Opinions / Editorial
Don't forget the silver lining
The U.S. State Department has released a bulletin warning U.S. tourists about travel in Honduras. Although travel advisories by nature tend to highlight the negative and have little interest in the positive, the report, coupled with the beating Honduras is taking in the U.S. press regarding the maquila industry, is beginning to look like a well orchestrated campaign to defame a tiny country. The State Department report begins with a warning that border zones can be dangerous. Although it's true that armed bands of thugs have been reported prowling near the borders with El Salvador, Guatemala and Nicaragua, the real danger in these areas are the land mines -- land mines left behind by the Contras and other armed groups that were supported by the same United States just a decade ago. All in all, there is less violence in Honduras' border zones than any inner-city neighborhood in the developed world. The report also warns of illness and the varying quality of medical care available. Honduras is a tropical country and the tropics are known breeding grounds for diseases the systems of few U.S. tourists are prepared for. Honduras isn't a disease-ridden country; it's a tropical country. And tourists will be glad to know that, just as we have our own special illnesses, our doctors are trained in their own special treatments. As the report states, crime is on an astonishing rise in Honduras and tourists and locals alike had better leave their watches, jewelry and cash at home. But, again, what the report fails to mention is that Honduras' criminals are simply playing out the roles of their favorite stars, the Schwarzennegars, Rambos and Mortal Kombat characters we're spoon-fed from Hollywood. Despite the rise in crime, you're still safer walking down the street in Honduras than most of the gang-infested cities in the United States. The only good news in the report is that the penalties in Honduras for drug use, possession and trafficking are stiff. This, too, is an import from the United States, one we're thankful for. Regarding warnings against buying property in Honduras, no country is perfect. The buying and selling of land is a complicated matter in any country. That's why most Hondurans do so only through a lawyer they can trust. Foreign citizens interested in buying land in Honduras would do well to do the same. It wasn't all that long ago that a naive tourist actually purchased the Eiffel Tower. Anywhere you travel, whether it's in the United States, Europe, Africa, Asia or Honduras, you must take precautions. Anytime you leave your house you must take precautions. Telling its citizens to be careful is no doubt an effort on the part of the U.S. government to provide them with a services. But if the United States wants to serve its people well, it should tell the whole truth. Honduras is a country like any other. It has labor clashes and crime. But it also has more beauty that most U.S. citizens -- and citizens from other countries -- know. It's time the U.S. printed some good news about Honduras. All these dark clouds are depriving Americans of a wonderful vacation spot right in their own backyard. | |
By W.E. GUTMAN W.E. Gutman is a Connecticut-based journalist and frequent contributor to Honduras This Week. |
Franciso's future
Neither Dostoyevski nor Gabriel Marquez could have conjured him up had they tried. Fiction-like more than real, with glints of Jesus, Crusoe and Copperfield embedded in his steely black eyes, diminutive, almost frail, endowed with a sharp Maya profile that speaks of ancient glory defiled, he is philosopher, petty thief and addict, a boy with an old man's visage, an ex-street child at the crossroads. They call him Francisco, but he doesn't need a name. He is the body and the blood and the conscience of a lost generation, the living allegory of a shunned reality. Victim and chronicler of history, he speaks softly with a wisdom born of misery endured. He has crammed centuries of experience in his twenty years. Huddle close and listen. He knows how to turn back the clock, how to help transform first impressions into lasting memories. He should. Six years ago he saw his best friend beaten to death by four Guatemalan police men and nearly suffered the same fate for having witnessed the horror. "...It was Friday. There was a bunch of us, all flat broke, famished. Worse, we had run out of glue. We stole a car radio and two speakers. We settled for 275 Quetzales (about $20) at the thieves market. I suggested we eat first, but the craving for glue was stronger than hunger. We bought two large jars of Resistol and headed for the nearest Kentucky Fried Chicken. There, we scattered into smaller groups and proceeded to sniff glue. Nahamán sat beside me on the pavement. Thoughts of food were soon replaced by euphoria, a comforting emptiness, a kind of indifference that shields against the perils of emotion. Being on the defensive prevents one from savoring the pleasure of not giving a damn... "...But this was the worst time to let down our guard. I saw five police officers, one of them a woman, headed our way. I urged the kids to disperse. I ran and hid near the Lux Theater. Four of my friends, Nahamán among them, were not as lucky. The cops gave chase, caught them. Smirking, one of the cops ordered Nahamán to pour glue over his own head. Nahamán refused. He threw the jar to the ground where it shattered. He called the policeman names. Bribes they accept, but insolence they will not tolerate. So they beat him senseless. They kicked