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18 April 2006
Dear friends in my supporting congregations:
Easter is the surprise interruption of hope in a history held hostage
by greed and violence. Reflecting on that helps me understand why high
up here in the Bolivian Andes, where I’ve spent Holy Week, most people
of faith are celebrating Easter with a bit more enthusiasm this year.
As they joyously remember the rock rolled away from the tomb that held
Jesus’ body, they also celebrate the electoral victory of Evo Morales,
an Aymara Indian and leader of the coca growers union, who broke the grip
on political power by the country’s light-skinned elite to become
the first indigenous president of Bolivia.
After the dictatorships and wars of the seventies and eighties left the
region in a bankrupt shambles, in the nineties Latin America tried on
what came to be known as the Washington Consensus–the belief that
unfettered free markets would bring prosperity to the poor and good governance
to political systems infected by corruption. But the prescription didn’t
cure the patient, and the poor majority in the region slowly lost faith
in the political ideas and leaders pushed by Washington.
Out of the resulting crisis, a new breed of leaders, uniformly progressive
but each a unique product of their national context, has been winning
elections in countries like Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela, Chile, and Uruguay.
Upcoming elections in Peru and Mexico are also likely to produce presidents
who are asking hard political questions about why the region’s poor
remain excluded from power.
For the region’s indigenous, the surprisingly wide electoral victory
of Evo Morales in South America’s poorest nation is a dramatic sign
that times have indeed changed. President Morales wasted no time in naming
indigenous leaders to fill a majority of his cabinet positions.
Among these is Casimira Rodríguez, a Quechua woman who at age 13
left her rural village for the city, where she started working in virtual
slavery as a maid to a wealthy family. Yet with the help of a Methodist
pastor, Casimira eventually escaped from that setting, began to educate
herself, and went on to form a union of home workers in Bolivia and eventually
to coordinate a Latin American federation of similar groups. She struggled
for more than a decade to pass a landmark law in the country’s parliament
to guarantee basic rights to domestic employees. In the social landscapes
of South America, where class and race sharply define one’s hopes
and dreams, Casimira broke free and led others out of literal captivity.
All along the way, the Methodist Church of Bolivia provided crucial support,
and Casimira remains today a committed leader in a small congregation
at the edge of Cochabamba.
President Morales put Casimira in charge of the country’s legal system
by naming her as his minister of justice. It’s a job that’s
always been filled by a light-skinned male lawyer, so many were shocked
by the naming of a woman who proudly dresses in the indigenous clothing
of her people. Within days, the country’s lawyers had organized a
protest, demanding that she be replaced. The Methodist bishop of Bolivia
called other church leaders to a meeting with Casimira where they prayed
together for God to give her the strength to withstand the attacks and
continue with her mission of nurturing justice in a land where injustice
has long been woven into the institutional fabric.
I spent a couple of days with Casimira, both in the oxygen-starved capital
of La Paz and in Cochabamba, where we worshiped together on Palm Sunday
in her church. I interviewed President Morales and a variety of church
leaders. And I interviewed several indigenous women who work as maids
in the homes of the wealthy, and who see Casimira as a sign of hope for
their lives. My article and photos will appear later this year in Response
magazine.
The church played a key role in this whole history. For years Casimira
and her colleagues gathered quietly on Sunday afternoons–their only
time free during the whole week–in a Methodist church in Cochabamba.
To overcome their timidity and fear before they took to the streets in
their first public protest against unjust working conditions, the women
practiced by walking around in the courtyard of the church while holding
banners and chanting.
To be honest, many of the issues and places I write about are pretty depressing.
Yet then I meet someone like Casimira, and I feel blessed to be reminded
how the God who rolled the stone away from Jesus’ tomb is today working
through the lives of ordinary human beings to bring liberation, justice,
and peace to those who are hurt by racism, injustice, and sexism. Thank
you for giving me the privilege to witness that God at work in places
like Bolivia, where the Magnificat is today turning 500 years of history
on its head.
I have spent much of the last four months at home, cancelling some travel
in order to work through some particularly difficult parenting crises,
though I’ve taken advantage of being here to speak in a variety of
settings about the conflict in Darfur. In coming weeks I will be covering
the United Methodist Women’s Assembly in California, leading workshops
for church emergency personnel in Guatemala and Sri Lanka, returning to
Pakistan to cover the continuing response to the earthquake there, and
photographing some innovative mission projects of the Methodist Church
in Great Britain. I’ll also speak at some annual conference sessions
on the west coast, and try to find time between rain showers to plant
a garden.
As always, I write to thank you for your enthusiastic support for the
mission of the church, and for the prayer with which you undergird my
ministry. Easter blessings on the many ways your congregation shares God’s
love at home and around the world!
Paul
Paul Jeffrey
pauljeffrey@earthlink.net
www.kairosphotos.com/pauljeffrey
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