Nonviolent Foreign Revolution and the American Role: Self-Identity and Awareness

When I was reading through the book Relentless Persistence: Nonviolent Action in Latin America, I found myself wondering what my role was as a Northern/Western peacebuilder in relation to the oppressed areas of the Southern Hemisphere and Third World nations in general. I believe we often tend to think of our purpose for nonviolent social movements to be in helping those oppressed - and perhaps rightfully so. But for me, this often leads to thinking about those "less developed" countries and peoples such as the ones I read about in the book, the extraordinary movements that they helped initiate, and what I can do to "help" - and this can easily lead to a somewhat patronizing mentality. As soon as I began to critically think about what kind of action I would take, I immediately became conscious of the limits of my identity. I had to question what that identity has done to shape the way I think, and I knew I must challenge the inherent assumptions that come with that identity.

For as much as I've desired over the past number of years - both in thought and action - to escape the restrictions of "society" (and by that I mean Western society with all its faults in the materialistic/consumerist/Capitalist sense), the fact remains that the nature of my identity has been shaped by being an American. The way I speak, the way I think, the things with which I'm familiar, and most importantly, the way I am viewed by others throughout the world, cannot help but be permeated with a Western influence and the exceptionalist way of thought that is inherent to American society. This fact carries with it a great responsibility, but it is a very particular kind of responsibility. I believe this is extremely important for all of us in the West to understand: we cannot rush into situations of oppression in Third World countries and practice the most nonviolent methods of battle alongside the oppressed while ignoring the position our identity places us in relation to local indigenous/native populations.

We must remember that our position as Americans is a part of our identity. It has placed us in a peculiar place. On the one hand, we have the ability to sit and reflectively think through strategies, methods and our level of conscientization - such as I am doing right now by putting these words to paper - in an environment that has filled us with knowledge, information and the mental tools for advancing and bettering ourselves and others. On the other hand, that ability to become educated has not come without a price. From the easily accessible food we eat to keep at our peak mental ability, to the funds we are able to receive for education, to the resources for basic subsistence that we are able to obtain with relatively little effort in relation to those our nation exploits, it is on the backs of others that we have arrived at these luxuries. These two sides have given us what I term as responsibility with limitations.

What I mean by this is that we have the responsibility to make things better for those in the world around us, but we must be extremely cognizant of the techniques we incorporate in doing so and incorporate the values of empathy and equanimity. As with any situation of conflict, we must first start with an analysis, and in nonviolent situations, this analysis has the critical element of self. There must be an analysis both of the external situation, but most importantly, we must have a deep self-knowledge and respect combined with a deep understanding of how we are viewed by others who will be participating in the struggle.

Lisa Schirch (2004) has identified the first stage of analysis in peacebuilding as understanding the local context. Local can also include national depending on how foreign one is to a particular environment. I am thinking of the example given by Gerald Schlabach (1991) when he discussed a trip to the Philippines and his encounter with a group of guerilla revolutionaries that turned confrontational. Schlabach's mistake was to not have done the proper work of self-identity analysis before discussing the issue of nonviolence with these violent guerillas. If there was any doubt about his identity as it was perceived by the Filipino revolutionaries, that was settled after they put him in his place as one of those Americans "...who come and ask us why we are violent..." when those Americans have "...barged in and stole our country from us..." (1991, p. 254). In this situation, Schlabach's lack of self-identity awareness and analysis of the local context caused him to be blind to the fact that he carried the entire foreign policy of the United States as a part of his identity.

There is an arrogance that we carry - conscious or not - simply from virtue of our being American. It is something that cannot be escaped other than through time and the process of "becoming one with...". The very title of the book Relentless Persistence bears witness to this fact. Nonviolence is a long, arduous demanding process that requires great prior preparation. If we as outsiders want to become a part of a particular foreign struggle with which we feel called to participate, then we'd better understand that it will require time for us to be in a position to identify with that struggle. We must first become one with the people before we can become one with the struggle. Father Domingo Barbe (1991) would likely agree with the idea that this form of identification was first accomplished by God through Christ who became one with His creation by appearing in human form, and paying the ultimate sacrifice and price of the oppressed by giving up His life in the cause for justice and redemption. Although I do not claim Christianity, I agree with this conception of justice, as it runs with the grain of love and truth.

The true nonviolent revolutionary spirit is no different. There may not be a place for us in certain nonviolent struggles other than for us to do what we can at home in order to change the kinds of conditions that have led to the struggle in the first place. Some foreign struggles are so spontaneous, and have arisen out of such a place of desperation, that we do not have time to properly identify with the local population in order to become immediately involved and present in the form of truly understanding and being able to become one with the people.

If we want to be nonviolent revolutionaries in a foreign context, my personal belief is that we must first have a deep understanding and participation in the struggle as it exists in our own country. We are all interconnected, and the decisions we make affect not only our neighbors, but ultimately the world at large. This is true for every member of the human race. The Third World revolutionary also elevates the general condition of humanity by continuing and uniting with the love force that is a part of all true and just revolutions - and this is not something that American hubris is even remotely equipped to fulfill "for" somebody else. Once we have done all we can to understand the role the United States has played in foreign policy as it relates to a particular country and/or people, and we have made clear through conscientization (theory and praxis) our responsibility for this policy, then we can look to foreign contexts and identification.

It is only then that we can begin foreign nonviolent action by becoming one with the people. This can only happen with time, and it is not glamorous work. It is likely the impatience of modern civilization that is partly responsible for bringing about the "quick solution" of violent intervention in the first place. There are no quick solutions for long-term nonviolence. It must be a lifestyle, and in a foreign context, this means living among the people. We must love the people and become one with their way of life in order to stand alongside them in struggle. This will likely mean that we enter their context when no immediate struggle is occurring. The struggle cannot be our focus, it must be love of the people. For without this kind of love, nonviolence loses its deep truth, and the coming struggle will be empty of the foundation required for its sustainability.

