GUATEMALA

In the account of Rigoberta Menchú captured in “I, Rigoberta Menchú,” she details the abysmal struggles she, her family, and her entire community must face in the worsening living conditions created by the systematic abuses of power. Her father would say that “the rich have become rich because they took what our ancestors had away from them, and now they grow fat on the sweat of our labor.” The description of the lives they would lead down on the fincas is one of grueling work, little pay, and endless traps to eat up what little money they may have been made. Her family would spend months working, only to have their money whisked away by supposed debts that they never could have incurred, having to watch their payments sink into the pockets of landowners. The rage that only centuries of underhanded tricks can culminate in a population is taken and transformed into organized movements against systematic oppression that Menchú and her community collectively produce and embody. The colonial narrative of general inferiority is taken, spun, and hurled back against the government as a projectile force that is ready to defend its traditions and cultural practices. Even in the circumstance that they must temporarily give up those traditions in order to protect them, the indigenous communities took up the weapons of their enemies (in this case, absorbing biblical texts and imagery and learning the Spanish language), and used them as tools to effectively fight the battles they were ensnared in.

In a concealed manner, the landowners found a legal loophole to ensure virtual slavery and zero profit for migrant workers.

This insidious creation upset me during the discussion of the indigenous manipulation because the harder people like Menchú’s parents worked the further behind they got.

What stood out to me was the sheer brutality of indigenous experiences that are difficult to imagine.

Since Elisabeth Burgos-Debray, the interviewer that directs Menchú’s telling of her narrative, is an anthropologist by training, she was able to ask questions that guided Menchú within the context of the interview.

—Elena Lee

To fully understand the concept of collective memory within the murder of the Quiché [now spelled K’iche’] and other Guatemalan indigenous peoples, Burgos’ anthropological analysis elucidates that way in which an individual, Menchú, can tell the story of her people.

The lengthy descriptions of the Quiché society and culture (i.e., marriage, birth, death) seem a bit overwhelming at first glance.

As the text transitions to the memories of violence and family upheaval, Burgos’ emphasis on anthropology allows the reader to recognize why Menchú has such a fierce loyalty and attachment to her community.

Another event caught my attention: the Chixoy Massacre of 1982. A village of indigenous people, including men and women, young and old, were murdered by the Guatemalan military and security guards. The reason was the government wished to build a hydroelectric dam near their residence. Instead of negotiation and evacuation, they decided it was better to just kill them off once and for all. This massacre gave me a glimpse of the social status of the oppressed. They were treated as if disposable. Their voices were silenced by the powerful hand of military force.

—Helen Liu

Indigenous people had to work extremely hard to not only provide for their families but also to protect themselves from white landowners and the military. This has been the case for generations and these historical memories have been passed down. Because these historical memories are often associated with trauma, this can be a source of bonding for those in the community. I wonder if this is why communities are so close because they have this collective experience with significant traumas?

—Hannah Shiffert

Menchú grew into sensibility at a very young age. Her environment was not of the comfortable type, with hard work on country plantations known as fincas, as well as constant traveling between their workplace and their home in the Altiplano. Her people were also treated with disrespect. Pesticides were often sprayed upon them and they were kept under constant hard labor.

Despitesuchtoughconditions, Menchústayedstrongand evenofferedtohelpher motherearntheirfamilyʼs livingbypickingcoffee…

Indian labor was treated as cheap workforce without their basic human rights. When Menchú’s little brother passed away on a finca, the family did not even know what to do with the body. Burial on the fincas’ grounds would cost more than they could afford; bringing him back to the far Altiplano was not an option either. Roots towards Menchú’s political activism can be traced very early in the testimony. The seed of rebellion grows strong in the soil of inequality and oppression.

—Helen Liu

Over 80% of the fatalities in the civil war were Mayan individuals. Therefore, these victims couldn’t share the memories of the Mayan genocide, and Menchú’s story breathed life into the memories of deceased individuals like Dona Petrona Chona. Questioning the validity of texts is always essential in establishing an accurate historical account. However, after Menchú won the Nobel Peace Prize, intense criticism developed due to the claim that she fabricated some stories. When one focuses on questioning the collective memory in Guatemala, one undermines the purpose of Menchú’s book. Readers need to acknowledge the intricacies of the Mayan culture and how the Ladinos, the antithesis of their society, subjected the Mayan to genocide.

Guatemalans looking at whether human rights are being protected see corporations like the United Fruit Company, which are working with the United States and the Guatemalan government to strip indigenous peoples of their land. Through that historical action, which has allowed the United States to have plenty of fruit, they have taken away Guatemalans’ lands, right to dignity, right to food security, and many more rights they should be afforded … The cycle of western involvement in creating dictatorships or weak governments has been difficult to break. However, Latin America seemed to have been moving toward social reforms in the early 2020s with left-wing presidents’ being elected. Some, like Peru, have failed spectacularly, but other new leftwing presidents are working to deliver the reforms they promised. Thanks to publicity from figures like Menchú, Guatemala reached a reckoning of sorts with its truth commission in the 1990s exposing the genocide of Mayan indigenous peoples and human rights abuses. After the initial reform, the government has stalled in its human rights reforms. If the elites of the country have no motive, such as a rebellious group threatening the status quo, they will not make the necessary changes to protect their people.