him in the stomach and ruptured his liver. His screams could be heard miles away. He was taken to San Juan de Dios Hospital. No police report was filed -- he was registered as XX [unknown]-- nor was a medical exam performed. In addition to six fractured ribs, he sustained two broken fingers, open wounds to his head and face, and a 10-centimeter gash on his back. Despite recurring convulsions, no brain scan was ever performed. When I went to visit him, doctors told me he was fine and would soon recover. They lied. He never regained consciousness. He died ten days later. I learned the news from my buddies at the Casa Alianza shelter. He was my friend. I miss him." Nahamán Carmona López, whose death galvanized international attention and paved the way for a widely publicized series of legal proceedings against his executioners, was 13. He looked half his age. He has since become the metaphor of childhood denied, innocence undone, the martyr of a society lacking the gallantry to look at itself. For the first time in his life, Francisco felt alone, betrayed. He knew despair, chilling fear, hopelessness. On the lam, he evaded police for months. They found him, threatened him, vowing he would "pay with same currency as Nahamán" unless he helped identify other witnesses. He refused. They beat him. He escaped, went into hiding, lived like a fugitive. Six years have passed since Nahamán was laid to rest. Other street children have followed him to an untimely grave. Older, wiser, Francisco now grapples with his own mortality. He is astonished at his good fortune. But guilt often holds him in its tight embrace. "Perhaps I was spared so I could tell Nahamán's story. Over and over. Malo absoluto [absolute evil] can never be fully told or grasped. What cannot be conceived cannot be explained. But I must try." The wistful smile, the gentle irony that flavors his narrative help hold back invisible tears. There is twilight in his voice, but the words also foreshadow a better dawn, perhaps a more auspicious day when the clouds in his life lift at last. What does the future hold for Francisco? "To leave the streets, go back to my village, work, make something of my life." He has a girlfriend, a pretty brunette at the girls' shelter, a veteran of the streets, like him. They plan to get married, raise a family. He knows he's got to mean it this time. "What happens to the other street children? What's their future?" I ask before we part. "There is no future in the streets," he replies with seasoned fatalism, "only the past is replayed." Francisco believes that man descends from the shark. Francisco is too kind. |
By ERLING DUUS Erling Duus is a former teacher at the American School
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The dilemma of the American School
The American School enjoys a unique and favored position in the life of the Honduran capital. Now celebrating its 50th year of existence, the school has educated many of the business and political leaders of the nation. Like many of its sister schools around the world, it was originally conceived as a place where the children of the United States Embassy staff and other expatriates could get a quality U.S. style education and as a school where the Honduran elite, as well, could send their children to be educated, with increased access for latter admittance to U.S. colleges and universities. It has been, and is the only school in Tegucigalpa which enjoys full accreditation from the U.S.-based Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, better known as SAC. This is believed to be an important imprimatur for students applying to competitive U.S. colleges. Many people here are persuaded that it is clearly and emphatically the best of the bilingual schools in this city, and many families are prepared to make the financial sacrifice involved in sending their children. The American School is certainly, and by a wide margin, the most expensive institution here, and the relationship between cost and quality is firmly established in the minds of many people. Nevertheless, there is a growing sense that all is not well at the American School. Some of this can perhaps be attributed to envy and resentment of the affluent, as well as anti-American sentiment, of which there is understandably a good portion in Honduras. But the perception runs deeper, and is based on a widely observed sense that the students of the school are lacking in high standards (or even tolerable standards) of discipline and conduct. People of this persuasion normally accept the notion that the school is academically superior, but question its moral and ethical standards. Inasmuch as the American School continues to educate many of those who will inherit wealth and power in Honduras, it is more than a matter of passing interest to inquire about the realities in this debate. What is the truth about the American school? How accountable is it to Honduran society? Does it justify its privileged position? It can certainly be said that there are some well-educated and dedicated faculty, and there are also students who are highly motivated and well behaved. To determine whether or not it is the best school in the city would require a basis for comparison which very few people, however, can be in a position to have. But, it must in any event said clearly and understood that the American School has a number of problems which have in truth reached crises proportions. The painful truth is that the school does not have, and seems unable to achieve really high academic standards. This is the