Trabajo de campo y Facebook

Mucho antes de la salida del sol en Martes, 13 de marzo 2012, maniobré mi confiable camioneta Mazda blanca por las estrechas calles de San Mateo, Quetzaltenango, hasta que llegué al frente de Radio Doble Vía, una estación de radio comunitaria fundada y dirigida casi exclusivamente por jóvenes. Yo había llegado a encontrarme con mis amigos Isa, Elizabeth, Rony y otros miembros del personal voluntario de Doble Vía, para que podamos viajar juntos a la cercana ciudad de Totonicapán. Nos íbamos a documentar una audiencia pública un día de duración donde los representantes de las comunidades indígenas de Guatemala iban a darse conocer sus inquietudes a la Alta Comisionada de Derechos Humanos de la ONU, Navi Pillay, quien estaba haciendo una breve visita a Guatemala.Teníamos una doble misión: varias estaciones de radio comunitarias, incluyendo Doble Vía, estarían cubriendo el evento como periodistas, o transmitiendo en vivo, sino también el movimiento de radios comunitarias fue uno de los cerca de 20 grupos invitados a testificar ante el Comisario y otros funcionarios - así como los miles de personas en la audiencia. Uno de nuestros compañeros, Rosendo Pablo de Xob'il Yol Qman Txum en Todos Santos Cuchumatán, se nos representa. Y había una tercera misión no oficial-- la oportunidad de ver, abrazar y charlar con los colegas de las radios comunitarias en todo el país que habían hecho el viaje a Totonicapán, y compartir este momento histórico.En la luz aguda de la mañana, una guardia de honor de las autoridades indígenas de las 48 comunidades de Totonicapán, cargando bastones negros ceremoniales, nos recibió en la entrada, y nos movimos rápidamente para conseguir una buena ubicación para el equipo de radio y video. Isa, Elizabeth y las otras mujeres jóvenes de Doble Vía rieron y charlaron mientras se estabilizaron los trípodes. Mi trabajo consistía en tomar fotografías, y me aseguré de incluir fotos del equipo de Doble Vía, así como representantes de algunas de las otras estaciones de radio. En un momento, Isa se volvió hacia mí, riendo, y me preguntó: "¿Cuándo vas a poner las fotos en Facebook?" Y, de hecho, durante una pausa en el proceso, saqué mi equipo, lo ubiqué encima de una silla plegable , instalé el módem USB, conecté a Facebook y publiqué una breve actualización sobre el evento mientras se desarrolla.Mi mención de Facebook no es un gesto gratuito diseñado para demostrar cómo "en contacto" o desesperado (dependiendo de su punto de vista) que soy, sino más bien como una indicación de las formas en que los medios sociales se ha integrado en la vida cotidiana en lo que el antropólogo Anna Tsing las llamadas  "lugares fuera de la onda" como las comunidades rurales del altiplano de Guatemala, donde la mayoría de las estaciones de radio comunitarias se encuentran, y también, por necesidad, en mi trabajo de campo etnográfico.Pasé el año 2011 en Guatemala con una beca Fulbright, y el proyecto de investigación que se desarrolló durante este año se centra en la representación y la auto-representación de las mujeres mayas, con un énfasis especial en la radio comunitaria.He trabajado en estrecha colaboración con una emisora ​​de radio en particular, pero me involucré con el movimiento nacional más amplio, que veo como parte de la vanguardia en la lucha por los derechos indígenas en post-conflicto en Guatemala. Los medios sociales, y en particular de Facebook, jugó un papel importante en nuestro trabajo. Las radios comunitarias se basan en las zonas predominantemente indígenas que están fuera de la pantalla del radar de los políticos y las élites. Funcionan con recursos limitados y con frecuencia dependen de equipo obsoleto donado. Ellos se dedican a la preservación de la cultura, a menudo a transmitir en idiomas mayas. Y, al mismo tiempo, son muy conscientes del potencial de Internet y medios de comunicación social. Módems USB cuestan entre $ 22 y $ 40, dependiendo de la velocidad, y muchas estaciones tienen sitios web y Futbol en sus programas. Ellos usan los teléfonos celulares o Skype para hacer transmisiones remotas. Y tanto las estaciones, y muchos del personal voluntario en las emisoras, están en Facebook. Se ha convertido en una herramienta para la gente en el movimiento de la radio para comunicarse unos con otros, e informar de las noticias locales no incluidos en los principales medios de comunicación.Cuando a regañadientes salí de Guatemala en enero, mi investigación se completó poco, e incluso antes de mi partida, yo ya había hecho planes para regresar durante nuestras vacaciones de primavera. Originalmente, había reservado un vuelo para Guatemala cuando la vacación se inició el 16 de marzo. Pero a principios de marzo, uno de mis compañeros de radios comunitarias publicó algo en Facebook sobre la visita de la Alta Comisionada de las Naciones Unidas. Yo no sabía nada al respecto, pero después de conseguir más información a través de varios intercambios de correo electrónico y chats de Facebook, decidí adelantar mi viaje para que yo pudiera ser un observador-participante junto a ellos. A medida que empacábamos los equipos al final del evento, varios compañeros me recordaron a publicar las fotos en Facebook, para que puedan verlas y compartirlas. Facebook se ha convertido, para ellos, una forma de documentar la historia públicamente.Desde que regresó a los EE.UU., los medios de comunicación social me han permitido mantener  contacto frecuenta, si no todos los días, con el movimiento de radios comunitarias en Guatemala, y estar al tanto de los acontecimientos importantes, como una reunión con el Presidente de Guatemala con respecto a una iniciativa de ley que otorgaría estatus legal a las radios comunitarias. A pesar de que he elaborado este artículo a finales de abril, tengo noticias sobre una gran protesta contra las operaciones mineras en las tierras altas, y se han comprometido a publicar una traducción al español de este artículo en la página de la radio comunitaria en Facebook.

