Claudia Patricia Gómez González, 20, Killed by a CBP bullet upon entering the United States

But I know many like her. A Mam (Maya) woman, born and raised in the small village of Los Alonzo, near San Juan Ostuncalco, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, she had already overcome long odds in achieving what she had.

She was, in many ways, a typical young woman for the highlands. Sitting astride two cultures, photographs show her in both her brightly colored traditional Maya clothes and those of the trendy modern world. She was barely five feet tall. Her parents were Lidia and Gilberto, and she had two younger sisters, who she helped care for. She was popular amongst her friends and had a serious boyfriend, Yosimar, to whom she planned to eventually marry. They exchanged loving selfies, and silly posts when she could afford cell service.

First though, she wanted to go to school.

Claudia was obviously bright and motivated. Not only did she finished grade school but had gone on to graduate from a local colegio (sort of a high school with a specialized focus) with a certificate in accounting.

Claudia Patricia Gómez González, Graduation Photo, 2016

A small thing, you might say. But in Guatemala, where many tens of thousands of children – particularly the indigenous Maya – never finish elementary school, where the simple school supplies are beyond their economic reach, it is no mean feat. When, as often is the case, a family must choose which, if any, of the children will go to school, the girls often lose out to their brothers. After all, it is reasoned, the girls won’t need school to raise their children, cook and clean and keep a household. But Claudia, called “Princesita” by her family, persisted.

Already bilingual, speaking her native Mayan Mam language as well as Spanish, she hoped to learn English as well. In a country with 23 official languages (of which English is not one) the ability to speak English well can be an economic godsend. She wanted to go to college.

But college costs money. Far more than her family could afford. So, Claudia was looking for work.  She spent two years after graduation seeking a job, but none could be found. Not in her village. Nor in the nearby town of San Juan Ostuncalco, nor in the larger city of Quetzaltenango.

She could have tried in Guatemala City, of course. But the city has no better opportunities, and some of the meanest of the mean streets of Central America.  The city eats rural indigenous girls like Claudia for breakfast.

She just wanted her modest dream. Education. A better life for her and her family. To make a difference.  With the naiveté of youth, her strength, and the hope of something better, she set out on a 3000-mile journey to find it in the United States.  Just to make enough money to help her family and later to return to Guatemala for school. She knew it was dangerous, but her father had made it, though deported back to Guatemala after a brief time.  Her novio (boyfriend) was attending school in the U.S. as well.

“Mamita, we’re going to go on ahead. [to the U.S.]  I’ll make money. There is no work here.” Were her last words to her mother.

Claudia Patricia Gómez González

Fifteen days later, having made it half way to her destination, and less than a half-mile into the United States, Princesita was dead, killed by a single gunshot to the head by a U.S. Border Patrol officer.

The details of the shooting are muddy. The Border patrol has already altered its original official story in multiple respects, and no longer claims that Claudia, all five feet of her, was assailing a border patrol officer.  Witnesses state she was simply hiding in the bushes. Investigations continue. Some say that the conclusion is foregone, and nothing will be done. Many say she was simply one more “illegal”, and that alone justifies, somehow, her death.  Sadly, in a week, her story will be forgotten by most.

Claudia Patricia “Princesita” Gómez González was not an “animal”. She was not a rapist, criminal or MS-13 gang member. She was, like most immigrants, simply trying to follow her hope of a better life for herself, her family and ultimately her native country by coming to the “shining city on the hill”.

Claudia Patricia Gómez González Shortly Before Leaving Guatemala for the United States

Claudia Patricia “Princesita” Gómez González certainly did not set out to be a martyr to a cause.  She, like any other 20-year-old, wanted very much to live a long and happy life, work a fulfilling job, and be surrounded by friends, family and children.

We should, however, remember her name. Remember that Claudia Patricia “Princesita” Gómez González, like all immigrants, documented or not, was a real human being, not so different from our own children, trying to make her way.

I think, no matter your politics, your stance on immigration issues or how you vote, we can agree that the answer to Claudia Patricia “Princesita” Gómez González’s dreams ought not to have been a bullet.

The post Claudia’s Dream – When Guatemala Sends Its Hope appeared first on AMEDICAusa.

