- Abstract/Acknowledgements/Table of Contents -

- Introduction - Chapters 1 | 2 |  3 |  4 |  5  |  6  - Conclusion -

- Appendices - Bibliography -

Manuel

In this brief quote, Manuel eloquently captures the impact that over three decades of state-sponsored terror have had on Guatemalans. While Guatemalans may be eager to forget about or rewrite this horrific period in Guatemala’s history, Manuel illustrates the ongoing influence of this country’s violent past (and present) on the well-being of Guatemalans in Toronto. War and violence can have far-reaching consequences for refugees who have resettled far from home. Indeed, the very notion of "home" for refugees may be transformed through global political-economic processes, and this transformation can have implications for the health and well-being of dislocated populations. Manuel’s comment about the effects of war and political repression on the lives of Guatemalans, therefore, can provide a starting point for an analysis of health and identity for Guatemalans in Toronto.

This chapter is divided into two parts. The first part explores Guatemala’s recent history with particular attention to political, economic and social forces that have caused widespread population dislocation from both urban and rural areas.

The second part shifts attention away from broad historic-political-economic processes to focus on community formation and identity among Guatemalans in Toronto. In this section participants narrate the meanings attached to "ethnicity" and "community," and I analyze the multiple and shifting forms of identification for this population. These issues are foregrounded to initiate discussion on the influence of community-ness and, especially, belonging-ness on the health and well-being of Guatemalan immigrants in Toronto.

Diane Nelson (1999:31)

Manuel’s assertion that Guatemalans are the result of 36 years of war provides a shorthand for Guatemala’s complex recent past¾ variously termed la situación, la violencia or la epcoca de terror. In 1954, the democratically elected president Jacobo Arbenz Guzmán, was overthrown by a CIA-backed anti communist coup. Arbenz and his predecessor, Juan José Arévalo, had administered a brief democratic period from 1944-1954 that fostered a free press, union organizing and land reform (Taylor 1998:20). In 1950, Arbenz introduced the Agrarian Reform Law, which attempted to divide large estates among landless peasants. The United States government under President Eisenhower feared that this mild reformist government would threaten the prerogatives of the Boston-based United Fruit Company, a massive multinational with substantial support from American investors. As such, the United States demonstrated it was willing to support a military regime in its "own strategic backyard" (Report on the Americas 1999:61) by supplying the Guatemalan army with training expertise as well as trucks and helicopters (Burns 1993:5). This coup ushered in strong repression by the Guatemalan military, consolidated large tracts of land in the hands of Ladino elites and rapidly reduced the opportunity for political expression in Guatemala (Report on the Americas 1999:61).

In the late 1950’s, the agricultural sector increasingly moved away from independent production (i.e. subsistence farming) to wage labor and plantation agriculture in cotton, cattle, sugar, and coffee, thereby expanding land holdings by agricultural companies and the military. In response to these changes and the lack of political representation of the rural population, several radical movements¾ the most important being the Guatemala National Revolutionary Unity (UNRG), established in 1960¾ began to articulate the grievances of rural people and challenge the state by means of guerrilla warfare. This in turn provoked the authorities to launch a counterinsurgency campaign, which aimed to deprive the rebels of any popular support.

Between 1978 and 1985, growing demands for land reform in rural areas and the leftist guerrilla movement prompted the state-backed Guatemalan army to kill roughly 70,000 people and "disappear" 40,000 others (Warren 1993:25). Acting in the name of anti-communism, the army kidnapped and assassinated students, trade unionists, political activists and others accused of subversive activity (Report on the Americas 1999:62). During the presidential terms of General Romeo Lucas García (1978-1982) and General Efraín Rios Montt (1982-1983), thousands of cases of human rights abuses by the military were committed, and the cultural rights of indigenous Mayas were violated, including the desecration of ceremonial centers, sacred places and cultural symbols. In 1981, García began a "scorched earth policy" which burned crops, leveled homes and destroyed some 440 villages in an attempt to crush the guerrilla army. Some villages were destroyed while others were left untouched, depending on the army’s understanding of the level of guerrilla support in a particular village (Green 1994:243).

