Several times a week, one of the workers at Nuestros Ahijados (an easy-going, friendly young Guatemalan with the type of flowing, wavy hair that many guys in the states spend half an hour trying to perfect, who will remain nameless for reasons apparent later in this post) takes several volunteers in a small truck to farms in the surrounding towns to fill the bed of the truck with laundry baskets packed with carrots, lettuce, cucumbers, peppers, and other vegetables donated by local farmers. Some farms are small, some are large; all are generous enough to make weekly contributions to the program's effort to keep the children they serve as well-nourished in body as they are in mind.
Ray and I joined this morning's trip; it was unusually chilly with the sun hiding behind the clouds. The small truck eased through the busier towns and sped up as we ascended the hills beyond Antigua. A little way out from town, a road that was washed out in the recent mudslides left in tropical storm Agatha's path continues to be repaired, but is now passable. Local residents went about their business; carrying purses and backpacks and bundles on their way to work, to school, and to the market. The road passed through small towns with scrappy roadside tiendas, and larger towns with shiny supermarket storefronts set in clean plazas. As the land flattened and the open spaces widened, we pulled into a simple iron gate in front of several fields of vegetables, the workers busy filling their bags and baskets with them. After loading four baskets into the back of the truck, we continued on to our next destination.
After a bumpy ride down a long dirt road, we approached an imposing fence and heavy steel doors. The plaque outside read the name of the co-operational farm along with the tagline, "Para la vida de tus sueños" (for the life of your dreams). An armed guard stood outside, one hand on his shotgun and one hand on the edge of the gate. Our friend presented his ID and explained the purpose of our visit. After taking his ID and signing us in, the gate was pulled open and we drove into an impressive lot, lined with smaller buildings in the front, and a warehouse area and loading docks further back. Emilio explained that this particular farm is a co-op; farmers bring their crops to the center, and distributors pick them up to deliver them to consumers. The result is that the farmers take a larger share of the profits from their crops, in a country where most farmers and farm laborers, doing the back-breaking work of picking and hauling crops, live at subsistence level.
We backed the truck up to the loading dock, and waited for the attendant to instruct us as to what we were able to take for today's donation. As we waited for him to appear, I hopped from foot to foot and crossed my arms to stay warm, thinking how ironic it was that in only two days, I could find 65 degrees F cold again, when the ground at home was blanketed with two feet of snow. The multicolored crates stacked up along the edge of dock made me imagine a giant playing vegetable Tetris. Women hurried past, wearing a variety of tops and ankle-length woven skirts over their nearly identical black flats. I wondered how they could be comfortable doing any sort of labor work in such shoes. I was wearing my hiking sneakers just to load a few baskets with vegetables and toss them into a truck for a few hours.
Our friend disappeared and reappeared a few minutes later, with the happy news that we were given permission to take whatever we needed. We began filling baskets with carrots, green beans, cucumbers, and squash. Some of the workers looked at us curiously as they passed; most were unconcerned and rushed along to beat the line for breakfast. As I transferred heaping handfuls of small carrots from the co-op crates to the laundry baskets we had brought, Ray, our friend and I discussed the weekend trips Ray and I have been planning, which lead to a discussion about the security situation in the northern part of the country. Our friend's opinion differed slightly from that of my unconcerned taxi driver.
He explained that throughout Guatemala, there are and always have been many "narcos." They are in every city and town, and local residents know who they are and where they reside. Generally speaking, the narcos leave the local residents alone. The rise in violence, as witnessed in Mexico, often comes when the police and government attempt to root out and bring down the narcos. And again, as witnessed in Mexico, and in Guatemala's brutal, tragic, thirty-year-long civil war, when the government and subversives go head-to-head, it is almost always the innocent citizens that suffer the heaviest losses.
Ray asked about Coban, the capital of the northern state of Alta Verapaz, which was recently put under military siege to dislodge the members of the Mexican Zetas cartel, being pushed from their previous strongholds and looking to set up shop elsewhere. Local drug lords were killed, and the Zetas took over. The international news has run pictures of heavily armed soldiers standing guard in the streets and quoted residents bemoaning the bloodshed and senseless brutality of the Zetas' killings. Coban has been declared gravely dangerous for anyone to pass through.
Our friend did not seem terribly concerned about Coban, informing us that he had recently visited Coban, returning to Antigua on December 29th, about nine days after news of the military siege broke. He did not find anything markedly different during his visit, beyond the increased military presence. He felt that Coban was still fairly safe to visit, so long as one is uninvolved in the narcotics trade. This was in stark contrast to AP news reports dated December 20th, where an anonymous resident told a reporter, "These gangs cruised the streets with assault weapons and their armored cars. They'd honk their horns and get out and beat you, or abduct a woman they liked and send her to be raped." Perhaps the Guatemalan military has done a brilliant job securing the streets, or perhaps the violence was confined to only the most destitute areas, where the Zetas were drawing most of their low-level muscle from. These lower-level gang members were often members of the indigenous Mayan population, who have suffered from extreme poverty and marginalization by the government for the entirety of Guatemala's history, and always seem to be the first exploited or caught in the crossfire.
