Today driving from Chichicastenango to Sta. Cruz to run a few errands, I heard a radio announcement from the president, Alvaro Colom, about the situation in Peten and announcing that he had declared a state of siege. Just one problem: in the announcement, which had apparently been recorded sometime today (Tuesday May 17), he got the month wrong. Not just once, but three times. He started out by saying that on the 14th of March (he clearly said "Marzo", not "Mayo") there had been a terrible massacre. And that on the 16th of March, the president of the republic made a personal visit to Peten. (I always get a little anxious when anyone, politicians or anyone else, refers to him or herself in the third person; could he not have said, "On the 16th of May, in my capacity as president of the republic, I made a visit to the Peten..."). And on the 17th of March, a state of siege was declared.
I was mildly shocked (I tried to rein myself in as the road from Chichi to Santa Cruz is notoriously steep and winding). Didn't someone in the government, or the radio station, listen to the damned thing before airing it? Were they all asleep, drugged, or just not paying attention? Or was this a case of "the emperor who had no clothes" -- some subordinate did notice but didn't want to speak up? This was almost as annoying as the "Don Justo Cabal" sugar ads: the same ad runs twice in a row. Didn't the various radio stations where the ad runs notice, or does the company think that this is a good strategy?
In any case, by the time I was leaving Chichi a few hours later, someone had obviously noticed the mistake and had gotten the president to re-record the announcement -- so now all the events are taking place in May, not March. Whew! At least they got that part right. I mean, it's hard to imagine anyone having an effective strategy for dealing with narcotrafficking, or being mildly competent to implement said strategy (assuming it exists) if he goes on the national airwaves and doesn't know what month it is (it would be understandable if he made a gaffe in a live press conference, but this was recorded: you'd think that someone, a sound engineer, or communications director, listened to it before it went on the air).
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Poverty and victimhood
The national papers have revealed some more details about the massacre over the weekend. The campesinos who were murdered were not natives of Petén, but instead internal migrants, most of whom came from a community called Los Amates in Izabal. Seasonal or temporal internal migration has shaped life in rural communities in Guatemala for centuries, since the forced labor regimes of the colonial period (and people I know have reported that as late as the 1970s, Maya men were rounded up and forced to work building roads and other "public works" projects). As subsistence agriculture has been undermined (by so many forces it's hard to detail without launching into a lengthy explanation: forced removals, failure of land reform, agribusiness, drop in prices for some agricultural commodities, displacement and destruction of villages due to the war), either internal or international migration often seem like the only solutions for poor rural families. One article detailed the story of one of the female victims -- a woman whose husband had died a few years ago. Her oldest son recalled that his meager salary was the family's only income and it wasn't enough, and that his mother had gone off to the Finca Las Cocos in Petén, happy that she would be earning money for her family. The communities in Izabal where the migrants lived mostly had homes built of trees (the article didn't explain more) and boards, and people could earn Q35 a day if they succeeded selling their tomatoes, cucumbers and other products. The finca offered the security of Q50 a day.
According to the story, many of the migrant workers had returned to their natal village for Mother's Day, which is celebrated here on May 10, and then returned to the finca to work.
According to the story, many of the migrant workers had returned to their natal village for Mother's Day, which is celebrated here on May 10, and then returned to the finca to work.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday bloody Sunday/Domingo sangriente
Sometimes the news here is beyond horror. We get accustomed to daily newspaper and radio reports about assaults on buses, bodies being discovered by the volunteer firemen in one municipality or other, and other acts of violence. If it's not murders and assaults, then it's political corruption and impunity - and perhaps those are related in ways that I haven't fully analyzed.
