Arriving into Guate, I took a taxi to the immigration office to pay my fine, so that I could leave the country without a problem. My driver told me that there were going to be major protests that would shut down center city against the mines. I was excited by the possibility of being in the middle of that, and if I couldn’t be, I was excited that folks were talking about it.
As for my fine, it was about $20 for accidentally overstaying my visa for 18 days. I didn’t know whether or not it was necessary as some folks told me yes and others told me vehemently no. Turns out it wasn’t. The fact that my visa had expired never raised an eyebrow at the airport, and I never had to present proof of having paid the fine. Now I know…
After I paid my fine, I wandered around for a little bit with my heavy backpack until I recognized where I was and headed to the Spanish Cultural Center, where they always have something happening. And the exhibit sure enough was really interesting.
Called “Sagrada Familia” (Sacred Family), the exhibit beguiled me at first with its repeated imagery of two men and a dog, but then I realized what was going on once I found the guide information - it always helps to read.
The two men, Leo Chiachio and Daniel Giannone, are a couple from Argentina who are of note in the Spanish-speaking art world for knitting, embroidery, sewing, and painting porcelain - all by hand, and all traditionally “women’s” popular artforms. The men are never referred to in their bio as a couple only that their dog, Piolín, and them form a “Sagrada Familia”. In their art, they depict themselves as protagonists, sometimes historical figures, but almost always with their dog.
Unfortunately there were only a few of their pieces, all in which I found much joy in the detail, but the other part of their art was to build connections with weaving coops in Guatemala by having the coops depict photographs of the “Sagrada Familia”. Interestingly enough, these coops are situated in the countrysides of Guatemala, which is usually extremely socially conservative. The arrangements of how this was worked out is unclear to me, but nevertheless is interestingly provocative.
Sebastianos (Sebastians - like Saint Sebastian)
Piolín y sus juguetes (Piolín and His Toys)
Brujas protectoras (Protecting Witches)
and those from Guatemalans, all of which are “Sin título” (Untitled):
from Totonicapán, a treatment of Leo and Dani with flowers and birds from the region
from Alta Verapaz, a treatment of the three with ceremonial flowers and animals
from Sacatepéquez, a treatment of them in traditional suits from Sololá
from Solalá, a treatment with traditional suits from Santiago Atitlán
After this, I took a bus to the Palacio Nacional, because I was getting hungry and Rey Sol, that great vegetarian restaurant with the diabetic friendly baked goods, is close to there. I had an extended stay incorporating breakfast and lunch and then went to the park in front of the Palacio where I discovered the nucleus of the campesino marches that had been happening throughout the past few day my taxi driver had told me about. The group moved away from the stage as I approached.
Indigenous Maya always build improvised altars
They were equipped for a serious rally
I followed the crowd and watched and took pictures as the march headed to the Presidential Palace, where groups were in discussion with government agencies about a cement plant that was approved by the Colom administration above the overwhelming local opposition near Colomba and Coatepeque, a few cities I know well enough to feel at least peripherally involved.
San Juan Sacatepéquez was comprising the bulk of this action as I soon found out that coordinated roadbloacks were taking place all over the country. Seems like the cement plant was the finally straw after years of repeatedly saying no to mines and being ignored and then marginalized.
Hey I recognize that flag! It was the organization that was leading the march through Xela I had caught from the balcony of Casa No’j.
They did a good job of occupying the street in front of the Presidential Palace.
Comité de Unidad Campesina, CUC, (Committee of Peasant Unity) had their 30th anniversary hats printed using the Mayan method of depicting numbers.
I returned to the park to sit in the shade. I was still carrying two bags, which I felt was somewhat suiting, since most of the people around me had worked harder in the last year than I had in my life.
Sitting with an older man, we chatted for about an hour about politics in Guatemala and my experiences and perspective as a foreigner and indigenous from the US. That is until we heard an explosion. People started standing up and leering towards the police vehicles. I turned around to see smoking pouring out of a police van and an officer get out, shaking his head violently.
A tear gas canister had gone off inside one of the vans!
They opened the hatch and stood back to let it air out.
The old man I was talking to was thinking that it was a media trap, but the police were calm about it all, so it wasn’t as if they had set it off to frame protesters. Just a funny accident. Better than a tragic one.
On the other side of the park camionetas and pickups lined the streets having brought folks from San Juan and other places to the protest.
The colorful camionetas waited patiently, but weren’t going anywhere for some time. There was talk that they would be there through the night if it was necessary.
Then the crowd went wild again as it was announced that ousted President of Honduras, Manual Zelaya, was driving out of the Presidential Palace after talks with Guatemalan President Colom. As he passed, the crowd chanted in support of his return and against the Honduran military.
The same resistance to mining activities in Guatemala exists in Honduras, where Canadian mining companies were granted even more access to the land by the government and serves as a sad example to the Guatemalan peasantry of what they do not want to happen in Guatemala. We’re talking huge open-pit cyanide leeching mines. That resistance comprises an important sector of those wanting Zelaya to return to power.
Here’s a picture of Zelaya’s car. Yippie.
We regathered in front of the stage and to my surprise GuateBuena was there to present a mini play about the mines, and they were in the same costumes as when they presented in Xela during el Festival del Absurdo!
They started by sharing Mayan cosmovision about the elements, represented by the ladies behind Gustavo.
From left to right we have the land, the forests, fire, air, and water.
Campesinos thankful for their clean water after a hard day of work.
But then a business man comes along and asks to try their water. They let him willingly, and he shares with them that he can make it better.
He basically blends it up insisting that it’s clearly better. And instructs them on how to set it up to be efficient so they can make money as a group.
