Indigenous rights Archive

Sipacapa five years later: Still not for sale?

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: June 26, 2010Posted in: Featured, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, Mining, WhyTags: , , , , , , , ,
Sipacapa five years later: Still not for sale?

(Above: A poster produced by COPAE, the Pastoral Commission on Peace and Ecology, displayed around the region: “I am Sipacapan and I care for my territory because: Where there is mining, there are contaminated rivers. Scientific studies demonstrate that the water of the Quivichil and Tzala rivers are contaminated with high levels of heavy metals and should not be used. ALL MINES CONTAMINATE.”)

SIPACAPA, Guatemala – For many Guatemalans, the very name of this town has become a symbol of the indigenous resistance to transnational mining operations that has swept this land in recent years.
Last week, on the fifth anniversary of an event that launched that resistance, hundreds have gathered to celebrate, but the mood was anything but celebratory.

Five years ago on this day, on June 18, 2005, the villages of this rural municipality held a series of community consultas, or plebiscites, expressing their unanimous rejection of the presence of international mining companies. The mostly Mayan residents of this region had just learned that their government had literally sold the land out from underneath them, granting hundreds of mining concessions to international corporations in the decade since the peace accords without consulting with them.

These consultas, the basis for the form of participatory democracy practiced by indigenous peoples all over the world, are required under international law, but the Guatemalan government had chosen not to observe that law. So the people decided to hold their own consulta, and their action inspired a movement. Sipakapa was the subject of a documentary celebrating the victory – “Sipakapa no se vende,” or “Sipakapa is not for sale.”

Growing like a quiet grassfire, the movement spread across the Guatemalan highlands, and now, an estimated 600,000 people have voted “NO” to the mining operations and to other transnational activities on their lands. The government has responded by declaring the consultas nonbinding, but the movement continues to grow, and it has been recognized internationally.

There was every reason to celebrate on this anniversary. After five years of struggle, indigenous Guatemalan voices were being heard around the world. The Interamerican Commission on Human Rights had just recommended that operations at the mine be suspended pending further study, following a University of Michigan investigation revealing elevated levels of contaminants in rivers and in the blood of nearby residents. Now, United Nations Special Rapporteur James Anaya, probably the world’s highest-ranking authority on indigenous rights, was touring the region, listening to the peoples’ concerns and expressing his support.

But on the day of the anniversary, a sea of grim faces gathered at City Hall and looked as their elected officials explained why they had accepted 8 million quetzales, the equivalent of $980,000 U.S., from Montana Exploradora, the Guatemalan subsidiary of the transnational mining company Goldcorp.

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Sipacapa’s location at the edge of the highly productive Marlin Mine, along with its very visible role as a symbol of indigenous resistance made it a logical target for Goldcorp’s future investment, so it came as no surprise when the company began offering money to local officials for development projects, “no strings attached.” Until now, they had resisted.

Under the traditional form of government practiced here and in most indigenous communities, leaders are not authorized to make major decisions without involving the citizenry in public meetings – direct democracy at its most pure. In Sipacapa, some were saying, this had not happened.

Mayor Delfino Tema, dressed in white, was there to set the record straight. He explained to several hundred townspeople that municipal officials had accepted the offer only after consulting with local residents and hearing from several communities that they wanted to have access to the funds. Furthermore, the money will be administered by the company, not by the municipality, he said, to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest.

“There are those who say we’ve already been dining on the money given to us by the company. Nothing could be further from the truth – we haven’t even seen the money,” he insisted. “The community rules, and we are going to do what you say. We’re going to decide together how to spend this money in community meetings that are open for all to attend. We are going to continue in the struggle against the mining company.”

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Applause was polite but muted, and the crowd filed out of the municipal hall and made its way across town to the parish hall for the celebratory Mass and lunch. The muttering and the placards indicated there was widespread discontent.

Meanwhile, I took advantage of the moment to call aside Arcilia Cruz Carillo of the nearby town of Canoj – one of few women mayors in the region – to ask her thoughts about Tema’s comments. Tema, as municipal mayor, serves as the chief administrator for the entire municipality of Sipacapa, which includes Canoj and all the other towns and settlements throughout the region.

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Carillo was not happy. “The truth is, it’s pretty confusing because our leaders first said no, then yes. We’re seeing our water contaminated, our community divided – so it’s pretty sad, but we’ve always been courageous in this struggle. We pray to God that this company take its money back and leave as soon as possible.”

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It was standing room only in the Catholic Church, decked out in green satin for the occasion. I didn’t know what to expect; Father Mario had declined from speaking with me before the meeting, saying he was a recent arrival in the community, and my friends from COPAE said he’d been reluctant to get involved.

Nonetheless, it didn’t take long to realize that this would be no ordinary Mass.

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Father Mario, robed in white, stepped quietly to the pulpit and took a cue from Jesus’ sermon to his disciples from the book of Luke.

“Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, what ye shall put on. The life is more than meat, and the body is more than raiment. Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fowls? 


“Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Then he switched to Matthew, and things began to get interesting.

“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. You cannot serve God and the mineria.”

Padre Mario was indeed taking a side.

“What is the kingdom of God?” he asked them. “Some say it’s the afterlife. I say it’s justice; that’s what we’re all looking for. But we all know the other god can be money, which can become an idol.”

He then delivered an eloquently rendered sermon that recalled Jesus warning his disciples of pending betrayal.
“We look for miracles at the last minute,” he warned. “A poor people is easy to buy; but the salaries will be carried to the cantinas, to dark places that divide my people.

“God created a garden, not a desert…what are you doing, my people?”

Communion was celebrated in silence; the closing prayer was prayed. But before we took our leave, Padre Mario opened the meeting for public comments.

“Remember our enemies are not of flesh and blood,” said Juan Montorroso of the Council of Pueblos of San Marcos, of which Sipacapa is a part. “They are the transnationals who are on top of us, manipulating us. The dignity of Sipacapa is worth much more than 8 million quetzales.

“Remember, the Spaniards deceived our grandfathers with a few pieces of gold. What will we tell our children and our grandchildren of the decision we are making right now?”

