Copyright © 2001 NLThomas
All Rights Reserved

"Hey William. From CPT. How are you?" I was crossing the main square here in San Cristobal several weeks ago when a young man greeted me. Unsure of whom he was I asked how we knew each other. "From X'oyep," he replied.

X'oyep is one of the refugee camps of the Indigenous pacifists displaced by the war here. We go there regularly as human rights observers, and we have joined with the local people a number of times public witness to draw attention to the continuing presence of military and paramilitary forces there. Still not placing him and noticing a notebook in his hand, I asked if he was in town for school. A few families have sent their children to the city to complete their junior high.

"No. I am here to look into registering for university."

My confusion continued. I certainly did not recall knowing anyone who was at that point in their studies. ³Are you from one of the original families or are you one of the displaced," I asked (While most of the people in X'oyep fled there in 1997, it is mostly the original families of X'oyep that have sent children on in studies.)

Now he looked confused. "I'm not from X'oyep. I met you when you were fasting in the military base there."

I took a good look at him. "You're a soldier! You're Juan!" I exclaimed. "Not anymore," he beamed. "I quit and went back to high school. If I can figure out how to pay for it, I am going to study accounting now."

Two weeks ago, while waiting for a bus in the state capital I again heard my name called. A young man sitting with his friends, called me over. ³Do you remember me?" Again I had no idea who he was. "From X'oyep."

This time I knew he had to be a soldier, but still didn't remember him. "Are you still a soldier?" I asked .

"No. I quit."
"Why did you quit?"
"You said that I should," he told me.

Then I remembered a young quiet man with glasses and his church songbook, singing his hymns to pass the time on guard duty. He had quit the army only a few weeks after we had left. ³I still have the leaflet that Sarah gave me."

We chatted about his plans. He thought he might go back to school, or maybe sneak into the U.S. to get some work at a decent rate of pay. We exchanged addresses and I saw that he was barely literate. He seemed unsure about what he should do now, and did not feel he had many options. He asked me, "What do you counsel that I do now?"

What do I counsel? What are the options for a poor, Christian young man who has decided that in spite of his poverty he does not want to carry a machine gun anymore? What are the options when minimum wage here is 30 cents per hour and the only realistic way to get more than that is to sneak into the U.S., and risk getting killed by some racist rancher?

What are we Christians from the North offering to these young courageous men?