Estudiantes Chilenos Exilados por la Educación August 25th. Photo by Javiera A. Fuentes

“Y como, y como, y como es la wea? Aca estudiamos gratias en Chile hay que pagar!” ~ Chant of Chilean students exiled by education in Argentina

Surely by now most have heard about the massive student protests going on in Chile demanding free, public and secular education for all students in Chile. La Vida Idealist’s own Paul Kearney recently wrote about the protests in Santiago. Since his article, Chile has seen two days of national strikes, huge marches and manifestations throughout the nation, the death of a 16 year-old student by the hands of Chilean a police officer, and general public outrage.

The raising of voices and public out-cry for change is not, however, limited to the Chilean side of the Andes. Chilean students in Argentina, who consider themselves to be exiled by the educational system in Chile, refuse to be silent on the issue. They too are taking their drums, their banners, and their pots and pans to the streets of Buenos Aires. With gas masks and clown noses on their faces they chant “Se va caer, se va caer la educacion de Pinochet!,” a pointed accusation that the current government and its educational policies fall in line with those of Chilean dictator Augosto Pinochet.

Though the issue is incredibly complex and the situation more than a little “heavy,” I honestly find the ferocity with which Chilean students are fighting for their right to education inspiring. The argument is simple: the right to education comes before the rights of big business. Or, at least it should. And yet, students find themselves without options. In order to study they have to leave the country or incur a massive debt. It’s not unlike the situation in the US, something my immense student debt speaks to in volumes. The difference is, Chileans have decided they’ve had enough.

Playing tarkeadas from Sorcoroma, Chile in Aug. 25 March. Photo by Javiera A. Fuentes

So, for me it was an easy decision to march with the Lakas del Oriente, the only chilean style band of sikuris in Argentina, most of the members of which are students who came to Buenos Aires to study. On the 25th of August we were joined in solidarity by members of different bands through out the city as we lead the march playing tarka, a wooden, andean flute traditional used during carnaval.

Marcha chilenos en Buenos Aires Apoyo al movimiento estudiantil from Javiera A. Bontá on Vimeo.

Change is coming in Chile. This Saturday president Pinera will meet with student leadership to begin talks. I guess my question is; have we had enough?

The students created a beach scene in front of la Moneda in an effort to make fun of the then Education Minister.

Right now there are more or less four protests happening in Chile.

In my town right now, Rancagua, the contractors to Chile’s biggest and wealthiest company, have just finished protesting about the size of bonus they’re going to receive. They blocked the road to the mine, and threw rocks at the buses which go to work. They congregated in the main square every day to shout slogans, and regularly marched to Codelco’s Rancaguga headquarters. When this happened, it was difficult to enter the building, and cars regularly got damaged. They were on strike for about two months, the mine lost millions of dollars in productivity, and it was resolved seemingly unsatisfactorily for both parties.

A huge protest against the building of new dams in Patagonia has just ended with success, with the government delaying their start in favour of a further review. Patagonia is a place famous and much loved in Chile for its beauty, and these huge dams, which would need to run electricity lines up the length of this earthquake-troubled country to transport the electricity to the cities, seemed a stupid and clumsy way to generate electricity. The protests were huge, and carried out throughout the country. Television sets and facebook walls were filled with photos of bloody protestors and policemen, as the protests inevitably became violent.

Teargas in Santiago - courtesy of Heather Tang

The biggest of all have been the student protests, which are still ongoing. In every city, school and university students are protesting about the state of education – its high cost, poor quality, and the way it’s driven by the market. Wherever you look, schools are “en toma”, barred to non-students with locks and piles of chairs. On the biggest day of protest, 300,000 people protested, half of those in Santiago. The protests, in general, have been non-violent, witty, and consistently “there” – everyday, for the past two months, there have been protests. One response from the government, laughably, has been to move the school holidays two weeks forward, so the protests are taking place in the holidays rather than the school term. Another has been the replacement of the Minister for Education. In the last few days, this has turned more serious, and the government has just simply “not allowed” the protests to take place. When the students have inevitably protested, police have shut them down, sometimes brutally. Today, Friday the 5th August, the newspapers report 874 students detained and 90 policemen injured.

