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twenty-One Leonardo Buch Chiroy doesn’t quite look like the indigenous Maya he truly is, at least compared to the exotic images that greet passengers who arrive at Aurora Airport in Guatemala City. It’s his clothes that do it, especially the T-shirt, which hangs loosely over a pair of jeans and gives his outward appearance a distinct, otherworldly dimension. The words on the T-shirt are familiar but a bit disorienting: BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY, they declare. How many Maya Trekkies are there in Guatemala? Beats me, but I spotted and spoke with at least one. Leonardo is a teenager from San Jorge La Laguna, a Kaqchikel community lying off the road halfway between Sololá and Panajachel. We look down at San Jorge from the mirador, or viewpoint, where cars and buses stop so their passengers can behold the majesty of Lake Atitlán, still beautiful despite the ravages of modern tourism. It’s from the tourist trade that Leonardo, like many Mayas, makes his living. He sells jewelry—rings, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings—to passing travellers. One of his customers negotiated a deal for the T-shirt; hence Leonardo’s Star Trek apparel. I ask Leonardo if he understands what the words on his T-shirt refer to. “Something to do with your gods,” he replies. Not quite, but pretty close, I say to myself. He sees my camera. “Want me to take your photo?” He clicks the shutter like a pro. “You can take one of me if you like. Only send it to me. People take photos of us all the time”—he gestures to his two sisters, both younger than him and both wearing colorful Maya clothes—“but they never send anything back, even though they say they will.” The chance encounter convinces me to keep my eyes peeled, for I’ve noticed T-shirts, those global articles of clothing, being worn in Guatemala more and more these days, usually by Maya men, not women, as is the case with Leonardo and his sisters. When I get to Chichicastenango, where I am to attend a un-sponsored conference on sustainable development, I put my observational skills into systematic operation. the t-shirt pArAde the t-shirt parade 13 The conference proves to be of variable quality and mixed interest. I enjoy the presentations of several participants very much, a handful of Maya delegates among them. Their inclusion in the program serves to ground discussions of culture and identity, a welcome respite from the abstract musings of other speakers. One morning I decide to spend my time not listening to papers but exploring the town instead. A huge billboard on the way to Chichicastenango, advertising cigarettes, labels the place the “Mecca of Tourism.” Each Thursday and Sunday hordes of tourists, lured by willing native accomplices, engulf Chichicastenango and give market day there a pushy, commercial air. I find Chichicastenango at its enigmatic best the day before market is held, when the locals may be readying the place for imminent invasion but when the town feels more relaxed, the hustle and hype less obvious. I walk the few blocks from my hotel to the church, choosing not to enter by climbing up the front steps but by skirting around them to a side doorway that leads into the courtyard of the former Dominican convent. Here it was, at the turn of the eighteenth century, that Francisco Ximénez, then parish priest of Chichicastenango, was first shown the Popol Vuh, the “Bible of America,” a K’iche’ Maya account of the creation of the universe. The Popol Vuh records a rich multiplicity of knowledge, including myths, legends, memories of historic migrations, and tales of lineage wars, from the days of the first ancestors to the arrival in Guatemala of the first Spaniards. It is a document, and a symbol, of Maya survival. A plaque on a wall commemorates Father Ximénez and the Popol Vuh. After I read it I pass from the courtyard into the church through a side entrance. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim, crepuscular interior. I notice a group of people gathered beneath a statue of the Virgin to the left of the main altar. A mother and her daughters are dressed in huipiles, dextrously woven Maya blouses, and thick wraparound skirts.They have brought armfuls of flowers to demonstrate their devotion. A man I take to be both husband and father lights candles and burns...

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