References

Barbe, D. (1991). The spiritual basis of nonviolence. In P. McManus; G. Schlabach, Relentless persistence: nonviolent action in latin america (pp. 268-281). Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers.

McManus, P., & Schlabach, G. (1991). Relentless persistence: nonviolent action in latin america. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers.

Schirch, L. (2004). The little book of strategic peacebuilding: a vision and framework for peace with justice. Intercourse: Good Books.

Schlabach, G. (1991). Epilogue: more than one task - north american nonviolence and latin american liberations struggle. In P. McManus; G. Schlabach, Relentless persistence: nonviolent action in latin america (pp. 252-265). Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers.

Ozzie Guillen and Cuba

The actions and public position taken by the Miami Marlins against manager Ozzie Guillen have a lot more to say about politics and the elite of this country than it does baseball. Guillen was suspended for five games for stating that he loved Fidel Castro and respected the fact that he stayed in power for so long without being killed.  What Guillen said must be understood in context, and here are some important dynamics to consider:

1. Latin America has been brutalized over the decades from the U.S. Our support of Rios Montt in Guatemala (responsible for 100,000+ Mayan deaths - all with material support from the Reagan administration) being just one example. Others include CIA orchestrated coups in Chile, Nicaragua (Contras), El Salvador, Guatemala, Argentina. Support for atrocities in all of those countries, and multi-national corporation seizure of resources are just the beginnings of what we've done. People like Castro, Chavez in Venezuela (Guillen's home country) and Morales in Bolivia have nationalized North American business interests upon assuming power, which has sealed their demonization in American discourse. You won't hear the same negativity applied to past regimes such as Rios Montt from Guatemala, Augusto Pinochet in Chile, or the Somoza dictatorship in Nicaragua - all extremely oppressive. The national narrative around those individuals is simply non-existent or filled with misinformation as they were supporters of the United States.

2. Given this context, support for Castro's revolution was and is common if not widespread. He is a leader who has stood against all that the brutal U.S. tied Latin American regimes of the past half century have represented. He has trained more doctors in Latin America than anyone in the world, and has also spread his literacy programs across the Southern Hemisphere. U.S. foreign policy has not been so friendly nor even remotely interested in true development or resolving conflicts/promoting education throughout Latin America's history. Every country we've touched, the situation has become worse - not better for the poor and disenfranchised.

3. Human rights violations? Yes, freedoms have been curtailed, Cuba is far from perfect, but mass killings and torture? Hardly. If anyone has done mass human rights violations and murders in Latin America over the past century, it has almost all been done either directly or with the support of U.S. foreign policy. Look up United Fruit Company from sites outside the U.S. and see what you find in the history of Central America, look at the ruthless human rights violators who have been trained at the School of the Americas in Georgia. Research the coups in Central and South America, or read books by Latin American authors - even American authors who are willing to step outside the mainstream.

4. The Cuban-American community in Miami (especially its voice and lobby influence) has grown largely out of the elites who were sent into exile as Batista's supporters, beneficiaries and cronies. This community is still heavily influenced by the same imperialist ideology that Batista supported - all aligned with international business interests. They have a reason to hate Castro - he nationalized their businesses, which were stripping the country's finances and resources - and took their exploitation of the poor and turned it around. Cuban literacy is nearly 100%, life span and overall health is dramatically improved since before the revolution, and the peasant classes saw their first opportunities for self-sustainability (all this despite a stifling U.S. embargo that has greatly hampered access to resources and further development). As I said, Cuba also has many faults, the lack of a free press being one of them as well as the lack of opposing political parties or national elections.

I do not claim Socialism as my ideology nor do I support Castro, but I too have respect for him. I do not claim any political ideology exclusively. But I think it is a suppression of free speech to punish a man from Venezuela, a man who has seen the OTHER side of our foreign policy in Latin America for expressing a political opinion that has been overblown and ultimately irrelevant to his performance as a manager. Our media truly does control our thinking if we fail to see this situation and possible support of Castro from another perspective - that of the Southern Hemisphere, even if that support is not unconditional or universal (which it certainly isn't). Context is crucial, and our media does a very poor job of describing the dynamics surrounding Cuba from the viewpoint of those in Latin America and other places quite adversely affected by U.S. foreign policy, and does an even worse job of attempting to understand those who come from such places.

The Ethiopian Torture Survivor and life at TASSC (Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Coalition) in Washington, D.C.

This paper originally started off as a class project, but I'm taking this opportunity, with the permission of the people whose stories I've used (some names have been changed), to help spread more information as to what it is that immigrants in general, and torture survivors in particular, encounter as they enter the U.S. to seek political asylum or an escape from a life that has become oppressive.  It has been my firm belief, and even more so since I've worked at TASSC this summer, that we hold a special responsibility in the United States due to our power, and more importantly, due to the role that we have played in directly contributing to the conditions that have led to torture throughout the world.  The majority of our survivors come from Africa or Latin America, and our foreign policy record in both regions of the world has been shameful at best.  No longer is this a mere academic opinion derived from an abstract intellectualism of the classroom and/or literature, but from hearing it first-hand from those whose lives have been affected by the policies of The United States and other Western powers in collaboration with the home governments of these survivors.  

