Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink

Part 2 of a series

The sun scorched my balding pate as I stood in Tanque la Union Park in Antigua, Guatemala, balancing a six-foot-long blowgun in my arms. A family of Maya street vendors watched with broad smiles. A couple “gringo” travelers had already tried to fire it — and had succeeded only in sending the tiny round stone dribbling out the far end of the weapon.

But I was feeling confident — I was taller than all the Mayas, a rare moment in a crowd for me. And months earlier, on a drunken afternoon on Mount Riga with an old friend, I had gained some experience with blow guns.

“Good luck, dude” said a gringo. “Don’t swallow the bullet, it’s their only one.”

Indeed I did lose the “bullet.” I huffed that lonely stone ball over their heads, out of the park, across the street and embedded it solidly into the wall of the grandiose church on the corner. You’d have thought I had just brought down a bird in flight. The colorfully dressed Mayas were exuberant, slapping me on the back, laughing heartily, and then of course they immediately tried to sell me the blow gun.

I didn’t buy it of course. It was 1994. Not only was there a civil war underway in Guatemala, but NAFTA had just been signed and tourists were fleeing the violent Zapatista uprising in southern Mexico to enter relatively “safe” Guatemala.

Guatemala had been at war with itself since 1960, preceded by the U.S. military-supported overthrow of its democratically elected government in 1954. It then experienced a series of military coups. In 1994 the peace accords were still two years away, soldiers seemed to be everywhere, including in peaceful, touristy Antigua. 

I was not about to try and leave the country with a gun of any sort.

I shared my blowgun story around Antigua that week and soon learned that the Mayas at Tanque la Union were homeless Ixils from isolated mountain towns, likely war refugees, and probably too timid to sell their goods in the busy, competitive parts of town. I visited the Ixil in the park regularly that winter, and bought samples of their distinctively designed typical Maya clothing. One day I went to the little park and they were gone. I never saw them again.

Now, 21 years later, I hope to convince readers to venture several hours off Guatemala’s utility grid and help Michael Ewens and The Ripple Effect, a small NGO (tax exempt, non-governmental organization) install potable water systems to Ixil towns and small villages scattered on mountaintops and hidden in valleys. He’s making a big difference, and small efforts on his behalf could make a big difference.

You might recall that I wrote here a year ago that the best way to slow the arrival of thousands of desperate refugees on our Mexico border was not to throw our tax money down the drain that is the corrupt Guatemalan government, but rather to give small amounts of aid to committed non-government-affiliated people already making a difference.

Yes, I’m suggesting that we, as individuals or in groups, attempt to affect change directly by supported like-minded people. It’s sort of a mini-Marshall Plan to help nations recover from wars in which we played large roles.

Michael Ewens is one of those people. The Ripple Effect began after Ewens learned on June 16, 2006, that his son Forest, a U.S. Army soldier, had been killed in an ambush in Afghanistan. Ewens decided to use the proceeds from Forest’s life insurance policy to help the Ixil recover from the U.S.-supported, Guatemalan Army’s “scorched earth” policy during the civil war that had destroyed dozens of villages and massacred thousands of Ixil.

I wonder how many readers know that Efrain Rios-Montt, Guatemala’s ex-president, who gained and then lost his presidency as a result of military coups, was convicted of genocide in 2013? Or, that he’s on trial (for the second time) right now in Guatemala for his attempt to extinguish the entire Ixil culture during his two-year “term” from 1980 to 1982? The first conviction was, not surprisingly, vacated — this is, after all, the quintessential banana republic.

The current president, Otto Perez Molina, was a field commander in the Ixil area during that time. This has not been disputed, since he’s on film standing next to executed Ixil farmers. As of the Journal’s publication date, Rios-Montt, at age 89, waits in a psychiatric center in Guatemala City to learn if the trial will resume, or if his attorney’s motion to halt the trial due to his client’s supposed dementia will be granted.

Rios-Montt’s military government enacted the scorched-earth policy, in which his forces massacred Ixil men, women and children, destroyed their homes and villages and burned their crops. Rios-Montt is charged with ordering the deaths of 1,771 people in the area, and it is estimated that 7,000 Ixil people were killed during the war.

The child mortality rate in some villages can reach 40 percent by the age of five. Dysentery is blamed for 13 percent of all deaths in the area. Clean water, continued hygiene education and improved nutrition would help turn this around. Ninety percent of homes have dirt floors and have either brick fireplaces or open fire pits for cooking and warmth. 

Young girls master the skills necessary for motherhood by age 10. Boys of that age begin acting as young adults in both work and responsibility. Men are responsible for the field work and all heavy work but receive help from the whole family.

Ewens is something of a one-man operation, though he has supporters in Washington state, and is a 501(c)(3) tax deductible organization. He has also begun agriculture and education projects, and demands participation from participants in the projects.

He is an inspiration to anyone who wants to make a difference. 

Jim Britt, who lives in Salisbury, Conn., is a member of the Salisbury Rotary Club.