Inscribed in the Heart of the People

Nelsa Curbelo was general coordinator of Servicio Paz y Justicia (Service for Peace and Justice) in Latin America when this article appeared. She lived and worked for many years in a shantytown in Guayaquil, Ecuador. In June 1990, when the indigenous peoples of Ecuador staged a nonviolent uprising demanding land reform and real political participation, Curbelo, along with two Catholic bishops, was asked to form a mediation commission for negotiations with the government.

She delivered this talk at the conference "De Raices--Changing the Face of the Americas" in Oakland, California, on May 5, 1991. It was translated by Sarita Silverman. --The Editors

Three years ago, exhausted from the violence in Colombia, the peasants of Santander Province called upon the army, the death squads, and the guerrillas to sign a peace agreement. Orlando Gaitan, president of the peasants association, said, "We never thought we'd achieve something of this magnitude. We undertook this peace process strictly out of a survival instinct. We were just fed up with being cruelly sacrificed."

The "sacrifice" had begun in the '70s when the Armed Forces of Colombia, a guerrilla group, became active in the area. As always happens in this sort of situation, the army then came in and began repressing the defenseless peasants in an effort to rid the area of the guerrillas. The army arrested people, interrogated them, tortured them, and even killed them. At the same time, the guerrillas were killing those that they suspected of informing on them. In 1980 a paramilitary death squad emerged. That year, the death squad killed 32 people and burned down 12 homes.

In a province of about 100,000 people, hundreds were being killed each year. The prosperity of the region was replaced by violence. Nevertheless, in 1987 something began to change. At that time a representative of the army met with the peasants and told them they would have to choose between supporting the army, joining the guerrillas, leaving the area, or dying. The peasants refused all of these proposals and instead made one of their own. They said, "We choose to enter into a dialogue with the guerrillas and with the army."

The first day that they went to meet with the guerrillas, "We were white with fear," recounted a peasant who had been detained by the military 20 times in 10 years. "We told the guerrillas that we were not going to arm ourselves and that we would not supply them with sugar cane and potatoes. We also told them that if they didn't like our proposal, they should just kill us then and there." To their surprise, the guerrillas accepted the peasants' peace proposal.

Then they went to speak with the military commanders, and they took with them a recording of the conversation they had had with the guerrillas. They read to the military officers the list of those who had been killed that year: 70 by the guerrillas, 39 by the paramilitary forces, and 19 at the hands of the army. They said, "We are no longer willing to keep dying."

To the peasants' relief, the shocked military officers responded by agreeing to a provisional peace treaty. The peasants returned to work their lands, declaring a zone of peace covering an area of 1,200 square kilometers.

But the peasants soon realized that this wasn't enough, that to end the violence they had to work for justice. They began to develop community service cooperatives. They asked the government for money for schools, calculating that it cost the government a lot more to keep the army there than it would to supply basic services. The services people needed were much cheaper than war. The paramilitary group didn't remain quiet. In February 1990, they assassinated three of the peasant leaders. But the peasants said that they would not take even one step backward. In December 1990 they were awarded the Alternative Peace Prize given by the Swedish Parliament.

THE QUESTION, Is nonviolence possible in Latin America? suggests that it's not. It's like saying, "It's so weird, do you really think that it's possible?" I believe not only that nonviolence is possible, but that it is the condition on which our lives, our survival, depend. It's the condition necessary for building peace and justice with community in our societies.

Latin America entered the decade of the '90s amid great uncertainty--due in large part to the major economic and political crises that we are facing. The "new world order" that was proclaimed by the major world powers, particularly by the United States following the Gulf war, finds our region in last place worldwide in terms of economic development. The new decade was kicked off with the invasion of Panama--which might be the first indication of what the new world order holds in store for Latin America.

For us in Latin America, this new world order means being ravaged by the worst effects of capitalism. This can be seen in the cholera epidemic. Our people are dying because of a lack of the most basic sanitary conditions. Cholera is really quite easy to cure. All you need are antibiotics and a little rehydration fluid; and then nobody will die. Yet our people are dying by the thousands and it is spreading throughout the continent.