INTRODUCTION AND PERSONAL CONTEXT

     I was standing beside Tenna at the asylum office waiting right there at the sign that told us to do exactly that.  There was only one other woman in front of us, who also appeared to be Ethiopian.  After a couple of short minutes (but what Tenna later assured me felt like hours), the woman in front of us stepped away, and he was called to the window and asked for identification.  When he presented his Ethiopian passport, he was asked if he spoke English.  He answered yes, and the window attendant stamped a couple of forms.  Then she announced very stoically that he had been granted asylum, and would receive his work permit within three weeks.  Tenna’s response was a perfect example of the subjectivity involved in all areas of life, and in this case the ethnographical analysis:  He was jubilant.  He immediately turned to me and gave me a hug.  I was smiling and very happy as well, and we both ignored the woman behind the counter.  She said nothing more, and I doubt that she had anything other than an abstract academic idea of what her words must have meant to Tenna.  In this case, those basic words had different meanings for all of the parties involved. 

     For me, this was one of the primary reasons I decided to work with TASSC (Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Coalition) at Eastern Mennonite University’s Washington Community Scholars Center Program:  I wanted to stand beside people and to the best of my abilities, empathize with them as they sought justice in the various areas of their lives.  The previous three years had brought about changes in me that made it possible for me to be with Tenna in that extraordinary moment in his life.  With my divorce in 2008, up through my near-fatal car accident in July of 2009, and the death of my ex-wife Sarah in early 2011, I experienced a complete re-orientation of what it was that was important to me.  I no longer wanted to work to entertain, or even simply to make money.  From those harsh awakenings, I realized that nothing else in life is more important than people, and the seemingly little things we can do that change lives. 

     That particular day involved a relatively easy assignment:  I escorted an Ethiopian torture survivor to the immigration office in order to obtain a decision on his initial asylum interview that had been held two weeks prior to that date.  My only requirement was to be there for Tenna, whatever the outcome of the decision might have been.  In his case, it was positive, and that was a cause for celebration; my being there allowed him to have someone with whom to share his joy.  Had the decision been negative, my role would have been different, but just as important, if not more so.  The potential range of emotions and feelings that could have resulted had to be thought through before I accompanied him to the office.  That day ended up being one of the highlights of my life, despite what may appear simple about it to many others.  However, this is the kind of work that I envision for myself during the time I have left on this earth:  work that involves direct interaction at the grassroots, direct contact with the people whose lives I hope to see change for the better.  No longer do I want to sit behind a computer or a microphone, unless it is for work that allows the kind of interaction that I had with Tenna on that day.  This is the mindset and path that led to my decision to work with TASSC (I wouldn’t have been there without these life changes), and that ultimately enabled me to receive a small idea of what it is like for the Ethiopian torture survivor community that is greatly represented at TASSC and in the greater Washington, DC metro area. 

     Therefore, I am approaching this ethnographic analysis of Ethiopian survivors with a viewpoint that is unapologetically subjective from the framework of how I view the people I work with.  Since I want to help them, since I believe that they are encountering many obstacles in their lives from exposure to a strange country/culture to leaving family members behind in Ethiopia or their last place of residence, to the fears and anxieties they encounter on a daily basis as they prepare for their cases as well as searching for the most basic of human needs, I am aware that my desire to help may unconsciously overlook personality traits, actions, and faults of the subjects and instances with which I address, and that furthermore, I may overlook faults of TASSC itself, not to mention some of my own biases.  I am aware of these factors going into this analysis, and I wanted to make you the reader aware as well. 

THE SETTING

     The TASSC office, where the majority of my observations take place, can be difficult for newcomers to find as it is virtually in the basement of a Franciscan college close to The Catholic University of America at the T corner of Harewood Rd. and Taylor St. NE in Washington, DC.  There is a large sign with the letters TASSC close to the road on the Harewood side of the building, but no directions from the small parking lot next to the sign.  Upon examination of one’s surroundings, a sidewalk winding back and forth down a small hill gives a clue as to where the office entrance might be located.  On my first day, I happened to encounter a volunteer who was exiting his car at the same time I was arriving.  He paused at first, but then asked me if it was TASSC that I was looking for.  I answered yes, and he told me to follow him.  

     Upon entering the basement of the Franciscan college that serves as the DC TASSC office, one may be struck by the simplicity of the design.  There is no reception area per se, and the receptionist’s desk is immediately off to the right inside the first room which serves as a rather large office which she shares with the Advocacy Director.  The threadbare carpet and simple wood desks illustrate the low-budget environment (grassroots human rights efforts often have the distinction of being "controversial", and funding can be hard to come by.  Plus, TASSC has refused to accept any government money; which would mean a certain acceptance of a government agenda and federal monitoring of TASSC's actions).  On the opposite side of the receptionist’s office are several computer stations with full internet access that survivors are free to use at their leisure.

     Continuing to walk down the hall, several more doors are passed:  an office turned storage area is the first door on the left, the office of Demissie Abebe, the Director of TASSC is on the right, and caddy corner on the left is the Helping Hands office that houses social worker Kayla, working to provide services to the survivors.  The final two doors on the left and right respectively are the copy area and large restroom/dish washing facility. 

     After those final doors, a set of doors (always open) is directly in front, which leads into the very large main room that is an all purpose area:  There is a corner to the immediate left that has been outfitted with bookshelves, carpet, chairs, and a fish aquarium that serves as the local TASSC library.  To the right of the library is the interns’ desk area with around six high speed internet connections and computers.  The rest of the main room is filled with various items:  A refrigerator, coffee station, and water cooler are on the left, and there are tables, chairs, a couple of couches, and several large handmade wood partitions on wheels that feature painted maps, posters, messages of solidarity and encouraging phrases such as “Abolish Torture” that have become some of the themes of TASSC.  These partitions can be used to divide the large main room (I would estimate it to be around 3,000 sq ft) into smaller areas or private counseling/conversation locations.  Folding tables and metal chairs complete the furniture in the room, and these are used quite regularly for general conversation as well as at meal times. 

