Feliz Dia

I got a text message from a co-worker at 8:30 saying Happy Day (in Spanish) and had to stop and think what on earth my he was talking about. It is International Women´s Day (IWD), observed in Ecuador by men (in the non-profit world at least) wishing women a good day, in honor of us being women. It bears saying that this isn´t the first time I´ve found myself in another country, observing the holiday. 13 years ago today I was a college student in Northern Ireland and I helped plan an event, which I vaguely remember involving a Tai Chi demonstration and little sandwiches. (The highlight of that was that I got to go out and illegally flypaste our posters all over Derry, Northern Ireland, with my punkie friend Leah, on whom I had a tremendous crush.) Anyhow, today I started wondering today why on no one in the states ever seems to remember March 8, at least outside of explicitely feminist places like the offices of NOW or NARAL.

Wikipedia had some insight:

"Started as a political event, the holiday blended in the culture of many countries (primarily Russia and the countries of former Soviet bloc). In some celebrations, the day lost its political flavour, and became simply an occasion for men to express their sympathy and love to the women around them - somewhat similar to Western Mother's Day and St Valentine's Day mixed together. In others, however, the political and human rights theme as designated by the United Nations runs strong, and political and social awareness of the struggles of women worldwide are brought out and examined in a hopeful manner....The first IWD was observed on 28 February 1909 in the United States following a declaration by the Socialist Party of America."

So, it´s a holiday started by American socialists, and was often celebrated in conjunction with commemorations of events important to American labor like the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire of 1911. No wonder it doesn´t get any play in the mass media. Leaving aside the fact that the United States seems to be oblivious of a) its own social history and b) the global observance of women´s rights and talents, here are how IWD is observed throughout the world. Again from Wikipedia...

"In Italy, to celebrate the day, men give yellow mimosas to women. [1] [2]

In the UK, women take their work colleagues out to lunch.[citation needed]

In Croatia, Hungary, Poland, Bulgaria and Romania, the custom of giving women flowers still prevails. Women usually get gifts from their employers too.[citation needed]

In India, IWD holds a lot of significance. One can see a lot of celebrations going on on this day. This portrays the power of women in the modern era and how vital their role is in the society.[citation needed]

In 1975, which had been designated as International Women’s Year, the United Nations gave official sanction to and began sponsoring International Women's Day."

So, here is my suggestion, if there is a woman in your life, especially one who has been doing cool stuff for other women, in whatever form or political ideology that might take, do something nice to acknowledge that. We can all use a little encouragement these days.

Happy Women´s Day, Comrades.

Nasty, Brutish, and Short

So two things happened this weekend that were hard, although in both cases I found myself in the uncomfortable position of helpless spectator. One, the shelter for women in domestic violence situacions where I have just starting giving workshops on family relations and communication had a suicide in the facility. The details were bad (it was a young woman coming from a situation of extraordinary violence, a child who lived in the house found her, she had only been in the house a few days.) It was one of the those situations where there is nothing you can do but go to the service or give people hugs and try to stand in solidarity in the face of the reminder that people do horrible things to one another. The universe is a destructive and dangerous place. People who get lost and are damaged by something brutal beyond our imagining and must come to the conclusion that the pain of living is greater that the fear of dying.

Second, and this is somewhat my own doing, but on the same day, I found myself hopelessly involved in a nasty breakup of two friends here. One person not speaking to the other, one person being summarily thrown out, it was the really unpleasant time in which the relationship ends and the only way to manage the change is to be mean. I say its my own doing simply because sometimes when you are living in another country, you (OK, I) seek to develop the intimacy you lack in your family and friends by making yourself indispensable to those around you. Being a rock for one person, providing the focal point for a couple when there is a conversation that neither of them wants to have, you (OK, I) distract myself from my own demons. And then I realize that what I must avoid at all costs is to be alone in the same room with the two of them, if possible ever again. It´s terrible to have love come to an end, and in some ways even more unpleasant to watch.

Despacio

I swore I wouldn´t check the scale on random days and torture and discourage myself with the fluctuations, but today I couldn´t help it. So a report is in order. I clocked in at exactly 65 kilograms, which is 143.3 lbs. Meaning that I lost 6.6 lbs. Which is certainly progress, albeit slow. Considering that I have 7.7 more to go. And of course the lower you drop, the less you can eat and still lose weight, at least according to what Weight Watchers said.

Radio Free

I was invited to speak on the radio this week about HIV in the province of Azuay. This is all well and good, I´ve been through media trainings, have a general idea how to craft a five point message and stick to it. The problem of course was that I was asked to speak in Spanish. It was a pretty favorable set up from the beginning, my friend was the host of the program, I knew what I was talking about.

It went fine. But I still choked on couple questions. There were a couple monents where I got this panicked look in my eyes that made my friend rephrase the question so he was sure I understood what he was asking. There were a few moments in which I couldn´t think of anything to say at all, but having my five point message helped because even if I couldn´t think of the answer for a question, I could always plug in something else that I wanted to say. The host swore up and down that he was happy with it, and my the family that I lived with during the fall sent me a text message to say that they thought it went well.

It highlights for me though, how slow a process this is, learning and mastering another language. You spend years and years studying, practicing, plunging yourself in to another context where you have to sink or swim, and still you reach points where your language capacity does not suffice. I still say stuff that doesn´t make any since on a regular basis because I am simply imprecise, I plug in the wrong pronouns or pronounce something funny, (in a language which has perhaps the most straighforward rules of pronunciation of all.)

Aye.

