What a Mayan meeting is like

Besides all the insane SPA construction going on, we still have a lot of other administrative tasks to do to prepare for our departure and the coming volunteer’s arrival. A few days ago, Emily went with Aurelio (our counterpart) to visit a few nearby villages where the new Santa Eulalia volunteers will be living. Peace Corps has to evaluate all proposed living sites in general, as well as survey the specific residence to make sure it meets minimum safety and hygiene standards. Our boss Basilio normally does this, but he’s swamped right now and we’re the farthest out of all the sites he manages, so Emily offered to do it for him and send the results back via email.

Last night, however, was probably the single most important meeting we’ve had regarding the future of our site. After the numerous problems with the leadership in general and Manuel in specific, there was some uncertainty as to whether the Peace Corps was even going to replace us with a new volunteer when we leave. This would be a big blow to the community, but the reality of it is that if volunteers can’t work here, they shouldn’t be here. Basilio and Aurelio, being clever and politically-minded guys, worked out a plan: the village needs to replace the Health Committee with new leadership if they want another Peace Corps volunteer. Basilio sent an official fax to Aurelio explaining this, who then acted surprised to get it and sent it along to our village elders.

That was a few weeks ago. Last night we finally had the Big Village Meeting to discuss this. I got there early (about an hour after the announced starting time), and waited outside the community hall with all the people I’ve come to know in the last two years. What would happen? They’re all friendly and nice to us, but there’s also this undercurrent of misunderstanding and blame… why are we working in Yulais, and not here? What happened to the “project” they were promised? Almost simultaneously, Aurelio and Nas Palas showed up.

“Let’s go upstairs and have a talk,” Nas said, leading Aurelio by the shoulder and nodding me towards the Health Post. “You have a key, right?”

I do, so we walked across the square to the health post. The four or five others in the oligarchy of the village magically appeared out of thin air to join us. You see, this is how it works. There are some older, respected men who sortof run things, but have no official position. They’d all met at Nas’s house the night before to discuss this very issue, and even invited Emily and I to answer a few questions at the end of their meeting, making sure they knew how to handle everything before it happened in public. They’re wise, community-minded guys… and now they were going to brief Aurelio. I felt kindof pleased to witness it, especially since I knew every one of them and trusted their judgement: Nas Palas, Don Ximon, Don Tomax, Santiago. And the people I don’t trust in the community were notable absent.

The conclave happened in Q’anjob’al, and I followed most of it not because I have a high competency with our Mayan dialect, but because I am pretty familiar with the material. The one notable change in the plan was that they’d decided not to replace the Health Committee leadership. Instead, they were going to form an entirely new committee, with the exclusive purpose of working with the Peace Corps. Aurelio and I both approved of the idea, so we all returned to the community hall.

There were about 50 people in attendance- not a big turn out for our village, and a little disappointing for a meeting that seems so important to the future of Peace Corps in this area. Would they vote to do what’s needed to get another volunteer? Or would apathy, petty grievances, and misinformation rule the day? Aurelio picked up the microphone and convened the meeting, inviting someone to come up and give the obligatory opening prayer.

To my great glee, Don Marcos appeared out of the crowd to lead a short prayer. He’s always been one of our staunchest supporters, even though his busy schedule of church work, coffee growing, water commission, and running a business in Barillas keeps him from participating a lot. He smiled at me as he finished.

Aurelio reclaimed the microphone, and started taking about our work. He explained that we’re not lazy (an occasional rumor here), that we’re working on projects in Yulais, that we’d brought computers for the village, and that the other Santa Eulalia volunteers were already doing a water project in their village after only a year of service. He read the fax from Basilio, and presented the idea of forming a committee especially for working with the Peace Corps.

Looking around the room as he talked, I was pleased to realize that I could stick a name and interesting story to the majority of the faces looking at Aurelio. That’s so different from two years ago when I started across a mass of indistinguishable brown faces welcoming us to their tiny village.

About that time, Antonio stood up. “Why does xxxxx (village name withheld) have a water project already after just a year, and we’ve got nothing? Who is at fault here? That letter you read hints at the Health Committee. If that’s so, we should replace them. Who is at fault? Maktxel culpable?” He seemed pretty agitated.

