Pilgrimage to San Luis, Peten, Guatemala, Part 2

Doug continues:

Day 2, Tuesday, August 19th

As usual, I am the first to wake up in the morning. Chris is still asleep in the next bed. My wife and daughters are in another room. As quietly as I can, I get up, shower, dress and go to the restaurant, and find out that we can get breakfast in another hotel just a block and a half away. Waiting for the others to wake up, I sit at a table in our hotel’s empty restaurant to pray the divine office—the invitatory, the office of readings and the morning prayers. All of the psalms I pray seem to be emphasizing how much God is on the side of the poor and how God will hear their cry and save them. As for their oppressors, God will utterly destroy them. Knowing Guatemala and its centuries of unbroken exploitation of the Mayan Indians, I find myself longing for the time when God will avenge the poor and set them free. I recalled that Moses did not free his people with revolutionary violence, but by courageous insistence on their freedom and by the power of God acting through nature—they merely watched as the pursuing Egyptian army was destroyed in the sea.

I reflect that, even more than Moses, Jesus did not rely upon violence to defend Himself and his cause, but trusted in God’s saving action. Jesus rejected a violent defense as he was arrested, saying “those who live by the sword will die by the sword”. In this way, by his actions, not just by words, Jesus established a new path, The Way (as early Christians called it), which remains new and totally radical for every generation since Jesus walked the earth. The Way is a fearless confidence that by acting as children of God and if, as expected, enduring persecution with courage, the cause of justice will be victorious. Jesus inspired Mahatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Pope John Paul II—thereby bringing an end to colonial rule in India, to racial segregation in the United States and to the entire Soviet block. So often, Guatemala has fallen into the trap of confronting the violence of the state with the violence of the revolutionary—succumbing to the deception that violence will save. O Guatemala, when will God bless you with a spiritual leader that will really set your people free?

The rest of the family has dressed and we walk to the restaurant for breakfast. We watch to stay clear of the passing trucks, cars and motorcycles as we make our way through the littered street. A radio is blasting out commercials in Spanish. Walls and storefronts are painted with commercial messages, especially the omnipresent “Tigo” for the dominant cell phone brand and for “Gallo” which is the local beer. The five of us sit together around an outdoor table by the road. The menu is simple and very Guatemalan, and the prices are cheap.

As we are eating, Chris declares that he does not really believe in missionaries because they impose their beliefs on others and destroy cultures. In front of our daughters, whose faith is already under constant attack in our secular country, neither my wife nor let the comment pass without rebuttal. We point out that we live in a society where we are constantly bombarded with consumerist propaganda trying to persuade us (and the Mayan Indians) that the path to happiness is to buy, to consume and to have more things. The tidal wave of selling messages encourages us to look good and to indulge ourselves. This commercial propaganda has massive funding and thousands of sales representatives. How can we condemn the effort of a few nuns and priests in San Luis, Peten, who with very limited resources are trying to challenge such values?

From there, the conversation went quickly downhill, and my wife, Pia, wisely grew silent. An hour later the conversation ended with Chris affirming that he believed that human sacrifices by the thousands, such as were performed the Maya (and depicted in the movie Apocalypto), are morally justified because the sacrifices were part of their cultural beliefs. I am surprised, but should I be surprised? In the United States, we have created a new human right, the right to abort over a million defenseless, unborn children each year. So, why not human sacrifices of adults as well? We know that in ancient Mesoamerica, human sacrifices were thought meritorious and the sacrificial victims were cooked and eaten. At that point, I asked Chris what it means to be a good neighbor to those being sacrificed and eaten. We might also ask about what it means to be a good neighbor in Philadelphia where the murder rate is high and there is a culture of violence. And what does it mean to be a good neighbor to Guatemala and Mexico?

