Guatemala Stories: The Winds of Socialism under the Ceiba Tree

Guatemala 1988. The Mitsubishi was shining iridescent gray and had smokey windows. It was parked across the narrow avenue outside the Colonial Hotel's heavy swinging wooden doors in downtown Guatemala City. With a courteous nod the driver opens the door ushers us inside the car. The seats are soft and the carpet lush and when the door slides shut its quiet, cocooned. Behind the windows, outside, the glint and flash of chrome and glass and gritty clouds of diesel smoke inky thick. And the crackling motor cycles and blue police jeeps and people streaming past the sun drenched fractured walls and shadowed corridors, merchants selling fruit and postcards and music washing past. And there's a truck passing loaded with fresh unfilled coffins simply carved with swirls and varnished shiny brown stacked in rows - I can see it through the smokey glass. Traveling south towards the coast with Mario Solorzano Martinez, secretary of the Social Democratic Party of Guatemala. The winds of ...