Author: Peter Schaller

Remember We Are In This Together.

  By Peter D. Schaller It’s hard to believe that once upon a time, not too long ago, I was a political junkie. My undergraduate degree was littered with political science courses and I went on to study for a Master’s in Public Administration, with a concentration in policy analysis. I was particularly fond of Latin American politics and at one point, could name all of  the heads of state, from Canada right down to the tip of Chile, as well as their ideological leanings. I followed trade agreements, development goals, human development indexes, climate change summits and a...

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A Group of Annoying Guys Walk into the Bank.

By Peter D. Schaller The Banks in Managua are always full. Optimistically, I suppose we can take that as a sign of economic growth.In practical terms; it means an awful lot of wasted hours, if your timing is off. The 15th of the month is payday for some folks, so longer lines are inevitable. Also, the 30th and 1st of the month are both payroll and bill paying days, when it seems like the population of Nicaragua’s chaotic capital mysteriously expands. If there are 1.8 million people in the city, it seems that 3.6 million people are standing in...

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The Tattooed Yoga Project: Building Community through Art.

  By Peter Schaller So often, the best creations happen by accident. Like so many of us, Joe Longo, creator of the Tattooed Yoga Project, started out on a much different path. He was playing college football on a scholarship, when he stumbled across photography. Struggling with academics, he signed up for a photography course, no doubt to get some easy credits and maintain the scholarship. Although he eventually failed the course, he fell immediately in love with photography, so much so that shortly after, he traded in his cleats for keys to the darkroom. Although he drifted away...

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I Love You, Mr. Trump.

  By Peter Schaller I was seven years old when Jimmy Carter was elected president. It was 1976 and we were all riding on that patriotic, bicentennial high; I even had a red, white and blue banana seat bicycle. Growing up in a staunchly Republican household, I remember writing an encouraging letter to Gerald Ford. I was sure that he would be re-elected, I wrote in my second grade scrawl, because Jimmy Carter was a peanut head. There I was, spouting off political hate speech at the tiny age of seven. I must have been influenced by someone or...

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Our Girls Will Be Women Soon.

By Peter Schaller There are few better ways to spend a rainy Saturday than kicking around with my daughter, Ximena. We spend a slow morning poking around the farmer’s market, but she’s not in the mood to go home and cook. Instead, we head to one of our favorite coffee shops and choose the second story balcony to watch the rain fall lazily on the streets of Managua. Ximena leans over the railing and notes that all of the cars in the parking lot below us are white, except for one. We decide that the red car is much...

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