We live on a continent where human life is threatened in many ways. There are thousands who have been killed and more than 70,000 who have been "disappeared" on our continent. The external debt, which might better be called the eternal debt, is more than $400 billion--even though we are becoming more impoverished, we're exporting money. As they say in Colombia, the cost of living goes up and up and the value of life goes down and down. Yet, in the midst of this poverty, in the midst of this whole picture that seems so dark, so grim, life is still springing forth.

I continue to feel more and more strongly: Flowers emerge from manure, not from diamonds. The poor people of our nations have always been able to withstand, and the proof is that we're still alive. The way that they have been able to resist, the way that they have been able to keep going, to keep creating, is to use active nonviolence, which we also call firmeza permanente, or "relentless persistence."

The story with which I began is one example of that. The stories of the resistance that took place in Chile and Uruguay and Argentina in the times of the military dictatorships are other examples. In Uruguay, a fast was the spark that set the people to organizing and led to the removal of a military dictatorship that certainly was one of the most totalitarian on the continent. The people had incredible creativity, which they employed to do what the military prohibited.

For example, when the military held a plebiscite to change the constitution, they declared it illegal to campaign for the no vote. But everywhere you went, you could see signs. There'd be these huge signs that said "NO potatoes today. Sorry." They used the words of the national hero, Artigas. One of Artigas' sayings is "With freedom there is NO offense or fear." Nobody can accuse people who are using patriotic words.

SO WHAT IS NONVIOLENCE? I believe that nonviolence is to hear the immense cry of the people and not close ourselves off to that. From inside; from our guts; from our womb, as a mother who is carrying a child. And to respond with all the compassion, the creativity, and the love of which we're capable.

The problem is we aren't aware of all this life that is pushing to break out. The bad news we receive right away; the good news, not always. It doesn't come out on television, on the radio, or in the newspapers--and that's why it's critical that we are familiar with this in order to create a network of good news. People not only need to struggle, create, and resist. It's also very important to celebrate and to learn from the triumphs of others.

In Ecuador the indigenous people make up 40 percent of the population. There is a history of tremendous prejudice against them that persists even today. An indigenous person would have to wrap their hand in their poncho before shaking a white person's hand because a white person couldn't touch them. And they have to call the white person "Boss" or "Master." They could never look directly at a white person. In the buses, they would always have to be at the back. In church, they would have to be on the floor.

How is it possible that these are the people who are calling people to action in Ecuador today? The indigenous people have begun to reclaim their history. And in reclaiming their history, they have reclaimed their dignity. And by reclaiming their history, they are better able to understand the present. And from that perspective they are able to propose something to us for the future.

In June 1990, indigenous people in Ecuador staged a massive, nonviolent uprising. It was a very key moment in this process of consciousness raising. It also demonstrated the organizational capacity of the indigenous people. They paralyzed the entire nation for a week! The government didn't want to dialogue with them, so the indigenous people refused to send their products to the cities.

Then a very surprising thing happened. The people in the cities did not respond by rejecting or complaining about what the indigenous people were doing. Instead they expressed a strong solidarity, born from a deep understanding of what the indigenous peoples were trying to achieve.

Throughout this incredible experience, the indigenous peoples, I think by instinct, found a very effective nonviolent action. They occupied Santo Domingo, a prominent church in Quito. Other Christians in Ecuador took over churches throughout the country to insist that the demands of the indigenous peoples be met. The church almost unwittingly became the source of solidarity and support for the indigenous movement.

The uprising included many different actions. At one point trucks carrying more than 200 heavily armed soldiers were blockaded by the indigenous people. In the front ranks were mainly women. They took the soldiers off of the truck and--without even a single weapon--they marched them several kilometers back the way they came. The strength of the indigenous people did not come just from their numbers. It also came from the truth, the righteousness of what they were seeking. During the week-long uprising there was only one person killed, an indigenous person.

The indigenous people are now treated with respect and perhaps even a little bit of fear. They also have a political proposal, and they are consulting with all sorts of different groups--the students, the base communities, workers--in order to make it a truly national proposal.

The indigenous peoples have not read Gandhi. Where did they come up with this way of struggling? I've become more and more convinced that nonviolence is something inscribed in the heart of the people.

IN BRAZIL THERE ARE other dramatic examples of nonviolent struggle. Twelve million families are landless in a country that has huge ranches that sit idle. The Sem Terra (or Movement of the Landless) tries to strengthen peasant organizations to reclaim land that they can put to use. This requires an entire process; it doesn't just happen spontaneously.

