"If you are coming to help me you are wasting your time. If you are coming because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." Indigenous quote
For
many indigenous peoples, grasping the deep responsibility of stewardship of the
natural world is inherent in their world view. This concept is likely easier to manage when one is looking
at one’s own small habitat. It is
when we combine this idea of stewardship with our understanding of the entire
globe, replete with tribal states spread across seven continents with various
resources, unique languages and countless cultural and religious paradigms that
we begin to realize the complexity of establishing and living a shared, global
concept of stewardship. Add to
this the limitations of the human heart and the misguided tendencies of the
human ego and one becomes easily deflated in any belief that there is hope for
the future of life on our planet if such a future is dependent upon
unprecedented levels of cooperation across cultures and demographics.
And
yet, while capitalism and its cousin, greed, rage unchecked around the globe,
humanitarian efforts to end poverty and relieve suffering also persist. In joining this humanitarian effort, I
became aware of the myth The Eagle and the Condor. Said to
have cropped up independently from many indigenous cultures around the globe,
the myth prophecies a time when the human race will be split into two groups –
the scientific and intellectually based and the earth-bound and spiritually
based - and that the survival of the earth will be dependent upon a sharing of
their talents and beliefs. In short, the
myth suggests that it will be through the merging of scientific pursuits and
spiritual, earth-connected wisdom that man will arrive at a series of practices
that will save our planet from disaster.
While
I am not a great proponent of prophecy, this one, along with Lynn Twist’s
powerful assertion that the earth abounds with sufficient resources for all,
set out in her book The Soul of Money, strikes
me as a pertinent illustration of what is indeed required of us as we wrangle
with the concept of the sustainability of life on earth. Twist writes, “…my years of work with
hunger and poverty, affluence and wealth, have shown me that collaboration and
all its tributaries – reciprocity, partnership, solidarity, alliance – flow
from the truth of sufficiency. It
is all here, now. It is enough. We are each other, and our resources
abound.” Taking this a step
further, it becomes clear that it is our perpetual quest for more that lies at
the root of a destructive tendency toward excess and wastefulness, conquest and
hoarding, pollution and trash.
Wherever
one may stand in their beliefs about the effects of human activity on global
climate change, it seems to me as obvious as the old jingle Fish and Chips
and Vinegar that pollution and trash are
never welcome. It is not a
desirable practice to throw one’s trash into another’s backyard, nor is it
desirable to hoard trash in one’s own. I am led, then, to the conclusion that
producing trash at all is unwise. So while I sit here in my suburban home in
Newburyport, MA living what I hope is a mindful existence with my husband and
three children in a country teaming with discontent and dangerous political
discord, I can not help but scan my house, my yard, my neighborhood trying to
determine what exactly is trash.
It wasn’t until I traveled to the tiny of village of San Pedro, Panama,
that I was given a truly alternate understanding of what is necessary and what
is not in order to live a meaningful and happy life.
Panamanian
history is riddled with stories of conquest and the dubious geopolitical
ventures of the English, the Spanish, the French and the US Americans. Most notable is the story of the Panama
Canal where hundreds of thousands of French and US citizens died in
constructing a more convenient passage for sailing vessels. Lesser known and
remembered are the workers from Barbados, Jamaica, and other islands of the
Caribbean and West Indies who made up the majority of the Canal workforce and
who had a significant cultural impact on Panama. The construction of the Canal
is, of course, a story of dominance and repression, an illustration of the
powerful will of imperialism. But
it is also a story of indomitable spirit, a story of mankind’s extraordinary
tenacity and might put to use to alter the physical world to suit his needs.
After
years of strife, the Panamanians gained control of the profits garnered from
the Canal and the effects of those profits are evident in its cosmopolitan
capital city and in the services its government is able to provide, including
more sophisticated road systems than are enjoyed by most Central American
countries. But a majority of
Panamanians live in poverty and the rural poor and subsistence farmers continue
to practice slash-and-burn farming techniques that deplete the rain forests
upon which the rest of the globe is dependent. It is here that my story really
begins in conjunction with a humanitarian organization known as Sustainable
Harvest International whose mission is “to provide farming families in Central
America with the training and tools to preserve our planet’s tropical forests
while overcoming poverty.”
