Burnt sage at Mothers’ Beach in Marina del Rey to honor the spirits of Mesoamerica, whose territory we were to travel in for the next six weeks. Silently shared a moment of solidarity with the drivers on the 101 freeway, however we would not be accompanying them home on the congested freeway that evening. Our destination: Panama, our purpose: to unveil the reality behind the Plan Puebla-Panama, a behemoth development project (funded by Mexico, the World Bank, and the IMF) determined to force Central America to surrender their natural resources and cultures for the overdevelopment of the elusive, abusive Global North.

Tempe, Arizona, USA
August 6, 2004

Heat and the World Bank. Pushing one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, amidst the first of countless foozball games throughout Latin America, our discussion on the concept of development began. Are modern development projects just facilitating the first world’s exploitation of poorer countries? Who is the Plan Puebla-Panama really for?

Las Cruces, New Mexico, USA
August 7, 2004

Camping in New Mexico in a brilliant tent big enough to stand up in which we would use again and again throughout the southern United States of America and the southern United States of Mexico.

El Paso, Texas, USA
August 8, 2004

Strong Texan drawls and heavy Mexican influence, we ate the last Chinese meal we would until Leon, Nicaragua. We awoke early and packed up our tent, heading out to film the Rio Grande and cross over the polemic border. Countless individuals and guide books had warned us about the immense delays and complications with crossing the International Bridge from the USA into Mexico. In actuality, the process took us a whopping total of two minutes and the drastic change was shocking … an undeniably different economy, lifestyle, and job market.

Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico
August 9, 2004

“Aqui lamentablemente, y me apena mucho decirlos, pero en nuestra Ciudad Juarez, no para la muerte a las mujeres”

“Here, unfortunately, and it pains me so much to say this, but in our city of Ciudad Juarez, women are still being murdered”
-Claudia Sandoval, Casa Amiga

For many years, since the 1994 passing of NAFTA (the North American Free Trade Agreement), many foreign companies have constructed maquiladoras, or sweatshops, on the south side of the Rio Grande in Mexico. The main product is wire harnesses for cars and the primary employees are women. Thousands of women have been brutally raped and murdered due to a conspiracy between the North American maquila owners and the corrupt Mexican managers that run them.
In Ciudad Juarez, we visited Casa Amiga, a safe haven for women who have endured psychological and physical trauma. The situation in Juarez is drastic and can deteriorate no further. Due to a severe lack of employment opportunities since the passage of NAFTA in 1994, crime and domestic violence have increased a great deal. Casa Amiga is not funded by the Mexican government (although it once was) but rather by international aid. The founder of Casa Amiga, Esther Chavez Cano, whom we interviewed, is an icon in the community.

At the meeting, we met a brilliant Canadian political scientist named Holly who invited us to stay in her home that night. We interviewed Holly about the groundbreaking work she is conducting as part of her doctorate. Whilst unveiling the mistreatment of workers in the maquilas, she is exposing and educating women on their rights as women and as employees in a factory. She has direct contact with the women that work in the maquilas, informing them of the end products made from the parts they assemble, including where they are sent to and sold. For many women, this is the first they are hearing about the value of their labor, role as a mother, and significance as an integral part of the social fabric of Juarez.

Casa Amiga offers classes and education for these women and their children too. We visited a classroom of children drawing and playing, as one would see at any primary school. However, on the wall was a poster which read “NO, don’t touch me.” Unfortunate, there exists a necessity for sex education classes at incredible young ages. Much of the abuse is carried out by repressed, out-of-work family members, hence the importance of teaching these kids that their body is theirs and that no one has the right to violate it.

“Yo no quiero que se vayan las maquilas, pero yo quiero que sean mas justas. Yo no quiero que deje de haber gente rica, pero que no haya tantas gente que no tienen nada a que comer. Yo no quiero que todo el dinero se vaya en la guerra cuando se estan muriendo miles de personas de hambre.”

