I don't have any pictures of the poverty we saw in Belize: the tiny shacks dotting the landscape as we drove to Mayan ruins or the pitted roads leading into Belize City. Nor do I have a recording of the voices of our tour guides, the desperation below the surface, pleading with us to return some day and to tell our friends of the "Unbelizable" time that we had in their country.
What I do have is a renewed sense of my place in the world. For while I simmer angrily with the rest of the 99% in my country, I realize--with a sense of deep unease--that I sit comfortably with the 1% that holds the world's wealth.
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