July 20: Colombian Independence Day

Although without as much tradition as the 4th of July (making me appreciate barbecues, fireworks, and home-made ice cream), Colombians usually celebrate the day with a military parade and family activities. However, as you might have seen through international media, on Sunday Colombians used the national holiday to coordinate worldwide Freedom Marches in the major cities here in the country as well as abroad in Paris, Mexico City, and others. Here in Medellin, the Interact clubs of the city joined together (and included me) to peacefully march in solidarity against the FARC, kidnappings, and the return of violence. We all met wearing white shirts in the Plaza Botero and started chanting among large Botero sculptures, white balloons, proud Colombian flags, and press cameras. Continuing along a main avenue, we chanted "Uribe, amigo, el pueblo esta contigo" (Uribe, friend, the people are with you), "No mas FARC", and "Los queremos libres, saludables, y vivos" (We want them free, healthy, and alive--referring to the 700+ captives still in FARC posession). Eventually we ended in one of the main plazas for a public concert with local groups and a popular Colombian band, although I unfortunately could not tolerate the tropical heat nor clausterphobic crowd after standing for five hours straight and so left before the main act started. It was intoxicating to be part of such an important cause, and although people seem to think that the demonstrations do much to alter the activities of the FARC, it does show international rejection of them as terrorists.

Refugio de los Ancianos

Established as a joint project between the Rotary Clubs of Medellin and Thousand Oaks, the Refugio de Ancianos-San Cristobal is a home for elderly people without family or the resources to be taken care of during their last days. On Saturday I went up to the hills above the city with the Rotaract Club of Medellin to spend the afternoon with the 20 or so residents. We brought up four hairdressers-in-training, who worked diligently for several hours giving each and every willing person a much-needed haircut. Not only was the view from the house incredible, but they had a beautiful garden of tropical flowers, several large porches, a well-equipped infirmary, and a very attentive and caring staff. Everyone was very excited to talk to "la gringa" and very aware of the role Rotary has played in the Refugio. I was proud to be part of such a successful Rotary project and look forward to returning with further activities to bring to my new friends.

Humane Responsabilities

As an avid admirer of Paul Farmer, physician, medical anthropologist, and leading public health advocate, I brought several of his books with me to Colombia as helpful informants for my research. I am currently reading
Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights, and the New War on the Poor which explores examples of structural violence through essays concerning health issues in third world countries. Right up my alley.

In the introduction, Farmer poses a very salient point:

"Anyone who wishes to be considered humane has ample cause to consider what it means to be sick and poor in the era of globalization and scientific advancement."

It should be noted that in this book Farmer is obviously talking to a first-world audience whose daily concerns do not include sickness and poverty. Obviously the people who are Farmer's subjects of study do not have the luxury of contemplating what it means to be humane. Although I do not think that society should be preoccupied with how others 'consider' us but should rather make it a priority to incorporate humanitarian concerns into our participation into globalization efforts and the implementation of scientific advancement, it is interesting how Farmer bases the statement in the importance of external validation.

In an age where political correctness is our code of conduct and human rights offenses are defined by media coverage, the public lens is an important rubric by which to qualify our actions. Take Greg Mortenson for example, who has been building girls' schools throughout Afghanistan for almost ten years fighting the Taliban with education. He was obviously a do-gooder long before he wrote his book Three Cups of Tea, but has found international acceptance of his cause through a best-seller with loads of impressive reviews (including recognition by Nicholas Kristoff in an Op-Ed column that appeared in the NYT on July 13). By using the word 'considered', in my opinion Farmer holds people less accountable for their humanitarian actions than the global situation demands. As established in Pathologies of Power, the current global juxtoposition represented by disparities between the ubiquitous poverty-based suffering in third-world countries and the resources of prosperous nations demands that everyone take interest in the sick and poor.

Mondongo

Tasty nibbles of cow innards mixed with fresh cilantro, bananas, avocado, and other stewed veggies are slowly cooked into this traditional Antioquian dish--accompanied by a warm arepa of course. When my friends asked me what kind of meal I wanted to have for my birthday dinner, I requested the most typical dish seeing as I still have much gastronomic exploring to accomplish before I can call myself a paisa. As excited as I was to discover which of the four bovine stomachs I would be trying, I made the unfortunate mistake of eating an absolutely humongous lunch and so could only finish a medium-sized bowl of mondongo. Nonetheless, the jar of sangria complemented the meal spectacularly and completed what I think was a very typical Colombian birthday surrounded by good company.