“I don’t want the maquilas to leave, but I do want them to be more fair. I don’t want there be no rich people, but there shouldn’t be so many people with nothing to eat. I don’t want all the money to go towards the war when there are so many thousands of people dying of hunger.”
-Esther Chavez Cano, Casa Amiga

Chihuahua, Chihuahua, Mexico
August 11, 2004

Tumultuous drive through the ruthless desert of Chihuahua, the biggest of Mexico’s 31 states where Pancho Villa led the Mexican Revolution a century ago. We arrived in the capital of the state, also named Chihuahua, and were nearly assaulted by a transvestite who got very close. An assertive “no bro” by Spencer protected us from the mysterious costly encounter which might have followed. We crashed at the Hotel La Reforma in the “zona de tolerancia”, or red light district behind the main cathedral. Our cockroach check was in effect and we began throwing our toilet paper not in the toilet, but in the trash can, as we would throughout Central America.

The next two night we stayed with a charming Chihuahuensa, Marta Facio, who works with education and migrants at COSYDDHAC. She opened her home to us and let us interview her as well. Chihuahuans say “we are valiant, noble, loyal, and hospitable” (“Somos gente valiente, noble, leal, hospitalaria”) and it is true. Thank you Marta! Under the auspices of eradicating illegal drug trafficking, the government created Project Condor in the late 80’s. The main result was the murders and disappearances of indigenous leaders throughout the state of Chihuahua. Thus in 1988, COSYDDHAC was created to empower the local indigenous communities and to offer them services such as counseling and legal advice to offer them equal justice as fellow Mexican citizens.

"La tierra es madre y padre. La respetan, la cuidan, la protegen. Porque de ella comen, de ella viven, de ella tienen sus cosechas, de ella nacen."

"The earth is mother and father. They (the Tarahumara) respect her, take care of her, and protect her. Of her they eat, live, harvest, and are born."
-Guadalupe Montoya, COSYDDHAC

Creel, Chihuahua, Mexico
August 13, 2004

We attended early morning mass held by Padre “Pato” Avila, complete with nuns singing and strumming guitar, followed by an interview with the pastor in his office. His wall was filled with religious crosses and Zapatista symbols. He was visited by two local indigenous women during our interview, both seeking his assistance in receiving the justice they deserve. Padre Pato is fluent in the local Raramuri language and for over a decade has been helping the Raramuri people without any attempts at converting or assimilating them to his religion. We were fortunate to visit San Ignacio, an ejido, where we hung out with the local kids: shooting hoops, drawing and coloring little animals and sharing our languages. Matétela bá! (thank you, in Raramuri)


Flashback: Creel. August 12th, 2005.
We had arrived into Mexico days earlier and had been through Ciudad Juarez and Chihuahua City. We had been very lucky with accommodations, staying with Holly and then at Martha's (with a quickie night in a shady ass hotel in the red light district of Chihuahua City, no bro!) We debated going to Creel and finally decided to check out who this Padre Pato Jesuit character was, and what the Raramuri in the Sierra Tarahumara were up to.

Enter Creel.

After making an appointment with Padre Pato for the following morning, we walked around the one main street of Creel. I was listening attentively to passers-by, hunting for voices speaking the Tarahumar language. No one. Y'all were checking out the local folks. Two young chicks from Chihuahua came up to speak with us and were excited that we were from the USA. They wanted to spend time all together and gave us their emails. They spoke some English and were very young.

We told them we were going to mass early the following morning and then meeting with Padre Pato, defender of the human rights of the Raramuri people. They were not so interested, as their main focus was finding some nightlife in the sleepy mountainous town of Creel. If they only knew how hard those church nuns rocked on guitar the following morning!

The Duck Sings

The youth hostel we stayed in was cute with a colorful mélange of people. There was a short Argentine guy who was on his fifth year bicycling around Latin America. We had dinner at the hostel -- good and cheap. Much later, as we unloaded our stuff from the car, we saw Padre Pato leaving his office. We were suspicious. The next morning, Padre Pato gave mass then confessed to us his love of trova singing.

Mexico City, Federal District, Mexico
August 17, 2004

As we drove slowly into the belly of the most populated capital city with over 24 million inhabitants, we were confronted with massive housing projects and shantytowns around the outskirts. Getting into the historic city center, we checked into the most affordable hotel we could find, no extra charge for parking our car nor for the termite wings lounging all over our carpeted hotel room floor. We headed through the rain to Zocalo, the city’s main plaza, a forum for gatherings and community protests. Zocalo is surrounded by a sacred Aztec temple, the national cathedral, and a government palace filled with Diego Rivera’s call for a Mexican identity to be recognized, nurtured, and sanctified. The Zocalo is a manifestation of just that with its enormous Mexican flag proudly standing in the middle of the square filled with people passionate about the issues that affect them and their country.

