All I wanted to do on Saturday was be outside at the street fair, deciding whether to eat some roasted corn. And then The Cat Lady appeared…. Photo: Ed Yourdon

Spring finally arrived in New York on Saturday. I checked my email, then threw baby gear in my Osprey backpack, and announced to my husband: “I am NOT staying inside today.” The dawdling type–he’s Cuban–I accompanied the statement with an ultimatum: “We’re leaving for the Hell’s Kitchen International Food Festival in 20 minutes.”

An hour later, we were on 9th Ave., trying to decide whether we wanted vegetable focaccia or fresh roasted ears of corn. Just before we met up with Matador Trips co-editor Carlo Alcos and his wife, Yvonne, I saw The Cat Woman.

“We rescue cats! We’re all volunteers! We need YOUR help! PLEEEAASSE GIVE! The cats need you!”

Predictably, she had a cat shaped cookie jar for donations, and she wore cat ears on her head.

Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up.

I was totally turned off– and not just on the idea of donating to the cat rescue fund, but on the whole morning. It seems like everywhere you turn these days, someone’s asking for a buck. Can’t I enjoy a simple street fair without having to be subjected to the plaintive solicitations of some crazy cat woman? “That shit should be illegal,” I complained to my husband.

*
I know what it’s like to have to ask for money. I worked in the non-profit world for five years, I started my own counseling business, and at various points in my life have had ambitious plans to help other people that have all depended largely (ok, exclusively) on the generosity of family and friends.

Now that I’m out of that whole world, though, I’m more attuned to what it’s like being on the receiving end of those requests.

And quite frankly, I’ve had enough.

It’s starting to seem like you can’t go anywhere without being hit up for money. At the drug store, I’m asked if I want to donate an extra dollar for multiple sclerosis, or kids with congenital disorders, or women with breast cancer.

In the park where I take my daughter to swing every afternoon, the same child has asked me three days in a row if I want to buy candy for a school fund raiser. She can’t even tell me what the fund raiser is for.

Photo: sharon.schneider

And at the damn street fair–where I shouldn’t be faced with any decision more difficult than determining whether I want to spend my hard earned money on focaccia or corn–The Cat Lady wants money for cats.

I don’t even like cats.

*
There are lots of issues I care about: Health care for underserved communities. Education. The arts. The environment. Food safety. Immigrant and refugee issues. Indigenous communities. Human rights in general.

I even give money to organizations working on some of these issues. But not by force… or by solicitation (by the way Human Rights Watch, I appreciate the free address labels, but I’m not more likely to send you a donation because of them). I realize every cause needs funding… but I keep wondering whether there are smarter, more creative ways to ask for money?

And if so, why aren’t more people experimenting with them?

*
I actually felt a low-grade despair about this issue for the rest of the weekend, I guess because I’ve been thinking about “activism” in general and how we just need to blow up all the old models, which don’t seem to have much relevance anymore, and come up with something totally new.

Even as I sat down to write this, I wasn’t really sure where it was going or whether I could wring some useful–even happy–conclusion out of my annoyance.

But I guess I stared at the computer screen long enough, because the example of Misty Tosh eventually came to mind. Misty, a Matador contributor, bootstrapped her own NGO in Lombok, Indonesia. She also got people stoked about donating money to provide surgery for kids with cleft palates– all without begging. How? She involved them in more than just forking over some cash.

And then there’s Housing Works, a New York City-based social service agency I used to work for. Housing Works is pretty brilliant when it comes to fund raising. It started a used bookstore and cafe, a whole empire of thrift stores that celebrities trip over themselves to donate to, and sponsors fund raisers that are actually… fun. A spelling bee for adults. A drinking game with writers from Slate (so fun that tickets are sold out).

So it seems, then, that the key to raising money is… to stop asking for it.

Just stop.

Plan something fun and charge a couple bucks for it. Let the people who give you money take ownership of the cause. Educate them about your cause without teaching them, or forget about education all together. Just let ‘em have fun.

