Progressing Reflections

When I first started on this journey of getting ready to go to Guatemala, my one and only goal was to learn Spanish. I had a very singular mindset as I got started. However, upon completing the readings needed for this month, and our talks in class, another goal has come to the surface that I am now adding to my goal list. I want to understand what my students are going through. One of the major themes of the readings and class discussions has been trauma. This year in particular, my district is pushing for trauma-informed practices among the staff members in all the schools of the district. Studies have shown that trauma affects the brain, and as the book We Were Taught to Plant Corn, Not to Kill mentions several times, trauma can become embedded in a person’s DNA, and can be a very challenging thing to overcome. Many of my students struggle with trauma also, which can make them act out in strange ways, often ways that one would not expect. If I view them from the lens of a traumatized person, rather than just a kid “acting out” in class, I am more likely to be understanding and patient with their behavior.


I feel like the trauma that my students have experienced and the trauma of the indigenous people of Guatemala share one big key element: being taken advantage of and unable to stop it. Page 38-40 of I, Rigoberta Menchu describes the death of her brother, and how her mother had to watch him slowly starve to death, unable to do anything to help him. The landowners wouldn’t even allow her to bury him, and when she finally did get the money to afford him a burial, they fired her for missing a day of work. I counted 7 different times in the chapter that Rigoberta said, “I/we didn’t know what to do.” The feeling of helplessness perpetuates the feeling of trauma even further. When she was a maid in the capital, her only way to maintain her dignity was to be stubborn and refuse certain tasks that the mistress was trying to force her to do. (pg 91-100) This applies a lot to my students as well, who will often be defiant just for the sake of being defiant. After reading that chapter, I now wonder if it’s because they are treated so badly at home, or because they see their parents acting like that to authority figures who take advantage of them. The part of the book that truly made me sick was page 177, where she described in detail watching her brother and other prisoners be tortured and burned alive, and knowing she could do nothing to stop it. Her mother later said on page 196, that “when a woman sees her son tortured and burned to death, she is incapable of forgiving anyone or ridding herself of that hatred.” After her mother was kidnapped, she still couldn’t even go to see her, because she knew she would be killed anyway, and there was nothing she could do.


That same theme of helplessness and trauma was present in We Were Taught to Plant Corn, Not to Kill, as well. The story that stood out to me the most was the one called Innocence on page 26. Up until that point, I had read about the atrocities in the other books we’d covered in class, but the evil in that story was what really hit home. I couldn’t fathom what kind of people would offer toys to little children, and then brutally murder them and their entire families. Later, when the author returned, she found that the soldiers had lived in and trashed her house. After reading that story, I had to take a break because I felt too sick to read anymore.


The other story that stood out to me in that section of the book was on page 43, the chapter called “Schools.” In college, I had read stories about children in the Southwestern United States who were indigenous Native Americans, who were forced to go through the same kind of treatment: Not allowed to speak their home language, verbally and physically abused at the whims of their teachers, and a lack of education overall. The quote that stood out to me the most was, “That is how they forced us to learn Spanish, and taught us to be ashamed of the fact that we were Mayan.” (43) I feel like when one has been taught from childhood to be ashamed of who they are, that doesn’t go away quickly, if ever.


But there was hope at the end of the book, and I did like that part. On page 117, it says, “Children represent Guatemala’s best hope for the future, their minds are still open.” It goes on to talk about how trauma-informed mental health services will be the best chance that Guatemala has at healing from the trauma in their past. Changing people’s mindsets, though, it not easy, no matter what country you are in.


On page 39 of Guatemala in Focus (which I finished last month but revisited this month), it says that by “The government agreed to launch a campaign to change mindsets and behavior and to criminalize ethnic discrimination.” I feel like the later will be much easier than the former. As with most stories in history, it is easier to change laws than to change people’s minds. Even in The United States, we have laws prohibiting racism and inequality, but we still see it all over the place in people’s minds. But I agree that something must be done.


I think it will start by listening. Listening to the families, my teachers, the people in the aldea, and hearing any stories they have to share. Last week, when I was doing parent teacher conferences, I experienced a lot of frustration as I tried to ask questions in Spanish, knowing full well I would only be able to catch half the answer. I was able to catch the important half, however. Maybe the same thing will apply with the people in Guatemala, also. Or maybe just by listening with my heart, I will be able to understand them, even if I don’t understand every word they say.


Another topic we talked about in class that I know I will need to improve on before leaving, is the ability to admit when I don’t know, and let others support me. As Profesora Bontrager shared her story about the man who told her, “You are really hard to give to!” that really hit home with me, because I started to realize that independence and self-reliance are the traits I hold dearest to me, too. In the last 7 years, I have lost a parent, moved myself across the country away from everyone I knew, lived on my own, started my career, started my own business, and became a homeowner, all by myself. Not only that, but I have been wounded countless times by situations where I have accepted help from others, only to have that help held against me as collateral, or to be ridiculed or shamed for the help I asked for. Or in some cases, I would be promised help, and that promise would be meaningless. Since then, I have prided myself on being independent and not relying on others. But as I read through the books, especially I, Rigoberta Menchu, I was struck by how often the people in her village relied on one another for food, shelter, protection, and support. I realized that independence is very much an American value. I am once again breaching a new territory with an unfamiliar custom. I don’t interpret gray areas very well, and I feel like this is a big one. How much should I ask for help before I become a burden to others? Who is safe to ask for help, and who will shame me for it? I know that suffering quietly is not the answer if I need something, but it will be such unfamiliar territory that I will need a lot of guidance.





Thankfully, even though I will be staying on my own with my host family, I know I will not be there alone. If I am experiencing frustration, homesickness, fatigue, or stress, there will most certainly be others in the group who are going through the same thing. Maybe we will be able to support each other, so that no one has to go through feeling that alone.