Guatemala Reflections

The Guatemala City dump is like a slap across the face. This summer I stood in a cemetery overlooking 50 acres of garbage and wanted to drop to my knees and pull my hair out. Perhaps I would have if not for the vulture droppings covering the ground or the cockroaches I had to keep brushing off my legs. From this overlook I could see the remnant of what was once a lush tropical stream valley. It is now a living hell, a toxic nightmare. Nowhere that I have witnessed was the degradation of creation so apparent. Even more disturbing was looking closer and seeing all the people. Amidst the garbage trucks, garbage, vultures, and toxic gases were hundreds of people sifting through a city’s waste to find food to eat, materials to build with, and recyclables to redeem. These people, as proud and beautiful as they are, are forgotten by the rest of humanity. They are the “least of these.” In our global society, they are considered animals - one step above the vultures they are competing against.

While in Guatemala, I had the tremendous opportunity to get to know, and be blessed by several of these people. With some, the relationship consisted of a mere handshake and smile; with others I briefly entered their lives. I could sense a mixed sort of contentment within their lives. For many their daily activities rarely went beyond survival. They spent their days making sure they and their children had enough to eat. Even so, in one situation, I was offered juice and cake at the kitchen table of a home where I worked. For others, their situation demanded them taking a break from their difficult work (sifting through garbage) to walk nearly a mile to where we were handing out sandwiches. Our meager bean and bread sandwiches were worth the walk. Through tired smiles, they graciously accepted the meal. Gratitude was abundant and grace flowed from their faces. They are wonderful people. Amidst the smiles, I could not suppress the nagging feeling that their lives and mine are in some cruel way inextricably linked. The look in their eyes can only be interpreted through a deeper understanding of their country’s history. I can only begin to peel back the layers.

For forty years a bloody civil war ravaged the Guatemalan countryside. The war began in 1954 during the height of the Cold War. At the time, the Guatemalan president was attempting to nationalize land held by an American corporation, the United Fruit Company, in order to redistribute that land to rural peasants. In response, the US government sponsored an overthrow of the Guatemalan president. The rural peasants fought back. The US government then backed military dictatorships for the next three decades - intermittently supplying them with weapons, funds, and training. Reports have since surfaced of horrific human rights abuses by the military during this period. They wiped entire villages off the map and tortured and killed thousands of civilians, including priests and nuns who supported the villagers. I was told the story of one priest, who epitomized incarnational ministry, in the bedroom where he was killed. Thousands of villagers fled the countryside - some of them ended up scavenging for survival in the very dump I was looking at. All of the people I met were touched in some terrible way by this war. The look in their eyes was marred by a history of violence. That history is also my history.

Now I realize it is a big step to implicate myself in their situation, but an experience like this demands reflection. More questions arise than answers. A wise high school student I was with stated how knowledge of this sort is a curse. Put another way - “ignorance is bliss”. Abject poverty, massive garbage dumps, raw sewage, and a war-ravaged country are hard to ignore when they are right in front of you. Questions nag at me. Is my materialistic society somewhat responsible for the degradation of their countryside? Is my lifestyle propped up by their poverty? Is my ability to consume protected in ways I’d rather not know about?

Whew…nothing like spending time in an underdeveloped country to shake the foundations of my overdeveloped life. I love it.

Is there a proper response to an experience like this? Should I feel guilty? Angry? Overwhelmed? At this point, I feel disturbed. Disturbed enough to dig deeper, make a lasting connection, and change something about my life. The best response will be to give to others what so many Guatemalans gave to me. Love. I experienced the love of Christ while I walked the streets of Guatemala City, played soccer with kids whose parents work in the dump, fumbled with my Spanish, hugged prisoners, and listened to other’s stories. We all need to find the least, forgotten, or rejected in our community and show them we care for them. We need to listen to their stories and attempt to satisfy their physical needs. Some people who come to my mind are the homeless guy by the mall, the migrant agricultural worker looking for a break, the depressed drug addict searching for a fix, the open-minded environmentalist who has written off religion, or the homosexual who feels that the Church doesn’t want him. Jesus is already with them - we need to join Him.