And please, get rid of the cat shaped cookie jar.

Community Connection:

Are you bootstrapping an NGO or other non-profit? We’re sure your cause is worthy. Check 5 Ways to Raise Money at Home for Your Cause Abroad or How to Fund Your Start-up Org.

Map of Haiti on the wall at the Haitian Consulate, NYC, Photos: Francisco Collazo

As the editor of MatadorChange–the Matador blog focused on social change, environmental awareness, and community building–I felt compelled to organize Matador’s response to the earthquake in Haiti. What follows below are hastily scribbled notes written on receipts, in a rain-soaked notebook, and on the back of my grocery list during one of the most intense weeks I’ve ever experienced.

**
1. Francisco is serving dinner when we hear about the earthquake in Haiti. The idea to use Twitter to mobilize a relief effort comes immediately.

2. I cared about the Sichuan earthquake. I cared about the Aceh tsunami. But there’s something about Haiti being in the Caribbean–closer to home, a place where I’ve spent a lot of time, a place I know well–that makes the disaster seem more concrete, less abstract, and more urgent.

3. We are in a waiting room at the Consulate. “My family is sleeping in their car because the house is falling down,” says a young woman–22 maybe?– whose hair is combed carefully into place, whose clothes are pressed. “Your big beautiful house?” the Consul says, his voice rising into the question.

The Consul

They are cousins. Hers is not a horror story within this palimpsest of disaster, but it’s terrible enough. Everyone’s suffering is individual, and, to that extent, is relative.

4. “A lady is crying in the hall,” Francisco whispers to me. “She just learned that she lost someone.”

5. “Logistics” is a word I’ll avoid using for a long time.

6. What’s more haphazard: disaster or disaster response?

7. I think of 9/11, of Katrina, of the pervasive sense of powerlessness so many people feel. What I want to do is help people feel they can contribute meaningfully.

8. The vultures are circling at the consulate. The fat man has medicine to send, but “Somebody’s gotta pay for it.” The other economic hit men, talking about bulldozers and helicopters, rub their hands together and talk about the “return on investment,” about “long-term gains.” One looks at me and sighs, “Bureaucracy is such a pain.” Does he expect me to empathize with him?

9. In a way, though, I do. Empathize with him, I mean. I want to say: “Fuck red tape. People are dying.”

10. I wish I could draw what this process looks like. It would look chaotic but ordered. For some reason, I get the sense it would be easier to explain and understand that way.

11. I’ve become so dependent on Twitter, I find myself writing #Haiti with a hash tag no matter where I’m writing.

12. The Consul says he is hungry. He says it as if he’s not in the middle of coordinating a response to a disaster. I’m not sure what to make of his seeming calm.

13. I take a nap with Francisco and Mariel. We sleep close together, as if disaster might touch us while we’re not awake. I dream of falling down a long, narrow flight of stairs. When I look up the symbolism of this dream, there are mixed messages: one, a fear of failure. The other, an object of envy. I don’t know what to make of this, but it leaves me unsettled.

14. More than 1,500 emails. I have sent more than 500 replies and my gmail is blocked. I set up a secondary account. It fills up quickly. So many people want to help. I am awed by this, am grateful. And slightly overwhelmed.

15. I’ve “met” some phenomenal people: Rene, in Chicago, who’s in contact with an organization that may take some of our volunteers. Daniel in Miami, who’s working on press. Jess and Carlos here in New York, handling our volunteer list and picking up donations, respectively. Jackie in Boston, who’s focused on collecting donations for babies and kids. Andrea in central Florida, who has tons of water (literally) ready to ship. And Matador members- Gabriela, Cathey, Allen, to name just a few– all pitching in in different ways. I think, as I always do in extraordinary situations, what could we do together beyond disaster?

16. Three days into this, and I’ve forgotten what I was doing before the quake. Francisco says I should take a shower. I’ve been sitting in front of the computer or on the phone for 13 hours today.

