Word: campesino
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...many questions simply disappear. Santiago, once a lively capital, is curiously silent these days. Serious matters such as politics and high prices are never discussed on the telephone. Early this year a military patrol passing through a field near the capital asked a question of a campesino. The farmer touched his cap and answered, "Si, señor." He should have said, "Si, Señor Comandante." He was arrested for lack of respect to the army and, according to a lawyer familiar with his case, has been detained for 70 days...
...like the rockpile just outside the village, on the side of the road. Every time a campesino passes by there on the way to his field, he throws another stone on the pile, so that the devil will stay away." The padre took a long sip of beer from the glass on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Or their custom of spilling out some of their drink before they have any of it to give thanks to Pachamamma, their Mother Earth. It's left over from their pagan beliefs...
...found Padre Ray back in his chambers, poring over a Spanish Bible in preparation for the sermon he would give at mass the next day. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door, and a campesino walked in, hat in hand and shoulders bent over in what looked almost like a caricature of humility. "Padre, por favor, pudiera venir al cementerio, para rezar por nuestro companero?" So the priest, his face impassive, put on his black vestment, and we were off to the cemetery to say some prayers over the body of a campesino awaiting burial...
...just outside the gate of the cemetery, we were met by a couple of campesinos, one of whom carried a heavy earthen jug on his back. "Ah, padre, padre, un vaso, por favor." Father, father, one glass, please, they said excitedly as they pressed around the priest. I began to understand what was going on, and so I tried to move off to the side, where I hoped I would not be noticed. Padre Ray had little choice. The campesino with the urn, his face dirty from the day's sweat, eagerly swung the container off his back and took...
...walls white and smooth. The doors and windows are trimmed in bright blue. You ask him, as president of the town, what he thinks of the Mexican government. Smiling, he shrugs his shoulders. "Well, Senorita, Echeverria--he is not a bad man; but he does nothing for the campesino. The rich men have money and they pay him and, well--so he can afford to do nothing...