It seems like I have spent an extraordinary number of birthdays away from home and family, yet always find a wonderful bunch of people to help me celebrate. This year I woke up to my favorite flower, heliconia, displayed in vases all over the apartment and provided by my roommate and dear friend David. He just so happened to remember a side comment I made about the roadside stands selling the flowers during my first day here, pleasantly surprising me with their color and feminine shape around the otherwise uncluttered rooms. Later on in the morning while at the university, my family of public health researchers ditched their work to take me out shopping, treated me to a wonderful lunch, and then sang happy birthday in beautifully accented English while I ate ice cream and chocolate. Dinner at Mondongo's (the most famous restaurant specializing in the dish), a long walk through the neighborhood lit by a full moon, and then a late-night bout of frisbee and guaros in the park accompanied a spectacular first day of my twenty-third year.

FARC: Beyond Wikipedia

They are on the news: long-term captors of Ingrid Betancourt, synonymous with 'Colombian jungles,' and a prime example of Latin American liberalism turned dangerous. The international community can't decide whether to call these guerrillas 'terrorists' (Colombian government, US, EU) or a 'belligerent forces' (Chavez), but it doesn't seem to matter because the FARC still terrorize the countryside and subsist off of ransom money. Following many conversations about their current and past activities, I was always left with the question, "But why do they exist, what do they want?" (thank you James).

So here's my briefly outlined understanding on their story, from information gathered through conversations, research, and purely personal observation after my first week:

In 1948 the presidential candidate for the Colombian Liberal Party, Jorge Eliecer Gaitan, was murdered. By the time Gustavo Rojas came into power in 1953 under the Conservative Party, the country was under military control. The radical liberals, who were still disgruntled (as an understatement) at their loss of national power, refused to disarm and retreated into the rural and less populated areas of Colombia to form their own autonomous communities. After Castro took dictatorial control of Cuba in 1959, communist leaders infiltrated these sympathetic liberal enclaves and influenced the Marxism-Leninism ideology by which they are still governed today. The FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia), were officially established in 1960 as the military of the Colombian Communist Party in what is considered a guerilla* movement.

Now known as the FARC-EP (Ejercito del Pueblo or army of the people), they have increased their economic power by stealing livestock from farms and terrorising rural dwellers, becoming involved with the drug trade in the 80's (narcotrafico), and of course, ransom money off of kidnappings. They have thus turned acts of terrorism and human rights violations into an extremely profitable business (people in the US will pay exorbitant sums for Colombian cocaine as well as high-profile government contractors), and become more of an enterprise driven by the undying greed for wealth rather than a group of ideological guerrillas. As a professor with whom I was discussing the subject concluded: the only way to stop the violence is to legalize drugs and for the government to stop paying for the exchange of captives. But of course that is just one opinion.

What I have noticed is that everyday people and the news alike rarely mention the FARC or drug trade, but rather are concerned with those who have been effected by these acts of violence. For example, I have heard much talk about Igrid's state of health, her future political trajectory, and what's going to happen to the other 40-odd people who are still in captivity. I don't think that paisas (people of Antioquia) avoid discussion out of exasperation with the subject, but rather because they have moved on and the international media has not.

Which brings me to my second point, the extremely favorable impressions that the people here have made on me.** It does not matter where I am or with whom I am interacting, everyone is more inclusive of me and those around them than anywhere else I have ever been. While walking down the street my friends will stop and talk with a street vendor as if they had known him forever; university professors stop and talk to students and janitors alike without deference; and people in stores barely bat an eye when I tell them I am from the US--treating me with the same attention as a native.

I attribute this social warmth not only to the idyllic climate in which paisas live, but to the extreme pride they have in their city and nation. Everyone has a desire to develop the city, conduct profitable business, better educate the population, and not emigrate/immigrate elsewhere. After such a tumultuous past, Medellin is extremely focused on the future while maintaining an unbreakable bond between them strengthened by the difficulties they have all survived. A quite impressive demonstration of the social resiliancy of human nature.

*Within the organization of FARC, a guerrilla is defined as a unit consisting of two squads of 12 combatants each, totalling in 24 combatants.
**As a disclosure I do have to admit that most of my interactions have been with people who are more well-off than the majority of the population, I have attempted to make friends with some of the community leaders with whom I take afternoon classes and are generally from poorer neighborhoods.