Vigil in a Haitian neighborhood in Brooklyn

17. Coordinating well-meaning people gets complicated. From the outside, it’s hard to see how much work it takes to put together something as simple as getting donations to a warehouse. Everyone wants an answer now. Answering now is not possible.

18. When it’s night, I don’t sleep well. My last thought is of the Bresma kids, sleeping in a yard. Under other circumstances, there might be something adventurous about that. Under these circumstances, it’s terrifying.

19. And that’s why I say to Francisco before we fall asleep one night–which night?– “I just can’t imagine. I’m torn up over it.” I can’t even say “the babies,” our 3.5 month old daughter sleeping soundly between us. “You’ve got to stop,” he says, reaching over and touching my hair. He means to stop thinking about it. It. The babies.

20. We have mobilized thousands of people to take tangible action. It’s exhilirating. It’s complicated.

21. It’s been two weeks and two days since the quake. I was waiting to end this with some hopeful note. So far, I’m not sure what that would be.

Daily life in Dubai*. Photo: Lara Dunston

By the time the evening news broadcast on Monday, I was already over the Burj.

I’d seen no fewer than four TV spots with snazzy graphics comparing the height of the Burj to the heights of the Empire State Building, the Willis Tower, the Eiffel Tower.

I’d heard too many redundant comments about Dubai’s wealth (former) and debt (current), too many “analyses” about the “seeming paradox” of a strictly religious people surrounded by such opulent, ostentatious gluttony.

The news cycle may only be 24 hours these days, but sometimes those 24 hours can really seem to drag along.

And so it was that Monday night, right before I signed off the computer for the evening, I banged out an exasperated tweet:

“You know what I don’t care about? The Burj, that’s what.”

Lots of stuff we throw out on Twitter’s blank wall doesn’t stick, but this tweet did.

Matador member Eloren agreed with me, tweeting:

“@collazoprojects Agree.. So fed up of hearing about it. I don’t see what’s to be so proud of? Tsss.”

And Aussie expat journalist Caitlin Fitzsimmons agreed, too:

“@collazoprojects I know! My husband was trying to tell me about it tonight.”

One person didn’t agree, however, and that was travel writer Lara Dunston, who I respect for her professionalism and her genuine and generous support of colleagues, including myself. An expat who has called Dubai home for more than 10 years, Lara tweeted back politely, but firmly:

“@collazoprojects The people who care about the Burj are the people who live there & love the place, and for whom it’s symbolic of so much…”

“@collazoprojects …which is why I care about it; I think we must feel the way Aussies felt when the Opera House or Harbour Bridge opened”

And just like that, with two tweets, I realized that maybe I *did* care about the Burj.

The problem was that mainstream media had totally overlooked the story that Lara was alluding to in two simple tweets.

She elaborates in her description of the photo that appears at the top of this article:

The pic is of Dubai Creek, the historical centre of the city and lifeblood of Dubai, taken from the wharf at Bur Dubai Souq. There’s something happening down here 24 hours a day, but I love it most in the evening when, with the fairy lights are on the dhows (wooden boats in the background)…. This is the first part of Dubai I ever visited when we moved to the UAE in 1998 and it’s still my favorite part….

There were only a handful of shopping malls in the city then, Burj Al Arab had not yet opened and there were no crazy manmade island developments. It cost less than 20 cents to cross the Creek on an abra (the main boat in the pic) then and now it costs around 30 cents. For many people who live in this area, this is the real Dubai.

When Terry and I lived in the city full-time (ie. before we put our things in storage and decided to live out of our suitcases four years ago), we would walk down here to the Creek several evenings a week…. Friday (like Sunday in the Western world) is liveliest when everyone seems to be down there shopping in the souqs. We saw this side of Dubai far more often than we ever saw the sumptuous shopping malls or extravagant five star hotels, which would only be when we’d go shopping and go out on weekends.

