The Documentation of a girls experience towards becoming an Ambassador for Human Rights
The Sites:
For more information on the three museums in question, you may visit:
Pictured above are the Sri Lankan girls during
our first Skype session with the three museums.
- USA- The Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation website.
- Chile- Villa Grimaldi site
- Sri Lanka- Institute of Social Development website.
Pictured above are the Sri Lankan girls during
our first Skype session with the three museums.
Here is an awesome video from the girls in Chile!!
Here is a short Nonfiction piece that I wrote, pertaining to my trip in Chile
On our last day in Chile we piled into the bus, or more accurately, the medium-sized van on our way to the airport. To say it was stuffed would be an understatement. Squeezing in the luggage of the 8 passengers had been an amazing feat. It was just as difficult as any puzzle, only one combination would work. The bags rested on the shoulders of the other three girl ambassadors as well as my own, forcing us to intertwine arms and legs in order for us to smush into the 3 person back seat. Time ticked away as we fervently drank in our last glimpses of Santiago. All of us were exhausted, the past week had been an experience we would hopefully never forget. Despite, the language barriers between the girls of the United States, Chile and Sri Lanka, we all learned so much about each other and the differing views us girls have on human rights around the world. As I was contemplating the trip, Jenty and Nusrath broke out in song. What was going on through their heads; I cannot say. But soon enough all four Sri Lankans- the two girls, the teacher Renuka and even Museum Director Muthu, began clapping a lively tune as their voices rang out in Tamil, clear and strong. I stared in awe because up until now, I had heard very little of their voices, for our dialogs were constantly paused in order translate between languages. I closed my eyes hoping I could commit their tune to memory. They broke out in smiles as one would forget a word and their voices would falter. Soon, the whole caravan swelled with the music as everyone took up the beat. Song after song poured from their mouths as their confidence in themselves grew. The girls were like butterflies, finally stretching their wings to freedom after being cocooned so long from the air. Their long, shiny, black hair was out of their usual braids and blowing in their faces as the breeze from the rushing van swirled past. This was probably the happiest I had seen them; there in a crowded, hot, bus on our last day. But more than happiness, they conveyed a comfortability that vastly contrasted their tentative shy manners at the beginning of our adventure. I was touched that they could let go and finally show their true, joyous natures.
Eventually the singing died away. The group commenced idle chitchat and I could hear Nusrath quietly speaking to Muthu in the seat in front. Her face roiled with emotion, a sad struggle, it seemed, she didn’t want to accept. I tried not to stare and look too nosey, but when Muthu finally translated her words into English I couldn’t help but hold my breath. As he explained how she did not want to go home, everyone quieted. Nusrath sat up straight and determinedly stared out the window. Muthu continued, “here she feels freer”. We tentatively inquired why and found that as a Muslim teenage girl, at home in Sri Lanka she wears a veil that covers her from head to toe with only the smallest amount of skin showing thorough her face and hands. In heavily accented English, Nusrath explained to us that due to her family’s religious beliefs, she rarely goes anywhere besides school and home. Her voice choked up as she revealed, “ I very much like the pants and T-shirts I have been wearing here in Chile. I can feel the sun as it hits my skin, feel the air as it rustles through my hair”. There was a long drawn out pause. Softly she spoke once more, I studied her lips as they produced, Tamil, a sound that I had come to treasure though by this point I had stopped trying to decipher. As her words sunk into Muthu, his demeanor changed. He hesitated, then outlined Nusrath’s greatest fear, “now that her trip is over, Nusrath’s parents will begin the process of arranging her marriage. This will effectively end her education and her dream of becoming a lawyer.” His words hung heavy in the air, no one spoke. He disclosed that families receive money, a dowry, as they marry off their daughters. Most families use this option based on their religious beliefs, but also because of financial need. Silvia’s eyes silently welled with tears. Again no one spoke. I did the only thing I could think of, reached over and clasped Nusrath’s hand. Her slender, tan fingers entwined with mine. There was nothing I could say to comfort her, I simply hoped my gesture would convey all the things for which there were no words. I stared into her dark chocolate eyes, as she smiled at me, a smile underlined with despair. I gave her a reassuring squeeze with my hand and did not let go until we had reached the airport.
Since that day, I have continued to ponder her situation. Her statements were quite intimate and by revealing such personal thoughts, she risked confusing us. Perhaps we would think she was unhappy with her life and family and that maybe she wanted to reject them. But I saw the love and pride she had for them, as well as for her country. Out of pure homesickness, she cried every time she talked to her mother on the phone. In group discussions, she would state examples in which Sri Lankan culture was different than ours and was not afraid to describe why she believed in her own ways. One heated topic pertained to the idea of boyfriends and the relationships U.S. youths have before marriage. She loquaciously argued she did not believe our way was superior to her own. She emphasized that what makes a girl so special, is trivialized by the highly sexualized interactions young adults engage in in the US. It was surprising to find that I agreed with many points she made. There is something to be said for her idea of protecting our hearts and bodies and considering when the best time is for relationships. However, I still believe my culture allows girls more freedom and opportunity than hers.
Through the trip I think Nusrath learned a truth about herself; she can love her home, but this doesn’t change the fact that if given a choice she would want her life to be a bit different. For her dream of further education transcends what her community will potentially let her become. It’s one thing to hear about how a girls’ choices are limited around the world. But it is entirely different to befriend someone, so similar to yourself, whose culture determines who and when she will marry, especially, when she would rather continue her schooling. What I have had to come to terms with is that, when I head off to college in a year, she most likely will be in the process of making a home, working on a tea plantation, or even starting her life as a mother. She will be defined by the fact that she’s a woman, in a society where male and female roles are strictly prescribed. Throughout her life, she will need to obey the decisions of men around her for that, is what’s customary. This is not something either of us could ever hope to change.
I have come to realize, that society teaches us to believe in the superiority of how we are raised, to be ok with the choices our culture has and to accept the way business is done. As a citizen, its hard to disconnect yourself from what happening here, and now. But, from this trip Nusrath and I both gained some kind of perspective about our lives back home. When Nusrath shared her contrasting belief on marriage, this personal piece of herself, that showed uncommon honesty and bravery, it inspired me to do some reflecting of my own. Unlike hers, my reflections focused more on the foreign policies and activities of my country. My ambassador program trip to Chile allowed me to step outside my bubble and see how our actions affect others. As I learned about the horrible atrocities that were committed against the Chilean people during the seventies, I was horrified. But what was even more disturbing was to find that my country supported the dictatorship of Pinochet, and played a role in overthrowing the democratically elected Salvador Allende. Through the U.S. School of the Americas, the Chilean junta had learned how to spread terror to gain control and how to torture and eliminate citizens who spoke out. I take pride in being from the United States, I do not reject my life here. However, there are many things that the U.S. does, like this, that I do not believe in, that I think should stop.
Like Nusrath, I know I have little influence on these institutions, but also like Nusrath I just wish some things were different. Her life story will forever be with me, and I will never forget the feeling of our warm hands, together and united. Though I didn’t know it at the time, we aren’t that incomparable, we share more than just that inspiring Chilean experience. Our perspectives on our cultures and place within them has evolved. We are connected by the knowledge of the human rights violations that surround us. And as we grow in our life’s circumstances, we face the challenge of whether or not we will become advocates for the change we desire. I can only hope that one day in the future, Nusrath and I will meet again, and that the independent, smart, girl who I became friends with will have mustered the bravery to take charge of her future and that we will have both made strides towards addressing the wrongs that are being committed in all cultures.
-Mikayla Cleary-Hammarstedt