But this weekend was especially brutal, even for a country that has a daily murder rate of 18 (one of the highest in Latin America). Last night, via Facebook (here we are again with the social media thing), I learned from a friend in Guatemala that there had been a mass killing in Petén -- 27 decapitated bodies found on a finca near La Libertad. By the time I checked the newspaper, the body count had risen to 29: 27 men and 2 women, all campesino/as who worked on the finca. According to the news, the killings were probably the work of a drug cartel, likely the Zetas. The scale and brutality (today's news noted that there appeared to have been torture before the killings) harken back to the mass killings of the internal armed conflict. And perhaps there are connections here: it is widely believed that former (and maybe not-so-former) military are deeply involved in the narco trafficking operations. At the very least, the cartels operate with lack of any meaningful interference or intervention from the police and military.
And then this morning, as I was helping a friend who is part of the radio project find some information about bilingual education in Guatemala, I came across a news headline that the nephew of human rights activist Amilcar Mendez had been murdered. Three things hit me: this was someone I knew (Amilcar, not the nephew); he had already suffered one murder in his family (his son, a photographer who had accompanied him in some of his recent human rights work, was murdered in 2007); and the murder occurred in Santa Cruz del Quiché -- where I am sitting as I write these lines. This was a targeted assassination and not a random killing: just in case anyone is worried about my personal safety. The killers attacked him at the entrance to his home. There were unconfirmed reports (unconfirmed by the police) that the neighbors captured 4 people.
I don't claim to know Amilcar well; someone had given me his phone number when I made my first trip to Guatemala in the summer of 2009 and I didn't really know much about him. He was eager to meet and offered to host me the night before I left Guatemala. After I found my way to the community where he lived, I spent the evening with him and his family, intermittently chatting with him about his work, about human rights, and other human rights figures in Guatemala. Teddy Kennedy had just died, and Amilcar was very affected by the news; he had been the recipient of the Robert Kennedy award and had met Ted Kennedy on a few occasions. During the course of the evening, he had mentioned that he was very preoccupied with the case of his son but it wasn't until we went into his study and he began to tell me stories about the photos that lined the walls, and explained that his son, who had taken many of the photographs, had been killed two years earlier. Words are really inadequate at moments like that: what do you say? "Sorry your political enemies took their rage out on your family?" I can only imagine the horror of losing a child (I know a few friends who have, but not during the time of our acquaintance), and it must be even more horrific when it comes as the result of a political assassination -- in part due to one's own political activity.
So, the culture of impunity is alive and well. I don't hold out much hope for the long arm of the law; after all, the people who were killed were not "important" individuals, just some poor campesinos who happened to be working on the wrong finca. The legal system functions imperfectly at best: last week the ex-president who was charged with influence peddling and corruption was let off (although one of the three judges dissented).
But this weekend was especially brutal, even for a country that has a daily murder rate of 18 (one of the highest in Latin America). Last night, via Facebook (here we are again with the social media thing), I learned from a friend in Guatemala that there had been a mass killing in Petén -- 27 decapitated bodies found on a finca near La Libertad. By the time I checked the newspaper, the body count had risen to 29: 27 men and 2 women, all campesino/as who worked on the finca. According to the news, the killings were probably the work of a drug cartel, likely the Zetas. The scale and brutality (today's news noted that there appeared to have been torture before the killings) harken back to the mass killings of the internal armed conflict. And perhaps there are connections here: it is widely believed that former (and maybe not-so-former) military are deeply involved in the narco trafficking operations. At the very least, the cartels operate with lack of any meaningful interference or intervention from the police and military.
And then this morning, as I was helping a friend who is part of the radio project find some information about bilingual education in Guatemala, I came across a news headline that the nephew of human rights activist Amilcar Mendez had been murdered. Three things hit me: this was someone I knew (Amilcar, not the nephew); he had already suffered one murder in his family (his son, a photographer who had accompanied him in some of his recent human rights work, was murdered in 2007); and the murder occurred in Santa Cruz del Quiché -- where I am sitting as I write these lines. This was a targeted assassination and not a random killing: just in case anyone is worried about my personal safety. The killers attacked him at the entrance to his home. There were unconfirmed reports (unconfirmed by the police) that the neighbors captured 4 people.
