What are you doing in Guatemala?

As the rain pours down outside near the end of another day at the office, I thought it was time to write a little about my work here in Rabinal.

Before coming, I knew little about Guatemala other than its rich cultural Mayan history in the Pre-Colombian era. After first year law exams ended, I spent some time in Victoria reading the Recovery of Historical Memory (REMHI) Report written by Bishop Gerardi called Guatemala: Nunca Mas-Never Again. It was released in April of 1998, and 2 days later Bishop Gerardi was violently killed in his home in the capital. When I arrived, I read more in the UN sponsored Clarification of Historical Memory (CEH) Report and a lot of info about the massacres that occurred here in Rabinal and the surrounding communities. I feel better informed, but I'm sure there is still so much more that I don't know. My tenuous grasp on the situation in Guatemala becomes more concrete every day, but I still feel like I'm at the base of a mountain of information to scale. Nonetheless, I am here, working in solidarity with people in hopes attaining some semblance of justice.

Often my work feels divorced from the people with whom I interact every day. I do a lot of research on the international system we are using regarding specific questions posed by the lawyer with whom I work. My Westlaw password is once again ingrained in my memory and my USB chip is filled with jurisprudence of the court and commission. But every so often, just as I am beginning to become frustrated with the unstable Internet connection or feel like I am not making a concrete contribution, I get a refreshing reminder of why I am here.

A week and a half ago, I went to a meeting in one the nearby communities. We were at a woman´s house and on the porch area maybe about 30 women from the community were there. Each one had lost a husband, son, or brother in the massacre in their village. We were there to say that we wanted to help bring their case before the system we are using to seek justice. We couldn't promise money or anything other than the State's recognition of the wrongs that occurred 26 years earlier. These women all were totally on board and as we went through the list of names we had (I think they were from the exhumations or other petitions that have been filed), they all knew which relatives belonged to which victim and the dates of their death, or exhumation, or whether they were disappeared. I was sitting beside this woman who just exuded wisdom and strength, and the first name on the list was her husband. Mi esposo. It was so intense. And yet, these women didn't show sadness. They were laughing and sharing amongst each other, clarifying dates and places. Since the woman who was doing a lot of the speaking is pregnant, I was writing the names on the chart paper, which was an interesting experience in Achi orthography in and of itself, and I think the women were laughing with me at this attempt. Even though I had no clue really what they were saying, their laughter, smiles and strength made the same spread through me. They asked questions, made decisions...no holds barred. Their strength was incredible. I think it is one of the most profound experiences I have had so far, and likely one that I will never forget.

When I speak about my position to family and friends at home, I say I am doing an International Human Rights Internship. I feel like human rights is a term that gets thrown around and its significance becomes lost in the shuffle. What counts as a human right? How are people deprived of them- what does that entail? There are declarations and conventions, yes, but what does it mean in terms of how one lives everyday. In Canada, its sometimes hard to envision living without certain fundamental securities that many of us take for granted. At home, it is unlikely that I will ever receive a death threat for the work that I will do there. I don't imagine I will be persecuted for my political affiliations or my views of the world. I probably won't be killed just because of the colour of my skin, my gender, or my sexual orientation. If I did receive a threat or was to be persecuted, I could report it to a competent judicial body, it would be investigated, and those responsible would be punished accordingly. As a woman, I will likely face systemic discrimination at various points along my journey, but I have many fundamental freedoms that I exercise daily without notice. I have a post-secondary education. I have access to medical care, birth control, clean drinking water and housing. I have the freedom to chose any partner I desire and marry that person if I wanted to, regardless of gender. Not everyone in Canada can say all of the above. I try to be aware of my privilege, and to accept the responsibility that comes along with it.

But here, the situation is not even remotely close. What brought me here to work was the genocide of the Indigenous Mayan population. Racism, sexism, and homophobia are everyday realities. Fear still grips the population, as evidenced by the streets that are empty everyday by 8 pm. People are killed without reason, investigations are not conducted, and impunity reigns supreme. People live from meal to meal. For this reason, everything is available in small quantities. You can buy one egg, one piece of bread, one cigarette. It takes incredible courage and strength to subvert the status quo, confront fear head on, and fight for what is right.

The people I work with are all doing amazing work; they are courageous people and inspire me everyday. Returning from lunch today, one of the women who works in the women's office told me that she went to a play this morning put on my a group of women from Huehuetenango in the western highlands of Guatemala. It was called A Knot in my Throat and it spoke of one woman's story of rape during the conflict. The woman with whom I work said that even though it was the story of this particular woman, it is the story of so many women she knows and who come to the office everyday, and of thousands (possibly hundreds of thousands) of women across the country. The act of speaking, of telling the story, of breaking the silence, is so important, so significant.

So a month in, those are my thoughts thus far on what I am doing here. I am grateful for the chance to be here and to contribute where and what I can. The people of Rabinal show such strength in the face of adversity, and lead such rich lives amidst gripping poverty, again demonstrating the two distinct faces of life in Guatemala.