Casa Alianza opened their doors to us with stories of kids living on the streets addicted to sniffing over-the-counter glue and inhaling fumes from the exhaust pipes of parked cars. They provide street kids with an opportunity to live clean with free education, new friends, and a peaceful, safe environment. These kids have suffered severe neglect from their families and often brutal physical violence from the police. We met with some lovely, talented children there and interviewed three of them, discussing subjects ranging from their history with drugs, their experiences on the streets, their feelings about Casa Alianza, and their favorite music and hobbies.

A visit to the majestic Teotihuacan confirmed Mesoamerica’s highly developed and capable pre-Columbian civilization, soon to be further proven at our next destination.

Chilpancingo, Guerrero, Mexico
August 19, 2004

Chilpancingo is a charming town in the mountains of Guerrero. Notwithstanding the presence of the mega paradise of Acapulco, one of Mexico’s main tourist draws, Guerrero remains the poorest state in Mexico. In Chilpancingo, we met with two very distinctly different individuals. We first met with a representative of the human rights commission who enthusiastically proclaimed his love for North America as his big brother. He touted Acapulco’s virgin beaches and promoted togetherness, unity, subservience, and emigration to the USA from the land of natural primary resources, prosperity, and girls named “Timotep”.

This frighteningly free trade friendly interview was followed by a brilliant day spent with Fernando Orozco Gomez, an anthropologist researching the correlation of current Mexican fiestas to their indigenous predecessors practiced long before the first conquest. Fernando described the local indigenous people’s cosmovision, including Guelaguetza, a tradition of sharing possessions and prosperity with others such that all have access to food, a roof, a family, and a culture. We drove deep into the mountains with Fernando to Zitlala, a small Nahuatl community with whom we spent hours with his dear friend’s family, learning about their customs, daily lives, and Nahuatl language. Tlaxtlaui! (thank you, in Nahuatl)

Playa Ventura and Puerto Escondido, Guerrero, México
August 20, 2004

A tiny collection of huts over the beach, the first time back at the Pacific Ocean since Los Angeles, we swam into the warm waters, dodged the sand crabs and avoided the neighbor who was going around poisoning the local dogs. The next evening we spent in Puerto Escondido, dancing, drinking, and instigating wild dogs.

Oaxaca, Oaxaca, Mexico
August 22, 2004

Alas we drove northeast into the state of Oaxaca, ever so colorful and filled with pride, art, and a demand for justice and equal rights. CIPO-RFM shared their cause with us and Dolores, a main spokesperson, described how neoliberalism is the new face of the invasion of Mesoamerica. The indigenous communities of Oaxaca have lived on their lands forever and now are accused of being invaders of their own soil. The capitalist model says “whomever can buy it can have it”. What about “and justice for all”? Why is it justified to exploit those who dress, speak, and think differently? When the law doesn’t protect its citizen, there is a problem and the citizens must unite.

The communities of CIPO-RFM have set up a booth in the main plaza of Oaxaca City, open 24 hours a day, demanding that the government grants them their own self-determination. The Plan Puebla-Panama seeks to homogenize all the cultures and to indirectly murder the poor. The poor pay taxes and yet are marginalized and suppressed. Paramilitaries are employed to eradicate the possibility of a social class resistance. The government is simply suffocating and ignoring the local Mizteco and Zapoteco communities and they are now demanding justice. Education and awareness is key … unite! Xkixabalu! (thank you, in Zapoteco)

Tehuantepec, Oaxaca, Mexico
August 24, 2004

In Tehuantepec, a small city in the state of Oaxaca, tricycle chariots are pedaled around town and women stand tall for the divine ride. But it’s not all farmers’ markets and chariot rides. Along the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, a rail link has been proposed to connect the narrow stretch of land between the Pacific and Atlantic coasts of Mexico, a major development area. Also as part of the Plan Puebla-Panama, seaports, airports, and highways are being built to facilitate further exploitation of natural resources; forests, rivers, and medicinal plants, not to mention the social impact on the communities that live nearby.

