16 April 2006
Is the gringo learning how to negotiate the bureaucracy?
Not likely. But I may be making headway. The inventory was submitted, along with the letter requesting permission to move the artifacts. And, of course, a letter to request a letter stating that the letter had been submitted.
Which is what I had done all along – this is standard operating procedure. What made this time different was that I learned the value of incentive. In private enterprise, incentive works well. In a bureaucracy, it is simply difficult to provide an "incentive" without making it seem like a bribe. I know, I know; I am in Guatemala. Bribes are viewed differently here. But the trick, as I understand it now, is to make the person on your end of the bureaucracy want to make things happen. And I figured out how.
I have to have an IDAEH official accompany me on the trip. These trips are very serious business, where the person accompanying the artifacts is charged with making sure that there are no problems with getting artifacts from one place to another. If the police stop the driver, there has to be a good reason for a gringo to be carrying around a quarter ton of artifacts. The IDAEH rep, along with the official paper, acts as a get-out-of-jail-free card. The truth is, the IDAEH rep gets a per diem paid by the archaeologist, paid hotel and food, and a free trip to the capital for a couple of days.
But nobody wants to travel on Maundy Thursday. That is vacation time. And nobody wants to work on their day off. But Thursday was my day for leaving. That would put me in Antigua for Good Friday, and I would get to see all the solemn beauty and pageantry of the processions. And I could get a good jump on the last bit of analysis I have to do in Guatemala before heading to Puerto Rico, as well as a nice, quiet place to write my paper. I sell Miguelito on the idea. He does not get to go to the capital very often on these trips – usually that privilege goes to someone more senior. And he was reluctant to leave on his day off until I mentioned the processions. Suddenly, he might be able to talk the Licenciado into allowing us to go on Thursday.
The first try was unsuccessful. Lic. Salvador says plainly: the offices are not open on Thursday, so we can't accept delivery of artifacts being transported on Thursday. Miguelito shrugged as he hung up. I mentioned that we were going to the lithics lab in Antigua, and that the artifacts would be held there until Monday, when I would drive them in. Miguel brightened, and tried again.
Sweet success. Salvador agreed to our proposal.
Twenty minutes later, the paperwork had started down the line, and Salvador's secretary called Antonia. "The offices are not open on Thursday, and we can't accept delivery of artifacts being transported on Thursday."
Antonia came down to tell me the bad news. I called Miguel, and told him to work it out with the secretary. He now has incentive. And I honestly believe it will get done. I pay his per diem, but since I am driving, I don't have to pay a round trip bus fare.
And, of course, the final answer was: mira.
The Licenciado either changed his mind without telling me or just didn't sign the paperwork before leaving for the week (also neglecting to explain anything to the secretary). And we were back to being told the original story: the offices are not open on Thursday, so you have to wait. Until the following Tuesday, because Monday is the first day we can send the paperwork through.
In the meantime, we excavated at La Estrella (see attached photos). The excavations were a dream. And every time I have that dream, I wake up in a cold sweat, and spend the next hour rocking back and forth and moaning. The owner and his son and daughter spent their day making life unpleasant. The paper we signed said only 50 cm. You have gone further than that. You are working too long. What, are you keeping gringo hours? Here, we keep Guatemalan hours, because we are Guatemalans. You are a gringo. (Really? Oh, no! When did that happen? Look at my arms – oh, man, my mom is going to kill me. She always said that this kind of work would make me turn pale…)
Add their unpleasantness to the only rain we have seen in the last two months, and 100 degree heat, and it makes for a pretty unpleasant day.
At least I started the day off with a nice barb. "You know, Miguelito," I said nonchalantly, but loud enough for everyone to hear, "the real reason I am interested in this at all is because a scientist friend of mine at the university developed a process for turning chert into gold."
All eyes swiveled over to me. It took even Miguelito a three-count to catch on. "You sounded so serious, it took me a moment to figure out that you were joking," he later admitted.
And there was lots of chert. If I were an alchemist, and could turn chert to gold, funding would never again be a problem (although worldwide depressed gold prices would be). We dug down less than a meter in a 1x2 meter unit – about the size of a grave – and came away with 33 gunny sacks full of chert.
That's right. 33 sacks of lithic debris. Each weighing between 60 and 120 pounds each. It took three trips in my car to carry all the material to the storage shed where we are keeping the stuff until it is ready to be analyzed.
Logistical problems abounded throughout the day. The sharpie pens did not work in the rain, so we had to figure out how to keep track of all the material with minimal writing on the bags. We ran out of smaller bags for the other artifacts, so we made do with plastic ones, which meant that we had to transfer everything the next day to keep from rotting out the artifacts inside.