One major consequence of the civil war was the forced displacement of over 120,000 Guatemalans to the southern Mexican state of Chiapas. These refugees, along with an estimated 50,000 internally displaced individuals and 200,000 migrants to Canada and the United States (Warren 1993:25), fled their urban and rural communities to escape political persecution, torture, and rape by the Guatemalan army. While there is still no convincing evidence to suggest that these civilians were engaged in subversive activity, the Guatemalan government claims that their status as refugees in and of itself is proof of their support for or involvement in the guerrilla movement.

The conditions during and after the civil war have been well documented, despite the obvious danger for researchers and human rights activists working in Guatemala. Until the late 1980’s, there were at least 50,000 Guatemalans scattered throughout the northern forested areas of the country or living in government-designed "model villages." Located throughout northern Guatemala, these villages were intended to serve as "development poles" for state-controlled agricultural production. These settlements physically concentrated dispersed villages into larger, supervised units, where the Guatemalan army systematically used hunger, malnutrition, illness, and lack of clothing and housing as instruments of control. High rates of disease and illness were recorded in these settlements, and infant mortality was rampant due to inadequate medical services (Falla 1988:246). A key feature of government control in the "model villages" was the presence of the civil "self-defense" patrols (PAC). These patrols brought over one million men into the paramilitary structure at the community level, enabling the army to leave the villages and control by proxy (Manz 1988:21).

The peace process in Guatemala has been slow. With the installation of an elected, civilian-led government in 1986, steps toward political dialogue between the UNRG and the Guatemalan government began. A Central America wide peace accord was signed in mid-1987, but this initial agreement did not apply to Guatemala’s civil war. In 1990, under the auspices of the National Reconciliation Commission (CNR), the guerilla forces agreed to meet with government officials to discuss conditions of a possible peace agreement. However, an end to the civil war was not in sight until 1994, when the United Nations (UN) was invited to mediate and observe the talks. In this same year, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) started to negotiate the conditions for the collective return of the mostly indigenous refugees from southern Mexico. The negotiation agenda between the UNHCR and the Guatemalan government not only included refugee return, but also a wide range of issues that had been largely ignored since 1954: democratization, respect for human rights and indigenous rights, socioeconomic reforms, and demilitarization (North and Simmons 1999:13).

Following a series of accords in 1994 and 1995, the civil war was officially brought to an end on December 29, 1996, with the signing of the "Accord on a Firm and Lasting Peace." An estimated 30,000 to 40,000 people gathered in the plaza outside the National Palace in Guatemala City to mark the end of the 36 year-old conflict. "People were relieved," according to Clark Taylor (1998:49), "but caution was in the air as well." Indeed, both Guatemalans and outside observers had¾ and still have¾ good reason to be skeptical about Guatemala’s future. As North and Simmons report (1999:15), a comprehensive land reform was not part of the 1996 peace agreement. 90 percent of Guatemala’s largely indigenous rural population live below the poverty line. Also, the promised growth impacts of Structural Adjustment Programs have been slow to materialize. In 1994, Guatemala’s per capita gross domestic product stood 14.7 percent below its 1980 level (North and Simmons 1999:15). As a result, in the early 1990s, larger numbers of Guatemalans have emigrated north in search of a livelihood (Castillo 1999).

Amidst these socioeconomic uncertainties, a new hope for improved human rights in Guatemala has emerged in recent years. On April 24, 1998, the archdiocese of Guatemala officially released the Recovery of Historical Memory (REMHI) report, entitled Guatemala: Nunca Más (Guatemala: Never Again). The project, launched in April 1995, collected over 5,000 testimonies from survivors and perpetrators of Guatemala’s civil war. As a complement to the Commission for Historical Clarification (CEH) ¾ the "Truth Commission" established in 1994 as part of the official peace process¾ the REMHI project published the testimonies of urban and rural Guatemalans who had been directly affected by the war. Project leaders trained 800 parish workers to conduct interviews in several Maya languages, as well as Spanish. The report attributes 79% of the human rights violations during the conflict to the military, and 9% to the armed resistance, the UNRG. By naming the victims as well as the perpetrators of mass murder, torture and disappearance, the REMHI report demands that the Guatemalan state accept responsibility for crimes and injustices committed during la violencia. Although it is arguable whether these and other developments will lead to lasting peace in Guatemala¾ Rios Montt is head of Congress in Alfonso Portillo’s new government, established in January 2000¾ there is a sense of "guarded optimism" (North and Simmons 1999) about Guatemala’s future, at least in terms of an improved human rights record and land reform.