Mango Heaven

I once again find myself cradled in an Andean bowl, this third time (1. Quito, 2. Cuzco) at the very birth of the cordillera and surrounded by palm trees, orchid weeds, and tropical rain. This ‘Land of Eternal Spring’ is much larger and heavily populated than I expected; with tiled roofs packed so closely together that they overflow into the creases of encompassing mountains. As picturesque as it all sounds (and is), I did not account for the gusts of exhaust fumes sprayed into my face every morning and close encounters with mototaxis during my pre-departure ruminations. But who am I trying to kid with these semi-complaints, even after four days I have absolutely no doubt that I am anywhere but the exact place I belong.

Since arriving early Monday morning after a rather uneventful red-eye on the (somewhat) sketchy Colombian national airline—complete with heavily armored police officer— I have had a non-stop whirlwind of social and necessity-based activities. After being picked up from the airport by my friend David who came from Medellin to study at Berkley as an Ambassadorial Scholar and who I met at the scholarship orientation in February, he took me on an energetic tour through the center of the city until my legs (and energy) were completely expended. We visited the park-like Universidad de Antioquia campus, botanical gardens, Plaza de los Deseos, and a cancer clinic where I might be interning. I got to walk through the University’s teaching hospital situated in an old military compound which, contrary to what one might think, is actually one of the most peaceful and beautiful parts of the city oriented around a large fountain and garden for the patients to enjoy from the long porches of each building. Multiple people gave me a tour at the Facultad de Salud Nacional where I will be studying, and I met so many smiling faces and warm welcomes that I can barely remember more than two names of the people to whom I was introduced.

When I walked into the small, cinderblock room lined with computers that houses my specific research department, the professor and ‘chicas’ working with him started cheering “La famosa Alina ha llegada!” My incessant emails and fastidious planning has yielded me an instant family in their office where we (Alejandra, Bibiana, Crisitna, and Veronica) play with hair driers and paint our nails, discuss possible solutions to the city’s poverty, and make fun of my lack of knowledge about Colombian slang. Octavio Gomez, my research advisor and fellow Rotarian, (lawyer, doctor, medical anthropologist!!), has taken it upon himself to ensure that I have the support and local knowledge to conduct the exact research that I want, and takes me around to different classes every afternoon to understand how the social security and health systems in Colombia function.

Perhaps I should have done more research on the subject of my focus here, but it is fascinating to learn about the operation of the Colombian health system. The classes I attend are offered by my department for the community health leaders participating in our research project, and so come from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds. At first the, shall I say ‘interactive’, learning style overwhelmed me, for during the entire lesson people were yelling out questions from their own personal experience that might be considered too personal by some of the people reading this. The 88-year old woman sitting next to me told me how she had been displaced from the countryside, come to Medellin, and received multiple optical operations and recent cardiac tests for free. If only the elderly in the US could receive that sort of attention.

According to the people here in the public health department with whom I have talked, they consider their health system, on paper, to be one of the most progressive of any national program; while in reality it doesn’t function as well as it looks. Everyone in the country is required to be registered with either a contributive (the people who have the capacity to pay for services enter what to us would be the equivalent of a nationalized insurance group) and subsidiary (those who are elderly, unemployed or disabled) health ‘regimens,’ ensuring that all citizens can receive care. There is also a sliding scale that applies to all no matter what health plan they have, dictated by a survey conducted by state workers of their living situation and type of housing. Each person is assigned with a number from one to six, one being the poorest and most vulnerable segment of the population and six being the most wealthy, which is linked to the tax and health systems to see how much people pay. The only problem is that many people don’t understand the intricacies of the system nor are they aware of all the options available to them, thus the purpose of the classes I am attending. In some ways, I think it is much easier for me to understand the system without knowing anything rather than for the community leaders to adapt their previous perceptions to what is actually the reality.

The largest surprise I have faced since my arrival is how hard I have had to work at understanding the accented Spanish that the city speaks; especially women for some reason. People say that ladies speak as if they were singing, but to me it just sounds like a string of words slurred together into a lively exclamation. Despite the unquantifiable compliments I receive about how well I speak Spanish, I have enjoyed being humbled by the hard work it takes for me to successfully maneuver a simple conversation.

My four colleagues who are pretty much around my same age have finally started slowing down their questions, but I still test their patience by asking them to repeat themselves every few minutes. I guess that even though I find it difficult to understand the women here, I have to give las mujeres colombianas credit for living up to their reputation as some of the most beautiful women in the world. Everywhere I go I feel like I am surrounded by models, which is good because it means that the men are all staring at them rather than me. Although I do not feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, like my scholarship coordinator--who also happens to be Colombian-- told me as a safety tip, in order to really fit in I would have to wear much tighter jeans and revealing shirts…a step toward assimilation that I am not sure I am quite comfortable taking, at least not yet. The one thing that I have going for me is my stature. Relative to Colombian men and women, I am never short. When I wore heels to the Rotary meeting yesterday and was standing with a group of men afterwards, I suddenly realized that I was almost taller than all of them! What a strange contrast to my height experience in the US, where even when I augment my 5'3" with heels I still don't reach the eye level of the majority of the population.

