Learning How to Love Nicaragua

An entry I wrote for the Nicaragua Fulbright Network, looking back on my Fulbright experience as I enter my grant period's last official month

My I first met Nicaragua in May of 2011. I had already had a variety of short and long term relationships with Latin American countries, and each of them remains with me as a fond memory, a lingering challenge, a fading resentment. Each has been enriching and worthwhile. But never did a place so hook me like Nicaragua. One could say that when I got to know Nicaragua for the first time, I fell in love. And as in any love affair, my relationship with it in the subsequent years has been complicated.

Before coming to Nicaragua as a Fulbright Fellow, I visited twice for about a month each time. On my first visit, I saw Nicaragua through the eyes of an enthusiastic student of development. I was involved in founding a student organization at West Virginia University called Fair Trade 2.0 of WVU. The objective was to work with coffee cooperative La Hermandad by raising funds to invest in income diversification projects on their farm.

Fair Trade 2.0 lives on! A picture from
current members on campus, Oct 2013

For 6 weeks I lived with the then-president of the cooperative and his family in the town of San Ramón, Matagalpa. As a representative of Fair Trade 2.0, together with the cooperative we chose to invest in a guest house on the farm that would serve as the first site for realizing an agro-ecotourism project. Our investment was supported by an unconventional micro-investor called The Working World, which later became one of my two Fulbright sponsors. Today I realize that what hooked me on Nicaragua after that first trip was the intensity of the relationship I built with the cooperative not only through shared time, but also through shared work.

A recent photo from a hike with some
coop members and the WVU professor
who made the connection with the coop

College students and others who volunteer at home to “help” people in developing countries rarely get to hear a “thank you” from the mouths of those they serve. They rarely get the chance to put in the work to do something like develop a budget or cook a meal together. More importantly, though, they rarely get to go through the pain of an awkward first meeting in which those being “helped” only have a vague sense of who you are and why you are there. They rarely get to a point in the relationship where they experience push back on how their organization is setting its priorities, or begin to understand problematic relationships and power dynamics internal to the community they’re supporting.

What comes out of these sometimes very challenging experiences is learning to understand that in development work, trust and respect are earned and not bought. I knew after this first visit that I wanted to keep earning the trust and respect of this cooperative and others. So in the following months I completed my Fulbright application.

I applied for my Fulbright research grant in October of 2011. My proposal was to complete an ambitious, overarching assessment of the country’s microfinance industry. I had encountered microfinance in my undergraduate studies, and, still naïve, was surprised to hear from many Nicaraguans on my first visit that they felt ambivalence toward the well-known service. My interest in the subject was further compounded when, on a bus ride from Managua to Matagalpa, I was stuck in a blockade that was organize by members of the No Pago Movement, a relatively short lived but active anti-microfinance movement that was organized at the time. I decided that it was my job to get to the bottom of where Nicaragua’s antagonistic sentiments toward microfinance were coming from.

In the time between my initial application and second trip to Nicaragua in May 2012, the No Pago Movement had dissipated, the students’ work with La Hermandad had continued with ups and downs, and I had graduated without an answer on whether I won the grant and fading hope. My second visit was as a trip facilitator on Fair Trade 2.0’s first student trip to the farm, during which I had the opportunity to see Nicaragua through not only my own eyes, but those of others from the group. The students’ inquisitiveness at sights, sounds, and smells that I’d never noticed and astute observations about development and our work with the cooperative rekindled my own curiosity and enthusiasm. When I finally heard that I got the grant a couple weeks after returning home, I was ecstatic.

Local Working World staff members Lili and
Aracely prepare for a meeting with a coop

Finally, I arrived in Nicaragua to begin my Fulbright research in February 2013. Scaling down my original proposal, my work has focused specifically on cooperative microfinance. In the first half of my grant period I completed an institutional ethnography on The Working World in the city of León. The Working World is based in New York, and was founded in Argentina in the early 2000s to support the grassroots recovered factory movement. They have been working in cooperative finance in Nicaragua since 2009. My research has looked at the ways they negotiate their methodology and institutional values to fit into a landscape that is drastically different from the one in which they started.

Some of the most interesting elements have been their focus on working with low-capital start-ups in a largely rural economy rather than well-established businesses in an industrial economy; the way the staff implements and enforces loan repayment using the NGO’s shared risk policy (they require no collateral and instead share the investment risk with their coops); and their struggle to create a sense of agency within a government-driven movement that is politically charged and shaped by national economic development goals and job creation, not community activism.

