Visiting Ramiro Choc

Within minutes of entering the cell block 12 visiting area in Guatemala City´s Zone 18 Prison, it became obvious to me why Ramiro Choc continues to be incarcerated as the country´s most well known political prisoner. He radiates solidarity – kindness – love – to a degree that clearly makes him a threat to those who want to rob land from the country´s majority. He immediately reminded me of Fr. Roy Bourgeois and Fr. Jerry Zawada as perhaps the only other people who have given me this feeling. He has a rare combination of intense passion, intelligence, and an advanced ideology while at the same time speaking with great eloquence, forcefully yet respectfully and accessibly, all the while maintaining a seemingly constant meditative state. Every single prisoner and every single visitor who passed respectfully said hello to him and I could sense the compassion in his voice as he wished well to the children fighting back tears as they ended their visits with their incarcerated fathers. Let there be no doubt – spending nearly two years in prison has not lessened Ramiro Choc´s resolve to unite the poor and working class majority in resistance to those who would silence, kill and steal from them.

Ramiro was very glad to see me as he had not had the opportunity to communicate to the world his thoughts after the murder of his brother in law last weekend by security forces of a nickel corporation in the El Estor region of Guatemala. He was quick to find me a chair and a drink.

¨Do you drink soda?¨ he asked me. ¨Most of the people who visit me never drink soda because of how unhealthy it is. They tell me, ´Ramiro, why do you drink soda, you don´t understand.´ But I do understand, I´m just captured by the vice,¨ he said with a smile.

Ramiro found some papers and was eager to begin his letter to the world. ¨How much time do you have?¨ he asked me. ¨I would like you to put this on the internet for the world to see.¨ After repeatedly expressing his concern not to bore me, he put his pen the paper. His expression turned to concentration as his thoughts passed through the ink. I fought the urge to ask him about any of the numerous stories I had heard about his organizing and instead let him write.

After writing a couple pages he put the pen down and sat back in his chair. He looked at me.

¨My parents were colonos,¨ he said. Colonos is the word used for Mayan peasants who live and work on plantations. ¨They were never paid. They worked on the plantation in exchange for being able to live there. My grandparents weren´t allowed to leave. My father couldn´t read or write, and because of his extreme poverty he wasn´t able to develop an ideology. One day he decided to leave the plantation and move to the town. My Mother was worried because we only knew the countryside. But finally we decided to move. I was very young, but I remember helping carry our few possessions on my back.¨

¨My father learned carpentry, but at that time there wasn´t much carpentry work. So he learned brick laying. He learned to make canoes that could carry thousands of pounds. He became very sought after. Within 5 years he learned to read and write. One day the owner of the plantation we had left saw us in town. I was still very young. ´What are you bitches doing?´ he said. ´You are the son of a bitch,´ my father replied. ´You are the one who steals from and exploits the Maya.¨

Ramiro leaned back in his chair. He looked to the sky and smiled as he thought of his father. Then his smile turned to a frown. ¨My father still doesn´t know that my sister´s husband was killed. He is working in Belize and we haven´t been able to reach him. I am worried because it has been a difficult time for our family. First I was imprisoned, then a close family friend was killed. Now my brother in law has been murdered.¨ His gaze returned to the sky. Then he looked back at me and asked if I knew his children. I explained how I had seen two young kids holding a sign that read ´Free My Daddy´ at a protest in support of him last year.

¨These were my eldest children, Rozul and Hati. Elizabeth always either takes them out and leaves my youngest, or takes my youngest and leaves them. My oldest son is Rozul. This is our word in Qeqchi for a type of tree that is so strong that even putting a chainsaw to it will only result in sparks. But this tree is disappearing because of the greed of corporations. My daughter´s name is Hati. She is the middle of my three children. Hati is the Garifuna word for moon (Garifuna are descendants of slaves from West Africa and indigenous peoples in the Caribbean. They have a distinct language and culture and live primarily in Central America). Some Garifuna communities had asked me to work with them so we could be united. We gave her this name to honor this time. My youngest son is Hab, our word for rain, the rain that doesn´t fall like it used to. It either doesn´t fall, or when it does it is very destructive.¨

