El Dios que Suda en la Calle

The resonate words of a song strike chords beyond the strings of an instrument and into the hearts of its listeners.  With its texture and color, music can leave behind a powerful ring.  The soundtrack to the Nicaraguan revolution would be the work of Carlos Mejía Godoy.  His guitar provided the score for workers and revolutionaries and served to inspire and ignite the uprising.  I am already familiar with some of his songs but I have been discovering even more of his music lately.

One of Godoy's projects was the "Misa Campesina" which is the Nicaraguan peasant mass.  This was written on the island of Solentiname, known as an artistic community.  When the Second Vatican Council allowed regional music at mass, Godoy was inspired to offer his own contribution to the liturgy.  His mass parts were to debut in Ciudad Sandino at the Plaza de los Cabros during mass celebrated by Fr. Fernando Cardneal.  However, the National Guard interrupted the service and broke up the mass, preventing the music from being shared.  Fortunately, it spread on its own through secret, underground celebrations.  The militia could not barricade the notes of hope reverberating among the choirs of people.  Their cries for justice only crescendoed through the streets and augmented their ensemble.

 I had only heard two songs total from this collection, each just a single track hidden within a different compilation.  I decided to end my dissonance by searching for the lost tracks and the internet obliged.  I was very grateful to find the complete set and fill in the missing puzzle pieces.  What a powerful form of worship it is!  If people only prayed today with this same authenticity, how deeper our faith would be.  I imagine participating in a liturgy with this music must offer an intimate encounter with God.

The lyrics articulate how Christ is the God of the poor, one who is human and simple, sweating in the streets and holding us by the hand as we fight for justice in the city.  God is real and present to our struggles.  The songs take the mass and make it personal, a creed the people can identify with.  In the melodious phrases the people offer themselves up in all their work to the Lord.  They joyfully enter into communion in God's fields to taste His harvest of love, acknowledging that it is not some inconsequential ritual but a conscious commitment and experience that joins them all together.  Even the farewell hymn lovingly reflects on the beauty of community united in their song and anticipating an encore.

I want to take the time to study these songs more closely and understand their dynamic range.  Perhaps even learn the music and promote their use once again.  I feel if I can enter into the song then I will better feel the beat within the heart of this symphony of struggle.  I will be more equipped to compose my own requiem for my Tía Nordia.

I leave you with a playlist of nearly all the songs in the Misa Campesina Nicaragüense:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l07dX6wQ96M&list=PLTNTR9RkgTGa1OJZf75bbk82loNn73-o8

Madre Nicaragüense

May 30th marks Mother's Day in Nicaragua and I wanted to take time to acknowledge these strong women who have endured so much.  The Nicaraguan mother is built with a tough fiber.  They are fierce protectors of their families and hard workers.  I sometimes think they possess magic powers based on what I've witnessed from my mom.  They use their gifts in service to their family and community.  Whatever their story, they are all amazing women.  Today I honor my mother, my grandmother, all my aunts and cousins, beautiful ladies of immeasurable strength and perseverance.

As I've been doing my research on the Nicaraguan revolution, I am continually reminded of my grandmother.  I can't help but wonder about the burden upon her shoulders.  The mother of twelve children, she worried for the safety of them all, whether they were fighting in uprising, looking for refuge in the mountains, or even far away in distant countries.  It was a heavy weight to carry and a testament to her fortitude.

In the "Pictures from a Revolution" documentary, Susan Meiselas talks with some mothers.  Many of these women lost at least one child during the war.  One woman spoke angrily with regret.  She felt her son died in vain. Another one spoke of the shock and disbelief.  One woman explained how her work blossomed as a distraction to numb the pain.  I found it interesting how for the sake of peace and healing, forgiveness found its form.  They could understand that the mothers of the Contras were mothers like them, mothers who mourn the loss of their children.  They could bond in their shared suffering.  Through the capability of finding empathy across rival sides, the substance and character of these women shines boldly.  

Mothers give us life and nurture life.  In all their various efforts, their work is fruitful and life-giving.  Sadly, on this Nicaraguan Mother's Day, my thoughts also fall onto the dark clouds of death.  Four years ago today, my Tía Alba was buried after losing her fight to cancer.  My cousin Yocasta observed Mother's day with a funeral.  Both of my grandmothers have passed so I am reserved to hold on to their memory.  As I recall my Abuelita Dora Hidalgo de Gonzalez, I think of the trials she faced having to let go of her children, especially the loss of my Tía Nordia.

