Monterrico, Guatemala: the Tortoise and the Hare-brained Scheme

Action
After our first week in Guatemala, our language school organized a week-end trip to the coastal town of Monterrico. Monterrico is known for its black sand beaches, mangrove swamps, and weekly turtle races. There’s a turtle sanctuary just off the beach that raises endangered sea turtles and then releases them into the wild. The baby turtles are released every Saturday at 5:30 p.m. in a dramatic “race” to the ocean. For 10 quetzals (just over $1 USD), I sponsored a turtle. At 5:30, I, along with over a hundred other competitive, but environmentally-conscious-animal-lovin’ people, picked a baby turtle out of a bucket full of squirmy amphibians.

I put my turtle on the starting line, and after the command was given, with fervent hand gestures and a mixture of English and Spanish strongly encouraged it to race from one line drawn in the sand to the other. Just beyond the finish line was the ocean, ready to welcome its new inhabitants into its frothy waves. In this particular case, slow and steady did not win the race.

Reflection
I thought this was a pretty neat gimmick. I never would have donated $1USD to the turtle sanctuary, though I probably should have. (Deciding how to spend money when traveling on a tight budget in the developing world is another topic) Spending money to race a turtle, though, was an easy decision. I got to have some personal contact with an animal and the race appealed to my sense of competitiveness. Moreover, the race is mentioned in guidebooks as a local tourist attraction, so I felt like I had to participate in order to experience Monterrico.

Talking with a classmate of mine, I learned of a complication to this issue. Apparently, turtles should enter the ocean within a certain time after hatching. Baby turtles in the sanctuary are held in captivity beyond this time, so that they can all be released on Saturdays for the race. Though the turtles are receiving care and feeding while in captivity, it might be better for them to be released earlier.

Question
Would you have made a donation to the turtle sanctuary if there wasn’t a race?

Oventic, Chiapas: Visit to an Autonomous Snail

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On our last full day before leaving Mexico, we fled the country. Or at least the territory controlled by the Mexican government. We were staying in San Cristobal, Chiapas, partly to learn more about the area’s indigenous and Zapatista movements. Soon, we learned that a new autonomous Zapatista municipality called Oventic had started welcoming visitors.

After enticing two new French friends to join our expedition, we boarded an unmarked van headed for Oventic. Up the winding mountain roads, past the military base, and crossing into Zapatista territory, we were finally deposited at the town’s gates. A sentry interviewed us briefly about our intentions, took our passports, and then invited us to walk around the gates and wait in the cooperative café until Zapatista representatives were ready to meet with us.


The entrance to Oventic: “Welcome to the caracol (snail) of resistance and rebellion for humanity”

Two hours of nervous waiting later, we were escorted to a small hut. Inside, three masked Zapatista men greeted us from behind a table. I briefly explained who we were and what we were interested in discussing. During the next hour we learned how Oventic functions as the core of a larger Zapatista “caracol” (snail), with 7 other interlinked municipalities radiating out from and in to Oventic. Renate and I had prepared a list of specific questions about the autonomous legal and governance systems, but the community representatives seemed to have difficulty explaining the details of their work. Gunshots went off nearby, and we exchanged nervous glances.

We were then invited to meet with members of the Board of Good Governance (Junta de Buen Gobierno) - the main government body of the caracol. Four more masked men (about 1/3 of the Board) further explained the new services the community had developed for itself, without help from the Mexican government. After finishing our discussion, we walked around to have a look at these services and the other community buildings. With the afternoon drawing to a close, another van transported us back into Mexican territory, to San Cristobal.

View from the caracol center	Office of the Board of Good Government
Community health clinic	Zapatista schoolhouse

Reflection
We left Oventic full of adrenaline and thoughts, not to mention heaping portions of autonomous beans and rice. What were we to make of the rebellious low-fi snail in the middle of the mountains? Should democratic government representatives wear masks? Should community health centers (and every other building) be adorned with murals of gunmen? Which of our friends would most appreciate a snail-shaped slingshot as a souvenir? And most importantly, should we count Oventic as a separate country in our vital signs list?

We were most conflicted, however, about the seeming lack of specific answers to our specific questions. When I asked exactly how communities decided what services to provide, the answer was “through discussion.” When Renate asked how the Board of Good Governance decided criminal cases, the answer was “together with the community.” To us, the answers seemed like rhetoric, and yet they appeared to be sufficient for the Zapatistas.

As anal-retentive Americans, we expected democratic governance and community justice to be grounded in formal decision-making processes and legal codes. In the North, clearly delineated rules, regulations, and procedures often seem necessary to ensure democratic participation and prevent injustice – and to resolve everyday issues in our workplaces and homes. The Zapatistas, however, seemed to prefer more flexibility, fewer restrictions, and decision-making that emerged naturally and organically from community members.

Question
When has “organic” decision-making worked (or not worked) for you?

Mexico City- Modern Day Traditions

Action
In Mexico City, we visited the Museo Nacional de Antropología. The ground floor was a standard display of seemingly identical pottery shards distinguished only by their labels (“Aztec vase,” “Mayan urn,” etc.). The rooms on the second floor contained displays of contemporary indigenous culture. These displays included dioramas with mannequins in colorful garb inside of thatch huts, surrounded by objects commonly used by indigenous cultures, such as pots and weavings. The dioramas also included seemingly incongruous items such as paintings of Christian saints, radios and plastic shopping bags.