¨Hab hardly ever slept, and when he didn´t grow out of this we became worried. We consulted a Mayan Priest. He asked some questions and took some things to his altar. Soon he came to me. ´I examined your nahual (name of the animal spirit protector which each person has) and the position of the universe when you were born. I was very surprised. You don´t have to worry about your son. Watch carefully and you will see – when you sleep, he sleeps. When you are awake, he is awake.´ I started closely observing this. I found out that it was true. Sometimes when I was working far away, I would call Elizabeth as soon as I woke up. ´Hab also just woke up,´ she would always tell me. To this day I only sleep three or four hours at night, apparently my youngest son is the same.¨ Clearly enjoying talking about his children, he looked back down at his paper. ¨Well, I should get back to work.¨

Ramiro has been in prison for nearly two years, during which time countless actions have been taken nationally and internationally to demand his freedom. During his first year in prison, Ramiro was placed in the hole. He could not use the phone or leave for recreation. There was no toilet, and he had to ask to go out and use the bathroom. Sometimes he was allowed to, sometimes he had to defecate in his own small space.

¨This was a very difficult time. Many people are severely damaged psychologically while in the hole,¨ he told me. ¨But I was not. I thought of Fidel Castro in prison. I thought of Nelson Mandela in prison. I knew that I wasn´t defeated.¨

During this time organized peasants took strong actions in his defense. On one occasion a group kidnapped 29 police officers, demanding his freedom in exchange for that of the police. The press accused Ramiro of coordinating this and other actions from his prison cell. A member of the President´s cabinet visited Ramiro and asked him to tell the group to free the police, and promised to free Ramiro within three days if he did so.

¨I told him that I had nothing to do with the police being kidnapped, how could I if you have me in the hole and won´t let me use the phone. I told him I refused to tell the peasants to back off, because my detention was completely illegal.¨

Finally Ramiro agreed to intervene and de-escalate the situation. He wasn´t surprised when the government declined to release him anyway. But after increasing national and international pressure, he was released from the hole.

¨I left the hole very sick. It was difficult to recover – I wasn’t eating much since they had tried to poison me. One day I was talking to another prisoner who was writing to his girlfriend. He said his girlfriend didn´t like his letters. ´Let me see your paper,´ I said. I took his paper and wrote a poem. Later he told me how much she liked the poem, and asked for another. ´I will pay you Ramiro, please.´ Before long I was getting seven or eight requests a day to write poems, and that was how I was able to make money and buy my own things and regain my health.¨

I was admiring a vine that had filled a large section of the wall surrounding us, and Ramiro told me that he had planted it, as well as several other plants in the area. Soon we took a break to eat lunch.

¨We are trying to defend our culture, but it is under great threat. The scientists and businessmen have told us how to raise our animals. And in the villages close to the municipalities, the people have followed their advice. They feed animals what they are told to. They say feed this animal this and that animal that and you can butcher it after this long. And the animals are ready a few weeks earlier. But in the further off villages, where the cars haven´t reached, they feed the animals naturally. It may take a few more weeks, but when they are ready it is much more healthy.¨

¨I will give you a more concrete example,¨ Ramiro continued as we ate. ¨I have a friend Antonio. He is a grandfather. When he was going to start a family he went to his father and said he would need to cut down two trees to build a house. His father looked for the trees, and then asked permission to cut them from the earth, the wind, the fire and the water. Then before cutting the trees he told them ´I´m sorry. I promise to collect your seeds and plant them.´ Recently Antonio´s grandson started a family. I am friends with him, but he cuts trees the European way. He tells his wife ´Grab the chainsaw, I´m going to cut this shit down.´¨

¨I was at the University once, and the Professor asked a Mayan student to talk about the four colors of corn. But the student said ´There are no four colors of corn, in my town we just paint the corn if we want to display the colors.´ We are losing our culture. In my town our cosmovision tells us to very carefully select what corn to use for seed. There is a very intentional process of selecting, picking and storing these seeds. Everything has its significance. There are always elders in each community who have the four colors of corn. Even if I only have white corn, I can go to them to get other seeds. But now this way of life is under attack. Transgenic corn is being pushed on us, and if it reaches the more isolated villages our way of life is in danger of disappearing.¨

In Barrio La Union, the village where Ramiro´s brother in law was killed six days ago, it is hard to imagine how the Maya cosmovision could survive. The nickel company has already stolen most of the land. The roughly 120 families living in the community have tiny lots not large enough to even feed a fraction of the family. There is hardly any work in the area. Many men travel for work to the far off Peten, home of the Maya Biosphere Reserve, the largest rain forest in Central America and one of the most biodiverse places on earth. There they earn a few dollars a day picking corn or raising cattle for wealthy landowners who have clearcut large tracks of the forest. It is estimated that 45% of the Maya Biosphere Reserve has been deforested.

