Yeny and the Children for Peace

by Michelle Mulder

  Maybe if they all wanted to go to the carnival, her parents would come to their senses and see that it wasn’t dangerous. Yeny felt more excited than she had since Saturday afternoon.

  Just past the balloons, a few adults stood around. They were dressed in good clothes, like they might work in offices, and they looked serious as they talked to each other. Yeny frowned, wondering if they’d come to break up the meeting. But then Celia set up her fruit crate right next to them, and the grown-ups smiled at her. Celia saw Yeny and waved.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” Celia said. She introduced Yeny to the adults, who were from a church and a boys’ and girls’ club. “They offered to help us with our plans, if we need some adult help. Did you hear the news?”

  “Another carnival, right?”

  Celia shook her head. “It’s something better than that.”

  Yeny didn’t understand. What could be better than a carnival?

  “There’s going to be a vote!” cried Beto, punching a fist in the air.

  “What are you talking about, Beto?” Yeny asked. “Elections don’t have anything to do with kids.”

  “This one does,” Celia said, stepping up on the fruit crate. “And it’s going to be huge. On October 25, kids across the country are going to vote. And we’re going to have another big party, to celebrate.”

  “Right on,” said Beto. “Kids can finally have a say!”

  “I vote that Christmas vacation is ten months long!” shouted David.

  “I vote that we get to eat all the chocolate we want!” said Rocio.

  “And I think the government should give every child a bicycle.” Yeny declared. “I’ll ride back to the mountains. You guys can come too. We’ll bring a tent, and pack a lunch, and you’ll meet all my friends. You’re going to love María Cristina, and . . .”

  “Hold your horses!” said Celia, laughing. “You can’t just vote for whatever you want. There’s going to be a specific question, and you have to choose from a whole bunch of answers.”

  “Like a multiple-choice test?” Yeny asked, disappointed.

  “What if we don’t like the question?” Juan wanted to know.

  “Believe me, it’s a good question,” said Celia. “We’re going to vote for what we think the most important children’s right is.”

  “Oh,” said Juan, and he and Yeny looked at each other. The vote didn’t sound nearly as exciting as Yeny had hoped. If it weren’t for the party afterward, she might not have wanted to go at all.

  “There are lots of us who have been planning it for months,” Celia said. “Back in May, about thirty young people from across the country got together, and wrote something called the Children’s Mandate for Peace and Rights.”

  “The Children’s man-what?” asked the girl in pigtails next to Yeny.

  “The Children’s Mandate,” said Celia. “A mandate is like an agreement. Anyway, this mandate says that children everywhere have the right to live in a peaceful place, and that everyone who signs it promises to help bring about peace. That’s how these peace meetings got started. And now we’re working together to organize the election. Every kid will choose one of the twelve rights that are listed in our Constitution and in a big international agreement called the Convention on the Rights of the Child. We’ll each decide which right is the most important to us, and the adults will have to pay attention because we’re following the rules of a democracy.”

  Yeny and her friends looked at each other. This sounded a bit silly. Celia had already told them that children’s rights were part of the law, but obviously no one was paying attention to those laws, so what difference could a children’s vote make? What could a bunch of kids do to change an entire country?

  Across the street, a few of the men at the café were standing up to see what was going on in the field. They were talking loudly and pointing, and the funny little dog had begun running back and forth, barking excitedly. Yeny looked around, hoping there wasn’t going to be any trouble. She was relieved when the adults who had been leaning against the goal posts crossed the street to talk to the men.

  Celia didn’t look the least bit worried. “It’s going to be great,” she said. “You’ll see. With so many children involved, the adults in this country will have to listen and make sure we are protected.”

  In one protest, children and adults alike carried cardboard coffins with the names of people who had been killed.

  Yeny imagined a hundred kids standing, hands on hips, wagging their fingers at the grupos armados. “But even our own parents won’t listen to us sometimes,” she told Celia. “Why would the people in charge pay any attention?”

  “Yeah,” Juan said, “they always ignore protests against violence. Last year, my parents and I were in a big protest, and a whole bunch of us walked across the city carrying little card-board coffins with the names of people in our family who had been killed. At the end of the march, we piled the coffins up by the police station, and the next day the only thing the newspaper reported was that a big parade left behind a pile of garbage. Can you believe it? They called our little coffins garbage!”

  Yeny saw tears in her cousin’s eyes, and anger knotted her stomach. Her anger was getting worse these days. Having to leave her village and María Cristina—missing the Peace Carnival—everything was making her mad. And everything was the fault of the grupos armados. They had even made her parents afraid. At least Aunt Nelly took Juan to protests. She was always saying that at some point you couldn’t worry about the danger anymore. She’d rather die trying to change things than die in fear. But Yeny’s parents didn’t agree. They never let Yeny do anything about the stuff that made her mad.

  “One problem,” Celia said, “is fear. Sometimes the newspaper writers get scared, like everyone else. So they don’t speak out against the violence of the armed groups. Another problem is that some people don’t know how bad the violence has gotten, and others have already given up hope of being able to stop it. Instead of reporting on the violence, many newspapers and television channels focus on movie stars and soap operas. Either way, no one can trust media anymore.”