For most people in the city, as in any city, the luxe side represented by the media isn’t the side the locals experience every day. The difference is that with New York, Paris or Sydney, the media also makes an effort to discover and report on the everyday life of the city too – in Dubai they’re not interested. And I could write a novel about why that’s so.…

The Burj is more than snazzy graphics and a gasp-inducing fireworks show.

And that’s precisely why I was “over” the Burj before I really knew anything about it.

All the coverage was from the outside looking in: “Look how Dubai bested us!”

Nobody but Lara, it seemed, was inside looking out. It took a travel writer’s two tweets to make me aware why I found mainstream media coverage of the Burj so tiresome:

It lacked the human element.

Thanks to Lara for restoring it.

Community Connection:

Read other Matador editors’ takes on the Burj. Hal Amen’s Dubai, the UAE, and the World’s Tallest Building can be found on MatadorTrips, and Tim Patterson’s Could the Burj Kahlifah Collapse? is on MatadorAbroad.

Learn more about Lara in this article from our archives: What’s In Your Backpack, Lara Dunston, Travel Writer?

Photo via Sovereign Mind Radio

By his own count, John Perkins has lived at least four lives: one as an economic hit man (EHM); one as the CEO of an alternative energy company; one as a reformed EHM and whistle blower who has become an expert on indigenous cultures, shamanistic healing, and sustainability; and one as an author who writes about all of these topics.

Perkins’ most recent book, Hoodwinked: An Economic Hit Man Reveals Why the World Financial Markets Imploded–and What We Need to Do to Remake Them explores all of these lives and continues expanding upon the insights shared in his earlier books, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man and The Secret History of the American Empire: The Truth About Economic Hit Men, Jackals, and How to Change the World.

Perkins spent the 1970s as the Chief Economist of a major international consulting firm. In this capacity, Perkins was tasked with the responsibility of convincing the governments of developing nations to agree to high interest loans provided by bodies like the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank in order to enrich U.S. businesses and advance the diplomatic, defense, and economic interests of the American government.

As Chief Economist–a fancy name, Perkins says, for an economic hit man–Perkins saw the damage his work was wreaking on the environment and on human communities. Eventually, his guilt led him to leave that work behind, though he maintained a vow of silence about it. It was only after the September 2001 terrorist attacks that Perkins decided to talk publicly about his experiences as an economic hit man.

And he began to actively atone for the damage his work had caused by going back to communities in countries where he had worked–especially Ecuador–in order to begin repairing them.
*
I first spoke with John Perkins in September 2008 after reading Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. I spoke with him again a couple weeks ago.

It seemed an especially fitting time. With the close of one year (and one decade) and the beginning of another, and after 12 months of particularly turbulent world politics– the massacre of indigenous people in Bagua, Peru; the continuing political unrest in Iran; and the coup in Honduras– I wanted to ask John how his experiences as an economic hit man and the knowledge he has acquired over his “four lives” could help us all understand the world better and how we can use our own lives to be the change we want to see in the world.

The first step, Perkins says, is “to change our dreams.”

By way of explanation, Perkins recounted a conversation with members of the indigenous Shuar community in Ecuador:

“More than anything, it’s your dream [that's standing in the way of true progress....] When you give energy to a dream, it happens. [But you've] given energy to a nightmare that’s destroying the world. The way to change it is to change the dream.”

A few months back, in another article, I asked readers, “What’s your exquisitely absurd dream?” With Perkins’ advice about changing the dream, and with the fresh start offered by a new year and a new decade, it’s worth asking the question again.

What dreams do you want to change? What new dreams can you give energy to and make happen in 2010? Share your dream in the comments below.

You can listen to my entire, unedited interview with Perkins here.

Community Connection:

For some more thoughts on change, read Christine Garvin’s article, “Change Is Not a Four Letter Word.”

The author on her balcony at the Marriott Frenchman’s Reef, St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands; Photo: Francisco Collazo

Yesterday, the public relations firm Diamond PR sent nine travel writers to nine Marriott properties it represents in seven different locations in the Caribbean and Mexico. I’m one of them.