In the second half of my grant period, I have focusing on getting a wider view of cooperative finance and development in the northern department of Matagalpa, where the country’s cooperative history began and has borne more fruit than on the Pacific Coast. Everywhere feelings toward Nicaraguan cooperativism are mixed and emotional. In cooperative businesses, decisions like how to access financing or whether to integrate members versus hire workers are not solely professional; rather these choices are made in the context in a complex weave of social and political relationships that are unique to Nicaragua’s cooperative history.

In the North, I have frequently come across a cynical view of cooperativism that counter’s The Working World’s institutionalized idealism. For many, it is little more than an extensive system of patronage; one that keeps the poor afloat just enough not to insight a second revolution, and maintains the current political class in power. I do not deny that this sentiment holds its own kind of truth.

My response to those bitterest of critics, though, is to consider that in the United States we also have deeply ingrained patronage networks. The difference is that instead of directly incorporating the poor, they cater to the wealthiest Americans and make no motions to create new modes of capital distribution. In the long run we’ll see which is more sustainable.

Two examples of fine
campesina cooks,
mother and daugher

As far as my personal experience, I have gone through emotional and physical extremes unlike anything I have experienced in years. I have been disappointed by profound social ills like machismo and the lack of simple pleasures like Thai food. I have gone from being the lowest to the highest weight I've been in 5 years, finally settling somewhere in the middle. I have been challenged to find motivation in Leon’s suffocating April heat, or after a night of sleep interrupted by irrational firework displays.

Some mornings my stomach can fill with revulsion at youth tossing litter on the streets, men hissing vulgar comments from doorways, and mothers pouring Coca-Cola into their baby's bottles. But by the afternoon I will be reveling in the afterglow of a fascinating conversation with a seasoned cooperative activist who has inspired in me tremendous positivity and insight. I'll feel satisfied by a delicious home cooked meal by one of Nicaragua’s countless expert campesina chefs, and stand marveling at a beautiful sunset over the rolling green mountains of the North or on of the West’s towering volcanoes.

Not a mountain sunset, but a partiuclarly
stunning one nonetheless, Playa Jiquilillo

After 9 months, I still love Nicaragua. But it has become a more mature, critical love. In loving it, I have learned that it’s time to let go of the disappointment that inevitably results from infatuation. It’s time to relieve both it and myself of the unreasonably high standards that I once had. I have learned to love it for all its ugliness and imperfection as much as for its human warmth and its beautiful landscapes. I have learned to treat it with respect, and to acknowledge that it has the right to make mistakes, to grow from them, and to always push back against me and my expectations.

**Note: This post was inspired in part by Pico Iyer's brilliant essay, "Why We Travel"

That Awkward Moment When You Realize You Might Be an Anarchist

Reflections on my brief introduction to Anarchist theory and how it’s way saner than we all (well I anyway…) thought

In my first few weeks working with my Fulbright affiliate in León, I was shocked to learn that one of my most culto (educated, enlightened, learned) colleagues viewed cooperativism as a form of Anarchism. My general views on Anarchism were shaped by a period as (let’s be honest) a “poser” in middle school: a round-cheeked, cutesy “punk” type who dawned spikey bracelets and suspenders and pretended to enjoy listening to the Sex Pistols with my self-destructive boyfriend. I had closed the case on Anarchy a few years later in freshman year of college, when a particularly politically charged geography professor of mine made a statement that stuck with me: “If you want to know what Anarchy is, just look at the Democratic Republic of the Congo.” Needless to say, it was never a philosophy I had taken seriously.

My friend’s interest in the theory, however, caught my attention. He explained that cooperativism is Anarchic because it rejects the idea of a “natural”, central authority figure like a republican government. It is essentially a means for people to organize organically in relatively small groups to control their economic and social lives in a civil, democratic manner. In short, Anarchy didn’t mean spiking your Mohawk and running rampant in the streets; it was a social critique that called for an intelligent rejection of authority and proposed enlightened self-governance at the micro-scale.

A few months later, I was perusing the “banned books” section of Project Gutenberg, looking for some light reading, and had the pleasure of coming across Emma Goldman’s Anarchism and Other Essays. Yesterday I finally decided to take a rest from trying to plow my way through some Marx and cracked it open; inside I found a host of unexpectedly inspiring ideas.

Goldman was the subject of relentless
harassment and slander, and spent a
year as a political prisoner

Goldman was a Russian Jew who immigrated to the US in the late 1800s and became an outspoken member of the American labor movement and figurehead of American Anarchism. In the introduction, she reflects that many of her public speaking campaigns admittedly fell on deaf ears of an audience looking mainly for a spectacle, and in writing she hoped to find a more dedicated audience. Fortuitously, she found me.

