Weaving and Resilience
in Guatemala  

By Dylan Tse

SAN LUCAS TOLIMAN, GUATEMALA —It was a time of civil war in Guatemala, a conflict that started in 1960 and extended for more than three decades, pitting thousands of guerillas against the country’s military forces. Military officer and dictator Efraín Ríos Montt violated significant human rights, perpetrating a genocide that claimed countless Maya lives displaced and separated many families. Disputes over the land caused [diaspora] all over the country.  

The United States provided military aid to the Guatemalan government during the war. The dynamics of this battle caused an estimated of over 200,000 civilians to be killed. On December 29, 1996, the "Accord for a Firm and Lasting Peace" was finally signed after years of death and poverty, leading to rebel groups' demobilization and some reforms. However, challenges such as lack of accountability for the crimes committed during the Civil War and social inequality persist today. 

Specifically, in the small town of San Lucas Tolimán, the shores of Lake Atitlan and its surrounding mountains made it discreet and uncomplicated. The rough and jagged landscape, with little to no light source, trees, and bush, made it convenient for Guerillas to hide and move at night. In 1994, a woman named Flavia Morales López would be a part of the rebels who had stood up to military forces.  

Close to the town of San Lucas Tolimán, along the shores of the lake and at the bottom of the mountains, imagine walking through the forest with your cousin at 14. He convinced you to go somewhere exciting and fun, and the walk turned from seconds into minutes into hours.  

That time while walking turned into uncertainty, and anxiety began to plague your thoughts until you reached your destination. It was dark, and there were people whom you didn't know. They carried artillery and dressed like soldiers. 

Unaware of what she got herself into, this would be the start of Doña Flavia’s collaboration with the Guerrilla army. 

Now 45, Doña Flavia is a mother who often recalls being in the mountains, constantly reliving memories and questioning her identity. The disappointment she felt was immense after figuring out the situation she had been put into. After being in the mountains, working with artillery and others, she was lined up by the government and injected with a mysterious serum—which, to this day, [she] does not know what it was. Doña Flavia explains her feelings after her work in the mountains was completed. "As soon as I returned from the camp, I could tell I was not well.  I was afraid of people, and people would say things to me like, ‘Why did you come back? In a few years, you will all return to the war. Maybe you're just going to die there in the mountains.’ And I would say to them, ‘Okay, that's fine.’” 

As a mother, Doña Flavia prioritizes her children. Constantly weaving and selling her pieces to earn money for her family is a daily occurrence. 

“Out of necessity, we accept what they pay us, even though we know it's unfair,” Flavia said.  “We have to sell. We have to sell our work. It's income for our entire family.” 

Many women within San Lucas Toliman work many hours, night and day, to provide necessities for their families. 

“We have to think about educating our children. So for many women, weaving is the only way that we can help the family,” she said.  

Weaving is not only a source of income for families but also an outlet for artistic and cultural value in Guatemala. The act takes on the form of communication and storytelling, with designs, colors, and techniques used to express the weavers' emotions. A woman-dominated craft, weaving requires the natural approach of using the materials the land has given them around them.  

For example, carrots used as an orange dye and carbon used for black dye are ground up and then extracted into a fine material used to dye cotton. Art is used to make clothes and other textiles essential to Mayan women. They make pieces like the huipil, a traditional blouse-like garment women wear to represent their cultural identity. 

“I started learning when I was ten,” said Sephora, a weaver in Casa del Tejido, San Juan. “Now I'm 21. So it's like 11 years to learn this process, but I started to work six years ago to make some cloth.”  

Most weavers are taught at a young age, starting the weaving process early to master skills later in their lives. Sephora was taught by her grandmother at home, but it began as a hobby for her. “‘School is the same, but this, we start like a hobby,’” she said. Many generations of women teach the family's girls at a young age to continue this tradition. The craft can be a commitment as it can take eight days to twelve months to finish one huipil, depending on the design. Various beads can be sewn onto these garments and sold as well.  