The purpose, of course, is the same as any other press trip: to expose writers who have a large audience of readers to its clients’ properties in the hopes that what those writers blog/tweet/Facebook about their experience will stimulate interest in the destinations and the properties.

If you’re a regular reader of my work, that preceding paragraph might seem incongruous with what you know about my writing. I’m not one for lavishing praise on anyone or anything unless it truly impresses me, which is tough (if you’ve got doubts about this, just check out this doozy of a book review).

And higher-end travel isn’t exactly my niche. If I had to narrow down my interests–which is tough–they’d fit more or less comfortably into the categories of political, cultural, social, and environmental movements, particularly in Latin America and the Caribbean.

And finally, if you know me personally, you know that the word “paradise” isn’t one that makes a frequent appearance in my vocabulary… mainly because I lived in “paradise” (Puerto Rico) for 2.5 years and know that a tropical island is only paradise for people who come for a short, pleasant visit, not for the people who live there day in and day out.

So what am I doing on this trip?

There are at least two answers.

1. Though I don’t write often about higher end travel–and though it’s not my travel style when I’m footing the bill– I won’t deny that I enjoy it. I like high thread counts, I like sleeping under a duvet even better than I like saying “duvet,” and I like eating dishes that have overwrought, absurdly detailed names like: Sofrito Marinated Filet Mignon with roasted poblano crema, manchego cheese, chile-toreado salsa, and house-made cilantro-corn tortillas, garnished with cilantro petals.

A frou-frou appetizer in Oaxaca. Photo by author

And if something on those travels–a hotel or inn, a meal, an experience–impresses me, I have no problem writing about it, though it won’t be here on Matador.

2. But at the end of the day, I have to admit that I only know the difference between the salad fork and the entree fork, I don’t like to dress up, and I choose my wine based on whether I like the looks of the label, not because I really know anything about terroir.

And when it comes right down to it, I’m more comfortable with the people providing a service rather than those receiving it.

That’s the real reason I’m in St. Thomas this week.

*
A few years ago, when I lived in Puerto Rico, I jumped to the cause of some locals who’d set up (illegal) residence on a beach in Carolina. “La playa no se vende!” read banners spray painted and hung limpidly between sea-salt speckled tents.

“The beach is not for sale.”

Marriott was allegedly planning to extend its domain to a public beach, gobbling up the sand and closing it off to everyone except hotel guests. Of course, I was on the locals’ side.

The problem was, I didn’t really know anything about the issue and I hadn’t talked with either side.
*

A worker in St. Kitts takes a break. Photo by author

Since that time, I’ve been working on a long-term photojournalism project about the effects of big hospitality corporations on local communities, specifically in areas of the Caribbean where local industries have collapsed in the past 20 or so years.

From the outside, it’s easy to be on the side of those people on the beach. Like anything, though, once you hang around for a while and start listening to people’s stories, the “truth” is a lot more complex.
*
So, long story short, I’m not in St. Thomas because I hope to experience a little slice of paradise and bring it back to you… though if I do have some incredible peak moment, you can read about it on my own blog.

I’m here because I’m always looking for the back story, the untold story, the stories of people who are overlooked. .

And if you follow my writing, that’s the ever-present thread that informs my work… no matter where I am.

Bhopal, Photo: openDemocracy

That’s the last line of the first paragraph of writer Suketu Mehta’s op-ed about the 25th anniversary of the Bhopal gas disaster, published in yesterday’s New York Times.

In that paragraph, Mehta’s describing the difference between his son’s kindergarten class in Mumbai–where servants cleaned up after the kids–to the same child’s first grade classroom in Brooklyn, “where the teachers made the children tidy up at the end of the day.”

In elementary school, at least, Americans get it right: We have to take responsibility for our actions. We have to clean up after ourselves.

But what happens, Mehta insinuates, between that fundamental lesson of childhood and our supposed maturity into adulthood?