An out-of-work mechanic invited us into his home where we sat with him, his goat and his chickens to discuss the unemployment crisis in the area. He told us about a highway that was recently constructed through private property. We went to investigate. Sure enough, just off the highway, Paulino lives with his family in Tierra Negra, a small farming community of 13 families. He spoke with us for hours, offering watermelon and advising us not to squash the peculiarly poisonous acidic bugs.

Three years ago, Paulino spotted government representatives roaming on his land and taking samples of his soil. They proceeded to build the super highway which runs today straight through his land today. He has received no compensation. The road has brought pollution, accidents, crazy drunk stragglers and death to his innocent animals who often find themselves in front of speeding cars. For now, he is permitted usage of the highway through a small access road. A bus stops in front of his house for his children to get to school and he uses it for quick access to sell his watermelons and oranges in the city. However, the government recently decided to close off his access, leaving him with the same old dirt road he used to use before the construction of the highway. So what benefit does this highway bring to Paulino if not simply an amplified access through his land for foreign industry?

This is a prime example of how major development projects are ravaging the people´s land and their livelihood.

Alas, we make it to the southernmost state of Mexico: Chiapas. A charged state rich in biodiversity with an enormous indigenous population, a pride of the region. It was here in 1994, at the passage of NAFTA, that the Zapatistas took over the center of San Cristobal in protest. The city has a spectacular energy and great to walk around and soak in the colors. Miguel Pickard blessed us with his wisdom and fascinating economist’s perspective on development and the Plan Puebla-Panama. His organization CIEPAC produces brilliant education material which they distribute to the communities to increase their awareness, for the people to learn about the issues that directly affect them (which the government does not want them to know).

"The WTO (World Trade Organization – formed in 1995), the IMF (International Monetary Fund) and the World Bank pressure our poor countries to undertake changes in our constitution and laws so that they will benefit the MNCs (large multinational corporations)."
– from "FAQ about the WTO" published by CIEPAC in Mexico

Oventik, Chiapas, Mexico
August 28, 2004

"Esta usted en Territorio Zapatista"

The following day was one of the most impressionable. We met with the EZLN, the Zapatistas, at one of their five autonomous land holdings. They led us to the main office of the Good Governing Committee, where we sat amongst 6 men and 3 women wearing black masks, concealing and protecting their own identitiy only revealing their eyes. They were very friendly and answered our queries, shedding light on the basis of their movement. Their shifts last for eight days and then someone else comes from another village so that everyone can keep tending to their land, seeing their families, and taking care of their animals. The Zapatistas are achieving autonomy by not using government books in their schools, speaking their own language, selling their homemade cloths, and working together to reach their goals and their own voice in Mexico. What they are demanding from the government is a settlement to the San Andres Accords. In addition, they strive for all to have education, democracy, liberty, justice, and respect… against the paramilitaries in the region … empowering people to learn, act, and stand up for their own lives and communities. Holaval! (thank you, in Tzotzil, as spoken by the EZLN)

Tziscao, Chiapas, Mexico
August 29, 2004

"The government is not the owner of the country, it is a public servant."
- Tio Isodoro

Camped in our tent by the beautiful Lake Tziscao, in a protected natural reserve where a cooperative thrives and produces organic coffee to export. Their ancestors also harvested coffee and did so without chemicals. That tradition continues to this day. We met with Tio Isodoro, known by everyone in town because he is the current president of their organic coffee collective, with its head office in Tuxtla Guttierez, the capital of the state of Chiapas. Tio Isodoro provided wise perspective on the need for the poor to work together to have strength in numbers. For instance, no one can buy land in their area since it is collectively owned. In addition, Tio Isodoro is respected by the government for his company and has even received bank loans since he handles larger numbers, more money passes hands, and the government values their business more. His coffee is high quality (this I can confirm!) and he stated that the only way to compete with other coffee producers is with quality.

"As poor people, it is difficult for each individual to achieve a more dignified life. We can only achieve that by uniting and coordinating our efforts." - Tio Isodoro

Quetzaltenango, Guatemala
August 31, 2004

"Con el Plan Puebla-Panama, nosotros ya no tendriamos derecho a esos bosques. Tendríamos que pedirle permiso a una empresa que pueda manejar esos bosques. Esos bosques han pertenecido a la comunidad por miles de anos y eso es el problema que nosotros miramos."