fact which the administration wishes to conceal, because it is the myth of academic superiority which is at the core of its inflated reputation. There may be many reasons for this, but in the end much of the problem boils down to a matter of simple economics. There are no requirements for acceptance into the American School beyond the ability to pay, and once admitted very few students are forced to leave because of academic failure or poor conduct. In order to support its growing budget and fill its crowded class-rooms, the school is in a situation where it is unable or unwilling to be selective or rigorous. And since it is owned, in theory and in fact, by the parents, they are in an excellent position to resist any elevation of standards which might have a short-term disadvantage for their child. The result is predictable. A discouragingly high percentage of the students are lacking in strong motivation to learn, and quite a few others are lacking in academic capacity. Instead of achieving levels of high classroom brilliance, the school has become more of a playground. The students have come to expect this, and they in effect demand it. Those teachers and administrators who best cater to or tolerate this situation are the ones whom the school rewards. The effort made by many to toughen standards and enforce discipline is effectively resisted by an old guard of faculty and administration either benumbed by the situation or overly invested in it. Additionally, many of these people have very soft hearts, and they just cringe at the thought of any academic or disciplinary codes which might put any pressure on the sweet children they have been sheltering since kindergarten. But the resistance to change, if ultimately founded on lempiras (or is it dollars) and complicated by parental ownership, has another dimension which is difficult to address and in poor taste to speak of. The idea of an elite school with high academic standards requires the existence of an elite class, with genuine appreciation for culture and learning, and high standards of ethics and conduct as well. The vestiges of such a class in Tegucigalpa society cannot normally afford to send their children to the American School any longer, even if they once attended themselves, and it is a minority of the current students who come from homes rich in books or traditions of culture. Enter into this situation the new superintendent, Mr. Larry Snyder. With all the tact of Savonarola in the courts of the Medici, and with a zeal inspired by his political hero, Patrick Buchanan, Snyder has cast himself in the role of the budget-cutting, no frills, tough-talking reformer. He correctly identifies some of the problems of the school, and has the courage of his convictions. In his first year at the school, he has made a variety of moves aimed at change. In so doing he has predictably touched off a fire-storm of anger and resentment. Unfortunately, Snyder in his quest for someone to blame has chosen the faculty, rather than looking towards more elusive and difficult targets. He, motivated by some obscuring of vision, seems unable to understand that the faculty is mostly a victim of the situation. He has dramatically eroded the authority and morale of the people really important in shaping education, the teachers, and has totally alienated them in the process. His solution to this, in so far as he is able, is to get new teachers. He has also alienated the students, rather than making any effort to inspire them or to challenge them. The difficult task taken on by Larry Snyder might have been achievable by a man more secure, more persuasive, and with more sensitivity to people. Above all, by a man with a capacity to work with others and less propensity to be a tyrant. But Snyder has alienated too many people to be effective; the long sharp scythe which he has wielded in all directions, will claim him too in the end. But the danger and likelihood in that process is that even as he is scape-goated, the larger institutional problems will grow more entrenched. The solution, if there is one, lies elsewhere. If the American School is to find a way to better serve the Honduran people, it must lose its mythology and privileged status, re-organize itself and its structures, and take a long look at what is involved in being an elite school. (In this country, an elite school must be a comparatively small school.) Just as important, other schools need to be supported in such a manner that they can genuinely challenge for elite status. They should do this in part by eschewing the infatuation with the United States and its failing educational system, and by telling SAC and other accrediting agencies to go fly a kite. The presence of such organizations in Honduras and elsewhere is the essence of an arrogant cultural imperialism. If the United States were some great Athenian model for the world, whose high discourse and enlightened citizenry proclaimed the brilliance of its schools, its imperialism in such matters might be more tolerable, but that is far from being the case, unfortunately. Most of the students at the American School are nice children who could do much better, and deserve much better. But unless they clearly understand that bad behavior and indifferent and dishonest work will not be tolerated, their dilemma can only grow worse. They are the ultimate victims of the failure of the American school. They...and Honduras. |
By ERLING DUUS
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Would the Honduran elite be ready to work for the good of all?