While all this has been happening, there has also been time and space to have a 10,000 strong march for gay rights in Santiago, and then a “march for values and the family,” of about 1000, in response.

From an Australian perspective, in which people rarely take to the streets, all this citizen action is very impressive. It’s good to see people in the streets, doing something that looks a bit like democracy. Other times it seems pretty futile. As a student told me in a pub, “when the government is this, undemocratic, you have to take to the streets.”

Whether, as some people think, this is all part of an expression of the people, which will force the disliked government to step down and be replaced by a genuine social democratic movement, or whether it is just part of the everyday running of a developing country, these are interesting times to be in Chile.

Paul Kearney is is currently living in central Chile and teaching English. He just finished up a year volunteering with Chile’s English Opens Doors program. To hear more about his experiences, check out his blog.

I’ve realized that in most of Latin America, anyone with the slightest hint of an epicanthal fold  will be probably be referred to as “chino;” a little blond on the noggin might get someone pegged “gringuito;”and an extra roll of fat will certainly inspire the nickname “guatón.” Fine. But I went to Oberlin, where safe spaces probably exist for half-Balinese half-Nigerian transgender kickboxing fanatics, and I just can’t participate in such un-PC branding. The words stick in my throat. Especially when it comes to “negrito,” which I know is really not a pejorative, but which I am completely incapable of saying to anyone anyway.

In June, I hired a driver to schlep volunteers around in Panama City. His last name was Moreno, and he was very moreno. His nickname was Negrito, though: he introduced himself as Negrito, my excellent predecessor called him Negrito, and I just couldn’t do it. I called him alternately by his first name and “Mr. Moreno” (which already sounded wrong to me). But I started to feel sillier and sillier with each phone call he began by saying “Hey, it’s Negrito” — so I decided to get over myself and just spit it out. I practiced referring to him as Negrito with my colleague when he wasn’t around, and managed to do that without stammering a few times, but when it came to staring at a big friendly Panamanian dude and calling him Negrito to his face: nope. Impossible! I gave up, calling him “Mr. Moreno Sir” for the duration of our professional relationship. White guilt is strong with me, I suppose.

So it doesn’t help that little corner stores in Panama, of which there are many, are referred to as a chinos. Honestly, I can’t believe that this is true. Sure, there are a lot of Asians who own corner stores, but come on: I can’t just call it a tienda or an almacén, as I might have in Chile, or a bodega, as I would in NY? No. It doesn’t compute. Chino. The only other term that’s worked is “Mini-super” (with Spanish vowels, please), which I think sounds silly….sigh. It doesn’t matter whether it is Oberlinian squeamishness, or real consideration. I can’t say chino!

Nereida Heller just started a new gig in Santiago de Veraguas, Panamá, with WorldTeach. For more about her experiences, check out her blog.

While busy running errands one day, and briskly walking along a footpath towards some government office or other, someone walked up next to me and asked, “tienes un cigarillo?” (Do you have a cigarette?) I don’t smoke, so I stated that I had none. But he repeated his question, and it turned out that he’d actually asked “te puedo decir algo?” (Can I tell you something?) Taken aback a little bit, I agreed, and stopped. Typically, as some might say, I thought that something might be wrong with the way I was dressed, or that I was in some sort of danger.

English Camp - click picture for the video!

He turned, looked into my eyes, and, seemingly earnestly, stated, “Quiero decir que tienes un poto muy rico.”

This was so unexpected. I immediately laughed, said thank you, and kept walking – as it turns out, I have “a delicious/hot bottom.”  I felt both complimented and embarrassed. Complimented, because it’s nice, and amusing, for me to think of my bum as “delicious,” and, I thought later, moreso that someone would risk insult or injury, in such a homophobic country, to communicate his appreciation for my hindparts. I strode along to the government office, as only someone with a delicious bottom can.

Later, however, I began to feel nervous and I actually avoided the main street on my way back home. What if he confronted me again? What would I do? How would I respond? Obviously, he did not, and I made it home with a compliment and without a confrontation.