"With the Plan Puebla-Panama, we will no longer have the right to our forests. We will need to ask permission from a company that will be controlling these forests. These forests have belonged to the community for thousands of years and this is the problem that we see."
-Carlos Ariel Pum, Organización Chico Mendez

Spencer was the first to cross into Guatemala on foot, at Lake Tziscao, without a guard in site. And he strolled right back over into Mexico and together the three of us navigated our way to the border to enter into Central America. We headed to Quetzaltenango, referred to in Guatemala as Xela (pronounced Shehla). The change is distinct as Guatemala has only recently attained peace after a fifty year civil war. Xela is a small town with a central plaza which we very quickly walked through.

Early the next morning, we met super early with Carlos, an agronomist with the Organización Chico Mendez, who are reforesting Guatemala. Carlos led us to a dam called La Canada just outside of Xela. He assured the security guard that we were mechanical engineering students fascinated in the technical construction characteristics of the dam. We observed the design specs, the environmental impact, the threat to mother earth, and got some great footage. Carlos then led us to his homeland in Pasak, a Quiche village where he spends his weekends and free time with his five partners of the Organización Chico Mendez planting pine tree seeds in black plastic bags, adding compost, watering them, and reforesting the green of Guatemala. Lush, green, beautiful mountains. Maltiosh! (thank you, in Quiché)

Nueva Linda, Guatemala
September 1, 2004

The same day we arrived in Guatemala, there were ten people killed and many injured, both farmers and policemen, at a plantation south of Xela in the department of Retalhuleu called Nueva Linda. The farmers had been living on the land for one year, as the ultra rich foreign owner was NOT using most of his land. The police were sent in (along with the ominous National Guard) and arrived early that morning with an official order for the farmers to get off the private property. The farmers were said to be trespassing and their peaceful removal was demanded. However, the “invaders” refused and the cops began to shoot. In their defense, the farmers shot back and many ran into the wilderness.

We decided to go and see for ourselves the sight where such a confrontation over land rights had occurred. As we pulled up to a gate guarded by two military men with machine guns, we noticed that GuateVision (the local TV station) was there. I spoke with the producer and he showed us where the shootings had occurred the day before. As they left, we filmed a huge torn banner on the floor demanding justice for the disappearance of Rene Reyes, a farmer leader missing since last year and presumed dead. A white jeep then pulled up with four Guatemalans in it. Mouths filled with potato chips, they approached us proclaiming “Hi, we’re the human rights commission and we’ve come to resolve this issue” at which point they yelled “run! duck!” and ran to their jeep and drove off. As they left, one of them made a shotgun sign to us with his hand shouting “they’re coming out, they’re taking the farm over!”

Oh shit! Scurry! Scamper! Run! Duck! Get in the car! Roll tape! Hide! Find the keys! Roll tape! Find the keys! Find the keys! Find the keys! Hurry! Drive!

In a frenzy, as we made our molasses slow getaway, we saw a tractor, two men on horses, and a big pickup truck full of farmers drive out of the compound (presumably escaping – although perhaps claiming back their land). The two security guards disappeared and Spencer rammed on the gas (after finding the keys) and we drove for a while. To safety? Alas, to satiate our curious documentary-maker souls, we returned to the site. What now? No sign of anyone except the human rights peacemakers still chomping on their potato chips, now about five kilometers down the road in the safety of their snazzy white jeep.

Champerico, Guatemala
Same day

From nearly getting shot at to nearly getting too inebriated on Gallo with local shrimp farmers on the black sand beaches of Champerico, Guatemala. The shrimp farmers were on their day off. Dali Lemos and his friend Leo both work incredibly long hours at local shrimp farms. To add insult to injury, Dali's cousin was killed in the Nueva Linda conflict and another young cousin of his was thrown into jail. He felt desperate and was interested but apprehensive as to our reasons for opposing the Plan Puebla-Panama. As the beers flew (along with unbelievably delectable fried shrimp), he opened his heart and his stories came out.

