Friday, March 13, 2009
CACTUS AND THE PADRE
Two days left 'til the Salvadoran presidential elections. No sleep. Parish and I shared one of the rooms at the hostel, each in a twin bed. He had warned me of his loud snoring but I just brushed it off as something exaggerated. It was incredible, something like a dying pig inflicted with severe asthma. Frightening, really. I was able to sleep a few hours periodically throughout the night, but probably no more than around four hours total. The alarm went off at 6:00 AM. Those that didn't shower last night had to shower in the morning, each being given a maximum of fifteen minutes in the bathroom. Perla took a little longer than everyone. I had time to make some mate and gave some to Carla, Romél and Gaily. Surprisingly, they all liked it. Most people, on their first time trying it, say it's too bitter. I had to drink it fast because we had to be back at the Instituto by 8:30 AM. We had a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, black beans, fried bananas (plantains?) and coffee. We left immediately and got lost on our way there. Each person we asked gave us completely different directions. We eventually made it, only a few minutes late.
I left the group to stay at the Instituto to get a ride to the Hotel Radisson for my observer credentials. Everyone else went to Santa Tecla, a municipality in the department of La Libertad, for their international observer training. I waited around three or four hours and eventually got a ride on one of the Instituto's buses to the hotel. A few minutes before stepping out of the van, we were told to take off or cover up all FMLN/leftist-related clothing or paraphernalia (i.e. Che shirts, red wristbands) and to say that we were with FUNDASPAD and not with the FMLN. The people giving out the credentials were with the opposition party, ARENA, and would most likely give us a hard time if we weren't careful in appearing neutral. The wait was quick and they printed out the laminated international observer pass right there on the spot.
We all went back and I spent the rest of the day hanging out with the Salvadoran University students. They talked about politics and philosophy including Machiavelli and September 11th. I brought up the numerous similarities between El Salvador and Mexico's economic struggle and its current situation. I told one of the students that I believe El Salvador, like Cuba and Venezuela, to be one of the most crucial and influential role-models in Latin America. They said my Spanish was pretty good but I disagreed; there are a lot of words I don't know how to conjugate properly and other words I just have no idea what they mean.
Padre was at the Instituto. He made fun of me because I told him that I hated cactus and my family's from Zacatecas, which is known for its cactus, its nopales. I used to sell it as a kid on my street. My dad, my brother and I would drive out to the desert and take some back, wash it, skin off the needles, chop it up, stuff them in plastic sandwich bags and sell them on our block. On top of that, we used to eat nopales all the time. Too much.
The story of Padre is a long and interesting one. He's originally from El Salvador and fought along side the FMLN in 80's back when it was a guerrilla force. We walked around on the old cobble-stone streets where he was fighting in, describing the gunfire, pointing out some buildings that are new to the area and some, a lot, that are still standing since the war, heavily chain smoking as he's reminiscing; him, Marlboro lights, and me, Marlboro reds, and the University kids mooching off of me. Padre also worked with indigenous groups in Mexico, sometimes with and sometimes without the help of the church. Back in Chicago he had worked with a few grassroots organizations and occasionally brushed shoulders with Barack Obama before he was a Senator.
The other members of my delegation were still in Santa Tecla receiving observer training. It was getting late now. I had just gotten off the phone with Eyvin. He said that they were all on their way down. And then it happened; the first call came in of a reported incident of fraud. The report was that someone was selling DUIs (the Salvadoran identity card needed to vote) inside a Salvadoran Bank, the Banco Agricola next to the Salvador del Mundo monument. Padre, two other observers and myself hopped into a car and head out. Upon reaching a boulevard with gridlocked traffic, Padre and I got out and hopped in the back of a friend's pickup and continued to the bank. I started filming a few minutes before arriving there, speaking into the camera, narrating about what was reported and where we were heading. We parked, jumped out and went straight up to the security guard. Padre took the lead and I followed closely, recording as much as I could. I zoomed in on security guard badges, their faces. He denied that anyone was selling DUIs inside. We asked to go in, he refused. We stayed and interviewed some people that were in front of the bank. There were around seven observers there already, including Francisco from Minnesota. A lady came out and we asked about the alleged DUI selling and she acted angry and said something in Spanish that I didn't hear but I'm sure it wasn't nice and went into a black, new-model sports car with an impressive amount of ARENA stickers and flags.
We left and met up with the delegation at a nearby gas station. Padre and I rode in the back of the pickup again. We had a good conversation about Mexico, El Salvador and SANA—he said that he felt the SANA people were very fancy and kind of bourgeois. I thought it was interesting. I've met people from SANA, from the FMLN, and from the Communist Party USA, and I do have to say that SANA members are by far the best-dressed. But SANA is a powerful lobbying force and I respect them though I admit two things: firstly, I wouldn't be able to tell a SANA member and a rich right-wing corporate executive apart (but, then, that can be an amazing advantage); and secondly, I felt so relieved that someone else, especially someone with so much credibility like Padre, had felt the same way that I did about people in this cause overdressing and walking around with an upper-class air.
"But, Padre," I said, "don't you think that often time pacts need to be made with otherwise 'unfavorable' people in order to actualize an end, a goal?"
"Jes, oh of course but you should never forgeh who you are trying to help: the poor. You can never lose touch with that," he said, and then with a smile on his face, "and if ARENA wins the elections, we're going up to the montaña (mountain) to fight and eat nopales." "Esta bien," I said, that's fine.
We went to the big dinner/cocktail party welcoming all the international observers from around the world. I met up with other Los Angeles residents that I've seen or met through FMLN meetings. The drinks were free and by the time I had found the end of the line for the buffet, they had run out of food.
The bathroom was an abyss, a piss-soaked, completely dark, skid-row back-alley foul-smelling abyss with no running water. There was a drum of supposedly clean standing water with a small plastic pail you were supposed to use to wash your hands. I was hesitant at first. But when in El Salvador.
The vice presidential candidate of the FMLN, Salvador Sánchez Céren gave a speech. A few other people spoke. I thought I heard the band playing Silvio Rodriguez covers, and shortly after that the entire power was cut. There was a collective feeling that this wasn't coincidence, that ARENA was desperate at trying anything to disrupt the opposition party, no matter how juvenile. After spending some time trying to put the power back on, everyone started filling out, most of us drunk and bothered with a night that ended too early. Carla was visibly upset and kept quiet for most of the night after that. The band continued to play outside, acoustically covering songs like "El Pueblo Unido Jamás Será Vencido" (The People United Shall Never be Divided) and a punk rock version of the extremely catchy Mauricio Presidente song, "¡Esta ves es diferente, Mauricio Presidente!" (This time it's different, President Mauricio).
We went back the hostel where I met a new guest there, Vladimir, who was very much into metal. We stayed up drinking a few beers and talking about death metal and black metal bands like Mayhem (metal is very popular in the country). I went to bed after midnight, coughing from the onslaught of smoking and unable to get that Mauricio Presidente song out of my head.