There
is a propensity to judge the slash-and-burn farming techniques of rainforest
dwellers as ignorant and such practices would seem contrary to any notions I
presented earlier that indigenous populations tend to hold a greater respect
for and connection to the land on which they live. But it is important to remember that on a less populated
planet, these practices were entirely practical and effective. It is only with the dawning of our
modern understanding of the interconnectedness of the earth’s biomes that it has
become clear that healthy rainforests are essential to a healthy planet. And it is ironic that people from a
nation responsible for the highest levels of pollution and consumption
on the planet have taken it upon themselves to redirect these indigenous
practices toward more sustainable, place-specific, organic farming. But that is, in fact, the place from
which we set off.
Exploring the Rainforest
In
the village of San Pedro there isn’t much trash. There is no electricity and
only a very rudimentary system for transporting water down the mountain through
plastic piping that runs fully exposed along the ground and hangs in the trees
overhead. The families there live
in cement block homes with corrugated roofs. The children in each household work on their homework in the
evening around the small halo of light from a kerosene lamp. The village is in the Cocle Valley -
rainforest territory - abundant with cashew, calabash, coconut and banana trees,
yucca, and coffee. Countless chickens squawk and peck in and around the houses
unsuspecting that any one of them may be chosen for the next meal. Mangy, ill-fed dogs and cats roam the
dirt roads that converge on a central area where the school, the church and a
roofed community meeting place nestle in on the side of the river. The region
is mountainous, breathtakingly beautiful and tranquil. But there is a pervasive
acrid smell and one can see plumes of smoke on the hills in all
directions. “Who would have known
that they were living so backward there,” a friend of mine said to me. But it didn’t feel backward, it felt
just right, uncluttered and free.
In
describing her commitment to the work Sustainable Harvest International (SHI)
does in Central America, founder Florence Reed, says, “A farmer in a remote
village in Honduras is providing us with organic coffee, providing winter
habitat for our song birds, stabilizing our global climate, preserving the
forests that are the source of most of our medicines, creating oxygen to breath
and protecting coral reefs from siltation as a result of deforestation. So, if a poor farmer in Honduras can do
all this for us, what can we do for him?”
It
was with this idea in mind that my daughter and I traveled with three other
families to help the village of San Pedro as a part of SHI’s Smaller World
Tours program. The trip was
spearheaded by 14-year-old August Umholtz, whose family had worked with SHI in
Belize the year before. Our group
consisted of five children, ages 10-14, and five adults all of whom had
embraced the Montessori-based value of our school that community service is as
essential to life as breathing. With a meager understanding of the Spanish
language and an even more meager understanding of the living conditions of
these people, we arrived in San Pedro right before the start of the rainy
season in April 2011.
The
people of San Pedro have been working with SHI for two-and-a-half years of
their five-phase program. The
program directs financial resources and organic farming knowledge from the US
to struggling Central American communities in order to provide farmers with
knowledge and encouragement in changing their farming practices. The result is sustainable agriculture
that empowers and feeds. The
villagers have grown accustomed to visits from North Americans interested in
helping and they expressed (through an interpreter) a deep appreciation for our
willingness to travel so far to work with them. Balancing their appreciation
was our thirst to encounter, to understand and to help through the donation of
our time and money. So, in the
beginning, surely, our notion of who was doing the giving and who the receiving
was unbalanced, at best. And yet,
after our four days hiking the hills, clearing the land, visiting the school,
planting a rice paddy, building a wood-burning stove and exploring the natural
world of San Pedro, we left with a gaping view of how our cluttered,
micro-managed, consumer-driven lives have stolen from us the true joys of
simple living and the peacefulness of walking with one’s feet on the earth.
“The
kids there were so happy,” says Cam Gibney, the youngest in our group. “They were not always looking for the
next best thing.” And my daughter, Alexa, adds, “I thought the village would be
small, dirty and cramped. My main fear was that these people would be so much
worse off than me and I would feel too awkward to even try to speak with them.
