American University’s Department of Anthropology
11th Annual Public Anthropology Conference
October 4th & 5th in Washington, DC
“Violence, Resilience, and Resistance”
Call for Participation
Join us at American University for the 11th annual Public Anthropology Conference.
We invite students, activists, academics, and community members to submit brief
I went to the march de la no homo-lesbo-bi-trans-fobia in Tegucigalpa last Friday. It was a different scene from San Pedro, where I've been to pride marches a few times. San Pedro has a reputation for having bigger, more flamboyant marches, and the community holds the national pride march there instead of in Tegucigalpa because the authorities crack down less.
The mayor of Iriona, Aníbal Duarte, was murdered in La Ceiba last Friday. He was a staunch ally of the people in his municipality, and of the First Garifuna Hospital in neighboring Ciriboya. I wrote about his support for our nursing/medical student brigade in January here. His loss is a tragedy for the people of Iriona and of Honduras, and is heartbreaking for me as well.
I was killing time downtown, slowly making my way to the restaurant where I was going to meet some friends. As I walked I overheard a man say to another man "acaban de matar a un hombre por ahí" [a man was just killed over there], nodding his head in the direction I was walking. It didn't affect me much; I took it in like any other piece of information about my surroundings—weather, road conditions, etc. I resumed my internal dialogue where I'd left off.
Click the below image to see this month's Página al viento, the bulletin of the UNAH Press. I wrote the final article (included as an insert in the print version), which is about our student-led solidarity brigade to Ciriboya. Thanks so much to the UNAH editorial staff for their hard work on this last-minute submission!
My student sent me a link to an article multiply and oh-so-cleverly titled The odds of being murdered/ Dicing with death/ The UN offers some hints on how to avoid being bumped off from this month's Economist the other day. Below is a special block segment titled "Blood on the page":
I found this in the book I have sitting next to my hammock (pp.438-9). My translation:
Nobody knows the volcano
but everyone knows it's there.
Over there where the fog is thickest
and an iron anguish
oppresses the lungs,
the omnipotent lords of the earth
multiply their barbed wires
so that no daring bird
can make it through this disgrace.
One of the biggest retail sectors in Honduras is the (re-)sale of unwanted crap from the US, which is shipped daily in containers full of fardos (the same word for the large potato sacks in which cocaine is transported). The stuff I find here is actually better than what I tend to find in Georgia Thrift, my local store. Not necessarily cheaper. A few weeks ago I purchased this onesie for no one but myself:
On the afternoon of March 31st a dog killed my cat Sy, my most faithful companion throughout the past fourteen and a half years. She accompanied me to my various positions in San Francisco, Cairo, Washington and is now buried in Tegucigalpa. The dog bit her by the neck, severing her jugular, removing a massive chunk of flesh, grinding her into the dirt, mauling to her to near-death in short order. Someone separated them, put her in a box, and called me over. When I saw her she was still breathing torturedly. She couldn't look at me; I don't know if she could see.