Chuseok Long Weekend

I love looking around my table and realizing that no two people are from the same country.  Different languages, traditions, cultures, and different melodies in our laughs.  Yet, we all share something much deeper in common, and we’ve all ended up in the same place somehow. 

At the top of Namsan, people chain their love to its gates: promises, hopes, and dreams.

"But now I been thinkin' what he said, an' I can remember - all of it. Says one time he went out in the wilderness to find his own soul, an' he foun' he didn' have no soul that was his'n. Says he foun' he jus' got a little piece of a great big soul. Says a wilderness ain't no good, 'cause his little piece of a soul wasn't no good 'less it was with the rest, an' was whole." (John Steinbeck, Grapes of Wrath)  Although he was writing within a different context, Steinbeck sort of perfectly captures how I feel: there’s some kind of wholeness about living in harmony with the global community.  And that comes through our personal connections with one another.

Today (Monday), is the last of three days of the autumn harvest festival, Chuseok (추석).  It is celebrated annually on the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar, around the Autumn Equinox.  It’s sort of like a Korean Thanksgiving.  Everyone travels to their hometown (usually their ancestral hometown) to pray to their ancestors, spend time with family, and, of course, feast.  They also exchange gifts – usually pretty practical ones like food or toiletries, it seems. 

Traditional Korean dresses. 

In the absence of my biological family, I spent a lot of time with my friends here.  Some of the highlights included eating delicious food, hiking with friends up a mountain in the middle of Seoul called Namsan, and singing in a karaoke bar.  Korean karaoke bars, or Noraebang (노래방), are rooms that you rent out by the hour and are equipped with usually two microphones, tambourines, and a karaoke machine.  Since no one has much vocal talent, it’s a non-humiliating way to belt out your favorite tunes with your favorite people. 

At the top of Namsan with friends.

At the Noraebang with friends.

In terms of classes, things are starting to ramp up with presentations, papers, and exams.  I’m also facing the daunting task of writing two theses this year more head on.  I’ll be writing about vocational training and technical education programs for women in post-conflict societies and how that shapes post-conflict peacebuilding efforts (and maybe sustainable development?); in one, I’ll focus on the population of war widows, and the other on female ex-combatants.  I’m in the process of trying to identify organizations in Sri Lanka and/or Nepal that I might be able to join for about two months this winter to collect primary field data.  If any of my dear readers have any leads in these areas, please send them my way!

Peace,
Laura  

Fighting Cocks in the Campo

As I mentioned in a previous post, my Dominican family trains fighting cocks.  My first weekend with them, I mustered up my courage and went to see a fight.  When focusing on peace, violence cannot be avoided.  I want to understand how this culture experiences, understands, and interacts with the concepts of peace and violence, transformation and destruction.

Three of us climbed onto a scrap metal scooter and rode down the rocky dirt path to the fighting ring.  When we arrived, a crowd of men were already bustling around outside the ring.  Both humans and roosters contributed to the rising din in the Sunday afternoon heat.

Gladys and I entered the fighting ring, a circle of concrete benches surrounding a green pit; we were the only women present for this spectacle.  Gladys’s boyfriend Aldonis was fighting one of his roosters that day, but he stayed just outside peering in.

Hands gathered two roosters from the holding area and brought them out in rough fabric bags.  They plunged the roosters into the light and spritzed them with water to shake their senses.  Handlers roused the roosters into a fighting mood by jabbing at them and thrusting them toward their would-be opponent.  

The roosters have 15 minutes to fight to the death.  Or 15 minutes for them both to just barely survive.  

The fight was on.  The roosters circled and flew into each other and fought with their beaks and their talons.  An aggressive dance for survival.  The cock fight seemed to embody some key element of Dominican culture, some need for male violence. 

The enthralled men circled the fight, shouting bets to one another.  

Both roosters were tinted red with blood.  One fell and pelted out a heart-wrenching cry.  The other dove in and pecked the last of its life away.  Life is experienced as a fight until death, for roosters and humans alike here.    

After a valiant fight, our rooster died that day.  I looked to Aldonis, searching for any hint of sadness, but I could neither find it then nor in the evening when he ate his fallen rooster for dinner.

Although from my count the family has another four fighting roosters, it’ll be a few more weeks before they'll fight one again. Will this female gringa vegetarian peer into this male Dominican ritual again?  Likely not.  But it certainly wasn't an experience I regret having either.  I feel like I experienced Dominican culture on a whole new level.  