And a Sid mugshot, too, just for fun

Unlike the grating banter of Sid Vicious (no offence Sex Pistols fans, it’s just not my thing), I found her words logical, compassionate, and thought-provoking. That is not to say that I unquestioningly accept her every word, but it was rather like a breath of fresh air in the stagnant afternoon heat of Matagalpa proper. Rather than giving a re-cap, here are a number of choice passages (see more at the bottom if you wish):

“Anarchism stands for a social order based on the free grouping of individuals for the purpose of producing real social wealth; an order that will guarantee to every human being free access to the earth and full enjoyment of the necessities of life, according to individual desires, tastes, and inclinations.”

“Real wealth consists in things of utility and beauty, in things that help to create strong, beautiful bodies and surroundings inspiring to live in… economic arrangements must consist of voluntary productive and distributive associations, gradually developing into free communism, as the best means of producing with the least waste of human energy. Anarchism, however, also recognizes the right of the individual, or numbers of individuals, to arrange at all times for other forms of work, in harmony with their tastes and desires.”

 “Order derived through submission and maintained by terror is not much of a safe guarantee; yet that is the only “order” that governments have ever maintained. True social harmony grows naturally out of solidarity of interests. In a society where those who always work never have anything, while those who never work enjoy everything, solidarity of interests is non-existent; hence social harmony is but a myth.”

And finally… probably my favorite

“Every fool, from king to policeman, from the flat-headed parson to the visionless dabbler in science, presumes to speak authoritatively of human nature. The greater the mental charlatan, the more definite his insistence on the wickedness and weakness of human nature. Yet, how can anyone speak of it today, with every soul a prison, with every heart fettered, wounded, and maimed?”

Despite this post’s catchy title, I cannot actually claim to have found my calling as a rabble-rousing Anarchist. It is with great satisfaction, however, that I have decided to give some attention to a “new” theory that has already shed new light on my research and thinking about cooperativism in Nicaragua. While I haven’t fully developed my thoughts on the subject, I'm going to share a few. 

At first read, I am finding that Anarchism is useful in my work because it points to the paradox of state-led cooperative development. If one thinks of a cooperative as an anarchist socio-economic structure, the notion of state involvement is entirely counter-intuitive. The very involvement of the state can undermine the democratic elements of the cooperative project, especially in a country like Nicaragua with a weak democratic tradition. On a practical level, this is not a condition that can be changed. It is worth considering, however, that it is a challenge that anyone interested in working with a more "radical" notion of cooperativism in Nicaragua will face.

Of course there are other valuable elements of cooperativism that may still remain intact for a time, such as the emphasis on investing in education for members and concern for community, but without a strong democratic framework these benefits will be tenuous. In fact, some would characterize at least the well-established cooperative sector of the North as an avenue for securing Sandinista political support and social programs little more than patronage, though I am not yet quite that cynical. 

A final point is that since most of the people I have talked with about cooperativism define it in terms of the national coop law, there is little attention given to the cooperative ideals defined by international coop networks and farm more on the mechanics of legally administering their business. Furthermore, it is interesting to note that the cooperative law allows for cooperatives to effectively develop into capitalist firms because it does not place any kind of hard checks on revenue generation and distribution between members. Nor does it establish requirements for integrating new members. Together, this means that a cooperative members can functionally act as shareholders in a company with employees that have no legal right to demand membership. 

Much like Marxism, Anarchism is a useful (though perhaps less comprehensive) tool for deconstructing and analyzing systems of power and highlighting the mechanics behind the problematic elements of those systems, like the dehumanization of human labor by means of capital distribution. Sadly neither presents a satisfactory solution. That is our job.

This reading has led me to neither an ultimate truth nor a solution to the problems I see with capitalism, Nicaraguan cooperativism, and development work in general; indeed, as Goldman herself states, “Our most vivid imaginations cannot foresee the potentialities of a race set free from external restraints. How, then, can anyone assume to map out a line of conduct for those to come?” Anarchism is highly idealistic, Goldman’s writing somewhat outdated, and it calls for actions that I am unwilling to take (namely, thwarting law and authority at every turn). It has, however, added one more mechanism to my proverbial intellectual toolbox, and for that I am grateful to have shed my presumptuous rejection of this rich body of thought.

More nice quotes…

“It is the harmony of organic growth which produces variety of color and form, the complete whole we admire in the flower. Analogously will the organized activity of free human beings, imbued with the spirit of solidarity, result in the perfection of social harmony, which we call Anarchism.”

“My lack of faith in the majority is dictated by my faith in the potentialities of the individual. Only when the latter becomes free to choose his associates for a common purpose, can we hope for order and harmony out of this world of chaos and inequality.”

“… the most violent element in society is ignorance… its power of destruction is the very thing Anarchism is combating… it requires less mental effort to condemn than to think.”

“The only demand that property recognizes is its own gluttonous appetite for greater wealth, because wealth means power; the power to subdue, to crush, to exploit, the power to enslave, to outrage and degrade.”