The first lesson was that one can get drunk on Gallo, Guatemala’s national beer, especially when a local is treating. The second lesson was that many Guatemalans need jobs and expect the Plan Puebla-Panama to provide them. They are waiting for the big companies to come and employ them, at whatever salary. The third lesson was that unemployed people often turn to alcoholism, violence, and baby making. When angry men and women are kicked off of the land they live on and have nothing but time . . .

Santa Elena / Flores, Guatemala
September 2, 2004

Driving, driving, driving north towards the Peten region of Guatemala, past Guatemala City along the road towards the Atlantic Ocean. Many a dirt road. What really happened the next week in Guatemala was monumental and fundamental to our documentary ... the river, the protest, the commitment. Oh, and the Ecuadorian.

On our first day of driving, we made it up to Coban in the Alta Verapaz region and spent the night fifteen kilometers away from where four days later we would participate in a protest. In Coban, the car battery died. It had also died in Huehuetenango days earlier when we were on route to Xela. Luckily, it died in front of the place we would stay that night and a kind neighbor spoke and hypothesized with us. Spencer screwed off the radiator cap and we went to the main plaza to ear and check out the book fair. I tried the local pupusas, Anthony the local beer, Spencer the local pizza, and we went back and the car was cool. Early the next morning, we began the ascent to the Peten.

Another long day of driving, this time past land studded with Mayan ruins, inaccessible by car. We attempted to walk to one of the sites, following very diverse directions and distance estimates from the locals, and ended up surrendering and returning to the car sitting in the back of a pickup truck full of chickens. It turns out the ruin sit was much much longer than had initially seemed on the map.

The only way to get up to the northern part of Guatemala on this road is by crossing the Rio de la Pasion at Sayaxche. As we arrived at Sayaxche, we drove onto the river barge and cruised across, chillin’ in Maxima (a 1994 Nissan Maxima, our travel companion and vehicle during the trip. In fact, she often chimed in to sing her solidarity with us). During the river passage, we drank coconut milk and a young boy loaned me his machete to whack my coconut open. We continued peeling and eating our coconuts while driving off the river barge and onwards to the capital of the largest region in Guatemala: El Peten. Arrival in Santa Elena was discombobulating but we ended up crossing the land bridge and finding a spot to stay on the beautiful island of Flores.

Bethel, Guatemala
September 4, 2004

"We can live without electricity, but we can’t live without land."
-a farmer in Bethel.

When dams are built, not only are the communities displaced from their ancestral homelands, but they often can’t access or can’t afford the electricity which the dam generates. The community of Bethel is situated right next to the Usumacinta River and would indubitably be inundated with water if the projected dam is built.

We walked over the bridge from Flores to the Santa Elena bus station to catch the bus to Bethel. We left at 1pm, drove for about five minutes, and then were stopped for about one hour while random locals boarded the bus selling platano chips, drinks, and other small items. The drive was long and I spent the last two hours singing the Guatemalan national anthem with three lovely kids from a town near Bethel. One girl sang many more songs and a couple of poems. We arrived in Bethel and thanks for a contact Spencer had made on the bus, we immediately had someone to speak with in town. We met Fito, the owner of the little local shop where everyone hung out and played checkers, drank beer, and listened to the soccer games. His brother is involved with the Frente Petenero Contra Las Represas, the organization in the Peten which is actively working against the five dams proposed along the Usumacinta River as part of the Plan Puebla-Panama. He suggested we go immediately to meet with one of the leaders, a farmer named Timoteo. We agreed and hopped into a taxi with him and went on a crazy one hour ride through the dark very fast on a very bumpy unpaved mystery ride. Upon arriving and finding Timoteo, he explained that the government denies plans to build these dams but that they have found the exact sites and proof of preliminary construction. When the river is tapped, the animals and fish die and the water level slowly rises to drown the land these people live on.

We then returned late that night and Fito so kindly offered his barn for us to sleep in. A few crackers and orange soda from hiss shop and we went and slept next to a huge mound of corn. The following morning, we awoke early to the sound of the chickens trying to peck their way in to eat the corn and chat with the visitors from afar. After a chuck with the chickens, we headed to the majestic Usumacinta River and went for a swim. There were women cleaning their pans and clothing in the river and we could see Mexico on the other side of the river.

