Joyana Jacoby
A year ago after sending a frantic, confused email to Stephanie Russell about life and returning back to the United States after a semester in El Salvador, she responded back with the oh so consoling invitation to speak at this conference. Still in culture shock, I said yes, not knowing what I was getting myself into. The questions she posed for me to ponder, however, have permeated my entire year: How does my international experience affect my life choices and work? How do I touch and influence others as a result of this? After four years of Jesuit education I have become at least a little more comfortable with questions than answers, and hope that after these 15 minutes you too will have more questions.
This afternoon I have two goals: I hope to share and affirm how Jesuit education has shaped me, my perspective on the world, and my place within it, especially because of a life-shaping semester studying in El Salvador. Second, I hope to invite Jesuit universities to take the next step towards taking more seriously our responsibility to globalize solidarity and create partnerships with all students.
A warning before we begin. It would be tempting and easy to applaud my experience of Jesuit education and simply pat ourselves on the back. I have been abundantly blessed with a scholarship based on service and leadership, many incredible mentors and friends, and a very supportive family. We are all very privileged to be here today. Because of the gifts we have been given by God, we each have an opportunity to influence many lives in an institution. I am humbled to share a bit of my story with you. But it must be remembered, this is not just my story. Rather, it is part of the much bigger story of love and transformation that continues to happen in each of us, each day, if we are open to it.
Four years ago when I decided to come to Marquette I consciously chose a Jesuit university; little did I know how much the Ignatian would mold me. Marquette and I have been partners for the past four years, working together, pushing each other to grow and live out the mission. It has been a relationship of mutuality and trust that took time to develop. Young and naive I came to Marquette from Stevens Point, a small town in Central Wisconsin. I quickly gained the Messiah complex, wanting to do it all and save the world. I chose my majors thinking that with sociology I could understand the world and then use theology to fix it! I was a young woman ready to be for others, but not understanding the suffering, sacrifice, and responsibility that accompanies this.
While walking to class, for the first time, I encountered people who were homeless and began to open my eyes to issues by reading, listening, discussing, learning from all that was surrounding me. I selected courses centered around justice and peace and understanding the complex systems of inequality.
My junior year, wanting to delve even deeper into the "gritty reality" of our world, I answered a call to journey to El Salvador for a semester. I was tired of living vicariously through other's stories and wanted my own. I wanted to breathe it, taste it, see it, smell it, live it fully and awaken to the world and the cries for justice that continue each day. La Casa de la Solidaridad is Jesuit education at its finest. It takes the Jesuit ideals off the banners and puts them into vivid action. The program humanizes, as it calls for the head and the heart to work together, integrating direct immersion with the poor of El Salvador with rigorous academic study.
At the UCA we were given the tools to understand and process what we were experiencing and learning with classes from the best professors in economics, history, political science, Salvadoran literature, Spanish and Liberation Theology. Every Monday and Wednesday we went to "praxis sites" to experience la realidad of the Salvadorans, to learn the perspective of the poor. It was in my little village, La Javia, that I was broken and transformed.
I have never felt so helpless and inadequate in my life! Here I was, a tall gringa who couldn't understand the rural Spanish dialect, stumbling along dusty dirt paths in the hills of El Salvador, not knowing what I was doing there. These feeling of helplessness and poverty, however, gave me a glimpse of the powerlessness so many in our world feel every single moment of every single day. For one of the first times in my life I was not called to do anything, rather, I was invited to just be with the Salvadorans--sitting on wooden benches, playing soccer, and making tortillas. I learned to communicate by not using words.
It was while standing over the plancha making tortillas with the women, I began to feel the heat of oppression, the suffocation of never having the liberty to explore one's full dignity. As I tried to unravel the women's thoughts, to listen and really hear their stories, without imposing my own judgments and ideas, tears rolled down my cheek. I made a commitment to myself, and to the women I was with, that I would in some way strive to be a voice for them for the rest of my life.
After four months, just as a mentor suggested before I went, the color of my heart changed because I opened it and let la realidad seep in and consume it. By entering the everyday, feeling la vida cuesta, my heart grew browner. By letting myself break, I allowed myself to, as Arrupe says, 'fall in love,'...I have fallen...I will stay in love...and it will change everything.
I was eager and chose freely to "be ruined for life," but I am not sure I necessarily considered all of the consequences of this. Returning home was, and at moments still is, a culture shock. While sitting with my family at a restaurant eating a plate of chicken I just began to cry as I became disgusted at the abundance around us.
The first semester back I felt utterly lost, confused, uncertain. Where to go from El Salvador? It was a semester of grieving, and a semester of birthing something new. I was different than the Joyana that left Marquette and I had to learn to embrace and reconcile the differences within me. I no longer fit into the same comfortable niches, nor did I receive life from the same groups that had nourished me. Fearful of romanticizing my experience I became paralyzed.
My partnership with Marquette became crucial at this point. I was blessed with many mentors who prepared me before I went to El Salvador, supported me while I was there, and then welcomed me back with open arms, embracing the difference within me.
