MAY
DAY 1998 – San Salvador
–
a poem for many voices
by
Lorraine Caputo
Death dances the
cumbia with a campesino. She holds a
black & yellow
umbrella aloft – fraud, corruption,
unemployment, misery
written on each panel. She waves a
tarantula in the
faces of the gathered crowd.
A man stops to
interview her
(♀) Oh,
yes
Death says in an
airy voice
(♀) All
is good for the growing Salvadoran economy.
It is time
to celebrate our nation’s growth.
From all of the
country the marchers have come –
Santa Ana Cabañas Chalatenango
¡Presente!
La Paz La
Libertad San Vicente
¡Presente!
&, of course,
from here, San Salvador
¡Presente!
They are laborers
of universities, the maquiladora
sweatshops &
of the hospitals
¡Presente!
The campesinos are
here
¡Presente!
& the
unemployed
¡Presente!
Thirty & more
unions of teachers & healthcare workers,
of revolutionary
artists & students – Community
organizations &
those for social justice, of the FMLN –
They are all
¡Presente!
¡Viva el 1º de mayo!
¡Viva!
¡Viva the
Salvadoran workers!
¡Viva!
¡Viva the
Salvadoran campesinos!
¡Viva!
Red banners &
the Salvadoran flag, blue & white – & here
& there, a
Cuban flag.
¡Viva the
women workers & peasants!
¡Viva!
¡Viva
the martyrs of Haymarket Square!
¡Viva!
The FMLN song
blares from a pickup truck loudspeaker.
If
the government doesn’t follow the law
National Strike!
T-shirts with Che
there & Romero here. Together they
march &
testify, from France, the US, from Spain &
Germany, Canada,
Holland, Switzerland & Denmark,
from Honduras, Nicaragua.
Because the
struggle for the rights of workers & farmers
knows no
international boundaries –
just as the
“global world economy” knows none.
No
to the robbery of pension funds
No to the
robbery of public goods
the phone
company ANTEL
& the
electric company
No to the
privatization of healthcare
We have the
right to medicine
It is the
responsibility of the government
to give it
to us
Tens & tens of
thousands – Wherever we are on this day,
we march &
today we are here, San Salvador
¡Presente!
Banner:
For a 1º May with
Work, Education, Health,
Housing
Vendors
line the ranks with ice cream, pupusas & carton
hats.
They stroll through the demonstrators bottlenecked
to
a stop again.
I
look behind. The crowd has grown, filling the street
downhill
as far as the eye can see.
Every
wall along the way speaks with graffiti:
The
Government & Big Business
are the same mierda
Monseñor Romero
Juan Gerardi
Hasta la Victoria
Siempre
Police
stand on the sidelines. Some clench the butts of
holstered
pistols.
Two
men shake their cans, adding to the cries upon the
walls:
Arena
= Hunger
¡Viva
el 1º de mayo!
Further
down the parade route, two officers detain a pair
of
men. A crowd grows around them.
Every
electric pole along the way speaks with wheat-
plastered
flyers:
No
to child labor
A
couple with their daughter stands in the doorway of
their
store. The husband takes leaflets from passers-by.
One
catches his eye & with unheard words, passes it to his
wife.
A
man dips his hand in the bucket & smears a pole with
paste.
His compañero sticks their message up. & they
move
on to the next.
The
day is thick with humid heat after last night’s rain.
The
sky is still overcast.
A
green pick-up drives slowly down the line. A woman in
back
hands bags of water to the workers. Her young son
sits
at her feet, licking a chocolate wrapper. His chest has
been
deep-browned by the sun.
Into
the narrow streets of downtown, packed with market
stalls.
Past the McDonald’s, the Pizza Hut & the national
phone
company.
A
woman’s voice cries out:
Are
you tired yet?
No!
We have to show them we are not
tired of fighting
for our rights & dignity!
A
series of cracks fills the blocks ahead. A few marchers
look
around, nervousness painting their faces. But surely
in
this time of a six-year-old peace …
Our compañeros & compañeras, the Martyrs
will not
have died in vain.
For we continue on with the people’s struggle.
& we shall be victorious!
We
continue zig-zagging through the center, past a fruit
stand
& its pineapple scent, and we turn behind the
National
Palace. A young man carries his niece atop his
shoulders.
Around that building & past the Cathedral, we
enter
the Plaza.
¡El pueblo unido jamás será vencido!
Up
on the stage, a man begins to sing. The amassing
people
clap & join their voices.
Banners,
one by one, mount around the perimeter and
flutter
in the threatening sky.
Pushcart
bells ring – hot dogs & shaved ice. A woman
wanders
among us, selling silk flowers. She balances a
basket
atop her head, a bouquet in one hand. An explosion
of
fireworks in front of the Cathedral. Pieces of paper fly
through
the air.
&
song after revolutionary song from every corner of the
Americas:
Solo le pido a dios fills the afternoon – I only
ask
god that I don’t become indifferent because of pain,
injustice,
war …
More
banners string from trees & the wrought iron fence
surrounding
the Palace.
These
people listen to the speeches while licking ice
cream
cones, munching on sandwiches. They sit on fence
curbs,
atop a garbage truck. Men, women talk amongst
themselves,
hands waving through the heavy air.
Many
others are boarding buses for their hometowns. A
pair
of human rights monitors stop to converse with some
demonstrators.
On
the far side of the park, tables are set up. Players put
their
colón coins upon the lotería-bingo pictures. One
tosses
the dice.
(♀)
El Negro – at triple
No-one. The carney
sweeps the silver pieces away. Again
the money is
placed … the dice – clunk – are rolled.
At the statue of
Captain-General Barrios, pigeons group.
With the
sprinkle-finally-come, they alight into the trees.
It turns into a
downpour. The crowd runs for cover. Tarps
are thrown over
sound equipment. Those atop the garbage
truck climb or
jump down. Some run for homeward-bound
buses.
But still the
discussions continue. One woman, with a red
shirt, FMLN
ballcap, emphasizes a point with her
expression, a wave
of hand in air swooping down with a
slap upon her
papers.
*
* * * *
"MAY
DAY 1998 – San Salvador" is part of
Lorraine Caputo's work in progress, an (unpublished) five-part suite of poems
about 1 May – International Workers’ Day – and its commemoration in distinct
parts of the Americas (Mexico City, the US’ history, San Salvador, Quito and
Havana).
Lorraine Caputo writes: I am a documentary poet, translator and
travel writer. My poetry and narratives have been published in over 100
journals in Canada, the US, Latin America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa,
such as Prairie Schooner, Canadian Dimension, The
Mérida Review (Mexico), A New Ulster (Northern
Ireland), Open Road Review (India), Cordite Poetry
Review (Australia) and Bakwa (Cameroon). As well, my
works appear in 11 chapbooks of poetry – including Caribbean Nights (Red
Bird Chapbooks, 2014) and Notes from the Patagonia (dancing
girl press, 2017), five audio recordings and 18 anthologies. I have also
authored several travel guidebooks. In March 2011, the Parliamentary Poet
Laureate of Canada chose my verse as poem of the month. I have done over 200
literary readings, from Alaska to the Patagonia. For the past decade, I have
been traveling through Latin America, listening to the voices of the pueblos
and Earth. You may follow my travels at Latin America Wanderer: www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer.