Here in Chile, at an older age than perhaps at my most handsome, I have received more compliments than ever have in my life. Some are the sales assistant saying, “I’m only giving it to you because you’re beautiful”, and others more polite – “my boyfriend (sitting right there) won’t mind me saying this, but you’ve got a great style,” to an English camp in which I received a number of whistles and declarations of love. I know that this doesn’t compare to any of the molestation that women in Chile receive, but it’s allowed me to reflect a bit about what it might feel like. Obviously, the fact that I can list the times that it has happened means that it is not a daily occurrence.

As a generally shy person, I’ve felt both complimented and awkward, embarrassed. To some extent, I like this culture, in which people feel much freer to compliment another person, and where the idea of male beauty is much more accepted. And, on a personal note, by changing cultures, my bum has become less “oversized” and more “rico.” However, I’m sure that if it happened more than once every few months, I would fall apart in a collapse of self-consciousness.

For more on dealing with “machismo” in South America, check out “Does Machismo Exist in Argentina? Or is this a cultural misunderstanding?” by Megan Kaseburg, “Coping with the Burn,” by Nereida Heller, “Warning to Women: Thicken Your Skin, Machismo Awaits in Costa Rica” by Sebastian Kindsvater, or “Watch out for  What, Exactly?” by Lizzie LaCroix. Paul Kearney is is currently living in central Chile and teaching English. He just finished up a year volunteering with Chile’s English Opens Doors program. To hear more about his experiences, check out his blog.

For two years, La Vida Idealist.org has reached audiences in over one hundred and fifty countries and discussed the highs-and-lows and ins-and-outs of nonprofit work in Latin America. We’ve discussed the g-word (gringo!) and the ethics of “poverty tourism,” wondered how much impact teaching English really has in the long run, and dispensed dozens and dozens of tips on working and living abroad. We’ve fostered connections and collaborations between volunteers and social change organizations all over Latin America. And speaking for myself, we’ve had a blast while doing it!

Now we’re looking for new writers to share their stories, experiences and insights with us and our readers. Whether you’re a temporary volunteer or running your own organization, a photographer or photojournalist, or someone traveling abroad and making volunteer stops along the way, your anecdotes and acquired wisdom can continue to facilitate connections and enrich the ongoing dialogue of “just what does nonprofit work in Latin American mean?” If you’re interested in contributing to this conversation and joining our team, check out our Opportunities page! We look forward to hearing from you soon!

Certainly in terms of convenience, Panama, my new country, has been a lot easier than Patagonia. Most essential items are available in Santiago, my new home, and Panama City — the Miami of Central America — is only a nine dollar, three hour bus ride away. Plus, the level of English is higher, the roads are paved, the internet is faster, and the presence of foreigners is a commonplace. But there are plenty of directions in which Panama has not developed — and consequently,  a whole collection of new challenges.

For instance, bugs. Disease-ridden mosquitos were not something I ever had to worry about in Patagonia, because any mosquito that found its way to Coyhaique would be unpleasantly surprised by the inhospitably low temperatures. And Patagónes don’t have to worry about microbes living on fruits and vegetables, like most of Latin America, where it may be necessary to peel, boil, or bleach-rinse everything consumed.

The Escuela Normal in Santiago de Veraguas, Panama.

Having blithely ignored such things as water purifiers, mosquito nets, yellow fever shots, and even sunblock for so long, it has been quite an adventure adjusting to this new set of inequalities. I am flummoxed by the contrast between morbid warnings on the CDC website and modern amenities everywhere. Santiago de Panama has a movie theater, but can I sip a glass of tap water while I’m watching? There are Chinese restaurants, but can I eat there without worrying about food poisoning? Should I make a salad with the lettuce from the supermarket? Can I go to bed without taking precautions against malaria-bearing mosquitoes?

Of course, Panamenians do, and so do most expats. But I find myself inspecting my fruit suspiciously. Empty bottles of store-bought water line up by my garbage can; I refuse to leave the apartment at night without DEET on my ankles. I don’t know: am I a scrupulous traveler, or a spoiled-squeamish first-worlder?

Nereida Heller just started a new gig in Santiago de Veraguas, Panamá, with WorldTeach. For more about her experiences, check out her blog.

