On Sunday morning I
walked through the cloud forests of the Biotopo. Tall thin trees climbing with vines and mossy
trunks, birds whispering out loud, rivers streaming, green leaves and the microscopic
unknown, air brimming with life… my legs scissoring forward along a narrow gravel
path, winding up, up, down, leaving the group behind as per usual. A strange
pattern I have: having to run forward all the time (maybe it’s because I’m a
twin, born last..?) I saw two Quetzales, male and female, Guatemala's national bird: proud blue, red, green feathers perched on fruit-baring treetops. It rained all morning, soaking my white skin and sweater through. All in all, a beautiful way to reflect on these past few months, and the ones that are coming so soon…
As many ups and downs as I've had here, the idea of leaving makes me uneasy: once again, with no destination in mind and no particular pull... suspended somewhere between here and there, not here and not there. Guatemala is a weight: an incredible world to have been pulled into. I am so grateful for the lessons that I've gained here, and for the inspiring spirit of the people I have met who continue to risk their lives for what they believe is right: for memory, for justice, for an end to impunity...
On my way back from the Biotopo, crossing into Salama, a group of armed military and police officers stopped our overcrowded microbus and asked all the men to get out of the vehicle. With women watching from empty benches, one by one each man was searched before returning back to his seat. A military checkpoint: the first of its kind I've seen since here in Guatemala (mind you, I don't get out of Rabinal often) -- a common tactic in the 1980s, and perhaps a sign of changing times? Mano Dura, Guatemala's new reality.
The sight of military personnel and police officers stocked with artillery has become 'normal' to me. Still, no matter how long I spend here or flinch less in the sight of a gun, I am an outsider: my reality is not confined to these borders and this past, nor to rash acts of violence led by the government, drug cartels, or foreign (Canadian) corporations (rather, if anything, I in some way represent the perpetrators of that violence). I hold an absurd amount of privilege, with winding paths at my fingertips: the thick knowledge that I may be somewhere today and gone tomorrow, free to fly thanks to the 'superiority' of my 'nation' (i.e. colonization). And yet, despite my alien status, these profound structural injustices move me to look beyond today's imagined borders as a means of belonging... I am sure there is more learning to be done here.
The sight of military personnel and police officers stocked with artillery has become 'normal' to me. Still, no matter how long I spend here or flinch less in the sight of a gun, I am an outsider: my reality is not confined to these borders and this past, nor to rash acts of violence led by the government, drug cartels, or foreign (Canadian) corporations (rather, if anything, I in some way represent the perpetrators of that violence). I hold an absurd amount of privilege, with winding paths at my fingertips: the thick knowledge that I may be somewhere today and gone tomorrow, free to fly thanks to the 'superiority' of my 'nation' (i.e. colonization). And yet, despite my alien status, these profound structural injustices move me to look beyond today's imagined borders as a means of belonging... I am sure there is more learning to be done here.
No matter, I won't be figuring out any grand decisions over the next few days, and there will be plenty of space for reflection upon arrival in Tatamagouche. That leaves ample time to walk the labyrinth... another green path to scissorkick and sort through, to organize and to behold. Paths for moving forward.