And it took a thirteen-hour day to finish it all up, take soil samples, and backfill.
But now it is done. I have the map pending and a little bit of work writing up the results, but I am basically done with the salvage work at the site. There are, of course, many more questions now that there is a little bit of information. Who controlled the site? Where did tools manufactured there end up? Was it a short occupation, as the results of our digs seem to indicate, or were there others of the deposits with more time depth? Did these guys get chert from anywhere else, or just from that source? Was the area residential, or was this just the job site? Are they getting goods for the production, or is this simply part of the service to the lord?
One of the fascinating things about what we have excavated is how many pieces of really pretty pottery we found mixed in with the lithics. It is not the quantity, so much, as it is the proportion of nice vessels (well, OK, pieces of what were once nice vessels). At one point Antonia asked me "So what did you do? Throw away all the ugly sherds?"
And it is true. There are nice, painted pieces. There was even a beautiful carved sherd with a glyph on it. And almost nothing that looked like everyday cookware. So we now have more questions. What are they celebrating? Is it one event, or is it more like an annual party among the flintknappers? Are these pieces the same as we are finding in the capital, or does it belong to a different set?
The really cool questions are the ones I can get at with chemical analysis (maybe…). The tools that were manufactured at La Estrella, who got them? The local availability of chert (all across the Petén) makes it a very localized commodity. Getting axes from a long-distance exchange network when there is chert literally under your feet would be about like a building supply business owner getting his lumber from Home Depot. In another state. It is simply silly. So the local economy relies on the production of these axes from nearby. And the inhabitants of La Estrella provide them. But to whom? Are they trading them directly with places like Trinidad and Motul? Or are they giving them to the lord of the realm, who is passing them out to the peasants during planting time?
All of the answers to the questions I have will require more money, more time, and more patience in dealing with landowners, none of which I have in excess.
At least my final trip to the border went well. Friday I started out before 5 am; after getting my paperwork processed, I was able to leave by 7:30. That beats my record for the fastest border trip ever. I rewarded myself on the way back with a side trip to an archaeological site just off the road called Holtun.
The site was beautiful. The stucco mask on the front of the principal structure was nice, and the structures all over were interesting (including a ball court and some really nice palace structures). But the real beauty was in the jungle. High canopy, little underbrush, beautiful surroundings. The two groups of howler monkeys welcomed the two of us (a guy who lives nearby walked around the site with me) to the site. There were edible mushrooms on the path, as well as fruits and nuts that Teca shared with me. As he said, "If anyone is dying from hunger in the Petén, it is because he wants to!" And on that day, it certainly seemed that way. Food abounds in the forest, if you know what is OK to eat.
Looting is the one down side to the site. There was not a single structure that had not been trenched, and some of them had been undoubtedly as productive as the lovely pit Don Diablo Tesucun put into his land at La Estrella. It is really sad to see such beauty sacked by people who see looting as an easier way to make a living than farming.
Teca and I went back to the road after I was done looking at the site, and he showed me the modest artisan workshop his dad keeps, and the orchids that surround the shop (parasites, he called them). And then took me over to meet his granddad.
Pedro was wonderful. The old man still stood upright, with steel gray hair shoved under a baseball cap. He moved carefully, but without apparent pain, as he negotiated the way around his yard. He showed me the stingless bee hives I had come to look at, as well as where the monkeys came to hang out in the afternoons when the sun was hot. And the best part of all was that he shared some of the honey from his hives, and it was the best I have ever tasted.
The stingless bees are a bit of an abiding passion with me. I am fascinated by the native apiculture that took place in prehispanic times, and I have taken a bunch of notes from informants in different areas. But this was the first time that someone actually had the honey that I could try. At about $30 per quart, it is the most expensive honey you can find, because the bees from one hive only produce about that much each year. And the honey is rumored to have medicinal qualities. We talked bees and beekeeping for a while, I finished off the plate of honey he had given me, and I took my leave.
And I took something else with me. For the past week, I have fought the local and federal bureaucracy. I have fought landowners. I have fought crowds around my apartment. I have fought pretty much nonstop. And it seemed to me that there was nothing else here in Guatemala than one fight after another. And talking to Teca's grandfather, I was able to remember what it was that attracts me to the area. The people in the villages can be xenophobic. They can be unfriendly. But they can also be more hospitable than southerners, and every bit as gracious. They can welcome you into their homes and share the very last of what they have with you, without ever thinking of what you will give them. They can give freely of their time, because they genuinely enjoy having the company.
And taking that with me was perhaps the most important event of the week.