But I definitely did not feel bad for them. I was jealous.”
We
were lucky to have our children travelling with us. Children have a way of breaking through barriers, in this
case both lingual and cultural, through play. They will shed shyness, overlook differences and throw themselves
into any game. In San Pedro, that
is exactly what they did and through play they led the adults away from the
cautious adherence to social politeness that can hinder friendliness and trust.
When we arrived, it was the appearance of a soccer ball that broke the silence
and separation between villagers and visitors. At the school, a game of Duck, Duck, Goose that started among a small group, grew to a circle
of nearly one hundred laughing, smiling children. Patty Cake and
Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes
easily translated into both languages and ended in peals of giggles. Mud wrestling in the rice paddy united
us in fun. Slowly we moved from
working beside one another to working with each other and though we struggled
to speak we discovered the simplicity of communicating with a smile, a questioning
expression, a gesture.
But
we did not only find joy and playfulness, we also discovered the satisfaction
that comes from purposeful, physical labor. Our Panamanian companions in this
labor were strong, creative, generous and gracious. Each day, they carried
ten-gallon containers of water for us on the hour-long hikes required to reach
the day’s place of work. They
carried our food, including freshly harvested coconuts and bananas, on their
backs. Three times a day, they
prepared meals for us and happily watched while we ate them. When the poorly-made tools they
purchased in the city fell apart, they fixed them. And they delighted in
showing us how sugar cane is pressed, calabash bowls are used, rice is dried
and separated, Panamanian straw hats are woven. They knew how to partake of the fruits of the natural world
while living in harmony with it.
They wove the small tabs from soda cans into belts.
“I
will never forget our trip to San Miguelito and the gang of people who showed
up for work that day,” says Aaron Banas, our SHI guide and interpreter. “At one point I grew exhausted from the
tilling and stopped. I didn’t need
to look up to appreciate what was happening all around me. There was the amazing sound of dozens
of tools chipping away at the soil.
I had never heard anything like it. When I did look up and around, I was in awe at the force of a
group of people working together.”
After
a hard day's work, we sat together and read aloud Spanish translations of our
favorite American children’s stories, passing the books around a circle with
our battery-powered lights to read by. Together we shared empathy for the
injustice of Wilbur’s fate in Charlotte’s Web. We laughed over the
antics of Curious George whose
innocent curiosity gets him into so much trouble. We fell in love with Miss Rumphius who believed a meaningful life could be found
through finding one’s special talent and using it to make the world a
better place. And we were relieved
to discover that talent could be as simple as spreading lupine seeds to
brighten the landscape.
It
is not my intention to romanticize the living conditions of the people of
Central America. There you will find poverty,
hunger and suffering. In the home
where my daughter and I stayed, 4-year-old Melixza coughed and whimpered
throughout the night and spent her days sucking on stalks of sugar cane for
comfort. While I lay in the narrow
wooden bed she had let me borrow, I gained an inkling of the sacrifice and
worry a mother feels when having to wait for the monthly medical van in order
to get care for her daughter. And
I felt the despair of knowing that paying for care and medication would mean
skimping and scrounging for money. Further, I experienced the frustration that
while I could give her the money she needed, it would not solve the problem in
any long term or meaningful way
I
would, however, like to debunk the myths we tell ourselves about our own
conditions and habits of living.
Encompassed in these myths is the belief that we have found our way to
safety, to comfortable, squeaky-clean living that frees us from toil, hunger
and disease. That through
innovation we have constructed a superior lifestyle. But, while we may have much to teach about sustainable farming
practices, we have a great deal to learn about sustainable consumption. In the midst of the people of San Pedro
we had a good, hard view of our own limitations – our fractured pursuit of
physical fitness, our disconnect between the food we eat and where it comes
from, our assumptions about health care and transportation.
“For
me it was a Walden experience for the modern age,” says Mary Gibney, “a
stripping down to the most basic elements – work, food, family and play – and
realizing how simple, but rich, life can be.” Her husband Colin, the teacher among us, adds, “I am eager
to share our experience with students.