“Just as the animal cells, by mutual co-operation, express their latent powers in formation of the complete organism, so does the individual, by co-operative effort with other individuals, attain his highest form of development.”

Home Is Where the Heart Is

A snapshot on my experience living with a family for 2.5 months in Leon before making my recent move to the northern city of Matagalpa *Note: names have been changed for privacy, but those used could be commonly found in a Leonese neighborhood

What $100/month buys you in Leon

At the beginning of May I left the house where I had lived with my NGO affiliate—and the wonderful young activists and friends that work there—for the first three months of my Fulbright grant period. That is, I cut the umbilical and moved about a half a block away. I found my new house while shopping for a bicycle; there was a sign on the door announcing that they had one for sale. After some attempts to talk the owner down, I bought the bike at a fair price, and on my way out the door the young woman who sold it to me on behalf of her absent husband asked, “by the way, how much are you paying for the room where you live now?” In the next few weeks we worked out the details and I moved in.

 I soon learned that my new roommates name was Mariela; she is 26 a mother to a two year old son named Jeffrey. Mariela was the house’s caretaker before its US-based Nicaraguan owner became her “mother-in-law.”  I also learned that when she said “husband” what she meant was the father of her son, who is supporting her and his most recent child from his and his mother’s home in Miami. He seems to be doing well enough for himself in the States, where he has lived for 30 years as a legal resident.

When I finally met Eduardo, my partner Nathan had arrived to stay with me for several months in Nicaragua. We did an odd double date dinner with their small “family” one night, and it was abundantly clear that he considered his career as a parent to be over just as Mariela’s was beginning. Disappointment, anger, and resentment hazed the table, and vitriolic interactions built up to a climactic moment in which Mariela commented loudly to me that if I decided to have kids I should make sure Nathan was a good partner because if not I couldn't count on any help, any parenting, just money and that’s all. You could have cut the tension between them with the dull steak knife Eduardo used to hack away at his over-cooked filet as he commented to us in English that she should be happy he sends anything, considering that she tricked him into getting her pregnant. Sadly, there was some truth to this comment when it’s considered in the context of a society that suffers from chronic alcoholism, infidelity, machismo, and absent fathers.

The Dona Florencia on
her birthday

I also learned soon after moving in that living with Mariela meant living with her grandmother full time, her aunt part time, and later her cousin, who moved in with her baby a few weeks after I did. Between visitors, unexpected house mates and the children between them it’s a house that’s full of movement and mucha bulla (much commotion). It’s also a house that’s full of feminine energy. Doña Florencia, the abuelita (grandma), sits intently watching women wail on her Telenovelas in the living room each evening; in the dining/play room the boys pass a ball (with all the single mothers I know here, the presence of even male children also takes on a feminine air); I type or read away in the first bedroom; Mariela coos or harps at her son in the next one over the blaring cartoons; and Aunt Aura serves up the rice and beans in the back while her sister Catarina rapidly  rubs clothing across the scrubbing board, her chubby baby boy watching her intently from the floor.

Living with Mariela meant making friends with the neighbors, like our vibrant and flirtatious young neighbor India who allowed me access to her wifi at a small monthly fee. She has a good internet service because her Colombian husband requires her to be on video chat 24/7. He wants to know what she’s doing and who she’s with, even when she’s sleeping. They have an “agreement” that neither leaves the house unless the other goes out. Like Mariela’s and many other Nicaraguans’ spouses and family members, he currently lives in Miami and sends money home. On the rare occasions India does leave the house to chat with us on the stoop in the evening, her US-purchased iPhone inevitably chirps Skype’s rhythmic do-do-doo do-do-doo, calling her back to solitude. I learned recently that she was hoping to move closer to her mother, from whom she was estranged, but he wouldn’t permit it. Nor would he permit her a female roommate for some company. He pays the rent, after all.

When we finally moved out of Mariela’s house in June it was sadly in a flourish of frustration and bad feelings. My partner Nathan had moved to Nicaragua, which pushed the house beyond capacity. He and I slept in one room, while three women and two little boys slept in the other. Day and night, one of them was usually crying. We all shared the same kitchen and bathroom with each other and a host of uninvited guests: mice, rats, cockroaches, ants.

One morning, Nathan and I discovered his phone missing, and by the afternoon were sure that the cousin, Catarina, has swiped it. In the weeks before I had become something of the house bank, paying too much for Catarina to wash our clothes because she needed an income and lending money here and there to cover unexpected expenses. For that reason it felt like more of a slap in the face when we heard the phone ringing in her room and had to confront her about it. After getting the phone back, we left that night, 5 days before our planned move to Matagalpa.