The following song by Nicaraguan musician, Carlos Mejía Godoy, really struck me personally because it echoes the pain of my aunt and grandmother.  It's asking where is the tomb of the guerilla-fighter?  The mother is asking and no one responds.  My aunt was killed and bull-dozed in a hill with over 30 other youths.  Their parents had to dig through the dirt to recover limbs.  Only the head and a leg were found from Nordia.  My grandmother was in denial.  She refused to accept that Nordia had been killed. She thought they couldn't properly identify the remains.  Nordia was still coming.  She was hiding, she was lost, she was far away, but she was still coming home.  And she waited.  I don't know how long it took her to accept that Nordia wouldn't come back, if she ever did.  I don't know if she waited for her until her dying day.  I do know that they are together again now.  They have both come home.

I leave you with this song in honor of all mothers who have lost a child, especially the ones who dwell in the mystery of not knowing where their children lie.  May they find strength and peace.

La Tumba del Guerrillero
by Carlos Mejía Godoy

La tumba del guerrillero
dónde, dónde, dónde está
su madre está preguntando
nadie le responderá
la tumba del guerrillero
dónde, dónde, dónde está
el pueblo está preguntando
algún día lo sabrá.

Guerrillero, vos surgis en ríos
montes y praderas
en el viento que mece el chinchorro
del hijo del Juan
en las manos humildes y toscas
de la vivandera
en la Milpa donde el campesino
busca y busca el pan.
Como dijo el poeta trapense
de Solentiname
no quisieron decirnos el sitio
donde te encontrás
y por eso tu tumba es todito
nuestro territorio
en cada palmo de mi Nicaragua
ahí vos estás. 

Guerrillero, vos nacés de nuevo
en la carabina
en los bronquios de Pedro el minero
que en Siuna murió
en los ojos de los miserables que en Acahualinca
aún espera sedientos
la aurora de la rendición.
Como dijo el poeta trapense
de Solentiname
no quisieron decirnos el sitio
donde te encontrás
y por eso tu tumba es todito
nuestro territorio
en cada palmo de mi Nicaragua
ahí vos estás.

Woman on a Mission

When I was a student at LMU I learned about the film, The Mission, directed by Roland Joffe.  Recently, I heard the music of "Gabriel's Oboe" and it reminded me of the movie. I found it online, ordered it and watched it again.  There is a special feature documentary about working with the indigenous people during filming.  At one point they talk to a local Jesuit who was facing his own modern day challenges.  He referenced being in Central America and in particular Nicaragua. I sat upright at the sound of the name.  I knew this movie was similar in nature to the story I am searching for but I didn't expect such a direct link.  It was an in-your-face reminder of what my mission is. I'm glad I'm finding these little things around me to keep me on course.  It is definitely an affirmation and I embrace it.

Feeling Nica

Felt very in the Nica spirit with the new blog entry.  Wore my Flor de Cana shirt & made Chanco con yuca. Getting better at making Nicaraguan food. :(

Contra-flicted

I've been conflicted about a few things as I make this journey to learn more about my aunt.  A simpler problem has been just figuring out what is the narrative focus of this blog.  Is it more to track my experience doing research or is it to actually share the content of what I'm learning?  The goal was basically to keep me accountable to this project but the direction to take it was undefined.  A few months ago I wrote about watching the documentary, "Pictures from a Revolution," by Susan Meiselas and the excitement that erupted from finally breaking in my notebook.  It was well-received but my mother asked about the actual video.  She wanted to read about what I was actually discovering.  So in the following entry I decided to break down and review my notes.  It was a bit more challenging than expected.  Some things I jotted down were emotional responses, memories of my personal visits to Nicaragua, words and phrases that caught my attention and striking imagery.  I'm not just seeking facts and details for an informational report, but considering all the elements that would provide more character and nuance if I were to attempt to write a novel or even a screenplay.  Deciphering which scribbles are worthy of blogging is part of the mystery of this game.  Actually writing the new entry was a bit of a chore as well because it almost felt too scholarly.  I didn't feel like writing a book report.  I was out of practice from reviewing notes, analyzing them and writing up an insightful discourse.  My school days are far behind me and I didn't want to taint this blog with the blandness of academic essays.  However, this overall problem does not deeply concern me and I am confident that with time I will find my proper voice.