I asked him how much confidence the people have in the military's ability to fight the cartels. He smiled ruefully, and explained that the military could not compete with the deep pockets of the drug cartels. The cartels had better weapons, and often significant military training; many cartels have their own paramilitary groups drawn from ex-government soldiers or past paramilitary groups who fought the government and were dissolved at the end of the civil war. He felt that the Guatemalan military was easily matched by the cartels in both weaponry and training, a grave concern for all here.
Our conversation took on a new reality when the center was closed early that evening after one of the directors received a phone call from a gang, threatening the center and the project employees. Nuestros Ahijados does not seek out active gang members for rehabilitation, but some of the older children children who come to the school are members of local gangs who choose to sever their involvement with gang life in favor of pursuing an education. This does not sit well with local gang members. While the center has received threats in the past that have not come to fruition, threats are not taken lightly. Work was abandoned, and within twenty minutes, the center was emptied.
Days later, I found myself in a mini-van making its way back to Antigua from the bus station in Guatemala City. After a whirlwind weekend of bus rides (over 20 hours total), climbing the endless steps at the Tikal ruins, a number of papaya licuados mixed with rum, and a wild night of dancing with the locals at the Festival of Santa Negro on the tiny island of Flores, I was content to sit back, close my eyes, and hopefully get a few more minutes of sleep before we arrived home at 7:00am. The van was completely full, and the driver offered me the front seat. I took it gladly; 'front seat' equals 'leg room.'
At Ray's request, I asked our driver if he could possibly drop us off in Jocotenango, the small town just north of Antigua, where he lives. The driver cheerfully exclaimed that he has lived in Jocotenango for the past six years, and would be happy to do so. I explained that Ray was a photographer for Nuestros Ahijados, and I was there for several weeks volunteering. Like most local residents, he was familiar with the program and had great praise for the work being done by them. We discussed the work I had done at home, my reasons for coming, and my impressions of Guatemala.
Not incidentally, the conversation approached the subjects of security, narcotrafficking, and general politics. The driver answered my questions openly, without hesitation, and spoke passionately about the issues he felt were impacting the ability of local Guatemalans, especially the indigenous population, to lift themselves out of poverty and gain adequate control of their rights.
The population of Guatemala, according to the driver, consists of 40% non-Mayan Guatemalans, and 60% indigenous Maya. Within the 60%, there are 28 different groups of Maya that speak different languages, follow slightly differing customs, and live in different areas. While the Mayan population is, combined, larger than the non-Mayan population, the divisions within the majority impair the ability of the indigenous population to exert any effective efforts against the minority. There is no leader of the Mayan population at large; no representative or figurehead that can deliver a consensus opinion to or establish solidarity in the face of the almost entirely non-Mayan government. The government is thus able to retain complete control and a staggering ability to marginalize and ignore a large swath of the country's residents.
The driver pointed out a billboard as we passed; a smiling man set on a bright red background pointed at drivers, and large white words quoted his denunciation of the amount of money lost to corruption each year and a promise to fight it. The driver explained that elections were to take place this year, from the lowest office to the highest. I asked him how well he felt the country's current president, Alvaro Colom, had served the indigenous population. my question elicited a bemused smile, as he replied: he hadn't. He continued: Alvaro Colom, like all presidents before him, ignored the requests, needs, and dire social plight of the Maya.
Seeing an entry into another sensitive subject, I referenced an article in the international news in which a leader of the Zetas cartel publicly denounced Colom, claiming that he had been complicit in allowing the drug trade to continue uninterrupted and had received payments for doing so. The leader declared war on Guatemala, warning that innocents would be targeted; the cartel would be in the streets, in the markets, in the shopping malls, and would avenge Colom's betrayal. I asked the driver if he believed their claims about Colom.
Still looking ahead, he inclined his head slightly towards me, smiled again, and said simply, "Si." He lifted one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed his fingers together, as if to indicate that where there is money to be made, there is little question the president would refuse. I asked him if he felt there were any candidates that could be trusted to truly fight the cartels, to respect the rights and wishes of the indigenous population, and to alleviate some of the poverty, malnutrition, and poor educational prospects for many Guatemalans, indigenous or not. With pursed lips and a decisive shake of the head, his answer was clear.
Many Guatemalans share the opinions of these two men, claiming little to no confidence in their government or their military. After a long civil war, during which civilians suffered from the most abuse, disregard for their basic human rights, and casualties, which the Guatemalan and US governments now admit were largely their own responsibility rather than that of the resistance groups, it is no wonder why. News reports, international NGO reports, and local perceptions paint a picture of a notoriously corrupt government and police force that continues to ignore the rights of the majority of the population and turn their eyes from the atrocities being committed by cartels, so long as their pockets remain full. It is, sadly, a common vein pulsing through most central American countries.
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