Guatemala: Heartbreak and Hope

The face of crime in Guatemala is young and smooth.

That face often is marred by gang tattoos — on the forehead, chin or earlobes, any place a needle dipped in ink can pierce.

The median age in Guatemala is 18, half that of the U.S.

The country’s newspapers are full of stories about maras: shootouts, robberies, threats to kill bus drivers, even the murder of a man selling chickens from a bicycle.

Maras are loathed by everyone, including other criminals, said Fernando Maldonado, who runs a state jail and prison at the edge of Guatemala City.

Until a few months ago, Maldonado worked as a labor lawyer and notary public. He was hired to clean up corruption in the prison, which is patrolled by soldiers, their machine guns ready to mow down escapees.

Gang members are segregated from other prisoners. Some were decapitated during a riot not long ago at another lockup. The killers played soccer with the heads.

“Society no longer cares for them,” Maldonado said. “I think it is not only Guatemala, it is all Central America.”

U.S. society no longer cared for Roger Wellington Munoz, 29.

From age 8 to 27, Munoz lived near San Diego, going to shopping malls, hanging out with his homeboys and starting a family.

Deported to Guatemala about a year ago after serving time in U.S. prisons, he started off 2005 as Maldonado’s reluctant guest, accused of robbery and drug offenses.

Munoz’s stocky body is marked by his years as a gang member. His chest is scarred where doctors opened him up to repair a lung punctured in a knife fight. The name of his gang is tattooed on the back of his head — a display that in Guatemala makes him a target for vigilantes.

“Down here, people with tattoos have a bad reputation,” he said. “They think you are a murderer, a psycho, a rapist.”

U.S. law requires a presumption of innocence, a predictable legal system and humane incarceration.

In Guatemala, Munoz’s future is a mystery.

He could be freed instantly — for a price. Or he could, as the law provides, languish for up to two years waiting for a court date. Meantime, he lives in an open-air courtyard, improvising a shelter under plastic sheeting. Meals are tortillas, beans and hard-boiled eggs — little else unless he’s able and willing to pay.

Munoz’s jail sidekicks belong to rival gangs. Outside, they likely would be enemies. Inside, they only feel safe in numbers.

Hector Leonardo Lopez, 22, said he joined the maras out of curiosity. He was charged with selling marijuana.

Jorge Alberto Merino, 24, was being held for allegedly dealing in a lot of crack, which he claimed police planted on him. He also said his gang is not a criminal organization, but really more like a soccer club.

The warden rolled his eyes.