20 Years after an HIV Scare in Africa

– Brian Guse, RPCV, and PC Trainer, Mali

I was perusing the National Peace Corps Association site on Facebook today and saw a post urging readers to check out an RPCV’s blog titled “No Going Back – There Is Only Forward.

The author is a young woman who was recently med-separated from Peace Corps after contracting HIV while in country (Zambia). Her story is one of courage and strength and she is an inspiration to all – Peace Corps or not, HIV positive or not.

After reading her blog I couldn’t help but think back to where I was 20 years ago and the intersection HIV made with my own Peace Corps experience. By no means do I compare my “scare” with what she is going through, but I think some of you might be able to relate to the story I am about to tell.

20 years ago, almost to the day, I was sitting on an airplane crossing the Atlantic on my way back to Mali. I had been away from my village, my friends and my Malian family for more than 45 days – on medical evacuation for a serious life threatening illness. After having spent a week in Georgetown University hospital, another 2 weeks recuperating in the Virginian Hotel in Rosslyn, VA (Washington, DC) and a couple of weeks fattening up back home in the Midwest, I was anxious to get back to my mission and finish my remaining months as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

To many of the other PCVs I met on medevac, the time spent in DC was like a vacation – time to recuperate from whatever ailed them, job hunt or visit the sites of the Nation’s Capital. For me, those weeks in DC were some of the most frightening days of my life; a time when I thought I was going to die.

As a sexually active gay man in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s I was extremely aware of and paranoid about the prospects of acquiring HIV. Nonetheless, safe sex was a concept but not always a reality for me. Getting tested for HIV was a nerve wracking affair yet throughout college I had been pretty good about getting tested on a regular yet anonymous basis. Then, as now, Peace Corps required a full physical including an HIV test in order to be placed in a country. Before submitting to the full physical, I went to a city health clinic and was tested anonymously one last time. I tested negative. I was ready for the real deal, the official, named and documented HIV test. I tested negative.

I was living in Chicago the day the acceptance letter arrived. Mali, West Africa. Never heard of it. Still, what a happy day. I sat at my favorite Chicago hotdog stand and cried tears of joy and relief as I opened the acceptance letter. The moment the invitation package arrived, the HIV testing stopped. I wanted nothing to get in the way of being a PCV. I knew testing positive would put an end to my dreams of joining Peace Corps so I put it out of my mind and assured myself that I was and would remain negative. If later I discovered I was positive I would be compelled to disclose the information to Peace Corps and end my PCV experience before it ever began. Better not to know. In four non-celibate months I would be on the plane to Mali. Nothing to worry about.

I wasn’t sure of my HIV status the day I flew to New Orleans for pre-service orientation. Stupidly or rather naively, it never occurred to me that Peace Corps would require one final HIV test before allowing me to get on that flight to Mali. The test took place on the first day. I lost sleep in New Orleans. While my fellow trainees were out enjoying their last few nights in the US, I sat in my hotel room shaking with fear. I wasn’t afraid for my health or even my long-term future. Testing positive meant only one thing to me: the end of ever being a Peace Corps volunteer. I tested negative.

After getting settled into my rural village the fears of HIV passed and I focused on other things. In 1990, AIDS hadn’t penetrated land-locked West Africa yet. Peace Corps hadn’t even begun to build an HIV/AIDS sector yet. In my mind the next 2+ years would be a time free from worry. HIV would not get near me.