Piero Gleijeses (1999:xix)

During and since the years of brutal violence and surveillance, Guatemalans have been forced to live in a state of fear. Several researchers have suggested (Green 1994; Manz 1995; Suárez-Orozco 1990; Zur 1998) that a "culture of fear" pervades in Guatemala. Despite the relative safety from overt acts of violence since the mid-1980’s, fear has become a "way of life" for Guatemalans (Green 1994:227). Terror has been used to destabilize social relations and create mistrust, suspicion, and silence within families, between friends, and among neighbors. Guatemalans continue to live with the memories of past horrors and the anxieties over not knowing the location of "disappeared" loved ones. Writing in 1988, Sheldon Davis concluded that the "culture of fear" is "one of the major cultural consequences of the terror and violence that gripped Guatemala in recent years" (1988:27).

The men and women I interviewed for this project described some of their experiences during la violencia. My interest in asking about these experiences stemmed from an attempt to understand the impact of war and violence on Guatemalan immigrants in Toronto, most of whom left Guatemala in the late-1980s or early-1990s as refugees (see Appendix I). Their comments resonate with academic statements on the pervasiveness of fear, terror and violent memories among people who have been forcibly displaced because of war and political persecution (Desjarlais et al. 1995; Farias 1991; Jenkins 1991; Manz 1995). However, these accounts also illustrate the resilience of Guatemalan men in Toronto, and thus provide a critique of the essentialist notion of "culture of fear" that dominates the literature on Guatemalans. While "fear" was a common theme in my interviews¾ usually described in relation to the processes of fleeing Guatemala and resettling in Canada¾ participants also exhibited an ability to manage feelings of fear in order to live their everyday lives.

Many of the men in my sample were involved in student, professional or union organizations in Guatemala that actively criticized the repressive policies and practices of the government. Their lives were threatened, friends and family members were killed or disappeared, or their bodies were injured. Cesar told one particularly chilling story of being kidnapped and suffering bodily injury because of his involvement in a major worker’s organization in Guatemala:

We had a national strike and my country was experiencing severe economic problems. I was in a taxi around nine o’clock, and a group of soldiers took me out of the car to an unknown place. After twenty four hours they found me unconscious. They had tied my hands and my feet. My two legs, and one of my ribs were broken. It was very hard because I couldn’t move. The pain I felt, I think, was worse than delivering a child. I spent a lot of time in the hospital because the doctors were on strike at that time and they didn’t know how to save my leg from the bad infection I was having. I don’t want to remember anymore because it was extremely sad.

Rolando, too, nearly lost his life because of his participation in a march in support of a prominent student leader who was murdered by the police in Guatemala:

We were bringing the secretary of the union of students at San Carlos to the cemetery. He was killed when the workers once marched in front of the national palace. He was killed after he made his speech to the workers and all the people that were gathered there. So we took his body to the cemetery to bury him, and although the government hadn’t authorized the march, we did it anyways. When we were inside the cemetery, they thought "We got all of them, all the communists. So let’s kill them."

We were listening to the three leaders that were speaking about this guy and about how great he was and the things he did for the movement, when all these buses full of special police came around and tried to grab all of us. Most of students and professionals that were there gave themselves up. But I was afraid for my life and I decided to run away. When I tried to run away, one policeman caught me and he grabbed his gun and pointed it at me. There was a cliff behind me, and within a fraction of a second I decided to jump down this cliff. I thought I had no choice, I thought he was going to shoot me. So I threw myself down the cliff.

Lucky for me and a few other guys, we met at the bottom of this cliff in the middle of all these leaves and branches. I broke my rib because I got caught on a branch that was sticking out and hit it with my stomach. But I managed to grab a few of the notebooks I had with me and at the bottom of the cliff I found a couple of guys, including a teacher of mine. And these guys were so scared for their life. One was very involved in the movement and he had some literature that was illegal in the country.