Fighting Cocks, Fierce Bugs, and Classism in the DR

I bat away a melange of insects as I write this on the lawn of a school, the only place where I have internet access. On Monday, I moved to Caribe, a small rural village near the small town of Bonao; it’s about an hour and a half northwest of Santo Domingo. I live with a single family, but across the path is where her parents and sister’s family live, which makes it a very social living environment. Also, there are a lot of gregarious young children, each of which wants to show me everything they know, haha. The family’s most, shall we say, unexpected hobby is that they breed fighting cocks, and I accepted (perhaps foolishly) an invitation to observe a fight on Sunday.

The one on the left is alive, which means that he won his last fight.  The one on the right doesn't fight...yet.

The Pied Piper of Caribe.  Only I'm the one being led.

It’s been my personal quest to accept all invitations that come my way. Because of this mantra, I have had some pretty awesome experiences throughout the three weeks I’ve been here, and I have met loads of people from different extremes of society and everything in between. Because I’m here to work in a social sciences capacity, I’ve also used this as an opportunity to ask and listen; because of a range of factors (i.e., my age, my occupation, my gender, my ethnicity, my approach - I'm not viewed as very threatening) people are generally very open to sharing their thoughts and feelings.  The disparate perspectives are starting to come together to paint a bigger picture of the social landscape of the Dominican Republic.

One thing that’s been very noticeable is the general lack of trust in others. Government and police are generally very corrupt, and social services are largely dysfunctional, from water and electricity to public schools. I think that this, in addition to a history of authoritarian rule, has contributed to a sense of competitive self dependency, which has spilled over into intergroup relationships as well. For example, Dominicans are very quick to stereotype people from different ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds, imagining each group to be a homogenous and threatening entity. The “Other” seems to loom formidably in every conversation about social issues. What’s more is that there’s an unveiled hatred for the “Other:” stereotyping is typically pared with verbal dehumanization. When I softly challenge people’s assumptions, sometimes they rephrase, sometimes they don’t…it’s just an interesting manifestation of deeply ingrained classism that moves in all directions. People are very proud to be Dominican, but many don’t like to imagine that they share this country with other Dominicans unlike them in some way.

I’m definitely going to try to incorporate some of this observation into the peace curriculum I’m creating for the school out here. Although the levels of direct violence outside of the family are not extremely high, structural violence (i.e., inequality and inequity built into the structure of society) is a big issue here. I’m taking more of a transformational approach in both the curriculum and the workshops I'm designing, so this could work itself into the programming relatively easily. This week, I’ve been meeting with some directors and students, and I’m hoping to also meet with teachers. I’d like to progress the project with as much collaboration as possible, which I’m hoping will make the program contextually appropriate and increase its chances of sticking when I leave in eight weeks. There's a lot to do but not a lot of time to do it!

Switching gears, a couple weekends ago I traveled with some friends I made here to Isla Saona. It’s a beautiful island off the southeast coast of the Hispaniola near Bayahibe. It was a little bit of a ride to get there, but definitely worth it.

Isla Saona.

This past weekend, I went to Parque de los Tres Ojos (Park of Three Eyes) located near Santo Domingo; it’s a park with cenotes (or cave pools fed by underground rivers).

At the cenotes with Catherine, my Chilean friend.

La Rubia!

With all of the first impressions I've recorded, what are people saying about me?  Well, primarily, la rubia!  Yes, in the Dominican Republic, I am blonde.  Also, the general consensus is that I'm 20 years old, although people have guessed as young as 17.  After I've been talking to someone for a little while about my project development and my background, people always interrupt to ask how this can be if I'm only 20 years old.  After getting over the shock - yes, genuine shock - that I'm 26, the follow-up question is typically concerning my children and their whereabouts, and when they learn that I have no children, a look of vague confusion sets in.  And no, no one asks if I am married.

The frequency of this conversation reveals a bit about Dominican society.  In 2011, the United Nations Population Fund (UNFP) revealed that the Dominican Republic takes the lead in both Latin America and the Caribbean in the number of pregnant adolescents.  A common topic of conversation here among the socially concerned is about the issue of reducing the number of pregnant 13-year old girls.  It's very common for unmarried young people to live together, which isn't necessarily negative in and of itself, but in a machista society, the girls/women are discarded after they no longer please the men.  In an effort to increase the commitment level of their men, women often try to get pregnant, but when this strategy fails repeatedly, they are left with children from different men.  In a country with no safety net, this spells a lifetime of struggle. 

