Please Stop the Music

Life is lived at full volume in Guatemala. We were issued a warning and a pair of earplugs in training.

During nearly every moment of the day and night, there is something to disturb the would be tranquility: packs of wild dogs barking, promotional vehicles blaring announcements over loudspeakers, rain beating down on lámina, roosters crowing, buses honking their horns, evangelical churches rocking out, turkeys gobbling, mufflerless motorcycles and trucks zooming past, fireworks exploding, marching bands practicing, and neighbors blasting music.

But you get accustomed to the constant noise. After over a year and a half here I have gotten to the point that I can block out almost anything. Almost.

The other morning I was awoken at 4:30 a.m. to the sound of ranchera music—an accordion laden genre with polka like, bum-bum-bum-bum beats. It’s not the manner in which anyone wants to wake up, and I certainly was not in a pleasant mood. The music was so loud it was if someone put a stereo in my living room and turned it on full blast. I tried to block it out and go back to sleep, but it was impossible.

So in a very un-Guatemalan-like approach, I decided to confront the problem head on. I threw on a few more layers of clothing and went out into the cold to locate the source of my morning torture. The culprit was not difficult to pinpoint. Five houses up the block from mine at a house set back 25 feet on a small hill, a family had set up a 6+ foot speaker outside the house facing the street.

A woman was in front of the speaker washing something in the pila, and I stood in the street and fumed. Unnoticed, I waited until the current track finished. In the brief moment of calm silence, I screamed, “Turn down the music!” Startled, the woman briefly looked at me and then went into the house. I remained in the empty street for a little while longer, waiting for the woman to come back out so I could deliver a rousing speech on respect and courtesy. But I knew it was not worth it. I went home.

It was another 45 minutes until they finally shut the music off. I was tempted to go back and yell again, and I also considered calling the police. Apparently there are noise violation laws in Guatemala, but I highly doubt anyone has ever actually been ticketed. It would consume all of Tactic’s police department’s time if they actually started enforcing these laws, and well, they are too busy fishing body parts out of the river and keeping 1,500 person mobs from lynching people to make sure that everyone turns down his or her stereo. And I didn’t want the family to do any Mayan rituals using my hair (it happened to a nearby volunteer in a similar situation).

I am the only person who told that family to turn down their music that morning. I am probably the only person who has ever told them to turn down their music. It is extremely unlikely that anyone on my block, or the next one over for that matter, was able to sleep through that noise, and yet no one did anything.

Tolerance has its merits, but only to an extent. Unfortunately, and not just in dealing with rude neighbors, most Guatemalans can be extremely passive. And this passivity just makes them victims to be walked on. Corrupt leaders steal money and run an association into the ground, and the members won’t take action to stop it. My friend Kelly was on a camioneta when a speaker fell on a man’s face, and although he was bleeding, was it not for her prompting, he would not have said anything. And someone wakes up the whole neighborhood blaring music at 4:30 a.m., and everyone just stays in his or her house to wait it out.

Paradoxically, though, Guatemala is also a country of lynch mobs and tire burning protests. Perhaps it is the epitome of passive aggressiveness. I am sure this behavior has its roots in years of oppression, the war, lack of education and lack of self-esteem, but it seems the individual will not act until sufficient individuals have been pushed to the boiling point, and they collectively snap together. The individual feels powerless and is therefore passive, but as a part of a group he or she is empowered to air grievances.

And me. I just want to have a peaceful night’s sleep.