The Real Banana Republic

On the morning of June 29, the president of Honduras, Manuel Zelaya, was abruptly rousted out of bed by soldiers who had rushed the presidential palace, and was put on a plane headed to Costa Rica. This effectively put into motion what the world immediately deemed a military coup and unanimously condemned as a threat to democracy. But while the world and institutions like the Organization of American States seem rather eager to jump to conclusions about the illegality of the deposition of Zelaya, let's back up and take a look at the tensions that led to such an ultimatum.

Previously, Zelaya had attempted to push a referendum seeking to amend the Constitution's limit of a single four-year presidential term. A revision would most pointedly allow Zelaya to extend his own presidential stay for an additional four more years. Given Honduras' past history of military coups and dictatorships, the Constitutional clause providing for the single term is understandably stringent. Furthermore, Zelaya has stirred signficant concern over the years for his dangerously chummy relationship with Venezuela's Hugo Chavez, who himself has campaigned to transform Venezuelan society along severely socialist lines and in 2007 publicly sought to change Venezuela's Constitution to allow for his lifetime presidential reelection. Chavez has been in power since 1998.

Additionally, Zelaya has done a rather sub-par job as the Honduran Chief of State, and quite frankly, sub-par is a diplomatic term for mind-bogglingly inadequate. His campaign platform included promises to crack down on gang violence, which has instead surged under his mismanagement. He has implemented measures like doubling the minimum wage; his means of demonstrating care for the poor, though in reality, such economic "aid" effectively increased unemployment to unaffordable rates in one of Latin America's poorest countries. His general lack of education, culture, and common sense have inspired consistent conduct considered embarrassing on international grounds and most critically, on the home front. I think it is safe to say that the majority of Hondurans who understand the implications of Zelaya's ignorance and lacking abilities oppose him and rightfully so.

Returning back to Zelaya's bid for revision, the Honduran Supreme Court rejected the referendum on the grounds of unconstitutionality, and Congress consequently followed suit shortly thereafter. Clearly unhappy with the results and further indignant at the army's refusal to help organize a vote, Zelaya fired armed forces commander General Romeo Vasquez. The Supreme Court quickly reinstated the General after determining the firing to be illegal. The tensions continued to escalate until the army physically removed Zelaya from office, an act which was actually ordered by the Supreme Court. After Congress formally removed Zelaya from the presidency, it named congressional leader Roberto Micheletti as the replacement for the deposed president.

The flurry of media attention has garnered Zelaya the irony of broad-scoping international support thanks to the premises of 'democracy,' including Honduras' revoked membership by the OAS and unanimous condemnation by the UN. Curiously, the United States has shown a very measured reaction, offering words against the 'coup' but stopping short of any particularly strong actions. The U.S. has notably not withdrawn its ambassador unlike the EU and countries belonging to ALBA.

On July 5, Zelaya attempted unsuccessfully to return to Honduras, all the while, stirring dramatic demonstrations throughout the capital and hypocritically quoting the unconstitutionality of his exile. His efforts were foiled as the army blocked off the runway in Tegucigalpa. The new government (really, the same government aside from the difference of Micheletti as president as the Supreme Court and Congress have remained unaltered; this is also where arguments against labeling the movement a coup may stem), in its isolation, has stood firm, vowing to arrest Zelaya for the illegality of his actions.

The situation to date is at a standstill with the opposing parties of the conflict respectively resolute in their convictions. Costa Rica president and Nobel Peace Prize winner Ricardo Arias has been named the mediator for peace talks. The first round of discussion failed as the deadlocked camps refused to budge. Micheletti holds to his promise that should Zelaya return, he will be arrested and punished for his actions. Zelaya, meanwhile, says he will accept nothing less than his complete reinstatement. In this second round of talks, signs of movement are emerging, slight as they may be. Arias is urging both sides to agree to a seven-point compromise that includes reinstating Zelaya as president and general amnesty for political offenses. Per New York Times, "although Mr. Aria's plan would restore Mr. Zelaya, it would also sharply curtail his powers and focus much of the country's political energy on an early presidential election [originally set for November]."

Pragmatically speaking, there is no easy solution to the complicated situation. Rarely does a simple coverall exist. As much I am loathe to think of Zelaya back in Honduras as acting president, his reinstatement seems the most realistic course of action at this point. With the unequivocal support of the international world behind Zelaya, Honduras is spiraling into continual isolation. Isolation can have deadly effects.

Regardless of the quibbles between the de facto government and Zelaya, and all other qualifying politics, ultimately, it is the poor who suffer. The Obama administration alone has cut $16.5 million in military aid since the coup and is threatening to cut $180 million more in development aid. In a country where 70% of the population lives in poverty, the people of Honduras need all the aid they can get. To qualify for aid, a degree of stability is required. The necessity of a stable, internationally-recognized and supported government is essential for the survival of this small country. It looks to be that Zelaya coming back, if anything very temporarily, is the best solution for the time being. From there, we look forward to see what the upcoming presidential elections produce and what the new president bodes for Honduras' future.