Visiting hours are about to end and I get up to leave. As Ramiro accompanies me toward the exit of his cell block, I ask him about the challenge many communities face in advancing their economies while at the same time resisting the loss of their culture, and in particular the use of synthetic agricultural chemicals. He smiles and points at the vine growing on the wall.

¨You see where the vine has no leaves? A week ago ants started eating it. Roberto tried using chemicals, but we have stopped using those, haven’t we Roberto?¨ he said as he laughed and patted a prisoner sitting nearby on the knee. ¨Roberto told me that he used chemicals and killed many of the ants, but they came back. There were countless ants coming in from below the door. I taught Roberto how to mix garlic, pepper and some other herbs to keep the ants away. And the ants have not returned. But I didn´t kill them. And they didn´t kill me. We must all learn to live together in harmony. People, animals, plants, we must all learn to share this world together. And you must leave before they lock you in with us!¨ He laughed and gave me a hug. I left the cell block and climbed the concrete steps to the prison exit. I passed through the gates and walked by a tank and group of soldiers standing guard. I followed the crowd to a shady spot where families waited for the bus, children crying inconsolably after leaving their fathers behind in the prison.

(When I asked Ramiro what I could bring him the next time I visited, he asked me to bring food. During the visit he also mentioned that he was unable to talk with his family regularly because he didn´t have money for the phone cards required by the prison. If you would like to help buy these items for Ramiro, make a check out to ¨UPAVIM Community Development Fund¨and send it to: UPAVIM; C/O Laurie Levenger; 28 McKenna Rd; Norwich, VT, 05055)

The following is the letter which Ramiro wrote and asked me to distribute via the internet. Thanks to Greg Norman (goyonorman@yahoo.com) for the translation.

Ramiro Choc

Sector #12

Correctional Facility for Men, Zone 18

Guatemala City, Guatemala, Central America

I am Ramiro Choc, kidnapped by the government of Guatemala since February 14, 2008, through today and until who knows when they free me, but what is certain is that I am suffering the worst tortures that they can do to me; upon sending this message in blood to the indigenous and the oppressed, to the organizations loyal to the dignity of an oppressed people, committed and resolute in their convictions for the defense of the indigenous territories of Guatemala and Latin America. A message in blood for all the men and women owners who refuse to bargain the legitimate rights of our oppressed brother ladinos and the indigenous who are in the total recovery and reclamation of the rights which belong to them historically, especially the recovery of the mother earth and with that the defense of indigenous territory.

Today, October 3 of the year 2009 (second year of the government of the National Unity Party) I am taking advantage of the visit of Palmer Legare to the prison where the government has me kidnapped, so that he can do me the big favor of posting this on the Internet where it can be read.

The message in blood sent by the government to those of us who fight constantly and loyally to which I refer is the attempt that my family suffered in El Estor, Izabal; the government that offers support for the bloody actions of the national and foreign multimillionaires and in this case the Guatemalan Nickel Company (CGN -- Compañía Guatemalteca de Niquel) which with the total support of the state and the media murdered the husband of my sister Angelina Choc. When I say that the government supports these oppressions by powerful people from Guatemala and foreigners who achieve the support of high ranking public officials who trample and prostitute the dignity of our Guatemalan people. I also state that the communication media are involved because they give a panorama of the news which is totally accommodated to the interests of the powerful class.