Which they do. You can tell but the woman is smoking two cigarettes and thusly billowing smoke.
She gives up decrying that she’s been exploited and they leave stage.
The businessman bathes in his money happily.
But then soon runs out of money in which to bathe. Someone turned off the faucet.
But thankfully a representative from the World Bank hears his cries and comes to save the day by offering loans in exchange for making changes in the country.
Wondering how he could possibly bring about changes, the representative brings out his friend “Democracy”, which never fails him.
The campesinos return to their land to work it solemnly.
Only to be disrupted by the businessman and Democracy who are taking measurements.
At which point make an offer to buy the land.
Thinking they were getting a lot of money, the campesinos aren’t sure, so they consult with their community (the audience), who tells them NO! over and over again, but the businessman and Democracy pretend not to hear them.
Which opens the door for the cement factory and mining companies to come in.
And the businessman sets about destroying the land and the forests.
But with time the elements returned, and the people rose from their sleep with a roar!
The end.
About this time Karla showed up to take me to her house, where I would be sleeping over night before catching my plane the next morning at 6:15am. We ran into Andreas and Maru at Andreas’ gradmother’s house, where I thought I was going to be staying, and made our way on foot a few blocks away to Karla’s place.
It felt SOOOOO good to sit down and feel settled after having my bag with me for 10 hours! We sat around and talked for a while until it got pitch dark in her house. Her electricity got cut off just days before. Then we ate in a no-frills, hole-in-the-wall comedor, which was actually really good, simple food. Police and soldiers ate at benches next to us as we talked about our experiences with the festival and how working for it was difficult because of the lack of planning, coordination, respect of other peoples’ time, and general communication issues. I felt a lot better after unloading with them, but I’m still not satisfied with not having spoken directly to the persons with whom I had issues.
Going Home
Anyway, Andreas gracefully took me to the airport early and everything went without a hitch. I bought my ticket sometime in mid June. The flight was originally to Chicago, but stopped in Houston. A ticket to Dallas was over $500, but a ticket to Chicago was $238. So I checked my options and arranged to pick up my bags in Houston, go through Customs, catch a city bus to downtown Houston, catch a Greyhound to Dallas after eating at Cali Sandwich in Houston, catch the TRE in Dallas to downtown Fort Worth and then take The T to my house, where I would meet up with Tammy Gomez to check in with someone else who had visited a third world country for a considerable amount of time, and then rest peacefully for a few days visiting family and moving belongings back into my apartment before announcing my return to friends.
It worked.
Upon arrival in Houston, the southern accent was so thick that I found I needed to struggle to catch everything. I still wanted to reply in Spanish, but managed to dig out my trusty old suthin accent and have some interesting conversations with folks on the street and my bus driver before feeling the need to retreat into writing and napping for the trip to Dallas.
I ended up missing the TRE twice, because I was reading the Saturday schedule, but I decided to just wait outside in the heat in order to not miss the next one. When I boarded I decided to treat myself to the top level, which I usually eschew, and a woman was already up top - strange, because I was at the last stop on the line before it headed back the opposite direction…
She was draped in flag print everything with a cross and a giant eagle pendant hanging around her neck. Immediately, she asked me if I was a soldier, and when I replied, “No.”, she assured me that she already knew that. Ok.
She then went on to tell me how I can support the troops through prayer and blah blah blah. Why are Texans so damn crazy? I entertained her for a good 25 minutes or so before we took off back to Fort Worth. I was being assertive about my worldview and managed to squeeze in a brief history of Guatemala as example, which surprised her. She had no clue and admitted that some men do bad things… but it’s ok cause god will blah blah blah blah… Ok, I’m gonna take my seat facing away from you - but then she starts telling me that she fought the KKK as Mayor of Balch Springs, Texas and manage to dethrone them as the city’s driving mechanism. They were bound to make Dallas “into the next Miami” she assured me. This through their drug trade.
She was in the middle of the investigation with the FBI and ATF when she was hit by a drunk driver, which rendered her an amnesiac for eight months - just enough time to depose her as mayor. Afterwards, she realized she could do more good outside of government, which was something her daddy had always told her.
She had a rather large plaque that she carried around with her noting her public service with veteran’s organizations and such. She repeatedly asserted that she has personally met over 300,000 veterans and prayed with them. We are a Christian nation… etc etc etc.
I thanked her for sharing so much, because it really made me stop for a second and reevaluate priorities. I enjoyed the fact that we had a fairly even exchange, too. Rare in and of itself despite her strong opinions - matched perhaps only by my own.
Anyway, I managed to arrive in downtown Fort Worth just after 8pm with none other than Kevin O’Malley on the same train car as me on the lower level. He was just in from five weeks in Japan - much of that time in rural Japan. We talked as we waited for our bus, which we were taking to the same neighborhood. It took an hour to come and when it did we had to drive around in a circle through downtown before heading back to the station again and then headed out to our neighborhood - ahhhhh - I hate the Fort Worth public transportation system!
Welcome home.
I visited my mom then next day for several hours, which went exceedingly well all things considered. I mean, she listened to some of my music for the first time ever and replied that I should always sing in Spanish so people don’t know what I’m saying. She also said sarcastically that indigenous people never did anything wrong in their lives and don’t deserve anything they’re experiencing… Oh, mom…
Good thing I stopped caring a while ago about what she thought.
Curiously enough, she went to make herself a snack and called me into the kitchen because her egg had two yolks.
Weird, huh? I had never seen anything like it. I took it as an omen and went about moving my essentials out of her house.
For any more information, we should just talk. I think I’m ready now.
Who knows what’ll happen with this blog… thanks for reading =)