After the service, Montorroso reflected on the current situation in Sipacapa.

“This confusion is created by the company itself; it’s a part of their strategy,” he said. “They’re looking for multiple mechanisms to divide the community. But Sipacapa is a community with a great deal of dignity, and I think at the end of the day, they will reaffirm to Latin America and to the world that dignity is not for sale. “

A few scenes from Sipacapa’s celebration.


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Podcast: Mayans say “No to mining, yes to life”

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: June 25, 2010Posted in: Featured, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, Mining, PodcastsTags: , , , ,
Podcast: Mayans say “No to mining, yes to life”

(Above: James Anaya, U.N. Special Rapporteur on Indigenous Rights (left), and Mayan leader Francisco Mateo Rocael, flanked by thousands of Mayan mining resisters at Zaculeu, the Mam Maya ruins outside Huehuetenango.)

HUEHUETENANGO, Guatemala – They arrived in pickup trucks, in school buses and on foot, resplendent in the vibrant purples and reds, blues and yellows of their native highlands. They came by the thousands to witness a day that would mark history for their people: a visit from James Anaya, the world’s highest-ranking indigenous advocate, U.N. Special Rapporteur for Indigenous Rights.

“There are some who believe the Mayans are gone, and all that remains are these ruins,” a man dressed in white was speaking from the stage. “We are here to tell them: we are alive, and we are hear to bring these monuments back to life.”

Listen to the podcast:

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Goldcorp’s Marlin Mine: “Development for death”

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: June 24, 2010Posted in: Featured, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, Mining, WhyTags: , , , , , , , ,
Goldcorp’s Marlin Mine: “Development for death”

Author’s note (June 24, 2010): Today’s Prensa Libre carried the news that the Guatemalan government has agreed to abide by the requests of the Interamerican Commission on Human Rights, the Catholic Church, the International Labor Organization and the U.N. Special Rapporteur on Indigenous Rights and has ordered the temporary suspension of operations at the Marlin Mine. Goldcorp, the Canadian owner, has announced it will continue operations. “We welcome this opportunity to demonstrate once again Goldcorp’s record of respectful, environmental sound operations at Marlin,” Goldcorp CEO Chuck Jeannes was quoted in Mineweb, a publication covering the mining industry.
This is the second in a series about Anaya’s recent visit to Guatemala and the issues surrounding that visit.

SAN MIGUEL IXTAHUACAN – The road up into this mountain town seems to wind forever upward, and I’m frustrated because we’re late. The meeting with the U.N Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous People, James Anaya, is scheduled to begin his meeting with the people at 8. I don’t understand why Joshue is stopping for breakfast.

I needn’t have worried. I’m with Josue Navarro and Bart Van Besien, two members of the dedicated staff of COPAE, the Pastoral Commission for Peace and Ecology, and their peaceful trajectory is in keeping with local traditions.
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We arrive at the parish hall to find it filled with animated people in their colorful native dress, milling excitedly around a spectacular mandala created from colored sawdust and flowers in the center of the floor – but no James Anaya. Feeling lucky to find a seat, I settle in and wait; listen to a few speeches and a few marimba tunes, shoot a few photos and wait some more.
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This is a big day in San Miguel Ixtahuacan. This small town has drawn big headlines in the past few months, and has been the subject of several documentaries. That’s because the transnational Goldcorp has a tremendously profitable mine here, the Marlin Mine, which many in this Mam Maya community say they never agreed to.
Residents complain of strange rashes on their children’s skins and other symptoms, of cracks in the walls of houses near the mine, and of repression from local authorities when they dare to speak out against the mine. A recent study by University of Michigan physicians showed elevated levels of heavy metals in the blood of residents living near the mine, but said they were uncertain whether those levels constituted a risk.

Goldcorp officials – here in Guatemala the subsidiary is called Montana Exploradora – say there is no evidence of contamination, and the government so far has agreed.

The wait stretches into an hour, and suddenly everyone gets up to leave. Everyone seems to know what’s going on except Bart and me. “We’re going to the field,” someone explains to me. The field? “Yes, that’s where the helicopter is coming.”

Sure enough, everyone was gathering around a big field, holding up signs that expressed their rejection of the mine.

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The helicopter landed to great fanfare and paparazzi, and James Anaya emerged from the helicopter: a tall, photogenic man with Native American features and a gentle smile. He and his entourage were greeted by local leaders and led back to the parish for the proceedings.
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The first order of business was a ceremony. A group of beautiful young Mam Maya women and men gather around the mandala and perform a graceful dance in honor of the sacred elements, the water, represented by the earthen pots they carry, and the earth, represented by the green tree seedlings they “plant” at the center of the mandala.

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Now it was Anaya’s turn. Hundreds of traditionally dressed Mam Maya highlanders looked on with bated breath as Anaya, perhaps the world’s highest-ranking authority on indigenous issues, knelt before the altar to light the red candle.

“Red signifies abundance, energy and life, and whoever lights the red candle has the responsibility of looking out for the well-being of our community,” Sister Maudilia had said, handing the matches to Anaya.
The task was not as easy as it seemed. The wick was short, and the flame wavered and threatened to fail. Anaya, however, was up to the task. He persisted, working with the candle and nurturing the flame until it grew steady.
The onlookers erupted into applause.

Carmen Mejia, a leader of the San Miguel Association for Integral Development, took the mike and began with a short history of the mining company’s entrance into the community.

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“They entered under deceit and lies; they were offering productive jobs for people here. They didn’t say they were a mining company; they never said they were here to extract gold and silver. They said it was a project for development, and they began acquiring lands. Once they had some land they began to coerce the neighbors to sell their land. ‘If you don’t sell to us, you’ll be surrounded and buried,’ they were told if they resisted.”

The company continued, she said, manipulating and gathering signatures under false pretenses.

“The company is operating illegally, because it lacks the social license to be here,” she said. “The people of San Miguel were never consulted.”

Exploration of the mine began, and that’s when the damage began occurring, she said. Neighbors began speaking out.