We are focused on learning to change our impact on the environment by
minimizing motorized transportation, not buying unnecessary items, learning to
grow and eat local produce, unplugging and reconnecting with each other. This is exactly how the people live in
San Pedro. They are already living the good life. In fact they never seem to have left it. We, on the other hand, seem to have lost
our way. Many of the kids I teach see hope and believe we can change the way
things are. The trip to San Pedro
has inspired me anew to support students in implementing that change.”
The Bling
Culture
Many
of our children are well aware of the issues of global warming. They know about oil spills and carbon
pollution. They have been taught
about the effects of plastic trash on the environment. They are saddened by the
growing list of extinct and endangered species. But while they may well feel
hope, they are also hindered by cultural values that use the possession of
material goods and gadgets as currency for friendship and status. They are
manipulated by an invasive commercialism that tells them that “things’ make
them happy. They retain a mistaken
impression that when they grow tired of this or that they can simply replace it
with something new, and that throwing away the old makes it disappear. A friend of mine calls this the bling
factor. I understand what she means. And I have come to the sad conclusion
that, while also a strong, creative, generous and gracious people, we Americans
have become entirely driven by consumerism. In an attempt to fill a pervasive feeling of emptiness and
boredom, we shop. We have even
been told that shopping is an expression of patriotism. We have willingly relinquished our
status as citizens for that of customers and consumers.
Once
submerged in the bling culture, it is very difficult to find pathways to
change. Back at home, I find
myself once again living in a cluttered mind, racing in my minivan from place
to place chasing the acquisition of things. Expending a vast amount of energy worrying about the money I
will need to acquire these things. Expending a vast amount of energy trying to
get rid of things I no longer need.
Expending a vast amount of energy attempting to avoid producing trash.
Expending a vast amount of energy moving trash out of my home each week. Even
expending a vast amount of energy trying to conceal trash, placing it in
plastic bags and green plastic garbage bins in hopes that this will make it
disappear. I have been slow to accept
the notion that America is a culture of addiction, but this sounds like the
circular trap of addiction to me.
It
is common knowledge that the first step to fixing a problem is accepting that
there is one. So common, in fact,
that the words appear trite. This process of acceptance can be frightening and
shame-inducing. It is no wonder that many of us continue to cling to a state of
denial. But, please, allow me to
be clear and honest about some things many of us already know. Plastic is forever. The trash we put out on the curb each
week does not disappear. Our
consumption of non-renewable energy is not sustainable. Natural resources are
not boundless. The acquisition and
burning of fossil fuels is devastating our planet. We have come to a fork in
the road where we can choose to continue on a path of destruction or we can own
up to our shared, global responsibility as stewards of the earth.
But
even those of us who have acknowledged the devastating reality of our current
predicament feel discouraged and, indeed, thwarted in our attempts at
meaningful change. We encounter a cultural resistance to even our most benign
efforts to establish sustainable habits.
Such habits would appear to be in conflict with deeply held beliefs
about the American dream. Perhaps
this is because the pioneering spirit of our ancestors, or at least the story
we tell ourselves about them, is fused with the notion of boundlessness, of
vast, unchartered territory, of raising oneself from rags to riches in a harsh,
but tamable wilderness.
In the early days of our nation’s forming, we encountered a race that lived
peacefully on the land without exploiting it - a race that believed that the
Great Spirit inhabited and connected all living things. “It was our belief,” said Native
American Ohiyesa (aka Charles Alexander Eastman), “that the love of possessions
was a weakness to be overcome. Its
appeal is to the material part, and if allowed its way, it will in time disturb
one’s spiritual balance.”
Algonquin elder William Cammanda takes this a step further saying,
“Traditional people of Indian nations have interpreted the two roads that face
the light-skinned race as the road to technology and the road to spirituality.
We feel that the road to technology… has led modern society to a damaged and
seared earth. Could it be that the
road to technology represents a rush to destruction, and that the road to
spirituality represents a slower path that the traditional native people have traveled
and are now seeking again? The
earth is not scorched on this trail. The grass is still growing there.”