Mud all over and my pants super torn, the vice president of the Cooperative of Mount Sinai led us to his neighboring community where we interviewed him as well as the president of their Cooperative. They explained to us the immense threat they are facing by the proposed dams. By educating their own community and meeting frequently with other local communities, they are augmenting their voice and actively seeking ways to stop the damn dam from ever being constructed and their lands being inundated.

We returned on the afternoon bus to Santa Elena, crashed in Flores and drove early the next morning to the ancient Mayan site of Tikal.

Tikal, Guatemala
September 6, 2004

Arriving early in Tikal, we encountered the brilliant spider monkeys playing high up in the trees and eating their seasonal green fruits. From a distance we could hear the howler monkeys, roaring like tigers, normal sized monkeys with a roar like a bear about to rip the head off a man. The denseness of the jungle and an incredible amount of life, including wild turkeys, exotic birds and unusual singing insects, surrounded us as we explored the temples of the great jaguar, the central acropolis, and the lost world. Tikal was the center of the Mayan civilization from 300 – 869 C.E. and the Maya Itza and Maya Pokom people still live in the area.

We proceeded south to Santa Elena and met with CIEP who informed us of the protest at the Chixoy dam planned for the next morning. Anxious to participate, support, and discover more about what really happened 28 years ago to the people who lived on the land around the site where the biggest dam in Guatemala was constructed, we began our long drive down to Cobán, ten minutes from the Chixoy dam. As we crossed back over the Rio de la Pasion at Sayaché, we played guitar and sang and kept our energy high, preparing for an intense tomorrow.

The Chixoy Hydroelectric Plant, Guatemala
September 7, 2004

People like their electricity. They want their MTV. They need their dishwasher. It’s convenient, it’s easy, and they work hard to afford it. And convenience ... is contagious. The serpent is eating its tail and it keeps getting fatter, overworking, addicted to the luxury of capitalism, the indemnity of wealth, and the conveniences of modern technology. But where does all the electricity come from to power this first world wonderland?

It comes from the fertile land that Mario once lived on, where his ancestors came from, where he was born, where he worked his land, where he grew his food, where he buried his parents, and where his children were born.

But that land is now under water and Mario has been forced to live on other land, much less fertile, where the government has put him and the other communities affected. Affected by what? Affected by those who need their MTV.

The construction of the Chixoy Hydroelectric Plant began in 1978 and was concluded in 1983, while Guatemala was still under a dictatorship. This destroyed the livelihood of the indigenous communities living around that area of Alta Verapaz, who were kicked off their land in the 70’s. Not only were they forced to leave their homelands, but they were made promises by the powers-that-be that were never kept. The government also sent in paramilitaries to handle the situation, to scare and murder some of the more outspoken members of the communities.

When a dam is built, the river directly before the dam is diverted through small tunnels causing a flooding of land. The Chixoy dam generates a great deal of energy for both Guatemala and El Salvador however that service does not go to the displaced, and when it does, the lights are dim but they still have to pay full price. Thus the indigenous spiritual connection to the land is dangerously weakened and the threads of their indigenous identity are compromised.

That is why we went to the protest. To show our support for their cause, for justice, for action, and for resolution. We joined 1500 indigenous people who were returning for the first time, after being kicked off their land some 28 years ago. Returning to see their kidnapped land destroyed by the hand of man, by the hand of those who need their MTV.

The meeting was at 5am at the entrance to the plant. We arrived after sleeping a couple of hours in the car in Coban. School buses transported us all to a lookout point, from which we could see the huge reservoir, a few trees and no animals. We proceeded to walk towards the military checkpoint, the official entry of the Pueblo Viejo Quixal Hydroelectric Project, at the BOCATOMA station, in the Sierra de Los Encuentros. These communities have waited long enough and are demanding a dialog. They’re demanding what they were promised 28 years ago.

Unarmed, the leader of the mostly Achí-speaking crowd spoke with the guards and told them to open the gate. After a quick phone call to their boss, they lifted the gate and we all poured in to take over the dam and demand its closure. As we arrived to the dam itself, other groups of protesters were also arriving, by river and through the other entrance to the plant. A relentless display of bravery, perseverance, and patience was exuded by all present.