What I find of significance here is the concept of a people as a congregation, a folk, a body of individuals united by a common history and language and national life. There is a subtle and important theology suggested here: God is revealed in and by the folk life, the body of the people. God is in the many ties that bind. God is in all the connections. God is the connections. Of course, the history of Scandinavian countries is, or was, conducive to this sort of consciousness. Countries like Norway are highly homogeneous and have an historical tradition that is rooted in more than a thousand years of ancient sagas and folk ways. In the United States, heroic efforts to create a sense of the people as a unified folk have been largely resisted by the sheer size and bewildering pluralism of the people, in addition to a very strong tradition of almost anarchic individualism. But what of Honduras, a small country with about the same number of people as Norway, a population that is 80 to 90 percent mestizo, a similar, if somewhat complex racial, linguistic, and religious heritage? Surely here there exists, or could exist, a sense of patria and matria, of being a people, unified by something that transcends the inevitable divisions of society. If not, then why not? I recently drove with my middle-class Honduran guide into a poor barrio on the hilly edges of Tegucigalpa, looking for a friend whose address I had, but no phone. None of my middle- and upper-class Honduran friends or acquaintances knew where this Colonia was. But the taxi driver knew, and would take me there for Lps. 30. On the way, the taxi driver mentioned that the area was very dangerous, especially at night. Fortunately, this was the afternoon. Once in the barrio, by asking many people and driving up steep, deeply rutted unpaved roads, I was able to find the neighborhood where my friend lives. I paid the taxi and my guide and I got out to go in search of my friend's home. It was then that I realized my translator was terrified. With a lifetime spent mostly in the capital, it was the first time he had ever really entered a poor community. In my limited time in Honduras, I had far more experience than he, and therefore had no reason to know that we were in little, if any, danger. On the contrary, we were very shortly surrounded by warm, curious and very helpful Hondurans, especially myriads of beautiful and exuberant children. We found the comfortable looking home of my friend, with a matchless view of the city and its surroundings. Unfortunately, my friend was not at home, but family members were, so we were greeted in the kindest way imaginable. For my guide, the experience was something of a revelation. Well over half of all Hondurans are poor and must live in neighborhoods that are simple, underdeveloped and in varying degrees primitive. They experience much that is difficult and painful in their lives; they suffer from the absence of many necessities, such as medical care. But for the most part they are a happy and sharing people. Their simple homes are open to their neighbors. Their resilient and embracing spirits are an inspiration. They are the essence of all that is magical about Honduras. But despite this, the privileged classes of this society are committed to establishing and maintaining as much distance as possible between themselves and the majority of the Honduran people. This is a pattern that began with the Conquest and is rooted in the Spaniards' aversion to and fear of the indigenous population. The result of this is that no Honduran would be likely to sing a song of praise that begins, "O God, whose congregation is founded in our land." Instead, Hondurans largely cling to their family, their social class and their neighborhood with the sense that what lies outside this is alien and unsympathetic, if not hostile. And, thus, it is practically impossible for society to come together and work together to develop solutions to the immense problems that plague it. Instead, a thinly disguised class warfare predominates. It is especially interesting and revealing when we find members of the highly privileged class rising to indignantly defend their country against criticism, speaking of "our" people. Such defenders are not really interested in defending Honduras against criticism, but in defending themselves. They are not really interested in the issues in any event. All they really understand is that the status quo justifies and protects their privilege. They have a very legitimate fear of open discussion and any squaring of accounts. Words like justice or fairness or freedom make them tremble. If God were to found a congregation in this land, it would inevitably call the different sectors of society into some sort of collective responsibility and answerability before the judgement of history and the God of history. The Honduran elite will do almost anything to be certain this cannot happen. Above all, they will resist truth. Erling Duus is a U.S. teacher and writer living and working in Honduras. |
Stop the sweatshop jokes
