First Impressions
Honestly, the first thing that struck me about Guatemala is the sheer number of guns here: at the army checkpoints along the highway, at banks, even the home appliance store down the street from my apartment is watched over by two men carrying sawed-off shotguns. Guns are everywhere, slung over men's shoulders as casually as backpacks or sacks of rice.
A close second is the religious conviction that pervades all aspects of life here, and is neatly summed up by the massive sign that dominates one of the hills behind Xela: "Cristo Viene." This to-the-point sentiment is echoed by the windshields of every pickup in town, announcing "Jesus cambió mi vida," "Dios te ama," and "Jesus es El Señor." There is a love of the Lord in Guatemala unlike anything I have ever encountered anywhere else in the world. To me it makes sense as an indirect measure of the suffering inflicted on Guatemala over the last 50 years. I read recently that an evangelical Christianity that preached abstinence from politics and transcendence of earthly suffering took hold in indigenous communities during the war, and has all but displaced Catholicism in many rural areas. But no matter what the reason, you can't walk 10 feet, or talk to most Guatemalans for more than 10 minutes, without encountering God in one of His many forms.
Something that has crept up on me over the last two weeks is the sharp contrast between a surface level of Americanized affluence evident in Xela, and the serious poverty and social problems afflicting most of Guatemala. My first week here I visited La Pradera, a spotless mall on the edge of town that boasts Lacoste and a department store owned by Wal Mart. Strolling past shop after shop selling expensive American products, I almost forgot that I was in Guatemala. Then, on my way home, I caught one of the old vans that serve as public transport here. As a skinny 10 year old wearing a torn sweater took my change and I settled in next to a security guard with a semi-automatic on his lap, I was jarred back into a world of child labor, privation, and insecurity. Sadly, a crowded, broken down van seems to be a much more accurate symbol of life here than $100 French polo shirts.
Elections
By coincidence, the national elections, Xela’s yearly fair, and Guatemala’s Independence Day all fell during our first two weeks in Guatemala. The build-up to the elections had been particularly violent this year; murders of campaign workers and political activists culminated in August in the brutal murder of one candidate’s 14-year old daughter, in an attempt to force him to withdraw. The violence and abuses that have characterized Guatemala’s political process for at least the last half-century have produced levels of cynicism and apathy that make US citizens look like passionate participants in the political process. When I asked my boss who the best presidential candidate was, he quickly replied, “none of them.” And the least bad? “None of them.”
On election weekend, the mood was understandably tense,
and we were advised not to travel outside of Xela. The large military presence in town, combined with a national ban on selling or publicly consuming alcohol during the entire weekend, resulted in a sort of forced
tranquility on election day. And, in fact, the elections turned out to be surprisingly non-violent and transparent. The field was narrowed down to two candidates, who will face off in a final round on November 4th: a bland left-center businessman, with 36% of the vote, and close behind, with 30%, the far right ex-head of the military police, responsible for sanctioning torture and disappearances during the later years of the civil war.
From an outsider’s perspective, it’s almost impossible to understand how so many Guatemalans could vote to bring back the “Mano Dura” (“hard hand”) policies of the 1980s. The prevailing explanation is that people are simply choosing the orderly repression of the army over the unregulated crime and violence that is common today across the country. Although this is probably true to a degree, it’s also undeniable that many rich, urban Guatemalans seek to preserve their economic hegemony by supporting neo-liberal political regimes, while the indigenous rural poor, who tend to vote left, remain disenfranchised and excluded from the political process.
Xelafer
This past weekend could not have been more different from election day. In mid-September every year, Xela hosts Central America’s largest fair, a week-long celebration that coincides with Guatemala’s Independence Day, September 15th. Our first taste of the fair came on Wednesday night, when Kunal and I rounded a corner near our apartment and stopped in our tracks. An enormous flatbed semi-truck carrying at least 25 beauty queens had nearly jack-knifed trying to make a tight turn onto one of Xela’s narrow side streets. The truck lurched back and forth, attempting to complete a 50-point turn, while Miss Quetzaltenango, Miss Indigena, Miss Municipal Employee (seriously), and international representatives including Miss Mexico and Miss Nicaragua struggled to maintain their smiles and choreographed waves without being thrown from the wooden platform. Finally, after about 20 minutes, the truck managed to complete the turn, and the visibly relieved beauty queens disappeared up the hill in a cloud of black exhaust.