Several months into my service I received a cassette tape (yes it was the 90’s) from my best friend back home. We went to high school together and came out to each other at a time when coming out was not in vogue. Hearing his voice was wonderful; hearing news about our friends and families brought a smile to my face; hearing him cry as he told me had tested positive for HIV devastated me. HIV had returned to my life; it suddenly became of part of my reality albeit it through someone else; someone for whom I cared deeply but could not comfort in person. I immediately got on my motorcycle and drove to the capital. I placed a phone call to my mom asking her to arrange for my friend to call me from her home the next day. He and I talked for an hour. We laughed and cried and discussed how he became infected. We talked about the future – my future. I felt selfish and petty talking about the community garden I was working on when all he could focus on was whether he’d live long enough to see his 22nd birthday and avoid a slow and painful demise. The early 90’s were an especially frightening time for people with HIV. My generation witnessed the sudden loss of the gay generation before us to AIDS. We had no mentors; we had no role models. To us, AIDS meant death. He was positive. I was negative. He could only focus on the present. I was able to look forward; look to the future. Guilt.

Fast forward one year to three restless nights of fevers and sweats in my mud hut. I had already come down with malaria a few times while in country but this was something different. My Malian host mother had seen enough and insisted that I make my way to the capital to seek medical attention. She sent word by mouth from village to village until a nearby PCV learned I was ill and gave me a lift on his motorcycle to the capital. A few days later I was unable to eat; was losing weight too quickly; had abdominal pains and high fevers. PC sent me to several specialists – no one had an answer. During that time a close friend came to country for a visit. When he saw me at the airport his jaw dropped. I looked bad. In a way that only close friends can speak to one another he said, “You look like you have AIDS.”

Months before, as part of our mid-service physical, Peace Corps required an HIV test. I tested negative. Shortly after the physical I went on vacation to Europe and made up for sexual lost time. For the most part, I was safe. I had nothing to worry about. Until, “You look like you have AIDS.”

The Peace Corps medical unit was unable to diagnose what ailed me. The only choice was medevac. My heart sank. I knew deep down it was HIV. I knew that once it was confirmed Peace Corps would separate me and I would never again see my Malian family. I would never have the chance to say good-bye.

The Peace Corps doctor escorted me on the flight to DC where I was immediately admitted into Georgetown University hospital. I weighed 109 lbs. I had lost 50 lbs in less than a month. The fevers continued. I couldn’t eat. I was delusional at times. I called my mom and told her she needed to come to DC. The doctor spoke with her and said make it quick.

For days, doctors examined me. Phlebotomists drew blood. Nurses held my hand. Students studied me. Most had never seen my symptoms. One intern, I never got her name, boldly suggested a bone marrow exam. She had an idea. She was correct. Typhoid. Curable. Not HIV. No, that test came back negative. Twice. Called mom and said not to worry. “I’ll come visit you once I recover.” Bacon – the first solid food I ate in weeks. I love bacon.

A week in the hospital. Christmas and New Years in the Virginian hotel. Finally, home to mom. More bacon. I spent a good amount of time with my friend. I was embarrassed. I had been worried about myself. I was negative. He was positive. But in those months since sending me the cassette tape much about him had changed. He had come to terms with HIV and was under the care of a number of HIV/AIDS specialists. In the time since we had spoken on the phone he had become positive about life again. He was looking forward; looking to the future. He was not defeated.

20 years later he still is looking to the future. He has lived with HIV for over 20 years. He has suffered losses and buried a lover. He graduated from college. He witnessed his brother’s wedding and watched his nephews grow into fine young men. He bought a house and started a career. He and his partner adopted one too many pugs. Through his strength and perseverance he has inspired all who know him.

I remain engaged in international development. Over the past 20 years I’ve seen African nations fall victim one by one to HIV/AIDS. I’ve seen hope disappear and reappear on the faces of the farmers, students and professionals that I have come into contact with. This month marks the 20th anniversary of my return to Mali. Not a day goes by where I don’t think how lucky I was to have a second chance on life – a second chance to complete my Peace Corps service – although really, come to think of it, do we ever really finish Peace Corps?

You can contact Brian Guse at bvguse@aol.com and visit the story on the blog that inspired this article “There is no going back, there is only forward.”

Without Borders: The Story of a Bi-national Same-sex Couple

- Brad Mattan, RPCV, Ecuador

Introduction

Brad and Raúl cut their cake.