Gerardi presente

Today is the 14th anniversary of the assassination of Msgr. Juan Gerardi, the archbishop of Guatemala, who was bludgeoned to death in his residence two days after the publication of Guatemala Nunca Mas, Guatemala Never Again, a compilation of testimonies from the survivors of and witnesses to the genocide of the 1980s.  One of my dear friends worked with the project that Gerardi headed, REMHI, which stands for the restitution of historical memory, and although I was not intimately involved with Guatemala in 1998 when Gerardi was killed, his work and his memory are a constant reference point for so many of my friends and comrades. I think of him every time there is an article in the papers, as there was today, about a hearing in one of the many legal cases-in-process.

Today the anniversary of his death was marked by a massive public protest against mining operations in Quetzaltenango. The Mam communities in several municipalities in the department organized a march to the government headquarters in the city of Xela, and according to friends of mine who participated, there were about 8,000 people present. They marched from Concepción Chipirichapa, a town about 10 kilometers outside of Xela on the highway that goes to San Marcos, and presented a set of demands to the government representatives who met them in Xela. The demands included the government respecting the provisions of the ILO Convention 169 on the rights of indigenous and tribal peoples, especially the provision calling for community consultations; "no" to a training center for the National Civil Police (PNC) in Quetzaltenango; and "no" to hydroelectric dams and mining projects. Apparently the government representatives who belong to the "orange" party (the Patriotas, the party of the current president) were not prepared for a march of this magnitude.

I wish I could have been there, but I had to make do with the photos my friends posted on line, their firsthand reports, and the articles that are now beginning to show up in the newspapers.

Fieldwork and facebook

This is a very slightly expanded version of something I have submitted to the Women's and Gender Studies Program Newsletter at my university:

Well before the sun rose on Tuesday, March 13, 2012, I maneuvered my trusty white Mazda pickup up the narrow streets of San Mateo, Quetzaltenango until I arrived in front of Radio Doble Via, a community radio station founded and run almost exclusively by young people.  I had come to meet my friends Isa, Elizabeth, Rony and others members of Doble Vía’s all-volunteer staff, so that we could travel together to the nearby city of Totonicapán. We were going to document a day-long public hearing where representatives of Guatemala's indigenous communities would present their concerns to the United Nations High Commissioner on Human Rights, Navi Pillay, who was making a brief visit to Guatemala.