     In addition to the furniture, there are posters from international solidarity groups such as non-governmental organizations and other activist causes, and several handmade objects from both survivors and former employees/interns of TASSC that express messages of hope, and pictures of survivors of torture from around the world. 

     I spent such a great deal of time describing the physical setting at TASSC as I and the survivors I spoke with both feel that it creates a sense of openness, relaxation, a complete lack of pressure, informality, comfort, and freedom of expression that is crucial to this part of the Ethiopian torture survivor’s American cultural experience.  Speaking with the TASSC director Demissie Abebe, himself an Ethiopian survivor of torture, this was precisely the idea.  For many who come to TASSC for help, there is no area of their life that is lacking in need.  This includes the need for a place to which they can come and feel as if they are at home; relaxed, comfortable and free to express themselves either openly with TASSC employees/interns and other survivors or one on one if privacy is needed. 

ETHIOPIAN TORTURE SURVIVOR CULTURE AT THE TASSC OFFICE

     “Selam” became a ritualistic Amharic morning greeting around the TASSC office when one Ethiopian encountered another.  This word, as anyone familiar with Arabic will recognize, is very close to the Arabic “Salaam” which means “peace to you”, as both are Semitic languages.  I recognized this greeting more than any other around TASSC as I’ve met only a couple of torture survivors who’ve not been Ethiopian.  Almost 70% of the survivors who come through the doors at TASSC are from Ethiopia, and this, according to Demissie, is due to a number of reasons, some of which include the fact that Washington, DC has the largest Ethiopian immigrant population of any major American city, with around 200,000 Ethiopians, and that many government offices and services are based in DC, which makes the city an attractive choice for Ethiopians.  Dianna Ortiz, the founder of TASSC had all of these numbers in mind, according to our director, when she chose him (an Ethiopian) as the TASSC director. 

THE ETHIOPIAN TORTURE SURVIVOR

     In order to receive someone at TASSC, it is necessary for them to be the victim of torture of a foreign government.  That is the way that the organization’s legal status is set, and it is for this reason that all of the survivors I’ve observed for this ethnography are quite politically astute, if for no other reason than they have a great deal of knowledge of the political situation in their own country.  Tenna, for example, was involved with an opposition political organization that led to his torture and ultimate flight from Ethiopia.  I will take this time to state that for purposes of safety and privacy, I will not expand on the details of the torture regarding the individuals whom I mention.  Even though at times it might be easier to understand their perspectives had the reader been aware of the circumstances around their torture, this is not only the request and policy of TASSC, but it is one that I would have chosen regardless of any other factor as it seems to me to be disrespectful to publicly discuss something so personally traumatic to an individual.  Also, the names of the survivors (excluding Demissie Abebe) have been changed.

Amare

     Amare was an entrepreneur and businessman in both Ethiopia and South Africa before moving to America.  He originally fled Ethiopia for political/ethnic reasons that led to difficulties with his business, and moved to South Africa.  However, he soon found a new kind of problem in South Africa, what he refers to as “xenophobia”.  The blacks indigenous to South Africa have a great disdain for foreigners who come from other parts of the continent, particularly foreigners who set up businesses and become successful.  Amare mentioned that he interprets this xenophobia as resulting from the native South African’s desire to keep the social services flowing freely.  In other words, Amare believes that the natives view outsiders as a threat to their comfortable way of life; a life which does not require much work as the new system after apartheid has provided many services to the black majority free of charge.  Therefore, Amare was persecuted greatly as a businessman, and South Africa is where some of his greatest traumatic experiences occurred. 

     I remember asking Amare how he felt as an Ethiopian, a black man, in America, a country that I believe is quite racist in many ways.  I asked him if he felt a sort of “double-racism”; meaning that he’s black first, and second, that he’s a foreigner.  These very questions served, in hindsight, to illustrate what I thought was important when interviewing and talking with the survivors for this project.  Later, I will put forward my modality of survival as a cultural explanation for the interactions of the Ethiopians with the environment and amongst themselves.  That hindsight and modality showed me some of my errors in field method, but those errors in turn served to illustrate more clearly a model of explanation.  Amare responded that there may be some racism in America, but it didn’t seem to bother him to the extent that the xenophobia did in South Africa.  In fact, his tone of voice appeared slightly frustrated as he attempted to explain to me that life was livable in America.  That was not the case in the other places he’d been.  Sure, he had some fear at times of people in the neighborhood where he stays here in Washington, (the TASSC home for survivors), but it is not at the same level as the fear he had in Ethiopia or South Africa.  Racism simply wasn’t a primary concern for him.  I will expand on this below. 

Demissie

TASSC Director Demissie Abebe 

     Demissie Abebe, the director of TASSC, first came to America in 2004.  His vocation in Ethiopia was as an accountant, and he received a degree from The London School of Economics.  It was in his capacity as an accountant that he ran into trouble with the Ethiopian government, and was eventually forced to come to America.  Demissie came from a successful family in Ethiopia, and he mentioned to me that he always admired his mother for the way she would take in people in need.  He described a home scenario that offered an open door to those without a home, and he was exposed to many different people with many viewpoints and backgrounds from a young age.  Perhaps it is this upbringing that is responsible in part for the dedication and genuine concern I have observed him showing to every survivor who comes through the door at TASSC.  Demissie is an authentic person, and is very committed to every part of his job.  It is my observation, and his statement as well, that one has to be dedicated.  The work of the TASSC director involves long hours, and a great deal of emotional energy.  The pay is not high compared to the average American salary, and the love of people must be there if the director is to effectively fulfill his duties.  Demissie refers to his position as a calling, and that the experience of trauma that he’s gone through has helped mold his own life as to what truly matters.