Later on when it was dark, we decided to climb this cliff. It was really hard. I had to grab one guy that was behind me with my hand, and the other with a root. We were about half way up, and I thought that if this doesn’t support us we will kill ourselves. But we managed to get out of the cemetery through zona trés that surrounds it….At twelve o’clock I arrived at home. But that was the moment I thought I was dead.

Like Cesar and Rolando, several participants had experienced personal injury or threats in Guatemala. These participants were forced to live in a constant state of uncertainty about their own safety. When I asked Ruben if he had been threatened directly during the war, he replied:

I cannot say yes, I cannot say no. Because, I will tell you, you never knew whether someone was looking for you. Because they use to do these searches, and once they were so close to my house, and I didn’t know they had an excuse to get me. So I was afraid. We were 22 people in the [student] association. From those, six are here in Canada. The rest are dead.

After he described seeing someone get shot in the streets of Guatemala City in 1979, I asked Jose what it was like to live in that kind of situation:

I don’t know how to describe it because it’s like García Marquez said: you have the feeling that you are going to be the next, but it never happens. You are waiting for something to happen to you, but you know that something has happened to your friend. The situation was so bad that they weren’t just looking for guerillas. If one guy in the army or the police force doesn’t like you then he will accuse you of being a guerilla. So they kill you. That’s what happened in my country.

Manuel experienced a similar feelings of fear when he was leaving Guatemala for Canada. He had also been involved in student organizations in Guatemala, and was kidnapped and physically tortured by the military for his help with organizing so-called "communist" activities. The well-being of himself and his family figured strongly in his decision to leave Guatemala:

When I was having the interview at the embassy the guy in charge of the interview asked me many things and was becoming kind of rude. So I said, "Listen, honestly, I don’t want to go to Canada. I don’t want to leave my country. I want to stay here. But look at me now!" My head was broken, my ribs, my shoulders, my fingers. I have enough proof that these guys wanted to kill me. I had the report of the human rights office with the number of the place of the car of the guy who was trying to kidnap me. So I said, "I don’t want to go to Canada. I don’t want to leave my country. But I have to. My family is at risk. And wherever I go this guy knows where I am going." Members of the military intelligence had infiltrated inside of the human rights office. And they knew wherever I went with my family. So I said, "Listen, I wanna live. All I am asking you for is a favor. Let me go to El Salvador, Honduras wherever. At least save my family. I have three children!" I think that was the moment when I almost lost control because I didn’t want to come to Canada. Even though I knew that Canada was a great country and I had experienced this situation in Guatemala. At that time I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

These stories about bodily injury, state surveillance, and emotional distress are the lived memories of la situación for Toronto’s Guatemalan community. However, these narratives also illustrate the emotional and physical resilience of Guatemalans in Toronto. The ability of Guatemalans to live through la época de terror is evidence of the tremendous resourcefulness of this population, as well as the contingent circumstances surrounding migration. My emphasis in this section on the fear and terror experienced by Guatemalans in Toronto is not meant to pathologize this population. That is, by highlighting the violent pasts of these men, I do not assume that these individuals are inevitably prone to mental disorders or emotional difficulties. Building on recent refugee health research (Beiser 1999; Kinnon 1998; Pribilsky 1999), I instead want to draw attention to the events that have shaped the lives of Guatemalans in Toronto. I argue that there is no clear, linear pattern of psychosocial adjustment among Guatemalan immigrants in Toronto. Rather, the emotional distress suffered by many Guatemalan immigrant men stems from multiple transformations in their lives, both in Guatemala and Canada. Foregrounding la situación here is intended to initiate discussion on the implications of dislocation, resettlement and shifts in identity for emotional well-being for people in this population.

But how, I would ask, have terror and the state induction of fear influenced relations between Guatemalans in the diaspora? Can we speak of a Guatemalan "community"? And how has terror shaped interactions and relationships between Guatemalans in Toronto and the major structures and institutions of Canadian society? These questions form the basis for the arguments in the next section which explores Guatemalan community formation and transformation and investigates the consequences of racism and belonging for the health of Guatemalan immigrant men.

