BANANAS, GLOBALIZATION and BEING THERE…
by Raechel Tiffe

The air in Morales, Guatemala is hot. More than hot, the air in Morales Guatemala would be more suitably compared to how it must feel to camp out in a 150 degree oven, wrapped up in a wet woolen blanket. But amidst this rural Central American landscape also rests a town owned by the transnational banana corporation, Del Monte. It is here where many of the Del Monte workers live, leaving them always in the palm of Del Monte's clean, unlabored hands.

The shacks that line the dirt road are not in unblemished condition, but they are all brightly colored, and bloom like flowers along the way. Clothes lines of chemical-laden work gear hang to dry while Guatemalan families sit beneath the awnings of make-shift porches in a fairly vain attempt to seek refuge from the heat, only to find that it is not so much the sun as much as the inescapable humid air.

I am here, bouncing down the uneven path on a “chicken bus” (as they call it here), with two women—Carmen Molina and Selfa Sandoval—from SITRABI, the union that organizes the workers on the Del Monte finca (farm). As we travel down closer to the plantation, Selfa describes life in the town, citing the victories attained by the union in terms of their civic life.

“Each family gets to have up to five animals,” she explains as we pass by a herd of cows.*  The group of women I'm with on the bus point and giggle excitedly when shortly after the cows we spot a monkey on a leash playing with some small children. We are all here on a delegation with STITCH ( http://www.stitchonline.org ) , an organization connects US activists and organizers with Central American activists and organizers, specifically women. Prior to visiting the banana plantations we protested with a group of maquila workers, met with women from human rights organizations in Guatemala, and met with a man who helps Guatemalans who are planning to immigrate to the US. It's been quite a week.

But today we are here, listening to Selfa speak more about how SITRABI has created a community both inside and outside of the work place. “When a person dies, the whole town comes together to help the family plan the funeral,” she tells us as we pass a cemetery with vibrant colored tombs, flowers, and balloons.

She goes on to relay the way that water access is adequate—tap water in Guatemala is not safe to drink, but the town gets purified water everyday. The union has also demanded that the company provides access to schools for the children, and there is even a technical school set up for women workers who desire to learn another trade, such as sewing. Low-cost transportation and a low-cost general store are both provided, thanks to union efforts, and for those workers who do not live in the Del Monte town, a building project has been started to help them acquire proper housing. While living off the Del Monte grounds might provide some level of autonomy, it also makes for a much longer, grueling commute.

“These houses you are seeing are homes for two families,” Selfa adds incidentally. There is a tangible reaction of surprise as the women look again at the small homes. “Does cooperative living result in cooperative child-rearing?” I ask.   “Si,” Selfa smiles, “Everyone helps each other out. Everyone is in solidarity to help one another's families.”

When we finally arrive at the actual plantation we are met by a Del Monte representative who is to supervise us through the tour. That's a euphemism, I gather, for “Make sure union workers don't say anything disparaging to the profitable United States visitors.” We step outside the bus and within two minutes of just standing we are all covered in sweat. The two SITRABI women and the Del Monte guide lead us to a patch of banana trees, and as we stand beneath the mild shade of the massive green and yellow leaves, my toes and legs get repeatedly stung and bitten by ants and other insects. As I scratch and swat wildly with the rest of the STITCH group, the workers don't flinch.

Carmen gives us some background of the process of planting and growing banana tree. For example, there is a nine month gestation period from seedling to fruit producing tree. “Like a baby!” a STITCH delegate exclaims, and the women chuckle as though they had heard it before.

There's something missing in this heated scenic view, though….bananas. Where the fruit would normally be on display is, instead, ugly blue plastic bags. “These bags are full of pesticides and chemicals that kill diseases and insects that would harm the bananas. So the workers place them over the fruit bundles before they are cut,” Selfa explains.

A delegate directs her question to the Del Monte supervisor; “Do the workers wear protective clothing when they use those chemicals?” His young eyes dart around the group of staring women, and he shifts uncomfortably from his position leaning against a tree. “They should,” he says, flowing by a nervous laugh. “They should, but they don't because it is just too hot to wear the extra equipment they give us,” Carmen clarifies.

So it's either pass out from heat or die early from chemicals. The latter won't get you fired. We move on to the packing plant where mostly women work; (women are not allowed to work in the fields, even if they want to). The SITRABI women explain the process of washing and selecting which bananas will be shipped to the US . The US market will not accept bananas with even the smallest bruises. Any blemishes we see in the grocery store occur during transit or in the US .

“I've been to a grocery store in the US and I see how they pick off the banana they don't like. It has to look nice enough to buy,” Selfa says. “So what happens to the bananas you don't ship to the US ?” a delegate asks.“Oh, that's for us, for Guatemalans. A truck comes to pick it up to take to our local markets,” Selfa says without an ounce of resentment in her voice. It's just a fact; they get the second choice, because they are second-class citizens in the globalized world. Continuing through the plant we see a large board that charts the progress of the workers, according to how many boxes they pack in an hour. The union used their collective bargaining to set the company's goal standard at 45 boxes per hour. We look on the list and notice that there are a few women who surpass their expectations, particularly one woman who averages in the high 60s.

