Chuitziribal

I feel like the beauty of this land and the resilience of these people should be able to inspire, in me, a poem. I should be able to carefully arrange beautiful words that paint even more beautiful pictures. I should write about the mountains and the flowers. Or maybe about the dust and our now permanently dirty feet. If nothing else, an ode to the children. An ode to their laughter and their games. An ode to their fearless and unwavering love for me. For us. For us whose government has spent years repressing theirs. For us who enjoy countless privileges at their expense. But that’s not our fault or our decision. We don’t have control. So we laugh with those children and tell them yes, we love you too. Yes, we’ll miss you too. Yes, we won’t forget you either.

But I will forget the sounds of their laughter. I will forget the rhymes they taught me and the games we played and the joy I felt.

Because I always forget.

And there are no words that could capture these moments. There are no words that could help me remember.

I just hope the joy was profound enough to have changed my heart forever.  

Poem to the Sky
The sky is very beautiful and pretty
Where we see the stars and the moon
Where our ancestors live
And where our grandparents live
And where our greatest Father lives.
The sky is blue
And in it, the airplanes fly

The sky is very large
Where there are clouds that want to rain
The sky is like a crystal
And it is the place where we dream many things that become our realities.

We hope that our grandparents are in the sky in paradise. 

Written by these beautiful children:

Militant Nonviolence?

Before this trip, I have never even considered the possibility that violence is ever justifiable. However, being here and hearing about the conflict in Guatemala, and hearing about the guerrilla movement, I have been wrestling with that possibility.  I've gone back and forth. It’s difficult because it seems as if the guerrilla movement had the interests of the majority in mind. And it seems as if good would have come out of their winning the war. Would the good that could have come from the victory of the guerrillas be worth all of the lives lost? Since so many lives were lost anyways, it seems like the answer could (or should?) be yes. The ends, in this situation, would justify the means, right?

On Monday we listened to a civilian named Eduardo share his perspective on the armed conflict in Guatemala. Eduardo began his talk by saying that the only reason he dared stand before us was because he saw way too many people die before their times. Eduardo said that he feels that he has the responsibility to share the stories of those people who never had, and never will have, the opportunity to give their testimonies. Eduardo’s hope was to give us a new perspective on the armed conflict. He wanted us to see beyond only two sides. He said, “I am nothing more or less than a civilian: a civilian who has seen and has paid the price of an armed conflict.”

I guess that since I've heard these stories, I also have a responsibility.

Eduardo told us these four stories. The first took place in 1974 and he called it “Las pescas” which means “the fish.” One strategy of the army was to go to towns and capture men who were well built and strong and force them into service. In 1972, Eduardo’s uncle was captured and taken to the military base that was in Xela. Shortly after this, he was deployed to Puerto Barrios which was all the way across the country. On July 14, 1974, Eduardo’s uncle was in charge of a troupe and was patrolling on a boat. A storm came that day and killed Eduardo’s uncle and three other men. Eduardo told us that he wanted to be clear that his uncle didn't die in combat. He didn't die a heroic death. He was captured by the military and then died in an accident. But Eduardo also wanted to be clear that “the heart of a 5 year old nephew, the heart of parents, the heart of a sibling doesn't see the difference.” Eduardo still remembers looking at the inflamed face of his uncle lying in the casket. He still feels like something ended much sooner than it should have. He will never know what his relationship with his uncle could have been. He said that all he knows for sure is that the tears of a mother or a father for the death of a child are one of the most difficult things anyone could ever see in life.

The next story took place on May 28, 1981 in a small cafeteria in Cantel (the rural village we’ll be staying in next week).  There was an ex-soldier, at that time working as a guard of a factory, who walked into the cafeteria holding a grenade in his hand and tossing it up and catching it again. He then dropped the grenade and there was an explosion that killed a 17 year old girl, two 11 year old boys, a woman of 41 years, and the ex-soldier. The owners were fearful of what could happen to them and so they called the army and claimed there was a guerrilla attack. The father of the girl who died was holding his daughter when the army arrived. One soldier lifted the father up by the shirt and asked. “What happened here?!” The father in his anger replied, “One of you did this!” When the army realized what actually happen they quickly left. Eduardo found out about this explosion at school the next day because the two boys that died were two of his classmates. Later, in 1998, Eduardo married his wife and soon found out that the 17 year old girl that died was the sister of his spouse. Eduardo realized, while talking to his wife, that she had never had the opportunity to process what happened to her and her family. He added that there are many people who still live with untold stories and unfinished processes in their hearts and minds. He said that during the time of the armed conflict the military was saying, “We’re fighting against the threats.” And to that the civilian would respond, “I feel as if you’re a threat to me.” And the guerrilla was saying, “We’re fighting for change, for the poor.” And the civilian would respond, “When is that change going to happen and how will it be?”

The third story was in 1985. During this time Eduardo was studying in high school and his teachers decided their class should go on a field trip. They went to Puerto Barrios and spent a lot of time in the pools that were there. Their first night there, after spending the day in the pools, the students and teachers realized they couldn’t find a student named Jose Baquiax. The teachers decided to leave at around 8:30pm to look for Jose. They returned at 11pm and told the students that Jose was dead, that his body was found floating in the water with barbed wire marks on his neck, arms, and legs. The trip ended early. Because Eduardo was on the board of student directors, he had to go with his teachers to tell Jose’s family that Jose was dead. What the students and teachers concluded probably happened was that Jose took a walk by himself around lunchtime and saw someone who was washing the clothes for the military who had a base very close by. The person washing the clothes was suspicious (as everyone was during that time in Guatemala), and they assumed that Jose wanted to steal the clothes. Jose was probably taken, questioned and then tortured and killed by the army.

The next story was about the three times that Eduardo escaped from the military. This took place over the course of 8 years. Eduardo said that during this time he was living in constant stress and fear. He also said that he has the easiest part of the story. The first time he was almost captured was in 1986 when he was 17 years old. The next was in 1989, and then in 1992. Eduardo said that the year of 1992 was like music to him because that year there was an agreement to stop military recruitment.

Eduardo challenged us to make sure we think before clapping for a guerrilla. And of course to consider, too, what the army has been standing for. “In an armed conflict there aren’t only two sides. The 3^rd party who you don’t see much of on screen plays the most tragic part.”Hearing Eduardo’s story I felt reassured that violence is never justified. Every human life is as valuable as the next.

And so I have to hold on to the hope that things can change some other way. Nonviolence doesn't have to mean passivity. Walter Wink, who believes that there are three general responses to evil: "violent opposition, passivity and the third way of militant nonviolence articulated by Jesus," writes:

"To risk confronting the Powers with such clown-like vulnerability, to affirm at the same time our own humanity and that of those we oppose, to dare to draw the sting of evil by absorbing it—such behavior is unlikely to attract the faith of heart. But to people dispirited by the enormity of the injustices that crush us and the intractability of those in positions of power, Jesus’s words beam hope across centuries. We need not be afraid. We can assert our human dignity. We can lay claim to the creative possibilities that are still ours, burlesque the injustice of unfair laws, and force evil out of hiding from behind the façade of legitimacy."

I don't know. But I think it probably starts with just remembering that "What you do to them, you do to God. The way you look at them, is the way you look at God." And that them means all people.