November 6, 2006
Newsletter #3
The Light
Have you ever met someone that just has a glow about them? They
have something within them that you can’t explain, but to
which you are drawn and intrigued? This is what I have found in
Padma Pushpakanthi, a woman whose petite body and reserved, quiet
behavior are a façade for the strength and passion she
possesses. It is no coincidence that her name means the light
(kanthi) which shines from a lotus (padma) flower
(pushpa).
I first met Padma at our network’s steering committee meeting.
She is the National Coordinator for the Savistri Women’s
Organization, which is part of the Joining Hands network, and
focuses on development alternatives for women in the plantation,
farming, and fishery sectors in six districts of Sri Lanka. As
one of the primary components of my role as companionship facilitator,
I am to visit the 22 organizations of the network, meet the people
there, and learn about their particular issues and struggles.
Upon learning this, Padma invited me to attend a land rights workshop
that Savistri was holding for a village in Monaragala (accent
on the “ra”) district, in southeastern Sri Lanka.
Our journey began at 4:00 a.m. (We hadn’t even heard the
first call to prayer from the mosque, which to me indicated it
was an early morning.) As we drove through the unusually quiet
and empty roads, we left behind the rainy, city streets of Colombo
and drove five and a half hours eastward on bumpy, dirt-roads
lined with coconut trees and paddies. We all hoped that this monsoon
season would bring more rain to the typically dry area. Colombo,
where the rains have been flooding roads and houses the last couple
of weeks, doesn’t have a dryness problem.
Though I enjoy Colombo, there is something refreshing and cleansing
about getting out of the city—about entering the raw nature
of the village area, where the shops become less frequent and
the land, in all of its beauty, becomes the backdrop. One can
see people creatively using the few resources of their environment—dirt
to patch up a hole in a wall, a stick to use as a cricket bat,
or a bucket to bathe at the community water pump on the side of
the road. These images, which are learning experiences that portray
the splendor of simple living, are also a painful, eye-opening
realization of the things I take for granted. These people know
how to use the land for all that it is worth, but when they do
not know the rights they have in owning that land, exploitation
occurs.
That is why more than 40 villagers crammed into a hot, tin-roofed
room to hear a lawyer talk about the land rights they possess
and deserve. The villagers watched our van pull up to the Uva
Wellassa Farmer Women Organization’s office. When Padma
entered the room, I could see the spark in their eyes. There is
a sense of solidarity and trust between her and these people,
as she is the leader who fights and advocates so adamantly for
their livelihood and rights. This struggle affects everyone, whether
one is Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, or Christian. As the lawyer said,
“We are all one blood,” fighting in this struggle
together.
And that is why I am here, determined to learn the languages
and create relationships with these people so they know that I
am walking with them in this struggle, not merely an onlooker,
but a participant.
As we drove home that night, my stomach stuffed with more mangos
than one should eat in one sitting, I admired the scenery that
flew by and the glow that the evening sun shed on the coconut
tree leaves. I am reassured, yet again, with an overwhelming feeling
that this is where I am supposed to be in my life. I looked over
to see Padma resting her eyes, tired from a day’s work—a
work that does not differentiate between day and night, as is
the case with all livelihood struggles. But I know full well that
Padma, carrying a light of passion that she so lovingly passes
on to others, will wake up and start a new day, reenergized by
the need for justice in this world.
This is the kind of light we all should carry.
Peace,
Chenoa |