We had a double mission: several community radio stations, including Doble Via, would be covering the event as journalists, or broadcasting it live, but also the community radio movement was one of about 20 groups invited to testify before the Commissioner and other officials – as well as the thousands in the audience.  One of our compañeros, Rosendo Pablo from Xob'il Yol Qman Txum in Todos Santos Cuchumatán, would be representing us. And there was a third, if unofficial, mission – an opportunity to see, embrace and chat with colleagues from community radio stations throughout the country who had made the trek to Totonicapán, and share this historic moment.

In the sharp morning light, an honor guard of traditional indigenous leaders from Totonicapan’s 48 communities, carrying their ceremonial black staffs, greeted us at the entrance, and we quickly moved to secure a good location for the radio and video equipment.  Isa, Elizabeth and the other young women from Doble Via laughed and chatted as we set up the tripods. My job was to take still photographs, and I made sure to include photos of the Doble Via crew, and also representatives from some of the other radio stations.  At one point, Isa turned to me, laughing, and asked, “When are you putting those photos up on Facebook?” And, in fact, during a lull in the proceedings, I pulled out my computer, propped it on a folding chair, installed my USB modem, logged onto Facebook and posted a brief update about the unfolding event.

My mention of Facebook is not a gratuitous gesture designed to demonstrate how “in touch” or hopeless (depending upon your perspective) I am, but rather as an indication of the ways that social media has been integrated into daily life in what anthropologist Anna Tsing calls “out of the way places” like the rural communities in the Guatemala highlands where most of the community radio stations are located, and also, of necessity, into my ethnographic fieldwork. 

I spent 2011 in Guatemala as a Fulbright Scholar, and the research project that evolved during that year focuses on the representation and self-representation of Maya women, with a special emphasis on community radio.  I worked closely with one radio station, but became involved with the larger national movement, which I view as part of the vanguard in the struggle for indigenous rights in post-conflict Guatemala. Social media, and particularly Facebook, played an important role in our work. Community radio stations are based in predominantly indigenous areas that are off the radar screen of politicians and elites. They function with limited resources and often rely upon outdated donated equipment. They are devoted to cultural preservation, often broadcasting in Maya languages.  And at the same time, they are keenly aware of the potential of the Internet and social media. USB modems cost between $22 and $40, depending upon the speed, and many stations have websites and livestream their programs. They use cell phones or Skype to do remote broadcasts. And both the stations, and many of volunteer broadcasters, are on Facebook.  It has become a tool for people in the radio movement to communicate with each other, and report local news not covered in the mainstream media.

When I reluctantly left Guatemala in January, my research was hardly completed, and even before my departure. I had already made plans to return during our spring break. Originally, I had booked a flight for Guatemala when break started on March 16.  But in early March, one of my community radio compañeros (comrades), posted something on Facebook about the upcoming visit of the UN High Commissioner. I hadn’t known anything about it, but after getting more information through several email exchanges and Facebook chats I decided to move up my trip so that I could be a participant-observer alongside them. As we packed up equipment at the end of the event, several compañeros reminded me to post the photos on Facebook, so that they could see them and share them. Facebook has become, for them, a way of publicly documenting history.

Since I returned to the U.S., social media have allowed me to maintain frequent, if not daily contact, with the community radio movement in Guatemala, and keep abreast of important developments, such as a meeting with the President of Guatemala regarding a proposed law that would grant legal status to community radio stations. Even as I drafted this article in late April, I got updates about a large protest against mining operations in the highlands, and I have promised to post a Spanish translation of this article on the community radio movement’s Facebook page.

Hard work of everyday life and structural inequalities

In no way do I want to romanticize rural poverty. It's easy for me as a middle class urbanite to find the beauty in the lives of my friends who generously opened their home to me, apologizing every so often about what they characterized as crude conditions. The bathroom was outdoors but I could look up and see the stars or watch the sunrise as I performed ablutions or other bodily functions.  As I made breakfast and washed some clothes yesterday, chickens and turkeys and ducks and dogs scampered and waddled and clucked and begged for food.  I took some pride (probably foolish) in being able to wield an axe skillfully enough that I was able to split some large sticks of ocote (heavily resinous pieces of pine that are used for kindling) into more manageable pieces without chopping off a toe or a finger, so that I could start the fire in the morning.

