They call Guatemala, “The Land of Eternal Spring,” and with it’s year-round 70 degree weather it lives up to it’s name.

One summer, I was studying Spanish in Quetzeltenango (nicknamed Xela). After Antigua, Xela is one of the top destinations in the country for perfecting one’s command of the language, and there are dozens of schools to choose from.

This was my second trip to the nation, and I was there more for adventure than Spanish, but studying was a cheap way to find housing.

I had been in town for about two weeks, and though there were many parts that felt unsafe, the walk home from school was on a main drag, and it wasn’t worrisome.

It was nearing dusk, and I was about 2 blocks from home. I can still feel the horror in the pit of my stomach if I close my eyes.

A truck came careening down the street. It was like a dream. I COULD NOT figure out what I was seeing at first. It looked like a large rag doll or scarecrow was being swung around on a pole off the bed of a pick-up. There were a few people on the street near me and we all stopped and stiffened. Something about the way the truck was moving, something about the scene felt unnervingly dangerous—before the realization hit.

The truck came to a stop at the corner of the street I was on. In absolute horror, I realized the rag doll was a man. An old, grandpa man. The man who had been swinging him around threw him onto the street and then proceeded to jump out of the truck and beat him with the metal pole.

None of us around did a thing. When I realized what was happening, a desire to help washed over me, followed quickly by self-preservation, and the knowledge that a person who would beat an elderly man would just as quickly beat an American tourist. Before I could recover from my stupor, the truck was gone. Within a minute, a police car pulled up to the scene.

An ambulance quickly followed and a crowd gathered. The police did not seek witnesses, or ask any of us at the scene what happened. Thru some people in the crowd whose Spanish I could understand, it seems the man was a shopkeeper and he was dropped off in front of his shop. It was not clear what his “crime” was or why he was attacked, but it was clear that it was business-related.

There’s no way to describe how horrific it was to see violence firsthand. To watch someone helpless being hurt and feeling frozen and helpless is one of the worst feelings in the world.

I’d like to think that if I were to witness violence of this nature again, that I wouldn’t be frozen a second time. I’d like to think that I would be angry enough, and love justice enough to act, even at personal cost. That remains to be seen.

But what I do know? What I can do? Is make a difference now. I can love justice now. Where I am.

I can give to the poor, I can teach my students to love what is right. I can stick up for people in the marketplace when their rights are not honored. I can insist that parents be parents and “encourage” them towards this end within the educational system. I can speak up for the rights of the unborn, and refuse to vote for anyone who is willing to let babies be killed. I can give money to the homeless on corners, or go a step further and take them a meal. I can teach my kids how to fight fair, and how to forgive. I can serve on juries without trying to get out of them. I can be a voice when no one else wants to be a voice.

What can you do?

We must, we must, love justice.

Kaleidoscope