And
yet industrialization and new technologies empowered our nation. Both offered a freedom from manual
labor and a path to unprecedented prosperity. Plastics revolutionized our ability to store and transport
perishables, providing a welcome control over food supplies. Because it is
light-weight and durable, it has become the basic material of all our
commodities. It is used to wrap, package and protect all of our goods. Perhaps most importantly, the
production of plastics is a profitable market.
It
is when innovation walks hand-in-hand with an insatiable hunger for profit that
we encounter trouble. Defining our success through profit margins, we willingly
blind ourselves to the environmental and spiritual costs of our economic
choices. Opening our eyes to these
costs demands a deep shift in our values and our way of life - such a deep
shift that many are unable to imagine, let alone work toward, this change. It
is clear that the concepts of economy and ecology are irrevocably connected,
and that the winners of the money game are strongly motivated to keep things as
they are. Even the individual dedicated to change is required to court a
transformation that leads to unknown consequences. How do we switch to a “slower path” without toppling our
current reality? How would we
support the welfare of all people during such a transition? What will we be required
to give up? How much will it hurt?
Re-Visioning
It
occurs to me that it wasn’t that long ago, in fact only 1969, that we got a
first real look at
our floating planet when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin gazed upon it from the
moon. Perhaps we should not feel
too discouraged that it has taken us just over 40 years to accept that our world
is not boundless, but finite. That finite world has been floating in space for
millions of years forever reinventing itself. Perhaps we should not feel so
frightened of the change required of us now to protect our fragile but
persistent ecosystem. History
shows us that both man and his environment are remarkably resilient and
adaptable. Perhaps we should have a greater faith in our stories of
transformation. Afterall, stories
and faith can shape outcomes.
The
success of that journey into the universe planted a seed in our human
imagination that out there in the great unknown there is another planet we
might inhabit one day. There are many among us who are champions of that idea.
But I suspect the most significant result of that moon walk was the re-visioning
of the earth it offered us. That
distant perspective allowed us to see that it is indeed ‘a small world after
all.’ Through that vision, it has became ever more evident that while we may
feel separate from our fellow travelers on earth, we do in fact all share the
experience of living together on a single floating sphere. And while we perpetuate our notions of
otherness through geopolitical conquests, resource grabbing and war, we do so
at our peril.
In
an attempt to sum up our experience in San Pedro, Aaron Banas, who has devoted
his life to humanitarian pursuits, uses these words: “Who would have thought
such an admirable joy and tranquility would be tucked back in the hills of San
Pedro. Down that windy road, then
up and down the steep hills is where Alfredo presses his sugar cane, Pablo
shares his coconut water and Erasmo grows beautiful, organic tomatoes. There
are a lot of hot days, long hikes and physical labor that go into getting by in
San Pedro, but I think a lot of people have figured out the key to what appears
to be great happiness: being together.”
It
is this simple notion of “being together,” united around a common cause with
common goals, that seems to be the greatest challenge we face as a global
community. Yet, SHI has found a way to do just that. Their programming demonstrates the extraordinary
effectiveness of crossing cultural boundaries and marrying resources with need
through the simplicity of heart-felt connection. Programming that benefits not only the materially impoverished
but also the spiritually impoverished, leaving both with a new sense of
hopefulness -- a glimpse at the unbridled and boundless hope of a child.
I
often wonder what would happen if our friends in San Pedro were to visit us. I
suspect they would delight in riding in our cars. I can imagine the children bounding endlessly up and down
the stairs in our multi-storied homes and it might take them some time to get
over the joy of turning light switches on and off and basking in the comfort of a warm bath. They might be
lulled into endless hours in front of the television. They would likely experience the same awe and respect we
have for our computerized gadgets.
But
would we, as my daughter hit upon, experience an embarrassment of riches? Or might we experience an even more
profound embarrassment as their watchful eyes exposed to us our wastefulness
and excess? What would the
muscular Pablo and Carlos think of our fitness centers? Would Erasmo help me to see that
grocery shopping is somehow less about buying food than it is an expression of
my allegiance to Hunt’s or Del Monte. I imagine the women who cooked for us,
wide-eyed, as they watched my family and me throw away food that is slightly
stale or somehow not exactly what we wanted. And what might I learn from little
Melixza? How I long to take her to
the doctor and the dentist. But
might I not see, through her eyes, an excessive love of safety, sterility and,
even, vanity? Would I understand that my blindness to everyday riches and
everyday miracles has indeed left me spiritually bereft? Would we spend our
afternoons weaving the tabs of soda cans into belts?