The Los Lagos Rinos

Our time living overseas can be counted in storylines. This is one of them.

Towards the end of my 8 months teaching, I bought a rugby ball. While I have played rugby in the past (10 years ago, say), I’ve never been particularly good at it, and recently, I’ve found myself to err towards the café drinking, book reading side of life, rather than the sports loving, sports playing side. The rugby ball purchase was done because friends in Los Lagos had been so patient in teaching me to play soccer, and I was enjoying playing bay football with them, a sport I’d never played before. I wanted to show them something of our sports, something I could do that might be interesting to them.

It turned out to be a good move. Almost everyone was interested in this odd-shaped ball, and when I explained to the students that  it wasn’t an American football, which they’d seen in movies, even more so. During school break I taught the students how to kick and pass it, and a few expressed an interest in forming a team. This didn’t really come to anything, though, as only two  ever turned up to the after school training. Sometimes, towards the end of my time teaching, we would play rugby instead of learning English.

Later, during December, someone started up a conversation with me in a bus. He’d heard of an Australian playing rugby during English classes, and he wanted help to start a Los Lagos rugby team.

The first time we played touch football, and later tackle, it was a like a little touch of home. In this foreign land, this was something I knew how to do, and, in comparison to the others, relatively well. My hands remembered how to pass properly, and my body how to move to the right gaps.

Throughout December, January and February the first rugby was played in Los Lagos. A group of 5 people would almost always come to train. Once 30 came , but sometimes no one would. I had to leave in March to work in the north, and, by then, a small number of people (including myself) had learnt to tackle, pass the ball, and play much better than before, and a large number learnt something about the game.

In April, the Los Lagos rugby team (Los Rinos) played the first ever rugby game in Los Lagos. I came down from Rancagua for it, and we played against a good team from the nearest large city. While no one recorded the score (it was a lot to nothing) I’ve never been part of a team more excited to play, and we played with courage and enthusiasm against a much bigger team. The local radio and newspapers covered the match, and we all felt like heroes.

I’m not sure if I’ll keep coming down for the matches. Rugby is a physically demanding game, and, without being able to train with the team, it could be a path to injury. But to be part of this group of Chileans, discovering the sport of rugby, has been a privilege.

Paul Kearney is is currently living in central Chile and teaching English. He just finished up a year volunteering with Chile’s English Opens Doors program. To hear more about his experiences, check out his blog.

Luckily it didn’t turn out to be a scam, and I was installed in the “international house” compound, along with 9 other teachers, 2 of which were Chileans. We were to spend one week training, and then start teaching managers of Codelco in one-on-one lessons.

It’s now more than a month later, and we haven’t started teaching. Instead, we’ve been paid for the first month, completed some assignments, got our visas ready, and went on a 10 day vacation.

This is one of the things we've done this month.

The reason we have been paid for a month’s work without actually doing any work is because Codelco is big business, and any contracts with them will probably be worth a lot, once we eventually start. It’s the world’s biggest copper producing company, and the company which is in charge of mining Chile’s biggest export. “Cobre es el sueldo de Chile,” or “Copper is Chile’s salary,” is a saying that has been repeated to me quite a number of times in the past month. Even still, it’s been a long time, going on one and a half months.

People say that this sometimes happens in Chile, and not to worry.

Paul Kearney is is currently living in central Chile and teaching English. He just finished up a year volunteering with Chile’s English Opens Doors program. To hear more about his experiences, check out his blog.

However, the first time someone, the  local reporter doing a story on volunteers working in Chilean schools,  asked me a question in Spanish, he may as well have been communicating in modern dance for as much as I could understand him. There was a pause, a moment of panic, and someone stepped in to translate. Later in the day, we had lunch with our host teacher and someone from our host family. The teacher, thank God, spoke (and speaks) great English, but my host mother, who I would be living with for my time, spoke only Spanish. During the lunch, the teacher translated between us, while I, more awkwardly than usual, tried to make small talk. It must be a bit like how diplomats feel, but presumably with added pomp. Midway through the lunch, another volunteer leaned over and asked, incredulously, “You don’t know Spanish? What students are you teaching?” To my answer, “high school,” she replied “Christ! Good luck.”

