Tag Archives: favelas

Refuse to Be Overwhelmed

Jody1

Some days it feels like my wife and I should move to Nairobi to be with the children we met there who live on the hard streets.  On others I consider Delhi where I learned that young girls are vulnerable to sex traffickers.  On still others I remember the poor Brazilians we saw living in the favelas of Rio.  But today, I live in California.

And then some days I drive down L.A.’s “skid row” and wonder how I can live in Malibu instead of with those in absolute squalor just a few miles away.  And then I open my eyes to Malibu and see homeless and un/under-employed friends looking for work at the Malibu Community Labor Exchange.

The needs are simply everywhere.

How does one live in this old world?  I have worked for several causes, from at-risk children to poverty housing to disaster relief to homelessness to day laborers…  

And then I see those heart-wrenching images of Syrian children on television.  And then churches in Egypt are bombed while celebrating Palm Sunday.

The needs are everywhere, and they are overwhelming.

My personal belief system leads to public policy opinions that seems to place me at odds with all presidents, not to mention most of my friends, but it also leads me to devote (some but far) less energy to public policy discussions and more to being with the sufferers.  Knowing names.  Sharing hugs.  Sharing tears.  

But there are so many.

So here is my plan: 

I will not let such overwhelming need harden my heart so that I give up on caring.  I refuse the temptation to apathy.

I will not allow the impossibility of being everywhere at once immobilize me so that I give up on trying.  I refuse the temptation to quit.

And I will encourage others to make similar commitments.  I refuse the temptation to think that it is all up to me.

May the privileged few share with the underprivileged masses.  Everywhere.  Together.  Today.

from international rescue committee

Syrian Refugee Children (via the International Rescue Committee)

 

Scene (or, Seen) at a Stoplight

Favela

He couldn’t have been more than ten years old. It was our last night in Rio, and we had just begun one final terrifying taxi ride to Santa Teresa when I saw him. We were stopped at a light just off Copacabana Beach with the typical zillion cars zigged and zagged together in automotive contortion and this young boy weaved in between to wash windshields. He wielded a spray bottle and a brush and used his shirt for a towel—a typical Friday night it seemed for this ten-year-old. He took pride in his work with great attention to detail, finished and collected the change from the disembodied arm of the driver and glided with a swagger between the bumpers to the shoulder of the road exactly on cue as the light turned from Flamengo red to Brazilian green.

He made a strong impression on me, although I suspect the dirty little kid from the favela would prefer R$5 than an essay from an American about an impression he made in the span of a traffic signal.

I am officially a lawyer and live in a land and work at a school that celebrates and promotes the rule of law. I am not ashamed of this in the least. And I do not prefer to live in a world where ten-year-old boys have to work in the middle of a dangerous road in a dangerous city for loose change on a Friday night for God knows what purpose. Hopefully it was for his personal needs, although that alone would be tragic.

And yet . . .

That ten-year-old boy appeared in that brief scene to be more of a man than I am right now what with my petty fears and complaints and indulgences. I cannot say that I wanted to exchange places with him in that instant, but I did consider that I might hope to be like him when I grow up.

Fearless.
Industrious.
Skilled.
Swagger.
No excuses and no complaints.

I hope people will look through those spotless windshields and see that incredible kid.

The Path to Rejuvenation

Family at Sugarloaf

“I have become convinced that the best gift I can give my clients and the community that I serve is for me to be alert and energetic, thoughtful and ready to take on the day’s work. For me, failure to recharge and step away from the difficulties of my practice results in a burnout that dances dangerously on the border of malpractice.” – Brittany Stringfellow Otey

Given my socioeconomic roots, it feels pretentious to say that my family just returned from a week’s vacation in Rio. But we did. Yep, that felt pretentious.

We counted, and in our eighteen years as a family of four, this was only our fourth true family vacation. It was also intentionally our last. My wife and I love our daughters very much, but the oven timer just went off when our youngest turned eighteen, and we are done. People tell us we are wrong, but we stick our fingers in our ears and sing la-la-la-la-la at an annoyingly loud volume and refuse to listen. We are prepared to party.

We chose Rio for our farewell celebration and made the right choice. Brazil—and Rio in particular—is spectacular.

“Breathtaking” is a lousy attempt to describe the views in Rio. Words cannot describe what you see from Pedra Bonita high in the Tijuca rainforest; or at Grumari facing the roaring ocean; or at the Christ statue atop Corcovado; or at sunset as the city lights flicker on after riding a cable car to the peak of Sugarloaf Mountain.

And the beautiful people! Holy cow, Brazilians are beautiful. Pull up a beach chair at Ipanema’s “Posto 9” and prepare to feel inadequate about multiple characteristics of your own body.

And the colors! Brazil is not shy with bright colors. The ubiquitous green and yellow of the national flag shine at every turn; the flashy ceramic-tiled stairs of Escadaria Selaron sparkle like a neon rainbow; and the majestic, gaudy costumes of Carnaval at the Plataforma overload the senses entirely.

And the energy! The Samba show in Lapa supplied a beat that is the rhythm of Rio. The amazing athletes on Copacabana Beach never stopped playing Rio’s special brand of volleyball (played without hands). We stood and cheered for Flamengo, Rio’s favorite soccer team, with the raucous crowd at Maracana Stadium where the drums, songs, and massive waving flags never lost their infectious spirit. Rio exudes endless energy.

My friend, Brittany Stringfellow Otey, is a public interest lawyer extraordinaire who serves on L.A.’s Skid Row and writes with expertise on self-care and burnout. While my family vacationed in Rio, she published a blog post on “vacation as a matter of professionalism.” Brittany argued persuasively that time away benefits you, your family, and the people you serve.

Her timing was impeccable.

We went away, and with the deft assist of incredible hosts, embraced Rio de Janeiro as best we could. According to Lonely Planet, we found a way to see, smell, hear, taste, touch—and feel—something from each of the top ten things Rio has to offer. And so much more. We mangled Portuguese. We saw abject poverty, colorful ingenuity, and lovely smiles in the slums called favelas. And I for one prayed more in the crazy yellow taxis that infest the city than at Christ the Redeemer. We truly escaped our lives, inboxes, and routines and immersed ourselves in another world.

Now we are back, and I am magically ready to embrace life once again. Brittany is right: The signs for the path to rejuvenation point directly away from the office. ¹

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¹ For example, we are purchasing chairs and umbrellas to go with our new Frescobol beach game from Rio. It took a twelve-thousand mile round trip for us to realize that Malibu has darn good beaches to use!