 

Tenna

     Tenna is the most recent Washington and U.S. resident of the survivors I’ve profiled in this report, having arrived in The United States in March of 2011.  When I was first introduced to Tenna, I didn’t know how to understand him.  He appeared to not want to talk, and seemed guarded, slow to speak about topics other than courteous greetings.  I later realized that it wasn’t just Tenna, but it was the others as well.  The difference was that Tenna was still relatively early in his process of both asylum and of adjusting to life in America.  All of the survivors must be guarded in many ways, but the longer they’ve been in this country, the more open I’ve found them to be.  This may appear obvious to many, but the modality that I’ve chosen will help explain more specifically why I say this. 

     Tenna was politically active in his home country, and has witnessed trauma not only to himself, but to his family as well, having lost several family members to political violence.  He is a very intelligent man, but has always struggled for work in the ethnically divided country of Ethiopia, where the location and ethnicity of one’s birth often has more to do with the work one is able to find than the actual skills one has to offer.  Tenna is concerned first and foremost for his wife and children, who are still back in Ethiopia.  It was only on the insistence of his wife that he reluctantly left the country.  They both knew that if he stayed, his life was in great danger, but as any good family man, the thought of leaving his family behind still devastates him.  Tenna communicated to me shortly after receiving his asylum that not only was he a “new man”, but that he could now focus on what is most important to him:  the safety of his family, and their arrival by his side in America. 

SURVIVAL AS AN EXPLANATORY CULTURAL MODALITY

     Very early on in my observations of the people who come through TASSC, and particularly the people who I’ve mentioned in this report, day to day survival is or has been their primary concern.  This has been mentioned to me on more than one occasion.  When one is concerned for their very life, not to mention the next meal or a place to sleep for the night, they tell me, priorities are quickly re-aligned.  Local American political issues, racism, and cultural concerns are not as important to them at this time.  They know for now that they’re in a country that will not cause them immediate state-sanctioned physical harm, and that is enough.  These survivors have all mentioned that concern for family members, and other loved ones becomes primary, right alongside or even superseding their concern for self-preservation.  For many, in fact, (Tenna being an example), they have left Ethiopia for the sake and at the request of their immediate family members.  Tenna may still be in Ethiopia today if he had no immediate family, still fighting for the rights and freedoms he would like to see enacted there. 

     I have observed at TASSC that day to day survival as a modality for the actions and thoughts of the Ethiopian survivors helps gives a context that furthers understanding of their lives.   Many, if not most of the Ethiopian survivors come by TASSC on a daily basis simply because it has become a familiar place.  They know that they will encounter other Amharic speakers there, and that it is a place where someone who is from and familiar with their home country can be found.  The more familiar they become with others, the more open they are to conversing and sharing their experiences.  They are longing for someone to talk to, as Tenna and others have communicated to me, but it is difficult, due to their trauma, for them to talk.  Demissie has often mentioned to me that ethnic tensions, which are still high in Ethiopia, are a concern when looking for jobs among Ethiopians in the Diaspora community here in Washington DC.  However, from my observations, ethnic concerns are not as important inside the office at TASSC.  Demissie has confirmed this.  In the day to day survival mode with which these survivors find themselves, the ethnicity of their fellow Ethiopians does not have priority in their interactions.  This seems to confirm my observations (both in my own life and the lives of others) that people gravitate towards the familiar when in day to day survival mode.  This is one of the reasons I placed my personal context at the beginning of this ethnography.  My own periods of time where day to day survival has been of primary concern (if none other than for mental sanity and psychological survival), has shown me that the familiar, and most importantly people, have become my top priority.  That this is perhaps to an extent true of all humanity is further supported by my observations at TASSC.

Daily life at TASSC

TASSC founder and torture survivor Sister Dianna Ortiz

     Everyone needs someone to talk to, to hear them, and to trust.  Kayla, TASSC’s Helping Hands director, and the holder of an MA in social work, has confirmed this in our discussions.  This last element, trust, is an element that is lacking in many of the survivors I’ve encountered.  All of the people I’ve mentioned above have opened up to my questions the longer that time has gone on.  Due to the trauma they’ve been through, they aren’t sure who to trust.  This is combined with the fact that they are in a strange country.  This does not, however, diminish their need for trust, or their need for someone to talk to.  As one anonymous survivor told me, it is hard for them to find ways to communicate for two main reasons:  1. They have been through intense trauma that has had deep psychological impacts and 2. They don’t know the all of the customary niceties and ways of communication in this new foreign country where they’ve found themselves. 

     With this knowledge, it is easy to understand why TASSC has attempted, to the best of their abilities and resources, to set up a welcoming environment, and to communicate to the survivors that they are welcome.  In turn, the survivors, who are continuing the struggle for survival, although without the most harmful impediment, the trauma and torture, come to TASSC to associate and be around others.  Demissie communicated to me from the start that it is most important for me as a worker at TASSC to be there for the survivors when there is anything they need; even something as simple as a cup of coffee or a glass of water.  If someone wants or needs to talk, then that is the top priority.  The little acts of caring make the biggest differences in all of life, but particularly at TASSC. 

     Tenna, Amare and the other Ethiopian survivors will often come to TASSC on a daily basis, and can usually be found sitting around the folding table and chairs in the kitchen area.  No doubt one of the main reasons they come to TASSC is for the free basic food staples supplied to them, and obviously food is necessary for someone to live.  However, the survivors in this report have also mentioned to me that it is just as important to “not feel alone”.  They spend their days conversing with one another, in between surfing the internet for news, e-mails and information from their home countries and preparing whatever legal matters they need to attend to.  This small “community” of fellow survivors at TASSC is truly a support group and strength for them.  They have all expressed that not only their fellow survivors, but the care and openness of all the employees, volunteers and interns at TASSC has given them mental strength and has helped give them hope. 