Reflection
Walking through the museum, I thought of my family’s Christmas celebration. I won’t bore you with a detailed description of The Lunn Family Christmas, but suffice to say it combines some traditional German elements (opening gifts on Christmas Eve), some traditional American elements (Santa Claus has been known to leave gifts) and usually ends with us sitting around the TV watching a video. That is, like the indigenous families in the diorama, we incorporate new elements into the mix of older traditions.

Even though our family has begun using an artificial tree and we don’t decorate our tree with candles and garlands of popcorn and cranberries, I still think of The Lunn Family Christmas as a traditional event. I don’t believe that things stop being traditional just because a modern element is added. Moreover modern elements can become traditional. I appreciated how the museum recognized this in its exhibits of contemporary indigenous culture.

Question
How would you design a museum exhibit of your traditional abode?

Mexico: The Liberated Street Food Consumer

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As I’m sure you’ve seen on our concurrent food blog, Josh and I have experienced many tasty treats so far in Mexico. Many of these we discovered frequenting street vendors. For example, in Guanajuato, one afternoon I was so hungry that I stopped by a stand selling chicken sandwiches and asked for some bread. The young woman at the stand was surprised by my humble request. I explained that I didn’t eat chicken, so bread would be fine.
“What about a sandwich with avocado?” she asked.
I replied with a cautious, “Sí.”
“And tomato?” she continued.
I replied with an enthusiastic, “Sí!”
“And lettuce, onions and chili?”
I nearly jumped with joy. And thus was born my new favorite sandwich.

Fine Mexican cuisine even extends beyond sandwiches. The food vendors we’ve encountered on the streets and in markets usually have had the ingredients for what they’re preparing in bowls displayed at the front of their stands. These ingredients are added to some form of a tortilla along with salsa. Thus are gorditas, huaraches, enchiladas, tostadas, tacos and quesidillas created. Josh and I often point at ingredients and ask if they contain meat or dairy. If they don’t, we request that a gordita/taco/huarache, etc. be made out of them. The vendors also seem to enjoy coming up with suggestions for combinations of vegetables.

Reflection
Josh and I agree that we like taking matters into our own stomachs… er… hands like this. “We’re beyond menus!” we proclaim. Since liberation theology (see previous blog, “Queretaro and Oaxaca: Does God hate gold?”) has been on my mind, I’ve begun to draft a manifesto entitled, “Food Ordering for Self-Actualization.” Mind you this is just a draft, so I welcome input before it goes to the presses.

“Whereas: congregations who read the Bible themselves, discuss it with others and relate the Bible to their own lives to interpret it are empowered and liberated;
Whereas: students who read primary source material and discuss it amongst themselves develop into independent, critical thinkers;
Therefore be it resolved: It is manifest that engaging with the primary sources of “food” and “vendor” to develop vegan interpretations of Mexican food leads to intellectual & spiritual enlightenment as well as political & economic liberation.
Menus are merely a starting point! The Liberated Street Food Consumer (LSFC) only uses the menu as a guide. The LSFC shall not relinquish her tastes and values simply because of the constraints of a given menu. The LSFC examines a menu for ideas, but also examines the ingredients and dialogs with the vendor to develop a creative, unique, and principled eating experience.
It must be emphasized that the vendor is an equal partner in the struggle for yummy meals …”

Question
When have you been able to “eat outside the menu”?

Queretaro and Oaxaca: Does God hate gold?

Action
Kathy, our host in Querataro, came to Chiapas in 1970 as a Catholic missionary. Working with extremely poor indigenous people in jungle villages, she learned to practice a type of theology and religious work that was explicitly pro-poor: liberation theology.

Liberation theologians believe that institutionalized violence and poverty are sins and offenses against God. Liberation theology interprets the scriptures and Christian faith based primarily on the suffering, struggle, and hope of the poor. At the same time, it critiques the systemic oppression of society and the practice of the church itself.

Since the 1970s, liberation theologians have rejected the hierarchy and elite-orientation of the Catholic church in Latin America. Rather than teach at private schools and preach in opulent cathedrals, they have gone to rural villages to establish lay-led groups of Christians, in which villagers can more democratically interpret and act on their religious convictions, ultimately in order to establish a more just society. In Chiapas, Kathy’s future husband initiated the consciousness-raising catechist groups that sowed the seeds for the Zapatista rebellion.

Over thirty years later, Renate and I walk down the pedestrianized Macedonio Alcala in Oaxaca and peek into the Santo Domingo church. Like the other tourists, we briefly gaze at the ornate gold-plated designs and figurines that flood the church’s interior:


As we emerge from the church, Renate’s first comment is that she can see why liberation theologians became disenchanted with the Catholic Church and disgusted with what they had been doing.

Reflection
Could the travel guidebooks possibly be wrong? Should grand cathedrals not be the highlight of every quaint historic town tour? Or, if the Bible says "But if any one has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or speech but in deed and truth" (I John, 3:17-18. [RSV]; cf. also James 2:14-17), should we tear down gold-plated churches and redistribute the spoils to the poor? After all, “Ours is a God of radical transformations and rearrangements, the God who puts down the mighty from their thrones and exalts those of low degree” (Luke 1)

After learning more about liberation theology, this was of course my plan… but spoilsport Renate kept muttering about “legal repercussions” and “deportation”. As if she knew anything about Mexican law!

The scent of nearby taco stands conveniently distracted me, but after recharging, I still felt bitter towards the church we visited. In a region of such extreme poverty (Oaxaca state is one of the poorest of Mexico), why should so much wealth be spent to adorn a building of prayer? Even in more affluent areas, why should this gold not be used to reduce poverty? Or, given the constraints, should we at least orient our tourism in other directions?

Question
Beyond gazing at cathedrals, what are other ways of learning about local religious practices and histories while traveling?