I was supported by professors who were excited and eager to meet me where I was at, what my new questions and passions were. They encouraged me to focus my research on projects that would help me make sense of my experience: a paper on how first world women can live in solidarity with third world women, coupled with an independent study on machismo, and later a research proposal on women's empowerment.
In the classroom, whether in Latin American Politics, a literature course on Toni Morrison, or a feminist theology class, my frame of reference was from the perspective of the poor. I read with a different lens now, listening to where the voices of my friends, the poor, are, or more often, are not heard. Raising these voices in the classroom, challenging my peers and professors to look beyond the ivory tower, and to value experience as much as intellect has become part of my everyday routine.
Being surrounded by peers who were willing to share in weekly solidarity suppers of beans and rice, I learned to integrate and share the lessons I had learned.
Slowly, painfully, I began to unfold, and the final push of the labor of change came during a journey to the School of Americas protest in Fort Benning, Georgia. I used to sort of laugh at the name Ignatian family Teach-In, thinking it was a bit dramatic. Yet this year I understood fully why it is named this. I felt like I was at a big family reunion as I sat under that big white tent, surrounded by fellow Jesuit students who have similar ideals and dream.
Christ told us that the poor will always be with us. Not until I returned from El Salvador did I understand the implication of these words. Every morning when I wake up words of the Salvadorans enter my mind...I once asked Maria del Carmen, a women who selflessly serves what she thinks of the moment she wakes up. She and many others told me, "digo gracias a senor por otra dia a vivir." I give thanks to God for another day to live. Yes, Maria del Carmen, a poor woman from the hills of El Salvador will always be with me as I remember these words each morning and am reminded to be grateful.
When I sit overwhelmed with homework and long lists of things to do, I remember nine-year-old Leonora, whom I met high up in the mountains, in a village named Mojon, so high we were in the clouds.
While sitting on a wooden bench I tried to teach her to write her name... she eagerly wanted to learn more, but barely knew how to hold a pencil. When I want to complain about all I have to do, it hits me what a privilege it is to have opportunity to freely learn and grow. Yes, Leonora, the girl who most likely will never learn to read or write, will always be with me. She reminds me of my responsibility to take full advantage of my education.
Thinking about the abundance of options for after graduation. realizing I have the world at my fingertips I am reminded of 24 year old Maribel. While bumping along in a bus together, talking about life, I asked her what her ideal job. Yet, she did not want to respond. She told me it isn't realistic at all to think about another job, it is no use to dream when you know it won't become a reality at all. The poor will always be with me as I wrestle with being given the world to dream about while Mariabel is not even given one dream.
When I am disgusted by careless waste, frivolous consumption, someone thinking they are more important than someone else, it feels like a burden seeing the world from the perspective of the poor. Once you know, you cannot not know, and the weight of responsibility can be overwhelming. More than anything when I think of how the poor will always be with me I am filled with an indescribable sensation of gratitude and awe.
Now I consider myself a woman for, but more importantly with others. I am reminded of my friend Zoila, a 26 year old fifth grade teacher who is filled with pure beauty and grace. As we sat talking about the horrible public education system in El Salvador while the children were at recess she shared, "no puedo hacer milagros, pero puedo trabajar un poco desde lo puedo hacer. No voy a cambiar el mundo, pero si puedo hacer algo por ellos voy a hacerlo!" [ "I cannot make a miracle, but I can work in my own way to do something. I am not going to change the world, but if I can do one thing in their lives I am going to do it."]
So vividly I felt the oneness of humanity and how culture or color really do not erase those core parts of being human. To begin to understand this oneness and to really accept and embrace it comes with implications. You begin to understand that no one is more important than anyone else, regardless of titles, wealth, position, education, opportunity, or accomplishments. Regardless of their learning style, accolades, grade point average, enthusiasm, or knowledge of Jesuit ideals.
Each of my decisions for what I do with my life are no longer only my own solitary decisions. Rather, each decision, even small ones such as the cup of coffee I am drinking, are wrapped up with each person I have encountered, especially the poor. The more I delve into the world, the more I discover the divine oneness of humanity and how we are all interconnected. Through the life shaping experience in El Salvador I came face to face with a reality that will shape my vocation, my call to spend the rest of my life with the knowledge I have gained. This knowledge has pushed me to commit for the next two years to serving in Leon, Mexico with the Good Shepherd Volunteers and to continue accompanying the poor and inviting others to share in their stories. The voices of dear friends Maria del Carmen, Leonora, Angelica, Jasmin, who sometimes keep me up at night are loudly call out not only to me, but also to you. Demanding all of our attention, energy, creativity, compassion.
I challenge you to examine more closely how each of your institutions have imbedded in them--in the administration, the classroom, the campus culture--opportunities for partnerships with students and faculty to immerse themselves in our world and with the poor. Look at the energy and resources you are putting forth to facilitate such international experiences, for all students, not just those who take initiative. Examine more closely how with each decision you are responding--listening, becoming aware and alert--to the mission of Jesuit education to educate the whole person...to transform our world with love!