Mariela did not defend her cousin. Instead she told us that she had also been stealing from her, which was one of the reasons she had needed to borrow money. Of course she failed to mention that to her tenants. From time to time it has crossed my mind to visit when in Leon to check in on Mariela, but I don’t know that I ever will. I regret that the relationship ended poorly, but what is more troubling is that, considering the dynamics of that house, in the end we were just treated like family.

Sisters in Solidarity

A summary of my most recent project, helping to establish a revolving loan fund to benefit the women of Cooperativa La Hermandad

“Women who make money are free to make decisions and have independence. It’s ugly to depend on what the husband does… Husbands will be involved, though. It’s a mutual aid because the man also gets tired, and because the benefits are shared in the family. The man is happy to have support.”

“I’m happy with the idea of having my own business, making my own schedule, working on my own terms, and being with people who are reliable and supportive. I’m a single mother so I have to work more and travel all over the place selling cosmetics out of necessity. I can’t be with my family as much as I would like. I want work that keeps me at home.”

“I have my husband, but a woman also has to help with the family economy so she can be independent. Nobody is eternal. No job is eternal. One day there is work and tomorrow there is none.”

Independence, stability, solidarity, economic security, a strong role in the family, a sense of ownership: these are the themes that emerged in the first meeting of Grupo Solidario Las Hermanas, or “The Sisters Solidarity Group”, a collection of ten women that has formed within Cooperative La Hermandad (The Brotherhood/Sisterhood) to work together toward the common goal of greater economic independence. Las Hermanas is comprised in part of female members of Cooperative La Hermandad, as well as wives and daughters of male cooperative members. With their shared ambition and strong family ties, the sisters have come to Fair Trade 2.0 with the idea of starting a revolving loan and emergency fund that will be administered internally by the women's collective.

The current goal is to raise a seed fund of $100 per member for productive investment and $50 per member to be used for medical and other emergencies. Over the next several years, the women will  continue to supplement the fund with earnings from small-scale economic activities of their choosing. The members have also each offered to contribute from their own pockets for administrative costs, the like the purchase of an official stamp, bookkeeping materials, and other printed documents necessary for responsible fiscal management. 

The group of ten will be legally formed under Cooperative La Hermandad as a committee with four women carrying out elected positions of two years each. Officers include fund coordinator, secretary, treasurer, and fiscal manager. Over time they hope to bring in new members from the family and surrounding community as they build their capacity to manage and contribute to the fund. 

Projects will be carried out collectively by the entire group or in smaller sub-groups based on factors like the women’s interests, living circumstances (i.e. urban vs. rural), proximity to one another, and access to different types of markets. Early ideas include building a clay oven for making baked goods, opening a small café that would sell coffee produced on the farm in town, a small hen operation, making jewelry with natural materials from the farm, and planting a crop of passion fruit for sale or to produce juices, jellies, even wine. 

Many of the women’s ideas are complementary to La Hermandad’s larger social and environmental objectives, and make use of the Cooperative’s pre-existing resources. This healthy dynamic will result in a dual-advantage: each project provides the women an independent flow of income while building the capacity and infrastructure of the larger cooperative.

The sisters are approaching the formation of this fund with entrepreneurial spirit, a strong sense of unity, and a commitment to ensuring its success through formal rules and strict legality. The strength of the fund, however, is ultimately in their commitment to their families and community. Over and over the conversation has flowed back to the importance of the family economy and working in solidarity with one’s sisters, brothers, husbands, and children to the benefit of all. Within Cooperative La Hermandad, Las Hermanas will form not a splinter group, but another pillar upon which the Cooperative can continue to build a model of lasting development for their members, their families, and the larger community.

Lessons from Cooperative La Hermandad, Part 2: "One Cannot Live by Coffee Alone"

A short review of the coffee rust epidemic and the limits of relying on coffee as a primary source of income

Coffee Rust: An Epidemic of International Proportions

Coffee tree flowering in April

About halfway up the climb to Cooperative La Hermandad’s farm in the mountains of Matagalpa, small family farms and open pastures give way to massive orchards of a single crop: coffee. High quality Arabica coffee is grown in Nicaragua on the steep mountainsides at altitudes over 3,000 feet above sea level. When healthy, each tree bears vibrantly green leaves and small white flowers which bud into coffee cherries that will grow and ripen to a deep red or yellow for harvest, starting in October. This year, though, one can see from the road countless hauntingly skeletal trees and recently cut stumps clumped and scattered throughout the fields. These are the first victims of a coffee rust epidemic in Central America that could continue to affect millions of farmers.