Ironic for me, a cultural anthropologist, to be making this argument, given than anthropologists abhor ethnocentrism (namely the idea that our own culture has the best way of thinking or acting). But we can have a false romanticism about indigenous peoples and their cultures. Yet, within every human culture we find the same human foibles. Oppressed peoples are not necessarily morally upstanding. And some cultural traditions are arguably inhuman. There are cultures that have violent conquest as part of their beliefs (such as the ancient empires). There are cultures that subjugate women and the women themselves accept their subjugation (almost all of the cultures of the world), and there are even cultures that have institutionalized the sodomy of boys by older men (such as in certain African tribes).

It seems, I reflect, that cultures have become our new gods. Each culture, even each lifestyle within a culture, has now become ultimate realities that cannot be questioned, gods to be worshipped no matter their objectively negative characteristics. And we have a new syncretism because we feel all of these gods ought to be tolerated, placed as it were within our pantheon. Practitioners of the new syncretism can regard themselves as more broad-minded, more tolerant, in fact, superior to those (such as Catholics, Orthodox, Evangelicals, or Muslims) who believe that there is such a thing as truth. Pilate asked Jesus who he was and Jesus told Pilate that he was the King of the Jews and that he had come to bring truth to the world. Pilate then sarcastically asked, “What is truth?” Pilate’s question reverberates down the ages, all the way to our breakfast table in Santa Elena, Peten.

Thinking as an anthropologist, now, I reflect on how nicely this I’m-OK-you’re-OK syncretism fits with our global economy. We will not act forcefully for human rights in China so long as we can benefit from their cheap labor and loans. We will not act forcefully for human rights in Saudi Arabia, so long as we can benefit from their oil and investments. We will not act forcefully for human rights in Guatemala, so long as we can benefit from its coffee and its meat exports.

In contrast, The Way of Jesus is demanding, just as demanding as it was during the Roman Empire. The Way demands that we not stand by and watch our neighbors being misguided or mistreated. Even worse, if it turns out that we ourselves turn out to be the oppressing Egyptians or Romans of our epoch. Jesus has already told us what he will say to us if we fail to help our neighbors, and by neighbors he meant absolutely everyone we come across. He said, “Away with you, you cursed ones, into the eternal fire prepared for the Devil and his demons. For I was hungry, and you didn’t feed me. I was thirsty, and you didn’t give me anything to drink. I was a stranger, and you didn’t invite me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me no clothing. I was sick and in prison, and you did not visit me”.

After the argument with Chris came to a mutually unsatisfying conclusion, we packed to drive to San Luis. My daughter, Pia, was so upset that she cried secretly in her hotel room. I wondered to myself whether I should have left Chris’ original comment unanswered or found a more graceful and earlier exit. I prayed that God would help me wipe away any bad feelings from the exchange. I also prayed that the reality of San Luis and the example of the Sisters of the Assumption would speak more loudly and compellingly than any intellectual disputation.

The drive to San Luis took about two hours. The highway was much better than I expected. The area under reconstruction turned out to be very minor. San Luis itself is a relatively modernized small town. It even has a bank and several pharmacies. The Catholic Church building in the central plaza of San Luis is small and simple, not much better than a warehouse with a corrugated tin roof and rows of hard benches inside. I had to look twice to be sure that it was indeed a church building. We had passed some Protestant churches on our way to the town center, and their churches seemed more churchlike than this small and plain building.

Sister Gladys and Sister Tere were waiting for us as we pulled in front of their house. They said they had expected us earlier in the morning. Sister Gladys, originally from Cuba, seems a strong and decisive woman despite her age of 74 and despite her walking with a cane due to arthritis. Sister Gladys directs the Maya Assumption Center. Sister Tere is originally from Spain. She is middle aged and is also the former Provincial of the Order for Central America, which includes Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras and Cuba. She is back in San Luis after having had a benign brain tumor removed in a surgery in her native Spain. She has spent many years in San Luis and is glad to be back.

