I Don't Drink Coffee

This weekend was extremely interesting. Since last week we had been scheduled for a trip to the Guatemala countryside for our history class. We were told that we were going to a guerrilla stronghold, which is what Barbara originally told us, but it turned out to be a coffee finca called Santa Anita de la Unión, which was owned and run by a whole community of ex-combatientes from the Guatemalan revolution. Although I would have really enjoyed going to a guerrilla stronghold, I found this trip very interesting nevertheless.

We left really early Friday morning. I’m talking about four cups of coffee early. So we all eventually get on the van, later than had been planned, I’m assuming because everyone else found it just as hard to get up as I did, and headed out. I can’t remember much of the trip up – I slept almost the entire time – but when I awoke, we were in the middle of several coffee plantations. I had never seen coffee plants before, but I instantly knew what they were. We drove down the road a little ways and found ourselves in the middle of a little community with a school house, a basketball court and several buildings scattered about. It was Santa Anita de la Unión. We started out on an excellent note by Josué getting the van stuck on a hill. It didn’t help that the ground was slick and the tires had no tread on them whatsoever. We eventually had to get out and push while he gunned the engine. Of course, I had to spice things up a bit by falling gracefully on my face at the first opportunity. We managed to get the van out and had a good laugh doing it, at my expense. We were early, so we had a rousing game of basketball while we waited with a bunch of little kids looking on. It was obvious that we were all out of shape. Then we ate lunch and waited for our speaker to show up.

I really wanted to ask him about it, but I didn’t know if it would be rude or if there was a tragic story behind it that he would rather not tell.

The speaker’s name was Rigoberto (I can’t remember his last name) and he was an ex-combatiente. I noticed that he was missing part of his pointer finger on one hand and I really wanted to ask him about it, but I didn’t know if it would be rude or if there was a tragic story behind it that he would rather not tell. So I kept silent. He began by talking about the war. He told us how groups of people, form all over the country, from many different cultural groups, came together in the mountains for a common cause: to fight the present governmental institution and create a new one in which everyone could participate and have equal opportunities in life. He talked of how they couldn’t return to see their families or contact them and how they lost many good friends and relatives, many of them uninvolved in the revolutionary movement, during the 36 years of war. I was almost in tears. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be isolated from everything I had known, everything and everyone I loved, to fight selflessly for my country, for its people to have the right to live without fear and oppression, to one day have every opportunity available to them. I couldn’t imagine it.

He talked about the Acuerdo de Paz, signed in 1999, which ended the 36 year war. He said that at the time, everyone, guerrilla, military and civilian alike were tired of the war. It seemed to me that it was signed without fully coming to terms with the problems of the country. I asked him later if he thought that the government has changed much since then and he said that only a very small percentage of the agreements written in the Acuerdo de Paz had been realized, that the government hasn’t really focused much on it. It made sense. Many people still live in poverty. The literacy rate is still among the lowest in the world. People are still dying. It saddened me to think that even after all those people had gone through, their dream has still not come to fruition. One can argue that it has changed a lot since the 1900’s, but the system is still largely corrupt.

Despite this, the little community of Santa Anita de la Unión has accomplished so much, solely by the hard work, tenacity and amazing willpower of its inhabitants. Merely given a loan after the signing of the treaty, they bought the finca and reestablished their lives. Rigoberto mentioned that there were four different indigenous languages spoken among them, with Spanish being their only commonality (that, and their vision for the future). He told how they all had to change their lifestyles and their way of thinking, from that of campesinos to that of businessmen, in order to make it work. They decided to grow the coffee organically, without any harsh chemicals that would harm the natural environment, the fauna, and themselves. Little by little, they’ve been able to pay off part of the loan and buy necessities for their little community. Their main focus was on their children, on providing them an education that they themselves never received. Rigoberto himself had only completed four years of schooling. With an education, the children would be able to forge their own opportunities. It simply amazed me that they had done so much against such incredible odds. That little community provides such an amazing example, not only for other Guatemalans, but for people all across the globe.

To be continued...