Manuel

Edward Said (1984:159)

Social scientists have called attention to the lack of detailed investigations on identity formation and transformation among Guatemalan immigrants (Burns 1993; Meredith 1992; Miralles 1989; Popkin 1999). While there has been considerable, and valuable, scholarly attention to the displacement and return of mostly Maya refugees within Central America (Falla 1988; Manz 1988, 1994; North and Simmons 1999; Taylor 1998), relatively few scholars have explored the forced migration of urban and rural Ladinos and Mayas to North America and Europe.

A portion of each of my interviews with Guatemalan immigrant men focussed on ethnicity and community. I asked participants whether, since migrating to Canada, they considered themselves to be Canadian or Guatemalan. The purpose of this point of engagement was to understand whether a sense of community has anything to do with emotional well-being for these men. Below I offer several "portraits of identity"¾ brief descriptions of participants’ sense of ethnic identity at a particular moment in time (Yon 2000:49)¾ to initiate discussion on the entanglements between identities and emotions for Guatemalan immigrant men.

Alfonso, a refugee who lived in Mexico for four years before migrating to Canada in 1984, described his sense of identity:

When I think about Guatemala I think about the place where I was born. The place where I have my family. Although my friends are disappeared or around me here in Canada, my family is there and this is important to me: my brothers, my sisters. But I prefer to call myself a Latin American. And definitely I don’t consider myself Canadian. For me it’s a piece of paper that I can use to my advantage, like if I want to go to Europe, I can use my Canadian passport and can get a visa. But if I use my Guatemalan passport I probably won’t get a visa. When I go to Mexico I use my Canadian papers, and everybody helps me. If I say that I am Guatemalan, they might not help me. It is different.

Orlando also viewed his Canadian identity as "on paper" and described the hostile experiences suffered by immigrants in this country:

I am Guatemalan. I am a Canadian citizen but I will never be a Canadian. I am a Canadian only on paper….But when you have a problem with a Canadian, they will tell you, "Hey guy, you are an immigrant, you are not Canadian. Get out!"

Despite Enrique’s feelings of being a part of a Guatemalan or Latin American culture, he also described the stigma attached to being an immigrant:

I left Guatemala when I was fifteen years old. I went to live in Mexico. But I always have been with Guatemalan people, so my Guatemalan culture has always been with me. It is the same in Canada, I’m always around Guatemalan people. But sometimes you feel like you are another immigrant here. You feel like you are a citizen of this country for just a few moments. Then you realize that you are another immigrant, and that you are part of a particular culture, a Latin American culture. So I always feel Guatemalan.

Manuel, too, feels that his sense of Canadian-ness is weaker than his sense of attachment to Guatemala. But he also emphasizes his struggle to fashion a new identity in Canada:

I feel Guatemalan. But not the same way I felt Guatemalan before. When I came I felt 125% Guatemalan [laughter]. But when I came here I wasn’t sure about my identity. When I was in Guatemala I belonged to the middle-class, I was a teacher, I was at a good economic level, and I knew many people. When I came here I realized how little I knew about my own society, my own culture, my own identity. So I began to realize who I was. For sure I feel Guatemalan: what I do, what I think, what I eat, what I dance is still Guatemalan. But I think that in some ways I am becoming adapted to Canadian society.

In a lengthy discussion about identity and community, Pedro shared many ideas on the meanings attached to being a Guatemalan in Canada. He described his sense of Canadian-ness in terms of everyday concerns such as work and the education of his children.

I’m Guatemalan. I keep my cultural values in all areas: education, morals and ethics. I have learned so many new things and new values in Canada and I take the best of both cultures to live a better life here. After being in Canada for 10 or 11 years , I have learned to love this country. I worry very much for the future of Canada because of our children. The country has been suffering a lot of problems, especially economically. All I want to see is my children and the young generation with a good education to have a better opportunity in life.