  “Who’s Meedia?” asked the little girl with pigtails.

  “The media,” said Celia, “are the newspapers and the radio and television. They’re afraid of making the grupos armados angry. The great thing about our election is that people can still trust kids. No one pays attention to the media anymore because no one believes them. But everyone will believe us when we talk about how important our rights are because they’ll know we’re telling the truth.”

  Across the street, the men had sat down again to drink more coffee. The dog lay beside them, head resting on paws. Celia’s adult friends returned to the field. “Everything’s okay,” said the lady in the black skirt and white blouse. “They were only curious.”

  “Well, they’ll hear about it soon enough,” Rocio said, rubbing her hands together.

  “Yeah,” Yeny agreed. “Every kid is going to know about our rights, and every adult is going to hear about them too.”

  “We proved on Saturday how good we are at spreading the word,” said Beto. “Now we have to do it bigger.”

  “And louder!” shouted David. “So that even the President will hear. Yoooo hooooo! Mister Prreeeeeeeeesident!”

  The children giggled, and Celia whipped out her notebook and a pen. “Now, we need to cover every last bit of this neighborhood. Who wants to talk to the kids in the first few blocks on the left side of the field?”

  A few people put up their hands.

  “I’ll cover the block after that,” someone else shouted quickly.

  “Hey, isn’t that where the candy shop is?” asked a boy with a front tooth missing.

  “Of course!” the first kid shouted. “We can’t change Colombia on an empty stomach.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Stand Up for Your Rights

  Yeny, Juan, Elena, Rosa, and Sylvia got home in the nick of time. Aunt Nelly walked through the door ju
st minutes later, and before Yeny could say anything, Juan leapt up from his homework and declared, “There’s going to be a vote. A children’s election. And everyone’s going to win because the grown-ups are going to listen.”

  Yeny didn’t know whether to laugh at his silly explanation, or to kick him for spilling the news. Now, for sure, Aunt Nelly would find out where they’d been that afternoon, and she would tell Yeny’s parents as soon as they got home.

  Aunt Nelly put down the bag of potatoes she’d been carrying and hugged her excited son. “Did you hear this at school?” she asked, and Juan went ahead and told his mother exactly where they’d been, as though no one would mind.

  “I see,” Aunt Nelly said, with a scary kind of calm. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from Yeny. “Do your parents know that you went to this meeting?”

  Yeny shook her head. Rosa, Sylvia, Elena, and Juan left through the back door. Yeny knew they were trying to give her privacy for this uncomfortable chat with her aunt, but she wished they had stayed. Elena wasn’t supposed to be at that meeting either.

  “You know how your parents feel about these meetings, don’t you?” her aunt asked.

  “Yes,” said Yeny, in a small voice. But part of her wanted to shout. Aunt Nelly took Juan to protests, so what was wrong with Yeny going to an election?

  “They’re afraid,” said Aunt Nelly, as though she’d read Yeny’s mind. She leaned back in the wooden chair. “That’s one of the hardest things when there is violence—to not be afraid.”

  Yeny nodded, but she didn’t understand what Aunt Nelly was trying to tell her.

  “And being brave isn’t only one of the hardest things,” she said. “It’s also one of the most important things.”

  Aunt Nelly wasn’t scolding after all, Yeny realized. She was calling her brave!

  “When people are afraid,” her aunt said, “they block themselves off. They don’t want to risk anything because they’ve already lost so much. And they don’t realize that when you’re suffering and scared, that’s when you should talk to other people the most. There’s strength in numbers, you know. No one person can stop the violence, but the more we work together as a group to stop it, the more changes we’ll see. And those changes give us courage to make more changes. That’s the only way I know to change a situation.”

  Yeny thought about that. “Maybe that’s what happened with me and Joaquin,” she said. “Ever since I’ve been busy telling people about the carnival, I have been less scared of Joaquin. I don’t care as much about him teasing me. And since I stopped caring, he’s hardly bothered me.”

  Aunt Nelly nodded. “When you surround yourself with people who support you, it’s easier to be strong. And if people see you being strong, it’s harder for them to hurt you.”

  “But then why doesn’t everyone get together and force the grupos armados out?” asked Yeny.

  “I wish it were that easy,” Aunt Nelly said. “It’s one thing when individuals are mean and call each other names, the way Joaquin did to you. But when they have guns and they hurt each other, then it’s hard for ordinary people to fight back, and harder not to become frightened.”

  “So how come you’re not scared, like my parents?” Yeny said. “You still let Juan go to the meetings, right?”

  “I am scared,” said Aunt Nelly. “Terrified, sometimes. But you know, in some ways, my worst fears came true when your uncle was kidnapped. When that happened, I realized that I had two choices. I could shut myself off from the world, trying to protect my children and myself, or I could go out and try to change things. I decided that, dangerous or not, I want to make a difference.”

  “Me too,” said Yeny. “You could explain that to my parents, right? Tell them it’s okay for me to go to the meetings, that we have to make a difference and not be afraid?”