“The answer was criminalization, persecution, the threatening of campesinos and campesinas. In 2007, we had seven comrades processed; five were liberated, but two were condemned to three years of prison and liberated, under the condition that they stop speaking out against the mine. In 2008, eight women campesina leaders, indigenous Mam Maya women, were under an order of capture, just for speaking out for their rights. In 2009, five campesinos were arrested and charged, and in 2010 five more. And why? Because the people of San Miguel have demanded their rights.

“They’ve spoken out for their right to life, for their right to water; for their right to safe homes. In San Miguel, more than 120 houses have been cracked and broken, their lives are in danger…. They’ve spoken out for the environment, for the rivers and the flora and the fauna that are being contaminated.

“This is what we’re living here in San Miguel; we’re seeing more illnesses, in the people and in the animals, including animals that have died after drinking contaminated water.

“Seeing all of this, seeing all of the manipulation and the criminalization and the conflict that has occurred at the community level, we have come to the conclusion that an extractive industry like a mine is not compatible with a Mam community.”

Anaya heard from a labor leader who said there were miners who had been injured and who knew about the contamination but weren’t free to talk; a women’s rights leader who said the company claims to be giving women opportunities but that they are being manipulated and exploited; and from a number of others.
“Next you’ll go and speak to the government officials and the mining officials, and they’ll tell you we’re just a little grupito of troublemakers,” said a man introduced as Don Ricardo. “But we are not a grupito. We are thousands. We represent our communities, and we represent many more who are afraid to speak up because of the reprisals.”
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Sister Maudilia López, of FREDEMI (Front in Resistance of San Miguel), a Catholic sister and a Mam Maya leader of the resistance against the mining, presented the officials with handmade earthen pots used for carrying water.

“These are humble works, but they are made by our own hands, and we make them not to do damage but to give life – to share the sacred good that is water,” Maudilia said earnestly. “I ask myself, why are we doing damage to our Mother Earth, and to all of the mothers who make these pots from our Mother Earth? This is not a development for life, it’s a development for death.”
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The next stop was with Alcalde Joel Domingo Obidio Bamaca, mayor of San Miguel Ixtahuacan. “There’s a group that says yes, and a group that says no – and I can’t take sides, because I’m the mayor of all the people,” Obidio told the dignitaries. “I’m not a scientist and I’m not an environmentalist; I can’t say one way or another. It’s complicated.”

After a few minutes, the public was asked to leave and the officials held a private meeting.

The next stop on the tour was a trip to the tiny settlement of Ajel, home of Crisanta Hernandez, where the light of day shines through huge cracks in the walls and ceilings. Like about 120 other families whose homes have opened large cracks since the beginning of mining operations, she believes it’s the constant grinding of heavy equipments, trucks and blasting in the area – once a quiet neighborhood on a mountainside – that has destroyed the houses.
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“We’re afraid to be living inside this house now, but it’s all we have,” Hernandez said. “It’s a great damage they’ve done to us. We worked for years in the fincas, suffering in the rain and in the sun, for years we ate cold tortillas with salt, to save the money to buy this house. We wanted to have a dignified home to leave for our children…it’s not fair.”

The company denies any responsibility.

Crisanta Perez, however, is the first to speak, and she tells of her arrest in 2008 and again in 2009 for speaking out against the mine. She tells the officials that she was in hiding but returned home to give birth and a few days later was apprehended by officers and very nearly taken to jail but that local citizens intervened and demanded her release. Ever since, she has been afraid to leave her home.
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Grahame Russel of the Canandian group Rights Action tells Crisanta’s story here, with video and background information. http://www.rightsaction.org/articles/Goldcorp_&_Mam_woman_020410.html

Dozens of journalists and supporters crowded into the tiny home to listen. When a villager began to speak about the skin rashes and prepared to undress her baby to expose the condition, Anaya asked us to leave so they could talk alone.

As we waited, neighbors prepared us a delicious ginger atol – a drink made from corn – and chicken soup.

The next stop was the Marlin Mine, where the reception was decidedly colder; the public and media waited out in the rain while Anaya’s team went inside and met with company officials.

After that, we bid our farewells and headed up to Huehuetenango, the site of Thursday’s gathering. I was left with an image of the Marlin Mine, a vast extension of brown amid the rolling green mountains and a bluish green tailings lake that stretched for what seemed like a mile.

I was reminded of the statistic that perhaps holds the greatest impact for the people of these regions: In an hour, this mine uses the same amount a Mayan family uses in 22 years.

Videos:
An excellent short documentary, “La Mina,” by Paul Plett and Esther Epp-Tiessen for the Mennonite Central Committee: http://mcc.org/stories/videos/la-mina

And a four-part investigative series by the Canadian broadcasting network CTV, “Paradise Lost”:
http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20100415/w5_paradise_lost_100415/20100417

Images from San Miguel Ixtahuacan and Ajel on the day of Anaya’s visit:


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Indigenous Guatemalans to UN: No to mining, yes to life

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: June 17, 2010Posted in: Featured, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, Mining, WhyTags: , , , , , , , ,
Indigenous Guatemalans to UN: No to mining, yes to life

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HUEHUETENANGO, Guatemala – They arrived in pickup trucks, in school buses and on foot, resplendent in the vibrant purples and reds, blues and yellows of their native highlands. They came by the thousands to witness a day that would mark history for their people: a visit from James Anaya, the world’s highest-ranking indigenous advocate, U.N. Special Rapporteur for Indigenous Rights.

We fell into step behind a river of them making their way to Zaculeu, the ancient Mayan ruin on the outskirts of the city, and they poured into the entrance. A sun-bronzed elder, her hair done up in the beautifully woven cloth traditional in her village, lit up when she saw me and embraced me, greeting me as though she had known me for years.

“Buenos días,” she said. “Gracias – Thank you so much for being here.” I thought I saw tears in her eyes.
As we entered the complex an astounding vision met us: the pyramids, which I had seen a few hours before in their stark whiteness, were alive with people – thousands of them – traditionally dressed Maya people in all their glory.
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Many of them were holding placards. “No to mining; yes to life” read some. “San Juan Atitan says no to the multinational corporations,” read another.