     Sometimes, I will notice one of the survivors simply relaxing, and seemingly not doing anything.  But I have been through enough myself to know that humans in crisis are quite often doing “something” when it seems that they’re doing nothing.  The ability to relax is a luxury to victims of torture, as many have expressed and described when referring to the events that prompted them to embark on the journey to America, as well as the traumatic events of the journey itself (often involving many countries and the necessity of trusting on complete strangers to get them where they’re going).  It has been so long since many of them have been able to relax, and simply allowing them to have time alone is often one of the best things we can do.  It is possible to do too much in the work at TASSC, and survivors do not need to be kept busy at all times.  They have communicated to my early frequent requests if there was anything they needed or that I could do for them that “no, there was not”.  That can be a challenge for the staff at TASSC, but through many experiences of communication with survivors, Demissie and others have assured me that simply knowing that someone who cares is close by is enough for them. 

     When I casually question these Ethiopian survivors, their concern for food and shelter is an almost daily event.  They do not have the ability and/or luxury to look too far into the future.  I do not know what it is like for them before and after they leave the building, and due to the inability to get inside someone’s head, I do not truly know what it is like for them while they’re at TASSC.  I do not know what it feels like to know that the office door closes at five pm, and that then they are on their own until nine the following morning, or until the weekend ends.  They are on their own for the majority of the time in their days for both food and shelter. 

     I can guess at the fear and anxiety that they must feel, and they have communicated that in fact there is a great deal of both, but I do not truly know what it is like.  I remember one day in particular that Tenna came to the office with all of his belongings in a bag, prepared to go to a new residence that evening, only to find out that his position was meant for another.  This is excruciatingly mentally painful to the survivor.  As a staffer, I want to do all I can to help, but the resources at TASSC are limited, and this makes it tough on all involved.  Fortunately, Tenna found a location to stay that night, but not all are that lucky.  Sometimes a homeless shelter, or even in extreme cases, the street are the only options for a bed.  Never once though, have I heard one of these survivors complain about TASSC.  This illustrates another hypothesis I have that gratitude towards anyone who has shown any level of help, no matter how little, only increases when people are in day to day survival mode.   Although I do not know what they say about TASSC when they are alone with only the other survivors, it is my guess from their actions that they are grateful for anything given to them. 

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS

     As can be seen from the above descriptions and explanations from survivors, some of the most important concerns for them are first, basic human needs such as food, shelter, clothing, and the opportunity to find work (TASSC helps to provide them with resources for employment), second, people with which to interact and to whom they can communicate with out of a sense of shared experiences and finally, concern for reunification of their family members if they have any, and/or concerns for their future existence in America once they obtain their asylum. 

     I have further shown that with these concerns in mind, the structure of the “society” at TASSC is one that is quite informal and relaxed.  This is intentional and is something that the staff consistently keeps in mind.  We are even encouraged to dress casually and to talk with the survivors when and if they need it, setting all other work aside while we do so. 

     The feeling of support is very important to the survivors.  Nothing has made this clearer to me than my experience and developing friendship with Tenna.  It has been my privilege to accompany Tenna throughout his entire asylum process, which in his case was extremely short.  I accompanied him to his initial interview with (what I perceived to be) a rather rude asylum officer.  It was my interpretation that this particular officer was not sensitive to the emotional trauma of torture, and was being quite aggressive during Tenna’s emotional testimony of the events of his torture.  To illustrate the difference between the mind of the ethnographer and the subject, Tenna did not notice this.  He expressed after the interview that his primary concern at the time was simply to relay the information in a manner that was consistent, and that the officer would accept as truth.  I assured him that I felt he did a great job answering the questions, although that was my first experience attending such an interview.  The feeling of relief once Tenna exited that initial interview was palpable in his very demeanor and posture. 

     It was only later that I heard from Demissie how happy Tenna was to have me alongside him during his interview process.  When I’d first told Tenna that I would accompany him to the interview a couple of weeks prior to that date, he appeared pleasantly surprised in a way that it is hard for me now to objectively describe.  The emotion and surprise that he showed was visible in his face, and was a testimony to how much his trust in people had been harmed from the trauma he’d gone through, and how grateful he was to have someone who truly cared. 

     Demissie further told me that Tenna’s receipt of asylum after his initial interview was not what happens in the majority of cases; most asylum seekers are referred on to the U.S. immigration court system, which often is a two-year process.  Again, the feeling of being blessed to witness this and to emotionally share in the joy that Tenna experienced is a personal privilege to me. 

     The sharing of joy and sorrow, of feeling the emotions along with the survivors is very much a part of this ethnographic examination and analysis.  The day to day survival mode of the survivor requires that I not take a position of authority, or that anyone at TASSC appears to want to have authority over the survivors.  We are to treat them with respect, empathy and equanimity.  A hierarchical structure would not have been adequate to explain the environment of Ethiopian survivors at TASSC or to understand the lives that I’ve examined in this report.  Day to day survival seemed to me to be the best explanation of why things are set up the way they are at TASSC, and why the survivors behave in the way they do.  It is hard to say what their actions may look like down the road as they become more financially and physically secure and are possibly reunited with their families.  My guess from personal experience would be that the major life events they’ve gone through will change them forever, and will cultivate feelings of love and compassion for others around them.  Tenna in particular has been quite open in confirming this in his own life.  I hope for the sake of all survivors that they too will derive similar priorities from their various experiences. 