 Coffee rust ("la roya") is not a new disease. It arrived in the region about 40 years ago, but until last year, farmers had been able to hold it at bay. In the 2012-2013 harvest, that changed, and the fungus swept down the region from southern Mexico. Several Central American nations declared a state of emergency, as farmers experience massive losses due to the rust. In Guatemala, for instance, coffee rust affected 70% of the country’s crop. In Nicaragua, there has been much debate over steps the government should take to intervene, and civil society groups have been mobilizing to call for action. Because for Nicaraguan farmers, coffee is not just a morning pick-me-up, it is a means of survival.

Coffee, Climate, and Credit

Coffee rust claimed only a small percentage
of this year's crop at La Hermandad, but
Nicaragua has likely not seen the last of it.

The exact causes of the rust outbreak and rapid spread are unclear, but the most widely recognized culprit is climate change.  Climate change is believed to have resulted in rising temperatures and irregular rainfall patterns that have both facilitated the fungus’ (Hemileia vastatrix) growth. Lower altitude farms with warmer, wetter climates were the most severely affected, though the rust has also been creeping its way into the mountains.

Marvin Mairena, who lives and works on La Hermandad's coffee farm, immediately sites climate change as the primary issue, but also points to a lack of access to credit as a contributing factor. There has been little affordable credit available to farmers for field maintenance, so many continue producing with old trees (as much as 50 years old or more) that are more susceptible to rust and are not as resistant as some new varieties of trees. Fungicides (a short term solution) are likewise often too costly for small farmers, who can generally only cover the bear minimum of their production expenses while still providing for their families. 

Marvin says that large scale farmers have the best access to credit are the most productive these days. They are also those who have greatest access to the benefits of higher prices that come with labels such as Green Mountain Coffee and Rainforest Alliance, which require farmers to pay annual fees and submit complex documentation to apply for certification. The required forms can be difficult to suss out for farmers living in a region where even today only one in ten rural students has access to a secondary education.

One of La Hermandad's coffee orchards

The lack of credit and opportunities to participate in alternative coffee markets (not to mention the separate issue of high import tariffs imposed by the US on toasted coffee that strongly discourage—though don't totally prevent—farmers from adding value to their product) indicate that while the rhetoric around coffee rust in the media revolves around climate change, there are also social and economic factors that have contributed to the rust's rapid takeover.

“One Cannot Live by Coffee Alone”

Apart from coffee rust, the members of La Hermandad also suffered from the effects of extreme weather, high interest rates, and low coffee prices. Last year, a period of drought in October and November inhibited plants' development. The drought was followed by torrential rains in December and January that knocked many precious coffee cherries to the ground. 

La Hermandad's coffee
could be as close to home
as your local Target. 

Furthermore, one member heavily involved in administration Sebastian Mairena explained to me that, as mentioned above, the affordable credit generally provided by the regional cooperative union was scarce this year, forcing farmers to take out loans at high interest rates (up to 34% annually) from microfinance institutions. The higher costs of production in turn failed to be offset at the time of sale, as the international price for La Hermandad’s highest quality Arabica coffee (which sells for about $10-$14/lb in my hometown) had dropped from $100/100lb bag in 2012 to $53/100lb bag in 2013.

Sebastian predicts that the combination of these factors could lead to a coffee crisis deeper than the one of the late 1990s, which sparked the popularization of the fair trade movement after plunging millions of farmers into a situation of deep poverty, hunger, loss of land, and debt. Though this severe prognosis is far from certain, the difficult situation small and medium sized coffee farmers find themselves in this year is reminder of the harsh truth asserted by fair trade researcher Dr. Bradley Wilson: “One cannot live by coffee alone."

**In the next La Hermandad post I'll take a positive turn and talk about the potential solutions to this problem and the steps we've been taking together toward those solutions.

***Comments are welcome!!!

Get Up, Stand Up: Women in Leon Stand up for their Rights

A reflection on León's 2013 women's rights march, held on March 6th in anticipation of events in Matagalpa and Managua on March 8th, International Women's Day. Note: this post isn’t meant to make some kind of normative judgment that gender inequality is more problematic in Nicaragua than elsewhere, nor to bash all men in Nicaragua, rather to shed some light on the general situation.

Nicaragua: A Masculine Space

"A rapist is not a sick person,
but a healthy son of patriarchy"

Blatant stares, inappropriate comments, hissing noises, unwelcome physical contact. These are just a few of the overt signals men use in public space to single out and display dominance over women living in a deeply machista (chauvinistic, paternalistic, male-dominated, presence of over exaggerated forms of masculinity) society like Nicaragua. Such signs of deep gender inequality surface in everyday life here, as women go about their daily lives, and they elicit feelings of frustration, anger, and even fear among local and foreign women alike. As a woman and a feminist living in Nicaragua, I've tried to be attentive to the modern currents of a century-long conversation about how to best confront and overcome machismo in Nicaragua (for Spanish speakers, here is one good blog). However, as blatant as some of the symptoms are, both the causes of this social ill and its possible cures are complex and difficult to pin down. This post will only touch on the tip of the iceberg.