As we were driving into Santa Cruz yesterday afternoon, Catarino repeated that he was sorry that they couldn't offer me a better place to stay, and I kept on repeating that it was fine (which it was) and that they were my friends and I was very appreciative that they had taken me in and housed me, and that I knew I was putting an extra burden on their household by being there (although the room I was using was not one that they used constantly; they slept in one large room, and used the "second room" for watching TV and studying, which they continued to do while I was there).

But I have the choice about living in a rural household, and they don't. Catarino is a teacher and school director. This means he has more education than most people around him, and represents a tremendous effort and sacrifice, since there is no secondary education in Chinique. To go a diversificado or high school, one has to go to Santa Cruz del Quiché, which means either at least Q10 a day for round trip travel, or renting a room in Santa Cruz. There are some university satellite campuses in Santa Cruz, but they only offer a limited number of carreras or majors, so one either ends up studying what is available (teaching and social work are heavily favored), or traveling to Xela once a week to take Saturday classes at one of the university campuses there (which often means making the trip there and back the same day to save on having to pay for an hospedaje) or figuring out how to live in Guatemala City so that one has a wider range of options.

And yet even on a professional salary, they can't afford to do much about their home. Like so many people in the altiplano, they don't have much land -- really just the land the house is on. Both of their families are poor and fairly large, and Catarino's family didn't have a lot of land to start with, and so there was just about enough to give each of the children a small piece on which to build a home when they married. Last year during the rainy season part of the roof collapsed (the house is made of adobe bricks) and they were able to put up a tarp to cover the gap but haven't been able to reconstruct the roof. completely.

Everyday life represents a lot of hard work, primarily for women but in actuality for everyone in a family. Poor families cannot afford to buy bundles of firewood that have been chopped or sawed into manageable pieces. One sees men, women and children trudging along the roads and in towns with heavy loads of wood on their backs, fastened by a strap stretched across the forehead, and there are also households -- usually situated alongside a road -- that sell pre-cut firewood. Some of those who gather wood sell it door to door, or else take it to one of these businesses, where they get a lower price but have more security of a sale. In poor households like the one where I lived, people have to gather and cut their own wood, and so cooking takes a lot of effort. Tortillas and beans are staples of the diet and both require a lot of cooking time (as the dried corn has to be cooked first), and the cuts of meat that are generally used for stews or soups also need a lot of time to cook. Then water has to be boiled for drinking water. I didn't do an estimate of how much firewood is needed, but Sandra and Catarino both ended up chopping wood at least twice a day. If one is making a special meal for a holiday (Noche Buena or Easter), which usually means cooking enough for family and friends, then even more wood is required. They do have a small electric range, but only rarely use it as, like most people, they are trying to keep their electric bill down.  They also have an electric blender and a few other appliances, and running water and a flush toilet, but nonetheless it takes a lot of effort to ensure food, clothing and shelter for a family.

Sandra did laundry several times a week; there was rarely a time when I entered the yard when the clotheslines were not sagging with the weight of damp clothing, or dry clothing that hadn't yet been taken down. It's not that the family has an excessive amount of clothing.  But they have two small children, and since the house surrounded by a large stretch of reddish-clay dirt, things get dirty fast, and since they don't have an excessive amount of clothing things have to be washed more frequently, and so there was always a large plastic tub or two filled with clothes that were soaking, or waiting to be soaked, or shoes that were soaking before being scrubbed with a stiff-bristled brush to remove some of the red dirt that tends to cake up on the soles, especially on shoes that have treads.

It is very hard to stay clean, I discovered, and have a "presentable" appearance. When it's not raining there is a lot of dust from the dirt, and the run-off from the outdoor sink, or laundry, or spilling out bathrwater turns the dirt to mud, and when it rains the entire yard and the path leading down from the road turns to mud which adheres to your shoes, and seems to get everywhere.  Friday I was heading to Santa Cruz to the "centro" of Ixmukané, and since my car was in the shop waiting for a new hydraulic pump, and although I had bathed, by the time I had climbed up the drive and reached the road to wait for a bus, the soles of my sandals were caked with dirt and my feet and lower calves were speckled with flecks of the same.  I tried to brush it off with my hands, and partly succeeded, but my feet were still a little grimy. This brought home a point that many of the rural women who are socias of Ixmukané have made about the shabby treatment they receive when they go to the hospital or a doctor's office or a bank -- that the staff look down upon them because they arrive with dirty feet or shoes since they usually have to walk a long distance (even if there are buses, people can't always afford them, and even if one an afford the bus, one still usually has to walk some distance on dusty or muddy paths and roads (there doesn't seem to be any kind of happy medium, it's either clouds of dust or clods of damp earth and mud).