“There are some who believe the Mayans are gone, and all that remains are these ruins,” a man dressed in white with a cowboy hat was speaking from the stage. “We are here to tell them: we are alive, and we are hear to bring these monuments back to life.”

The crowd roared its assent.

Anaya was here along with other members of the U.S. High Commission on Human Rights, part of a weeklong information-gathering tour in the wake of allegations that the Guatemalan government has illegally granted hundreds of mining concessions on indigenous lands to multinational corporations without their consent. What he was witnessing was part of a mass uprising of indigenous communities that are becoming increasingly organized and increasingly vocal in a desperate bid to protect their territories from growing pressure from the extractive industries.

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On Monday he met with government officials in the capital; on Tuesday he was greeted by an estimated 12,000 mostly indigenous people in the highland village of San Juan Sacatepequez who had come from all over the country to denounce the violation of their lands by foreign-owned mining companies, hydroelectric companies and a giant cement operation.

Wednesday the delegation made its way up into the remote mountain village of San Miguel Ixtahuacan, where the transnational giant Goldcorp operates a gold mine that has stripped away a vast stretch of these mountains.

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And today, the fourth day of his fact-finding mission, he began at the crack of dawn here amid the pyramids outside Huehuetenango, observing in an ancient Mayan ceremony. Later he heard from community leaders of a mass movement that has organized an estimated half-million indigenous people in a series of consultas, or referendums, around the country in a near-unanimous rejection of mining on their lands – referendums authorized under an international law signed by the Guatemalan government, but which it now declares to be nonbinding.

“This is a historic day for our people,” said Aniseto Lopez of FREDEMI (Front in Defense of San Miguel de Ixtahuacan). “We have been crying out for many years, but today our voice will be heard. This meeting won’t solve everything, but it’s another step ahead. And cost us what it will, we will achieve our goal – because reality is on our side.”

Tomorrow Anaya will deliver a report to the Guatemalan government. Meanwhile, here are some images from two incredible days with the indigenous resistance and their entreaty to James Anaya.


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Ex-combatant changes gun for microphone

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: May 18, 2010Posted in: Community Radio, Featured, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, WhyTags: , , , ,
Ex-combatant changes gun for microphone

It’s been 14 years since the brutal civil war that gripped this country for over three decades finally came to an end, and the former combatants that once manned guerilla posts in the mountains have all gone back to civilian life. For many of them, though, the battle for justice and equality has just taken a different form.

Take Alberto “Tino” Ramírez Recinos, for example, a community radio organizer who fought with the guerillas from the age of 15 after his father was kidnapped and killed by the military.


Alberto “Tino” Ramírez Recinos diagrams the logistics of the wartime guerilla radio operation in a Xela café.

“The war was my university,” said Tino, who was one of nine children in a poor campesino family. “I learned things I’d never dreamed of learning. I learned broadcasting, producing, technique – the war gives you the opportunity to learn other things besides killing people.”

After nearly a decade on the front lines, Tino was assigned to La Voz Popular, the short-wave radio station that transmitted the voice of the Guatemalan resistance. He worked with the production crew on the Mexican side of the border. And then, once a week, he’d wrap a cassette tape tightly in plastic bags and swim across the river that divides the two countries and through enemy territory to a broadcast post on the Guatemalan side. There they set up their short-wave radio and broadcast up to Tajumulco volcano, where that crew caught the message and transmitted it to the world.

The station reported the atrocities committed by the military, the massacres of villagers, the kidnappings, the terror campaign targeting the civilian population in the countryside. Most of what was happening was hidden from the rest of the world, because the mainstream media was censored and controlled by the military.

“People knew there was a war in Guatemala,” he said. “But what they didn’t know was the policy of targeting civilians on the part of the government and the military.”

An estimated 200,000 were killed during the war, most of them indigenous farmers in the countryside. Many of Tino’s compañeros died in that conflict, but he survived to carry the battle to a different field.

When the war finally came to an end in 1996, the peace accords called for a network of community radio stations to provide the people in the rural communities with a means to broadcast in their own language. But the government set up a bidding process for the frequencies, and the mostly indigenous groups that wanted to do community radio couldn’t afford the frequencies. So they set up their own pirate stations and began broadcasting anyway.

Currently some 200 community radio stations are operating without a license, broadcasting news, public health, educational and environmental programming in the native languages, but have been subject to harassment, raids and even imprisonment by local governments who dub them “pirates.”

Now La Voz Popular has evolved into Mujb’ab’l yol, whose name means “Meeting place of expression” in the Mam Maya language. Tino is one of its lead spokespeople, rallying groups around the country to support a new law that would legalize nearly a thousand community radio stations around the country and guarantee a frequency for at least one station in each of the country’s 333 municipalities.

“The war has ended; the guns have gone silent,” said Tino. “But since 1996 we’re continuing the struggle with a weapon that can be much more powerful: The microphone.”

It’s not the first such initiative; several others have been presented in the national legislature, but have all died in committee. Mark Camp, the director of operations for Cultural Survival based here in Guatemala, has been working with Mujb’ab’l yol to support their efforts, and he says he’s optimistic about its passage. It’s the first time the bill has gotten out of committee, and it’s garnered the support of the party currently in power, as well as the major opposition party and a number of smaller parties.

Meanwhile, the congress is in a recess until Aug. 1 and he, Tino and other community radio activists are meeting with each legislator to try and persuade them to support the bill. Their goal is to be ready to take the issue to a vote on Aug. 9, International Day of the World’s Indigenous People.

“We’re not there yet, but we feel our prospects are very good,” Camp said.

Below, a few photos Tino shared from the front lines of the battle to legitimize community radio in Guatemala.

Rosendo Pablo, broadcaster and founder of a community radio station.

The Maya grandmothers find in community radio the space to express their ideas, their dreams and their hopes.

Tino participates in a Maya ceremony invoking the passage of the community radio law.


