Antigua, Guatemala – Flashy and fascinating, the Mayan dresses, -called güipiles- are also symbols of a history of exclusion and resistance. In Guatemala, there is already great social pressure to abandon the use of indigenous clothing. However, in the town of San Antonio Aguas Calientes a council of weavers was organized and France 24 tried to spin with them the story of a triple oppression: racist, patriarchal and capitalist.
“And now look around you: the garden is full of the same colors we use for our fabrics.” Today is a color combination workshop for weaving apprentices. Gathered in a house in a Guatemalan town, about twenty women draw inspiration from nature for their future fabrics.
The evening sun enhances the colors of the traditional garments they all wear. In Guatemala, where more than 44 percent of the population declares itself indigenous according to a 2018 national census, these fabrics are as much a part of the landscape as corn tortillas.
However, its sustainability has been and continues to be threatened. Reason why this council of weavers from San Antonio Aguas Calientes was formed half a year ago: 11 women determined to give indigenous weaving the recognition they deserve.
Becoming a weaver
Twice a week, they gather their 15 students, not only to teach them to weave but also to become weavers. Indeed, upon leaving the three-month workshop, the students will have to know how to handle the warper, know the meaning of ancestral designs, acquire patience and discipline, and above all: learn to value the art that they will soon give life in their hands. .
The teachers inherited this knowledge from their mothers or grandmothers, as is the tradition. And with the creation of the group, they embraced this role for their 15 disciples: “The idea of the workshop is to rescue this transmission of knowledge,” explains Lilian Lisetth Zamora, one of the teachers, to France 24.
In this town of 11,000 inhabitants, the women are usually “teachers, secretaries or housewives”, lists Lilian Lisetth. “But there is a shortage of employment here, so to work many go to the capital every day,” she said, about two hours away. “They come home late and tired, so they don’t have the time to teach their daughters to weave,” she adds.
However, the progressive disappearance of this family transmission is not the only explanation for the distancing of some women with the clothing of their roots.
“Our fabrics are not costumes”
For some time now, “clothing” has replaced the expression “traje típico” in the vocabulary of these organized compañeras, in order to remove its folkloric connotation: “Our fabrics are not costumes”, emphasizes Lilian Lisetth.
And throughout the classes, this is what they intend to instill in the attendees: “Little by little they remember that this art comes from our ancestors, and they recognize its historical value. When you feel good about clothing, you value it.”
For the teachers, trying different color combinations in a circle around a table, the lesson is more than assimilated. When asked what it means to wear the outfit today, they chorus back: “Pride!” And the laughter is intertwined with the threads.
This pride has risen like a wall against years of discrimination, which all, without exception, have experienced firsthand. “When we look for work, it is enough to arrive at the door of the company with the clothes to receive a “There is no job for you,” says Flavia López, another teacher, for example. “Or they ask you if you know how to read,” adds Olinda García, with two quetzals -the emblematic bird of Guatemala- suspended from his ears.
From wearing pants to dreaming of her güipiles boutique
That discrimination, Heidy Guachín knows it well. That 29-year-old student stopped wearing the clothing for four years to avoid comments and derogatory looks. Now, there is no woman who wears her güipil with more pride.
She entered the workshop with the firm intention of being able to weave her own garments: “I’m going to open my house soon,” she laughs excitedly. But after a few minutes, she reveals the other reason why she seems so focused spinning with the untie: just a few months ago she was admitted to a scholarship for businesswomen. And in the “project” box, Heidy trusts with stars in her eyes that she wrote “textile business”.
His smile also lengthens as he recounts the day of the official photos with other scholarship students. Her slogan was to arrive “with pants and comfortable clothes.” Heidy then sent a selfie with her clothing to the manager, accompanied by the message “This is how I dress. Is there a problem?”