As each group of Peace Corps trainees boards the plane after staging, no one trainee truly knows what the next two years will bring. Indeed, the possibilities are truly endless. While most expect to gain experience in international development work or even learn more about themselves and the world, one thing that most typically do not expect is to fall in love and eventually marry a special someone from his or her country of service.

I write this as I await takeoff from Quito’s International Airport. I am returning from my second trip back to Ecuador since my Close of Service in 2010. Though my visit was only a week, it was a very meaningful one for me and my partner, Raúl, as we celebrated our civil union (legal in Ecuador since 2008). Like most Peace Corps Volunteers, I did not expect to fall in love with and marry an Ecuadorian. In fact, I was generally opposed to the possibility, a sentiment shared by many of my fellow RPCVs, several of whom ended up marrying Ecuadorians! Life has a way of producing unexpected turns.

Like other bi-national couples I have had the pleasure of meeting, Raúl and I experience our share of challenges and rewards. In addition to those are the challenges and rewards that come with being a same-sex bi-national couple at the beginning of the 2010’s.  Among the most difficult obstacles we face is the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), a 1996 law that prohibits the federal government from granting the 1,138 benefits, rights and privileges bestowed by marriage to married same-sex couples. Among the rights DOMA denies to same-sex couples is the ability for a US citizen to sponsor his or her partner for a green card. Unlike many RPCVs who marry non-US citizens and begin a life together in the US, same-sex couples like Raúl and me are barred from doing so. In spite of such difficulties, Raúl and I have shared some memorable moments unique to our relationship. Such experiences have allowed us to grow ever closer and maintain hope for our future even in the face of formidable obstacles and great distances.

Our Story

Raúl and I met about halfway through my Peace Corps service through a mutual acquaintance. We shared an instant connection from the first time we met. After a couple of months of hesitation on my part, Raúl finally convinced me to accept what we both felt for each other and we began our relationship. From that time until the end of my Peace Corps service we were inseparable. He met my host family in Baños, the highland parish where I lived, and I met his family on the coast.

Of course, we kept our relationship a secret from the beginning. For both Raúl’s family and Baños as a whole, we were merely “friends” albeit friends who were suspiciously often in each other’s company. We’re both sure that many are aware there is something more. Even in places where same-sex dating is exclusively underground, a few begin to catch on after a certain point and gossip then takes care of the rest. As an aside, my impression is that Peace Corps generally encourages volunteers not to get anywhere near that point because it could undermine the trust necessary to work safely and effectively in their communities. Fortunately, any potential rumors did not appear to damage the relationships with my counterparts at the schools and church where I provided technical assistance. In the end, Raúl and I never let doubts about gossip keep us from spending time with the people we love whether it was spending carnaval on the coast with Raúl’s family or having a crab soup picnic up in the mountains with my host family in Baños.

Unfortunately, Raúl did not get the chance to meet my parents when they came to visit me during my service in Baños. I first met him in person the day after I dropped my parents off at the airport in Guayaquil. Once we started dating he would often ask me about my family and what they were like. He was always reminding me to call home.

As my service drew to a close in mid-2010, we had decided somewhat naively that I would leave the Peace Corps and join Raúl in Equatorial Guinea where he was offered work. In the meantime, we had also applied for a visa for Raúl to meet my family over the holidays. As I have written for Stop the Deportations, the visa application was rejected because of Raúl’s inability to prove sufficient ties to Ecuador that would compel him to return. Heartbreaking though it was, this kind of rejection is common in developing countries such as Ecuador where visa applicants bear the burden of proving they do not intend to remain in the US. I would later learn that Raúl’s being truthful about his relationship with me in his interview constituted further evidence of such “immigration intent”.