We are taken to the volunteer’s apartment which is located in one of the Center’s main buildings which is located half-way down a steep and uneven, rocky street that leads into the countryside. The volunteer apartment has three medium-sized bedrooms, each containing two bunk beds and a wall of small closets for four volunteers. So, the apartment could accommodate up to 12 volunteers. There is a common room with a combined kitchen, dining and living room. There’s a small refrigerator and sink with countertop. On the countertop there is a toaster oven and an electric stovetop. There is a water purification system. Also in the common room, there’s a sofa, two armchairs, a circular dining table and 5 dining chairs. There is a shared bathroom and two showers, but we found that in the evenings, the water pressure is too low to shower. Even though there is not hot water, the cold shower is relief in the humid, tropical heat.

One window in the common room looks out over the school compound where thirty Mayan Indian young women from outlying hamlets live and study in the Assumption boarding school. The large windows in each of the volunteer bedrooms overlook palm and banana trees. Beyond the trees, you can look over the center’s farm which is partially hidden further down the valley and up the side of the adjoining mountain. The farm is actually quite advanced, using modern methods to raise chickens, pigs and cattle. Profits from the farm have covered almost half of the operating expenses of the Maya Assumption Center. And behind theses trees we look into the Mayan mountains, as they are called, mountains that are low and covered with tropical forest and with parts cleared for planting. Seeing that the apartment is more comfortable than the hotel of the prior night (but without ceiling fans or air conditioning), I told Sister Gladys that the apartment seemed like a luxury accommodation. Smiling, she replied that the volunteers need such accommodations because they often come from first-world countries.

We discovered quickly that we are not the only ones living in the apartment. There is Ana, a young veterinarian from Spain who has been working at the center’s farm for several months and who plans to stay until November. Having found both her personal and professional life unfulfilling, she decided to volunteer at the Maya Assumption Center and take time to reconsider the direction of her life. She looked happy. The Sisters are desperate to find a Spanish-speaking veterinarian replacement for her. There is Andrea from Mexico, just 18 years old. She is helping the students with their homework, especially mathematics and Spanish. Many of the Mayan Indian young women in the school are still more comfortable speaking in their native language. Andrea just graduated from an Assumption high school in Mexico and she plans to stay to volunteer for 10 months, and then continue her studies. She looks as if she is still getting her bearings. As we got to know the volunteers better, we find out that their families were surprised and unhappy that they decided to volunteer. Reflecting again on the shortness of our stay, we again wondered what we would really be able to offer. My 16 year old daughter, Pia, was deeply concerned about this because her Spanish is not strong. Emilia and Chris actually did have something to offer, namely, their workshop on stone carving, but 21 girls had expressed interest and we had only a total of eight stone carving kits (some kits had been carried by Chris and Emilia).

After quickly unloading our bags in our assigned volunteer rooms, we were invited to lunch at the residence of the sisters. We walk through the compound, passing by the school library which adjoins our volunteer apartment within the same building. Also in the building are the center’s administrative offices, where Sister Gladys has her personal office (which I am now using to write these words), a room for meetings and a small store that sells refreshments as well as the eggs and chicken produced by the farm. Walking away from our building and moving deeper into the compound, we pass a large cooking and mess hall for the young women and to the other side a large school hall auditorium with a stage and marimba (the Mayan musical instrument of choice). Walking up the hill, with tropical fruit trees to each side, we take a gravel path into the back of a house that has a small chapel with exposition of the Blessed Sacrament and a circle of benches for praying the Divine Office. Other rooms in the house include a laundry area and bedrooms for some of the sisters. Passing through the house and walking further uphill, we come to a second house with a large kitchen/dining area and a long dining room table where we have an excellent lunch.