“We need better communication with some of the women,” Selfa says eyeing the high-numbers on the chart, “because the company will use this to demand more of us next time.” With the Del Monte watchdog over my shoulder I decide to refrain from asking if the company might have planted the woman in the production line to “throw the curve.” Looking at Guatemala 's response to banana unions in the past, though, I wouldn't be surprised.

SITRABI began in 1947 during a ten year period of democracy in Guatemala ; (they will be celebrating 60 years of existence this June 6th). That same year, however, violence began to erupt, and members of the Board of Directors were assassinated, including Alfonso Bene. Bene was made an example of; after he was beheaded, the government hired paramilitaries put his head on a stick, and paraded it throughout villages, screaming “This is how all the union workers will die!” SITRABI continued to battle with violence, threats, and disappearances, but remained a firm and sturdy union. After years on a rollercoaster of victories and devastation, the SITRABI women say that they are fairly decent terms with Del Monte, and that 95% of the workers are part of the union, which is a triumphant accomplishment for any union. However, they do note that things have steadily gotten worse after the implementation of CAFTA.

On the bumpy, sweaty bus ride back I am left with an overwhelming sense of paradox. The enemy of the left—and the perceived enemy of marginalized people according to the left—is indeed neoliberalism. Globalization. Free Trade. Imperialism. Empire. Whatever coined term you prefer, we are talking about the spread of capitalism via transnational corporations, who, in line with the neoliberal agenda, treat their workers as commodities.

Because of this awareness of injustice, the anti-globalization movement has become one of the most impassioned social movements in recent times. In close relation is the fair trade movement, which espouses the rejection of purchasing products from transnational corporations who operate under free trade. Fair trade and the wave of “conscientious consumerism” is no doubt a choice made by the privileged. Inherent in it is the access to education about globalization, the money to afford higher priced fair trade goods, and the energy to devote to “buying fair/green/local” etc. As the fair trade movement booms, however, so too does the market's recognition of profit from this trend, and thus creates the demand for more fair trade producers. So, some of our fair trade labeled products are beginning to come from larger and larger producers, as the small farmers and cooperatives are driven out of the race by more heavily concentrated competition. Clearly this does not provide for ideal labor conditions either.

Perhaps you can see where my argument is headed; “Is she really going to try to defend a transnational corporation?!” you must be asking incredulously. I assure you that is not quite what I'm trying to represent. I'm not interested in building a case for capitalist domination; the evidence against CAFTA (and NAFTA and all the other policies and contracts that implement community devastation under the guise of “development”) is sufficient enough to give me firm conviction that it should not only be done away with, but should indeed never have been created at all. However, it is present; today, as you read this; the powers that be are making deals with new CEOs to create a new maquila in a new poverty-stricken town.

My argument is not in favor of transnationals, but more so the idea of union labels in addition to fair trade labels. The reality is that Del Monte provides jobs for lots of workers in Guatemala , and, despite my US-centric view of “good working conditions,” the workers seem somewhat satisfied with the support the company provides because of union demands. If the most effective way a large number of US citizens can protest is through “conscientious consumerism” I would hope that we, as buyers, can begin not to look at fair trade and free trade as black and white issue, but rather a complex and multifaceted truth that cannot be solved by “speaking with your dollar” in the still limited and increasingly problematic fair trade market.

An expert on the banana workers in Central America, Bob Perillo noted in his meeting with our STITCH group, that, “The only thing that will save union jobs in agriculture is promoting union labels, which seems, for now, unable to happen.” His discouragement is a product of the fact that his organization fought for that label, but had it shot down by the progressive community whose sympathy might have garnered support. “They couldn't stomach the association with the transnationals,” he states.

Fair trade, union labels, social clauses in Fair Trade Agreements…none of these will fully break down the nature of the proverbial beast. I am under the belief that—as The World Social Forum touts—“another world is possible,” but that it will only exist when money does not take precedence over humanity and justice. In the meantime, however, I think “a maybe-somewhat-better-than-this world is possible” through the constant struggle of rights for marginalized people. A struggle designed by those who struggle themselves, organized by others only through acts of solidarity, which requires listening and not pressing privileged perceptions of “fair” onto peoples who see it as something else. This means making the story of human beings impacted from globalization present in the public sphere. It means finding ways to humanize what has become a “tired cause.”

My first morning back in the US I have a banana with my cereal. I pause before I bite into the product whose origin I saw from seedling sprout to worker's hands. This trip has put the voices of Morales, Guatemala in the smooth, yellow, unblemished peel of my breakfast, playing like an opened music box when I strip away the outside layer to reveal the pale fruit. As I eat, playing in my head is the fitting metaphor Carmen gave when she articulated how they had the strength to keep going in the struggle.

“Our trunk, our leaves, our branches might be cut,” she said, “but they will never uproot us. Never.”

*The quotes from Guatemalans were said in Spanish and translated by Renée de Cordoba for the STITCH group in English.

Raechel Tiffe is 22 years old and lives in Chicago with her two cats. In the fall she will begin pursuing her masters degree in Multicultural Studies and Communication, with a focus on Cultural Resistance Movements at DePaul University . When she's not in the streets protesting injustice, or organizing for social change, you can find her baking vegan desserts and playing songs on her guitar.