I, Rigoberta Menchu

by Rigoberta Menchu

  The situation we are in means that our women don’t get married because they’re expecting something happy, a lovely family, pleasure, or something different from what they already have. No, not at all. They know that a very hard life awaits them. Although for us marriage is something joyful (because the concept our ancestors had was that our race must not die out and we must follow our traditions and customs as they did), at the same time it is something very painful, knowing that when you get married you’ll have the responsibility of bringing up your children, and not only of looking after them, but worrying, trying to make do, and hoping they live. In Guatemala, it’s unusual for a family not to see some of their young children die.

  Well, in my case, I analyzed my ideas about not getting married with some of my compañeros. I realized that what I said wasn’t crazy, that it wasn’t some personal mad idea, but that our whole situation makes women think very hard before getting married, because who will look after the children, who will feed them? As I was saying before, we’re used to living in a community, among up to ten or eleven brothers or sisters. But there are also cases of women who are left alone because all their brothers and sisters go off and get married, so they’re sometimes forced to get married because they know how hard it will be for them by themselves. But knowing that I had to multiply the seed of our ancestors and, at the same time, rejecting marriage…that was a crazy idea. I thought I was alone in feeling like this, but when I discussed it with other women, they saw the whole thing of getting married in the same way I did. It is terrible to know that such a hard life awaits you, with so much responsibility to make sure your children live. You can’t think any other way in Guatemala: when you get engaged or married, you immediately think of the many children you’re going to have. I’ve been in love many times but it was precisely because of that fear that I didn’t jump into marriage. But the time came when I saw clearly–it was actually when I’d begun my life as a revolutionary–that I was fighting for a people and for many children who hadn’t anything to eat. I could see how sad it would be for a revolutionary not to leave a seed, because the seed which was left behind would enjoy the fruits of this work in the future. But I thought of the risks of having a child. It would be much easier for me to die, at any time or place, if I weren’t leaving anyone behind to suffer. That would be sad, because although my community would take care of my child, of my seed, no other person can give a child the love his mother can, however much that person looks after and cares for the child. I was very confused about all this because so many dedicated compañeros said they would be there on the day of victory, but I knew that they could give their lives at any time and would no longer be there. All this horrified me and gave me a lot to think about.

  I was engaged once but I wasn’t sure, because, well, the idea our ancestors had–and it’s ours too–is that you don’t only look for happiness for yourself but also for your family. I was very confused. Society and so many other things wouldn’t leave me alone, I always had a heavy heart.

  And then when my parents died, I felt what a daughter feels for a father and mother when they die, and even more so because of the way they died. That’s when I decided, although I can’t say that it’s a final decision because I am open to life. My idea is, though, that there will be time enough after our victory; but at the moment I wouldn’t feel happy having a compañero and giving myself to him while so many of our people are not thinking of their own personal happiness and haven’t a single moment to rest. This gave me a lot to think about. As I said, I am human and I am a woman so I can’t say that I reject marriage altogether, but I think my primary duty is to my people and then to my personal happiness. I know many compañeros who have devoted themselves without reservation to the struggle, without thinking of personal happiness. And I know compañeros who’ve gone through bitter moments, who have troubles and worries, but who, nevertheless, are in the struggle and carry on. It could be that I renounced marriage because of the harsh experience of having seen so many friends die. This not only frightens me, it puts me in a panic, because I don’t want to be a widow, or a tortured mother. I’m restricted by so many things. It’s not just not wanting a child. Many little things have made me think about renouncing all this. I know that our men have suffered too, because many compañeros had to give their children away so they could carry on the struggle, or they’ve had to leave their women in other places–not because they don’t want marriage but because they feel it is their duty to fight for their people.

  The conclusion I came to was that, while we have so many problems, we shouldn’t look for more. There are married women in the struggle, however, who contribute as much as I do, compañeras who have five or six children and do magnificent work. Being afraid of all that is a certain trauma I have. I’m even more afraid when I think that if I had a compañero, I’d probably love him very much and I wouldn’t want it to be for only a week or two because after that he wouldn’t be there. While I don’t have this problem, I won’t look for it. But, as I said, I’m open to life. It doesn’t mean that I reject everything because I know that things come in their time and when you do things calmly, they work much better.

  As I said, I was engaged once. At one time he wanted a lot of things in life; a nice house for his children and a peaceful life. But I didn’t think like that. We’d known each other since we were children, but unfortunately he left our village and had to go to the city. He became a factory worker, and then really turned into a compañero with good work prospects who thought differently from the way I and my village thought. So, when I became a revolutionary I had to choose between two things–the struggle or my compañero. I came to all sorts of conclusions because I loved this compañero and I could see the sacrifices he made for me. It was a more open engagement than was usual for people of my culture. Well, there I was between these two things–choosing him or my people’s struggle. And that’s what I chose, and I left my compañero with much sadness and a heavy heart. But I told myself that I had a lot to do for my people and I didn’t need a pretty house while they lived in horrific conditions like those I was born and grew up in. Well, that’s when we went our separate ways. I told him that it wasn’t right for me to stay with him because he had other ideas and we’d never understand each other, since he wanted one thing and I’d always go on wanting another. Then I went on with our struggle and now I’m on my own. But, as I said, there’ll be a time when things will be different, when we’ll all be happy, perhaps not with nice houses, but at least we won’t see our lands running with blood and sweat.

