In Jacmel, Haiti, a program to prevent violence against women and HIV is generating change not only in the community participants, but in the facilitators as well.

“Let me use myself as an example,” says Marie Denise Casséus, an organizer with Rethinking Power, when asked about changes she’s seen as a result of the program.

“I’ve experienced two big changes. First, I have the capacity to speak with people and share ideas. And second, I have the ability to truly listen, suspend judgment, and be tolerant of others’ ideas.”

For others, the change involves recognizing power they may not have realized they had. A recent “exercise on male privilege evoked a big reaction from the staff,” explains Petit-Frère Christ-Roy, also an organizer with the program.

Haitian organization Limyè Lavi has adapted Rethinking Power from a violence prevention program first pioneered in Uganda called SASA! It is premised on the idea that when individuals analyze power and its ramifications, and are motivated to end violence, they can shift power imbalances in the community.

About 30 community activists—including a substantial number of men—have been training for over a year to become anti-violence leaders in their communities. When they meet, they discuss power and the reality of violence. They come with a lot of questions, which they examine together; the program facilitators don’t give them the answers.

“This is the difference from other organizations,” says Casséus. “This is what draws people.”

“The program creates exchanges on what to do to discover solutions together. Telling people what to do doesn’t work.”

As their understandings of violence change, community activists begin to see how domination affects children, families, neighbours, the community.

For example, says Casséus, if a husband beats his wife with a stick, he misuses energy in finding the stick and then using it. Afterwards, his wife needs to go to the hospital, which requires time and money. When children live in an environment like this, they can’t perform at school; they experience trauma and delinquency, act out on their peers, and become a larger danger for the community. By analyzing violence together, and sharing their own experiences, community activists “see the impact and the use of resources and ask what to do.”

What the community activists do is engage others in conversations about violence. Each person has a network and role in the community, says Christ-Roy. Or, as Casséus puts it, each has a circle of influence, extending to family, friends, community, and society. Community activists commit to two hours of work per week in their community, and they decide what form it will take. They can organize more formal gatherings, or they can chat with people they would see anyway, at the market, at school, at a friend’s home. (None of their time is paid—“their first motivation is to end violence,” says Casséus.)

They use visual materials provided through the program, such as posters or comics, to initiate conversations. One small comic shows a group of people aboard a tap tap (share taxi) who pass an HIV clinic and notice there are more women than men there. They talk about why that may be—is it because women have so many sexual partners? Or is it because women have less power, for example, to say no to sex and to use condoms? The comic ends with a man asking if the point is that women should have all the power, to which the other passengers respond that power needs to be shared.

Idealistic as the comic sounds, it’s not too far from what is actually happening as a result of Rethinking Power. Some women have been able to express for the first time the impact of their husbands’ behaviour on them. By listening to female participants speak about their experiences, some men have received information they couldn’t hear directly from their partners. And some participants have even seen reduced psychological and physical violence in their marriages.

“I’m seeing things I hadn’t seen,” says Christ-Roy. “I want everyone to rethink things too.”

- Erin

This is Part 2 of a series. You can find the first part here:
http://pwn.bc.ca/2012/04/sasa/

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
            Anthem
            Leonard Cohen

The other week was the 18th anniversary of my HIV diagnosis and I had made it through most of the day without even realizing. I was walking with a friend when it struck me and I declared the milestone out loud. She looked at me, smiled, and said, “It’s worked out alright for you.” Initially I was taken aback. What an unkind sentiment. I’m HIV+!! How does that work out alright?!?  

I was shocked and scandalized and all those other highly dramatic responses. The drama lasted about a nanosecond until I realized I agreed with her: it has worked out alright. It truly has and it’s this perspective that I tend to live out; sometimes I despair, but usually I’m very even keel with this virus. We had a good laugh making light of what can easily be a depressive topic. My friend is one of the reasons I tend towards optimism.

The anniversary of my diagnosis falls one month before my birthday and for more than a decade I used to celebrate the diagnosis rather than my birthday. Well, maybe “celebrate” is the wrong word – a more appropriate term would be I used to mark the date with a gathering of friends. Recognizing the day served many purposes, but mostly it was an opportunity for me to count my growing blessings.

Please understand I’m no Pollyanna; I can rage against it all with the best of you. Yet I also have an uncanny ability to find a blessing in the shittiest of experiences. I prefer to embrace the full spectrum of life and with this motivation in my heart I have surrounded myself with friends who can see the silver lining without ignoring the gathering storms. It makes for a much more interesting life to try to see all aspects.

How has it worked out alright? Well, I’ve got a great home, my income meets my needs, I work in a community that I love, I have a fulfilling spiritual discipline and I have a treasure trove of dear friends. Most importantly, I have my health, which is strong.

I live in a subsidized unit at a housing co-op. In the mid-80s the co-op designated my suite for a person living with HIV/AIDS. It’s a 2 bedroom unit, but charged as a 1 bedroom. The second bedroom is for a live-in care provider. How forward thinking was that in the mid-80s? It’s been a relief for me to have someone stay here and help me through the rough patches when they happen without it being an economic burden.

Oh money. It’s the source of a lot of anguish, isn’t it? I went onto disability benefits a few years ago and what an adjustment that was! Before I could collect a cent I needed to exhaust my savings. Ugh. So there was the financial readjustment aspect of going onto social assistance and then there was the psychological reconciliation of being dependent on a bureaucracy for my income. Double ugh. But even this has worked out alright for me because my housing is affordable, I have the free time I need to take care of myself and I have an engaging part-time job. For sure I live in poverty, but that is only an economic designation because truth be told I actually live in abundance.

My true riches lay with those I love and I have many dear hearts. My friends are my saving grace and I don’t take them for granted.

Over all, it has worked out alright for me. However, I in no way seek to diminish the very real and intense struggles inherent in living with a life-threatening chronic illness. Yet with that said, I do choose to not focus solely on the struggles but to also recognize the potential for growth. Coming to terms with illness can be a tremendously rich experience. It breaks some people and it makes others stronger. Thankfully I’ve found myself in the latter group. It’s not easy and I can’t say I’m not broken because I am broken. I’m full of cracks. But it’s also worked out alright.

- Monique