Learning Compassion

This past week I found myself humbled, as I often do, in the midst of a group of people so committed and willing to work for change within their broader community. I was visiting in a region in the southern part of the Dominican Republic called Tamayo, known for its proximity to the vast sugar cane producing fields of the south and thus its large Haitian immigrant population. I was invited by a small Dominican community development organization in the area to lead them for the first time in the process of Open Space. The theme they picked for their learning experience was not one often up for discussion in this country: “The situation of Haitian immigrants in the region”. The conversation that ensued throughout that afternoon compounded, for me, some of my experiences over the last few months. I left feeling thankful, challenged, and humbled, forced to process and re-process some of what I’ve encountered during my time in the DR.

One of those recent encounters involved a Haitian woman who had been living in the DR for many years, perhaps even half her life. Upon meeting her, I could tell right away from her mannerisms and speech that she was doing all she could to “embrace” Dominican language and culture. I can certainly understand the need to fit in and be understood, but this woman’s attitude went a step further. I stood by as she spoke in Spanish with disdain about being asked to help translate for a Haitian woman and her child who would be going to the same hospital as she. Reluctantly, she went off with them, but I was saddened again later that night when I heard her gossiping in Spanish with a Dominican about the odd way her Haitian companion braided her hair. She was doing all that she could to shed her “Haitian-ness” and I stood by, feeling confused about a world that is teaching us to be ashamed of who we are.
Sitting in Tamayo, participating in Open Space, similar topics and experiences came up. “Why is it that when a newly arrived immigrant is abused, the most likely assaulters are now the second and third generations of immigrants?” These new generations are inevitably influenced and taught by their surroundings – both positive and negative. Haitian immigrants to this country have historically been taught to hide their “Haitian-ness” – their language, their culture, their spiritual beliefs. They’ve been taught by force and oppression, leaving many with no choice. Assimilation means survival. How privileged I am, I thought, to never have been violently forced into abandoning my roots and all sense of who I am and where I come from. That is the complexity and profundity of the marginalized immigrant’s experience.
And then came the hope. From within the same Open Space, questions emerged like “how can we create more spaces where Dominicans and Haitians are exchanging culture – language, dance, music, food?” There were discussions focusing on all the contributions that Haitians have made to the DR, attempts to understand the psychological effects of immigration on the Haitian population, and concern for advocating for a more just documentation process for descendents of Haitian immigrants.
Spending time with groups like these, in different parts of the country affected by immigration, I usually come away with some more understanding of the issue, but also asking deeper questions. This time, among this mixed group of both Dominicans and Dominicans of Haitian descent, there was a sense of compassion that gave me hope. Their insights were a confusing gift to me. With thanksgiving I soaked up their knowledge, yet I was still left with a heavy heart. The complexity of the issue is weighing, but getting at its deep roots is a part of spreading this same compassion to the coming generations. The challenges they face are enormous, but my hope is that in creating more spaces where honesty and understanding can flourish, the load will be lightened.