“I don’t know,” Aurelio lied, “I don’t live here. You’d have to ask the committee.” This meeting was turning into a showcase of indirect communication and careful maneuvering. Once again, I noticed Manuel was conspicuously absent.

Nas picked up the microphone. “The point is that Jaime and Emily are leaving on the 13 of July. If we want more volunteers, we have to organize a committee. If not, we don’t need to have this meeting.”

There was some more chatter, then an older guy in a weatherworn capishay stood up. “But what about the morral project? What happened to that money?” The thing about Mayan town meetings is, they are all over the place. Topics fly in from every direction. But you have to have faith; after everything is exhausted, they eventually come home to the main theme. You just have to be patient.

Several women then got up and said versions of the same thing: “Jaime and Emily really support us and help us, but we don’t speak a lot of Spanish. The leaders don’t help us to understand what’s going on.”

Then Malin* stood up to talk. I cringed; she’s a total wild card. She’s been really helpful and understanding at times, and a few weeks ago she even invited us over for dinner to talk about what happened to the project, actually ASKING US instead of listening to the gossip. However, she was also one of the main perpetrators in the fiasco with the girls from Yulais. “You know, Jaime and Emily found us some money for the project. They did a lot of work for us.” Yay Malin!

Then Petrona stood up next to her. “Yes. And they also told the leaders that we needed a NIT (tax ID number) to receive the money. Then the leaders did nothing; I was there, I saw it.”

The discussion went around a bit more, and landed on Marcos. “Jaime and Emily do lots of good. I don’t generally benefit personally, because I am too busy to be involved, but I know that they brought computers to our community.”

Then Antonio stood up again, still mad enough that he was shaking. “But what happened to the project? Who is at fault? We have a right to know that.”

Nas leaned over to me. “He’s just being mischievous. He knows good and well who is at fault. They all do.” And that is one of the keys of indirect communication: saying leading things over and over, and never actually saying the person’s name. So many people in this room had been cheated by Manuel; Antonio was just keeping it in the front of the meeting. In fact, after the meeting ended, Antonio was one of the last people to leave. He came right over to us, and apologized repeatedly. “I want you to know that what I said was not aimed at you. I know you worked hard. I am sorry if I offended you. Very sorry.” He was still shaking from emotion. We reassured him that we understood who the comments were aimed at, and didn’t take offense. His effort to comfort us was very kind and appreciated, though.

About that time, Palxun stood up. He doesn’t speak often, but he and his wife run the store down the hill from us and are always exceptionally kind. “Is the morral project still going? What’s happening with that?” No one really answered, and the discussion drifted.

“We have to WORK, to collaborate, if we want to reap the benefits from our volunteers.” Nas said. “Yulais is kicking in 400q each and a bunch of physical labor to get their projects.”

“There are women here who are good workers,” Petrona replied. “But there are also lazy ones. In the morral co-op, we have some that show up late, or do bad work. They don’t get the benefits if they don’t put forth the effort.” That is a good parallel, and I was pleased that SOMEONE got the point. “Emily also organized us to teach others how to make morrales. We were ready and willing to do it, too. It’s not our fault if other women are too lazy to come.”

Then the capishay guy got up again. “We have to support these volunteers.” Some nods, some murmurs.

“But every meeting, they ask us for money,” Lukie’s mom piped in. It was like that record-scratching noise, and the meeting erupted into bedlam.

What? Money? We never ask anyone for money. We’re not even allowed to HANDLE community money. I looked over at Aurelio, and he was looking down, massaging his temples with his thumbs. This happens to almost anyone who tries to help the community, and he has been accused of it as well… taking money, abusing power, corruption.

I took the microphone. “Which group? The morral group?” I asked her. “Who took the money? The leaders? Us?” Through a translator, she said the morral group.

I tried not to get angry. “All of you listen. We aren’t allowed to handle money, and we don’t. And I know for a fact that no one has EVER taken money at a morral meeting.” I looked at Lukie’s mom. “And I don’t know how you could say these things, because you have never even attended. Not once. Repeating that sort of gossip is bad.”