These narratives on the transformation of identities due to migration illustrate the variety of ways in which Guatemalan immigrant men negotiate their sense of self with respect to ethnicity. Clearly, the men in my sample tend to emphasize a strong sense of Guatemalan-ness but also struggle to make sense of what this identity means in the context of Canadian society. Factors in this struggle include the stigma attached to being an immigrant; feeling "more Guatemalan" in Canada than prior to migration; and the dual roles of worker and father. While Guatemalan immigrant men may stress a concretized Guatemalan identity in Canada¾ emphasizing the importance of their language, "values," and music¾ this self-fashioning is also influenced by everyday concerns (like work and taking care of kids) that men tend to link with their Canadian identities. In order to be responsible for his two kids’ upbringing and educational development, for example, Pedro pays attention to the economic, political and social situation in Canada. For other practical needs such as being able to travel, these men may downplay their Guatemalan identities as they are aware of¾ and act on¾ the meanings of "being Guatemalan" in particular contexts.

This process of self-fashioning does not operate in a vacuum where these men are free to construct their identities as they wish. Nor, arriving as refugees, are they always forced to take-on new identities in order to adapt to or integrate into Canadian society. Rather, migration causes a range of shifts in ethnic identity that intertwine with meanings of fatherhood and work. As the next section demonstrates, ethnic identity among Guatemalan immigrant men also shapes the contours of Guatemalan community solidarity and belonging in Toronto.

Participants shared their views on whether or not there is a Guatemalan "community" in Toronto. Interestingly, while most participants emphasized a stronger sense of being Guatemalan than Canadian, they did not have a sense of attachment to a particular community of Guatemalans in Toronto. In order to address the scholarly concern for measuring the importance of an "ethnic community" as a protective factor against mental health problems for refugees (Allodi and Rojas 1988; Earle 1994; Hyman et al. 1996; Miralles 1989), I asked Guatemalan immigrant men if a Guatemalan community existed in Toronto.

Alfonso: Of course there is one. I think we have the biggest Guatemalan community in Canada, according to the last census¾ which of course is not real because there are many people who are afraid to answer the census. Even though they say that it is confidential, you never know so they prefer not to answer. But according to that census there are 12,000 Guatemalans in Canada, legally. You can add those who are afraid to answer, those who are illegal.

Here, Alfonso confirms that there is a Guatemalan community in Toronto but then explains that Guatemalans were much more politically active in the 1980s than today:

In the past, at the end of the eighties, there were a lot of different groups doing things for Guatemala. There were women’s organizations, a theatre group, a musical group, and a human rights group who supported the work of GAM (Grupo de Apoyo Mutuo) in Guatemala. There was the Toronto-Guatemala Solidarity Committee which was the first one [of its kind] in Toronto. There were about five groups or so.

Because of the political divisions that existed¾ and continue to exist¾ in Guatemala, Alfonso believes that factions among Guatemalans inhibit community solidarity in Toronto:

Most of the people here were out of Guatemala when the UNRG was formed, but some were caught inside Guatemala. That difference, those problems inside Guatemala are reflected here. Not only here in Canada but in Mexico and Nicaragua where I lived. But all these problems were brought here. Which is crazy because solidarity doesn’t belong to one group in particular. Solidarity is universal. If you want to work in solidarity with, let’s say, East Timor, you can do it. It doesn’t matter if you don’t come from there. But in the case of Guatemala¾ and I’ve had experience with El Salvadorans too¾ the Toronto-Guatemala Solidarity Committee organized a tribunal and they told me that "If you don’t support the military and political cause of the UNRG, then you don’t have any say here." That’s terrible, no? Because of this people don’t trust each other all the time and they stay apart.

Like Alfonso, Jaime cites the lack of trust among Guatemalans as a major cause of community factionalism:

Yeah [there is a Guatemalan community], but they have to be conscious of it. They have to help each other. Otherwise, then I don’t think there is one. I think that a lot of Guatemalan people are selfish, not because they are bad people but because they had a lot of problems before. So it’s really hard to trust people all the time, to believe in people all the time.

Ruben also argued that there is a lack of solidarity among Guatemalans in Toronto because of political divisions:

I don’t understand why but we Guatemalans are a little bit separate. We don’t get together to form a society.