The Association of Maya Women conduct a ceremony in favor of the community radio law.


Community radio has become the voice of the Maya priests.

A Mother’s Day thanks to Guatemalan world changers

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: May 9, 2010Posted in: Climate Change, Ecotourism, Forest protection, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, Reforestation, Urban green space, WhyTags:
A Mother’s Day thanks to Guatemalan world changers

Sunset, coming into Quetzaltenango/Xela

QUETZALTENANGO, Guatemala – I awoke this sparkling Mother’s Day to the sight of the Santa Maria volcano from my rooftop, rising green and conical over the mountains that surround this charming city in the highlands. Quetzaltenango, known to Guatemalans by its indigenous name, Xela, is quite literally a breath of fresh air.

The slap-slap-slap of the ladies in the kitchen next door “tortillando,” making tortillas, is punctuated by laughter and chitchat.

My beautiful mother and daughter are well – I’m grateful to them for all they’ve given to me, and I’m grateful to Skype, which allows me to stay connected from so far away. I’m grateful, too, for the capable and loving hands of all the mothers around me, who will be honored today with family dinners, special events and the spectacular bouquets being sold in the streets and markets.

But most of all, I am grateful to the Mother that sustains us all, the Madre Tierra whose fertile soil, abundant rivers, fruitful forests and vast oceans feed and shelter us, century upon century, and I am grateful to all of those who work to protect and nourish her. Since I have arrived in Guatemala, I have met so many.

My conversations with them have revealed the daily destruction of the environment on so many levels; people from taxi drivers to street vendors comment daily on the the increasingly intense heat, the rising floods, the contamination of rivers and lakes and air. The bad news is everywhere, and it can be overwhelming at times. But so is the good news: the fact that so many are dedicating their energy and talent to turning the tide.

To name just a few of those who have inspired me in their labors for Mother Earth in two short, interrupted weeks in Guatemala, and I wish them all a Happy Mother’s Day:

Magalí and Alejandra

Magalí Rey Rosa, the beautiful and eloquent voice for the wildlands whose work over the past three decades has awakened so many, and her daughter, Alejandra Marroquín, who is carrying the torch;

Bayron Medina

Bayron Medina, a descendant of Maya farmers in Alta Verapaz who now works for the Ministry of the Environment and the United Nations, empowering farmers in the countryside to protect their watershed and understand the value of the natural resources that are entrusted to their care;

Maria Jose España

Maria Jose España, Mario Rodrigo Gonzalez and Karla Maldonado of the Mapaches, a vibrant group in the capital who started out to save a forested canyon and evolved to a much broader mission;

Masa Critica Guatemala

Manuel Gomez and the rest of Masa Critica Guatemala, a group of dedicated cyclists determined to establish a right-of-way on the capital’s busy streets;

Steve Dudenhofer

Steve Dudenhofer and the rest of the crew at Ak Tenamit Maya School, where protecting the earth is an integral part of the curriculum, and graduates are making waves around the country in sustainable development, community health, women’s literacy and ecotourism projects;

Maite Rodriguez Blandon

Maite Rodriguez Blandón of Fundación Guatemala, whose work to empower Guatemalan women at the grassroots has taken many forms; lifting women out of poverty and giving them control of their land, she says, is one of the best ways to protect the environment;

Mega and Amanda from Rasta Mesa

Amanda and Mega at Rasta Mesa, working in Livingston to preserve the Garifuna culture and the land;

Eduardo Gularte y Gaby Diaz

Eduardo Gularte, Gaby Diaz and others from the Center for Communication and Development (CECODE), a group of dedicated communicators working to empower people at the local level to use communications tools for social change;

Edith Panameño

Edith Panameño, a schoolteacher working to establish a network of eco-clubs in the Lake Izabal region;

Silvia, Maria Isabel y Luis Rey

The Reyes family of Hotel Ajau, and all the other Guatemalan businesses striving to make their businesses sustainable under the Green Deal and Great Green Deal programs;

Rodolfo y Rai

Rodolfo Trinidad and Rai Aguirre

Rodolfo Trinidad of Campus Sustentable, Universidad Rafael Landivar, and Rai Aguirre of EcoCinergia, Universidad San Carlos, two groups working in a variety of imaginative ways to raise awareness on campus;

Community Radio activists at a CECODE workshop in Xela

Sandra, Tino, Maribel and many others in a network of community radio activists, who have labored in the face of government repression to bring relevant news and analysis to the indigenous and campesino communities of Guatemala, in their native languages;

Movimiento Agua y Juventud workshop in Xela

Alejandra Tiguila and a host of others with the Guatemala chapter of Movimiento Agua y Juventud (Water and Youth Movement), a dynamic group whose combined energy and commitment lit up the night – and my heart – at a Quetzaltenango retreat center recently.

The list could go on, and soon it will: my contact list has mushroomed, and I won’t be able to visit with a tenth of the worthy groups working on conservation issues around the country. Still, what I’ve seen in these two weeks gives many reasons for hope. Keep reading in the days and weeks ahead to meet these and many other world changers along the path of The Esperanza Project.

Surfing couches in Guatemala City

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: May 1, 2010Posted in: Featured, Forest protection, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, WhyTags: , , , ,
Surfing couches in Guatemala City

Top, Cristina Diaz; above, José David Diaz.

GUATEMALA CITY – The city sparkled below me like a carpet of diamonds, flung carelessly over the valley and clinging to the surrounding mountains. This is probably as beautiful as Guatemala’s capital city gets, I thought, then scolded myself for the unwelcome thought. I only know the city from reading about it, and from a single pass through to the airport. Hardly enough to judge. I should know by now that you can’t judge a city by the media coverage – look at Mexico City, for example, which I’ve come to love.

And indeed my first night in the Guatemala City has put the lie to the widespread condemnation of Central America’s largest megalopolis. Thanks to Couchsurfing.com, I had friends waiting for me with dinner and directions, maps and guides and ideas for my project. I took a taxi to their beautiful home next to a park in a leafy neighborhood in Zona 2 and received a family welcome.