At lunch, we meet the other sisters and we find that we are not the only short-term visitors to the center. One of the sisters is Sister Gisela, a Guatemalan in her 30s. She is full of energy and radiates self-confidence. We later find that she is quite musical. With a good voice and playing her guitar, she leads the music during the recitation of the divine office. There is also Sister Meche from Mexico. Sister Meche has a ready smile and shows quiet determination. She always sits with the people at religious services and spends time talking with them afterwards. There is Sister Ethel from El Salvador. She seems too young to have already taken perpetual vows, and I wonder if she is a postulant. But I am wrong. She is actually 39 years old and is in charge of the entire academic program of the Center. And in the afternoon, she teaches classes at the day school that the sisters recently opened for young men and women who live in the town and walk to school from their homes. Sister Ethel also coordinates the youth program for the parish. Living with the Sisters is also a local woman named Hilda. Hilda works in the house, and she is also catechist and also says the Divine Office. She may be considering whether she has a vocation.

Also at lunch and staying in the convent residence are two other women from Spain. One is named Paz. Paz is a sister of Sister Tere. She is visiting Guatemala for the first time. Paz is middle-aged and for many years has been a catechist for the Neocatechumenal Way. Paz just finished working in Ecuador for three years. She was helping three young Ecuadorian families establish the Way in a poor barrio. She and several Ecuadorian families took up residence in a poor barrio with little religious devotion. They found work to support themselves, and then through the example of their lives and of their words of faith, they sought to transform the community. Paz is preparing for her next assignment, which will be do to the same type of work as in Ecuador, but next on the island of Curacao with three Venezuelan families. The other visitor is Paz’s childhood friend, Hortensia. Hortensia is also a member of the Neocatechumenal Way, but has stayed in Spain and in her own parish because of her family and work responsibilities. I wondered whether the Neocatechumenal Way might be for some families in our parish in our parish and resolve to explore it more.

After lunch we sing a prayer of thanksgiving, and Sister Gladys takes us to meet with Sister Tere. Sister Tere’s office is just behind the dining room. We realize that that we are in a much larger house that opens out the street. Sister Tere is in charge of women’s development programs at the Assumptions throughout the territory. Showing us a map on the wall of her office, she explains that San Luis is the largest county (or municipio as they call them) in the Peten. San Luis has dozens of outlying hamlets where people live and work their lands. She explains that women find great difficulty bettering themselves and their families because they must get permission from their men, and the men often prohibit involvement with the nun’s projects. The culture of machismo, she explained, leaves women with very low self-images. For years the sisters worked with the women to encourage them. It takes hours to reach these outlying hamlets where most of the people of San Luis live. When the Sisters first began work in San Luis, they often had to walk to these hamlets. Getting to the hamlets now takes less time because some roads have completed. These are rough back roads by US standards. When it rains, however, many of these roads become impassable. The Sisters’ navigate them with their Toyota truck.

Sister Tere continued that the Q’eqchi Indians that now constitute most of the inhabitants of the territory of San Luis are actually immigrants from the highlands. They began moving into the county about 50 years ago, drawn by government offers of land titles for homesteading. This drew thousands of land-poor Q’eqchi Indians from the neighboring highland territory of Coban. Some of the immigrants to San Luis are also internal refugees from the horrific violence in Guatemala during the late 1980s and 1990s. During those years many Indians found themselves caught between massacres by the Guatemalan army, on the one hand, and selective executions by guerrillas seeking to overthrow the government, on the other.

On a wall of the next room was a calendar that prominently displayed a picture of a priest. I asked who he is. The Sister explained that he is Monsignor Gerardi. He had worked on behalf of the Archdiocese of Guatemala, to collect thousands of accounts of political massacres and murders. Later, I paged through one of his four volumes of accounts from the Sisters’ library. It has been difficult for Monsignor Gerardi to get the witnesses to come forward. The day after Monsignor Gerardi presented his work publicly, he was found murdered at his residence. His head with its considerable knowledge had been crushed with stones. His killers have never been brought to justice. 2008 is the 10th anniversary of his martyrdom. The same calendar, I later found, hangs throughout San Luis. Of the assassination of Monsignor Gerardi, Pope John Paul II stated, “I fervently hope that this terrible crime, which has cost the life of a true servant of peace and a tireless worker for all the different groups in the country, will demonstrate clearly how pointless violence is.”