By my second day here I was taking the Metro by myself, navigating the cramped cars and multiple lines to get myself around the city. I wish that MARTA in Atlanta had been so accessible because I could have saved myself gallons of gas money while working around the city! I have learned about the MetroCultura that they have fostered in Medellin, and every day I am fascinated by the cleanliness, order, and safety of this impressive public transport system.

Since the Metro runs high above the streets, I take turns standing on each side of the cars to catch the best skyline views of the different neighborhoods I pass through during my commute. Although I have yet to find the time to explore as much as I would like, the city has a very European feel to me; mixed in with poverty-stricken corners and fruit stands playing salsa music I am starting to experience somewhat of a plaza/café culture. No matter what night of the week, old and young alike flock outside to the bars or discos to socialize until hours too late to comfortably wake up for an early work morning.

David has been extremely gracious in his inclusion of me in various social plans so that I meet as many people—Rotarian and non alike. So far I have attended a movie and gone out to ‘the coolest bar in Medellin’ (according to his friends) that has a British theme, joined the Rotaract Club of Medellin where I will start participating in their activities, walked around the junglesque disco sector of town dancing salsa in the streets, and been invited to spend the weekend at a farmhouse outside the city where ‘mucha fiesta’ will ensue. As my research advisor told me, paisas—the people of Medellin—are very tropical, loving the dance and be social so much that they are known world-wide for their nightlife.

As for my connection with Rotary here, it seems like every person that would possibly be good for me to know in the city is a Rotarian. My host Rotary club is the second oldest club in the country, and has members who have been Rotarians for over 50 years! I attended my first meeting yesterday, held at the fancy international hotel where I was served a delicious lunch and sat stiffly in my suit surrounded by older men and few women who are the (professional) elite of the city. Although it was very formal, everyone was extremely welcoming and excited to have me there, and I was invited to several upcoming social events with Rotarians and their families. I am looking forward to seeing how the other 8 clubs in the city operate, and involve myself with their projects and meetings as much as possible. It is amazing how comfortable I feel showing up anywhere and meeting a roomful of Rotarians after the completion of all my presentations throughout Southern California, because I know that they we will always treat each other as family.

Now, to wrap this up, I know that one burning question people have when learning about a foreign country, (or maybe it is just my family), is about the local gastronomy. I sheepishly admit that I have been so busy I haven’t really thought much about food—except that I know I am averaging about three to four mangos per day and consuming more white rice than I have in the past two years combined. One of the most ubiquitous national dishes is the arepa, sort of like a thicker, moister Mexican tortilla, and they serve it as an accompaniment with any meal or as a sort of pizza with cheese and meat on top. I still don’t think I have tried two arepas that taste the same, and look forward to seeing how they vary across the city and country. Most of the meals are similar to other parts in Latin America, starting with soup and ending with rice, beans, some sort of cooked veggie and mystery meat. Although all of that sounds Alina-friendly, it has been more difficult than expected for me to verify that what I am eating is gluten-free. And the celiac adventures continue. (I just went out for a lunch of yucca and potato soup, chicharron with rice, maduros (fried plaintains!!), and juice which cost me less than $3).

If you haven’t been already been able to deduce my exuberance about being here from the past 1800 words, overall I feel like I am settling in very comfortably even though I still haven’t found any promising or affordable housing, could easily get lost in the center of the city, and will start my academic classes on Monday. Which makes the future all the more exciting.

The best part of it all is that I already feel like I am accomplishing what I set out to do: integrate and immerse myself into a completely new and diverse environment, sharing my own experiences and cultural outlook on life with as many different people as I can in their own language--spreading the mission of Rotary International.

Why Colombia?

Whenever I tell people that I am going to study public health in Colombia for a year as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar, they raise their eyebrows, narrow their eyes, and ask in a suspecting voice: "But why there?"