The bus ride from Valdivia, the capital of the region, to Los Lagos takes about one and a half hours through very pretty scenery on a small bus. I sat the whole time with a woman who I didn’t know, couldn’t communicate with and who was completely reliant on if I wanted to do anything.

When I arrived at the town, in the house where I would be staying during my time in Chile there were more people who tried to communicate to me in Spanish. I tried to smile and laugh at what I thought might be jokes. Eventually, they gestured to the bedroom and wondered if I was tired. I wasn’t, particularly, but I didn’t know what to do in this outrageous situation. I was completely at the mercy of these people who didn’t know English, in a small town which didn’t show up on Googlemaps, or any guidebooks, in a region that I’d never heard of, and in a country I knew very little about up until recently. I was going to be here for eight months, and hoped my weak personality would be up to the challenge of making new friends, and my weak mental capacities up to the challenge of learning a new language.

I’d never been in a situation like this before.

I tried to sleep, and hoped that when I woke up the situation would have somehow improved.

Paul Kearney is is currently living in central Chile and teaching English. He just finished up a year volunteering with Chile’s English Opens Doors program. To hear more about his experiences, check out his blog.

A friend's birthday party in Santiago, 2008.

Having lived in Chile for over two years, I’ve become inured to most of the obvious cultural differences found in guidebooks. But there are certain subtler Chilean cultural norms that still inspire me to fascination and wonderment. Below, I describe three (alliterative!) examples:

1. Celebrate.

Much like Medieval Europe, the working year in Chile is speckled by an almost decadent number of feast days, both religious and secular. Predictably, Catholic and national holidays are observed. In public schools, work also grinds to a halt for Labor Day, professional days (Día Nacional del Profesor, for example), school’s anniversaries, city’s anniversaries, harvest festivals etc., etc.  This means certainly an assembly, possibly a parade, and almost always missing at least a few classes.

Personal celebrations can also be rather extravagant. Birthdays, for instance: you might have a drink the night before, when 11:59 becomes 00:00 (It’s officially your birthday! Cheers!). Then you celebrate with a family lunch or onces, including cake and more drinks. Come the weekend, most likely you’ll go out with your friends, and madrugar – that is, party until the sun comes up.

2. Comment.

Tact is scaled differently down here. In his preface to In Memoriam Sherlock Holmes, Christopher Morley cites the following incident as proof that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is the perfect English gentleman: while approaching his home with George Meredith, Doyle noticed that said companion had misplaced his walking-stick and fallen. Preferring to spare his friend’s pride before offering assistance, Doyle kept walking and entered the house without looking back.

If Doyle had been Chilean, he probably would have turned around and said something like “Qué te pasa, weón, your game leg making you trip again?” and carried him into the house for beers.

The way I see it, this is good and bad. On the one hand, avoidable discomfort almost never goes unnoticed or uncorrected in this country. On the other, dignity will almost always be sacrificed for a good laugh.  Where a United States-ian might politely feign inattention, your average Chilean will go ahead and say “Hey, wow! You eat a lot!” or “Boy, your legs sure are hairy, aren’t they?” or “Who farted?!?” My advice: do not expect to pasar piola (be discreet), people will point that stuff OUT.

2. Commune.

Polonius, beware! In Chile, lending and borrowing are not only acceptable, but also expected. You must share. Co-workers use each other’s office equipment, printer paper, books, etc. Friends lend everything, including rather large sums of money, without batting an eyelash. Food is to be shared with all present, even complete strangers – hoarding food is a deadly social faux-pas.

And, like most of Latin American, the line between personal and communal space tends to blur. Minor acquaintances open their homes to you; at parties people have no problem sitting practically in your lap;strangers offer to hold the children of uncomfortable or hassled-looking mothers on busses. Two weeks into my last job, I found myself taking nap with my boss and her daughter in their bed one Sunday after lunch. The sense of community is incredible.

Nereida Heller just started a new gig in Santiago de Veraguas, Panamá, with WorldTeach. For more about her experiences, check out her blog.