Returning to issue of the Q’eqchi immigration into San Luis, Sister Tere went on to explain that the original inhabitants of San Luis were Maya-Mopan Indians. The Maya-Mopan refused to get titles, saying the titles were unnecessary because all the land has always belonged to them. But they were wrong. After a number of years, they discovered that they had become landless. As a result, many Maya-Mopan have moved to the neighboring country of Belize, where say they have more economic opportunity.

Now, there is a new land problem. The crops do not generate enough money for the rising consumer expectations of the Maya of San Luis. Electricity, radios, and televisions now extend into remote hamlets. The Maya can now see all the things they do not have and see how happy those who do have these things seem to be. There are now television antennae protruding from wooden huts with dirt floors. The Maya Q’eqchi now want the same things as American—cell phones, motorcycles, cars, fashionable clothes—but they don’t have enough money. One way to get money is sell the land to pay a coyote to sneak a man to the United States where more money can be made and then sent back to the family. The stays in the US are typically for three or more years. If a man borrows the money to get into the US, it may take a year or more to pay back the loan. Then the family can start receiving its contributions. The Western Union office is a prominent building in town.

Who now buys the lands of the Maya Q’eqchi? Sister Tere and Sister Gladys say the lands are now passing into the hands of drug traffickers to grow marijuana and of large landholders to pasture cattle after clearing the forests. The cattle are sold in Guatemala City or nearby Belize. The best meat, the Sisters say, is exported to wealthier countries, including the United States. As I listen, I reflect the global consumer economy will be the true destroyer of Mayan culture. The Mayan culture, we anthropologists know, was based on living on the land, on families working the land together, and on growing corn. This culture extends back thousands of years. Now, the land is being lost, the corn is being replaced by marijuana and cattle, and the men are being exported to the United States. Yet, we are no better than the Maya Q’eqchi. We are susceptible to the same sensual allures and to wanting many possessions. In fact, we already have everything they desire, but we want more. The first temptation of Jesus while very hungry during His fast in the desert was to turn the stones into bread, as Satan slyly suggested. Jesus gave us the answer for all time, when he responded that man does not live by bread alone, but also on every word of God.

After the general orientation with Sister Tere, we met with Sister Gladys to discuss the plan for our stay. I worried aloud what we could offer except the burden of their having to take care of us. Without hesitation, Sister Gladys responded that our visit gives them hope. I was moved because in my heart I had thought the same and had also planned to accompany them and the people of San Luis in prayer. Sister Gladys also made clear that the Sisters needed an update of their brochure to help them raise funds. The farm and low tuition paid by students does not cover the expenses of the center. Almost all of the buildings were constructed with funds from one or another US and European foundation. Sister Gladys gave us permission to take pictures everywhere we go with them, and she also revealed a detailed, typewritten schedule for our stay. We would tour their school and their farm, visit women’s groups both in town and in a hamlet, and see an agricultural cooperative they had helped found. The schedule also had a day for us to visit the ancient Mayan ruins of Tikal, one of the wonders of the world, which only a three-hour drive away. We also had time set aside to observe the celebrations that are a part of the annual feast of the patron saint of the town, Saint Louis, the 9th King of France.

I read the Office of Readings for the feast of St Louis. He ruled France during the 13th century. King St. Louis was very devout. In a letter, he counseled his son to promote virtue in the kingdom of France and to favor the needs of poor over those of the rich. This holy king died in North Africa on his way to recapture the tomb of Jesus in a crusade. Reflecting on St. Louis, I wondered where are such holy leaders today? Now, we don’t even expect holy men to govern us; in fact, we expect the opposite. In the US, our courts guarantee the freedom of speech for deceptive, commercials, for bawdy sitcoms on television, and for coarse, sacrilegious language. What would have good St. Louis done? And, do our leaders risk their lives by accompanying the troops into battle?

