They Treat Us How They See Us

‘They treat us how they see us.’

That phrase became a defining theme for the group of students, instructors, and friends who travelled to central Mexico for this February. I have recently taken on a new role, working with university students to foster greater understanding and action among in our school community around issues of global poverty, peacemaking, and social justice. One of the things I am privileged to do is take students to Cuernavaca, Mexico to encounter communities experiencing poverty and various forms of injustice, as well as the many brave women and men who are working on their behalf.

On our first day in Cuernavaca, our guide led us to La Estación, a squatter’s settlement in the heart of the city. There we met Justino, a father and grandfather who was born in La Estación and has lived there his entire life. His joyful hospitality could not mask his fear that he and his family would be forced to leave the renovated train car they called home. Powerful political and corporate leaders in Cuernavaca, wanted to make space in the heart of the city for a new shopping complex to house a new COSTCO or H&M store—and Justino and his family were in the way. Justino shared with us his feelings of powerlessness, his fear for his children and grandchildren. At one point, a student asked Justino: ‘why are they treating you this way?’

At one point, a student asked Justino: ‘why are they treating you this way?’

Justino answered: ‘They treat us how they see us.’

We treat others how we see them. And all too often, either in Mexico or at home in Canada, the truth is that the poor are treated as disposable because they are seen as disposable, if they are seen at all.

What a contrast to the visions of Matthew 25 and Psalm 72, two texts that we spent time reflecting on as a group in Cuernavaca. The church over its history has seen Jesus’ words in Matthew 25 as an invitation to encounter Jesus himself in the face of the poor, the stranger, the imprisoned. ‘Just as you did to them, the least of these, you did it to me.’

And Psalm 72 makes the audacious claim that a good and just king will ‘save the needy from death, and rescue them from oppression and violence, for precious is their blood in his sight.’ What a claim – that God sees the blood of the poor and powerless as precious.

What a claim – that God sees the blood of the poor and powerless as precious.

During our time at Quest, our students encountered instance after tragic instance of people being treated as if their blood was far from precious: squatters living in fear of eviction, refugees who fled the violent military and political regime in El Salvador during the 80’s and 90’s, migrants who attempted to seek a better life in the USA. But we also encountered many who see the world as the God of Psalm 72 and Matthew 25 sees, like the peace activists willing to put their lives on the line so that no more students or mothers or sons disappear, or the community leaders who petitioned to bring clean water to their squatter settlement.

It was these local leaders – spending themselves on behalf of a future world that they could see only through the eyes of hope – who really inspired us. They forced us to ask whether we were using our ears to hear the voices that were suffering in our own communities, whether we were using our eyes to see those who are so often pushed aside or left behind.

As advocates, we are invited to make space for others to encounter worlds they may otherwise not see.

These Mexican justice-seekers reminded me that as advocates, we are invited to make space for others to encounter worlds they may otherwise not see, to hear voices they may otherwise not hear, so that we may all learn to see our world and all of the places and people in it as God sees them: as precious, and worth our best efforts to ensure justice and practice solidarity on their behalf.

Because Justino is right – “they treat us as they see us”. Those words continue to be a challenge and call to me, as I try to heed God’s call to do justice and love mercy.

[Image: Photo by Cristina Gottardi on Unsplash]