Three events drew all our energies together, in order to spread messages of peace and reconciliation to the people of Huánuco. On November 12th, a peace march was organized by local clergy to address escalating violence at the boarder of Peru and Chile. On November 19th, we participated in el Dia International por la Prevention de Abuso Sexual. And on November 25th, we observed el Dia International por No Violencia Contra la Mujer (No Violence Against Women).
During the weeks leading up to the campaigns, I transformed the office kitchen into a temporary art studio, spreading colored paper and poster board across the table. My first project was to create a giant children’s book modeled after some of the curriculum on the prevention of sexual abuse. The study materials, titled “Jesus te ama” (Jesus Loves You), offers practical tips for children on how to prevent sexual abuse through a context of faith and the development of self worth.
On a Saturday afternoon, we piled the five-foot laminated book into a taxi and headed to a nearby church for an educational program for local children. We brought along exactly 200 goodie bags stuffed with popcorn, candy and animal crackers for each of the children. As I glued a “Jesus te ama” sticker to each bag, I doubted that we’d see more than fifty children.
However, to my surprise, the large sanctuary was filled with children from various churches and a local shelter. I soon found myself leading an improvised game of Simon Says in front of the energetic group, while the sound system was put together. “Simon dice, growl like a lion! How do you say elbow again? Make the shape of the first letter of you name!”
The event ended with a greeting from our Paz y Esperanza mascot, one of my co-workers dressed up as a giant cuy (guinea pig) named Ruqui, a traditional Andean name. Cuy is usually eaten as a special dish, with a thick peanut sauce. But this day, Ruqui represented a cultural unifier, something like Mickey Mouse, but with sandals and an alpaca snow hat from the mountains.
Little did I know that I’d be stepping into the Ruqui costume the following week, as we drove around the mountain town of Huancachupa, me in the back of the pick-up truck, with one of our psychologists blaring out of a megaphone, “Don’t accept gifts from strangers! Tell your parents if someone tries to touch your body! Don’t keep it a secret!” Behind the truck was a procession of over one hundred children from the town’s only school house, dressed in uniforms and holding signs that read “No mas al abuso sexual” (No more sexual abuse!)
Never in a million years would I have imaged myself in a giant over-heated guinea pig suit, peering out at the most majestic scenery from this high altitude town, spending the morning reminding school children “Que nadie toque tu cuerpo!" (Let nobody touch your body!)
The event ended with a greeting from our Paz y Esperanza mascot, one of my co-workers dressed up as a giant cuy (guinea pig) named Ruqui, a traditional Andean name. Cuy is usually eaten as a special dish, with a thick peanut sauce. But this day, Ruqui represented a cultural unifier, something like Mickey Mouse, but with sandals and an alpaca snow hat from the mountains.
Little did I know that I’d be stepping into the Ruqui costume the following week, as we drove around the mountain town of Huancachupa, me in the back of the pick-up truck, with one of our psychologists blaring out of a megaphone, “Don’t accept gifts from strangers! Tell your parents if someone tries to touch your body! Don’t keep it a secret!” Behind the truck was a procession of over one hundred children from the town’s only school house, dressed in uniforms and holding signs that read “No mas al abuso sexual” (No more sexual abuse!)
Never in a million years would I have imaged myself in a giant over-heated guinea pig suit, peering out at the most majestic scenery from this high altitude town, spending the morning reminding school children “Que nadie toque tu cuerpo!" (Let nobody touch your body!)
The following day, we spent a damp morning in the Plaza de Santa Domingo for a public information fair and press conference. School children, police officials, psychology students and religious leaders stood along the periphery of the Plaza, holding hands in a human chain. In the center, a mother stood timidly with her head bowed as she testified to us all the brutal rape and murder of her eight year old daughter, Yuri.
I know the horrid details of Yuri’s murder and the corrupt legal system in Huánuco that required the intervention of the Supreme Court in Lima. I was asked to translate her mother’s testimony for a private funder in the States who has offered financial support to the legal office of Paz y Esperanza. I sat at my desk with my Spanish-English dictionary looking up words I never thought I’d need to know, like strangle and blood stained mattress.
To me, the stories of victims and survivors are no longer anonymous cases. I know names and faces of young girls who visit our office, avoiding eye contact and speaking in whispers. One of the girls who lives at a local shelter has the same birthday as me.
A candle light vigil was held during one evening, to honor the children and families who have been affected by sexual violence. Psychology students from a local university presented several actos symbolicos to express the effects of violence on their community. A group of mimes reenacted how children are lured by distrustful adults and a skit focused on how to report cases abuse.
Four young men presented a powerful interpretation, demonstrating how the cycle of violence can be broken. Dressed in rags with dirt and bruises painted on their faces and legs, they each immerged in slow motion from a dusty potato sack - a chilly resemblance to body bags waiting in a morgue. With an eerie religious aria playing the background, each figure reenacted an image of violence and then slowly crawled back into their crumpled bag.
The tone suddenly changed as four other students entered dressed in white, each carrying a candle and a card with a name, one of which was Yuri. Another card honored a survivor who I know personally. She likes to pick flowers and, at only fifteen years old, she is good mother.
I know the horrid details of Yuri’s murder and the corrupt legal system in Huánuco that required the intervention of the Supreme Court in Lima. I was asked to translate her mother’s testimony for a private funder in the States who has offered financial support to the legal office of Paz y Esperanza. I sat at my desk with my Spanish-English dictionary looking up words I never thought I’d need to know, like strangle and blood stained mattress.
To me, the stories of victims and survivors are no longer anonymous cases. I know names and faces of young girls who visit our office, avoiding eye contact and speaking in whispers. One of the girls who lives at a local shelter has the same birthday as me.
A candle light vigil was held during one evening, to honor the children and families who have been affected by sexual violence. Psychology students from a local university presented several actos symbolicos to express the effects of violence on their community. A group of mimes reenacted how children are lured by distrustful adults and a skit focused on how to report cases abuse.
Four young men presented a powerful interpretation, demonstrating how the cycle of violence can be broken. Dressed in rags with dirt and bruises painted on their faces and legs, they each immerged in slow motion from a dusty potato sack - a chilly resemblance to body bags waiting in a morgue. With an eerie religious aria playing the background, each figure reenacted an image of violence and then slowly crawled back into their crumpled bag.
The tone suddenly changed as four other students entered dressed in white, each carrying a candle and a card with a name, one of which was Yuri. Another card honored a survivor who I know personally. She likes to pick flowers and, at only fifteen years old, she is good mother.
The cards were placed in front, before a small, yet deeply moved audience. The men immerged from the bags in unison, somehow transformed. Each knelt behind a name, head bowed, honoring a victim or survivor. While somewhat simplified, a change occurred in the heart and mind of the criminal, the violator, the aggressor.
I could’ve left the vigil cursing the monsters that destroy life and then peacefully return to their beds at night. But instead, I left the vigil thanking G-d. The active presence of G-d is what can restore an abused child into my caring host father. The active presence of G-d fuels the tireless energy and optimism of the lawyers and psychologists in my office. The active presence of G-d is what keeps me willing and able to stay here, without my fists clenched or my heart hardening.
I could’ve left the vigil cursing the monsters that destroy life and then peacefully return to their beds at night. But instead, I left the vigil thanking G-d. The active presence of G-d is what can restore an abused child into my caring host father. The active presence of G-d fuels the tireless energy and optimism of the lawyers and psychologists in my office. The active presence of G-d is what keeps me willing and able to stay here, without my fists clenched or my heart hardening.