It's not to involve myself in a drug cartel, get insider information about FARC while being held hostage, or ensure that my parents don't get a full night's sleep. Believe me, none of those would be beneficial facets in my current life plan. Although you might be familiar with my penchant for adventure and a history of crazy trips through Latin America, I hope you believe me when I say that my decision to study in Medellin was mostly based on academic opportunity. The Universidad de Antioquia has one of the best schools of Public Health in South America, and the connections that Rotary has with my field of study are absurdly coincidental --and beneficial to my purpose: (the dean of the Facultad Nacional de Salud Publica just so happens to be the president of my host Rotary club in Medellin).

Of course there are other reasons why Colombia is appealing, but those are just icing on the cake. While I was traveling through Colombia two years ago, I would stop to ask directions from a random person on the street and either have them walk with me the twenty minutes to my destination or wind up in her home for a cup of coffee. Never was anyone able to guess that I was American, and when I told them of my nationality they would exclaim "Oh, we love Americans in Colombia! Please go home and tell your friends and family how not all Colombians are drug lords and dangerous like they see on TV. We would love to have them come and visit our beautiful country for themselves!" Nowhere else that I visited were the people so friendly and so apt to redefine themselves in a different light than how they are portrayed by the international media. Taking their request to heart, I view part of my responsibility as an Ambassadorial Scholar promoting peace and goodwill to be learning as much as I can about my host country and people through my everyday experiences. Hopefully when I return to the US I can either dispell, or in some cases confirm, the stereotypes that plague Colombians and offer everyone a more accurate representation of their culture.

While in Medellin I will be taking graduate and doctorate classes in Public Health which will hopefully better inform the research that I plan on carrying out. As a research scholar, I am participating in a project conducted by the university that evaluates the health conditions in various districts throughout the city based on economic, political, environmental, educational, (etc. etc.) factors and train community health leaders in the best way to implement health services. I will also be conducting my own ethnographical research, and although I am not exactly sure what my research question will be I am very interested in looking at how populations displaced from political violence are impacted by extreme levels of stress. Although my scholarship year is not enough time for me to complete a master's degree, I do hope to publish my research findings as a precursor to future PhD work.

Anthropology aside, what I am most excited about is participating in the Rotarian community. Medellin has eight different Rotary clubs, and my goal is to become as involved in each of them as time allows--participating in their community projects and fundraisers whenever possible. As I have been traveling around Southern California presenting my proposed plans to different Rotary clubs and attending the Rotary International Convention held in Los Angeles, what has struck me as most impressive about Rotary is the incredible network of people around the world dedicated to improving the conditions of those in need and fomenting a sense of community anywhere and everywhere. Their mission of "Service Above Self" has now become the subliminal force behind my daily decisions.

As I sit here and pack on the 4th of July, preparing myself materialistically and mentally for my next adventure, I am thinking about the privileges and traditions that are part of being a US citizen and how I can share them with my Colombian hosts. My how the world has changed in the past 232 years since our nation's independence.

My A(dventures) T(hrough) L(ife)

October 2007

Atlanta. Land where Jimmy Carter reigns, Coca-Cola flows like wine, the 1996 Olympics are equally important as the city’s Civil War history, and little girls drawl like Scarlett O’Hara. Capital of Hip-Hop. Home of the Brave(s), sweet tea, and MLK. I love this city.

On the corner of E Lake and Spring, in the Oakhurst district of Decatur, I am settling into front-porch culture. The wet heat of summer is finally fading into a subtle fall chill, but although the red leaves and cool nights have introduced themselves with a sigh of relief, I have to admit that it was fun to experience the dense humidity previously unfamiliar to my Southern California-bred pores. Within walking distance of an internet café, neighborhood pub, laundromat, oyster bar, and pizza joint, I am within driving-required range of the rest of Atlanta. My neighborhood is relatively safe and boasts of humble houses with stubborn weeds growing high in front yards, although the father of the family who lives across the street does make me cringe when he pulls out onto the street in his F150 with tags reading “GUNLVR.”

I have become uncomfortably attuned to ‘gentrification’ and watch the demographics play out around me like an anecdote directly from a text book. Luckily my fellow housemates, also Carter Center interns, are adept at recognizing social injustices and refuse to let the situation stand as is without sparking a frequent discussion of the subject. When they aren’t traveling to Ghana or the Sudan with their conflict resolution programs, my roomies and I spend many an evening running down to the local park to toss a Frisbee around and then coming back to create (and enjoy) together spicy curry stews or gourmet pasta dishes well-seasoned with stimulating conversation.