I don't claim to know Amilcar well; someone had given me his phone number when I made my first trip to Guatemala in the summer of 2009 and I didn't really know much about him. He was eager to meet and offered to host me the night before I left Guatemala. After I found my way to the community where he lived, I spent the evening with him and his family, intermittently chatting with him about his work, about human rights, and other human rights figures in Guatemala. Teddy Kennedy had just died, and Amilcar was very affected by the news; he had been the recipient of the Robert Kennedy award and had met Ted Kennedy on a few occasions. During the course of the evening, he had mentioned that he was very preoccupied with the case of his son but it wasn't until we went into his study and he began to tell me stories about the photos that lined the walls, and explained that his son, who had taken many of the photographs, had been killed two years earlier. Words are really inadequate at moments like that: what do you say? "Sorry your political enemies took their rage out on your family?" I can only imagine the horror of losing a child (I know a few friends who have, but not during the time of our acquaintance), and it must be even more horrific when it comes as the result of a political assassination -- in part due to one's own political activity.
So, the culture of impunity is alive and well. I don't hold out much hope for the long arm of the law; after all, the people who were killed were not "important" individuals, just some poor campesinos who happened to be working on the wrong finca. The legal system functions imperfectly at best: last week the ex-president who was charged with influence peddling and corruption was let off (although one of the three judges dissented).
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Field 2.0: Ethnography in the era of social media, or fieldwork and facebook
This morning a friend back in the U.S. and I were chatting via Facebook. He lives in the south, and I had written to find out how he and his family were faring with the storms and floods. This is how I often spend my Saturday mornings - listening to the local (New York City) news on the radio, checking my email and often checking in with friends via Facebook. My conversation with this friend ranged over a number of topics. From the weather we turned to how we learn about the news (reading hard copy versus digital editions). He was checking something on his Kindle; I replied that I had a Nook but only used it to read books (I am a bit of a curmudgeon; I like single-purpose devices. I want my phone to make phone calls. When I want to shoot photos I will use a camera; when I want to shoot video I will use a video camera). We had also chatted about downloading videos (I am in the midst of a very slow download of the first episodes of the new season of Tremé). He commented, "Huh. And here I've been thinking you were an underdeveloped region of an under-developed countyry. You're sitting around watching Treme and reading books on Nook."
Both things are true: I am in an underdeveloped region of an under-developed country. There are cows pastured on three sides of my house (the fourth side is the street). I cook on a wood-burning stove sometimes. And thanks to my trusty little USB modem, I can be online as much as I like, within reason.
Being online and chatting with friends or posting videos on Facebook, however, is not simply a privilege of the chattering classes of the First World. Nor is it simply a way of isolating myself and creating a protective little cocoon to shield myself or separate myself from daily life in Guatemala. For one thing, status updates and notes on Facebook were one way of communicating with my friends and family about what I was doing here in Guatemala (before starting this blog, and I continue to post things there since not everyone will bother to read the blog). I first realized the potential of Facebook for sharing ethnographic observations last year, when I read insightful and often poetic updates posted by one of my former professors from NYU, Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, who has been in Poland for the past year or so, and I still relish reading her posts -- which range from rhapsodies about the pleasures of eating fresh berries to observations about contemporary Polish culture and politics.
But also, increasingly, people with whom I work on Guatemala are using Facebook and other forms of social media. For example, many of the staff members of Ixmukané are on Facebook, and several of them are my Facebook friends. Since most of them live at least several towns away (in Chichicastenango or Santa Cruz del Quiché), we often communicate during off-hours via Facebook. Sometimes we just have friendly chats; sometimes it's the fastest way for me to find out what is going on. Today, for instance, I needed to know whether we were going to be broadcasting tomorrow (Sunday). Yesterday someone at the station had told me that we were. This morning I saw that the person who was supposed to be responsible for the Sunday broadcast was on Facebook chat, so I messaged her to find out if she wanted me to meet her there. She replied that as far as she knew, there was no broadcast tomorrow and that we were starting up again on Monday. I could have called or texted her; she might or might not have replied; Guatemalans seem to have odd relationships with their cellphones. But she responded immediately on FB and so I was spared an unnecessary trip to Santa Cruz del Quiché tomorrow.