Before
we left the village of San Pedro, villagers and visitors gathered once again in
the open air, under the protection of the roofed community meeting place. We exchanged thank-yous and were given
gifts of hand-painted calabash with scenes of San Pedro’s luscious beauty,
hand-woven baskets and trinkets, and maracas and drums constructed from native
plants - gifts that tell the stories of life in San Pedro. Christian, a teenage
boy who often flirted on the edge of our reading circle, gave my daughter a
beautifully-drawn picture of Miss Rumphius spreading her lupine seeds. We left behind our soccer ball and our
Spanish translations of Charlotte’s Web, Curious George and Miss Rumphius. I told
the community (again with the help of a translator) that my experience there
left me with a deeper understanding that we truly are all one people around the
planet. The sentiment won me
bright looks of recognition and hugs from a people not inclined toward hugging.
Crusaders of
Change
In
The Soul of Money, Lynn Twist reminds us
that money, free markets and capitalism are human constructs designed to
facilitate the exchange of goods.
Somehow, along the way, money became a controller of man rather than his
tool and isolated humans from their collective reality. The construct of money embodies and
drives the notions of wealth and poverty. It has become a catalyst for greed.
When we wrap our sense of self-worth around money, we are driven to atrocities
in the pursuit of more.
The good news is that there is a global
movement afoot. While some may argue that this movement is another
manifestation of greed – a poor majority demanding a greater piece of the pie -
I believe it is a movement toward social justice that is informed by a
humanitarian urge that rejects the belief that wealth is defined by money. It rises up from the pain inflicted by
global markets that continue to function under the dictates of capitalism and
imperialism. I also believe it is
an environmental movement that rejects any notion that, should we trash this
planet, we could move on to another.
At its core, lies a collective understanding that in order to save
ourselves and our planet we must first challenge and transform the institutions
of money and power. To do this we must shed our complacency which permitted
money and power to take charge of our fates.
The
uprisings of people around the globe, the Arab Spring, the Global Occupy Movement,
the state of unrest in evidence on all seven continents have brought hundreds
of thousands of people out into the streets. And while the messages of these
protests are not clearly formed, the protesters are champions of participatory
democracy and their revolution is informed by nonviolent political action. It was Mahatma Ghandi who first
demonstrated that it is possible to overcome power and self-will-run-riot
through discipline, sacrifice and peace.
He believed that change started with and spread out from the individual
to the collective. Today, we are witnessing countless individuals leaving the
isolation of their homes, pitching tents in public squares and beginning the
slow, patient process of listening to each other so that they might figure out
how to marry resources with need through heart-felt connection. These are the
powerful first moments of a shared, global togetherness. And, yes, through the use of
technology, social networking, and YouTube videos, we are able to encourage the
empowerment of our common cause.
Through the sharing of our stories we are forming a global solidarity.
There
is no uncontested proof of the global origins of the myth The Eagle and the
Condor. But a myth can work its magic without empirical evidence
bolstering it up. Hasn’t it always
been the case that storytelling is the crusader of change? If it were up to me to write the sequel
to The Eagle and the Condor, I
would write another story of indomitable spirit. To date, indomitable spirit has been used to reshape the
planet to suit humankind’s needs.
In my story, that same indomitable spirit will be used to reshape
humankind to suit the planet’s needs. I will be sure to resist Disney’s love of villains and superheroes and will steer
clear of dramatic climax. Perhaps
it will be a story punctuated by silence.
One inhabited by people who are as in love with listening as they are
with debate. People who have learned to quiet their minds enough to hear a
deeper truth within us. Perhaps my
story will even find a way to merge technology and spirituality into a new
paradigm that encourages the triumph of the individual, the collective and the
natural world. An archetype that
rekindles our reverence for the interconnectedness of all living systems on our
tiny, floating planet called Earth.