The preparation of the peasants who will nonviolently take over idle land can take as much as three years. Then when they actually set out to take over the land, they have a whole system of internal organization and networking, with rules and their own leadership, which allows them to undertake successful occupations and to resist being evicted. To be able to obtain title to their land, they need to resist for extended periods of time--for months or even years.

More than 22,000 families have obtained titles to land through this process. There are 12,000 families at the occupation stage. They have recovered 980,000 acres of land. And those who succeed help those who are still struggling: Eight percent of the production of the land is set aside to support the struggle of those who are still landless.

It's not simply a matter of reclaiming land, it's a matter of aiming toward an alternative sort of society in which there is a participatory and democratic process with different values. In this world that is sick with egocentrism, over-efficiency, and death, it's important to nurture values that give priority to life, solidarity, and celebration.

It's necessary to act according to truth. The first task is to know the truth, to open our eyes, to listen very closely, and only after that to speak. That's why we have two eyes, two ears, and just one tongue. The people gather together around very deep-seated values. Our work in part is a matter of making these come forth from the heart of the people.

We have seen over and over that the people have the answers to their problems. And I mean "the people," not the masses; that is, the people who are organized and who struggle for their rights. We did not invent nonviolence. It's something that we helped make concrete. We help people to identify it as an expression of their struggle and to see how it works as a strategy. In this way we are able to return it to the people so that they can use it in a better way.

Nonviolence is nourished through very deep roots, including very deep spiritual roots. Without them you can act one, two, three times--but you cannot sustain a struggle to the point of giving your life if necessary. In the indigenous people it may be that the roots are less explicitly Christian, and perhaps more in a very deep communion with people in solidarity, in communion with nature. When indigenous people cut down a tree, they ask forgiveness. Nonviolence, then, is not a question--it's a condition of life for us.

TO RETURN TO THE original question, Does nonviolent action have a place in Latin America? I am wondering instead if nonviolence is possible here [in North America]. Let me clarify a little. You live in a society that generates in a systematic way much injustice, violence, and death. Therefore it intrinsically negates peace.

One of the interesting things for me about this trip, which is the first time I've come to the United States, is to note the difference between the system or the government and the people. And with increasing depth I do begin to feel it is possible to live nonviolence here. We see that there are people and groups who are struggling for justice here. And during this trip we have also discovered the poverty within the First World.

I am more and more convinced that the answer, the alternative, comes from within the world of the poor. The poor are the ones who will make the change, because they are the ones who are not inside the system.

I believe that we must understand more and more our mutual dependence. We in Latin America do not only depend on the industrialized world. The industrialized world cannot live without us. Its development is stained with the blood of our people, and we must stop the bleeding. It has to be stopped. Some nations have in excess what other nations lack; there's just no other way about it. We've got to put on the brakes. It's not that we don't need to be more developed; of course we do. But not with this model of development.

I believe it is possible to live, to act, to struggle, and to die for the dream, for the ideal to which we are working. This is not something unobtainable; it's ahead, something that we are headed toward, something that we will build together. Therefore the possibility for peace and justice is linked to our ability to believe in people and in nations; in our ability to educate not just the thoughts but also the heart and the feelings; and in our ability to believe in the poor as capable of creating a different world. That is where history will be played out.

The culture of death takes the point of view of the military, the powerful, the triumphant. The culture of life, it seems to me, takes the point of view of the defeated ones. It lives, it is nourished by their blood, but also by their willingness to live and to make change.

The path lies before us. Nonviolence means living right now the vision of what we want in the end. The end is found in the means, just as the tree lives within the seed. We cannot hope to achieve a better society by using the very things that are bad in this society in order to change it.

We need to reclaim our histories, the ones that haven't been told, the history of the people's resistance, the histories of peoples' struggles, and on that basis plant ourselves firmly in the present and project toward the future. History doesn't just go backward, it goes forward.

I'm convinced that love is truly the most revolutionary force that exists and that it will have the last word in our personal lives and in the lives of our peoples. For that reason I'm grateful to you for what you do. And so I'm asking all of you to make a choice. Seek the strength that will enable us to move forward to make the personal changes that will in turn allow us to make the global changes. In this way we will build a society based on justice, fraternity, and solidarity among all peoples.