Defender of the Poor

Hno. Miguel Lynch in front of the Administration Building in the prison at 6.00am

In the Courthouse
Today is my birthday. I never thought that I would ever spend a birthday in court. But I did, today. I was with Miguel Lynch in the Asuncion High Court. He goes there regularly as the representative of the Asuncion Diocesan Pastoral Care for Young People in Prison.

It is amazing to be with him. He dresses better than most of the lawyers and is a commanding presence throughout the courthouse building. Everyone knows him, judges, lawyers, prisoners, guards, media and NGOs. It makes one proud to be with a man who walks so tall in the service of the poorest of the poor.

Miguel is quiet spoken and authoritative as he moves around the labyrinthine bureacracy of the judicial system here in Paraguay. He stops to chat with a mother whose son has just been granted bail. He has a word for a friendly prison guard who is there to collect one of the young people condemned to serve time. He can crack a joke with the waiting media. He deftly manages to get a report on a young person awaiting trial through one of his many informal agents in the system. He submits formal requests to the prosecuting judge for permission to lodge reports on four young people accused of a variety of crimes from fraud to aggravated assault. It was interesting to note that in a few of the offices the local Paraguayan Christian Brothers desk calendar was in use. This is advocacy with style.

The Adult Prison in Tacumbú
Yesterday, I went with Hermano Chuck Fitzsimmons, American, to the local adult jail. To visit a Paraguayan city jail is to deliver oneself to the maws of a hellish system. You hand over your passport. Your hand is stamped for ID purposes. Various gates open and close. Around each gate are clustered groups of guards, hucksters, pimps and inmates. We sat in a cell with a group of young people from the Banado. The smell of human waste lay heavy in the air. Some of the young people do not have adequate clothing to protect themselves against the cold. The food is barely adequate. They are exposed to all kinds of dangers in prison, of which rape is probably the least worrisome. We prayed. Some read from the Scriptures. For a few moments light pierced the darkness.

Groups of evangelical volunteers roam the prison. Because we call ourselves "Hermanos", the evangelicals think we are one of them. They invited us to visit the Evangelical wings of the jail. What a transformation. The cells are brightly painted. There is good furniture and bedding, adequate lighting, pleasant surroundings for prison visits, and most of all access to different forms of education. Many of the prisoners the Evangelical wing are paid workers of the church. All are neatly dressed and motivated. No drugs. No alcohol. No smoking. The contrast with the situation of other prisoners is so dramatic. What makes the difference? The money being poured into Latin America from the evangelical churches in North America. No wonder it is likely that South American will be mainly evangelical in the coming years. Meanwhile the official church in Latin America worries about the proper way to receive Communion.

I saw one man in the jail who had rags for clothes, a dirty blanket to keep out the cold and no shoes, except for some strips of cardboard wrapped with wire. I saw another man who was clearly American, smoking dope, and wondering about his girl-friend in Los Angeles. Probably in for drug trafficking. If ever you saw the movie Midnight Express, the scenes in Tacumbú are virtually identically to those of the film.

One of the ironic moments was being shown around the Catholic church in the jail by an Evangelical. Even more surprising when he found out who we were, he mentioned Christy Turner teaching English to the inmates in this prison at the back of the Church. Te felicito Christy! What a strange world we inhabit.


A Day with Miguel
On Wednesday, I spent the whole day with Miguel Lynch. Up at 4.30am. We leave the house at 5.00am to reach the prison by 6.00am. This is the hour of the change of shifts in the prison. It is still dark and dawn is just breaking. The air is chilly and there are hints of frost on the grass. We make our way around the various cell blocks. The young people are in dormitories of about six to eight people. The bathrooms reek of urine and human waste. But the beds are clean and there are blankets. All supplied by Miguel Lynch, not by the State.

Miguel has a word for each young person as he makes his rounds. He moves fast. Within 30 minutes we have covered all the cell blocks and seen 110 young people face the day. It is clear they have huge respect for Miguel and he is greeted everywhere by a smile. There is no mistaking who is in charge. It is a joy to watch him relate to these young people rejected by society. He knows their families. Many kids have had brothers in jail. Poverty creates serial imprisonment.

We have a meeting with the prison staff. All are poorly paid. Uninterested. But it is clear that Miguel as Prison Governor is making a difference. Since he took over the jail, all officers and staff show up for work and on time. He is doing his best to raise their morale. He asks one of his people to go to the pharmacy to buy medicine for two of the staff who sick. The money comes from the Church pastoral fund. For another he provides a warm coat against the biting cold of the day that is beginning.

Only after two hours do we get to eat. The breakfast is tea and a bun. Nothing else. The rest of the morning goes on office work and visits to the classes where the kids are attempting to access the education that has been denied them up to now. Some go to work in the garden. Some are simply hanging around, huddled around fires chatting. Later in the day, some of the more motivated young people play basketball.

The day ends at 6.00pm with the final roll call of the day. We make our way back to Asunción, a distance of about 40 kilometers. Miguel talks about his plans to further improve the prison if he can find some money. The State pays only a modest amount for food, nothing else. All other resourcing has to come from families, NGOs, the Church or donations from individuals. Public policy still operates on the basis that young people who go off the rails deserve to rot in some hellhole created by adults.

It is 7.00pm when we get home. And Miguel Lynch does this every day except Sunday, and even Sunday afternoon he spends in the office.

The Peter McVerrey of Asuncion.
God bless him.

Adios!

In the Banado

Yesterday afternoon I went with Juancito Casey to the Banada. This is an area of Asuncion virtually surrounded by the river on all sides. It is very prone to flooding which is one of the reasons that the city authorities will not permit houses in the area. Most of the people who live there are extremely poor, making a living gathering trash for recycling or selling small items on the streets. It is very reminiscent of the way of life of the people in the Cancha of Cochabamba. It is a tough, unremitting and precarious way of life. People make just about enough money to live at a basic level.

Juancito has a centre for catechists in the area. The catechists are young people from around the local area, who at least have had the benefit of a secondary school education. They teach the young primary school kids the basic elements of their Christian faith in premises that would have been condemned in Ireland even in the last century. Juancito himself is the Coordinator of the project although there is also a lady who acts as the main catechetical coordinator.

It is interesting to be with Jack in the Banada area. He is well-known and well-loved by the people. He appears to know almost everyone by name, a remarkable feat in itself. It is like Ireland about seventy years ago. Everyone chats and talks. The kids come up to say Hello. It is another world long past for the rest of us.