My hopes are that qualifying political prowess will be honed, priorities realigned, and greater awareness of the intricacies of government will be spread throughout Honduras. May the political elite be cognizant of those who suffer as a result of their actions and may the general public be equally educated on the palpable difficulties of addressing multi-faceted conflict complications. Politics and real life leave no welcome place for naivete. The current situation wreaking havoc in Honduras is just another stark reminder of such reality.

What's the big [i]deal?

Journaling is a big deal.

I admit, I stooped and settled for an imitation Moleskine for my last journal, but the differences were subtle enough to overlook (temporarily anyway, because I immediately reverted back to the real thing the minute I filled up the faux wannabe). I have a specific pack of pens that roll smoothly across the lines and those are the only instruments that can be used for journaling (and are not to be used for any other purpose). My best handwriting is indubitable, and I afford myself very little forgiveness for typos and grammatical no no's, so scratch out's are avoided as much as possible (the ugliness mars the page, duh). When I write, I must be seated comfortably, isolated from louder-than-a-coffeeshop-hum distractions, and obviously I have to feel just so--ready to battle all and any thoughts jumbling about in my head with the sword of articulation.

I find my obsessive compulsive journaling approaches to be unfortunately analogous to my prayer life. Too many times, I have this [subconscious] misconception that I have to be in a state free of sin and generous in Christian rhetoric, be entrenched in some sort of holy environment, and in the right mood. So I wait for prayer until that moment finds me.

And wait and wait and wa...of course that never happens! The fulfillment of those parameters is rare at best and entirely imaginary at normal. When do or will I ever have it all together? Considering I passed out and had to be taken to the ER in an ambulance because I forgot to breathe, I am going to go with NEVER.

God has been refreshing me with freedom in the throne of grace as of late. I am relearning that prayer is not always this dignified benediction that stringently follows the ACTS-determined order and my presence is not expected in the form of perfection. Rather, prayer is a rambling conversation to the heavens when business is slow at the coffee cart, a sentence of resignation to God the second I feel bitterness and paranoia seeping into my bloodstream, the surrender of heartbreak weighing on my shoulders over a particularly emotional case at the law firm, a song of praise for His wisdom, a giddy outburst of thanks for a delicious meal, a humbled sigh over a reassuring kiss on the temple.

I don't want to blaspheme against the holiness of going before God. It is a big deal. A bigger deal than Moleskines or juicy pens or little ol' me will ever be. But in the biggest deal in history, Jesus came so that prayer could be a big deal...but not a big deal.

It is a slow process of transformation for my stubborn inclinations, but I think that if I can overcome even my tendencies to instinctively order crayons and markers in ROY G BIV color order and eat all my chips smallest to biggest and never allow my pillows to be even slightly uncased, I can catch on to prayer as just dialogue, simple and true, with an ever graceful God.

On a breakfast burrito-induced fiasco

I'm a graduating senior in my spring quarter, and I got kicked out of class for the first time in my entire life today.

I was sitting quietly at my desk, taking meticulous notes, when 15 minutes into class, I got one of my infamous stomachaches. Never a good sign. I tried to ignore it but before I could scribble another word, it morphed into one of those explosive threats. I realized I had far too long a day ahead of me to risk anything, therefore I HAD get to the nearest bathroom NOW. I got up, attempting to be as discreet as possible, only to have my professor call me out.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Um, I'm sorry, Professor, but I really need to use the restroom."

"Well, I don't appreciate interruptions. You can take your bag with you and expect not to return to my class today. For future reference, I expect you to use the restroom on your own time."

[Mind you, this is the same professor who made me sit front and center on the first day of the quarter because I arrived at exactly 9:30AM and he had already started. Sigh.]

I grabbed my bag and left with the entire class staring at me. At that point, all I could focus on was making it to the bathroom. I dashed in with the nastiest stomachache ever only to discover too late that my stall had no toilet paper.

At least there were toilet seat covers.

The February Curse

I think for Lent, I'd like to give up crying. And also resentment, bitterness, paranoia, and cynicism. If only that were like fasting meat or chocolate; difficult but not entirely unreasonable. Really though, I wouldn't mind seeing the watery eyes and sobfests go, because chances are they were brought on by the stirring of Lo the Angry Monster of the Deep to life. (My sincerest apologies to all who have fallen victim to the wrath of this incorrigible creature.)

Unfortunately, there seems to be a mutual agreement of hatred between February and me. Every year when this time rolls around, everything settled suddenly jumps up and scrambles around like a desperate game of musical chairs, except rarely is there anything pleasantly entertaining or melodic about this chaos.