When Raúl’s job offer in Equatorial Guinea failed to materialize, I returned to Ecuador a few months later to work with Community Enterprise Solutions (CES). Prior to my return we bought a small café/bar in order to improve Raúl’s chances on a future visa application. The eight months that I lived with Raúl in Cuenca (the major city closest to Baños) were some of the most stressful either of us have lived. Both of us, for different reasons needed to work our full-time jobs in addition to running the café/bar in the evenings. Fourteen hour days were common. My own job involved regular trips to the field, occasionally leaving Raúl to work and run the café/bar by himself on the weekends.

In spite of the stress, we learned to work out any problems respectfully and enjoy the small things in life and the rare moments we had together, even if that meant just falling asleep together in exhaustion. On top of our work responsibilities, we also began the process of applying for a tourist visa for Raúl to come and visit for my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary celebration in August, 2011 to which he was cordially invited by my grandparents (Go here for more on my grandparents and coming out to my extended family after the Peace Corps).

Thanks to the pro-bono advice of Lavi Soloway of Stop the Deportations: The DOMA Project, Raúl and I were able to put together a much stronger tourist visa application (Read the story here).  Among the help we received was a Class B Referral from the Country Director of Peace Corps/Ecuador as well as a letter from US Rep. Bruce Braley. Though those letters guaranteed no particular outcome, they were helpful in getting the US Consulate to carefully consider Raúl’s well-prepared application. Against the odds, the US Consulate in Guayaquil approved Raúl’s visa. Upon hearing the news, I cried in relief, disbelief and sheer joy. Our hard work paid off.

The month and a half that we spent together in the US was unforgettable. Raúl was able to meet most of my dad’s side of the family all of whom received him with open arms. He also attended his first baseball and football game. Raúl was able to experience life in rural Illinois as well as in Chicago and New York City. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was when we got engaged atop my apartment building in Chicago on a beautiful autumn day, overlooking Lake Michigan, the University of Chicago campus and downtown in the distance.

To this day, Raúl continues to talk about his experiences with any Ecuadorians who will listen. In a very real way, the visit fulfilled Peace Corps’ second goal. However, Raúl’s visit also contributed to the third goal by leaving an impact on the Americans he encountered. Whether it was the conversations he had with my parents or the woven crafts workshop he gave at the local art league, he often shared stories and traditions from his native Ecuador. As a frequent translator, I often contributed my own perspective to the conversations.

Yet, perhaps more than anyone else, my understanding of the US, my family and my self was enriched by Raúl’s visit. In Raúl’s fascination with the common phrase “thank you so much” I became aware of the Midwesterner’s tendency to value politeness and civility, something one tends to take for granted when growing up there. I also began to understand the usual Ecuadorian lament about Americans’ carb-heavy and preservative-laden diets, something I had also taken for granted, even after 2 years of nutritious Ecuadorian fare! Naturally, these and other insights helped the two of us to learn about each other and provide a basis for mutual understanding even as we now live in different countries.

Though Raúl returned to Ecuador months ago, we continue to maintain contact as before with daily phone calls and Google video chat. Yet even with daily contact, it has been hard for us to live apart, and particularly for Raúl who now lives in what he describes as multiple worlds. In one, we are able to be open about our love for one another. In another, he must keep us and himself a secret for fear of losing his job and housing. Feeling foreign in his own country, Raúl cannot claim the US as home even though we both know it is the only place where our family, our love and our dreams for the future can be one.

Last week, Raúl and I celebrated our civil union on our two-year anniversary in Ecuador.  With a small group of our Ecuadorian friends, including my host mother and aunt from my Peace Corps site, we held a short ceremony and fiesta to commemorate our special day. The simple ceremony and reception (we spend most of our ever-diminishing resources on plane tickets) was a sign of what we hope to come. We both dream of someday “officially” marrying in the United States in the company of friends and family.

Though that day may still be far off, we are optimistic in light of a constellation of recent court rulings, legislative activity, and activism that may lead to a quicker solution than we originally thought. Currently, I’m collaborating with GetEQUAL, Stop the Deportations and Out4Immigration and their “Home for the Holidays” Initiative. The purpose of the initiative is to petition Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano to grant humanitarian parole to same-sex bi-national couples so that we can start our lives together in the US. This initiative was launched during the holidays to call attention to couples like Raúl and me who wish to spend the holidays with our families in the US.