This is also a reflection about privilege. As I noted earlier, I have other options available to me. I could probably have stayed with other friends in town or another town, or arranged to stay at the one hospedaje (I didn't even know there was one until I met the people who came to observe the mining consultation; it's not publicly advertised, but apparently one of the more prosperous families in town rents out some rooms in their large home, so it would have to be privately arranged. I think I have met the family in question and have at least a nodding/waving acquaintance with them, but I didn't know they took in guests until I was picking up the Belgian and Swiss couple to give them a lift to Chichicastenango). Or rented a room in one of the larger towns. But these are my friends, their children are very fond of me (and vice versa) and since we are connected through some complicated bonds of reciprocity, when they invited me to stay with them when I returned, I decided to accept.  So I tried to adapt myself so that I wasn't putting too much of a strain on them, since my normal routines and rhythms are not the same as theirs. I am not sure I consume more electricity than they do. I use my computer more but don't watch TV, and we all have phones that need to be charged. So we might be even there. But I am used to bathing with hot water every day, and making fresh coffee when I want to drink some, and using an espresso pot, and so forth (I always offer them coffee when I make it).  I can afford to have a car; they have a motorcycle, which has been out of commission off and on throughout the time I have known them, and just broke down in a way that can't be repaired. So I try to balance things out by purchasing things for the household like oil and soap and toilet paper as well as food (they won't accept any money from me for staying there), and giving rides or running errands, and doing some of the general household chores (as well as taking care of my own stuff).  But there is no way of fully balancing it out. Of this I am keenly aware. I get to drive to the airport and enter through the front door, while they are not allowed in with me, and get on a plane and return to a place of relatively more abundance and comfort.

This also brings me to reflect about race and gender and work, specifically domestic labor. Catarino took some photos of me while I was washing out my clothes by hand in the outdoor sink, and I posted them on Facebook. Not to show what a heroine I am, but to share a little bit of what daily life is like (and yes, I guess I have to confess that I wanted to "show off" a bit -- here I am, roughing it). The photo attracted a lot of comments, and I reflected back on some comments from Maya women acquaintances over the past year. Women often asked me where I ate, and seemed surprised that I cooked for myself. They seemed surprised, actually, that I knew how to cook, because after I answered the first question about how I ate or who cooked for me, by saying, "I cook for myself," there was nearly always a follow-up question, "Oh, you cook for yourself?", as though to affirm what they were hearing. I realized that in most of their experience, white women, or middle-class white women, usually have domestic help.  And so there is this assumption -- based on their life experience -- that white women do not know how to cook, wash clothes or clean their homes.

Non-post-racial Guatemala

A friend recently started a facebook group called Bulletins from Post-Racial America, and I decided to post a reflection on Guatemala (which is, after all, part of America in the more expansive sense of the word).  Here is my reflection. It will duplicate some things I have written or will write here on the blog, but thought you might find it interesting.

