The Coop Organizational Meeting

"Don Juan, the meeting for the coop will be starting in ten minutes. Sr. Miron and I must go over to the school. Are you going to attend? I think it is important that being one of the main leaders of the campesinos and a former leader of the coop, that you attend. Dr. de la Pava will be there too." The "Navajo" looked at us with his opaque brown eyes straight on. "Si senores, if business permits." His hands suddenly came out of hiding from underneath the ruana, and he shook hands with David and me.

"Adios Senores."

"Adios Don Juan. Con su permiso,"I said.

I was infuriated. I knew the bastard wasn't going to show. No, all he wanted was to restore his cooperative, so that he could recoup his money. He cared as much about the campesinos as the oligarchs. Although he looked and dressed like a campesino, the old Navajo was rich. That was obvious not only by the size of his farm, but his holdings of several other farms in Cundinamarca; the amount of money helost in the other coop; by the influence he had with the other campesinos; and by his knowledge of the prices in the areas. It was as if he personally set the prices, although that would not be possible since he didn't have that much land; yet he talked as if the Anaime region was "his" region.

"I see what you mean about the 'Navajo' ," David said. "Quite some political scientist, eh? The son of a bitch really looks like a Navajo all right. Better head over to the meeting. The campesinos will probably be waiting." Some moseyed on down to the school, as the Personero gave one more blast of his announcement on the PA system. The school was two blocks from the plaza--around the comer from where Dave had parked. A small sign, hung out from one of the shutters, announced the school. No one, absolutely no one, could be seen anywhere on the street, let alone in front of the school. Well, maybe inside some of the campesinos had gathered. We stepped through the half open door and peeked in. I looked around, and Dave looked at me. I could feel his eyes. We went over and shook hands with Don Efrain the school master; Doctor de la Pava was also there. I looked at my watch: it was only 12:05. Well, that was explanation enough but the street seemed so empty, so far away from the bustle of the market place swarming with people. No, the campesinos never showed on time, although usually some arrived early just out of curiosity. Resolutely ignoring the omens, I asked: "Senores, have any others arrived yet?" I was greeted by the very serious, frowning countenance of the Doctor and informal shake of the schoolmaster's head. "Excuse us Doctor and Don Efrain, we will wait outside."

"Do you think the campesinos know about the location of the colegio?" Dave asked. I was getting a little annoyed that Dave was with me now. I didn't need him overseeing my failure. He knew damned well that the damn campesinos never showed up anywhere at the appointed hour. Jesus, he had actually learned that lesson all too well.

"Of course they do. The town is so small, how many streets are there-three or four main streets if that? Why don't we just take a walk back down to the square and tell the Personero to make another announcement. You know, it's only 12: 15 anyway."

We informed the Doctor and Sr. Rey of our intentions and headed back to the plaza. In less than five minutes we weaved our way through the hundreds of campesinsos milling their way through the mazes of vendors and bargaining with the intermediaries. All the bustle, animation, and noise seemed to make the location of the colegio in another world, one of solitary confinement for the condemned. I went into the Personero's office, and he looked up in surprise.

"Sr.Smith, I thought you would be at the school for the meeting with the campesinos?"

"So did I, Don Martin," trying to manage a smile. "Why don't you try one more announcement, and we will go back to the school and wait." Once again the Personero tried to kindle a spark of interest inthe campesinos. We could hear his announcements on the way back to the school. Well, they certainly couldn't say they didn't hear the announcement, it was loud enough. But maybe in fact, they did not hear. They had been urged to attend meetings before; they had coops which had failed; the government and politicians had promised to improve their prices; increase their yields; bring them roads and schools; and all they had received from their listening was silence-- silence in action and in deed: So the campesino had learned his lesson all too well. He selectively heard and was, in fact, institutionally deaf. He would not come. Somehow, we had to go to them. But how?

How much closer could we get than to be in their own town, exhorting them to come to a meeting in their school. We arrived back at the school and only the school master was left; the Doctor had a "diligencia" to attend and would return in a few minutes. It was now 1 2:30 P.M. The street was as dead as ever. The time reached 12:40 and still no one came. I looked again: 12:50. Dave was silent too. Wewalked around nervously in small half circles on either side of the school-- 12:55.

A stray dog wandered up the street, looked at us out of the comer of his eye, sniffed at the open door of the school and retraced his steps back down the street leading to the plaza. There was obviously, even to a stupid cur, no action here. The church bells chimed: 1:00 P.M. I looked up at Dave. "Dammed campesinos, it's obvious they're not going to show. To hell with them. Let's go back to Cajamarcafor the 2:00 meeting there; maybe we will have better luck." I couldn't help but blame the Navajo; he probably had told the campesinos not to come.

“Wait a minute," Dave said. “I've got an idea. You're right. We're wasting our time here. Let's go back to the plaza, and You talk to"the campesinos right there. I'm sure the Personero, Don Martin, will be more than happy to let you use the PA system. He has an extension cord for the microphone, and you could address all the campesinos right on the plaza itself. What do you think?"

"I need a blackboard for the prices," I replied weakly, a feeling of nausea suddenly overcoming my feeling of indignation. (There must be 200 people on the plaza, TWO HUNDRED! Jesus, who does Dave think I am? A Latino demagogue, fearlessly haranguing the "muchedumbre"(crowd) to action? Damn him, what is he thinking anyway? If he is so gung-ho, let him address the crowd. I don't want any part of it. Yet, he's right too. The only way I can get to the campesinos is if I have a captive audience. How more captive than the four walls of the plaza itself? Oh, I want desperately to say no to the idea. Buthow can I? I will be admitting defeat if I do not pick up the gauntlet. This is my "oportunidad dorada," so what can I do but accede?

"Vamonos," I mustered. We headed back down to the plaza, my knees suddenly having difficulty negotiating the route we had just traversed four times before.