After a light dinner, we went to the 6 P.M. religious services and discover that there are still others working in San Luis, namely, the Combione missionary fathers. About two years ago, the Combiones assigned four priests to San Luis—Father Agustin, (a Mayan Cakchiquel Indian from Guatemala), Father Pedro (from Spain), Father Joseph (from Italy), and Father Jose Manuel (from Mexico). There is also a Spanish Combione brother called Brother Jesus (from Spain), and a lay Combione volunteer named David. David is a young American from Chicago. He teaches English at the Maya Assumption Center in the afternoons and has committed to spending three years in San Luis. There are also two physician Combione volunteers working at the parish clinic. They are a husband-wife team from El Salvador together with their toddler daughter. I had never heard of the Combione missionary fathers and found that they are a newly founded order and they work principally in Africa. Three of the Combione priests and the brother previously worked in Sudan.

The Rosary lasted almost an hour and the mass another hour. The small church was packed, and the music was lively, sounding like popular Mexican music and sung with the accompaniment of guitar, tambourine and a rhythmic tapping from an instrument I could not see. The Rosary prayers were those dedicated to Our Lady of Guadalupe. The introductory and concluding prayers are different from those in our parish. The Virgin of Guadalupe goes back to just after the Spanish conquests and refers to Mary’s appearing as a young Indian woman who spoke in the Indian language and performed many miracles. Mass conversions followed her apparition. The people of San Luis feel close to the Virgin of Guadalupe. Pope John Paul II has named the Virgin of Guadalupe as Patroness of all of the Americas and also the Patroness of the new evangelization of the world. There was singing after each decade.

After a short break, the Mass started. After the readings including an Old Testament account of Moses leading his people through the Sinai desert, to our shock, Father Jose Manuel stepped back and let a lay religious leader give the homily. The theme for the week is emigration to work in the United States. There are prayers for loved ones working for their families while living in the U.S., prayers for their own safe journey through the desert, prayers for them to be able to preserve a moral life while in the United States, and even prayers for the good people of United States.

After communion and to our complete surprise, Father Jose Manuel introduced us, after all five of us stood up, asked whether one of us would like to address the congregation. He said that we could speak in English if we wanted because many people understand some English because they have lived in the United States. After failing to get my wife, Pia, to talk for us in native Spanish, I took the microphone and went to the front of the church. Speaking in my non-native Spanish, I thanked them for their warm welcome to San Luis I explained that we had come to San Luis and the Maya Assumption Center to visit for just a week. We had come to listen, to understand and to learn. I said that we were well aware of the suffering and exploitation of people working without papers in the United States. We recognize the need for justice. I concluded by saying that just as we pray for our conversion here in San Luis, we also pray for the conversion of the United States.

After Mass ended and Father Manuel gave his blessing, no one left the building. Instead, we were told to wait a few minutes and that food would be served. As people waited, people conversed. I saw that the Sisters and the other Combione priests were spread throughout the crowd and talking with the people. A signal was given and we streamed into an adjoining building that also looked like a warehouse, but unadorned and dingy. There, each of us received two, delicious tamales wrapped in banana leaves and a traditional, hot corn drink. Casting aside the advice of the travel medicine clinic at the University of Pennsylvania, we decided to eat the food and drink the drink. People stood and talked for a time and gradually streamed out into the street. The Tuesday evening religious services and events had lasted two and a half hours, but the experience was exhilarating.
I resolved that I would go to the Rosary Service at 4:30 AM the next morning. Worrying whether I would wake up on time, I was told there would be fireworks announcing it to the town. Back at our apartment, since the water pressure was now too low, I showered by panning water from a bucket while standing in the shower stall. We collapsed into our beds, reapplying our mosquito repellant. We all wondered how well we would sleep in the heat I fell asleep immediately.