This Christmas, many couples, including Raúl and me, know that we will not be together. However, because of efforts like “Home for the Holidays”, and the countless individuals and organizations working to bring about greater equality at all levels of government and in the private sector, next year may well be different. The two of us will certainly be counting our blessings on the 25th.  Many same-sex bi-national couples have not had the opportunity to travel to the US, as we had this August.  Yet, in spite of the obstacles, it has been worth every moment for Raúl and me.  We both look forward to continuing to learn and grow together in the years to come.

You can learn more about the “Home for the Holidays” Campaign online and sign the petition here.

You can contact Brad Mattan at bmattan@uchicago.edu.

Serve As a Peace Corps Volunteer Where I’m Illegal?

- Mike Learned, RPCV, Malawi, Editor

A couple of months ago there was a very interesting conversation on our listserv. About ten participants responded to a question/comment from a recent gay applicant. He said that he told his recruiter that he would not serve anywhere where he was illegal. I and the respondents assumed that this meant in countries where homosexuality is illegal. I immediately thought. “Does that mean where homosexual acts are illegal or something more?” I was prompted by the many new and proposed laws, particularly in parts of Africa, that would also criminalize support for human rights for LGBT people and gay marriage, speaking out or writing about such support, actually being or acting as a homosexual (What? Cruising?), and other troubling situations.

Our listserv does have a good search capability. Alan Silverman, our International Communications Board Member, purposely places the country name involved in the subject line of his posts. So, a listserv participant, perhaps an applicant or a nominee for a position in a particular country, could search by country name and see the posts that had been posted about that country by date, and learn about any current LGBT issues there. But posts by topic are not always so easy to find because the searcher might not guess the right “search” word or phrase. So, I decided to summarize these posts as an article on our website where it would remain and could more easily be found.

The responses to the applicant’s comments were interesting. A couple of posters said that they had told their recruiters or placement officers that they were concerned about their security in a country where they had been nominated because of homophobic laws and cultural values. In these cases the posters said that they had been offered and posted in countries where they felt more secure. This jelled with a couple of other cases I’ve heard about over the years where concerns about security for LGBT applicants did affect placement. I am also aware of a few other cases where LGBT volunteers were placed in urban areas by local country staff, usually because the volunteer could be more anonymous and secure in such a setting, rather than in a small village or town in remote areas where everybody knew everyone else’s business.

There were several posts that encouraged the applicant to be more flexible and take the chance and go to one of the countries he wanted to avoid. The argument being that many LGBT volunteers had really had successful times in such locations, and came back home with a much keener sense of what our LGBT brothers and sisters in much of the developing world have to cope with. Many LGBT volunteers and their straight colleagues over the years have been active in coming to know local LGBT and related Human Rights groups and worked with them, often below the horizon.

As an organization we have always urged LGBT volunteers to come to know their local societies and the situations of what we identify as LGBT members of their communities. Articles on our website describe how many LGBT PCVs have been able to come out to trusted members of their host country communities. After taking the trouble to come to know their local friends and the details of their lives, these local friends have shown acceptance and respect when volunteers tell about theirs.

Recent and current PCVs have developed Safe Zone and related training materials in Latin America, Africa and the Mideast for their local host country national staff to make them more aware of the concerns of LGBT volunteers and ways of supporting them. These sessions, within the local Peace Corps family, have been very successful.

One of our posters was a Peace Corps employee. She reminded all of us of some the of the core expectations that Peace Corps has of all volunteers, including, “Serve where Peace Corps asks you to go, under conditions of hardship, if necessary, and with the flexibility needed for effective service.”