Thursday night, I received a chat message from another compañero from Ixmukané who was unsuccessfully attempting to set up a Youtube account for the organization -- Ixmukané, like many organizations in Guatemala, has a communications strategy that includes the radio station as well as a website and social media. He thought perhaps he had a weak signal and wanted to know if I could set up the Youtube account for him. Keeping our FB chat open so he could give me the information I needed , I opened Youtube and, switching between the two windows, was able to set up the Youtube account and let him know so he could then login. Mission accomplished. All in a day's fieldwork.
Both things are true: I am in an underdeveloped region of an under-developed country. There are cows pastured on three sides of my house (the fourth side is the street). I cook on a wood-burning stove sometimes. And thanks to my trusty little USB modem, I can be online as much as I like, within reason.
Being online and chatting with friends or posting videos on Facebook, however, is not simply a privilege of the chattering classes of the First World. Nor is it simply a way of isolating myself and creating a protective little cocoon to shield myself or separate myself from daily life in Guatemala. For one thing, status updates and notes on Facebook were one way of communicating with my friends and family about what I was doing here in Guatemala (before starting this blog, and I continue to post things there since not everyone will bother to read the blog). I first realized the potential of Facebook for sharing ethnographic observations last year, when I read insightful and often poetic updates posted by one of my former professors from NYU, Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, who has been in Poland for the past year or so, and I still relish reading her posts -- which range from rhapsodies about the pleasures of eating fresh berries to observations about contemporary Polish culture and politics.
But also, increasingly, people with whom I work on Guatemala are using Facebook and other forms of social media. For example, many of the staff members of Ixmukané are on Facebook, and several of them are my Facebook friends. Since most of them live at least several towns away (in Chichicastenango or Santa Cruz del Quiché), we often communicate during off-hours via Facebook. Sometimes we just have friendly chats; sometimes it's the fastest way for me to find out what is going on. Today, for instance, I needed to know whether we were going to be broadcasting tomorrow (Sunday). Yesterday someone at the station had told me that we were. This morning I saw that the person who was supposed to be responsible for the Sunday broadcast was on Facebook chat, so I messaged her to find out if she wanted me to meet her there. She replied that as far as she knew, there was no broadcast tomorrow and that we were starting up again on Monday. I could have called or texted her; she might or might not have replied; Guatemalans seem to have odd relationships with their cellphones. But she responded immediately on FB and so I was spared an unnecessary trip to Santa Cruz del Quiché tomorrow.
Thursday night, I received a chat message from another compañero from Ixmukané who was unsuccessfully attempting to set up a Youtube account for the organization -- Ixmukané, like many organizations in Guatemala, has a communications strategy that includes the radio station as well as a website and social media. He thought perhaps he had a weak signal and wanted to know if I could set up the Youtube account for him. Keeping our FB chat open so he could give me the information I needed , I opened Youtube and, switching between the two windows, was able to set up the Youtube account and let him know so he could then login. Mission accomplished. All in a day's fieldwork.
En breve/in brief
You go away for a little less than a week and when you get back, things are both different and the same. Politics continues to be a farce: the U.S. grants a visa to war criminal and presidential front runner Otto Perez Molina; a panel of judges declares that ex-President Portillo, who was charged with money-laundering, influence-peddling and who knows what-all else, is not guilty based on insufficient proof; meanwhile the Commission on Impunity says they are going to look into the matter. Business as usual. A friend offered the opinion that perhaps the judges who ruled in Portillo's favor were frightened of ruling against him (there have been death threats and other intimidations of judges in the not-very-distant past) or that maybe they had received payoffs. There was one judge who did rule against Portillo but she was outvoted by the others.
