whom I live. They are good men. They have been here much longer than me, have many more successes than me, and are undoubted better friars than I am. The fraternal life here in Camiri is one which is familiar to them and which sustains them in their work. I, in no way, criticize them for the work they do or the lives they lead.

My only problem is that is not the life to which I was formed. It is not a life which sustains me. It is not a life at which I feel at home, nor do I think it is a life to which I would ever be able to adapt.

I went up to Cochabamba last week to try — once again! — to get my new ID card. As is usual with my dealings with Bolivian bureaucracy, I had no luck. (The Immigration folks didn’t want to give me a new ID card because I have a new passport, and when we went to try and apply to have the visa transferred to the new passport, it turned out the Interpol police had lost my registration card. So I have to wait at least a month for them to get a new report on me before I can begin the process to transfer the visa. That process, once it is started, will take an additional three months.)

While in Cochabamba, I was able meet with the Bolivian provincial minister but had little success. The poor guy has problems in a number of areas of the province and kept saying, “But, if I move you, who will I move into there?” I did get to talk to a US friar who has been here for years and who is on the provincial council, and he did give me a bit of hope that something could be worked out.

So, we shall see where this takes us. It’s all a great adventure.

Sometimes it’s tough being the only norteamericano for hundreds and hundreds of miles. It’s also tough being locked up in a monastery with little opportunity to make friends on the outside. It is a joy, therefore, to be able to share my dilemma with those of you who care to read about it. Thanks.

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Show I Stay or Should I Go?

Darling you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go

–The Clash


When I was up in the States for my vacation, I talked with some people about the overly-monastic nature of the friar life that I have found here in Camiri, where I live with two Italian friars. If anything, the situation has gotten worse since then.

When the meeting of the OFM International Council of JPIC came to Bolivia, I went up to help out. It was a great two weeks. “At last, I’m being useful again,” I was surprised to find myself thinking. In addition to those two weeks, I went up to Cochabamba to try (unsuccessfully) to get my I.D. card and to the Bolivian meeting of the frailes jóvenes (friars who have been solemnly professed for less than six years). But, those few days away caused the guardian to tell the provincial, our superior, that I “was never in the house.” (In Bolivia, where many priests have their family on the side, this is a serious charge.)

The guardian complained to me that the other friar in the house was also “never at home.” Why? Because he’s been helping the new bishop organize the diocesan library. The bishop’s office is 10 minutes from the house! But, because this friar was working at the diocesan office, he was “never at home”. The guardian is much more content when we’re in the house doing absolutely nothing than when we’re out of the house, even when we’re doing something useful.

The other friar loves to read and is Italian, and so is used to the situation. He basically just sits around now reading books.

This monastic “ministry of presence” kind of thing may be big in Italy, but it’s incredibly frustrating for me. I never wanted to be a monk, and didn’t join the friars to be one.

During my first two years in Bolivia, I worked in Cochabamba converting an old Poor Clare novitiate into a center of services for the poor. It was challenging because I knew almost nothing about construction. After renovating the place, I then became director of the center. It was fun working with all the groups with whom we coordinated (the soup kitchen, the medical and dental staff, the housing for burned kids, Al-Anon, and so forth), and trying to set a Franciscan character to the center itself.

But, now, I have found myself going from being very active to, for the last year and a half, sitting at idle. The internet here in Camiri is very, very slow, so I also find it hard to do the one thing at which I’m really good — helping different groups develop their web presence.

The biggest problem for a missionary is “culture shock” — that is, never being able to adjust to the fact that they are living in a different culture. I don’t think I have any problems living in the Bolivian culture — in fact, I quite enjoy it — but I fear that I am not able to get over my culture shock at the different Franciscan culture here. At the Bolivian young friars meeting, I heard myself starting my sentences, “In my province…” This is one of the classic signs of culture shock, when the visitor says over and over again, “In my country…”

All this has made me question whether to even bother asking for a different assignment in Bolivia. Perhaps a lot of my frustration has been with the Franciscan culture here. In a sense, I was formed too well by by own province. There are a lot of things that I think we do right that I find lacking here.

Anyhow, sorry to run on. I am considering my options. One would be to go back to Peru, and the other would be to go back to the States.

So, please, help me decide. Should I stay, or should I go?

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