An another issue that has popped up and seems to haunt me revolves around the Contras.  To grossly over-simplify things, you can look at the Nicaragua revolution in two parts: first with the uprising and over-throwing of the Dictator Somoza and secondly with the counter-revolt fighting for control over the newly freed country.  The first half seems pretty straightforward: get rid of the bad guy oppressing the people.  The second half is incredibly more complicated and laced with political tension.  I just wanted to avoid the second war altogether.  Nordia's story doesn't lead to that time.  Nordia died before the first revolution had ended.  Unfortunately, I am learning time and time again that I can't view history in a narrow lens to suit my fancy.  I can't pick and choose what parts are more "interesting or entertaining" if we are even allowed to describe these difficult times with such terms.

Since Meiselas's documentary returns her to Nicaragua ten years after the initial uprising, she is able to get some of that disenchanted counter-perspective.  According to one woman,

"Many  mothers of those who died regret the deaths of their children.  They fought so much -to die- and for nothing.  For a Nicaragua without a real triumph, a Nicaragua exhausted-that's what we have now."

Is that how my grandmother felt about the loss of her youngest daughter?  I know she denied the Sandinistas a photo of Nordia to use for the memorial of those who died on Hill 110.  Did she resent what the war did to her family?  Susan goes on to note the growing distance between those running things and those who fought.  One person, however, was torn and disturbed about the current disappointment.  He felt that the price of revolution, the blood, suffering and pain, was to great to betray it.  He explained,"The revolution did not fail us.  The revolution didn't fulfill all of its promises." He said the revolution was clipped of its wings and not able to grow.  Susan spoke with various people who were upset with their current situation.  Some felt they were naively hopeful for better while others knew the poverty would remain constant but thought the freedom was enough of a difference to matter.  It was really interesting to hear the different view points.

What I was most surprised to witness was the authentic emotion from former national guard members.  To me, they were the enemy, pure evil.  But as Susan interviews them they become human again.  I was shocked that I could even be capable of sympathizing with someone from the guardia.  A saw a man in tears about losing the war, honestly believing he was fighting on the right side.  He broke down expressing,

"We were used just as the Sandinistas were used.  We were caught in a war game between the powers. The Russians supplied the Sandinistas.  The United States supported us.  And they started to play with us in a way which was, after a point, dishonest...you become nothing more than a puppet."

A puppet.  A puppet in a very sad play where outside nations pulled the strings.  The Nicaragua people fought for themselves, not any political ideology.  Unfortunately there were too many powers invested with the outcome of this country.  Everyone wanted to claim Nicaragua as their own pawn on the global chessboard.

And so I must accept that the story of the past is not so black-and-white but thick with gray.  I have to be careful how I present some things because of how it will unfold later.  I remember one of my uncles mentioned that something I wrote before felt wrong or ignorant.  It was too ideal whereas he knew the dark reality.  Another time a different uncle said something about my sister being innocent with optimism.  It was almost as if we were falling into the trap of romanticizing history and heroizing the flawed.  I know they might be burdened by the haunting past of their experience which influences their perception, yet it was worth taking note.  Watching the documentary reaffirming this lasting bitterness.  They even went as far to mention that this wasn't a war like "the American movies where the hero walks in."  There aren't clear good guys and bad guys and history should not be depicted as a feel-good action flick.

Normally we are told we must understand the past to better approach the future.  In the case of studying the Sandinista uprising and uncovering Nordia's story, I'm going to have to come to grips with the future to authentically portray the past.

Viene

They were coming.

What exactly, no one knew for sure.  Anticipation soaked the air.  In her documentary, "Pictures from a Revolution," Susan Meiselas notes how the response to the casual greeting, "¿Que pasa?" was a foreboding "viene."  It comes.  The revolution was stirring among the hearts of the Nicaraguan people, yet not fully formed.  It was unclear what shape it would take.  Even with the uncertainty, there was no denying that something in fact was trembling within the earth, ready to burst free.

In the sing-song accent that graces the tongues of central-americans, a woman sells tomatoes on the streets.  Amidst the transaction of goods, details for a secret meeting are also exchanged.  The movement may have been gentle and quiet, but the pot was still stirring.

Meiselas journey in Nicaragua unveils the complexities of the build-up and climax of the Sandinista uprising, as well as the bitter aftermath.  I really appreciated the rich variety of opinions she was able to record.  Being present during both the revolution and again ten years later allowed her to offer a unique perspective.  I want to take the time to reflect on these different dynamics that all come to play.

