DEAR TRACY AND TANNIS:

How are you? Nicaragua sends its warmest revolutionary greetings. I hope the program is holding together relatively well through the inevitable summer slump. (Why am I always concerned that things are going to fall apart while I am gone?) And I hope that you are surviving it all in good spirits. We agreed to go off on our various trips and think about women and literacy. Well this is a natural place to do it. Women, literacy and the struggle for justice are about all you can think about in a place like this. I find myself wondering around in a daze thinking of the contrasts between Ontario and Nicaragua. Its enough to make you head reel and the similarities are enough to keep you permanently cynical about the struggle for justice in this world. I want to tell you what I did today so that you can get an idea of how inspiring our tour has been.

I have just left a meeting with a literacy group in a small town outside the capital called Ciudad Sandino. This program was given honourable mention by UNESCO last year, for their accomplishments in the field of literacy, which included the creation of some new materials. All this from a program completely reliant on volunteers with meager resources and absolutely no budget for paper or staff (Don't tell our funders.) Most of the volunteers were women from the neighbourhood. During our visit they explained their methodology which was a direct application of Freirian philosophy. I couldn't help but notice with envy how easily Nicaragua fit this model with their language and political climate. (Especially when I think of how we stumble around trying to make Freire fit into downtown Toronto.) They explained that the goal of all education in Nicaragua is participation, and that a high number of community leaders come out of the literacy classes.

They showed us the standard workbook which they use for the majority of learners who have just started classes and who have never written before. The first page I opened said, (and I translate), "Women have always been exploited; the revolution creates the possibility of liberation." While the director of the center was calmly explaining how this statement is used to initiate conversation with the learners about their lives and how the revolution has affected them, I was going through a revolution of my own. I was suddenly struck with the huge difference between this reality and my own back in Toronto. In Canada we dare not speak in such direct political language although we are frequently dealing with the same exploitation. I must admit by this point I was feeling completely overcome with envy and was thinking of arranging a leave of absence from my work in Canada for the next ten years.

Before we left the literacy program that morning, the volunteers started asking us about our program in Canada. We told them about our struggles with funding and our waiting lists. We started to compare their shortage of paper and pencils to our shortage of government commitment. Ironically enough we all came to the solemn conclusion that our situation was worse because without ideals they insisted, education is meaningless. I will probably never forget that brief conversation. It left me with so many questions about our own program, about literacy programs in the developed world and most importantly about the messages we send to women learners in our own program. What messages do we give to women in our own programs?

Why are we still struggling with even the most basic political notions - especially when it comes to women? And why are we so frightened to assume any political ideas on behalf of the people who come to our programs? Remember what we went through trying to create a group for women to get together and how nervous we were about actually calling it a women's group since that assumed a certain type of commitment? And why in this affluent land we call home are we still stumbling around trying to find sufficient funds for baby-sitting subsidies and bus tickets? In this context all of those struggles seem almost ludicrous given that our resources are nowhere near as depleted as in Nicaragua.

In the afternoon of the same day we visited a ceramics factory, owned and operated by a women's collective just outside of Estelli in the north of Nicaragua near the Honduran border. The factory itself was surprisingly beautiful with high ceilings, white plaster walls, lots of natural light coming through an inner courtyard and a steady cool breeze wafting in through large spaces left between the wall and the roof. A woman from the collective explained that most of the women had been either labourers in a nearby tobacco factory or prostitutes before the revolution. After working in oppressive environments for most of their lives the women had made a conscious effort to create a work place that was pleasant to be in, and believe me they were successful.

It saddened me to hear that one of the major obstacles in getting the factory started was the attitude of the women's partners. Many women were finding themselves working full days at the factory, going home to the normal load of house- work only to be beaten by their partners, who were probably jealous of their success. The women's collective realized it had to take action because many of their members were suffering to such an extent that they could no longer do their work. With the help of the local women's organization (a branch of AMNLAE), they got organized, and told the men to stop. In many cases the violence didn't stop after the first warning. The women responded by beating the men in turn. As you might guess most of these relationships quickly dissolved (the men are probably still in shock).

Its funny our reaction to that story at the time was basically, right on and then we laughed at the simplicity of it all. Whenever I tell the same story here people respond with shock or surprise and quickly change the subject. I'm wondering, is their reaction due to a dislike of violence, or are they suddenly struck by our own passivity in the face of the same situation here? I was convinced before I went to Nicaragua that we in the literacy movement are doing our best in a difficult situation. Now I believe our resources are being wasted and our government is not committed to educating everybody. They hover over the middle of the road when it comes to women's issues and literacy and we never quite get to the point where programs have enough secure funding. What a dream it would be to be able to plan and run a program that could afford to support the special needs of learners - especially of women. We could then ensure that this time their encounter with learning will actually be a positive experience.

When it was time to leave Nicaragua I felt a quiet respect and sadness for this tiny nation that dares to stand up to a world power. After seeing all this in Nicaragua, I return to Canada a little deflated and depressed. I recognize that they are a nation ripe with difficulties but they still have a great deal to teach us. I was impressed with the fact that it is a country with ideals that it is using meager resources to their fullest advantage and most importantly that it is taking education seriously. There is something very humane about this. Something that is lacking when I go back to my program in Toronto and greet yet another homeless single mother who can't read. At this rate she probably never will. It's time to turn in for the night. What a way to spend a summer holiday. Next year I swear I will take a real vacation where I won't end up thinking about literacy at all. Maybe I'll go play miniature golf in Florida or something.

Until we meet again.

Love and hugs, Anne