Couchsurfing, for the uninitiated, is an international web-based community of people who like to travel and learn about other cultures, but don’t necessarily want to spend a fortune on hotels. Members offer to share their couch or bed with travelers for a night or two or three. There is no charge, only an unspoken agreement that someday you’ll offer a space for another traveler. Besides saving money, the system gives immediate entry and insight into the local culture.

I’d heard rave reviews about couchsurfing and decided one day to give it a try. Just a day ago, I sat in a café in St. Louis, Mo., and entered my profile, then scanned a list of about 70 members from Guatemala City. Jose David Diaz, a Guatemalan restoration ecologist who works with the Ministry of the Environment, was my top choice, and I dropped him a line. A few minutes later, I received a warm welcome.

The next night, here I was, eating dinner with him and his parents – Cristina, his mother, had made chili con carne Texas-style especially for me, and a wonderful watercress fritter, Swiss chard with red sweet peppers, corn on the cob and fresh corn tortillas. She’d outdone herself.

Jose David, for his part, shared with me information about several groups he knows about who are working on interesting projects – a watershed protection project in the eastern province of Baja Verapaz, near the city of Coban, where I have been planning to go already; and a collaborative project of indigenous communities in the Central Highlands who are working together to protect the forests from timber poaching and other destructive incursions. He also showed me an excellent website with topographic maps of the entire country, and gave me his brief overview of the country’s environmental status.

He worries about the petroleum exploration going on in the Lago del Tigre wetlands preserve to the south.

“It’s a very fragile, very special habitat and I just can’t bear to think of what would happen if there were an accident,” he said, and we both shuddered, thinking of the environmental disaster currently unfolding in the Gulf of Mexico. Just today, the news emerged that the mile-deep oil well leak is spewing not 1,000 barrels a day, but 5,000, and scientists fear it will wipe out fragile ecosystems along the Gulf Coast.

Jose David has given me his bedroom while he sleeps on a mattress in the living room. What amazing hospitality! It’s a beautiful room, spacious with a huge window looking out onto a tiny back garden. Pictures and mementos from his world travels are everywhere: Santiago Compostela and Madrid, Amsterdam and Africa, Honduras and El Salvador.

Yesterday’s trip was a good one – I sat next to a Guatemalan technology engineer with a renewable energy company who travels to China and Hong Kong regularly for his work.

He told me the Chinese are investing heavily in wind and solar, something I’ve been hearing in other quarters. He told me of driving through miles and miles of windmill farms on the outskirts of Shanghai – “This is not Don Quixote,” he exclaimed. “This is real!”

Meanwhile, we shared a moment of sadness about the massive oil slick approaches the Gulf Coast. Great Britain, he said, is pulling back from offshore drilling. So far, no word on this from the Obama administration.

At the same time, he was troubled by the harsh new Arizona law requiring immigrants to carry ID with them at all times – not surprising, as the law’s passage has dominated newspapers throughout Latin America and drawn criticism from regional leaders.

“Apparently Americans don’t realize that it’s the immigrants who keep the economy going,” he said. “After all, everybody in America comes from Europe. So they are immigrants too!”

Chevron’s new tactic called a threat to First Amendment

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: April 28, 2010Posted in: Ecuador, Featured, Forest protection, Indigenous peoples, Indigenous rights, WhyTags: , , , , , ,
Chevron’s new tactic called a threat to First Amendment

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An Amazonian community’s fifteen-year battle with Chevron is entering dangerous waters with the Chevron request for all of the 600 hours of unused footage from the filming of “Crude: The Real Price of Oil”.

The movie documented the environmental disaster left behind by Chevron-Texaco in an indigenous community of Ecuador, and the battle by Ecuadorian attorney Pablo Fajardo and others to force the company to clean up its mess and make reparations to the community. Readers may remember my post when the film came out, “Crude: The Movie Chevron Doesn’t Want You to See.”

Now Chevron is appealing a court order to pay the community millions of dollars in reparations, and it wants to see whether director Joe Berlinger’s raw footage contains any material that could bolster its defense. Now the company has asked a federal judge in New York to force Berlinger to hand over his footage.

“Documentary filmmakers play an essential role in exposing social injustice,” said Berlinger in a press release I received yesterday alerting me to the case. “As with traditional journalists, their sources must be protected or we risk the demise of this kind of comprehensive investigative reporting.”

As a journalist, this request sent a chill up my spine. One of the things we count on as reporters is the ability to protect our sources from danger or harassment that may come to them as a result of sharing information with us. Without the ability to promise confidentiality, there’s a “chilling effect” that occurs, and sources are less willing to share information.

“Unused film footage and other editorial materials from Crude are protected by the journalist’s
privilege under federal law and the First Amendment,” said Maura Wogan of Frankfurt Kurnit, the
lawyers for Mr. Berlinger and his production company. “We will vigorously oppose Chevron’s
attempt to get to these materials.”

Let’s hope they are successful. Meanwhile, I’m going to take full advantage of the opportunity to plug “Crude, The Movie,” which is now available on DVD from First Run Features and Netflix. If you haven’t seen it yet, put it on your must-see list. You won’t regret it.

Loving Livingston, Guatemala

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: April 2, 2010Posted in: Ecotourism, Featured, Forest protection, Guatemala, Indigenous rights, WhyTags: ,
Loving Livingston, Guatemala

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
–Redemption Song, Bob Marley

LIVINGSTON, Guatemala — I arrived by boat five days ago to this part Garifuna, part Maya fishing village on the Caribbean. The only way to arrive, in fact, is by boat.  IMG_3694

The 45-minute trip from Punta Gorda was a carnival ride without the safety features, and by the end, we were all soaked with sea spray, clutching each other and exhausted from screaming, so I was in no mood to deal with the hustlers trying to get me to go on their tour or head to their hotel. I strapped on my pack and headed straight up the hill to immigration, past the stalls of Bob Marley T-shirts, Rasta hats and finely embroidered and woven Maya crafts.

