海角大神

When Alejandra Correa wrote her first letter under the pen name 鈥淎le鈥� in mid-July, she felt a huge sense of relief.聽

鈥淚 hope this [letter] allows you to feel all of the emotions that are hitting you: the rage, the anguish, but also the hope,鈥� she typed, polishing off a one-page missive on floral, navy-blue stationary in less than 10 minutes. She doesn鈥檛 consider herself a writer, but says her words and pent-up emotions spilled onto the page.

Her letter wasn鈥檛 addressed to a dear friend or old flame. In fact, Ms. Correa, a human resources manager in Medell铆n, Colombia, has no idea who received her note. Just like she will never know who sent her the achingly romantic account about surviving COVID-19 in order to reunite with a soulmate.

Editor鈥檚 note: As a public service,聽all our coronavirus coverage聽is free. No paywall.

These letters are some of the more than 300 sent in an anonymous letter-writing campaign, organized by libraries, that emerged following聽Medell铆n鈥檚 initial COVID-19 lockdown last spring. Community members email library staff letters written from the perspective of made-up characters, literary figures, or personal reflections shielded by pen names, and the letter is passed along anonymously to other participants. For each letter you pen, you receive one in your inbox.

鈥淚 feel like the pandemic has generated so many feelings that I鈥檝e never experienced before,鈥� Ms. Correa says of why she joined the initiative 鈥� and plans to keep sending letters as long as the program is up and running. 鈥淭his opportunity to communicate so deeply with people you don鈥檛 know and to transmit words that might help others feel less alone; it鈥檚 a gift.鈥�

Libraries in Colombia have a rich history of coming to the service of communities in crisis, and this project, created by a network of libraries known as Comfenalco, is just the latest iteration. Neighborhood-run libraries popped up in impoverished and overlooked areas during the nation鈥檚 50-year armed conflict, serving as a unifying force. Libraries provided physical shelter from violence in the heyday of Pablo Escobar鈥檚 Medell铆n Cartel trafficking empire, and most recently have offered a mental escape from the pandemic-induced confinement.

Courtesy of Alejandra Correa

Alejandra Correa heard about an anonymous letter-writing project through the Comfenalco library network in Medell铆n a few months into the coronavirus pandemic. By the end of July she鈥檇 sent two letters, and says it鈥檚 been an important way to express her pent-up emotions. 鈥淭he key is that we are human and we are interested in hearing from others and sharing without judgement,鈥� she says.

鈥淩eading and writing can unite us and can generate community,鈥� says Bibiana 脕lvarez, who promotes reading and culture at Comfenalco libraries in and around Medell铆n. She was part of the team that came up with the idea for the letter-writing program, known as 鈥淟ove in the Time of Coronavirus.鈥� It鈥檚 a play on the title of the bestselling 1985 novel, 鈥淟ove in the Time of Cholera,鈥� by Colombia鈥檚 arguably most internationally-known author, Gabriel Garc铆a M谩rquez. In the book, two young strangers begin exchanging letters, leading to a distanced love affair and years of correspondence.

鈥淭he idea of the letters 鈥� that really stuck with us,鈥� she says. 鈥淭his is a moment when you can鈥檛 touch or see other people ... With the arrival of a letter, you can see how you are valued.鈥�

Beloved tradition

Medell铆n has long been a city of books and libraries: from receiving one of UNESCO鈥檚 three public library pilots in the 1950s, meant to serve as a model for cultural promotion in the developing world; to Catholic priests promoting grassroots community libraries following the famous 1968 Medell铆n conference of bishops; to hosting world-famous book and poetry festivals. For the past decade, Medell铆n has had public policies designed to promote reading, writing, and oral histories, with libraries playing a central role.

But librarians in Medell铆n have a favorite point of reference about the power of their work. In the 1980s and 鈥�90s, drug-trafficking-related violence swept much of Colombia. Medell铆n was considered one of the most dangerous cities in the world. By 2002, a federal government operation meant to instill peace in one of the city鈥檚 poor, mountainside neighborhoods instead led to the deaths and arrests of scores of civilians, shuttering everything from corner stores to playgrounds for nearly two weeks. Everything except for the library, that is.

鈥淭his library was the oasis of protection for the community,鈥� recalls Adriana Betancur, who has worked in Colombia鈥檚 public library system for more than two decades and has written on the role and history of libraries there. Although stepping foot outside put their lives at risk, 鈥渢he kids kept coming to the library,鈥� she says, and family programming continued. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the protective space of the community, a space of liberation from the problems of the neighborhood. Here, libraries have played a really important role in constructing peace, but even more than that, creating community.鈥�

There are more than 4,000 libraries nationwide, estimates Ms. Betancur, and pre-coronavirus it was common to see tourists, guidebooks in hand, seeking out these sacred spaces: from the Luis 脕ngel Arango Library in the historic center of Bogot谩, to riding cable cars or outdoor escalators to 鈥渓ibrary parks鈥� in Medell铆n鈥檚 mountainside barrios.

More recently, libraries became part of the country鈥檚 peace process, with the Ministry of Culture launching Mobile Libraries for Peace. The program works with demobilized guerrilla fighters to help them reintegrate into civilian life through a focus on literacy and digital skills.

鈥淚n some parts of the world people think of a library鈥檚 success in terms of literacy,鈥� says Clara Chu, director of the Mortenson Center for International Library Programs at the University of Illinois. 鈥淲ithout literacy it鈥檚 hard to advance in terms of development, but once people understand that all these things work hand in hand, they realize it isn鈥檛 just about鈥� reading, she says. Libraries have a key 鈥渟ocial role,鈥� no matter where they鈥檙e located in the world.

鈥淲e鈥檙e not alone鈥�

Ms. 脕lvarez, from the letter-writing project, says pivoting to keep up the library鈥檚 important community role during a time when human interaction 鈥� and visiting enclosed public spaces 鈥� is so discouraged has been a unique challenge. Books themselves go into quarantine upon return, barred from checkout until they鈥檝e been properly cleaned. Her team worked quickly to shift most of their programming online, from writing groups to children鈥檚 story hours. They鈥檝e hosted a series of webinars on topics from illustrating stories to getting to know Medell铆n.聽聽

But 鈥淟ove in the Time of Coronavirus鈥� amazed even the most biblio-faithful among them.

鈥淲e were surprised,鈥� says Ms. 脕lvarez, who recalls that one or two cards trickled in when they first launched the project, and then suddenly they鈥檇 receive 25 in one day. The library is archiving all of the letters, but hasn鈥檛 made them public yet.

Ms. Correa says 鈥淟ove in the Time of Coronavirus鈥� has allowed her to share emotions she can鈥檛 express with friends and family. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 have to drown in these feelings or shoulder them on your own. There are so many sounds inside that we can鈥檛 express right now and [this program] is a really appropriate way to do it. Writing and reading is a really powerful tool,鈥� she says.

In her second letter, written on July 25, Ms. Correa gets personal. She talks about missing her mother鈥檚 birthday and how her family鈥檚 tendency to express their love with actions, not words, has made being apart even harder.

鈥淭he written word allows us to understand other humans, and whether we鈥檙e reading a novel, a story, or a letter, it helps us understand we鈥檙e not alone,鈥� Ms. Alvarez says.

Editor鈥檚 note: As a public service,聽all our coronavirus coverage聽is free. No paywall.