Reflections on Orientation - Louisville

The journey so far

I am very glad to state that I am writing this from Lima, Perú (finally!), after months of painfully-slow build up. After my acceptance into the YAV program in February, I felt like I was in limbo. I was scared about how unprepared I was for what lay ahead, but also impatient to just get there already. The hardest part was enjoying time with loved ones as a deadline floated around in the back of my head. A part of me thinks I would have moved immediately after my acceptance in order to get the good-byes over with, if I had the option. To say I felt torn between dread and relief on my flight to orientation is an understatement.

I had two weeks of orientation in August. The first began when I left home on August 17th and arrived in Louisville, Kentucky. I spent that week doing workshops and bonding with other American YAVs before we were sent to our respective sites. My second week of orientation began after my roommate Ganijah* and I arrived in Perú on August 22nd. For this week of orientation, we met with our cohort made up of Peruvian YAVs and a YAV from Colombia. We had meaningful conversations, bonded with the others, and were shown around the city. We moved in with our host family on August 29th, and I am so grateful for how gracious and welcoming they have been. 

I left for orientation one month ago, and I already started working at my three placement sites in Perú. I have so many thoughts regarding the whirlwind that has been the past month, but they are hard to pull together into one cohesive essay. However, I know I want to start with the discourse that was held over orientation before getting into the work I am currently doing. These conversations were incredibly important and will also set the tone for what this blog will be. Due to the length of what I will be writing, I am breaking down my reflections on orientation into two parts. This initial post will be about what was learnt in Louisville.

Recognizing my privilege, reflecting on the church as an institution, and decolonizing volunteer work

It would be a fallacy not to acknowledge the ways in which I am privileged, how these advantages have brought me to this point in my life, and in what ways they will continue to help me down the road. In one workshop from our time in Louisville titled Radical Welcome, privilege is defined as having access to resources, social rewards, and the power to shape values and norms within society - powers that are unearned or unquestioned due to certain characteristics or traits one possesses (skin color, gender, sexuality, etc.). For example, I know that I benefit from my being white, straight, and able-bodied. I have never experienced what it is like to be stopped by the police due to my skin color, or the frustration of being unable to enter buildings because of a physical handicap and a lack of accessibility. The fact that I can afford to take a year off work to spend time volunteering abroad is another sign of the privilege I have. I also know that, despite being an outsider, my skin color in Perú will continue to be a social advantage. This is due to the cultural hierarchies and beauty standards that were enforced by Spain when they colonized Perú, as well as the current stigmas surrounding Perú’s indigenous communities. If I am not aware of these benefits, and that such disparities exist, then how could I assist in dismantling the systems and hierarchies that perpetuate them? 

This brings me to my second point. I am a Christian, and this part of my identity comes with many, many layers. I would be lying if I said that I did not feel any discomfort in being a part of an institution that has oppressed so many, for so long. But I value the church community I was raised in, the messages of inclusivity and love I was taught, and the potential good that church communities can do if they are willing to open their doors to “Others” - the groups of minorities that have been harmed by the church throughout its existence. During the workshop mentioned above, we discussed the idea that if you love the church, then you are obligated to critique it, and to work to undue the damage that it has done. 

My Louisville cohort and I began approaching this by creating a list of who the “Others” are. I will include it below with the acknowledgement that there are more groups that should be added, such as other religious communities, indigenous populations, etc.

• The queer/trans community

• People of color (POC)

• Women

• Immigrants 

• The formally incarcerated or the currently incarcerated

• Low-income household

• The unhoused

• The mentally ill

• The physically disabled

• Children

• The under-educated

• Those who speak a different language

• People who do not have citizenship

• One’s physical size

There is a great deal of work that needs to be done to address these harms and make amends. This is one of the reasons why I applied to join this program. I wanted to explore my relationship with the church, and to start actively confronting social and political issues around the world, but needed a strong jumping off point to do so. I did not want to get so overwhelmed with the question, “where do I even start?” that I choose not to do anything. This brings me to my third point.

I am not a missionary, I do not want to be called a missionary, and, in fact, I really hate the word. I associate “missionaries” and “mission work” with the church’s colonial past, with the forcing of our religion onto others, destroying other cultures, and exploiting their natural resources for our benefit (the United States is still doing this to Perú, by the way. More on that later.). In a separate workshop during my orientation in Louisville, we discussed the rejection of paternalism in volunteer work, especially if that volunteer work is being done in another country. To summarize it briefly, paternalism is when volunteers decide what is “best” for whoever they are assisting, acting with the mindset that they are there to “save” them. That is not why I am here. I know that the people of Perú do not need me, or groups of white saviors, to go in and “fix” things for them. Peruvians are not helpless. 

Volunteerism on the other hand, whether inside or outside of the United States, should be about partnerships, about building relationships with local institutions to assist, as needed, in developing projects that will last long-term. It should be about working with people and organizations that want us there in the first place. This is why I adore the practice of Radical Welcome that was taught to us in Louisville. This is the practice of  “embracing and being changed by the gifts, presence, voices, and power of the Other”. To truly be helpful to those we are supporting, we need to let them show us how we can help in the first place - not the other way around. In doing so, we are opening up ourselves to learn, in so many different ways, from who we are partnering with.

What is next -  how I will be approaching poverty, racism, and environmentalism in Perú

Due to the long history of colonialism within the church and the United States, I want to take more time to outline the framework in which I view issues like poverty and racism. This is incredibly important to me because, being a white, American volunteer in another country, I do not want to unconsciously perpetuate colonial dynamics. On top of this, I have been learning further about how the United States is taking advantage of Peruvian resources and damaging local ecosystems in the process. Because I was unaware that this was happening until I got here, I would like to go into further detail about this as well. However, I am waiting to write about these subjects at a later point. My next post will be about my orientation in Lima.

With love,

Ella

*Check out Ganijah’s blog here!