Eliza Alemán reflects on her experience at the Hope for the Future conference and the love and comfort she felt while there.
Eliza Maribel Alemán Photo by Emilia Thut.
Eliza Alemán is a junior history and sustainability double major at Goshen (Indiana) College. She is currently interning at the Mennonite Church USA Archives, in Elkhart, Indiana, and is a member of College Mennonite Church, in Goshen. Once she completes her undergraduate degree, she plans to attend seminary at Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary, in Elkhart. She is a daughter, an older sister and an engaged participant in GC extracurriculars. She dreams of teaching history or social justice courses in a higher educational setting one day.
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I had the joy of attending the Hope for the Future and 30th Anniversary of the Damascus Road Anti-Racism Training Initiative conference, Feb. 28-March 2. To begin, I had no prior knowledge of Hope for the Future or the work of Roots of Justice (formerly known as Damascus Road). I essentially went in blindly. About three weeks before the conference, I was approached by my professor, Philipp Gollner, who inquired about whether or not I would be interested in taking on an oral history project for this conference. After his brief pitch, I eagerly said yes.
I had never conducted an oral history interview, but I believed in the mission of the conference, and Gollner assured me that I would be provided with resources and mentorship ahead of time. My peer — and current roommate — Naomi Klassen, worked with me to prepare and conduct these interviews. I attended the conference “meaning business.” I did not think that this would be a spiritual or emotional experience, to put it quite plainly.
My grandfather was a Hispanic Mennonite pastor for about 30 years, and while my mother was raised Mennonite, she did not remain connected to the church while raising us, and my grandfather had retired by then. So I live in the grey area of the Mennonite world. I knew about the general theological concepts of Anabaptism, but I had never spent my summers at a Mennonite camp or attended an MC USA convention. I also grew up in western Illinois, in a community with no direct ties to Anabaptist culture, except for my grandfather’s congregation. In short, coming to Goshen College and being immersed in the Mennonite community was a bit of a culture shock. However, I have come to love it, mostly.
While I love the community, the theology and the friendship, I cannot shake this feeling of being “other.” During my first year of college, I could not fully understand why. I know now. If you have not already observed my bio picture and come to this conclusion, I will help you: I am not a white Mennonite.
Entering into this community has been nothing short of a learning experience, and I am grateful, but I miss my community of Black and Brown people. I miss my Mexican neighbors, who would mow our lawn, because, well, they had already pulled out their lawn mower, so why not help out their neighbor? I miss waking up to hear my lifelong neighbor, Garcia, singing — badly —along to his 90s R&B on a Saturday morning. I miss the joy, the laughter and the love that community brought me.
On Hope for the Future weekend, the people I met were, unfortunately, not Garcia, but they did bring me the same comfort, the same love and laughter, and even tears. Goodness, if the kingdom of God is not that diverse and joyous, I am unsure of my peace with the afterlife. Felipe Hinojosa frequently recalled the laughter during the Damascus Road trainee meetings, as did many other early members. The joy of our BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) brothers and sisters is real, it is safe, and it is truly delightful. I also interviewed Maati Yvonne during my time at the conference. However, prior to our conversation, I sat with her during the gala evening.
She asked me, “What do young people need to hear from [older activists]? What do you feel like we haven’t touched on yet?”
I responded, “A shared sense of anger.”
She responded to my concern during her elder acceptance speech, “You can be angry, but do not let your anger lead to sin.”
Hate is a sin. Divisiveness is a sin. Exclusion is a sin. Something that stood out to me throughout my time at this conference is that, while we all shared laughter and joy, we also shared grief, pain and hurt. I sat and listened to founders cry, while recounting hurt from their regional conference, their home church and their supervisors, all from Mennonite institutions. So I pose these questions for the readers: Is this not violence? Is this not hateful?
This is not intended to offend or stir the pot, this is simply for reflection.
Our human responses and biases are flawed. In those flawed beliefs, we create institutional constitutions, order and regulation. If I took anything from this conference, it was love — radical, true and deep.
Love cannot fully enter a space without acknowledging injustice, fostering discussions and releasing initial hesitancy.
I thank the founding leaders and members of Damascus Road, who acted in love, true love. I thank the community of Black, Indigenous, Asian, White, Deshi and Latino people at this conference, who are acting, not in courage or bravery, but out of love for the Mennonite denomination. A true, deep, real, radical and revolutionary love is here.
The views and opinions expressed in this blog belong to the author and are not intended to represent the views of the MC USA Executive Board or staff.
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