The huipil holds cultural significance and may have a more spiritual significance. Doña Flavia talks about the importance of weaving for her spiritual consciousness. “I made this. It's the Virgin of Guadalupe. I made this myself.” A vibrantly detailed and intricately beaded depiction of the Virgin of Guadalupe on her huipil is presented, presenting the techniques used to express the religious and colorful aspect of weaving. 

The art of weaving is passed down from generation to generation within a family, starting at young and improving techniques as time passes. Silvia Yanet Galindo Campa, now 42, is a weaver from San Lucas Toliman who describes the different uses for weaving. “Since I had a consciousness, I remember that I started when I was seven. I started with small textiles, like napkins and placemats. I started improving my technique and learning more about colors and designs.” The technicality behind weaving isn’t complicated, with persistence, patience, and time. 

It is said that the goddess Ixchel taught the first woman to weave at the beginning of time, and since then, generations have passed down the skill to their daughters. “Weaving comes from our ancestors, our Maya ancestors, who always made their clothing,” said Silvia. “We're trying to continue growing the weaving here in town by teaching other women and girls. I have taught my ]own] daughter so that she can also practice this over time.” 

As time passes, weaving gets lost in the new generation and fast clothing production. Companies like SHEIN don’t understand the time and effort put into a weaver’s work, so they steal ideas and create a cheap copy of what would represent a huipil. The company has been criticized for this, but no critical action has been taken to stop it. 

“For me, cultural and personal importance, cultural would be that I am happy to be able to create my [own] clothing. I think it helps us to get income for our families. Culturally, continuing with our traditions and showing who we are,” said Silvia as she described what weaving meant to her. “This identifies us as people, as indigenous women, and I'm glad that others want to know about our tissues because they are things where we use: intelligence, creativity, and mathematics, as I told a student last time because it's not just about grabbing the thread and doing it.” 

The importance of weaving is more than work; it is an art form and a form of communication and value to oneself. Its colorful and vibrant threads tell a story about the weaver and who she is. “As women, we don't want to lose our culture. And so, weaving helps with that,” said Doña Flavia.  

The after-effects of the war are still significant, however, affecting many Maya women with their weaving, sales, and treatment within the country. The mistreatment stems from the racial and gender inequality ingrained into the country since the early 1960s. 

Terms such as being called ‘maria,’ are often used as a derogatory and degrading term towards Maya women, especially if they are wearing their huipil.  

The three-decade-long battle caused economic and social division within the country, causing many people not to be able to grieve over their lost loved ones during the war and be given the resources to continue to live. Women like Doña Flavia continue to work for their families with their children and other loved ones [relatives] in mind.   

However, her experience in the mountains does not define who she is. The trauma she had endured gave her the strength to continue fighting for her family. “If that's what God wants for me, that's fine. But I also feel resentment and a bit of hatred towards myself. I don't feel well.”  

According to Statista, 2023 marked the third consecutive year Guatemala reached a 0.66 gender gap index. That means approximately 34 percent of women are less likely to be given equal opportunities than men. The country's social roles are old-fashioned, with women being the primary caretakers of children. While it is important to note that economic work isn't obligatory for women, the lack of freedom often means they have little to no choice.  

Economically, families in smaller towns like San Lucas have little to no freedom compared to the city. The aftereffects of the war left many uncertain about their future as they struggled to find a way to gain profit, education, and overall health and well-being. 

Many families are still displaced and grieving their lost loved ones or grieving the youth and life taken away from them during the years of the war. There are resources out there, like the Guatemalan Forensic Anthropology Foundation, that help try to locate and identify families who were not allowed to properly locate those who were forced to fight in the Guatemalan army or taken away during battle. 

“About three years ago, they told us that we would take up arms again, and that never happened. Now, I think I'm not just myself. I also think about my children,” said Doña Flavia. 

Families continue to find a way to grieve properly while prioritizing other priorities, such as children, food, and necessities, such as shelter, education, and clothing. There seems to be a continuous streak of mistreatment towards women and the Maya groups [in general.]