Con Limon and Sal

It needs to be said that one of the loveliest things about being in Ecuador these past few months has been the ubiquitous presence of the music of Julieta Venegas. I first heard her on the soundtrack to Amores Perros, a song which is darker and more unsettling than most others I have heard. (Porque tus amores perros me van a matar. Because your dogs of love are going to kill me.) During the summer, I was sitting in a night bus coming into Quito when I heard Me Voy (I´m Leaving) which is softer and sweeter but still manages to convey regret, pain and anger, and knowing you are gravely at fault, but still can´t stick around to make things better. (Apparently she wrote that song for her ex-husband.) That was the first of many, many times, so much that her album has become part of my little soundtrack to my life here in Ecuador. Everyone listens to here here on the radio, garage mechanics, teenagers, waitresses. She is everywhere. In stores, in buses, in garages, in restaurants. You can´t avoid her. And unlike the Shakira´s Hips Don´t Lie, which you still here from time to time, when radio play exhausts one of her singles it picks up on the next on the next one. We went from

No voy a llorar y decir,
que no merezco esto porque,
es probable que lo merezco
pero no lo quiero, por eso... me voy

(My rough translation)
I´m not going to cry and say
that I don´t deserve this, because
it is likely that I do deserve it,
but I don´t want it and that´s why I´m leaving

to

Yo te quiero con limón y sal,
yo te quiero tal y como estás,
no hace falta cambiarte nada,

(Trans)

I love you lemon and with salt
I love you just the way you are
Don´t change a thing

to

Eres para mi, me lo ha dicho el viento

(Trans)

You are for me, the wind told me.

She is funky and innocent and vampy and wholesome all at the same time. I recommend her without reserve.

Remiss

Since getting back from vacation things have been gratifyingly busy. First there was a glbt film festival. I didn´t have any particular role in it, except to have suggested a number of possible lesbian-themed films. The one they picked, I actually hadn´t seen, and which in all honesty, wasn´t particularly good. Films that were excellent included Georgie Girl and Muxe´s, a documentary on transvestites in Mexico. After that there was Miss Trans Ecuador, in which I was asked to serve as a judge. My organization was involved because we were trying to use it as an opportunity to do HIV prevention. We wrote questions relating to homophobia, self-esteem and HIV/AIDS issues and asked them as part of the competition. The acts were good, the tension was high. The other judges and I had to leave the room to deliberate. I´ve never in my life had a couple hundred people waiting with baited breath to see what I (and three other people) were going to say. The contestant from the province of Los Rios was the winner, and it was so exciting to go and congratulate this gorgeous being, with a smile to die for. I wish I had pictures, but cameras were banned because of privacy and confidentiality concerns.

In other news, I have kept up with calorie counting moderately well. The first week of course went great, and I lost four pounds. The second week, not so well, but I maintained. The third week I gained 1 kg. That´s 2.2 lbs for those of you who live in the dark ages where they actually use English measurements. And so on. I figure I am in it for the long haul though, at least three months. This week has been good so far.

Today I got Easter presents from my folks, they obviously weren´t taking any chances about things not arriving on time. I have to confess that it being the day after Ash Wednesday, I couldn´t actually wait to see what was inside. They bought me the Dixie Chicks new album, which is lovely, and a composer that I don´t know, but I am sure will enjoy

Smitten

So, in some of my spare moments I´ve had fantasies about the hundreds of of thousands of dollars my coop will bring me when I sell it some day, or the variety of fabulous foreign cities that my new reinvented spanish-speaking, world-travelling self might alight in, but the one where I really had to reign myself in is the one in which I return home from the Peace Corps in August 2008 and work to North Carolina for Barack Obama. If all goes according to plan he will of course have won the nomination and be poised for election as the first African-American president. This is all of course plausible (how great would that be?) but of course its a daydream so I find myself at the center of it. I charm the entire Democratic party of North Carolina with my tireless volunteer work and at some high emotion campaign event they insist they must introduce me to the Senator. In the thirty seconds that I have to speak to him, he is compelled by my dazzling command of health care policy and after winning (again, how great would that be?) offers me a fat job in his administration. People I tell this to are very polite and say things like "well really that could happen." But the probability of all those things happening exactly like that is quite remote.

Needless to say, however, I´m very excited about the incipient announcement of his candidacy.

Since we are on topic, why on earth does Biden need someone to tell him that using words like "articulate" and "clean" with regard to race is charged to say the least? He is not off to a good start there.

Smitten

So, in some of my spare moments I´ve had fantasies about the hundreds of of thousands of dollars my coop will bring me when I sell it some day, or the variety of fabulous foreign cities that my new reinvented spanish-speaking, world-travelling self might alight in, but the one where I really had to reign myself in is the one in which I return home from the Peace Corps in August 2008 and work to North Carolina for Barack Obama. If all goes according to plan he will of course have won the nomination and be poised for election as the first African-American president. This is all of course plausible (how great would that be?) but of course its a daydream so I find myself at the center of it. I charm the entire Democratic party of North Carolina with my tireless volunteer work and at some high emotion campaign event they insist they must introduce me to the Senator. In the thirty seconds that I have to speak to him, he is compelled by my dazzling command of health care policy and after winning (again, how great would that be?) offers me a fat job in his administration. People I tell this to are very polite and say things like "well really that could happen." But the probability of all those things happening exactly like that is quite remote.

Needless to say, however, I´m very excited about the incipient announcement of his candidacy.

Since we are on topic, why on earth does Biden need someone to tell him that using words like "articulate" and "clean" with regard to race is charged to say the least? He is not off to a good start there.