Juxtaposition

I remember very distinctly learning the word Juxtaposition.  I was 19 years old, in my first English Composition course. I can’t remember the professor’s name, but I remember he was young, like me. And like me, probably suffering from some combination of confusion and sorrow about the world, replaying our minidramas over and over again. But that professor left a mark on me, albeit futile. “Juxtaposition.” he would say, “It’s the smartest word you can use. Fit it anywhere you can, in any paper you can. It enlightens every subject.” The notion stuck with me.  Juxtaposition: an act or instance of placing close together or side by side, especially for comparison or contrast. Everything has juxtaposition, if we look deeply enough. It’s the beautiful, constant contrast of the world, and by engaging it we find a more profound, beautifully layered understanding to our surroundings.

I’m living in a place with endless juxtaposition.  The drastic differences I am confronted with everyday in Guatemala are both stunning and frightening. Guatemala is a juxtaposition – an act of placing together side by side so many of these opposing ideas, one could assume it was done especially for comparison and contrast. I see it in nature, the biological juxtaposition of Guatemala. A biodiversity hotspot, a tropical paradise of infinite species that crash right up against each other and criss-cross lines of inheritance. The stately pines that shadow my weekend bike rides and remind me of my Colorado past are only a short walk away from forages of bamboo and eucalyptus that remind me again I am in the tropics. I live in a tropical mountain valley at 7000 feet, where volcanic peaks spear into a sky so blue you seem to understand the meaning of the word "celeste". Where fierce early-morning sunshine is followed by rainy afternoons and lightning shows, and topped off with chilly evenings that tickle your nose like only brisk mountain air can. A mere 60 km down that mountain slope out of the valley lay the coastal plains, where sweat pours out of your pores like a faucet, where scorching sun can only be appeased by the generous palm and mango trees, where the flora refuses to be tamed, transforming every square inch of open space into an unintentional garden of orchids and Birds of Paradise. 

Ecological zones juxtapose themselves, but then this entire package of natural beauty is juxtaposed against the obvious consequences of man. Mist flows across millions of green hues blending and meshing across the hilly landscape, an impeccability unfortunately soon disturbed by the remnants of this society’s struggle to define its ‘development’. Endless trash heaps like landmarks laid along the highway - styrofoam, plastic wrappers, beer bottles, diapers, food scraps, old cell phones. The contrast is mind-boggling. Mother Nature showcases her talents of mountains and valleys, explosions of creativity, and we invoke the Monroe Doctrine of Man against anything precious and beautiful, lazily tossing our resources out the window of the bus.
However, sometimes I think this is juxtaposition at work - perhaps these trash heaps, this contrast of opportunity and neglect actually make the beauty all the more obvious, forcing me to take notice.

I see this juxtaposition in the spectrum of strangers. I am living in one of the most dangerous country’s in the world, so they tell me. From Aljazeera News to the US State Department, they never tire in telling the tales of drug cartels lording their power over the Southern Coast, the gang killings in Guatemala City, the theft and rape that fills the local newspapers day to day. And its real – bus drivers in Guatemala City are being killed by the dozens as they stand up to gangs, refusing to let them on the bus to take everyones money. A few months ago a 20 year old was shot in Xela, a few blocks from where I live, after the bank security guard texted his buddies telling them the kid had just withdrawn $600; they got him a block away from the bank, with his backpack on. And what do we expect in a country where the police force is corrupt, where justice is foreign, where vigilante action is the only thing you can count on. 
Then, juxtaposed to all of this, there’s this funny little statistic about Guatemala being one of the happiest countries on earth, with some of the most open, friendly people. And I can attest. I get to enjoy that statistic nearly every day of my life. In one of the most dangerous country’s in the world, I have never been invited to as many family gatherings, fed as much free, delicious food, been hugged as many times in my life. Strangers are an incredible, sustainable resource in this country. They help you get on the right bus, they help you find the right bank, their kids play with you in Parque Central, and they let you hang in their hammock when you need a little afternoon nap after working in the hot, coastal sun. In the States I can’t even get someone to let me borrow their cell phone. Everytime I go back to the US I’m reminded how much of this my homeland lacks – our private properties, our fences, our numerous symbols of independence, like the cars we drive straight into our garages, shutting the door and turning on our television without ever meeting our nextdoor neighbor. Guatemala is a lesson in humanity. A country with more cultural identities than the city of Chicago and yet can still find a commonplace in kindness, good food, and a simple ‘Buenos Dias’ as you pass by on the street.

And the most obvious representation of this Guatemalan juxtaposition: its poverty gap. It’s not just that there are poor people here, it’s abject poverty next door to rampant wealth. Driving along the PanAmerican Highway you could mistake yourself to be on a roadtrip in Northern Oregon, passing on the left, coasting in and out of multiple, well-marked lanes, giving thanks to the Sugarcane Landowners and Drug Traffickers for every mile of immaculate pavement. But out the window, just a few meters off the highway where none of the 1% landowning elite need go, the juxtaposition of the poor cries its distinction and divergence.  Shoeless little boys trekking up the shoulder, carrying loads of firewood twice their weight.  Small, mysterious footpaths leading into the forest, where a precariously placed wooden shack lays on a steep hillside, billowing smoke from the open-fire kitchen. Women and girls, dawning their beautifully-colored traje, dredging barefoot through muddy fields, pulling up thousands of onions and cabbage buy hand, and tying them in bunches to be shipped to Guatemala City, where they will feed those hungry Lords of Commodity, and feed the system that keeps them there.

In Zone 10 of Guatemala City I get my morning coffee at Starbucks before strolling through the mall gawking at price tags three times my paycheck, then hopping in a new Chevy Spark Yellow Taxi where I pay with credit card, a receipt emailed to my smartphone within minutes. Meanwhile on the outskirts of town, the smallholder farming communities’ wake up instead to roosters crowing and the smell of tortillas being placed on the comal, rolling back mosquito nets from the small mattress on the dirt floor where mom, dad, and 5 brothers and sisters all share a room. Teeth are brushed with well water before strapping on a ripped, recycled ‘Go Gators’ shirt (or some other US thrift store hand-me-down), and heading off to the corn fields by 5AM for a full day’s work under the tropical sun, and a measly pay of $6, if you’re lucky. In Xela, the juxtaposition is less escapable. It doesn’t exist in a neighborhood or on the outskirts of town, its right on your front door step. Lawyers and businessmen dressed in pinstripe suits recently hand-pressed by their indigenous maid. They walk down the cobblestone streets of the city, performing their well-practiced tip-toe avoidance of the various blockades - stepping over dog-shit piles, side-swiping the unconscious drunkard splayed across the sidewalk, avoiding the emaciated, entreating woman kneeling on the ground with her newborn baby in tow.

This juxtaposition bumps into each other constantly, rolling our Mercedez Benz right up to the doorstep of the open-air markets, where Tablets clash with Tomatoes at 40 cents a pound, where Indigineity meets Modernity, where the kindness of strangers gives balance to the fearful reality of what humans in desperation can succumb to.  I’m glad I see this juxtaposition. It enlightens my experience here. It helps me see the layered reality that is Guatemala in 2014, struggling to find its balance in a quickly changing world.