Stilt walkers add some color
to the day.

Exaggerated expressions of masculinity in Nicaragua's machista culture convert what sometimes feels like the entire country into a masculine space. For instance, walking down the street a woman is barraged by the abovementioned actions and comments like "Adios linda, preciosa", "Chelita bonita", or a poorly enunciated "Oh baby, I love you!" In commercial spaces like the shop where I've frequently needed to copy keys I always feel acutely conspicuous among the male employees and clientele. I've been essentially proposed to by more than one taxi driver, who had a few minutes before been trying to overcharge me, and have likewise had intriguing political conversations on buses that later turn into an attempt at swapping personal photos via e-mail. And I am by no means special or alone. 

A couple activists waiting for the
march to begin.

On a personal level, sexual tension seems to preside over or at least flow under the large majority of male-female conversations. Age, education level, marital status, and other potential boundaries provide no guarantee that the response to a question like, "Do you feel like the Sandinista party has maintained its revolutionary principles?" won't be something like, "Oh no, they're a bunch of crooks... So do you have a boyfriend?" As a foreigner, this problem is compounded with the automatic assumption about your level of wealth. I find I am often reticent to enter into conversations that I don’t initiate for fear that the ultimate motive of the individual is to elicit material resources (more often the case with women) or sex, and seeing this attitude toward others in myself is deeply disturbing.

Finally, gender-based violence in public (especially at night in the city or in/around bars, but also in places of employment, schools, and universities) and especially private spaces (primarily the home) are identified by many women I've talked to as chronic. Ending violence against women seems to be the primary subject of many women's rights groups, and indeed it is probably the most basic barrier women's social and political awareness and participation in changing gender roles. Compared to widespread domestic violence, the occasional bike-by butt grab (yes, this has happened to me and a few others I know) seems harmless.

The Paradox of Confronting Gender Issues

Everywhere you turn in this masculine space there seems to be a paradox. A woman must put on armor just to walk down the street, ignoring or laughing off the unwanted attention for her own sanity, and her silence or good humor is in turn interpreted as consent. Likewise, a reluctance to go out of the house and engage with strangers as a result of the discomfort and danger of the streets confines her to the traditionally domestic sphere — where she has fewer opportunities for education, economic independence, and social networking — and which can too often itself be a space of violence. 

The woman in the middle was marching for her
friend, a victim of abuse in her workplace.

Furthermore, many women face discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace that they must tolerate or lose their job (despite laws against this, which are apparently poorly enforced). This was the main reason one woman I talked to was attending the March; her friend had gone through such an experience. But at the same time, employment and economic independence often appear to be one of the most obvious indicators of women's empowerment (and indeed perhaps these are more growing pains as women increasingly move into the workplace).

As a person that is largely free from a serious threat of violence, I find the most difficult thing for me is the internal battle that results from being in such an intensely masculine environment. In spite of myself, there are moments in which I get a surge of pleasure from being an object of apparent widespread desire, despite my deep objection to the practice and the realization that it’s a completely impersonal interest: I'm just that, an object. Likewise, as noted I am reluctant to interact with people because I often have preconceived notions about their motives. Surely one of the best ways to overcome the widespread objectification of women and foreigners is to create more human connections that can facilitate empathy, but the effort of trying to overcome the barriers to entry into such relationships can feel futile. 

Local activist Sarita works with New
Yorker Gabriella putting up posters. 

What follows these internal struggles is that most disempowering of human emotions: shame. Shame can be deeply damaging. It plants the seeds for the self-doubt that can undermine one’s autonomy, and may be one of the ingredients that silently works to repress half of the population. At risk of projecting a little too much of myself onto the highly heterogeneous population of "Nicaraguan women", I can see how shame could be one of the more significant underpinnings of machismo on a larger scale. 

It is clear that women can be made to feel shameful for stepping out of the house and expressing their (especially sexual) independence. And dynamics of producing shame in a domestic environment (especially one of economic dependence) could be one of the factors that prevent women from leaving violent homes. Likewise women may be made to feel ashamed for not dropping out of school to work for the family, or ashamed for an unwanted pregnancy for which the man bears no personal or social responsibility. 

That men's verbal, physical, and sexual abuse of women should result in the abused experiencing a sense of shame is the most problematic paradox of all. 

The 2013 Women's Right March in León

Challenging the male-dominance of
Leon's city streets.

Ok, enough with the struggles and extrapolations, let's to turn to concrete evidence of how some women in León are responding to machismo: by taking to the streets!