Is the gringo learning how to negotiate the bureaucracy?
Not likely. But I may be making headway. The inventory was submitted, along with the letter requesting permission to move the artifacts. And, of course, a letter to request a letter stating that the letter had been submitted.
Which is what I had done all along – this is standard operating procedure. What made this time different was that I learned the value of incentive. In private enterprise, incentive works well. In a bureaucracy, it is simply difficult to provide an "incentive" without making it seem like a bribe. I know, I know; I am in Guatemala. Bribes are viewed differently here. But the trick, as I understand it now, is to make the person on your end of the bureaucracy want to make things happen. And I figured out how.
I have to have an IDAEH official accompany me on the trip. These trips are very serious business, where the person accompanying the artifacts is charged with making sure that there are no problems with getting artifacts from one place to another. If the police stop the driver, there has to be a good reason for a gringo to be carrying around a quarter ton of artifacts. The IDAEH rep, along with the official paper, acts as a get-out-of-jail-free card. The truth is, the IDAEH rep gets a per diem paid by the archaeologist, paid hotel and food, and a free trip to the capital for a couple of days.
But nobody wants to travel on Maundy Thursday. That is vacation time. And nobody wants to work on their day off. But Thursday was my day for leaving. That would put me in Antigua for Good Friday, and I would get to see all the solemn beauty and pageantry of the processions. And I could get a good jump on the last bit of analysis I have to do in Guatemala before heading to Puerto Rico, as well as a nice, quiet place to write my paper. I sell Miguelito on the idea. He does not get to go to the capital very often on these trips – usually that privilege goes to someone more senior. And he was reluctant to leave on his day off until I mentioned the processions. Suddenly, he might be able to talk the Licenciado into allowing us to go on Thursday.
The first try was unsuccessful. Lic. Salvador says plainly: the offices are not open on Thursday, so we can't accept delivery of artifacts being transported on Thursday. Miguelito shrugged as he hung up. I mentioned that we were going to the lithics lab in Antigua, and that the artifacts would be held there until Monday, when I would drive them in. Miguel brightened, and tried again.
Sweet success. Salvador agreed to our proposal.
Twenty minutes later, the paperwork had started down the line, and Salvador's secretary called Antonia. "The offices are not open on Thursday, and we can't accept delivery of artifacts being transported on Thursday."
Antonia came down to tell me the bad news. I called Miguel, and told him to work it out with the secretary. He now has incentive. And I honestly believe it will get done. I pay his per diem, but since I am driving, I don't have to pay a round trip bus fare.
And, of course, the final answer was: mira.
The Licenciado either changed his mind without telling me or just didn't sign the paperwork before leaving for the week (also neglecting to explain anything to the secretary). And we were back to being told the original story: the offices are not open on Thursday, so you have to wait. Until the following Tuesday, because Monday is the first day we can send the paperwork through.
In the meantime, we excavated at La Estrella (see attached photos). The excavations were a dream. And every time I have that dream, I wake up in a cold sweat, and spend the next hour rocking back and forth and moaning. The owner and his son and daughter spent their day making life unpleasant. The paper we signed said only 50 cm. You have gone further than that. You are working too long. What, are you keeping gringo hours? Here, we keep Guatemalan hours, because we are Guatemalans. You are a gringo. (Really? Oh, no! When did that happen? Look at my arms – oh, man, my mom is going to kill me. She always said that this kind of work would make me turn pale…)
Add their unpleasantness to the only rain we have seen in the last two months, and 100 degree heat, and it makes for a pretty unpleasant day.
At least I started the day off with a nice barb. "You know, Miguelito," I said nonchalantly, but loud enough for everyone to hear, "the real reason I am interested in this at all is because a scientist friend of mine at the university developed a process for turning chert into gold."
All eyes swiveled over to me. It took even Miguelito a three-count to catch on. "You sounded so serious, it took me a moment to figure out that you were joking," he later admitted.
And there was lots of chert. If I were an alchemist, and could turn chert to gold, funding would never again be a problem (although worldwide depressed gold prices would be). We dug down less than a meter in a 1x2 meter unit – about the size of a grave – and came away with 33 gunny sacks full of chert.
That's right. 33 sacks of lithic debris. Each weighing between 60 and 120 pounds each. It took three trips in my car to carry all the material to the storage shed where we are keeping the stuff until it is ready to be analyzed.
Logistical problems abounded throughout the day. The sharpie pens did not work in the rain, so we had to figure out how to keep track of all the material with minimal writing on the bags. We ran out of smaller bags for the other artifacts, so we made do with plastic ones, which meant that we had to transfer everything the next day to keep from rotting out the artifacts inside.