The anecdote is a lead-in to Mehta’s meditation on the 25th anniversary of the Bhopal gas disaster. The short version of that story is this: the American chemical company, Union Carbide, had a pesticide plant in India that belched out a poisonous chemical cloud over Bhopal.

Four thousand people were killed instantly, and according to Mehta:

“An additional 15,000 people have since died from the aftereffects, and 10 to 30 people are said to die every month from exposure to the hundreds of tons of toxic waste left over in the former factory.”

That news would be devastating enough to any sentient being, but what Mehta goes on to note–and how it all ties in with his opening anecdote about the “wonderful American tradition”–is the real kicker: Union Carbide (subsequently bought by Dow) never cleaned up the contamination.

It’s disgusting, but hardly surprising and definitely not an anomaly. This year alone, we’ve written here on Change about a string of similar incidents, mostly perpetrated by big oil.

It’s easy to finger wag or wring one’s hands or bitch about mega-corporations’ greed and irresponsibility. But none of that does much–if any–good. And in some ways, we’re complicit with their actions.

“What’s missing in the whole sad story,” Mehta concludes, “is any sense of a human connection between the faceless people who run the corporation and the victims.”

He goes on to tell a story about a woman from Bhopal who wrote a letter to Union Carbide after losing her husband and her son to the company’s negligence:

“[P]ut your hand on your heart and think…if you are a human being, if this happened to you, how would your wife and children feel?”

Mehta says the woman never received a response. That’s not surprising either.

It’s tempting to read Mehta’s op-ed or other accounts of the Bhopal disaster, shake our heads, and move on. We always do… it’s our normal, default position, a self-protective action to keep us from totally breaking under the weight of the world’s problems.

But what if, instead, we decided not simply to move on? We can’t, perhaps, change the corporatocracy. But what we can do, every single day, is think about how our own personal choices and actions affect other people.

We can clean up after ourselves.

Community Connection:

Read about other corporations’ take the money and run actions around the world:

Chevron’s Greenwashing Ad Campaign

First Person Dispatch From the Chevron Protest

Photo: wili hybrid

If you scrolled through the gmail chats between senior editor David Miller and myself over the past year or so, you’d find at least half a dozen references to campfires.

It’s funny: he’s currently biding time with his wife and daughter at his parents’ gated community in Florida before heading down to El Bolson in Patagonia to set up a home. Me? I’m in New York City.

Neither place is conducive to building a campfire, and maybe that’s why the image is so present in our conversation. We’ve both spent lots of time around campfires and though we both make our living online, our favorite places are offline–way offline–sitting around a fire with people we love, having conversations that matter.

The Matador editors and interns–the Matador tribe, as we refer to ourselves–are spread across the globe. Tim Patterson’s in Luang Prabang. Kate Sedgwick, Hal Amen, and Adam Roy are all in Buenos Aires, soon to be joined by Tom Gates.

Sarah Menkedick’s in Oaxaca. Lola Akinmade, lately of Stockholm, is making her way to NYC for a visit. Ian MacKenzie’s in Vancouver. Twitter Ninja Andy Hayes is in Edinburgh. Intern Eileen Smith is in Santiago.

And that’s not even all of us.

Our campfire is virtual, and every day we invite you to come sit around it with us to talk about the places you’ve been, the people you’ve met, the experiences you’ve had, and the communities you’ve been a part of.

Then, we hope you’ll take what you’ve learned here and share it with others… preferably around a campfire.

Photo: gbaku

The centerpiece of the special issue was Kristof’s and WuDunn’s article, “The Women’s Crusade,” in which Kristof and WuDunn identify some of the most pressing problems facing women around the world and what can be done to address these issues.

