Chapter 7: (Un)righteous Rage

The next time I saw Carmen during my run, we sat and talked in the dark. I had considered trying to make it back for the Thursday night church service, but instead I took my time.

This time I had tucked a 100 peso bill in my sock, so I bought us both a bottle of water. We walked back together to the spot where she would always sit and stare at traffic, with her back to the waves crashing on the rocks. It was a bit later than I would normally be out on the malecón, but the tall street lights stationed between the palm trees were shining their light down on us. I reasoned that the only risk was robbery, and I didn’t have anything I would particularly mind losing. My mp3 player was only worth about $15, and easily replaceable. I was more concerned about losing another opportunity to talk and pray with Carmen.

Besides, the malecón was frequented by visitors, Dominicans and foreigners alike. The last group, which included me, was constantly being watched over by Politur, the tourist police. Their exclusive job is to protect foreigners. My boss had even told me a story about how one day there was chaos in the street around Carnaval, but the police didn’t intervene until she felt her own children were in a precarious situation. Immediately, they were there, protecting the white people and their children. But the Dominican children weren’t their within their jurisdiction.

Although I cringed at the partiality, I felt some minor consolation in the fact that men in uniform were patrolling the malecón on their motorcylces as it got darker. But when a pair of them stopped to talk with me and Carmen, I realized Politur’s protection of foreigners and the economic boost they represent for the island, extends even to pedophiles.

“How much did you get from that one guy the other night?” They asked her. I couldn’t believe my ears. I listened to the conversation to a point, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What did you just ask her? Why does it matter to you? Shouldn’t you, as a police, be standing for justice? Shouldn’t you be protecting the vulnerable? The children? Don’t you have sisters? What would you say if they were surviving this way?”

They looked straight at me the whole time I was talking without flinching. It seemed they were only listening because I was a rubia, a light-skinned blonde foreigner. My rant gave them a good excuse to stare. The whole time, they had these ridiculous grins on their faces. Normally the fact that Dominicans keep smiling no matter what tragedy or poverty they face, is inspiring. But that night, it was maddening.

“You don’t know how it is here,” they answered, still smiling. “Girls this age and younger are already raising families.” They glanced towards Carmen, already nearing full-term at age 15.

“They’re babies.” I retorted. “They’re not ready to raise babies. They’re not ready for this. But this isn’t even about raising children. At no age will they ever be ready for exploitation. That’s not love. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You can’t buy love.”

I paused. My morality doesn’t matter to them, I reminded myself. Switching gears, I piped up,

“You’re here to protect tourists. But at the expense of your own people? That is not just. God is a God of justice, and He sees this. But besides all that, look at me, I could be a tourist. I’m not, actually—I live here. But I could be. There are plenty of things to see in this country besides prostitution. It’s a beautiful place. Do you want it to be remembered for its natural beauty, or as a place where men can go and break the law and have sex with children? Your country has so much more to offer.”

They laughed.   

“Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you like Dominicans?”

It was as if I had said nothing at all. I was swept over by the reminder that my words are not powerful. I felt frustrated with their attitudes, and regretful that I may have said too much—and yet at the same time, confident that God can change their hearts. But it’s not by might, nor by power, but by God’s Spirit!

Of another city on the island, I would later read that,

In Boca Chica, women said the tourism police regularly fleece them. “They come to you — these are guys that you know and see every day, you know them — and all the sudden they detain you,” said a 24-year-old woman who goes by Orchid. She declined to provide her full name for fear of retribution from police. “And then you have to pay or someone you know has to pay to get you out.” That bribe can cost as much as $25, she said.

Asked about the allegation, the local tourism police supervisor waived his hand and said he couldn’t talk to reporters without the public relations office first clearing it.

Now, though, International Justice Mission is working to develop relationships with key leaders in the Dominican police force. IJM arrived on the island in July 2013, and I couldn’t help but see that as answer to my prayers—and the prayers of many others who long to see God’s kindgdom come and will be done in the Dominican Republic. Praise God!

Change can only come about when the Holy Spirit moves on people’s hearts. And He is moving! 

Please join me in praying for the Dominican Church to commit acts of justice, for a transformation of the legal system, for more men and women like Berenice who will defend the rights of abused children, for fair wages for police officers, and for a culture of justice and protection of the vulnerable.

That night, Carmen let me walk with her back to Parque Independencia, the park near her apartment and mine. Since Andre wasn’t with us, we took the well-lit, Politur-patrolled route along the 5-star hotel side of the malecón.

At every other corner, someone would recognize Carmen. As usual, they shared their opinions, with varying degrees of subtlety, about me being Carmen’s lesbian lover for the night. They just couldn’t seem to imagine any other reason a foreigner would take the time to walk back with Carmen. We told them it wasn’t true, but their comments made my heart ache for Christ’s justice and purity, and for His true love to shine through all the lust, perversion, and darkness. They made me more desperate than ever to show her that Christ’s love is real, and that I wasn’t her friend to get anything out of her, but just to be an expression of the Father’s love. A love I myself desperately need. 

I handed her my mp3 player so she could listen to a song by Tercer Cielo:

Jesús  // Jesus
Tu belleza conquisto mi corazón // Your beauty conquered my heart
En la herida de tus manos encontré mi salvacion,  // In the wound in your hands, I found my salvation
Yo jamás imagine que fuera así // I never, ever imagined it was like this

Demasiado amor, // Too much love
Demasiado amor, // Too much love
Exagerado amor, // Exaggerated love
Exagerado amor, por mi   // Exaggerated love for me

Jesus, I prayed. Give Carmen a glimpse your exaggerated love for her. Conquer her heart with your beauty! Show her the hands that took all this brokenness to give her love, healing, and hope.