I generally don't support declarations of strong emotions because that usually turns blogs into self-deprecating pity parties of writers fishing for sympathy and attention. I do not wish to fall into the aforementioned category, but...I am having a rather turbulent month. There I said it. I wish I could attribute things to PMS, meaning all will come to pass in due time (read: give it about a week), but that period (no pun intended) has come and gone and I'm still feeling as psychotic as ever.

Thanks to a situation that continues to eat at the core of my being, I am a bomb set off by every little thing--emails, sleepovers, platonic arm caresses, the entire race of girls. Then I get caught up hating myself for the ugliness it creates inside. The weakness of the flesh overtakes now and again. Visions of friends' deaths and suicides of long ago haunt me. My aunt is having brain surgery for a recurrent tumor in a week. And in the day-to-day, I can hardly get a moment's rest between four classes, two jobs, and a looming, imminent graduation.

February is the James month. Not simply because this is when memories of both James', my friend who died of congenital heart failure and the acquaintance from freshman Bible Study who committed suicide, plague me like a swarm of pesky gnats as the sixth anniversary of the former passes. But also because James 1:2-4 necessarily becomes my go-to. "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, when you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."

God, I've learned that I can't learn grace and love on my own. I've tried and am failing miserably. I need You to break the chains of a curse that this year means stubbornness of heart, holding onto resentment, and defaulting to paranoia.

I guess this is where curse becomes blessing, when it pulls me back to the Cross.

And it kicks so hard, it breaks your bones.
Cuts so deep, it hits your soul.
Tears your skin and makes your blood flow.
It's better that you know that love is hard.

[Things to work on: titling]

We had a house dinner last night, and much of the conversation centered around the fast approaching departure of my beloved third roommate J. Listening to her detail the murky uncertainty most newly minted graduates face, the arduous process of job hunting in an economically unfacilitating year, and the implications of moving back home, I was terrorized by the realization that that will be me in just few months.

Oh dear.

These days when I do chance upon rare moments of free brain space, my thoughts are generally occupied with endeavors to figure out the future. 'What in the world am I going to do with my life?' begs the million dollar question. I know this much: I don't know much.

I've managed to narrow down my list of interests I realistically envision myself pursuing, as well as my list of projected cities I think would prove stimulating and most importantly, survivable. It has essentially come down to an epic battle between law school vs. journalism school. Pros and cons lists galore ensue. The margins of my notebooks, journal, and scattered 3x5 cards are littered with scribbles of random revelations, advantages and disadvantages, and probabilities of plausibility.

I won't lie. I like the idea of law school. I like the practicality of law school. I like the prestige of law school. But I don't know if I can really hack law school. Whenever I entertain the thought of three years of academic rigor of nightmarish proportions, I wonder if I possess the intellectual and disciplinary capabilities required of the hell that law school purports. I don't think I'm smart enough and I am far too skilled at procrastinating, so aspirations of law school could just be mistaken projections of what I wish I was good at. Not to mention, the inevitable incurring of outrageous loan debt is intimidating enough in its own right.

So then there's journalism. My brief stint as an editor and columnist with the Jaguar Times in high school was fun enough, and the blog I kept about my year abroad raked in some decent reviews. Besides, I journal like a fiend and most of the time, I actually think in blog entries. (Don't judge me.) But I sputter when I'm forced to write against my will and especially things about which I don't care the slightest. Nonetheless, I think I could enjoy and sniff out a niche somewhere in the world of print media.

The problem is, I am essentially starting at ground zero with both law and journalism-related ventures. Looking back at the last four years, my curriculum, internships, and directed passions garner me little experience and credibility with regards to either of my considerations. I am desperately trying not to dwell on wishing I could do college all over again, this time with the single-minded notion of what one thing I was going to pursue and then doggedly centering everything around that vision.

My coping mechanisms are limited to making extravagant and entirely unrealistic globe trekking plans on a regular basis and hinging my hopes on a miracle that I will end up like Dancing Matt. Or vegging on the couch, losing myself in episodes of Scrubs, pretending as if I am already entrenched in mid-life. Or simply not coping and just straight up FREAKING OUT, which really, is just as terrible a solution as consuming an entire 99c box of peppermint Joe Joe's in one sitting. (Or so I think. I have not resorted to this...yet.)

J seemed pretty content last night. Maybe inside she's scared to death too, but I love that she held her head up maturely. She exuded dignity rather than grudging resignation. Her thoughts and emotions were raw and real, but watching her take the pill of incertitude with a heaping does of faith and a glass half full of optimism convicted volumes to me. I guess I could try that too.

But I'm keeping that box of Joe Joe's handy. Just in case.