Kristof and WuDunn have spent a lot of time with women, listening to their stories and reflecting about what a single anecdote can teach us about community phenomena. Here’s one of the compelling stories from the article, and an important lesson for all of us:

“…[W]hen Jo Luck [of Heifer International] came and talked to Tererai and other young women in her village, Luck kept insisting that… they could achieve their goals, repeatedly using the word ‘achievable.’ The women caught the repetition and asked the interpreter to explain in detail what ‘achievable’ meant. That gave Luck a chance to push forward. ‘What are your hopes?’ she asked the women….. Tererai and the others were puzzled by the question, because they didn’t really have any hopes. But Luck pushed them to think about their dreams, and reluctantly, they began to think about what they wanted.

Tererai timidly voiced hope of getting an education. Luck… told her… that she should write down her goals and methodically pursue them. After Luck and her entourage disappeared, Tererai began to study on her own, in hiding from her husband, while raising her five children. Painstakingly, with the help of friends, she wrote down her goals on a piece of paper:

‘One day I will go to the United States of America,’ she began, for Goal 1. She added that she would earn a college degree, a master’s degree and a Ph.D. — all exquisitely absurd dreams for a married cattle herder in Zimbabwe who had less than one year’s formal education. But Tererai took the piece of paper and folded it inside three layers of plastic to protect it, and then placed it in an old can. She buried the can under a rock where she herded cattle.

Then Tererai took correspondence classes and began saving money. Her self-confidence grew as she did brilliantly in her studies, and she became a community organizer for Heifer…. One day in 1998, she received notice that she had been admitted to Oklahoma State University.

…At Oklahoma State, Tererai took every credit she could and worked nights to make money. She earned her undergraduate degree, brought her five children to America and started her master’s, then returned to her village. She dug up the tin can under the rock and took out the paper on which she had scribbled her goals. She put check marks beside the goals she had fulfilled and buried the tin can again.

In Arkansas, she took a job working for Heifer — while simultaneously earning a master’s degree part time. When she had her M.A., Tererai again returned to her village. After embracing her mother and sister, she dug up her tin can and checked off her next goal. Now she is working on her Ph.D. at Western Michigan University.

Tererai has completed her course work and is completing a dissertation about AIDS programs among the poor in Africa. She will become a productive economic asset for Africa and a significant figure in the battle against AIDS. And when she has her doctorate, Tererai will go back to her village and, after hugging her loved ones, go out to the field and dig up her can again.”

You can read the rest of the article here.

What’s your “exquisitely absurd” dream? How can you achieve it? Who can help you?

And what are you waiting for?

Community Connection:

South Africa Education and Environment Project is just one of the thousands of organizations dedicated to education that belong to the Matador community. Learn more about SAEP and other organizations here.

But like Oliver, whose poems vibrate with such close attention to ordinary objects and experiences that they become extraordinary, I am also fully open to being consumed with gratitude and admiration for people’s courage and commitment to their ideals.

Photo: Elvire.R.

Here are a few stories that moved me this week and which, in sharing, I hope will have the same effect on you:

The Super Sherpa

This story came to me via Ian MacKenzie, co-editor of Brave New Traveler. From the AFP article:

“Apa Sherpa has stood on top of the world more times than anyone in history, and now he is heading back up Mount Everest, not for the fame or glory, but in the name of environmental protection.

Apa, 49, has become increasingly concerned about the damage inflicted on the world’s highest mountain by both climate change and the waste left by careless climbers.

This spring season he hopes to conquer Everest for the 19th time, and he will use the trip to focus attention on how climate change is affecting the Himalayas — and also bring back down as much rubbish as he can carry…. ‘I want to see Everest clean and safe,’” Apa Sherpa said.

You can read the full story here.

The Roads Scholarship

Often, we don’t have to look far and wide for incredible stories; they’re right in our own community. Matador Trips co-editor, Hal Amen, tipped me off to the Roads Scholarship being offered by Matador member Digital Vagabond.

If you’re over 18, have summer 2009 free, and love to travel, you might just want to get some more information about this scholarship, which Digital Vagabond is offering as a way to pay forward the love of travel that was instilled in him by a literary mentor.

Read more about the scholarship here.