    

    

The "Divinely Ordained" Work of the U.S. in Latin America

“Don’t they teach imperial history in American schools?  Why do we Spaniards seem to know more about U.S. history than most Americans?”  Father Ron Hennesey, of the Maryknoll Order, was listening to one of 

the nuns in his Guatemalan countryside parish react to his analysis of international politics in the wake of several murders in his jurisdiction.  This was early in Hennessey’s pastoral career in Guatemala, which would span a total of 34 years, during which he would see the most vicious acts humanity could ever dream of carried out on his parishioners.  Those decades (from the 60’s through the 90’s) would also erase any illusions he had about the reality of America’s role in the Western Hemisphere. 

Hennesey’s awakening from ignorance reminded me of my own.  As a child of the 80’s growing up in a fundamentalist Protestant environment I remember that Pat Robertson’s 700 Club was always on in our home.  If it wasn’t me alongside my parents viewing the show, I would often be content to watch it alone; I was fascinated by Robertson’s “Words of Knowledge”, and that a man should be so blessed of God as to receive them on a regular basis.  I get nauseous and angry as I think about this now, especially given the fact that I used to send this man some of my childhood “tithe” money. 

General Rios Montt

Robertson was an open supporter of Guatemala’s President in the early 80’s, General Rios Montt.  Montt had attracted his support, and the support of President Reagan, by assuming the status of born-again Christian.  Further, he was a vocal opponent of “Communism”, Liberation Theology, and was committed to keeping foreign investment and the ties between American and Guatemalan elites intact.  That was all Reagan and Robertson needed to recognize God’s calling on Montt.  My childhood money was given during the time that Robertson was instituting “love lifts” of food and financial aid to the government of Montt.  What a fucked up version of the love of “god”.  There was no love in the actions of Montt or the U.S. government in Guatemala.  I do not care what ideological excuses they had for the murders that were carried out with the full support of Robertson, Montt and Reagan, there was absolutely no justification for what I’m about to describe. 

THE HORRIFIC END OF FRANCISCO PAIZ GARCIA

Francisco Paiz Garcia was perhaps the most respected man of the San Francisco village in Northwest Guatemala.  He was also one of the oldest.  Garcia’s manner would remind one of a kindly grandfather, who had plenty of time for others, and was always available when wise advice or important community decisions were called for.  On this particular afternoon in 1982, he was the last known living man of his village (outside of the witnesses who recounted the events) and he was having difficulty walking as a stake was driven up his anus and out through his abdomen.  A soldier on either side kept his journey of torture moving along until he finally collapsed, dead, on a trail not far from his home. 

The other members of Garcia’s family and village, and many other villages around him in the previous weeks had all been massacred, with no regard for age, gender or even the courtesy of a kangaroo court to give a false accusation of guilt.  The men had been painfully beheaded with dull machetes, disemboweled, dismembered, forced to smash in the heads of their neighbors and relatives, hung, or thrown off cliffs.  The women and children had been raped, burned alive, disfigured through breast mutilation or hand/genital removal by machete, and in many cases, forced to watch the brutal, remorseless killings of their men by laughing soldiers before they joined them in the mass graves.  The majority of the military orders for these murders can be directly traced to Guatemalan officers trained at the School of the Americas in Ft. Benning, GA and/or from those who had the direct support of the CIA.  It was the same tactics that had been incorporated in Operation Phoenix during Vietnam.  All of this is documented, and can be verified by reliable eyewitness reports, from Hennesey, Thomas R. Melville and other members of the Catholic clergy and respected Mayan leaders, or even from de-classified U.S. documents from the time period.  Apologies from the U.S. government, specifically from Bill Clinton, have since been issued for “mistakes” that were made in Guatemala.  That was all that Clinton committed to the decimated population.  No reparations or an attempt at righting past wrongs have even been hinted at.  This seems to be a common pattern in America:  apologies after the fact for “mistakes” and that it won’t happen again.  What precisely “won’t” happen again?  The exact same scenario?  Yes, he’s probably right about that.  The names, tactics and enemies will change, but the policy of advancing American interests at all costs, with no hesitation regarding brutal murders, will always be an option and will always be utilized as long as America is an empire.  It’s a common symptom that empires seem to have.  It’s also a convenient alibi to have others do the dirty work, but more and more torture is becoming overt in American policy, not covert.  Murder?  Well, that’s long been policy in completely unjustifiable warfare. 

GUATEMALA AS AN EXAMPLE OF U.S. POLICY

It has been estimated that over 200,000 Guatemalans, mostly Mayans, had suffered the above mentioned fate during Ron Hennessey’s time witnessing that horrendous U.S. backed genocide.  Their only crime had been their threat to the status quo of international elitism in their desire to escape from poverty.  They had demanded the right to stay on their land, and for it not to be confiscated by international corporations or landowners.  They were denied any opportunity to gain title, in a racist move reminiscent of what blacks in America experienced in our shameful past.  For centuries, the Mayans have worked the lands of the elite with little to show for it.  Whenever they began to make a stand for themselves, not in the face of some ideology, but through the simple demand for basic living essentials, they were repressed in the brutal manner described above.  These were simple people, almost all of whom were illiterate.  They knew nothing of Communism, they just wanted to live.  Even if they were Communists, should this be the actions of a “Christian” President supported by another “Christian” President, a “Christian” televangelist and “Christians” in America?  The support of successive U.S. administrations never wavered for this Guatemalan repression in the over 40 years that killings have been accounted for, starting in 1954 with the policies of John Foster and Allen Dulles (who now have the distinction of a DC airport named after them for their efforts).  Numbers are numbing unless we start to put some details to the picture.  That was my intention by describing the atrocities above.  It is stories like these that I hear in my work at TASSC (Torture Abolition and Survivors Support Coalition).  This is what it means when people are killed in mass numbers.  This is the reality of the “American way” for so many millions in our world today.  Sadly, for many of them, their only hope of refuge is in the country or region that was the financial and sometimes actual participant in the conditions causing them to leave their homes; if, that is, they’re one of the lucky ones who are able to escape alive. 