León's 2013 women's rights march was held following a series of solidarity and morale building events in the square of the San Francisco church in the city center. There were short speeches by various women's groups, music, a video in homage to a recently deceased local leader, and public denouncements of the government's lack of action on women's rights. Though a number of laws have been passed by the Sandinistas, many feel that they are not upheld. Furthermore, the party is accused of not taking action against one of its male members on the municipal level in a recent case of sexual assault in a prominent university. 

Local artist Carola speaks to the fragility
of women's rights in Nicaragua

There was some excitement as the crowd of activists gathered, but it wasn't until a performance by local artist, business owner, and outspoken women's and gay rights promoter that energy levels hit a high point. She spoke to the fragility of women's rights in Nicaragua, and the importance of educating one's children, especially male children, about the respect that should be given to women and all people.

The march that followed the performance was intense but peaceful. With loud music, megaphones, whistles, and chants the women made themselves heard as they marched through the city's center, blocking traffic and drawing attention from all sides. I walked along the edges, taking photos and filming the march.

Banners question the government's inaction
on women's issues.

Some of the women's chants included incendiary rhetoric like, "The people ask themselves, 'who are they?' We're the feminists making a revolution," and, "we're going to burn the national assembly." But a deeper message was the democracy does not exist until women have rights. On that basic point, all citizens are a part of this struggle. The problem may be that in Nicaragua its a struggle that's often experienced silently, personally. So while the March clearly did not result in a revolution, what it did do was, at least for a day, crack the issue wide open, converting Leon's male-dominated city streets into a space of possibility and hope.

Calling All Poets! The International Festival of Poetry in Granada

"Si pequena es la patria, uno grande la suena" - Ruben Dario*

"If the nation is small, one dreams it great." Nicaragua's most distinguished poet, Ruben Dario (official site, in Spanish) expressed this sentiment in his early 20th century works. In Nicaragua, Dario is similar to that of iconic American figures like Benjamin Fraklin. He is considered father of the modernist movement in Spanish-American literature, and is referred to as "The Prince of Castillian Letters" (a reference to the Castilian-style Spanish adopted in the Americas after the conquest). His legacy is treasured by Nicaraguans, and helped to inspire a strong literary tradition in Nicaragua. This tradition takes its most sublime form in the words of its many gifted poets.

Karen meets Gioconda Belli

In February of 2013, Granada's 9th International Festival of Poetry marked the continuation of an annual celebration of Nicaragua's well-deserved pride for its poetic tradition. The Festival featured some of Nicaragua's most prominent living authors, including names such as Gioconda Belli (author of The Country Under My Skin, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in Nicaragua and/or the Sandinista Revolution) and Ernesto Cardenal, to whom this year's festival was dedicated. Each of the poets present represents a version of Dario's grand dream of Nicaragua, which has inspired so many like myself to adopt it as a temporary (or permanent) home.

Margaret Randall reading "Immigration Law"

While Granada's Poetry Festival is undoubtedly a celebration of Nicaragua's literary tradition, Nicaraguan poets did not hold the only place in the spotlight. Poets came from all over the world to read their work, give exposees, and participate in round tables on topics addressed in their writing. North American poet Margaret Randall, for instance, gave a talk on women in 21st century poetry, and later read a painful piece about her experience nearly being deported from the United States in the late 80s after writing a number of books that shed light on the devastating, U.S.-backed Contra War.

Others read poetry in languages unknown to most of the crowd, which was then translated to Spanish. I found that listening to poetry in language like Bengali and Norwegian gave me a new appreciation for poet's use of language to create sounds and patterns that alone evoke emotion and lend to the listener's understanding of what the poem conveys, even if the linguistic element is largely inaccessible.

Buggy sponsored by one of the country's
major cell phone companies

A late afternoon stroll around the Granada's central park was filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of Nicaragua: brightly colored paintings boasting of the country's natural beauty; folk music accompanied by a young troupe of traditionally dressed dancers; manure from a line of corporate-sponsored horse-drawn carriages. The festival also included an extensive book fair, craft fair, and live music from national celebrities such as legendary folk singer Carlos Mejia Godoy and his sons, who have flourished in their own styles.

The cathedral of Granada

For many ex-patriots, Granada is a city that should be avoided for it's over-abundance of naive tourists and relatively exorbitant prices. It is a city that brazenly displays its colonial splendor in a gratuitous effort to portray a level of wealth that is elusive for many Nicaraguans. Still, one cannot help but appreciate its charm when seated under a moonlit sky, becoming absorbed in the beautiful, terrible words of some of the world's finest poets, Lake Nicaragua's cool breeze lifting the tips of your hair, carrying with it the faint smell of sweat and fine cigars.

*Unfortunately I cannot figure out a way to get accents to work while maintaining the background color and formatting.