Also, although the president and presidential candidate Sandra Torres (formerly Torres de Colom) have divorced, they are both apparently living in the presidential residence, although in separate apartments. I was also told (I haven't yet found this in the news) that the courts were looking into their divorce (although it was already officialized).
Residents of some communities in Alta Verapaz have complained that they have been pressured into affiliating themselves with UNE (the ruling party) in order to keep receiving benefits from one of the social programs, Mi Familia Progresa.
And finally (for now) from the world of politics, the daughter of former dictator Rios Montt has withdrawn her candidacy for president; she was to have been running on the FRG (one of the far-right parties, the one founded by her father).
Of course, most of this doesn't seem to affect daily life in the small town where I live. It's Saturday; the sun is shining; animals are making noises; very few people are out on the streets. National politics seems relatively far-removed, except for those who are active in one of the parties.
Also, although the president and presidential candidate Sandra Torres (formerly Torres de Colom) have divorced, they are both apparently living in the presidential residence, although in separate apartments. I was also told (I haven't yet found this in the news) that the courts were looking into their divorce (although it was already officialized).
Residents of some communities in Alta Verapaz have complained that they have been pressured into affiliating themselves with UNE (the ruling party) in order to keep receiving benefits from one of the social programs, Mi Familia Progresa.
And finally (for now) from the world of politics, the daughter of former dictator Rios Montt has withdrawn her candidacy for president; she was to have been running on the FRG (one of the far-right parties, the one founded by her father).
Of course, most of this doesn't seem to affect daily life in the small town where I live. It's Saturday; the sun is shining; animals are making noises; very few people are out on the streets. National politics seems relatively far-removed, except for those who are active in one of the parties.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Small happiness/pequeña felicidad
Una pequeña obsesión mía ha sido la búsqueda para bebidas sin azúcar, sobretodo "jugo natural" (otro nombre abusado aquí en Guate) o sea, jugo que es 100% jugo. La mayoría de los productos que uno encuentra en las tiendas cuando pregunta para "jugo" son "nectares" -- base de jugo, se supone, pero con no sé cuanta azúcar. Bastante. Aquí en Chinique no he encontrado "jugo" (según mi definición de la palabra). La mayoría de los "jugos" en las tiendas son realmente "bebidas frutales". En Quiché encontré un tipo de jugo de uvas que era 100% jugo, en la Dispensa Familiar (una cadena de tiendas con precios baratos que recientemente fue comprado por Wal-Mart, tristemente). Pero jugo de uvas no es mi jugo favorito; muy dulce.
Entonces, imagínanse mi sorpresa ayer... salimos con mis estudiantes para un viaje a un parte mas remoto del departamento de Quiché, más al norte y oriente. Estuvimos en la carretera que comienza en los Encuentros, la RD 15 (Ruta Departamental, creo), que pasa por Santa Cruz y siga al norte. Realmente cuando uno sale de Santa Cruz, el paisaje cambia y también se ve mas vacío, menos poblado, que la carretera, por ejemplo, entre Santa Cruz y Joyabaj. Después de San Pedro Jocopilas, realmente no hay un pueblo hasta Sacapulas, como 35 km. Llegando a una curva en la carretera, un cruz de camino donde hay un rotulo que manda trafico pesado para Huehuetenango por una vía, vimos una gasolinera por mano izquierda. Decidimos a aprovechar de los servicios sanitarios, y mientras unos usaban los baños los otros entremos en la pequeña tienda. No pensé encontrar nada de interés, pero miré para pasar el tiempo. Allí, milagrosamente, aparecieron unas latas de jugo de piñas, 100% jugo. Compré 6; cayó una y entonces quedo con 5. Irónicamente, no encontré jugo sin azúcar en La Bodegona, una tienda bastante grande en Antigua, donde hay muchos turistas y residentes extranjeros que, se supone, crean mas demanda para bebidas sin azúcar (si se puede comprar bebidas sin azúcar en Antigua pero no el la Bodegona). Pero aquí a lado de una carretera en el campo donde, en un sábado, vimos MUY pocos otros carros, y ningún otro extranjero en un viaje de 2.5 horas, había 100% jugo.