IMG_3369Livingston’s colorful cultural blend, its party atmosphere and surrounding ecotourism activities have combined to make it a natural tourism destination, and I’m surrounded by backpackers from around the world. The town is especially full this week, when Semana Santa brings tourists from all over Guatemala, as well. Overhead, the street is laced with red plastic flags advertising Gallo, the national beer; in the air is the thrum of the Garifuna drums.

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Right across from the immigration office is the beautiful Hotel Villa Caribe, a luxurious setting with a spectacular view of the sailboats and trawlers over the bay. Still wet from the sea spray and drained from the journey, I got some sideways glances from the genteel waitstaff, but I forged ahead, laid down my heavy pack and indulged in a couple of local specialties: coco loco – fruit juice and rum, served in a coconut – and tapado, a creamily delicious seafood soup made with coconut cream.

After lunch I was ready to find a place to settle in – at $130 a night, Villa Caribe was out of the question, but just up the hill, Hotel Rio Dulce had the right price at $12. I’m at the heart of the action, music coming from all sides, and I head across the street to the Happy Fish, where some punta drummers are pounding out a fast beat, punctuated by the traditional Garifuna instrument made of tortoise shells.

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Here I sampled the local Garifuna drink – Gifiti, it’s called, a crazy mixture of rum, anise, black pepper, cinnamon, and a variety of herbs from the jungle, with some marijuana seeds thrown in for good measure. It’s supposed to give you energy, and I could definitely use some of that.

On Day 2 I set off to find a more conducive work environment, and the Casa Rosada has proven to be just the place. It’s a nice walk to the hubub on the harbor, but it’s a world apart; this charming guest house offers beautifully furnished cabañas, colorfully painted regional furniture, a coffeehouse atmosphere and spectacular breezes and views of the bay. Importantly, there’s also a reliable internet signal here, and delicious meals with vegetarian options. Multilingual owners Sandra Goossens and Javier Putul are a wealth of local knowledge; Javier is a homegrown Kekchi Maya native, and Sandra is Belgian. At $20 a night, it’s a bargain.

I had planned to lay low, relax a bit and catch up on writing this week, but it wasn’t meant to be. The first day I stumbled across the office of FUNDA-ECO, Guatemala’s largest environmental foundation. By Tuesday, I’d found Buga Mama, the green-certified restaurant and ecotourism operated by the Maya school Ak Tenamit, which is promoting important social and environmental initiatives in the Maya communities. Wednesday I was invited to the nearby village, Plan Grande, to check out a village ecotourism project. And Thursday I met the owners of a Garifuna eco-cultural initiative, Rasta Mesa. Clearly a lot is going on here; I made plans to stay in the area for another week and check out their programs. Sadly, between juggling interviews, soaking up a little local culture and making plans for next week, not a lot of writing has happened.

I have, however, taken many photos; Livingston is nothing if not photogenic. Here are a few of the best.


Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

Road to change for the Maya

By
Tracy Barnett
Published: March 29, 2010Posted in: Belize, Ecotourism, Featured, Forest protection, Indigenous rights, Reforestation, Toledo Ecotourism Association, WhyTags: , , , , , , ,
Road to change for the Maya

(above: Nathan and Japhet Chun demonstrate the squawking sound made by the moving parts of the heliconia plant, leading to the common name “parrot plant” and its use as a Maya plaything.)

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SAN ANTONIO VILLAGE, Belize – The green school bus was already full when I climbed aboard in Punta Gorda. It was market day, and all the Maya ladies with their colorful satin dresses sat amid their purchases and their children, ready to make the journey home. As my eyes sought an opening, one of the men in the back got up and approached me with a broad smile.

It was Reyes Chun, chair of the Toledo Ecotourism Association, who lives in San Antonio Village, which is why I chose to come here. “This is my wife, Jenny,” he said, pointing to a smiling woman in purple satin, her hair combed carefully into a tight knot. “She will take care of you.”

Jenny and I chatted for the 40-minute drive, most of it down rugged and rutted gravel roads through the jungle. I asked her about the coming of the Guatemala Link Road, a feeder road for the Puebla to Panama highway, which will pave the way for the Free Trade Zone of the Americas. The highway is slated to run a few miles from her village, I have been told.

I’ve read a consultant’s report warning of severe environmental and community degradation in the highway’s wake if the government doesn’t provide a plan for their protection, and San Antonio is on the list of affected communities. Jenny doesn’t know about this. She’ll be glad to get to town more quickly, and she hopes that with the highway, electricity will come to the rest of the village. For now, however, this all seems a distant mirage.

The afternoon sun beat down unmercifully on the zinc roof of the one-room cement-block house, but still it was a welcome respite from the wilting rays outside. Another, larger one, wooden with a thatched roof, was behind it – later I learned it was the kitchen. But now it was time for Jenny’s son Noel to take me to the guesthouse, which would be my quarters during my stay.

IMG_2796 He led me out past the rice drying on huge mats in the hot sun, down a footpath and into the jungle. There in a clearing along the path was a thatch-roofed wooden building with everything I needed – a table and chairs, beds with mosquito netting, a comfortable wooden-framed love seat, a large patio looking out onto the jungle – and best of all, a colorful hammock. This is where I was to wait until someone came for me.

Under the guesthouse plan devised by the Toledo Ecotourism Association, different families would come at different times of day to take me to their homes to share meals with them. A variety of tours and activities were available: a village tour, a farm tour, a walk to the waterfall, lessons in embroidery or basketweaving or tortilla making.

IMG_2811 I signed up for all three of the tours and stepped into the guesthouse, a blessed respite from the unrelenting sun. The thatch was much cooler than the zinc-roofed house below, designed to let the breezes flow through while providing a thick mat of protection from the relentless rays. Now I understood why each family had a thatch house as well as the cement and zinc one; the thatch house was cool and comfortable, but it took a lot of work to construct and maintain, Noel explained. The cement one could be relied upon when the other was down for repairs.

As he headed off down the path, I felt a twinge of anxiety. Nothing to do! I should have brought my computer, I scolded myself. I could have been writing.