The fair itself was held in an enormous dusty field on the outskirts of town, and combined the rides and greasy food of a US county fair and the chaos of a typical Guatemalan market, with vendors hawking cheap Chinese-made toys and housewares from blankets set up along the main paths through the fair. For some reason, we chose to visit on Independence Day, the busiest of the entire week, and made it only 100 meters inside the fair grounds before we were overwhelmed by literally crushing crowds, staggering quantities of broken plastic toys, and the sickly smell of frying chorizo.
While the actual fair turned out to be simultaneously overpowering and disappointing, the sheer number of people in town for the week meant that Xela played host to free concerts in the central plaza every night, even more delicious street food than usual, and parties that lasted until five in the morning. On the last night of the fair, we sat on a bench in the park, eating pupusas and listening to traditional Mexican folk music, as laughing families strolled past and a veil of bright, high-altitude stars came to rest on the shoulders of volcán Santa María. It was the first time since I arrived in Xela that I understood why so many of the expats I’ve met here came to Guatemala on vacation, and ended up calling in their two-week notice to work from one of the payphones lining 12th avenue.
You can check out more photos here
Next time: how someone possessing only a passing familiarity with addition and subtraction ended up working in finance, why learning K’iche' has given me a permanent sore throat, and Guatemala’s love of acronyms...
On election weekend, the mood was understandably tense,and we were advised not to travel outside of Xela. The large military presence in town, combined with a national ban on selling or publicly consuming alcohol during the entire weekend, resulted in a sort of forced
tranquility on election day. And, in fact, the elections turned out to be surprisingly non-violent and transparent. The field was narrowed down to two candidates, who will face off in a final round on November 4th: a bland left-center businessman, with 36% of the vote, and close behind, with 30%, the far right ex-head of the military police, responsible for sanctioning torture and disappearances during the later years of the civil war.From an outsider’s perspective, it’s almost impossible to understand how so many Guatemalans could vote to bring back the “Mano Dura” (“hard hand”) policies of the 1980s. The prevailing explanation is that people are simply choosing the orderly repression of the army over the unregulated crime and violence that is common today across the country. Although this is probably true to a degree, it’s also undeniable that many rich, urban Guatemalans seek to preserve their economic hegemony by supporting neo-liberal political regimes, while the indigenous rural poor, who tend to vote left, remain disenfranchised and excluded from the political process.
Xelafer
This past weekend could not have been more different from election day. In mid-September every year, Xela hosts Central America’s largest fair, a week-long celebration that coincides with Guatemala’s Independence Day, September 15th. Our first taste of the fair came on Wednesday night, when Kunal and I rounded a corner near our apartment and stopped in our tracks. An enormous flatbed semi-truck carrying at least 25 beauty queens had nearly jack-knifed trying to make a tight turn onto one of Xela’s narrow side streets. The truck lurched back and forth, attempting to complete a 50-point turn, while Miss Quetzaltenango, Miss Indigena, Miss Municipal Employee (seriously), and international representatives including Miss Mexico and Miss Nicaragua struggled to maintain their smiles and choreographed waves without being thrown from the wooden platform. Finally, after about 20 minutes, the truck managed to complete the turn, and the visibly relieved beauty queens disappeared up the hill in a cloud of black exhaust.
The fair itself was held in an enormous dusty field on the outskirts of town, and combined the rides and greasy food of a US county fair and the chaos of a typical Guatemalan market, with vendors hawking cheap Chinese-made toys and housewares from blankets set up along the main paths through the fair. For some reason, we chose to visit on Independence Day, the busiest of the entire week, and made it only 100 meters inside the fair grounds before we were overwhelmed by literally crushing crowds, staggering quantities of broken plastic toys, and the sickly smell of frying chorizo.While the actual fair turned out to be simultaneously overpowering and disappointing, the sheer number of people in town for the week meant that Xela played host to free concerts in the central plaza every night, even more delicious street food than usual, and parties that lasted until five in the morning. On the last night of the fair, we sat on a bench in the park, eating pupusas and listening to traditional Mexican folk music, as laughing families strolled past and a veil of bright, high-altitude stars came to rest on the shoulders of volcán Santa María. It was the first time since I arrived in Xela that I understood why so many of the expats I’ve met here came to Guatemala on vacation, and ended up calling in their two-week notice to work from one of the payphones lining 12th avenue.
You can check out more photos here
Next time: how someone possessing only a passing familiarity with addition and subtraction ended up working in finance, why learning K’iche' has given me a permanent sore throat, and Guatemala’s love of acronyms...
