Venezuela: an image, a thought, a feeling

When advising priests on how the homily should be, Pope Francis always recommended that it be brief and based on an image, a thought, and a feeling. 

I decided to follow this advice, although it is difficult to choose just one of each to portray what I experienced during a week in Venezuela, after the earthquakes of June 24. I write this text, in the first person, exactly thirty days after the events, in an attempt to express myself. It is not a journalistic text, nor is it scientific.

Those two earthquakes left us all stunned, both those of us who saw the news spread in a matter of minutes, and even more so, those millions of Venezuelans who felt them. Being part of Caritas —and not just as a communication professional—, at that moment and in that place, allowed me, even in the face of the harshness of the facts and the situation, to take a different look to support and accompany the brothers in the arduous and, at the same time, comforting mission of being God's caress alongside His children.

Sometimes it is precisely on this path of pain where God —who was there all the time— allowed me to live a deep experience of being human and of a humanizing communication. It was to see and believe in the possibility of life, even when everything around me indicated otherwise; it was to find hope, even in the face of widespread despair; it was to perceive the small gestures of solidarity, even in front of the individualities that sometimes drag down the collectivity.

I became a communicator without words in the face of what I saw and lived. Since I began to walk the streets of La Guaira and see all those signs, only silence and contemplation remained. This was also the shared feeling with the companions who were with us in the car. The reality that unfolded before our eyes asked for nothing but silence, which is not just the absence of words, but another way of allowing oneself to be inhabited by them. 

Upon arriving in that area that looked like a war zone, with the collapsed buildings, the rescuers, and the people, I had a feeling of helplessness and, for a few moments, I thought: what can I do in the face of all this? I made the decision that I needed to listen to someone. I needed to listen to someone who could share how they were living, how they felt in that place, how they were carrying on with life after everything that had happened.

The response didn't take long and, right there, near the rubble, I found a lady who was looking for some clothes. After greeting her, without asking questions, I began to listen to her. I was sure I didn't need to ask any questions. I just needed to listen to place my soul and my heart in front of that tragedy, to put my heart in sync with hers and with so many people who shared the same feeling. 
In those situations where we want to ask many questions, listening is always a school to make room for all the other senses.

Listening to that person who told me about her life, her home, her loved ones, her dreams, and also her anguish was the key to continue opening the doors to the encounters I would have in the following days and to the stories I would still hear.

I remember her gaze that, beyond the clothes, was also searching for herself, seeking the meaning of life. Her gaze changed with the rhythm of her words and her feelings.

The next day, I felt a pain in my throat from the inability to express with all the words what I had seen. That impacted me a lot. Those images, the smells, the feelings… everything that I will carry with me for a long time.

Something incredible that happened to me is that, sometimes, you don't need to search for stories, as they come unexpectedly through people who have the need to be heard. Such was the case with that woman who hadn't slept in two weeks, since everything happened, and who was on the missing persons list for a few days.

Sitting in front of three journalists, what could have been an interrogation turned into a true class full of life. She did not hesitate to say that the sound of the two tremors and the collapsing buildings was the most terrifying sound she had ever heard in her life and that those minutes felt eternal.

My heart sank when she recounted what happened in the minutes before and during the tremor. The earthquake alert sounded on her husband's cell phone. In the neighboring house, something was being shattered and part of the nearby building was collapsing. The attempt to exit through the only door, the kitchen door, was in vain, so that woman and her husband had only one option left: to protect their non-verbal autistic son with their own bodies, who among his favorite things, loved to walk on the beach and see the mountain. “I thought: ‘My God, this is how everything is going to end. I am going to die, and who will take care of my son? He needs me’,” she said.

I write and her voice resonates very clearly in my ears. That last sentence reveals that maternal instinct she had no right to choose. It was as if she were saying: I cannot die. My God, I need to live because my son needs me. She had no right to choose.

At first, I said it would be difficult to choose just one thing, so I also share another thought from that woman. «The only thing that matters is life. We must let go of the material. Just live life and help others».

I have always believed that gratitude is the most beautiful thing that can spring from a heart. It is even more noble when it arises from hearts torn by suffering and yet still have space for gratitude.

I was struck by a moment when we stopped to eat and we were all there in our Cáritas t-shirts, with the vests, and someone said: "Thank you for what you are doing."

In the other meetings, the phrases were recurrent: "Thank you for coming," "Thank you for listening to us," "Thank you for being with us." A gentleman, whom we listened to, said: 
"Thank you for listening to me, I needed to vent." So, in the face of all the suffering and catastrophe, it is still possible to see the small signs of beauty that bloom in gestures of gratitude, in kindness, in goodness, and in the recognition of those who go to give something, but end up receiving much more.

Thank you, Venezuela! Thank you, Venezuelans! Thanks to those people I mentioned, without naming them, because I know they are the voices of thousands. Thank you for welcoming me with open arms and for leaving a deep mark on the heart and soul of this communicator.