There is another expectation that directly applies here. “Recognize that you’re successful and sustainable development work is based on the local trust and confidence you build by living in, and respecting integrating yourself into, your host community and culture.”

You can see all 10 Core Expectations for Peace Corps Volunteers here:

http://multimedia.peacecorps.gov/multimedia/pdf/about/pc_core_volunteer_expectations.pdf

I think this last mentioned expectation is one that many volunteers have the most difficulty with. What if the host community and culture is profoundly homophobic or transphobic? What if the host community and culture is highly patriarchal and treat women unequally or even worse? What if the local community is strongly anti-Semitic or anti-Christian? Situations like this would pose challenges for a wide swipe of volunteers.

After a chat with a couple of Peace Corps staff I did find out about some current realities. If an applicant is adamant about serving in a particular country or region, that person usually isn’t considered. If an applicant is concerned about serving in particular countries because of personal security issues related to gender, sexual orientation or religion, the application might be moved forward, particularly because of the skills and experiences of the applicant. But in these cases, by reducing the number of possible placements, the applicant is reducing her or his chances of an assignment. This is particularly true now (late 2011). There are so many applicants for the few places that are still available in 2012. Part of this is because of the economy and the unemployment rate. Many people getting out of college or graduate school think that a couple of years in the Peace Corps will enhance their job seeking skills after they return from a challenging assignment to a hopefully better job market. Also Peace Corps is concerned about future budgetary limits that may cause it to reduce the number of country programs and the volunteers it places.

So what should LGBT applicants say when they have concerns about homophobic laws and culture in countries where volunteers serve. The posters on the listerv did say that it was a valid point to bring up to recruiters and placement officers, but the general suggestion was flexibility and exhibiting a genuine desire to serve. Here is a link to a Wikipedia article that seems pretty up-to-date about LGBT rights (or lack of them) in countries around the world.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_rights_by_country_or_territory

And this link identifies the countries where Peace Corps serves.

http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=learn.wherepc

You can reach Mike Learned at learned_mike@yahoo.com

African LGBT and Human Rights Advocates Reject Economic Sanctions by Developed Countries

– Mark Canavera, RPCV,
Editor’s Note:

Mark Canavera, RPCV Burkina Faso, has been a frequent contributor to our enewsletters and web site. This article recently appeared in the Huffington Post with a slightly different title. Not in our name: African human rights activists reject UK aid conditionality  

An oft-told African proverb (whose precise culture of origin often changes with the teller) asserts that “When elephants fight, the grass suffers.” Put another way, the powerless are trampled in the clashes of mammoth decision-makers. An elephant match is currently underway between the government of the United Kingdom, which have threatened that it will consider reducing foreign aid to countries that criminalize homosexuality, and the governments of many African nations, who have stridently rebutted the threat. In the process, the “grass”–that is, Africans who support the rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and intersex (LGBTI) people–is suffering. But African social activists are refusing to take the trampling lying down. These are standing up and speaking out.

In October of this year, a coalition of pro-LGBTI African social activists came together, representing 51 organizations and 86 individuals from at least 19 countries in Africa, all four regions of the continent, and the African diaspora. This spontaneous coalition released a strongly worded statement that essentially rejects the UK’s proposed aid conditionality. This “not in our name” statement–by which these activists used virtual tools like listservs, emails, teleconferences, and discussion forums to reach rapid-fire consensus–argues that the UK’s decision would create backlash against LGBTI people across the continent by positioning them as scapegoats for decreases in aid revenue. The UK’s position also undermines the burgeoning LGBTI movement in Africa, the coalition claims.

“We developed this statement for three reasons,” explains Joel Gustave Nana, the Executive Director of African Men for Sexual Health and Rights and the author of the first draft of the statement. “First, we were tired of being collateral damage in international politics. Second, statements by Britain and other Northern countries affect the work that we do on a daily basis to ensure that LGBTI people are protected on the continent. And third, and perhaps most importantly, we needed to say, ‘not in our name.’ If you decide to cut aid to these countries, do not do this in our names.”

