Several years ago, I left Venezuela to plant a Spanish-speaking church in Washington, DC.
If you’ve read international news in the last 10 years, you’re likely aware that I left behind a deeply complex web of socio-economic crises and political struggles. I pastored a church in Venezuela for 14 years in my hometown. We faced intermittent seasons of political riots, marches, and protests. People in my city were often unable to find food and medicine; safety was an everyday concern. Even though I miss my home country and the church I pastored there, I admit I felt some measure of relief when I landed at Reagan National airport.
Yet here I am again: different country, similar protests; different reasons, similar chaos spilling onto the streets; different slangs and slurs, same hate-filled hearts.
A few weeks ago, just a few blocks from my house, I smelled an old, familiar smell: tear gas. And upon seeing wood panels covering storefronts all over the city, I feel an old, familiar feeling: sadness and despair in the public square. Worst of all, there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel as both the problem and their solutions are being co-opted
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