When the day of the photo arrived, among all the students, Heidy stood out with her designs from San Antonio Aguas Calientes: “Several of them took photos with me, they wanted to know where the fabric came from, how it was made…”
A revenge for which one day she felt forced to wear pants… “I also learned that with that group, to understand that one does not have to be ashamed. Those fabrics that we wear have great ancestral value. Now I know how to defend myself, and I know defend my outfit,” Heidy concludes determinedly.
A path to economic empowerment
In Lilian Lisetth’s garden, watched over from the top of a tree by an apple-green parrot, there are many students who already share the honor conferred by the use of clothing. Even more so since they do it from San Antonio Aguas Calientes, a town with a specificity: double brocade, a very fine technique of double-sided weaving. “And it’s not for nothing, it’s much more difficult!” insists Lilian Lisetth.
As a demonstration, the teacher proudly displays a deep turquoise blue cloth adorned with elegant patterns. Conceived in four months, that güipil is worth 4,000 quetzales ($500).
But before reaching that level of dexterity, the students must first learn to weave “guardas”, some “very salable” garments, which require less work time. “They sell 15 or 20 quetzales, and that way the girls have some money, even if it’s for recess,” explains Lilian Lisetth.
Indeed, another of the objectives of this organization is that the students can contribute to the family economy. Guatemala is the third country in Latin America with the most people in extreme poverty, according to the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (Cepal). Therefore, every year, some 300,000 Guatemalans try to emigrate to the United States in search of better living conditions. And the department of Sacatepéquez is not spared from this trend.
Lilian Lisetth tells that one of her students stopped going to class for a while. “When I asked her why, she began to cry. Her sister had gone to the United States to look for work, and her departure was very painful for her,” recalls the teacher with a resigned look.
Powerful collectives from an early age
And if weaving offers women a path to economic empowerment, it also creates bonds of solidarity among those who learn it here. “In that area, there are women with very few resources. It is difficult for them to find enough to eat, and even so they continue to wear the clothing. I want to pay tribute to these women!”, affirms Lilian Lisetth, recovering her spirits.
But the solidarity of the teacher and her classmates goes further. They plan to take canteens of water to the most remote villages, where this basic service hardly reaches. “When we went to visit them, some women asked me if she was a candidate for mayor!” laughs Lilian Lisetth. What the Mayor’s Office does not comply with, the powerful organization of committed women can do.
On another scale, that sorority can also be glimpsed in the way the youngest relate to each other: if one needs a thread of that color, she always finds a partner to give her. “We all support each other. I already have several friends here,” smiles Leilan Maria José, 13, without stopping knitting.
The group from San Antonio Aguas Calientes is just a sample of what the collective of weavers is achieving in Guatemala. This formation is independent but received the support of its older sister for the financing of the threads and the furniture: the Women’s Association for the Development of Sacatepéquez (Aphedes).
Organize against the commodification of Mayan culture
This movement of departmental-level weavers has been working since 1988 for the right of indigenous peoples to self-determination, as well as for the empowerment of Kaqchikel women.
And from Afedes, these struggles have already taken a legal turn: in 2014, its members began a process to demand regulations from the Guatemalan State to protect the textile designs of indigenous peoples. “When a factory steals our designs, they don’t give us credit, let alone compensation. They appear as the designer’s creation,” laments Angelina Aspuac, coordinator of Afedes.
Among the achievements of the movement is also the resolution, in 2020, of the Constitutional Court in favor of a legal action denounced by the Guatemalan Tourism Institute for using the image of the weavers as an object of folklorization and commercialization.
The commodification of indigenous culture is indeed another of the battles being waged by the weavers’ movement. A battle that they are waging alone, without NGOs involved, thus challenging their exclusion from the public sphere.
Angelina Aspuac leads this political process with determination: “There is a serious shortage of women’s participation in Guatemala, not to mention Mayan women. Here, the mayors and deputies can be counted on the fingers of one hand.”
And thus, spinning ideas and dialogues, this group is redefining the roles of indigenous women in the communities, demonstrating in passing that these fine fabrics, with the shapes of a marimba and a volcano, are not only ornamental, but also reveal the power of ancient cultures. and current.
