I'm writing about Zacualpa two weeks after visiting there, and after having visited Nebaj, Rabinal and Comalapa, all of which are areas that are relatively "new" to me. I had visited Nebaj once before, but just for two days, and it wasn't really research. A friend had invited me to pass the New Year with her, so I squeezed in a short visit to Nebaj, but really only spent time with her and her family. We did attend the installation of the new auxiliary indigenous authorities, in a formal ceremony followed by a lavish meal at the home of one, who happened to be my friend's aunt. Granted, I had established a relationship with a important community leader in Nebaj, and that smoothed the way for my research. But I had never visited Rabinal or Comalapa before, and just established contacts there shortly before visiting.
So the irony is, that I did not find anyone in Zacualpa -- a place I had visited on numerous previous occasions -- who was available to talk to me about anything -- that is, anyone who could give me any insight into the decision to preserve the chapels, to create a memory site in the church. To return to the narrative of my visit, I arrived at the cloister not having succeeded in making any advance contact. I walked in and talked to a very pleasant nun who told me that Juliana was out. I hadn't had any way of reaching Juliana before I arrived -- I had once had a phone number for her, many years ago, but that was on a cell phone that has long since been either lost, stolen or out of use. The nun told me that she didn't know when Juliana would be back and I said I would wait, and would use the time to look around the chapels. I took photographs and detailed notes. Then Juliana arrived, looking somewhat flustered. I greeted her and explained that I had wanted to talk with her and apologized for not having gotten in touch with her beforehand, and showing up unannounced, but said that I hadn't known how to reach her and no longer had her phone number. She said that she had lost her phone some time ago and hadn't replaced it (so I wouldn't have been in any better shape if I had had her phone number). But she didn't seem especially friendly or glad to see me. She told me she was busy, that she had to make up packages that had to be sent to Italy. I told her I would be happy to help her; she could just tell me what to do and I would follow her instructions and we could talk as we packed. But she demurred -- I don't remember precisely what she said but it was clear she didn't want my help. And she said she had to go out and get more materials for the packages.
I asked her when she thought she might be finished -- tomorrow? Another day? I said that I could come back to Zacualpa at another time. She gave a vague answer, she didn't know how long it would be. Next week sometime, I asked? She wouldn't say. I didn't want to keep her, so I apologized again. I asked her if there were someone else who could talk with me. She mentioned the name of one man and said that I could talk with him. I noted it down and thanked her.
Now, big caveat here. I know full well that when a researcher shows up unannounced, people have their everyday lives in full swing and they are not going to drop everything to accommodate my schedule. So I didn't expect to be greeted with a brass band. But this was someone I had known and spoken with during earlier visits. She had always greeted me with a warm smile, and had on some occasions gone out of her way to walk me over to the home of someone she thought I should meet. So, I would have expected her to at least express some pleasure at my presence (as had the nun whom I had never met before; she ushered me into her office, sat down and calmly heard me out; she made me feel very welcome, even though she was relatively new to the parish and was not even from Guatemala). But there was no warmth or pleasure from Juliana, and I left the parish with pages of notes on what I had seen, but without anyone providing some back story and context. Obviously she had many other things on her mind, on her plate, and I was just parachuting in for a quick stop, so perhaps I shouldn't have expected more.
The priest who had initiated (so I had been told) the project had died some years back. And most of the nuns who had been involved were no longer in this parish.
Somewhat disappointed, I left the parish and wandered through the market. Many years back I had befriended a young woman named Ana who had a small shop selling fabric and artisanal items, and I thought I could find my way by memory to her shop, and so I did. She was there, and pleasantly surprised to see me. We chatted a bit about family and so forth. returned to Doña Caty's home and told her what had happened. She was surprised. So we talked about who else could help me. She mentioned the same man that Juliana had mentioned, and told me that he lived about a block away. She gave me rough instructions about where to find his house, and told me that he was related in some way to Doña Caty, or at least that Doña Caty knew him.
I returned to Doña Caty's house and told her what had happened. She, too, thought it was strange that Juliana had not wanted to talk with me (that was how she put it; I preferred to view it "she was not able to talk with" but Doña Caty insisted that it was "didn't want to talk"). Not about to argue with my hostess. I told her about the man that both Juliana and Ana (my friend) had mentioned. Doña Caty said that he was related to her ex-husband and that she wasn't the person to introduce me to him because there was still bitterness, and that she thought he wouldn't be likely to want to talk in any case.
She thought a bit and then mentioned a woman whom she knew who had been active in the church, and could possibly talk with me. We walked to the store that the woman's family ran, but we were told that she was out selling at the market (by this time it was Sunday, market day in Zacualpa, and so all shops are open and many small shop keepers whose establishments are farther away from the market open up a stall in the market to take advantage of the opportunity to make some sales.
So, we said we'd wait until the woman returned. She arrived in about 10 or 15 minutes, but seemed a bit flustered. "Ay, if you had told me in advance, I would have made some time", she said. "But I've just gotten back from the market and I'm tired." So we said goodbye and left.
As we walked back to Doña Caty's house, she remarked "She didn't want to talk." She went on, "I'm not sure why no one wants to talk." I said I didn't understand either, since I wasn't asking anyone to talk about their experiences or their losses during the conflict, just how the parish set up the chapels and got the mural painted.
So, I had to leave it at that. I saw what I could see, took notes, took photographs, and will have to interpret or describe as best I can on my own.
Yes, I'm an outsider. Yes, I only came for a short time and we all know that in order to really do in depth fieldwork you need to spend a long time in the community. But Juliana is someone I know, or at least someone I knew. And, as I noted earlier, in the communities where I really had only contacted people for the first time a day or two in advance of my visit, they were much more welcoming. These other places were not communities where there was no conflict or contestation over history. As I will describe in another blog, the posters along the outside wall of the cemetery in Rabinal were torn up. Monuments installed in the cemetery were defaced and damaged. So the history of the war, and which narrative(s) get told, is still being debated in these other places.
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