Loyal, Friendly, Courteous and Kind?

“You work on Merit Badges and grow closer as a troop!” That was how they sold Scout Camp for a bunch of 15 year-old boys to our parents. “It’ll be fun, we have lots of leaders going – look at all the pictures from last year.” And the procession of pictures of boys engaged in various outdoorsy activities proceeded. We left the meeting with parents assured that the outing would be full of kum-ba-yas and merit badges. And that’s how it was.

For like a day.

The social decay that occurs with scouts in absence of parental authority is astounding.  In moments what were before [relatively] well-behaved boys transform into their best impression of Jack, Ralph, and the other boys envisioned by William Golding. Within moments of arriving chaos erupts. A slingshot war has started, veterans from last year are using the lessons learned in ‘Wilderness Survival’ to find those plants best suited to spike the neighboring camp’s stew with, while the new kids are skipping (literally) across the lake in a cooler. 

In short, it was heaven for a 14 year-old on his first overnight trip without Mom or Dad.

I quickly joined in, sampling the lake (the 'cooler slide' had transformed into a game to see who could get furthest into the lake before swamping) before quickly being drawn into the plans to prank the neighboring troop. That night, the line at the port-a-potty was long, as we chuckled in our tents and congratulated our companions on locating some plants that, we had been warned, acted as laxatives.

We continued for days like this, I enjoying my newfound freedom, and always trying to push the limits our leaders had placed, until one of our more elaborate pranks (involving fishing line, fireworks, and our leader’s tents) ended up in a trip to the hospital for several of our compatriots.

Whenever I think back on that camp, I have to smile at the fun we had breaking all of the rules, but also the lessons learned about the purpose for those rules. The presence of authority is often to keep us safe, especially when we often fail to foresee the consequences of our actions.

Mapuche Who?

In southern Chile, there is a group of indigenous people known as the Mapuches. They’re frustrated with the government for not caring enough about their traditions. I experienced their hostility on a P-day during my mission. I was in Osorno, the biggest “city” in our mission, on New Year’s Eve. We went downtown to mail letters home, and as we walked into the post office I noticed a Mapuche demonstration next door, outside the civic center. There were 100 people or so, some standing and some chanting and yelling. They were playing music, and some were even dressed in traditional Mapuche clothing. I thought nothing of it—just the other day a member was telling us there was always a “civil” demonstration going on.

So my companion and I are waiting in line, the window to the post office is open, and the music and chants continue. We’re almost to the counter when we hear a big “POP!” outside, and soon smoke starts filling the room. People are coughing and I feel this tight burning feeling in my throat. It was tear gas. I grab my poor greenie companion and we rush outside. People are everywhere—cops with gas masks, bystanders, Mapuches—there was so much gas and my eyes were so teary I could barely see. My ears were ringing and I felt shaky.

When we got to fresh air, we propped ourselves against a wall trying to recompose. We called the elders; they were not helpful. A member ran into us and laughed as we wiped our tears and blew our noses. He wasn’t surprised at the protest and told us to rub lemon juice on our faces to feel better.

In hindsight, it seemed funny to me that something so chaotic from my perspective seemed normal to another person. It was an isolated situation that only affected those near the incident. The rest of the city went about it's day as usual, as though the Mapuches weren’t even there.