Mobbed

Guatemala is a wonderfully laid-back place. Life is enjoyed slowly, and work isn’t something you should stress over. Up here in Sumpango, people greet each other when passing in the street, and I’ve managed to perfect my Buenos dias and Buenas tardes because of all the friendly, smiling greetings I receive from the Indian folk on my walk into town to buy supplies or get online. Horses amble past bearing loads of wood or fruit, led by a genuine Guatemalan cowboy who waves Ola even to the passing gringo. It’s a wonderful change to the fast and mostly unacknowledging Taipei city life that strangers are greeted in such a friendly manner so consistently.

But one thing here disturbs me: When you read the guidebooks or check official websites about safety in foreign countries, you’ll come across many stories of Guatemalan townspeople taking matters into their own hands and lynching those visitors they believe to be up to no good. About six years ago, a Japanese tourist and his local driver were killed by an infuriated crowd after he took photos of a youngster at a time when tales were circulating of Satan-worshipping child snatchers operating in the area. Another tourist in another village was murdered for similar reasons. Advice is explicit: Do not photograph locals without asking permission and be careful to avoid interactions with local children, even just taking a snap.

This bothers me a lot, as, apart from sharing experience with other animal-welfare agencies, I’m here to capture the beauty of this place in digital images. All my photos so far have included locals only if they have wandered into the picture (as I planned) or seemed happy for others to photograph them, or I’d had explicit information to do so. I usually enjoy doing silly magic tricks for kids or making them laugh, but here I stare at the ground and walk on by whenever a Guatemalan Indian child comes near.

My Dutch roommates thought this was hilarious, that I was so in fear of being lynched for accidentally photographing a disallowing subject or being mistaken for a child snatcher. They laughed when I told them one afternoon of my sheer terror at finding I was walking back from Sumpango, past the school, at turning-out time. Hundreds of kids spilled onto the street as I walked along trying to hide my camera and ignoring the ‘Hello’s from those children brave enough to practice their English. Too many of them seemed mischievous. I wondered how much fun they thought it would be to play victim and get a passing foreigner into serious trouble. I know kids—I taught them for years—I know how they can go too far sometimes. I was crapping myself. I kept my head down and strode ahead, but they were pouring out of everywhere and their numbers were increasing. Then I started worrying that striding along with a hidden camera while refusing to make eye contact or return ‘Hello’s might make me seem like I was up to no good!

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally passed the bulk of them, and it was only my fear that it would look bad that stopped me from running once I had emerged from the young crowd.

Wilson enjoyed telling Xenii and Martin of my nightmare return from town. Martin said that there was really no need to worry, as the Sumpagoans hadn’t lynched anyone for a couple of years now. What?! Apparently, just two or three years ago, a couple from Guatemala City parked their car outside the school and took photos of some of the kids, which spooked one of the children so much that she ran screaming down the street, and a lynch mob quickly formed. The police came to the couple’s rescue, but the angry and vengeful villagers later stormed the police station, running the entire force and the mayor out of town; anarchy ensued, culminating in the rubber-necklacing of the two snap-happy city folk in the village square!

I now leave my camera at home when heading into the village and time my visits not to coincide with the comings and goings of the local school. And only photograph foreigners.