A brief reflection from a definitely non-post-racial (and, as I and others would argue, non-post-war) Guatemala. Earlier this week I visited a community radio station in the majority Q'anjobal town of Santa Eulalia in Huehuetenango, near the Mexican border. Huehue (as it is popularly called) is one of the 6 or 7 departments that constitute the mostly rural and predominantly-Maya altiplano occidental (western highlands), the part of the country where the majority of the Maya population lives. This is a region characterized by deep structural inequalities that are rooted in the Spanish conquest -- which is not a distant historic antecedent but a key element in collective memory. Most of the population is poor and many live in what international agencies characterize as "extreme poverty". Along with that, we find high rates of illiteracy (especially among adult women), malnutrition (especially in young children), maternal and infant mortality. Oh, and did I forget to mention racial stratification, marginalization and discrimination? 
I know all of this, from study and from having spent a year living the in the neighboring department of Quiché (which has the unfortunate privilege of having been designated as THE poorest of Guatemala's 22 departments, but I'm not about to start the poverty Olympics here). 
But how deep all of this runs in people's daily lives and psyches was brought home by a conversation with my friend Lorenzo Mateo Francisco, a Q'anjobal man who plays a leading role in the local radio station Snuq Jolom Konoq. Lorenzo and I had met during some workshops for community radio folks around the country and had protested together outside Guatemala's congress in August, demanding that the government create a legal status for community radio stations. He had invited me to visit, and I finally was able to accept his invitation. Before visiting the radio station, he suggested that I meet him at his home and meet his family and I gladly accepted -- it was a long drive alone over pretty challenging roads, I was genuinely interested in meeting his wife and children, and I have learned enough about highland Maya etiquette to know that it is a privilege to be invited into someone's home, and turning down the invitation by saying I was too busy or whatever, would have been an insult. But mostly I genuinely wanted to meet them.
His wife heated up a simple and delicious soup and some tortillas and his children (teenagers and young adults) wandered in and out and we were all introduced.
Lorenzo and his wife stood aside for a moment and talked in Q'anjobal as I went to wash my plates, and when I returned he told me, "We were talking about your visit. This is a very racist country, and around here, white people don't generally come into our homes. They keep us at a distance. We might live in the same town, but they don't visit us in our homes, they don't see us as equal to them."
I started to reflect upon how racially segregated social life is in Guatemala. Non-Maya and Maya might work together at a community health center, or an NGO, worship at the same church, greet each other at the patron saint feast or in the cemetery on the Dia de Todos los Santos, but rarely visit each other's homes (the only exceptions I know of are among political activists)

Community radio update and reflections on media

Traditional leader

Okay, so the ostensible purpose of this visit was to do work with the community radio movement and most specifically, to see if I could be useful in helping Radio Ixmukané get back on the air.  And of course all the other things were part of the package.  My first mini-project upon arrival was to attend the public meeting with the UN High Commissioner on Human Rights, Navi Pillay, who was making a 4-day visit to Guatemala and one of those days, last Tuesday, March 13, had been set aside for a large public gathering with leaders of indigenous communities. The community radio movement was going to have a representative -- among the dozen or so people who had been invited to make brief public statements on specific themes concerning indigenous communities -- and also some of the stations were going to do a live broadcast.

So I called my friends at the radio station in San Mateo, Doble Via, a radio station run by young people in the community (and with the support and guidance of Alberto Recinos, better known as Tino, who became a radio broadcaster while he was in the guerrilla forces during the armed struggle; he spent 9 years broadcasting for La Voz del Pueblo, a radio station that was set up on the slopes of the Tajumulco volcano), and arranged to meet up with them. So after waking up in Guatemala City on Monday morning of last week (my flight arrived Sunday night, and because of the delays I didn't arrive in Guatemala City until nearly 11 p.m.), I set off for Xela (San Mateo is just outside of Xela on the highway leading to San Marcos) and got there in the early afternoon.

Rosendo Pablo speaking on
behalf of community radio

It's always an inspiration to visit the community radio stations that are part of the community radio movement, and Doble Via is especially inspiring because of the energy of the young people who comprise the station's collective. While I was there, I had the chance to witness an 11-year old boy, Luis, who was taking his turn at the controls, and observe his poise and articulateness as he skillfully selected songs and took the microphone during his program, inviting listeners to call in and make requests.  Alex, the young man who was one of the station's founders and who has played a leading role in its evolution over the past two years, and I lunched together and talked, and then I returned to the station and just hung out for a while, talking to various of the volunteers who were there.

I ran into Tino, and told him that I would be happy to help transport people and equipment the next day, as the public meeting was to be held in Totonicapán, about half an hour from Xela. He happily accepted my offer, and then there was some discussion about who would go and what time we would have to meet. We agreed upon 5:45 a.m. (with a 6 a.m. departure) so we could get to Toto before transit became too difficult.  As I was about to head to my friends Humberto and Ana's home to eat and sleep, the young folks told me that there was a birthday party for one of the compañeras, and so I went off with them to eat some paches (filled tamales, except made with potatoes instead of cornmeal paste) made by the birthday girl's mother.

