Day 14 June 5
Part 3




Madjid enters the mysterious Templo de las Acanaladuras (Temple of the Grooved Walls). From May to October, almost daily torrential rains exact a heavy toll on the Tikal structures, many of which-- such as this one --are in a sorry state of preservation.

In 1895, the archaeologist Teobert Maler travelled from the Petén capital Flores to Tikal by mule and dugout canoe. After a difficult week, Maler and his guides arrived, first reaching this temple before the main buildings. Here, his Indian guides set up camp. It was not long before they grew dissatisfied and mutinous, perhaps because of the appalling living conditions in the jungle. Exasperated, Maler withdrew with his baggage and set up quarters in another building. His guides did very little excavation, but at least, he was left in peace to draw and photograph the principal ruins.




To get to the Temple of the Inscriptions, we followed an isolated path (the Mendez Causeway, named after a prominent archaeologist) that led us far from the main groups of ruins. This building was dedicated by Yik'in Chan K'awil, son of King Hasaw. It may well be Yik'in's funerary monument.

Stelae, such as this one in front of the temple, declare historical or dynastic events that were often imbued with religious significance. These monuments usually served a propaganda purpose for the rulers, for example, to publicize a ruler's prowess in war and captive-taking, or to justify the divine right of a particular king to rule.




A stela set in front of the North Acropolis. It shows the Tikal ruler Kalomte Balam ("Ruler Jaguar"), who was probably a usurper to the throne.




It was a heavily overcast day, and the somber atmosphere was conducive to philosophical discussion. We were walking among the remains of the North Acropolis. I had remarked to my friends that Guatemala would be a great place to live in, if only it were peaceful and economically stable.

"But given the way things are," Alvaro noted, "it isn't so bad working in the States, then taking a month's vacation each year in Guatemala, don't you think?"

I pondered his suggestion. "That's true. But what if one doesn't have the option of the States-- or even a passport? Take the situation of the indigenas ..."

Roberto joined in, expressing regret at the Maya's desperate plight. They were the chief casualties in a war between foreign ideologies, capitalism and socialism, both of which they knew nothing about. "The Maya used to comprise the vast majority of the population; now they're down to sixty percent. Many have been either killed or assimilated into the dominant ladino culture. As the economic pressures increase and the repression becomes more violent, you can expect their numbers to dwindle until ..."

"Until they're all exterminated?" I interjected. "So that's it, the eventual outcome is genocide?"

Roberto was noncommital. "By what right does the lion seize its prey? Sadly, it's survival of the fittest."

"Man, these Indians are so innocent, so unsuspecting of the rough and efficient ways of the modern world." Madjid, who had been silent up to this point, volunteered his characteristic insight. "They're living in the stone age. They refuse to adapt. But nobody can resist the West and its culture. You might as well try to stop a bulldozer with your bare hands. What other outcome did you expect?"

I did not answer. The logic was chillingly convincing. But something from deep inside me rebelled against the provably inevitable. Would extinction be the fate not only of the Indians, but of anything unable to defend itself from the irresistible onrush of our technology-- from the machines, the guns, the nuclear bombs, the poisons and environmental degradation? When would the destruction stop... when we destroyed ourselves?

We continued our walk among the ruins in silence, occasionally glancing at the ominous sky.

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Into Guatemala 1989. © 1999 J. L. Pe