Susan was just a photojournalist who felt obligated to capture what unrolled before her eyes.  She explained, "History was being made in the streets and no one knew where it would lead."  At one point while she was amid the crowds of people taking pictures in the streets, someone grabbed a bullet shell from the ground that the National Guard had fired and shoved it in her face so the inscription was clear for her to read.  This device of death revealed the true architect of their misery: Made in the USA.

There were powers backstage manipulating scene, pulling the strings on their puppets of poverty.  Capitalism and communism took a stake in the outcome of the turmoil in this developing country.  I was hoping I could focus on learning about the first uprising without having to delve too much into the counter-revolution.  My aunt's story ends before the Contras were formed.  Unfortunately the history of this battle for justice is tainted with politics.  Both phases of history are intertwined and I can't ignore one if I want to understand it all fully.  For the Nicaraguan people however, it was never about the larger schisms of the globe.  They fought for their own country and their dignity.

One man explained:

"I became aware of the reality for us, the poor, under a government that defends capital interests.  That's what gives birth to this conscience to fight for the poor.  We are poor and we fight for the others who are still undecided.  This is what moved me personally to take that step, to join the struggle."

Slowly but surely I join the struggle.  Though the progress is mild these gentle rumblings give rise to more.  It is coming.

Viene.

Pen to Paper

I finally put pen to paper.  It was a glorious physical embrace.  The blue ink danced upon the fibers as I conducted their music.  A long time ago I bought a large 3-ring binder and a college-ruled notebook for me to use while researching Nordia's story.  Since then I managed to place a lovely print-out of her face in the clear-view front outside pocket.  The insides remained untouched except for the photocopy of the Nicaraguan book about Colina 110 I had managed to acquire from the Library of Congress.  It served more as a decoration than anything else.  A reminder of a dream.  A promise to protect.  Void of any real activity until last night when I woke them from their slumber.

I had finally decided to take some notes.  And I filled 7 pages with content.  I had wanted to do this physically and not digitally as to better absorb the information into my memory.  The subject was, "Pictures from a Revolution," a 1991 film following journalist Susan Meiselas as she seeks to track people she photographed ten years earlier during the uprising.  I had already watched this dvd once before.  I decided early on to just sit through and watch it without being preoccupied with jotting down the details.  I remember it really struck me back to hear the personal stories of so many different people. There was much emotion behind every perspective.  I honestly don't remember when I watched it, but I quickly realized it must have been before my summer trip to Nicaragua.  I was reacting to things now that I didn't notice before.  The sights, the sounds, the accent and the slag were all more familiar to me now.  I had a new appreciation for what I was witnessing with my trip in recent memory.  Even though August seems long ago at this point, it's impressive to witness what can be recalled by the simplest triggers.

I originally turned to this dvd after a frustrating failed attempt to begin reading the Spanish-language book.  I hadn't realized how weak and out of practice my Spanish reading comprehension was and decided I needed to warm up with something simple.  A dvd with English subtitles was perfect.  I watched it but didn't take notes.  I knew I had to revisit it but was for whatever reason was delayed.  The film is from the perspective of a photographer trying to document history in the making.  After I had gone to Nicaragua and discovered the beautiful picture of my mother, grandmother and aunts I was reminded of the power of a picture once again.  I knew that would be my first step.

More time passed again in my usual pathetic ineffective way until in March I traveled to Milwaukee, Wisconsin to visit my little sister for her 25th birthday.  We decided to visit the art museum by the lake. They had a special exhibit celebrating 75 years of color photography.  As we were walking along the corridors I noticed hidden away in the corner two very familiar pictures.  My body had recognized them and pulled me over before my brain could process what I was seeing.  I called out to Jessica as she was already moving in the other direction.  On display were two photographs from Susan Meiselas taken during the Nicaraguan revolution.  What was Nicaragua doing in Wisconsin?  In a museum filled with mostly white patrons, we two sisters found ourselves staring into a glimpse of our mother's history.  It was the craziest affirmation of sorts.

So then, exactly two weeks later, I am revisiting those exact same photographs in the dvd once again.  Now I acknowledge them with authority.  I appreciate them on a new level.  Taking notes was a bit odd because I was pulled in so many directions.  Part of me was trying to capture the facts, or observe the sights and people while another side was more in a journal-mode wanting to claim the emotional journey.  I wasn't exactly sure what belonged in the note-book.  I had to pause the dvd a lot so I write down some important quotations.  The very words of the Nicaraguan people resonated deeply.  There was much richness to behold.

A first step, a baby step, but a step none-the-less.  And a step in the right direction.  I look forward to making more contact with pen, paper and anything along the path that this road has to offer me.