Guate & the F-Word

Before some people get their panties in a twist (uhum Peace Corps I know you're monitoring), this isn't a post about that F-Word.

Instead, it's about feminism. And since March 8th (this past Monday) was the 99th International Women's Day, I thought what a better time to discuss feminism than now.

Before I delve into the topic at hand though, let's discuss Guatemala  for a little bit.
And to start off, let's play a game... a word association game. So, if I could only use one word to describe Guatemalan culture, what would it be? Hmmm, oh yeah: machista.

Don't believe me? Well here are some stats to back up the machismo (which were brought to our attention during one of our weekly training sessions, sorry I didn't get the actual source... pretty sure my jaw hit the floor when I saw this and completely forgot to cite!).
Without further ado, Guatemalan gender issues in convenient 'percentage form':

• 30% of Guatemalan women surveyed think it is acceptable to be spoken to innappropriately
• 70% of Guatemalans surveyed agree women should remain in the home
• 54% of Guatemalan women surveyed agree to be submissive/docile to men
• 53% of Guatemalans surveyed agree that men determine # of children in family
• 60% of Guatemalans surveyed think that men are the economic decision makers
• And finally 4/10 Guatemalan females surveyed think men are the superior gender

I'm not sure about you, but these stats are frightening--especially when you see the effects of machismo in everyday life.

For example, being a proud feminist, I decided to decorate my netbook with a 'Feminism is for Lovers' sticker; nothing fancy, just a plain sticker with a strong message on it. One night, after my host family came in contact with the sticker, they decided to sit me down for dinner and 'scare me' with a wonderful (read: disturbing) bed time story (which I will paraphrase/embellish below).

There was once a strong, feminist in town who would fight for women's rights with her fog horn and picket sign. Day in and day out, she would rile up the women to stand up for their rights and rebel against the machismo in their homes and communities; singing songs that would make Rosie the Riveter and Margaret Sanger jump for joy. Well, one day the feminist took a little longer than expected to come home from a rally, but instead of being welcomed by her husband, she was brutally beaten while her ten year old son watched. As she cried for help, all the other 'smarter' women in town laughed their tushes off because the feminist should have known that it is a woman's job to please the husband first rather than go off galavanting and looking for trouble. The next day, the feminist appeared bruised and fragile, without her picket sign or her fog horn, because she had finally learned that her husband and son come first.

Yeah, these are the wonderful tales I was told after dinner; and let me remind you, this was all because of a sticker!

And these real stories (which come up alot) that are supposed to teach women their role in life don't even scratch the muggy, machista surface. In fact, the place you see machismo the most is on the street.

From the moment a woman (no matter the age) steps on the street, wearing anything from greasy sweatpants to t-shirt/jeans, it begins. A slew of suggestive comments shush chuch noises, whistling and general cat-calling from males ranging from 10 to 60 years old. Yeah you heard me, it can be anyone from a ten year old boy (who hasn't even felt the pangs of puberty) to a wrinkled, liver-spotted older gentleman of sixty.

Most of the time, I can deal with the general nuissance, but there are times when things so vile come out of these mouths that I just want to jump off the highest (5 ft, joke) building! I've only had to deal with this for three months and yet I look at Guatemalan women who have dealt with this their whole lives and ask, How do they do it?

While most of the population seems to be sticking to status quo, I have already seen amazing men and women trying to bring in different notions into culture through Women's groups and other organizations. In the future, in fact, I hope to partner up with my site-mate and give self-defense classes (as a secondary project) to women in our area. Who knows if it will be well received, but with the success of some of the other experimental organizations and notions, maybe we too can make a difference here.

Character Profile: The Ex-Pandillero Who Has Turned a New Leaf

[Note: I feel, given my liberal arts background, I will sometimes have 'character profiles' featuring certain memorable folks around Guatemala. It's honestly a way to share my admiration (as a 'writer') for such great characters. Enjoy]

Oh no, he has a tattoo was something that both my camioneta companion, Leah, and I said as we saw him standing front and center, blocking any escape to the outside world with a stern look on his face.

Note: Sure, in the States, a tatoo is not a big deal--maybe it is a meaningful memento of times past or just a mistake you made when you were 18, but no one really pays any attention to your body art. Here in Guatemala, it's bad juju. It means you've been places (read: jail) and know people (read: know people will fear you).

The man who was now facing the whole camioneta was donned not only in tattoos, but scars-- wearing black from head to toe and carrying a box in his frightingly muscular arms.

Attention to everyone on the bus, he began as both Leah and I looked at each other ready to not only pee our pants in fear, but to give up all our valuables which we had cleverly hidden away in our bras, shoes, pants, and purses.

I could rob you this very moment and get away with it. I've been to jail, I've killed people, I've done it all and can do it again, he continued as I cursed my luck, wishing we hadn't waited an extra minute for a bus that didn't have limbs flying out of every open window and door.

...but I won't. At this point, everyone who had started creating a mental breakdown of their valuables (myself included), proceeds to ignore the guy and his lanky sidekick (who managed to copy his buddy by blocking the back exit of the camioneta --like two identical bookends holding everyone in the middle together).

THIS.DID.NOT.PLEASE.HIM.
It was as if his words had turned off the invisible lightbulbs of fear hanging above all the passengers and things turned.

Pay attention to me, he yelled as he banged the roof of the bus, possibly mimicking something he had done in the past (but instead of a pistol, there were rock hard chocolate bars which magically didn't break with the force).

I can see all of you looking out your window and pretending that you cannot understand me, but remember that I have the power. I'm giving you the option to buy my chocolate bars in order to avoid something else. Interesting. It's like we have a choice... right? Not. By this point, people were sneakily pulling out their quetzales in order to buy the chocolate and get these guys off the bus (I mean, even the bus attendant was so freaked out that he waited until both men were seated before collecting the bus fare AND he preferred to scale the outside of the bus back to the front rather than passing the guys in the middle once he was done).

Five stops later, we were at our stop and out the door. The two 'warm-hearted' ex-cons were still sitting, like two troublesome kids in the back of a classroom, assessing the damage. Who knows where they were going or which bus they were going to hit next, but so far, this duo was beyond interesting (and not to mention frightening).