Robin's Egg

by Beth Tally

Guatemala’s modern political history is so convoluted and violent I can’t even understand it, much less explain it.  Suffice it to say that this absolutely beautiful country has let more blood than was ever intended for the whole world.  From 1966 to 1996, the countryside raged in a horrible civil war that killed 200,000 people and saw the disappearance of another 50,000, mostly indigenous Mayans.  The peace brought about by an accord signed in 1996 has teetered on the edge of regression and hangs as fragilely as a robin’s egg in a nest during a hurricane. 

Peace is such an illusive thing.  It has more perspectives than a prism.  Definitions range from “absence of war” to “harmony and quiet” with no guarantee that the first anywhere near creates the second.  One man’s peace can be another’s oppression.  It is our most awesome challenge as the “supreme, thoughtful beings” on earth to figure out the delicate balance between self-preservation and acceptance of difference.  This is particularly true in the most insidious of wars – a civil war.  Knowing how, some 140 years later, our country still hasn’t forgotten its civil rupture, I truly feel for the Guatemalans with only ten years distance. 

My experience in the country makes me very hopeful.  True, there are armed guards protecting everything from banks to truckloads of soda.  But, from Rio Dulce to Chichicastenango in the highlands to the small communities around Lake Atitlan, there is a vibrant, positive spirit ever present.  It is a sign, I believe, that the people respect how precious their opportunity for peace really is. 

Nothing expresses this more poignantly than the memorial to “The Peace” which sits in the courtyard of the august Presidential Palace in the Parque Central of Guatemala City.  If you ever get the chance to go there, I would highly recommend it.  The palace itself was constructed beginning in 1939 for President Jorge Ubico, one of many leaders who promised reform and progress only to subvert the ideas with corruption and self indulgence. 

A tour of the palace gives you the opportunity to observe the opulence with which Ubico surrounded himself.  It begins at the base of an elaborate staircase with the spindles in the banister made of golden melted bullet casings.  Walking up the stairs, you observe huge murals on the walls and ceiling painted by Alfredo Galvez Suarez.  One depicts the submission of the elegant Mayan civilization to the Spanish conquistadores.  Another expresses the transition of the culture into the 20th Century.  By far the most exquisite is Suarez’s portrayal of the Man of La Mancha with Don Quixote, Sancho Panza and Dolcinea emblazoned on the wall. The second floor houses a magnificent ballroom, so gilded and ornate it doesn’t take much imagination to envision the elaborate parties that Ubico hosted. Across the hall is the former Salas de Recepcion where intricate stained-glass windows run the length of one wall. 

Upon leaving these rooms, you come into the balcony overlooking the courtyard.  In contrast to the previous grandeur, it seems modest. The plants, although beautifully manicured, appear somewhat subdued.  Your eyes immediately focus on a most unusual sculpture standing in the heart of the courtyard where the sun beats brilliantly down upon it. 

The base is a large stone block.  Above that you can see a series of sixteen arms and hands clasped one with the other forming a complete ring around the sculpture.  Resting on this ring is another large block and springing from it are two large hands with palms opened upward to the sky.  Across one of the palms lies a fresh white long-stemmed rose.

The base symbolizes the suffering and tears of the 36-year civil war.  The sixteen pairs of arms represent the sixteen signatories to the peace accord and convey the unity that will be necessary to support the “weight of freedom” which is the second stone block above them.   Careful observation reveals that the two hands are both left hands.  This is because the left hand is the one closest to the heart.  Then, there comes the white rose.

Every morning at 11:00, a government official enters the courtyard with a fresh white rose.  From those who have gathered to watch the ceremony, he chooses someone to receive the stem from the day before.  They are charged with taking this symbol of peace back to their home and spreading its meaning wherever they may live. 

What a riveting concept.  Can you imagine revering peace so much that every single day you would stop to officially commemorate its existence?  Hearing of this ritual certainly gave me reason to ponder my own nonchalance about something so vital to me.  It was very humbling.

Yes, Guatemala is so new to the process of peace that she must deliberately acknowledge it everyday to make sure it’s still there. And even though she has experienced fits and starts in its implementation, I think she will make it.  All who value peace and freedom should do everything possible to support her efforts.