Remesas bi-direccionales/Bidirectional remittances
Time to prepare for another trip to the U.S. which means, as usual, collecting a few things that people here want to send to migrants living in the U.S. Today's project is a quick trip to Zacualpa, the next town to the east of us. Zacualpa was one of the communities hardest hit during the armed conflict, and the church building still bears the scars. It is also a municipio that has been shaped in recent years by substantial migration to the U.S. - and it is one of the major communities of origin for the Maya in New Bedford.
Sometimes the requests come from "allá" -- that is, I will get a call telling me that so-and-so's sister or family needs to send something, and sometimes the requests come from this end. Sometimes what people want to send from here are material objects -- handwoven textiles, beans from the family's plot -- and, other times, legal documents. More and more of the migrants I know are involved in various legal proceedings to "regularize" their status, and also to seek visas for their families. So, a few days ago I got a call from Doña F, in Zacualpa, telling me that she needed to send the birth certificates for the children of her sister in New Bedford. And I have been holding onto a plastic bag containing items that one of the women in Oxib' B'atz', the women's association in New Bedford, had wanted to send to her family. This bag was given to me when I was in Seattle last month -- my colleague/friend/collaborator Adrian, who joined me in Seattle to talk about the relationship between anthropologists and Maya communities, took advantage of our encounter to hand me a bag for Olivia's family. Unfortunately I have only gone to Zacualpa once since then, and it was a last-minute invitation to a meeting with comadronas (midwives) and I forgot the package.
Today I had intended to go with my students who were here for a visit to my field site (such as it is), but after yesterday's excursions (Cunén and Sacapulas), they decided they needed to return to Guatemala City a bit earlier than we'd planned (one had to work, and they were all worried about the traffic because Guatemala's Catholic establishment is making a huge deal over the beatification of John Paul II, and therefore the city traffic is supposed to be especially congested and miserable). That was fine with me, but I had already arranged to meet up with the women in Zacualpa to deliver one package and receive the documents that are going in the other direction. So, I'm off....
Sometimes the requests come from "allá" -- that is, I will get a call telling me that so-and-so's sister or family needs to send something, and sometimes the requests come from this end. Sometimes what people want to send from here are material objects -- handwoven textiles, beans from the family's plot -- and, other times, legal documents. More and more of the migrants I know are involved in various legal proceedings to "regularize" their status, and also to seek visas for their families. So, a few days ago I got a call from Doña F, in Zacualpa, telling me that she needed to send the birth certificates for the children of her sister in New Bedford. And I have been holding onto a plastic bag containing items that one of the women in Oxib' B'atz', the women's association in New Bedford, had wanted to send to her family. This bag was given to me when I was in Seattle last month -- my colleague/friend/collaborator Adrian, who joined me in Seattle to talk about the relationship between anthropologists and Maya communities, took advantage of our encounter to hand me a bag for Olivia's family. Unfortunately I have only gone to Zacualpa once since then, and it was a last-minute invitation to a meeting with comadronas (midwives) and I forgot the package.
Today I had intended to go with my students who were here for a visit to my field site (such as it is), but after yesterday's excursions (Cunén and Sacapulas), they decided they needed to return to Guatemala City a bit earlier than we'd planned (one had to work, and they were all worried about the traffic because Guatemala's Catholic establishment is making a huge deal over the beatification of John Paul II, and therefore the city traffic is supposed to be especially congested and miserable). That was fine with me, but I had already arranged to meet up with the women in Zacualpa to deliver one package and receive the documents that are going in the other direction. So, I'm off....
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