Up early the next morning, I was the first to arrive at the radio station (even though I was coming from farthest away).  Soon the others arrive, we loaded up the trucks (one of the adults who participates in the radio station, Santos, also brought his pickup, so we had room for everyone and everything). We needed to have something to identify ourselves, as they had received a message the previous night that only cars with some identification would be allowed through, so we got a banner for Mujbab Lyol (the association of community radio stations that was founded 14 years ago and to which Doble Via belongs) and stopped on the roadside outside of Toto to fasten it to the front of Santos' pick-up so that we could enter beyond the check point. The checkpoint was staffed not by police but by representatives of the indigenous mayoralty - Totonicapán's 48 communities all have indigenous mayoralties, and then those 48 mayoralties have a council that has elected a president; it is because of the level of organization of this municipality, some friends opined, that Toto was selected as the site for this visit -- bearing staffs.

They were blocking the main entrance road to Toto and diverting traffic, but we were allowed through and were able to get our trucks very close to the entrance to the stadium and unload and get ourselves inside early and set up for broadcasting and also to videotape and photograph the event. I went up closer to the platform, together with the young women who were going to do the videotaping. They had two cameras and we found positions for both, one on either side of the platform, so that they could have multiple angles for shooting.

We didn't really have much contact with the folks who were doing the transmission as they were about a hundred yards behind us, although I ran back and forth a few times when we needed to communicate something.

Compañeras from Doble Via

The area gradually filled with people, although according to friends who have participated in previous events with other UN officials who have visited Guatemala, the participation was not as large as the organizers had predicted. I don't know enough about the ins and outs of who was coordinating and planning and who did the inviting. It seemed that the largest contingents were from Totonicapán, and every community had its traditional leaders present. There were some people from Quiché, although not many whom I knew, and some from Petén and the Verapaces.

About seven or eight community radio stations were present. A few of them had brought placards which they carried, and others were simply present. It was a pleasure to reconnect with some friends from the radio stations in Santa Eulalia (Snuq Jolom Konob), Momostenango (Estereo Maya) and Todos Santos Cuchumatán (Xobil Yol), and once again, exciting to feel part of an energetic and vital social movement.

Throughout the day (and I am not sure I will have the time or energy anytime soon to do justice to the actual event -- the presentations and issues raised) the master and mistress of ceremonies made reference to the community radio stations that were transmitting the event live, and it was gratifying (and even more so for the compañeros and compañeras who are engaged in this struggle daily) to have our presence acknowledged.

There were probably two or three thousand people present. The entrance to the area was flanked by traditional authorities from Totonicapán and the seating area was filled with people bearing the dark wooden staffs that are the symbol of the indigenous mayoralties. Throughout the day (the event started sometime after 9 a.m. and ended a bit after 1 p.m.), the MCs and other speakers asked for a show of the presence of traditional authorities ("ancestral authorities" is the direct translation of the Spanish term that is most often used: autoridades ancestrales), and it was thrilling to see, under the bright blue sky of a March morning in the highlands, so many staffs being proudly held aloft.

Also, the event was heavily mediatized. Digital media technologies are pretty widely available in Guatemala. Most people, or most households, have at least one cell phone, and many people now have phones that take photos, shoot video, and a fair number of my acquaintances, especially the younger ones and those with some professional training or who work for NGOs or "institutions", have some variant of a smartphone, so there was a veritable sea of people stationed close to the platform filming and photographing the event.

It's been a long time since we ethnographers and privileged foreigners were the only ones with cameras, which is probably a good thing as people in the communities where we work are no longer dependent upon us for the images and sounds. There was a lot of good natured camaraderie among those of us who were photographing the event: and here I would distinguish those who took a few photos, and those of us who were trying to document it more or less in its entirety (which included "professional" people with press tags, such as the young woman above, or the journalists from the mainstream media, and people like myself who came with one of the delegations).

I figured photographing it with a good camera was a useful undertaking, and I was able to share photographs with several people -- some of those who attended but didn't have cameras, or didn't have good cameras, and one or two people who weren't able to attend. Someone who was sitting in one of the first rows of seats (I moved around but stayed fairly close to the girls from Doble Via who were videotaping, and they were just in front of the first row of seats) introduced himself as a representative of a community organization from Petén and asked if I could send him photos; he scribbled his name, phone and email on a scrap of paper and I was able to send him a selection of about 60 images (I shot close to 600).  I write this is not to toot my horn or show how wonderful I am, but to explore "out loud" how I negotiate or understand my commitments to the people with whom I work.

