It has occurred to me that a lot of folks back home are unclear about what I'm doing day-to-day here and I wanted to take an opportunity to share in more detail about one of my YAV placements for the year and some ~personal ponderings~ that have stemmed from this experience.
3 days a week I ride the blue bus to a nearby neighborhood of the city where I hop off and walk the last 2 blocks to reach the home/office space where Fundación Teknos is housed. A side note about buses here -- there are different privately owned bus lines in the city so the experience of riding the bus differs slightly depending on which line you're using. My friend the blue bus in many ways reminds me of the Knight Bus from Harry Potter; after hailing the bus as if it were a taxi and passing through the literal turnstile that sits just inside the main door, the driver collects cash and coins to pay the $2,200 COP bus fare (roughly 65 cents USD) and you hang on tightly to the ceiling handles or a seat (that is made for someone at least 6 inches shorter than me) as you careen down the road. It is a sweaty and stimulating experience to say the least. Ironically, in a culture known for having a more relaxed relationship with time, the transportation system always seems to be in a rush.
Anyways, beyond the daily transit adventure, the Fundación has become a staple piece of my week and I love my time working with the handful of other women. Most days are spent planning or presenting education/prevention workshops with topics ranging from human rights and women's rights to sexual health and gender violence. These workshops cater to diverse audiences, and in these last months alone we've worked with young colegio students, talking about their bodies and their rights; with university students doing prevention work against limiting gender stereotypes and intimate partner violence; and migrant Venezuelan women talking about sexual health and gender violence.
In many ways, the need for these workshops and the existence of Fundación Teknos are a consequence of Colombia's culture of machismo that perpetuates unequal power dynamics between men and women, manifesting itself in a spectrum of physically and emotionally hurtful behaviors. On the whole, Latin America is marked by a history of gender violence -- and more than simply a symptom of "cultural machismo," we ought to view this as a public health crisis. To offer some context on the situation in Colombia -- according to Medicina Legal, during a 1 year period between 2018 and 2019 there were 136,703 reported cases of gender violence, often committed by intimate parters or relatives. Or, a report by the Pan American Health Organization (PAHO) found that 39.5% of Colombian women have reported experiencing physical or sexual violence from a partner at some point(s) in their lives. Still more, during this same time period 1,080 Colombian women were victims of feminicidios (women murdered as a consequence of their gender). These statistics continue to grow year to year. And despite the existence of laws that prevent gender violence (the most important of which the founder of Fundación Teknos co-authored), these laws have yet to be put into true effect in Colombia.
I hesitate to share this information and my reactions because I have long been taught not to impose judgments on other cultures -- for all the harm that Western Europeans have caused throughout history colonizing and conquering different lands, imposing their cultural norms upon the preexisting cultural norms of the spaces they invaded, even introducing the construct of racism in order to leverage and legitimize their "right" to exert power over other peoples -- it makes sense that I wouldn't want to carry on in this way. And yet, I am still a feeling human being and it is deeply painful to learn about these realities experienced by too many women, too often. My work with the Fundación makes it clear that we are not meant to passively stand by and watch gender violence unfold, the complexities of my heritage aside. And while I have not personally experienced these extremes of violence, every time I step outside here I am the object of unwanted male attention. It is uncomfortable and unsettling to be the target of men's objectifying piropos (catcalls) that diminish my worth to my outward appearance. And I refuse to believe that this experience, or any other manifestation of machismo, should be stifled or enclosed within a simple interpretation that this is "just a cultural difference."
In our eagerness to be mindful, educated 2019 world citizens, we find ourselves in a moment of universal acceptance, tolerance, and nonjudgmental observance of different cultural norms. We have made great strides in our conception of social justice within the bounds of the 50 states, but we are so hesitant to advocate for the same standard of equity on an international level for fear of being imperialistic. But at what point does our eagerness to accept any and every cultural norm become an absolution of even those cultural norms that lead to serious human rights violations? At what point does our preoccupation with upholding an image of "woke world citizens" paralyze us against speaking out about unacceptable sexist behavior normalized across entire countries and hidden beneath the thin label of a "cultural norm"? They are extreme questions to pose, and I don't believe the responsibility (or permission) to answer them lies solely in the hands of US citizens. But I want to believe there are collaborative, culturally-competent answers to be found in the search for global gender equity. Last month I read Melinda Gates' new book The Moment of Lift and, while at times a rambling read, it does an honest job of trying to wrestle with these same questions. Although Melinda and her foundation are in a different situation to provide substantial financial resources and humanitarian aid to different parts of the world, the narrative is self-aware enough to acknowledge the challenge of accepting an abundance of world traditions with curiosity and kindness -- while still being wakeful enough to identify traditions that uphold structures of inequality, especially those that negatively impact women.
And this is only one of countless international humanitarian organizations are waking up to these complex questions and what role they can play in the unfolding of justice. But can the same be said for religious organizations? More than being part of the solution, in many ways religion has been the impetus for these deep-seeded sexist beliefs, among them gender-discriminatory Catholic ideology that has formed deep roots across Latin America, Colombia included. Or, more recently, the Evangelical church that has gathered unbelievable support across South America, a denomination that infamously implies conservative ideology and a strict political agenda. Some weeks ago in the Fundación, we watched a documentary entitled Género Bajo Ataque (Gender Under Attack) that takes a critical look at the influence of Christianity on the often rigid Latin American cultural and political perceptions of gender and sexual orientation. A conservative movement truly has swept the region, upholding a binary understanding of gender, enacting legislation that criminalizes same-sex relationships, and has confused man-made politically-invested religious doctrine with the true word of God. Clearly this movement stems from a cisgender male-dominated system that operates out of fear-based logic and seeks to maintain the social status quo. As a Christian, how do I grapple with the influence the church has had on this part of the world and its present structures of inequality? Moving forward, what would it look like for people of faith to work on the local, state, or national level to advocate for gender equality that reflects the loving, inclusive, and peaceful kin/dom of God? What would it look like for followers of Christ to call one another to a higher (a healthier) definition of masculinity that actively undermines toxic machismo? What would it look like for children of God to share a vision of equity across sister churches around the world instead of spreading polemic, divisive ideology? There is much restorative reparation work to be done in and through the church to reconcile the harm caused in the name of the Lord.
And conversely...in what ways does my faith call me to hold hope even here, even now, simply by being present? I firmly believe that on the macro level action is necessary to uproot sexism and widespread machismo, but that's not a completely sustainable or life-giving way to live day-to-day. I love what Barbara Brown Taylor writes: "I will give thanks for what is, instead of withholding my praise until all is as it should be." I do not want to live a life of witholding or waiting. Machismo included -- I do not want to withhold my praise in waiting for toxic masculinity and its related unjust systems to be dismantled on the global scale. I will work toward their end, but in the meantime I can still be fully present and fully grateful for the ways God is moving in and around me.
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