Seeing the old refurbished green army trucks drive through Antigua bothered me. Even though "Filedelphia Plantation Tours" was boldly printed on the side with large white letters, I foundmyself feeling bad every time I saw one. Before I arrived in Guatemala I had read a little about the civil war mostly because we were going to go to El Quiche which had suffered the most atrocities. In fact our destination was the town of Chajul which was hardest hit. Rigoberta Menchu who got the Nobel Peace Prize for her book on the civil war writes about the massacre that took place at the town center in Chajul. Even though the details of her account are disputed, the truth is that a massacre did happen and many people were killed. The complicated civil war 
was fueled by greed, power, fear and poverty which resulted in the displacement of over a million people in the region and over one hundred thousand people were killed or went missing in that area alone. I had talked to a young Guatemalan man at the Blue Moose who explained how awful it was because the army was killing their own people. I've never been to a place that has suffered so much in recent times and going there I thought about it often.
So now sitting in the back of one of these trucks, driving down a dirt road heading for the plantation I wondered if these trucks could talk.
I began to imagine rifles perched on the railings I was holding on to. Young soldiers crowded in the back wearing camouflage fatigues, sweaty, dirty, cursing, smoking and bragging about their last kill. Heavy rings of ammunition hanging around their necks swaying as the truck made its way through the ruts and pot holes in the road. I could almost hear the grinding gears, smell the diesel as the row of trucks snaked their way through the many hairpin turns of the Cuchumatanes Mountain Range. I can only imagine the tension in the back of the truck as adrenaline and testosterone fueled their anger and rage because of the propaganda forced into the minds of these young Guatemalan men. And then silence, only the deep roar of the engine as it made its last turn into the town. I imagined the horror on the faces of the Mayan people when these trucks would come grunting down the street with a cloud of dust rising above the trees and buildings. Men, women and children running to take cover. Machetes facing automatic guns, then the blood, the agony. I could only imagine and try to feel.
Sitting properly in our seats, dressed like foreigners with camera's clicking we made our way down the dusty road to the plantation. Looking at coffee like looking at wild animals in the zoo.
I enjoyed the tour mostly because of the comprehensive hands on look at coffee from the plant to roasting. This got my mind back to reality. We looked closely at plants, picked some beans, pinched out the seed, tasted the green bean and every step was carefully explained. Then we climbed back into the trucks and made our way back to the plant. Here we learned how the beans are separated, washed, dried, inspected and graded for quality. Finally the beans make their way to the roasting plant.
At the end of the tour I turned to our guide and asked him who was their biggest buyer. He asked who do you think? I said Starbucks. Right, ninety percent of what they produce goes to Starbucks. Jeff and I smiled. I knew they weren't fair trade and he admitted that they were only semi-organic.
I still didn't like seeing those army trucks.
Pictures: 1-The old army truck 2-Town center in Chajul 3-Drying beans at Filedelphia