"Why?", I asked:

Because of the involvement in politics back there….I got involved in a Guatemalan soccer team. And to my surprise it was more for drinking than for political discussion or to enhance our understanding of what happened in Guatemala. It was only for drinking or for arguing stupid things. When you start talking politics everybody walks away.

Conversely, Pedro argued that there is a Guatemalan community in Toronto, but that community organization around particular activities is hindered by geographic, economic and social factors:

Yes, I think there is a Guatemalan community in Toronto but it hasn’t been organized properly yet. There are too many factors to consider. Toronto is a big city and it is very difficult for our members to meet. We also have the bad economic situation that is affecting our people at the moment, but our biggest concern is how to get our people together to built a good Guatemalan community. Everybody has suffered because of the cultural shock in many different ways, and adjusting to this society takes different amounts of time for each person.

Clearly, Guatemalan immigrant men provide a wide range of explanations for a lack of community solidarity among Guatemalans in Toronto. Political differences between those who supported the activities of the UNRG and those who opposed the guerilla uprising are evident. These political divisions lead to limited political organization among Guatemalans in Canada. As I mentioned earlier, these ongoing political divisions¾ combined with experiences of political persecution¾ are one consequence of the cultivation of a "culture of fear" among Guatemalans in Guatemala and in the diaspora (Green 1994; Manz 1995; Suárez-Orozco 1990; Zur 1998). While participants in this study view themselves as Guatemalans, this self-fashioning does not necessarily lead to the development of a cohesive Guatemalan community in Toronto.

Besides the political divisions among Guatemalans, the size of the city, class differences and the degree of "assimilation’ into Canadian society were also cited as key influences on the establishment of a Guatemalan community in Toronto. Pedro, for example, discussed how the diverse socioeconomic backgrounds of Guatemalans may prevent community organization. Further, English language capability was believed to create or maintain divisions between Guatemalans in Toronto. Language competence influences the ability for refugees and immigrants from non-English or non-French speaking countries to find and hold jobs in Canada, and therefore Pedro cites language as a key influence on the ability for Guatemalans to "assimilate" into Canadian society.

The findings from this chapter suggest that political and socioeconomic differences, and a collective (though not necessarily debilitating) sense of fear among Guatemalans, has hindered the development of a cohesive Guatemalan community in Toronto. Political differences, trauma, and problems of mistrust for Guatemalans seem to undermine the establishment of this sort of community. Based on previous research which suggests that the lack of an established ethnic community may lead to mental health difficulties for refugee and immigrant populations (Allodi and Rojas 1988; Earle 1994; Hyman et al. 1996; Miralles 1989; Beiser 1999), we would be led to assume that Guatemalans in Toronto are vulnerable to developing emotional problems. Relatively few men, however, shared stories about how feeling part of a cohesive, active Guatemalan community was good or bad for their health. Rather, attitudes and behaviors associated with being a man, as well as sentiments of "belonging (rather than "community"), were linked to well-being. While the development of a strong sense of ethnic identity and community may influence the health and well-being of Guatemalan immigrant men, gender and belonging must also be analyzed as shaping health and illness. The following chapters analyze these relationships to develop a better understanding of the health experiences of Guatemalan immigrant men in Toronto.

My exploration of health and identity among Guatemalan immigrant men in Toronto contributes to the study of diasporan communities by positing gender and belonging as sites for health and illness. Following Soysal’s (2000) call for moving beyond ethnicity as a "perpetual" source of identity making, I suggest that "belonging" is not necessarily grounded in Guatemalan-ness, Canadian-ness but also manliness and healthiness. Thus, my study demands a detailed and critical analysis of the notion of "belonging" and its meanings for Guatemalan immigrant men. In this approach, belonging is not always situated around the axes of ethnic origin or geographic place. While Guatemalan immigrant men in Toronto do assert that ethnicity and place are important to personhood, they also talk about how being healthy and being able to do what they want as men are ways to pertenecer ("belong"). My study thus hints at new ways of understanding belonging for displaced populations.

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- Abstract/Acknowledgements/Table of Contents -

- Introduction - Chapters 1 | 2 |  3 |  4 |  5  |  6  - Conclusion -

- Appendices - Bibliography -