The Voluntary Traveler Project

Nola Lee Kelsey, editor of, The Voluntary Traveler: Adventures from the Road Best Traveled (THE definitive resource on all aspects of voluntourism), inspired me with this soon-to-be-published book project in which novice and seasoned writers share publication credits.

But besides all the work that goes into editing and preparing a book for publication, Nola’s been busy building an active community of people who are passionate about using travel as a means of helping others. If that description applies to you, be sure to visit the Voluntary Traveler Project’s Facebook page and sign up as a member if you’re interested in learning more about voluntourism.

The Congressional Black Caucus Members’ Visit to Cuba

Photo: t-bet

And, specifically, this interview with Congresswoman Barbara Lee, who noted that the only true barrier to change is our own stubbornness that causes us to cling to outmoded ideologies.

When asked by PBS News Hour’s correspondent Ray Suarez whether she thinks the American travel ban can be lifted quickly, she replied:

“I think we could lift the travel ban today.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And that’s how many of us, especially in the Congressional Black Caucus, have always lived our life. When we believe that there’s something right to do and remembering that members of the Congressional Black Caucus and the CBC as a body have been known as the conscience in the Congress, when we believe that there’s something we need to do that is right and that’s just, we always have to have that hope that that can happen.”

What inspired you this week? Share links and stories below!

One of my favorite blogs this week was from Matador member Mojo, who wrote from London about his experience joining a group of Couchsurfers to give passersby free hugs.

Free Hugs in Austria, Photo: sooperkuh

“There are lots of incredible people out there… trying to make the world a closer place,” Mojo wrote.

So he joined a few of them with his own FREE HUGS sign down by the Thames. Here’s what happened next:

“The next two hours of my life were absolutely incredible. As the general public raced by I held my sign up and shouted things like, “Free Hugs!”, “Hugs are awesome and I can prove it!”, “Have you hugged a Canadian today?”.

It started off slowly. Many people tried to ignore us as they passed. Some stopped to take photos of the “crazy people” but kept a safe distance.

But then I saw a woman standing just a few feet away, watching us with a smile on her face. I walked over to her and said, “Would you like a hug?” and without a word she put her arms around me. People started to clap and cheer and it was like an invisible barrier had been broken because more onlookers started coming over and hugging other CSers…. [T]he cynics and the skeptics were massively outnumbered by the ones who walked away smiling; feeling a little happier that their day was a little brighter.”

Maybe free hugs won’t change the world… but they might just change your day.

Free Hugs in Brazil, Photo: Flavia Mariani

COMMUNITY CONNECTION:

To learn more about the FREE HUGS Campaign around the world, check out the official website here.

Photo: partie traumatic

If you’re reading across the Matador Network today, you’ll notice a few changes.

First, we’ve got a snappy new design on all nine of our content blogs, thanks to the hard work of Ian MacKenzie, resident tech/design guru and editor of Brave New Traveler.

With the new design also comes a fresh model of content delivery: every day, you can expect to find more articles on each of the Matador blogs, ranging from quick takes written by our editorial team to feature length pieces that showcase some of the best writing online.

Here on MatadorChange, I’ll be bringing you stories about the world’s most interesting people, organizations, and initiatives that are engaged in inspiring, important work around the globe. I’ll also be giving you tangible tips for taking action to be the change you want to see in the world.

If you’d asked me as a kid what I wanted to do, my answer was always “Change the world.” And that’s been my answer throughout adulthood, too, though “changing the world” has taken lots of different guises. I’ve been a social worker and creative arts therapists, worked with ex-cons, drug users, AIDS patients, and schizophrenic adults. I’ve started a community art gallery and led kids on educational journeys around Puerto Rico.

And finally, I came on board as an editor with Matador, where every single day I’m inspired by the people we write about and YOU- the people who are part of this community.

I’m confident you’ll be inspired–and I’m hoping you’ll engage, too, both here on Matador and out in the world. If you have tips about stories you’d like to see here, drop me a line at julie@matadornetwork.com. And if you’d like to submit an article yourself, check out our contributor guidelines here.