Convicted in Paus Preto

Last week I visited a quilombola. A quilombola is a completely black community. Historically, run-away slaves established quilombolas during the Colonial period. The communities were self-sustaining and the community members were trained in defense, allowing them to defend themselves from slave owners who tried to re-enslave them. The particular quilombola that I visited, Paus Pretos, is not a historical quilombola; it is not a site where runaway slaves set up their own community. Rather, it is actually more like a segregated ghetto; the government forced a number of black families into this part of the town and just called it a quilombola. The name of the community, Paus Pretos is a demeaning name given by those outside of the community. “Preto” means black, “paus” actually means wood but is more commonly used as a derogatory word for the male genitalia.

The people in the community survive without some of the most basic needs. They lack access to water, good education, and a hospital. Their only source of water is rain, they have a contraption that collects the rain water for the community but if it does not rain, there is no water. There is a school in the community, but they do not have enough educators. I spoke with a man who said that his dream was to become a writer, but that he did not know anyone in the city who worked in industry except service or agriculture. Many of the children have disabilities because the nearest hospital is over an hour away (an hour away driving and no one has a car). But even that hospital is small and all the serious issues, for example, being born with a physical disability, has to be taken care of in a hospital in a major city. The closest major city is Maceió which is more than 3 hours away (driving).

It is, perhaps, the hardest thing in the world to see other people’s pain, other people’s needs, other people's dispair and to not be able to do anything about it. I felt so angry, and so frustrated, and so powerless. But the experience convicted me to the core. When I think about my life and the plans I had for it: sitting in the library trying to find a new innovative way to discuss the meaning of I Corinthians, or reading a law book trying to pass the bar, or trying to write a dissertation in Womanist theology. I realized right there in Paus Pretos that none of it matters unless my goal is to help people that are in need. As long as I am sitting by trying to bring myself glory in the name of God, instead helping to create God’s kingdom on earth, I have failed.