Back in the late 70s and early 80s, Guatemala had a big nasty civil war. They signed peace accords in 1996, but not until after a bunch of people had been killed and nearly a hundred villages wiped out, genocide-style. During this time, the government forced indigenous villages like ours to have patrullas, or night partols, that wandered the countryside during the darkness hours, looking for leftist geurillas. This was a problem because the men that were forced to serve on these patrols didn’t get paid by the government, and were too tired to work their fields during the day, so there was a lot of starvation combined with kids not going to school because THEY had to work the fields.
Now, flash forward to 2009. Things have been quiet in our region for years, since people were so tired of all the bloodshed, but in the last few months they’ve seen an increase in crimes like kidnappings and assasinations. This alarmed the council of elders in Santa Eulalia, and they drafted an act to re-start the patrulla system. The idea is that if there are men patrolling the main thoroughfares at night, then crime will go back down. It might work; in practice it is a lot like our Neighborhood Watch in the USA. And this time it’s different from the 80s, as the men aren’t forced to do it at the army’s gunpoint.
When they organized all this back in February, I was at the town meeting where they were grouping the men into patrols. Each patrol is 10 men, and with as many men as we have in the village, that means that each person only has to patrol about once a month or so. All able-bodied males from 12 to 60 are obligated to participate. At first I was a little nervous about a gang of teenagers running around with sticks and machetes in the dark, but one of the leaders explained to me that there will always be one or two responsible, middle-aged men in each group to avoid trouble. They also feel it’s a good way to teach civic responsibility to the next generation.
The patrollers were also told the contents of the Act signed by the elders. It lays out the rules for the patrol. Here are a few of my favorites (translated, for your convenience):
8. The patrollers may carry clubs, hoses, and ropes. I have no idea what the hose is for.
10. Patrollers under the unfluence of alcohol are not permitted. Thank god.
24. Single mothers and old ladies must be treated with extra consideration. One would hope, anyways.
23 & 25: A man can opt out of participating by paying between 35q and 50q, but he cannot be replaced by a minor or someone over 60. This is mostly in there for the men that are working in the US, who still technically have a civic responsibility to their community. They will be getting a bill for their patrol service. They probably won’t complain, though, as it works out to about $5 per night.
28. In dance clubs, types of music played will be regulated to not provoke changes in the mentality of the youths or to alter our culture. Um, wow. I think Orwell wrote that one. And what does that have to do with patrolling?
29. If you catch someone in a delinquent act, you must have a community investigation BEFORE you punish them. Just wanted to get that straight, folks.
So now we get to the point of this post. Every now and then, Manuel comes by and pounds on our door after dark, asking if I want to go patrol with him. I know it’s mostly a joke, sortof like when they ask me if I want to go drinking with them, but sometimes I like to call their bluff. Normally I laugh and decline, but last night I decided to participate in this strange aspect of Guatemalan life.
“Wait,” you must be thinking, “Aren’t you in the Peace Corps? What are you doing with a gang of club-toting latinos looking for kidnappers?” I wondered about that too, especially since I know that the security chief of Peace Corps Guatemala reads my blog (Hi Makali! I miss you!). But the truth of it is, we live so far out in the mountains that NOTHING happens here. Now, I know that walking around in the dark in Guatemala is a bad idea as well, but in this case, I was surrounded by a gang of armed men who are committed to my personal safety. So, I figured it would be a good idea to do just once, to see this part of village life, and to let the people know that I want to do my part to contribute to the well-being of their community.
So I strapped on my machete, donned my ropil (a heavy woolen tunic the local old-timers wear), and joined the guys for an evening of patrolling. I wish I could tell you something exciting happend, but I’d be lying if I did. We hung out in front of the health center for a while as they took roll, then we split into two groups of five. One followed the road uphill, and we followed the road that leads out to Santa Eulalia.
About every other hour, we moved to a different spot and sat in the ditch at the side of the road. Eventually we reached the bridge that marks the frontier of our aldea, and sat there. I pulled my ropil tight about me, to fight off the damp nighttime chill. I now know how my buddy HT must have felt on his job as night security when we were in college: lots of sitting around waiting for nothing to happen, chatting with the other patrollers. Most of their talk was in Q’anjob’al, so I rarely participated unless something I understood caught my attention. We talked a little about how much someone gets paid as a painter in the US, and about someone’s brother who bought a Honda Civic. Mostly, we sat in silence.
When time finally ran out, we saw a blinking light up the road. The other half of the patrol was signalling with their flashilight. One of our guys flashed his light back, and we got up to leave. “Roble!” Manuel said under his breath. His teenage son was nowhere to be seen. “Roble!” he said a little louder, then one of the others started laughing and pointing. Roble was entirely asleep on a grassy hill next to the birdge. They all started laughing, and he woke up. Shaking off sleep, he rose and joined us for the walk back to the village.
I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. It’s been a long time since I spent time alone, awake, and in the dark wilderness. The air is fresh, the land is sleeping, and there aren’t the distractions of the daylight hours. I can feel a more direct connection with the earth, in a very feral way. I think the last time I felt like that was when we used to play War on campouts when I was a boy scout. I also appreciate the way the Mayas act in the woods at night. They hardly ever turn on their flashlights, they talk in low voices, and they move slowly.
I got home at about midnight, cold and tired. Emily was already asleep, but she had stoked the woodburning stove up so the house was very comfy when I got back. She also left a pot of water on top so I could wash up with something hot. I hopped into bed, and slept like a rock, dreaming of faintly glowing misty clouds rolling down a dark valley as the wind whistled in the pines.