  XXXII

  STRIKE OF AGRICULTURAL WORKERS AND THE FIRST OF MAY IN THE CAPITAL

  ‘Our commitment made us realize that we now had to find new forms of struggle.’

  —Rigoberta Menchú

  After the occupation of the Spanish embassy, all the sectors whose leaders had died there began to unite. We began to talk. I took part as a leader of the CUC. While we had very close relations with the other sectors, there was no one organization which cemented us all together. Our compañeros keep silent about a lot of things and this had helped strengthen our organization. But our commitment made us realize that we now had to find new forms of struggle. So in February of 1980, the last peasants’ strike in Guatemala took place. It was a strike of eighty thousand peasants, sugar and cotton workers in the south of the country and in the Boca Costa, on the coastal strip where the sugar and cotton plantations are. The workers stopped work. We began with eight thousand peasants; then, little by little, the number grew and we finally managed to paralyze the work of between seventy and eighty thousand peasants for fifteen days. Yes, and in this strike we used the weapons of the people, the weapons we’d learned in each of our various sectors, in the various ethnic groups of the Altiplano, in all our different communities. Many different methods were used. In the sugar plantations, the owners had introduced a modern machine which strips the cane and collects it up, although the workers still cut it. It was found that this ma
chine didn’t pick up one ton, it picked up more. So they’re stealing from the workers because they are only paid per ton. So the compañeros decided to sabotage these machines, to burn them so that the peasant would be paid for his work. The peasants also took a more violent attitude towards the army. The result was that we were surrounded by troops on land and in the air, but they couldn’t do anything because there were just too many peasants for them to massacre. We decided that not one of our compañeros would be massacred there and that it was our duty to look after every life and help each other. When the army began to move in against the strikers, in many places in the Altiplano people began building barricades on several of the roads leading down to the coast. This was to prevent the army from passing. The peasants on the coast also set up big barricades so that we would have defences for when the army arrived. We fought with nothing more than machetes, stones and sticks, but we were concentrated in one spot. That’s how we managed to paralyze the economy. We were on strike for fifteen days and, for a landowner, seventy or eighty thousand workers on strike for fifteen days is pretty tough. It was a pretty heavy blow. Many compañeros were shot during the strike but as they shot the first compañeros, the people became more determined. More people came forward and threw themselves at the army.

  The strike was declared in February of 1980. I was working with the CUC but I was still a labourer in the fincas as well. I wasn’t only a leader. We have learned that the role of a leader is as a coordinator more than anything, because the struggle is propelled forwards by the compañeros themselves. My work was mainly preparing new compañeros to take over the tasks that I or any of the other leaders do. In practice, the compañeros have to learn Spanish as I did, have to learn to read and write as I did, and assume all the responsibility for their work as I did. The reason behind this was that we’re continually changing our roles, tasks, and our work. Our experience in Guatemala has always been to be told: ‘Ah, poor Indians, they can’t speak.’ And many people have said, ‘I’ll speak for them.’ This hurt us very much. This is a kind of discrimination. But we have understood that each one of us is responsible for the struggle and we don’t need leaders who only shuffle paper. We need leaders who are in danger, who run the same risks as the people. When there are many compañeros with equal abilities, they must all have the opportunity to lead their struggle.

  We called the strike to demand a minimum wage of five quetzals. We didn’t get the five quetzals. We only got three quetzals twenty. The landowners promised us a minimum wage of three-twenty but they didn’t keep this agreement in many things. They increased the wage with one hand, and stole from us in different ways with the other. Before the strike we earned seventy-five centavos per day if we worked well, i.e. three-quarters of a quetzal. There were cases of only forty-five or fifty centavos being paid. We asked for five quetzals. Naturally, it was a heavy blow for the landowner, because to jump from seventy-five centavos to five quetzals is a lot. We began working again when the landowners signed an agreement giving us the three-twenty. It was a fair wage. At the same time, we demanded better treatment for the workers. That is, that they shouldn’t give us hard tortillas, or rotten beans, but that the food should be fit for human beings.