Taking photographs is part of what I do (always with the consent of those photographed) and sharing the photographs is equally if not perhaps more important. I take some pride in making nice images, in framing and focusing and selecting an aperture and exposure... but in part I am learning to give up ownership of the images. That is, when I give someone copies of photographs on a flash drive or via email, I don't set any conditions about how they are used, or whether I get acknowledged. I suppose if someone wanted to "publish" any photographs in a newsletter or book or article, I'd appreciate it if they put my name... but this is a new media landscape here.

Well, this wasn't where I intended to go with this blog entry, but here I am.  So let me get back to the event, in brief.  The authorities lined up and made a kind of gauntlet, and the official delegation including Navi Pillay entered and mounted the platform. 

Then three Maya priests (two men and a woman) did an invocation and prayer to start the formal event.  I think two were K'iche' and the third was Mam, but I'm not certain.  After that, several representatives of the ancestral authorities spoke (I don't remember now how many) and then a series of people were called to make brief presentations on several key issues such as mining and the natural environment, and culture.

I recorded much of the proceeding as well, although I couldn't monitor the audio recording very well while I was moving around taking photographs.

It's hard to summarize, and perhaps even more difficult to draw some conclusions about the event and its significance. Much of what was said were things that those of us who have been paying attention to the plight of Maya and other indigenous communities in Guatemala are very familiar.

There was a person from the Valle de Polochic, where residents have been forcibly and violently displaced, and someone from San Miguel Ixtahuacán in San Marcos, where Canadian transnational Goldcorp runs the infamous Marlin Mine.  Others spoke about hydroelectric projects, and the ravages caused by large scale biofuel initiatives (in Spanish, "agrocombustibles"). In many of these cases, the companies have forcibly displaced peasant farmers, activists have been killed, and the state has either done nothing or helped with the displacements and/or been responsible for some of the violence.

For those who attended, I think it was important to feel that someone from the international community was there listening to their concerns, and hopefully taking note, and perhaps would even DO something.

Afterwards, I did an interview with one of the radio stations, Snuq Jolom Konob from Santa Eulalia in Huehuetenango -- Lorenzo, one of the key figures in this radio station, became my friend at the very first workshop I attended back in late June of last year. We ended up being put in the same small group to write a script for a radio spot, and he started to tell me about his time in the U.S. (he always looks for an opportunity to practice his English with me) and we have been friends ever since, and so I agreed to let him interview me.  And then I spent a little time talking and taking pictures with the friends who had come from some of the radio stations across the country.

Then off to lunch with some of the folks from Doble Via, from Cultural Survival, from Radio Ixchel in Sumpango and Xobil Yol in Todos Santos. And then back to San Mateo to copy photographs, talk, regroup... and then set off the next morning for the community consultation on mining about which I've already written.

Justice rolls along, still...

One of the big fears of many in the human rights/indigenous rights communities regarding the election of Otto Pérez Molina was that the legal cases against those responsible for massacres and crimes against humanity during the armed conflict -- the few that were in process -- would grind to a halt and that no new cases would be brought forward. However, the day after the new government took office, Efraín Rios Montt was served with papers, and his case is proceeding. In the last few weeks, sentences have been handed down.  Just before I left to come back to Guatemala, more people were held accountable for the 1982 massacre at Dos Erres, and there was just a news flash that 5 people who were responsible for the massacre in a town called Plan de Sánchez, in Rabinal, Baja Verapaz, were found guilty and given sentences of 7,710 years (there were 256 people killed, and therefore, each defendant was sentenced to approximately 30 years for each victim; I just ran the math and it works out to 30.11 years per victim, so I'm not quite sure how the tribunal arrived at that figure).  As I wrote in an earlier blog, these heavy sentences do not bring back the dead. They do not return husbands to wives or mother and fathers to orphaned children. And many of the ones who handed down the orders and who designed the strategies are still at large. But it is still ... I'm not sure what the right word is. It's not satisfying, it's not gratifying, but it feels right.  There isn't a complete news story yet, but here's a link to the short update. 7,710 year sentences handed down (in Spanish)