In addition, the tensions and hopes were high as the leaders entered in to the main office to speak with the two technicians working that day. At one point, the two technicians were brought outside and many protesters were yelling “tie them up!” although they didn’t. It was a very hot day and the loudspeakers blasted songs about the tragic history of the land as sung by young children, the sons and daughters of the victims of the dam’s construction.

The human right commission arrived and negotiation talks were held in the main office. The indigenous leaders demanded that they shut down the plant right away. They responded informing them that doing that would explode the turbines and result incredibly catastrophic. So an agreement was made to lower the water pressure level hence decreasing the generation of electricity slowly. It was said the process would take six hours to complete. Within these six hours, the communities demanded the presence of seven officials, of such organizations as President Berger’s cabinet and the national electrical company. After around 48 hours, their demands were put into discussion by the required officials. Their return to a life of dignity continues to construct itself. From there we spent the night in Tactic with toucans and headed to El Salvador the next day.

San Salvador, El Salvador
September 8, 2004

Rainy season. Really rainy season. As we enter El Salvador, we send the US dollar’s influence (THE currency in El Salvador as of three years). We visited a church (I had already begun feeling ill), got a jump start, and drove to Spencer’s girlfriend’s grandmother’s home in Sant Tecla, a charming suburb of San Salvador. However, the carbon in the alternator had been sucking the car battery such that when we finally arrived into the city, under the pouring rain, we had to severely conserve the battery... turning the headlights off, the radio off, the a/c off, and hoping to find our destination before the car died completely. As we drove, giving gas would cause the clock in the car to light up however when the brake was in, the clock was dim. Luckily, Spencer magically found the house and right as we pulled up in front of it, I attempted to roll up my window (it went at a lethargic snail’s pace) and the battery died, never to be used again. So we went into the house and rested, rested, and rested. Two weeks of vehement documenting in Guatemala had taken its toll on our minds, bodies, and especially on our stomachs! Through chamomile tea, sleep, and tranquility, we recovered enough to continue our journey through Honduras and into Nicaragua.

El Salvador is very developed and a close ally to the United States. In fact, Jeb Bush recently visited the country to support the local conservative party in the presidential elections (they won). There are numerous malls in the city and very few indigenous people. El Salvador has suffered an immensely violent past and the indigenous have been nearly eliminated. We did however visit a local village called Panchimalco, of Pipil origin, who were having a festival that weekend. As we approached Panchimalco, we heard hardcore heavy metal rock and a 15 year old Salvadorian screaming his song at the top of his lungs; exerting his angst and embodying the energy and potential of youth. Spencer interviewed the lead singer and his band and they were thrilled. They gave him their demo tape. This mountain town has frequent festivals celebrating the saints and they make and sell tons of sweet sweet candy, plantain chips, pupusas, and papitas fritas (french fries ... or rather french napoleonic freedom fries). Nice smooth highways in El Salvador. We also met Salvador Arias of the FMLN and discussed development and their quest to put people before the corporations. Though they lost the last elections, they have a strong support in society and stand firmly behind an alternative to the neoliberal model of development. San Salvador is overflowing with corporations and we got them on film, especially those from the United States of America.

Honduras
September 11, 2004

Got the hell through Honduras as fast as we could. The borders entering and leaving Honduras were the most time consuming and aggravating. Massive confusion and bizarre requirements for odd documents and random numbers of copies in random places requiring payment in assorted currencies. Five minutes in the country, a drunk police officer stopped us and searched desperately to find something to fine us gringos with. After all, we had California license plates and he saw a chance to make a quick buck. He began accusing us of violating absurd invented laws. His first couple of attempts were saying the way we pulled over (to his signaling) was illegal and that we needed to have red triangle decals stuck on the back bumper, in accordance with Honduran law. A load of crap, which kept getting heavier as his drunkenness filled his mind with unlimited schemes to get our US dollars. Alas, we dove into our bribe envelope for the first and only time on the trip. Hiding four US dollars in an international drivers license, we handed him the document with which he completely changed from bad cop to good cop, wishing us a wonderful journey and telling us to enjoy Honduras! With my remaining Honduran Lempiras, I bought a banana flavored soda pop in this Banana Republic and we swiftly ventured into Nicaragua, leaving the fake banana flavor in Honduras.