  Aunt Nelly shook her head. “Your parents are doing what they think is best for you. It wouldn’t be fair for me to tell them not to be afraid. If they ask me, I’ll tell them what I think, but the rest is between you and them.”

  Yeny slumped in her chair. Aunt Nelly sure wasn’t making this any easier. But it was good to know that at least some grown-ups thought the children’s vote was a good idea.

  For the rest of the day, Yeny wondered what she should do about her parents. In the end, she decided to tell them what she planned on doing in the afternoons for the next two weeks—or at least she’d tell them some of it. She’d say she was going to small meetings. They didn’t seem to have any problem with that. And she’d tell them that Elena and Rosa and Sylvia were going too. That would make both Yeny’s mother and Aunt Nelly happy. They always liked the idea of the older kids looking out for the younger ones.

  “They’ll never let us go to the election itself, though,” Elena told Yeny that afternoon, when they were out behind the house, washing clothes. “There’s no point trying to convince them.”

  Yeny was scrubbing at a grass stain in her white trousers. Elena was washing twice as fast as Yeny was.

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Yeny, “but things can change. Papá always said he’d never live in the city, but look at us now.”

  “Yes, gracias a Dios,” Elena said, blowing her long black hair out of her eyes. “So much more interesting than the village.”

  Yeny made a face. Sure the city was exciting now because of all the meetings and the vote, but Yeny would rather be in the village any day. She would love to step out the door of her house and see María Cristina and a dozen other friends.

  Yeny and Elena had nothing in common. But they’d have to work together to persuade their parents about the election.

  “If I try to talk to them about the vote,” Yeny asked, “will you help me?” It should have been the older sister standing bravely against the parents, she thought, but Elena had never been particularly brave.

  Elena shrugged. “I want to go to the election as much as you do, and I’ll say so if they ask. I’m only telling you not to get your hopes up.”

  Yeny held up her white trousers. The grass stain was finally gone. “Good,” she said. “As long as we stick together.”

  In the two weeks before the vote, Yeny was hardly ever home. She was always busy talking to other children, making signs about the election, or visiting Rocio next door.

  “I’m so happy you’re making friends,” her mother said one evening. She was cutting thick yuca root on a plastic plate, first slicing away the waxy brown skin, and then chopping the rest into big chunks. (Yeny hoped she was making sancocho, a delicious soup full of meat, potatoes, plantains, and yuca.) Mamá finished chopping one root and grabbed another. Then the clack clack of her knife stopped for a moment, and she turned to Yeny. “I’m proud of you for helping to organize the next party too, you know. I was pretty worried about you on the day of the last one. I know you had your heart set on going.”

  Yeny squirmed in her seat and stared down at her homework. Mamá was being so nice that she almost felt guilty for not telling her about the election. Adult elections could be very dangerous, with bombs and everything, and since there had never been an election for kids before, no one knew if it would be any different. Personally, Yeny thought the armed groups would look pretty silly if they got scared of a bunch of kids. But she didn’t know if her parents would agree. They seemed afraid of everything these days. When she talked to them, she would have to stay calm and make sure she didn’t say anything scary.

  “I only want to make friends, Mamá,” she said. “It’s lonely here in the city sometimes. I miss always having something to do in the village, and I especially miss María Cristina.”

  Mamá started slicing a carrot. “Well, you seem to be doing a great job of fitting in,” she said. “I like to see you come home from your meetings so excited. Both your father and I are proud of you.”

  Even if you won’t let me go to the peace carnivals, Yeny thought. She wondered for the fiftieth time, how on earth to tell her parents about the election, and how to convince
them to let her go. Obviously, Elena wasn’t going to be any help in that department. Yeny would have to do the convincing herself. But she still had time to figure it out. First, she had to spread the word—everywhere.

  CHAPTER 9

  Let Me Go!

  ≴My parents won’t let me go,” Beto announced at the meeting a few days later. There were more kids gathered on the field today. And across the street more men were gathered at the café, as though they too were spreading the word about the children’s meetings. A breeze blew up dust from the street, and Yeny wiped the grit from her face. She still missed the cool, clean mountain air.

  “My parents won’t let me go either,” said the girl with short pigtails. She was wearing blue bobbles today. “They said the grupos armados aren’t going to like us complaining about the way things are. The election could be dangerous.”

  Yeny shivered. She hoped that the frightened adults weren’t right. But she still thought it was silly to imagine that the armed groups would be afraid of a bunch of kids. Everyone knew that, no matter how many kids voted in the election, they couldn’t make sure kids were protected. Only grown-ups could do that. The election was a way for children to say what they thought.

  “It’s hard not to be scared,” Celia said. She spoke louder than usual so the kids at the back could hear. “You never know what could happen. But part of our job in organizing this election is to make it as safe as possible.”

  She looked ready to say something else when a car with a big megaphone turned onto the street near the field and started blaring messages about some church or other. Yeny sighed, and they all waited.

  It took a long time before the car rolled past and its noise faded into the distance. Celia cleared her throat and tried again. “So how can we make this election safe?”