While we're playing the number game, this week the Dominican Republic celebrated coming in second place (first place was held by Venezuela) in terms of alcohol consumption by men in Latin American countries in a study completed by the Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences (FLACSO) in Costa Rica.  (It should be noted, however, that the amount of pure alcohol consumed per year - 5.5 liters - pales in comparison to the quantity consumed in Europe, Canada, and the United States, respectively.)  The Dominicans' response?  "We need to work harder to get to first place!"

At any rate, I've learned an incredible amount in the last week and a half through extensive conversations with community leaders and people working in health clinics, schools, and other NGOs.  I'm still in Santo Domingo for the time being, although I did end up visiting Bonao last week, and I will be having another series of meetings there tomorrow.  It looks like I'll be moving there on the 11th at the very latest, which I'm definitely looking forward to.

The school in Bonao is really incredible.  It's 100% powered by solar panels, it has spacious and clean classrooms, and there are even sports fields for the children.  Although something like this would be relatively normal in the US, it's a tremendous departure from the reality of public schools in Santo Domingo.  Additionally, what's particularly exciting to me is that peace is one of the cornerstones of the school; the ethic of peace has been informally integrated into all parts of the school, from monthly values to universal community service.  I was able to spend last Friday afternoon with four youth (Youth for a Culture of Peace) who attended a workshop in Santo Domingo some months ago, and I'm working to build a capacity-building workshop for them.  After they're trained and feeling comfortable, the goal is to have them facilitate workshops following the same format in their communities.  They're pretty awesome kids, and they're really excited to be given the opportunity to develop their leadership skills and lead peace activities.

Youth for Peace and Me in the library getting to know each other and discussing the project.

The idea is to create a flexible framework that can be replicated in IDDI's other areas of operation throughout the country and also Haiti.  This also means that I'll be able to travel to these areas and talk with the people there!  Everyone wins. 

In other exciting news, the director of IDDI has asked me to develop a formal peace education curriculum for the school to be implemented in August when classes resume, something they've wanted for a very long time.  I'm extremely excited to be given this opportunity; it's going to be a challenge for sure, but it's one that I'm ready to take.  If anyone has expertise or experience in this area, please point me to any resources you think might be helpful.

And, just for kicks, a peak at my Sunday, which happened to be Mother's Day in the Dominican Republic, at Playa Guayacanes:

  

A Cultural Primer

I'll admit that I haven't done much to develop my internship program yet.  Finishing up the semester has taken priority as I work on my final paper on culture and conflict (specifically the militarization of culture in Sri Lanka).  I'm probably in a super culture mode due to my current class, as I inevitably find myself thinking more and more about what I'll be doing this summer. 

I've been thinking a lot about the cultural profile of the DR to start me off in my planning a culturally sensitive program.  Dutch cultural researcher Geert Hofstede identified five universally present dimensions of culture: power distance (PDI), collectivism vs. individualism (IDV), masculinity vs. femininity (MAS), uncertainty avoidance (UAI), and short vs. long-term orientation (LTO) (data wasn't available for this dimension in the DR).  (Of course, individuals reflect a melange of different cultures, so a country's scores in these dimensions only reveal dominant cultural trends in society.)  Hofstede's website (geert-hofstede.com/) has a pretty cool tool that enables the visitor to compare countries in terms of his cultural dimensions. 

Here's the Dominican Republic compared to the United States: 

(Yes, I made a graph.)  This data shows that both the DR and the USA are pretty similar in terms of being masculine cultures (assertive, competitive cultures with fairly rigid gender roles) that aren't too bothered by uncertainty (generally more accepting of unorthodox ideas and the unknown).  However, the DR is far more collectivist and has a higher degree of power distance (accepting of hierarchy and the unequal distribution of power).  Very good things to keep in mind.  I'm really looking forward to learning more about the local culture of Bonao in particular to help me craft an appropriate program.  This is going to be such a great learning experience!  Exactly what I want to get out of my summer. 

In other awesome news, I just finished getting caught up on vaccinations (hepatitis A, tetanus, and typhoid), and I'm now well-stocked with malaria pills.