The excitement of living on my own for the first time and having the opportunity to cook my own meals now finds me, even after two months, failing at properly stocking my fridge during the systematic bi-monthly grocery shopping trips. Perhaps the limp spinach and extra-strong cheese can be testaments to the amazing farmer’s market I have found nearby which inspires in me the need to sample an abundance of the cheap local produce and international sauces, juices, and spices that overrun my small kitchen. (Yes, they even stock my gluten-free goodies for those of you who were wondering.)

But beyond the persimmons and rocking chairs that have been a bonus to my relocation across the country, I did not come to Atlanta to frolic and feed. After an awed, scholarship-induced visit to The Carter Center’s Executive Briefing at the end of last April, I have returned for a semester to contribute my part in their mission to “Wage Peace, Fight Disease, and Build Hope.” Interning for Health Programs Development, I spend my days writing reports to donors such as Pfizer or The Kuwait Fund, weaving together four pages of story and statistics on the past year’s progress in ending forgotten diseases. I now know how many bed nets have been distributed in Ethiopia to protect families from malaria, why Ghana and South Sudan have reported a higher number of cases of Guinea worm than last year, and what foci in Latin America are still afflicted by River Blindness.

Although sometimes I feel impressed by my contribution to eradicate Guinea worm forever, I am humbled daily by the intricacies of complex mail merges and the boredom that results from sitting in front of a computer for six hours every day. Not to mention the wealth of international current events, political histories, and future economic projections that pervade even the quickest hallway conversation. The community of people carrying out The Carter Center’s work is truly amazing. Out of all the other interns I think I am most fortunate to be working with my specific team because not only are my four colleagues willing to entertain any question I have about the work I am assigned, but also take it upon themselves to introduce me to famous journalists at the Rosalynn Carter Mental Health Journalism Fellowship Symposium or the doctor who devised the plan to eradicate small pox at the International Summit on Tropical Diseases--intent on aiding me as much as possible in furthering my budding career. Although not interested in pursuing development as my sole vocation, I am gaining important skills that will be necessary when running my own health programs on an international level someday in the future. Atlanta is one of the largest hubs for domestic and international public health (the CDC is right down the street), and I am learning more about the field and education required to succeed in my ambitions than I ever could have in college.

The internship program has not only taught me how to be comfortable wearing high heels and business suits almost every day, but also provided some amazing opportunities offered at The Carter Center and with the Carters themselves. During my first two weeks of work I attended the Human Rights Defenders conference, where top human rights activists from around the world gathered to discuss the role of faith as a major component in the cause of human rights violations as well as a basis for successful interventions. During the formal introductions on the very first morning, I was shocked to listen to the UN’s High Commissioner of Human rights answer a personal phone call from Kofi Annan. Talk about rock stars of the international humanitarian community!

While Jimmy Carter was staying at the Center for this event, he walked through the building one morning to talk for several minutes with each employee. After entering the Development office, he started tugging playfully on my hair to get my attention. I was so absorbed in the briefing I was writing that I didn’t even notice him standing behind me. Despite the immense clout surrounding the past president, he was as easy to talk to as a warm and wise grandfather, completely unimposing and genuine in his questions of me. Although Carter has garnered some criticism in his support of Palestine and recent meetings with Hezbollah, one can’t help but be impressed with his energy and intelligence that has only increased with age. I only hope that by the time I am 83 I can resolutely answer questions with barely a moment’s pause for consideration on any subject from any time period like Jimmy.

Every week the Center sponsors what are called ‘Brown Bags’, or informal lectures given during the lunchtime hour by people connected with the Center. One lunch I heard from the man they call the ‘communications warrior’ of the world who was charged with supplying the presidential administration with the information on Iraq that prompted our invasion of the country. I have learned all about US policy on global warming from the head of the Carter Presidential Library (who also happened to be head of the EPA for twenty years). I recently heard from an Anthropologist from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) on decentralization of government leadership in his country, where The Carter Center is actively involved. These talks are like being in college again but in a much more intimate setting than most big-name lectures and with speakers who are much higher-profile than the Claremont Colleges were able to attract.

In many ways this experience has provided a perfect, if not cushioned, transition between the idealism of college and the reality of the real world. Although in the distant future I hope to work for an organization whose consistent actions and sound mission I whole-heartedly support, this internship has inspired me to return to my educational path to pursue a Masters in Public Health and a PhD in Medical Anthropology. President Carter started the internship program because he thinks that immersing bright young people in the sort of diplomatic international work in which The Carter Center is involved is the best investment that the US can make in the future of the world. It is my generation’s duty to dedicate ourselves to the type of work that will help alleviate much of the world’s unnecessary suffering to bring to fruition a future that leaders such as Carter have been promoting for years.