Agua es la Vida: Walking in solidarity with water protectors in Honduras
By Victoria AnibarroEach time I have been in Honduras, the most repeated phrase I have heard is “agua es la vida”— water is life. The Guapinol river is a source of life in every sense. It provides sustenance for communities— clean water, fish, life to surrounding crops, and a space for washing. It is also a source of spiritual renewal and strength when the trials for justice become nearly too heavy to bear. Continuously, the community leaders in Guapinol emphasize that the river is connected to a wider system of rivers throughout Honduras that eventually merge back into the sea. What affects one river ripples into the rest and, in turn, touches the ocean, too.
Eight community leaders from Guapinol, now known as the Guapinol 8, have been imprisoned for over two years because they were protesting an iron mine that is currently polluting both the Guapinol and San Pedro rivers – protected as part of a national park. These human rights defenders are fathers, brothers, and sons. The beginning of their imprisonment was in a maximum-security prison where they had no contact with their families and community and where they weathered multiple tropical disasters, as well as COVID-19, in isolation. Among the trumped-up charges are allegations that they burned a bus during a protest at the iron mine headquarters; however, no witnesses can prove that any of these men burned the bus. Further, this is not an offense that warrants pre-trial detention in a maximum-security prison. After laborious fighting from the families, the Comité in Guapinol (leaders from the city and community), Radio Progresso, and human rights organizations, the men were moved from the maximum-security to a smaller prison closer to Guapinol and their families.
During the last delegation to Honduras in July of 2021, Radio Progreso and the SHARE Foundation were able to facilitate a visit to the prison where the eight were being held. The delegation of about 20 American community leaders and activists, and Monchy, a member of the Comité and spouse of one of the men, entered the prison. That was the first time Monchy hugged her husband for over two years. The visit, while extremely powerful, was also painful for many of us. It felt so humbling and wrong that we were the ones who were allowed into the prison and not the families.
After multiple postponements, the Guapinol 8 were finally brought to trial in December 2021. The only time the families got to see the eight men were in passing to and from the court. The trial was again delayed. The lawyers for the Guapinol 8 petitioned for a recusal of the judges because they had ties to the mining company and were not providing a fair trial. The recusal required multiple days to be approved, and the judges were set to go on vacation in mid-December. Once the judges went on vacation for the holidays, the trial was paused until late January 2022. This meant that the Guapinol 8 had missed yet another Christmas and New Year with their families.
There are so many moments in Honduras on this last delegation that I could write about. But in my opinion, our biggest win and firm example of why solidarity and accompaniment are so crucial for justice movements was being able to facilitate another visit into the prison alongside the Comité and Radio Progreso. In December, while we were waiting for news of the recusal, the delegation, along with multiple family members, were allowed into the prison to visit with the eight water protectors. This moment will remain with me forever. The delegation stayed with the families of the Guapinol 8 the night before we went to the prison. The following morning, we journeyed down to the Guapinol river to dip our feet in its sacred waters. The Comité shared its importance, strength spiritually, and power as a sustainer of life. We connected with the river and reflected on why and what these men fought for. We grounded ourselves in what these communities are standing for with, quite literally, every breath.
Heading to the prison, we did not even know if they would allow all of the family members in. When we arrived at the prison, we learned that only adults with identification cards could enter. This meant that most of the children would have to remain outside the fence, looking in on the gathering. To witness these families reunite was every bit as emotional as you can imagine. But more than that, there was a sense of renewal, a sense that strength was being gathered for the next trial. From the side of the fence, the younger children– some teens, some just four years old, some even younger– looked in and called out to their fathers. Many of the men asked the guards if they could go out to the fence, but the guards would not allow it. So the fathers waved and blew kisses towards their children.
We entered the jail in two groups. The first group was primarily the delegation. Members of the delegation soon left so that the remaining group of mostly family could stay longer. I was part of the first group, and after 20 minutes or so, went and joined the children outside. One of the daughters held onto her younger sister, only four years old, not wanting her to cry. It took at least four other women to convince her to let her little sister cry so that she could go in. Mercy, one of our friends from the radio, kept saying, “yes, she will cry, but please go in. You don’t know when you’ll have this chance again. She’ll cry, but she will stop.” And yes, she wailed, but she did eventually stop.
I spent most of the time playing hand games with Monchy’s daughters at the side of the fence, looking in on the reunion. We also provided lunch in the jail, which further extended the visit. Somehow the guards softened their stance, and I saw Monchy’s husband approaching the fence, along with the other fathers. The kids ran up to the fence and embraced their fathers through it, speaking with and touching them for the first time in years. For some of the children, this is the only life they have known. They have been part of the fight since they were born. To see them kiss and hug their dads was the most sacred and beautiful moment I have ever witnessed.
The mining company has continued to extract and pollute. Yet the community in Guapinol persists and resists. They continue to fight, hoping for change and praying for justice. With the election of Xiomara Castro, the mining has the potential to be stopped, as it is an illegal project in a national park. It is crucial to note that this story is not necessarily unique. This happens across multiple contexts in Honduras and is positioned in the broader history of violence towards the land, communities, and environmental activists. The work continues, but these communities are at work with tenacity, strength, and vibrant solidarity.
Learn more:
Freedom for Guapinol - website about the Guapinol 8 water defenders & action items