And it took a thirteen-hour day to finish it all up, take soil samples, and backfill.
But now it is done. I have the map pending and a little bit of work writing up the results, but I am basically done with the salvage work at the site. There are, of course, many more questions now that there is a little bit of information. Who controlled the site? Where did tools manufactured there end up? Was it a short occupation, as the results of our digs seem to indicate, or were there others of the deposits with more time depth? Did these guys get chert from anywhere else, or just from that source? Was the area residential, or was this just the job site? Are they getting goods for the production, or is this simply part of the service to the lord?
One of the fascinating things about what we have excavated is how many pieces of really pretty pottery we found mixed in with the lithics. It is not the quantity, so much, as it is the proportion of nice vessels (well, OK, pieces of what were once nice vessels). At one point Antonia asked me "So what did you do? Throw away all the ugly sherds?"
And it is true. There are nice, painted pieces. There was even a beautiful carved sherd with a glyph on it. And almost nothing that looked like everyday cookware. So we now have more questions. What are they celebrating? Is it one event, or is it more like an annual party among the flintknappers? Are these pieces the same as we are finding in the capital, or does it belong to a different set?
The really cool questions are the ones I can get at with chemical analysis (maybe…). The tools that were manufactured at La Estrella, who got them? The local availability of chert (all across the Petén) makes it a very localized commodity. Getting axes from a long-distance exchange network when there is chert literally under your feet would be about like a building supply business owner getting his lumber from Home Depot. In another state. It is simply silly. So the local economy relies on the production of these axes from nearby. And the inhabitants of La Estrella provide them. But to whom? Are they trading them directly with places like Trinidad and Motul? Or are they giving them to the lord of the realm, who is passing them out to the peasants during planting time?
All of the answers to the questions I have will require more money, more time, and more patience in dealing with landowners, none of which I have in excess.
At least my final trip to the border went well. Friday I started out before 5 am; after getting my paperwork processed, I was able to leave by 7:30. That beats my record for the fastest border trip ever. I rewarded myself on the way back with a side trip to an archaeological site just off the road called Holtun.
The site was beautiful. The stucco mask on the front of the principal structure was nice, and the structures all over were interesting (including a ball court and some really nice palace structures). But the real beauty was in the jungle. High canopy, little underbrush, beautiful surroundings. The two groups of howler monkeys welcomed the two of us (a guy who lives nearby walked around the site with me) to the site. There were edible mushrooms on the path, as well as fruits and nuts that Teca shared with me. As he said, "If anyone is dying from hunger in the Petén, it is because he wants to!" And on that day, it certainly seemed that way. Food abounds in the forest, if you know what is OK to eat.
Looting is the one down side to the site. There was not a single structure that had not been trenched, and some of them had been undoubtedly as productive as the lovely pit Don Diablo Tesucun put into his land at La Estrella. It is really sad to see such beauty sacked by people who see looting as an easier way to make a living than farming.
Teca and I went back to the road after I was done looking at the site, and he showed me the modest artisan workshop his dad keeps, and the orchids that surround the shop (parasites, he called them). And then took me over to meet his granddad.
Pedro was wonderful. The old man still stood upright, with steel gray hair shoved under a baseball cap. He moved carefully, but without apparent pain, as he negotiated the way around his yard. He showed me the stingless bee hives I had come to look at, as well as where the monkeys came to hang out in the afternoons when the sun was hot. And the best part of all was that he shared some of the honey from his hives, and it was the best I have ever tasted.
The stingless bees are a bit of an abiding passion with me. I am fascinated by the native apiculture that took place in prehispanic times, and I have taken a bunch of notes from informants in different areas. But this was the first time that someone actually had the honey that I could try. At about $30 per quart, it is the most expensive honey you can find, because the bees from one hive only produce about that much each year. And the honey is rumored to have medicinal qualities. We talked bees and beekeeping for a while, I finished off the plate of honey he had given me, and I took my leave.
And I took something else with me. For the past week, I have fought the local and federal bureaucracy. I have fought landowners. I have fought crowds around my apartment. I have fought pretty much nonstop. And it seemed to me that there was nothing else here in Guatemala than one fight after another. And talking to Teca's grandfather, I was able to remember what it was that attracts me to the area. The people in the villages can be xenophobic. They can be unfriendly. But they can also be more hospitable than southerners, and every bit as gracious. They can welcome you into their homes and share the very last of what they have with you, without ever thinking of what you will give them. They can give freely of their time, because they genuinely enjoy having the company.
And taking that with me was perhaps the most important event of the week.
No comments:
Post a Comment