It was far too hot for a tour, and nobody in the village seemed to be moving. Even the birds in the trees were quiet; only an occasional rooster broke the silence.

I sat on the wooden bench for awhile, contemplating my options. Finally I did what any sensible traveler would do; I clambered into the hammock, which I discovered had been strategically placed to catch the breeze.
I observed the herringbone-like pattern created by the overlapping cohune palm leaves overhead, the local material used to make thatch. I examined the way they were tied together and to the wooden beams with what looked like vines. Later, Reyes showed me the vines they used to do this work – they belonged to the monestera philodendron, commonly known to most North Americans as house plants – only these were growing up skyscraper-tall trees, with leaves the size of a tabletop.

My eyes grew heavy. The hammock swung gently in the breeze.

“How nice that I don’t have a computer,” I thought.

Suddenly I awoke to the sound of a gentle whirring outside, near the eves. I listened intently: zip, whir. Zip, whir. A hummingbird – hovering right above my hammock! The creature had zipped in under the eaves, where it hovered for a few seconds before zipping out the other side, then hovering overhead again, as if to deliver a blessing. Then, in a whir of bright green and red, it was gone.

***
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There was little time for lollygagging, however. Noel and 12-year-old Jeffrey were soon heading up the path to take me to the waterfall.

As we made our way through the thatched-house village and into the jungle beyond, I asked him about his future plans.

Noel is studying accounting and planning to move away from the Toledo district – probably to the nation’s capital, Belmopan – so that he can find a job and raise a family. He’d love to stay closer to home, he says, but there are so few jobs in Toledo. The alternative, he says, would be to stay here and work his father’s cacao farm, but with six sons and a daughter, it’s clear there’s not enough to go around.

IMG_2819 The Chuns are actually fairly well off compared to many. Reyes is working overtime to send his children to high school, which is not free in Belize. More than two-thirds of the people in this district are considered poor, and more than half are considered extremely poor.

IMG_2800 “My father is working hard on a plan to get more jobs here,” says Noel. “I really hope he can be successful.”
Noel is talking about the Toledo People’s Eco Park, a far-reaching plan that the Toledo Ecotourism Association has been hammering out, a plan that builds on the success of the guesthouse program and goes far beyond tourism to promote reforestation, sustainable agriculture and eco-manufacturing while creating jobs in the local economy.

The TEA, a group with representatives from all the region’s major cultural groups, has been working on this plan for a number of years and has come close to garnering governmental and NGO support, but thus far, it has not been able to get significant funding for this plan. The hope is that the highway will provide the catalyst to finally put the plan in place.

IMG_2902Reyes hopes the coming of the highway will bring the resources necessary to finally put the Eco Park plan into motion. On the one hand, he reasons, it could bring opportunities and money to the Forgotten District. But he hopes Toledo can learn a lesson from the Cayo District, where the gains have been reaped largely by international developers.

“In the Toledo district we should learn by example,” he said. “What we want to do in Toledo is a complete vice versa to the example of the Cayo District. The TEA should be the steward to actually motivate people to know what the highway will bring. I know for sure once the highway is open and our land is not secure and our resources are being hampered, then it will be a total loss, and we will not become the owners of our own resources.”

****
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Back at the guesthouse, the sun was dropping behind the trees, and I dug out my flashlight and prepared for the pitch-blackness. A youngster named Lupio fetched me to take me to his grandmother Romalda’s house for rice and beans.

I climbed a rugged footpath up to where the compound sits, surrounded by jungle. This is where Reyes grew up; Romalda is his mother. Chickens and pigs scratch in the dust outside her thatched house. Romalda and her daughter Tomasa are squatting in front of the fire, making fresh corn tortillas, when I arrive.

Romalda rises to show me to the table, and she reaches for a kerosene lamp, which she fills and lights, as it’s growing dim.

Tomasa is deaf, she explains, but very smart. I can communicate with her using sign language, she explains.
The eggs are delicious, prepared with tomatoes and onion and served with beans and rice. Romalda wants to know where I’m from.

She tells me of her nine children, only three of whom still live in the village: Tomasa, Reyes, and another daughter who is also deaf. All the others have gone to distant towns to make a living.

“They say that the highway is coming, that it will bring jobs and electricity,” she says. “They’ve been saying that for so many years – I don’t know now if I will see it before I die.” She gives a resigned laugh.

I stand to help with the dishes, and Tomasa pours cold water and a bit of soap powder into a plastic tub. I wash, she rinses; soon, however, she shakes her head firmly. She hands me the cup I’ve just washed and runs a finger over it, making a face; it’s greasy, I understand. So is this one, and this one. Obviously I need schooling in this art. We laugh together and I begin again.

As I take my leave, Tomasa touches her lips with her hand and extends it toward me, smiling, and I reach for it. But Rowena laughs.

“She’s saying thank you,” said Romalda. Suddenly I understand – this is universal sign language. I touch my lips, extend my hand and smile in thanks and in farewell.

***
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In the morning, there’s breakfast with Jenny, where she shows me some of her handmade creations: fine embroidery, necklaces of bead grass and basketry made from the local jippi jappa palm.
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Then it’s time for a tour of Reyes’ cacao farm, together with a walking workshop on scores of medicinal plants along the way.
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Back at the guesthouse, I wait on the front porch and watch the palm leaves dance in the breeze. Rosita and her friend are walking down the path with baskets full of clothing, headed for the deep spot in the creek I’d never noticed, just below the tree line. There amid the trees they scrub their clothes and bathe, chatting and giggling amiably.

A world lost to time, it seemed – but only for a few moments more. Change is coming to this village, and to dozens more that will be affected by the Southern Highway. I think of the stream that provides the village lifeline; the little boy making a gang sign at me as I passed by; the friendly young man who works in Belize City, home for a visit, who worries about what will become of his village.

But it’s time to catch the bus back to Punta Gorda Town, and I’m late. I say my goodbyes to the Chun family, catch a bumpy ride in a pickup truck and feel the wind on my face.


Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

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