The U.S. unions are at it again. For the second time in a year they're offering an all-expenses-paid trip to a young Honduran factory worker so that she can go sit before a U.S. Senate Committee and speak about the abuses she's endured in the Honduran maquila. The unions say they're looking out for the best interests of Honduran children. If only they were so benevolent. What the unions are really looking out for are their jobs. They're afraid booming maquila industries like the one Honduras has bet its economic future on will steal jobs from U.S. workers. Misinformed politicians like Pat Buchanan say trade agreements like NAFTA are shipping U.S. jobs south of the border and leaving U.S. workers destitute. What they don't mention is that, without these trade agreements, U.S. workers employed in foreign-owned factories that produce Mercedes Benz automobiles and Sony radios would suddenly find themselves unemployed. If the U.S. unions were truly concerned with the welfare of Honduran children, they'd leave the Honduran maquila industry alone. More than 70,000 Hondurans work in maquila factories. Most of them are women. That's nearly 70,000 mothers with jobs. That's nearly 70,000 mothers bringing home a paycheck every month. That's nearly 70,000 mothers making sure their children get enough to eat, have pencils for their schoolwork and see the doctor when they're sick. Take away the Honduran maquila and you'll see what abuse is really about. U.S. talk show host Kathie Lee Gifford was recently pummeled in the U.S. media when it was discovered that her popular line of clothing was being manufactured in a Honduran factory with "child labor." It turns out that this "child labor" is a bunch of teenagers working in the maquilas with their parent's permission, teens who would probably be on the streets if they didn't have jobs. Ironically, after Kathie Lee moved her clothing line to a U.S. manufacturer, it was discovered that those workers, too, were complaining of abuse. They hadn't been paid in weeks. Nobody's denying that abuses take place in the Honduran maquila industry. But as Kathie Lee's experience with the U.S. factory shows, abuse is endemic to the industry, not to Honduras. Anyone who cares enough to examine the record of the Honduran government when it comes to penalizing and expelling abusive maquilas will see that Honduras is hardly the evil sweatshop that the U.S. unions would have the people of the United States believe it is. When maquila opponents speak of the "paltry" 50-cent-an-hour wages earned by Honduran maquila workers, they forget to mention that the monthly salary that those paltry cents add up to is enough for Honduran workers to pay for housing, keep food on the table, send their kids to school and pay for a few extras. They also fail to mention the benefits that maquila jobs give these workers, like educational opportunities and medical insurance. The life of a maquila worker is no picnic, but, then again, neither is that of most U.S. blue collar workers. In one final great irony, the Americans that complain about losing U.S. jobs to developing nations are often the same Americans that complain about illegal immigration to the United States. Not a few "wetbacks" will tell you they would much rather have stayed at home, if only they had been able to support themselves. Let Hondurans support themselves. | |
By: Stanley Marrder
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This Week Online
Brad Martin is back. In his latest "Travel Echoes," he gives good advice to Bay Island travelers. stan@marrder.com and hontweek@hondutel.hn
EXCELLENT ON-LINE PAPER
Dear Editor:
I just came across your excellent online newspaper while surfing the net planning a trip to Honduras. Yours is the most impressive newspaper I've seen excellent layout and excellent writing. My compliments. Recently, we have seen articles in Canadian publications - one a fashion magazine, the other our local newspaper - regarding working conditions in clothing factories in some Latin American countries. In particular, both articles stated that in Honduras children have their footware taken from them to prevent their running away from the factory. We found this very disturbing as we believed that Honduras was one of the more progessive Central American nations. Are these stories true? Can Honduras This Week investigate them? We would love to be able to let the two publications know that they have made an error, and if not, that steps are being taken to eliminate this deplorable practice. Paul & Charlene McCurdy
Vancouver, B.C. Canada Dear Paul & Charlene: Thank-you for your email. We have included several articles in this week's issue that deal with the maquilas in Honduras and Kathy Lee. We hope you find them useful. Moreover, you can go to the Maquilas Special Report Section to find out more about the Maquila situation in Honduras. Stan Marrder Technical Online Editor. "Honduras This Week" will keep me in touch with the country I left long time ago. I am begining to understand the progress and problems of a wonderful people. Again, I salute you for your work! Jose Guevara-Escudero, Ph.D., CFP <ies@interport.net> I was so very happy to read some of the articles on "Honduras This Week." It has been 5 years since I've last visted Honduras and any type of news about Honduras is news that I want to read about. When I last visited Honduras, I was on the radio stations in the Department of El Paraiso and I've come to be known as the "Locutor Amigo." Thus, I've developed a great love and pride in the Hondurian people and, being part Hondurian, I want to know what is going in my 2nd home. Once again, keep up the great work!! David Aleman dofx@siu.edu I can easily say that Honduras is diving into the Internet with an incredible grace. HTW is making a wonderful presentation on the Internet and you deserve rich kudos. Keep up the good work! … When looking up information on Honduras, El Tiempo has a terrific site - but for information in English, HTW can't be beat. The paper doesn't cozy up to the status quo and it provides a penetrating, in-depth analysis from inside Honduras. I look forward to the paper edition each week, and now that the paper is on the Internet and I'll be reading it online as well. Ron E. Mader, Publisher El Planeta Platica: Eco Travels in Latin America WWW http://www.planeta.com Ron@txinfinet.com YEAH - finally on-line!! Thanks - I enjoy your paper every week... Joanne Nichols <nichols@thunder.ocis.temple.edu> |