For example, on September 27, 2009, the government represented by its governor, (Luz Maribel Ramos Peña), without the order of the appropriate judge, as it was not even a weekday, without recognizing the historical antecedents of the residents previously mentioned, and, above all, as the representative of the current president (Alvaro Colom Caballeros) perpetrated a cruel forced expulsion of humble, defenseless farmers who are the legitimate owners of lands that CGN wants and has tried to rob from them with the support of the high ranking officials of the government. Soon after they took advantage of the moment to vilely murder Adolfo Ich Chaman, husband of my older sister Angelica Choc, and as I have said the media quickly twisted the facts around to shield the government, that is to protect the Governor so that her presence would not be discovered and to free the multimillionaires of the blood stains caused by the humble, legitimate owners of those lands. The media published that gang members entered to ransack the National Civil Police Station, and that a group of farmers went to the military base to recover a set of fishing equipment, and that it was an attempt at forced expulsion on CGN lands, and that in each of these three crime scenes died Adolfo Ich (my wife's husband), that is that Adolfo died three times (one time in each of the three scenarios described by the media.). Later they present the panorama of the event in such a way that the humble farmers are seen as a organization that provokes and causes destruction. But what I want to share with you is so painful as these tortures go directly to my family. People from the security forces called Adolfo and said that they wanted to dialogue with them, when he got near to them they told him that he was the leader of the peasants, they shot him and that wasn't enough for them, they took him to the CGN building and having him there they cut him into pieces with a machete. They took him to that place so that later they could say that Adolfo had entered into CGN and that justified their bloody acts, the material author is the security personnel of the CGN, led by Mynor Padilla who works as their boss, his son also saw everything, he was accompanying his father, he saw and heard what Mynor Padilla did with Adolfo Ich, and now the CGN is publishing information that nothing happened, that its personnel wasn't there and doesn't have anything to do with it, that they are promoting dialogue, peace and harmony, that is the way that they shield themselves behind the protection the government offers them. The same thing has happened in my case, as I was accused by the government, the media (the Prensa Libre in an exaggerated manner) and the wealthy land invader Silvia Ileana Lemus Solorzano de Castellan, who all created of me a personality so negative and destructive in the eyes of society. They said that in my region I am a cancer on society, that I travel with 15 bodyguards well equipped with luxury vehicles, that I have two yachts, that I assault police stations, that I form groups of 300 to 500 families to invade into protected areas in 4 different states and I have them well equipped with the arms that I get from the assaults on the police stations, that I assault the wealthy landowners -- this is what the government made up against me, including the Public Ministry, the environmental groups (CONAP, CHOCON, MACHALAS, FUNDAECO, Ak´ tenamit), landowners that enjoy the authorization, protection and backing of the Guatemalan government.

I sent my right of response to those media and it was never published, where I asked for specific details, for example if they accused me of forming groups of 300 to 500 families in four states, that they specify places, villages, towns. Or if I am giving them weapons that I robbed from police stations, how many stations did I need to assault to well equip 300 to 500 families in four states? I am indigenous with scarce resources so at what time in Guatemala has an indigenous person travelled with 15 well equipped bodyguards, in luxury vehicles and with two yachts? The cheapest yacht is not less than half a million quetzals, and I have two? And my luxury autos and the salary of 15 bodyguards? I hope that logic can be used to understand the terrifying dimension of what the government has invented and to what end. My only crime is being an intelligent indigenous person who is lied about in this way. The director of CONAP (National Council for Protected Areas of Guatemala) published in the media that I make a living from conflicts, that I kidnapped him twice and that for all of these I lies I demanded that they explain to me when it happened and why was this never known about before, as it seems like it should have been important news.

Six soldiers participated in my kidnapping, those who were on the (Litegua) bus saw everything, they found in my bag a book, my agenda and the Holy Bible. I told them that this was my weapon because they all asked me where did I have the weapons. I went before the judge five days later. They told me that CONAP had asked for the arrest warrant. At the time of my kidnapping they wanted to execute me as we arrived close to Entre Rios, they left the highway and took me out into a field that was totally isolated, what saved me was that in the moment when they kidnapped me I was able to make a phone call and I showed this to them, then they received a phone call and they returned back to the highway where they told me they'll take me to the Judge in Puerto Barrios. On the way as they drove they received another call and he said that he knows a hidden place in Santo Tomas de Castilla and they took me there, with my hands tied behind my back and around 5:00 pm they are getting frustrated and the District Attorney from the Public Ministry (Jose Eduardo Cabrera) arrives and yells at them asking them why they didn't execute me, and they told him "Chief it's that the boss ordered us to bring him here because he made a phone call while we were getting him down from the Litegua bus." He got mad and entered where I was and he yelled at me "invader son of a bitch" and while he was there they got another call and then Jose Eduardo Cabrera said "well boys we have to take the legal route -- we failed."

Six months later I had an audience where I was in the custody of more than 400 police, 300 soldiers, bound hand and foot and they didn't give me any type of resolution. During the debate nothing of the crimes was proven but they still sentenced me to 8 years in prison. As I have said it is a warning from the powerful class and the government...to keep bearing their torture while they have me kidnapped. But I am nothing like what the media and the government have negatively portrayed me to be.

I AM INNOCENT

THE GOVERNMENT MURDERED MY COLLEAGUE LEADER MARIO CAAL BOLOM

THE GOVERNMENT ORDERED THE MURDER OF MY SISTER ANGELICA CHOC'S HUSBAND

THE GOVERNMENT HAS ME KIDNAPPED

History will be the judge

Truth will punish

Justice will condemn.

Ramiro Choc

Full Member of the Peasant Encounter

Livingston, Izabal

Guatemala C.A.