I’ve been meaning to write for quite some time about a
beautiful experiment that took place several weeks ago in the young women’s
detention center where I do poetry workshops.
On July 30th there was a revolt within the
Center, which nearly resulted in the violent deaths of an entire sector of
girls affiliated with a certain gang. Luckily the police were able to intervene
in time, but the result has been an unprecedented division between inmates.
Whereas for the past 5 years the girls have studied together, gone to workshops
together, and eaten together in the Center regardless of gang affiliation, they
have now been divided such that they have no contact at all.
Now, slightly less than half of the population is stuck in a
corner of the Center where they have no outdoor space and thus never feel the
sun’s rays. The girls have expressed that they feel more incarcerated than ever
before and that they cannot stand the thought of being cooped up in this tiny
space for so many years.
While the
incident was certainly not one to be taken lightly, I still can’t help but see
the decision to separate the girls as a huge step backwards. It seems like a
cop-out of sorts, resorting to the all too familiar habit in El Salvador of
creating yet another division and deeming impossible attempts at dialogue,
peace-keeping circles, negotiations, and creative attempts to construct
peaceful coexistence. However, since there never seem to be adequate funds,
personnel, or peacebuilding training to think outside of the box, the decision
has been made and seems to be irreversible.
It is into this
quite hostile context that 3 passionate, energetic orchestra instructors from
Chile and Argentina (who had no idea of the pre-existing conflict and recent
division) came onto the scene. They had received a donation to purchase 30
cellos, violas, and violins to teach an intensive 2-week music coarse in the
Center. I was extremely skeptical of such a short-term initiative, but sure
enough, 25 girls were reunited for the first time since the division as they
took up an instrument for the first time in their lives and practiced
rigorously without a single outbreak of conflict between them.
When the day came to bring the girls to an auditorium to
perform together with the youth symphonic orchestra of El Salvador, the
excitement in the Center was electric (literally). All of the girls were
straightening their hair and dressing to impress for the big event, when the
Center’s director came in to announce that not all of the girls would be
allowed to participate in the concert. For “poor behavior” several of their
judges had sent a last minute fax informing that 7 of the girls would not be
allowed to perform.
As I watched tears roll down the faces of the girls who were
forced to stay behind, I couldn’t help but think that this is the exact
opposite of what a “rehabilitation center” should do. This would likely be the
only chance these girls will get to perform on a stage in their lives, so to
take this away from them at the last minute after their dedicated commitment
for two weeks seemed ridiculous at best.
One of the girls who was most devastated by the news burst
into sobs because she had worked so hard for two weeks in vain, and her friends
had promised to go see her perform. Her prison sentence ends in November of
this year, and I can’t help but think that it was simply the judge’s last
chance to screw her over while she is still under his control. The punitive
system is so focused on punishment while personal/emotional development, trauma
therapy, and affirmations are rarely part of the picture. Given that
Disappointments aside, the concert was absolutely beautiful.
I couldn’t help but cry as I watched the girls stand up on stage and play the
few songs they had learned with such pride. I have loved these girls so deeply
for the past two years, and their stories and secrets have moved and shaped me
in a thousand ways.
It was
overwhelmingly beautiful to see them standing gracefully on stage, outside of
the detention center walls, even if just for a fleeting moment. I feel so
blessed to be able to share in some small way in their lives.
To know and love them for who they are becoming and who they
have been.
To know them as human beings with deep scars, dark secrets,
and softly spoken dreams.
To have the chance to know with certainty that despite
popular consent, each one of them is so much more than just another delinquent
youth who deserves what she gets.
As I scanned their faces I thought of all of the tremendous
situations they have been forced to live in their short lives and was startled
by their resilience and beauty, though they (we) have certainly caused their
fair share of harm.
As they were handcuffed and lead off of stage, I run up to
hug them and gift them each a rose. It wasn’t until later that I realized that
one of the only parents that had made it to the event (it was late at night in
an inaccessible part of the city by public transportation) was told he was not
allowed to hug his daughter for security reasons. Good thing I didn’t ask
questions.
The government’s cultural department did of course fail to
contract music teachers to carry on the course beyond the 2-week initiative, so
my friend is working her contacts to try to ensure some sort of follow up.
However, in spite of its shortcomings, this program thoroughly impressed me. It
goes to show what can happen when passionate teachers who pay more attention to
the magic of music than to stereotypes and fear are united with girls whose
desire to learn and to succeed far overrides their conflictive tendencies.