The bedlam continued for a while, but eventually got talked down. Then Lina, Manuel’s wife, stood up. She was there to look out for her husband’s name in his absence, surely. “What we need here is clarity, transparency. We need a committee for just these Peace Corps projects, to keep things simple and not confuse the people.” Whew, getting the meeting back on track!

Bernabe stood up. “I think that only those who want to work, want to participate, should do so. There shouldn’t be a penalty for those who don’t.” This seems obvious to you and me, but “obligatory participation” is pretty common in Mayan culture, and is enforced with powerful social pressures.

“What do these volunteers bring to us, anyways?” Marcos asked, handing Aurelio a cleverly-timed rhetorical question. He knows that answer better than almost anyone in the village, and has always been fully on board with our mission of health education.

Aurelio responded with a 5-minute lecture on the lasting benefits of education in third-world development. “They want to help. They are only working in Yulais right now because we’ve denied them the opportunity to work here. Then, out of nowhere, Aurelio called a vote. It happened really quickly, hands up and down, and the village decided to nominate a new committee and to host another two years of Peace Corps volunteers. That fast.

Then Nas Palas got up and gave a very animated speech about how the village wasn’t working with Jaime and Emily, and it was their own fault for not getting full benefit from their volunteers, and how they had to do better in the future.

“We need to elect a committee that’s energetic, one that will work,” Don Ximon said.

The capishay guy got up, and said “I nominate Marcos.” Then he walked out of the meeting. Another guy did the same.

Marcos stood up, and explained that he’s love the job, but he had too many other obligations to dutifully serve the villagers in that capacity. We were a little disappointed; he’d be a perfect candidate: organized, smart, understanding, commmunity-minded. But knowing your limitations is important, and we respect that.

“How about Nas Palas,” someone else nominated. I looked over at Nas Palas, whose face was an unreadable mask of fatigue. That poor guy is supposed to be retired, and he already gets shit from the village because some people still think the gringoes give him sacks of money to live in his house (which is actually donated to us, at personal expense to Nas). Being on the Peace Corps committee would only deepen his headaches in that respect.

“I don’t want the job,” he said, leaning over to me, “But I serve the community when they want me to. I hope someone else comes forth.”

A few more people were nominated and declined for various other conflicting obligations. Then the meeting broke down in to more hubbub. The trouble, it became apparent, was getting the women involved. Emily asked if she could get up and say a word to animate the women, and Don Tomax said, “Sure, but first we need to elect a president.” I was more caught off guard by that sublime sexism than Emily, who grudgingly conceded that we can’t change the world all at once. Just getting some women to be vocales (committee members) was going to be challenging enough.

It looked like no one was going to volunteer for the committee. It’s all fine to raise your hand and say, “It’s OK to have a committee and allow the volunteers to stay,” but when it came time to actually do something, no one was interested. We were about to fail from apathy.

“What’s wrong with you all?” Aurelio asked, taking the microphone and launching into an impassioned speech about civic duty. “This is the problem with Guatemala. We’re a third-world, underdeveloped country why? Because no one wants to stand up and change it.”

Then, as if by magic, the room emptied… leaving seven people standing before us: Don Tomax, Don Ximon, Nas Palas, Bernabe, Petrona, Juana, and a woman I’ve never seen before. “Congratulations,” Aurelio said. “This is your new committee.”

A postscript to all this is that there was a second drama going on concurrently in the meeting, regarding the posada, or living-place. We think our house with Nas’s family is cute, safe, and comfy- a perfect place for the next volunteer. After much discussion amongst themselves over the last few months, the family decided that having us was so much fun that it made up for them not having use of one of their rooms, and they’d like to host the next volunteer as well. The problem, though, is that they were socially obligated to give the rest of the village a chance to host us. Several people had been asking, seeing the $$ they might be getting from the new Gringoes.

But Nas is a clever guy and knows how to work the system. He announced at the meeting that anyone who wanted to host the new volunteers should come talk to Emily and Jaime, who would visit their house to evaluate it based on the Peace Corps requirements, and that the village agreement of “rent free” would be continuing, as decided upon by the leaders. This subtle reminder, as well as the daunting idea of actually talking to the scary gringoes directly, put off any would-be suitors. It’s not a done deal yet, but it’s 99% likely that the next volunteer will be living with Nas’s family as well. And that thought is comforting indeed.