  When the strike began I was down on the coast, but afterwards I went up to the Altiplano to organise solidarity with the strikers on the coast. What we did in the Altiplano during that time was paint signs and make banners repudiating the landowners in various towns and villages. We also gave out leaflets calling on people to join their organization: the CUC. Well, that was when the government started getting more worried about the situation, because while they’d thought it was just a few of us risking our lives, they hadn’t paid much attention to us. Not all the eighty thousand peasants were organized, of course. Many of them acted spontaneously. When they saw the others were on strike, they joined in too and demanded their rights. This helped heighten the political awareness of many of them. After the strike, there was a lot, really a lot, of work to be done, because all over the country our peasant compañeros were asking to be organized.

  They needed organizing because that’s when the repression really began. This time it wasn’t only in El Quiché, but our compañeros in Sololá, Chimaltenango and Huehuetenango were also suffering. This was the case in all the most militant Indian zones, in all the areas most inhabited by Indians. I remember that it was when I was working with compañero Romeo and others who are dead now, tortured by the government. The villages were very heavily repressed. What the army did was to put armoured cars in the parks and other places in the towns. They fired all kinds of ammunition at the houses, to make people hide inside their homes. Then they bombed the houses. What they wanted was to exterminate the population once and for all. They didn’t want anyone to survive. During the bombing, my mother had to attend to many of the wounded, people who’d lost fingers, eyes. And the children were crying and crying. There was nothing that could be done about the crops because they were ready for harvesting, and the army set fire to them so that the whole lot would burn. The children who lost their parents had to take refuge in the mountains. People were looking for their children and couldn’t find them. They were all concentrated in one place and were living almost like little guerrillas.

  The way the priests behaved there was very beneficial, because they kept the people’s spirits up. When the army bombed the village with a type of grenade which burns–napalm–many of them didn’t explode and the children would pick them up and take them away. In Chimaltenango, the army put all the people they’d kidnapped–men, women and children–around the barracks, so that if the guerrilla groups attacked them, they would have to kill them first. All this hit the population very hard. The army didn’t enter many of the villages. They stayed on the outskirts and marched over the mountain because they were afraid of being attacked by guerrillas. That’s why they preferred bombing. They went through the region and rounded up many young men who didn’t belong to any organization because of how hard the work is in that region and the concentrated repression. They took them away and set up militias in the towns of Chimaltenango. They forced them to learn to kill, but many of them escaped because they didn’t want to be there.

  Our situation is very difficult. The army passes with its lorries along the main roads. Many of our people are living in camps after the bombing. But now the people have four politico-military armed organizations. The Ejército Guerrillero de los Pobres (EGP),* the Organización del Pueblo en Armas (ORPA)†, the Fuerzas Armadas Rebeldes (FAR)‡, and the Partido Guatemalteco del Trabajo (PGT)§. This is the nucleus of the national leadership. At the time of the Spanish embassy affair there was already a rapprochement between the people’s organizations and the students, but the occupation of the embassy was the first operation they carried out together. When all those student, peasant and workers’ leaders died together in the embassy, we knew we had an alliance and we looked at how we would confront the policies of the government together. The repression had spread out over the whole of the Altiplano and the coastal region. It had reached sectors which hadn’t been touched in the beginning.

  We came to the conclusion that we had to form a united front. We called it the 31st of January Popular Front, in honour of our compañeros who died on that day in the Spanish embassy. The people’s organizations which make up this front are: the CUC, the Revolutionary Workers groups, the coordinating committee in the shanty towns,* the Vicente Menchú Revolutionary Christians, the Robin García Secondary Students Revolutionary Front, and the Robin García University Students Front. Robin García was a student compañero who was very concerned with the safety of others. He was a student leader and was killed after being kidnapped and tortured. For the students he is a hero. So at the beginning of 1981, we announced the creation of the 31st of January Popular Front, to combat the political repression. It organized numerous actions throughout the country under the slogan ‘Out with the Political Clique’. Through the CUC, it incorporates nearly
all the peasants. It includes the people who live in the shanty towns on the outskirts of the cities through their coordinating committee. The conditions in the shanty towns are tragic. The people live in houses made out of cardboard; they’re not even houses. And the students are active in their circles. And the workers in the front are the ones for whom belonging to an officially recognized union would mean death. They work as individuals.

  Our idea is to put into practice the methods initiated by the masses when they evolved their ‘people’s weapons’: to be able to make Molotov cocktails to fight the army; to use their knowledge. What we use most in Guatemala are propaganda bombs. For the First of May, we carried out many actions and set up barricades. We wanted to weaken the government economically, politically and militarily. We weaken them economically by our actions in that, although the workers carry on working, they tamper with their machines or break parts. Small things that drain economic resources. This is a struggle for our rights, but it also weakens the landowner economically. We boycott anything we can, or destroy a coffee estate, or a cotton estate, depending on the attitude of the landowner. We have to do these things because we can’t show our repudiation of the landowners by striking. Our actions weaken the regime militarily too. We try to split up the armed forces so that not only do they have to attack our politico-military organizations, but they have to spread themselves to attack us as well.