Nana explains that the UK government did not consult any African activists before taking its decision and making it public. When I asked the Office of the Prime Minister of the UK about the activists’ concerns, it replied with a statement that reiterates its reasoning: the UK hopes to ensure that its foreign aid contributes to the international strengthening of human rights. The reply does not address the concerns raised by the coalition of African activists, most notably the potential scapegoating of LGBTI people in the wake of the UK’s announcement.

For their part, the African governments that continue to criminalize homosexual acts have responded vociferously to the UK. As collated on the blog Towleroad, the governments of Uganda, Ghana and Malawi responded angrily, with a Malawian government spokesperson calling the threat “unacceptable and provocative” and a Ugandan presidential adviser describing the UK’s position as “an ex-colonial mentality.” (“We are tired of being given these lectures by people,” the adviser is reported to have told BBC Newshour.) A Ugandan newspaper reported additional reactions from Zanzibar, Tanzania, and Kenya, in which officials argued that they would rather lose foreign aid than kowtow to the Brits.

Nana believes that these government reactions were predictable and reflect the very concerns that the coalition of activists laid out in their statement. “African leaders who feel that they are being bullied to embrace values that they don’t believe in feel like this aid conditionality is an attempt to violate their sovereignty,” he says. He predicts that the UK aid conditionality will be more harmful in countries with more heavy-handed rulers, asserting, “The more authoritarian a government, the more strongly it will come out in opposing this conditionality. And the more severe the impact will be for LGBTI people.”

Issues of aid conditionality are always tricky, especially where human rights are concerned. Nana concedes that there are legitimate concerns for donor governments who want to ensure that their citizens’ tax dollars are not blindly handed over to oppressive regimes. Moreover, just last year, some Ugandan activists praised the role that some European countries’ threats of aid reductions played in combating Uganda’s infamous Anti-Homosexuality Bill, deemed odious by Barack Obama himself. Nana points out, however, that no human rights or LGBTI activists from Africa have publicly opposed the coalition’s recent statement.

Whether or not the UK’s decision will help or harm the cause of LGBTI people in Africa remains to be seen. The early verbal reactions by some African governments do not bode well. What is evident for now, however, is that the UK government has so far neglected to engage with or to listen to the very people whom its policies purport to assist. The African activists’ statement is a tremendous opportunity to hear the voice of the grass, whispering its crystalline message on the wind, even as it is being stomped by those elephants on high.

You can contact Mark Canavera at mark.canavera@gmail.com and follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/canavera

Jopara (Paraguay) Mission Statement

- PCV Paraguay

Jopara is a committee organized by Peace Corps Paraguay Volunteers interested in supporting diversity within the Volunteer community and strengthening contacts with diversity interest groups in Paraguay. The USA is a diverse place, and we feel that it is important for this multiplicity to be represented and supported amongst Volunteers.

Among our objectives are:

  • To provide a support network for Volunteers to discuss the challenges of living and serving in Paraguay while reflecting the diverse face of the USA. Jopara intends to provide support for Volunteers who identify with a range of situations regarding, but not limited to: ability, age, chemical dependency, dietary restrictions, ethnicity, gender identity/expression, marital status, physical/emotional health, race, religion, and sexual orientation.
  • To create a safe space for Volunteers struggling with limitations and challenges due to their diverse identity where they can express themselves freely and obtain necessary resources.
  • To provide resources and information on in-country diversity interest groups.
  • To serve as a resource to Peace Corps Paraguay staff and Volunteers in regards to training and sensitivity issues.
  • To provide resources to Volunteers who want to educate themselves or their community about diversity in Paraguay, the USA, and the world at large.
  • To identify and remove all barriers, whether institutional, attitudinal or behavioral, to the full and meaningful participation of diverse Volunteers.

For more information or a PCV Paraguay contact email lgbrpcv-news@lgbrpcv.org

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