These same kinds of atrocities are described by foreigners in our war zones today.  They are described by the victims of torture who come through TASSC.  They have been described by people whom I’ve talked with directly, and sometimes directly experienced themselves.  Dianna Ortiz, the founder of TASSC, has published a book detailing aspects of her torture in Guatemala (her only crime being teaching literacy to Mayans).  Her torture included forced oral sex on her captors, rape, being pissed on (literally) by her attackers, being hung in an open pit of mutilated human flesh, some dead, some alive, for hours at a time, and the forced murder (with her hands being forcibly wrapped around a machete and her aggressor wrapping his hands around hers) of a woman prisoner who had maggots crawling out of the cuts underneath her breasts.  This was all directed by a North American; even though Ortiz was blindfolded, she clearly recognized the accent of the North American, whom she has called Alejandro, and it has since been revealed (these events occurred in 1989), that there was consistent CIA activity in the country at this time.  Ortiz has been discredited, and her perpetrators have never been brought to justice.  Her response has been to form TASSC and help other victims pursue justice much like she has. 

Ortiz has not given up; she has been discouraged at times in a process for justice that has taken years, but she has not given up; she has only learned to re-channel her actions and energies.  She is a huge inspiration to me, as I sometimes wonder if writing about these events really does anything to the American mind.  We are flooded with so much information, and become so complacent, that no matter how horrible things sound, many either do not have the ability to accept that the U.S. could do this, or simply do not care.  It may be a combination of the two.  Just remember that our tax dollars go to pay for all of this.  Even worse, the money you or I send or have sent in the past to religious organizations could have possibly gone to pay for these events.  Where is the sense of responsibility?  Where is the outrage demanding change from our government?  These activities continue to happen, that much can be assured.  We may not know where or how, but undoubtedly we will hear about it someday, when it seems too far in the past, and time to “move on” and some pointless apology will be issued by the powers that be.  We can’t just keep saying “sorry, that was a mistake” if we claim to value and respect human rights in this country.  Human rights in American foreign policy is a joke.  It is our responsibility to change this.  Other countries are starting to rise up and protest for their rights and the rights of all people.  Will we do the same?  How long must we keep asking?  I commit my life to working on these issues as long as I have breath, and I won’t stop talking about it; even if at times it seems like I’m not speaking to anyone who cares.

Note:  All references to events in Guatemala have been taken from first or second-hand accounts of Thomas R. Melville and Ron Hennessey in Melville’s book, Through A Glass Darkly: The U.S. Holocaust in Central America and from Dianna Ortiz’s autobiography The Blindfold’s Eyes. 

Consistency in American Foreign Policy

The fact that Jack Nelson-Pallmeyer’s book is now 14 years old only serves to illustrate how accurate he was/is about US foreign policy in Latin America and elsewhere.  His details about long-standing US support for torture/terrorism were not surprising, but his information presents a couple of important perspectives that I haven’t heard in the discourse around our foreign policy concerning Latin America in particular, and the world at large generally.

The first is a bit of history on the origins of Liberation Theology, which has a negative connotation for many.  Nelson-Pallmeyer shows that Liberation Theology did not grow directly out of Marxism, but rather out of a concern on the part of the Catholic Church to get back to perhaps the most basic message of the New Testament Jesus:  Concern and love for the poor and dispossessed.  This kind of concern, in practice, always finds itself naturally opposed to oligarchs and the wealthy.  Reducing disparities in wealth is not good for business, and therefore not conducive to keeping a hold on power.  The School of the Americas served as a tool to make sure that this power of the elite was not lost to the "evil" Catholic priests and nuns who sought a better life for the poverty stricken in Latin America.  The fact that the beginnings of Liberation Theology coincided with increased interest in its secular counterpart, Marxism (seen exemplified in the Cuban Revolution) is no accident.  There was vast unrest throughout Latin America, much like we’re seeing today in the Arab world.  Liberation Theology and Capitalism don’t mix well, and the useful/timely association with Soviet influenced Communism created a convenient narrative, and a target for Latin America death squads, helped by the rhetoric of the establishment in the US (both political and religious as well as economic).  For US citizens who have paid attention, this should serve as a call to look at the ways the Western World will attempt to manipulate the economic/political outcomes of a restless Islamic Arab world freshly rejuvenated to take back control of their lives. 

The second perspective is that Western mind control often incorporates admitting to past atrocities or errors in foreign policy once the old practices are no longer useful.  In the case of The School of the Americas, Nelson-Pallmeyer showed several examples of major media outlet criticism of the horrific track record of its graduates.  His argument is that since America’s foreign policy uses for the School were becoming less important by the mid 1990’s, it fit into the American myth for the media to condemn past mistakes and illustrate the “changes” that were being made to ensure that these actions (i.e. the same foreign policy) didn’t occur again.  Never was it necessary to perhaps right those wrongs, but if it made Americans sleep better at night knowing that their government was correcting any wayward elements, then it was not only ok to print, but encouraged.  After all, our government couldn’t have a population too concerned about human rights.  Things could get out of hand.  Meanwhile, our foreign policy continues (with a slight face-lift) just as before.  Different look, maybe a different location, but the same old atrocities, and eventual "apologies" for those atrocities that "obviously came from a few misinterpretations".  

Throughout the book, Nelson-Pallmeyer calls the US to acknowledge its past in Latin America, and to not merely criticize events after the fact, but to work towards reparations and the reduction of blowback.   This sounds great, but is futile in our current system; one that is not transparent enough or even capable of being honest.  To tell the truth and attempt to make things right concerning American foreign policy would create more cognitive dissonance than what our national consciousness is capable of handling.