Colombia ... Columbia

-- By MarenHulden - 17 Apr 2010

The Question

As we make life decisions, big and small, at some point following the conventional next steps will likely come into conflict with our convictions. “If I do what is expected of me now, then eventually I will be free to do what I really want,” or, “If I can just keep moving up the ranks, eventually I’ll have enough conventional authority that I will truly be able to do good for those who have none.” Unfortunately, making either choice can leave you wondering if you did the right thing.

The Story

I came home the month I graduated from college knowing exactly what I wanted to do next. Spending several months of my fourth year with mono had already introduced me to the freedom and responsibility of commitment-free days that post-college would be. Faced with an endless supply of such time after college, I planned to spend it in the most well-considered, just and helpful way that I could find. After much research, I found it: a three-year commitment to a Quaker peace organization that sends small teams of Canadians, Britons and Americans to places in the world with political violence that is caused by the foreign policies of participants’ home governments. The teams use non-violent direct action to “get in the way” and reduce that violence. Of the places where teams worked (Iraq, Palestine, Colombia, the U.S.-Mexico border), I wanted to go to Colombia. In high school I studied the devastation caused by Plan Colombia, including the U.S.’s support of para-military organizations there both through supplies and training. I wanted to join a small team of English-speaking people who lived in a mountain village, actively documenting the illegal activities of para-military organizations and standing in solidarity with the local community (which sometimes meant literally standing between them and the FARC’s guns). I felt called to join this cause, and take disciplined action to reduce the harm inflicted on other people by my government, because I thought it more just than gaining other experiences that could prepare me to change my government from within.

I was to leave for the initial training experience in Colombia the next month. Apparently I had not been very clear about my post-graduation intentions with my parents during the preceding months: my plans garnered equally emotional responses from each of my parents.

My dad was almost in tears, he was “so proud that [I] was called to take such risks for the sake of others.” He took time off seminary in the early 80s to go to Central America during the civil wars there—he has always supported and instilled in me a strong calling for social justice.

My mother was in tears: “You have too much intelligence, potential to make larger changes, how could you risk my life so young before realizing any of that?” Her response outraged me—the perfect excuse for someone of privilege to avoid taking real risks. I later realized that she was attempting to appeal to my rational brain, and that she was really devastated by the thought of losing me. When the rational approach failed, she tried again with a second response: that if I were to go she would have to literally sever her emotional ties to me in order to bear the fear of my death.

My mother’s fears were not unwarranted. Only a few months earlier, four of the CPT team members in Iraq had been held hostage for over 100 days. When their release came, it was only for three of them: the sole American in the group had been tortured and killed.

My Answer

Despite my dad’s support, and my principled calling to stop participating in a world that caused unnecessary violence, I didn’t go. The principled choice I thought I had made was overwhelmed by my mom’s second response—her deep fear of losing me. I didn’t understand exactly why, or how, this fit into my original decision, but I knew I would not go.

It was my mom’s reasoning in her first response—that someone with so much potential to appeal to traditional systems of power should use it as such, even at the cost of deeper commitments or callings—that I’ve heard echoing throughout the second stripe of this class, and that reminded me of this story. Is it justified to go work for a firm, in hopes of becoming a partner and fundamentally changing firm culture and practices? Should I write what I really think on my exam, or write what I think the professor wants to hear? If I know something is right or principled, is it ever justifiable to not to do it?

The answer is that it is complicated, and not about justification. In this case, my mother’s love swept in and made the decision for me; after that it didn’t matter if non-violent direct action or government participation was the more right thing to do. If I allowed myself to judge each of my own decisions by how closely they followed a set of principles, I would be paralyzed from ever actually doing anything. Instead, when I look back on this juncture in my life, I look to see what I can learn about myself. I realize that it was a moment when two of the most compelling forces in my life collided: a commitment to justice, and a love for the important people in my life. These forces are not necessarily always in competition in my life, but they are always present. My Colombia choice highlights them, and now I can see these two forces acting together in every choice I make, including my decision to leave my students in Texas and come to law school. Looking back on these decisions, not to decide if they were right or not, but rather to see what they say about me, affirms what is important to me. Knowing this, I am free to trust myself to make decisions about how to spend my time.

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