A fifty year old Fire Engine sits under a tree in Ciudad Vieja, Guatemala

I Was Wrong.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that those words don’t often spring to my lips.  Borne out over a third of a century of career-required self assurance in the Fire Service,  my  fall back position is generally one of overwhelming self confidence. After all, the fire ground or the scene of a medical emergency are not places where one can afford to dither. You learn to bet on yourself, your knowledge and your experience.

But yesterday, a  group of firefighters from a small, resource poor, Guatemalan Fire Department made me eat my words.  With Salsa.

I recently published a picture on social media of an old fire engine under a tree (above) of which I was kind of proud. It was sitting in the yard of a village mechanic, dusty , partially disassembled, weeds growing between its tires.

The Ciudad Vieja Fire STATION. Yes, they live in this old bus. No, I don’t know why Santa’s sleigh is on top.

The firefighters of Ciudad Vieja, Guatemala were touring me around their town and the surrounding villages and wanted to show me what had happened to their only fire engine.  They bemoaned the fact that there wasn’t enough money to repair it, even if they could get the parts, and no one had ever even tried to take one apart before, much less repair one.

An “Expert” Opinion

Let’s be clear. This is a mid 1960’s Fire Engine, built by Barton-American, a small company that went out of business in the early 1970’s. The pump on the vehicle (the heart of any fire engine) was built by American Fire Pump, another now-forgotten company whose demise was also 40 years ago.  That pump, now 50 years old, had failed catastrophically, been removed from the engine and  now lay, disassembled into its myriad components, in the yard. It had clearly been that way for some time.

I took a look at it, decided, in my presumably expert and professional opinion, that this engine was truly a lost cause. It would remain under that tree until its useful parts had all been salvaged and its body slowly rusted away. So I took a couple of pictures. One of those pictures I tried to turn into a small tribute to a formally noble used Fire Engine. Having protected people for a half century, first in an unknown department in the United States and then in Guatemala, it seemed now destined to be forgotten. It was kind of sad.

I titled the picture “Abandoned”.

 

I Forgot Rule Number One.

When I asked a Guatemalan firefighter what they did when they had no fire engine to fight fire with, he shrugged philosophically and said “We work harder” while pantomiming the motions of the age old bucket brigade. He wasn’t kidding.

It’s easy, coming from a large, progressive fire department in the United States, to assume you know more, can do more and are “better” than your less privileged brethren in the third world.  You have the latest and greatest equipment, shiny new apparatus, video training, certifications enough to paper your living room – all the bells and whistles.  You have the time and luxury to argue over what stickers to plaster on your helmet, whether or not to put a parade flag on your rig.  There is the temptation  to be the Lieutenant from Backdraft …  “You’re doing it wrong…”

But it just really isn’t the case. The fact is, the average firefighter in Guatemala is tough, resourceful, knowledgeable and as dedicated to the job as anyone, anywhere.  There are few among them that I wouldn’t have happily had on my own crew in the States. Yeah, they have a LOT less money. Yeah, their equipment, what little they have of it, is old, used and worn – usually second or third hand from the U.S. – but they take as much pride in their old beat up engines as we do in a brand new half million dollar Peirce. They persevere, adapting to the shortfalls in equipment, water supplies, and personal protection –  facing the same hazards we face in the U.S., and a few we don’t.  Rule Number One:

“Never Underestimate a Guatemalan Firefighter with a mission…”

So, an hour after my posted photo appears on FaceBook, (and about six weeks after I took the picture) I get a message:

Rebuilding the antique fire pump in Ciudad Vieja

“Hey, Amigo, it’s already back in service”

“What is?”  I asked.

“The fire engine. We fixed the pump and it is working perfectly.”

“You must be joking” I replied

“No, I’m not.” He said proudly, “I’ll send you some pictures”

How they managed to do it, I don’t know. But 30,000 people have their fire protection back. The pride of the 8 Compañía CVB fleet, Engine 951, is back in front line service, proudly carrying  firefighters once again…and I was wrong.

I’m actually pretty happy about that.

Pride of the Fleet, Engine 951, Ciudad Viejo, Guatemala back in Service.

The post Rule Number One appeared first on AMEDICAusa.