The other half

One of the evenings during the feria was reserved for the “Noche de Gala.” This is the exclusive yearly dinner/dance open only to the high society of Tactic. I was invited because, well, I’m a gringa.

There was a marimba ensemble and a band. The tables and chairs were meticulously decorated and placed. Gorgeous flower arrangements graced the tables. Guests arrived in sparkly dresses and crisp suits. Bowtie wearing waiters served wine and handed out bottles of Johnnie Walker. The Tactic “royalty” of the feria were all honored as well as the visiting mayor from Tactic’s sister city in El Salvador and a handful of local writers and poets. Couples danced to marimba while reporters filmed, took pictures, and conducted interviews.

It was definitely not a typical night in Tactic.

I attended the event thinking it would be fun and interesting to see, but I left kind of repulsed. My mood did not result from having to listen to windy speeches and the marimba for five hours nor from the fact that I had unwisely decided to wear a pair of high heels with a broken toe. I was disgusted by amount of money the municipality poured into one evening for the rich of Tactic most liking at the cost of having funds to do projects for the poor.

A campesino laboring eight hours a day in the fields would have to work more than a week to even afford one bottle of the whiskey that was served. If added up, the cost of the event—band, flowers, waiters, table decorations, marimba, audio equipment, food, alcohol—would easily run more than a typical indigenous family in an aldea could earn in a year.

It’s not that the rich here are incredibly rich (in comparison to the states) but that the poor are incredibly poor. The Noche de Gala wasn’t that fancy. (It actually had somewhat of a prom-like aura.) But against the backdrop of wooden shacks, dirt floors, and child malnutrition, to me it seemed horribly excessive. I felt guilty just being there.