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| Essay Archive | March 31, 2003 |
DEATH SENTENCE - AN HONORABLE JOB
Agrochemicals and the Banana Workers of Nicaragua
Smiling ear to ear, little Santos ran sprinting into the raw earth rear patio behind his house yelping, "let's go papá, it's time, papi let's go!" When Santos was outside he realized something was amiss. He slammed on the brakes, kicking up clouds of dust with his bare feet. The backyard was silent. His father was not there, the hammock under the mango tree sat empty, full of air deathly still. Little Santos felt a chill run down his neck. Santos' father had vanished; he was alone. His little body began to shake and he felt a strong hand gripping his shoulder, "wake up Santos, it is time to work" said his father above the noise of the bull horn's 4:30 a.m. wail, "we have to get up now my son, its morning my little one".
Santos Andino, eight years old, sat up, his little legs dangling over his plywood bed with no mattress. The wakeup committee finally finished blowing into the old instrument made from the horn of a bull, and the hacienda's barracks were alive with movement. The banana workers were searching for their clothes in the dark morning chill. Most of their clothing reeked, the acrid odor of sweat mixed with agrochemicals, but all the workers could smell was the rice and beans that had been cooking since 3:00 a.m. Santos watched his father slip into his rubber boots, tattered button-down shirt and jeans in the darkness and did the same. He shadowed his father's every move, putting on a faded baseball cap and picking up his own machete. They went outside the decrepit wood building to eat.
Some of the other workers had already bathed with water scooped out of 72-gallon metal drums with undecipherable English writing on them and they were sitting outside the hacienda barracks, eating rice, beans and corn tortillas. Santos ate quickly, as did his father, who finished and went around the side of the barracks to urinate. Santos' father noticed that his urine was very foamy and smelt strange, like overripe pineapple. He would say nothing of this to his little boy.
At 5:00 a.m. little Santos Andino and his father Augustín Andino walked one kilometer to the center of the plantation to receive an allotment of sacks for their daily task. Santos would help his father to fill the empty fertilizer sacks with dead leaves and branches from the banana trees; they were on clean up duty, as they had been all month. At 5:30 a.m. they were deep inside the plantation. "What smell of venom!" remarked Santos rhetorically to his father, who was already working quickly and silently, cutting dead banana branches, dripping wet with agrochemical. Santos had been helping his father for a month now, but every time he was confronted by the rank smell of the milky colored chemical he felt his little head spinning and the will to vomit, but Santos would not let his father down. His father rapidly cut and stripped the banana trees of dead leaves while little Santos filled empty sacks with the debris. The banana trees had been soaked the night before by suspended sprinkler systems, one that coated the plants with a rich water-based cocktail of agrochemicals.
 Ex-banana worker José Lazo and wife Lesbia on March 2, 2003 Photo: Richard Leonardi |
The agrochemicals used on the plantation where Santos Andino worked with his father in 1978 were also being used in the rest of Central America, parts of Africa, the Caribbean and the Philippine Islands. Santo's father had told him repeatedly, while growing up in northwestern Nicaragua in the 1970's during the era of great cotton crops, banana and sugar cane plantations in the area, not to drink or inhale venom (veneno), the Nicaraguan farmer's all-encompassing word for all volatile variations of agrochemical. Growing up next to a cotton field, in the rocky valley of Malpaisillo east of the active Maribios Volcanoes, venom was nothing new to Santos, his family and neighbors. Twice weekly a crop-duster would swoop down to spray agrochemicals, coating the cotton fields located just 800 meters from Santos' family house. Nicaragua's year-round trade winds would then turn the area into a land of toxic breezes. Family members would run choking inside their tiny house made of earthen floors divided by plastic bags stretched to make interior walls, with wood branch exterior walls supporting a sagging tile roof. Santos and his family, under firm instructions from Santos' father, would then bath, try and wash off the smell before continuing with their life, which included picking cotton in those same fields. During banana season they moved to the other side of the Maribios volcano range, to the fertile western slope of the cones and the plantations of Standard Fruit Company (Dole) in the province of Chinandega.
Bananas were first discovered by Europeans in Southeast Asia by Spanish explorers, who quickly brought the fruit to the Caribbean and the other tropical states of their empire, like Central America. It is now considered the planet's fourth most important food after rice, wheat and milk, making it by far the world's most significant fruit crop. International trade of bananas is worth more than US$2.5 billion annually. Yet, only 10% of the annual global output (86 million tons) enters international commerce. Most of the bananas and plantain (a variation of the banana) are consumed internally in Latin America, Africa and Asia. For these countries, banana and plantain are staple foods that represent major dietary sources of carbohydrates, fiber, vitamins A, B6 and C, as well as potassium, phosphorus and calcium.
Central American commercial production of bananas was started in Costa Rica in 1879, by North American entrepreneur Minor Keith, who began export to the United States. He enjoyed much success and proceeded to buy large tracts of land in Guatemala and Honduras to increase production. In 1889, when he merged his company with the Boston Fruit Company, the first big multinational fruit company was born: The United Fruit Company. For most of the first half of the 20th century, United Fruit and newer fruit growers like Standard Fruit bought up hundreds of thousands of hectares of Central American land, most of which was home to rich and diverse tropical ecosystems. These lands were transformed into one-dimensional, chemical drenched landscapes that created new revenue and employment, as well as economic dependence for the Central American republics on the multinationals. Though production of export banana in Nicaragua paled in comparison with other Central American countries like Costa Rica, Panama and Honduras, the northwest corner of Nicaragua was home to the deep-water port of Corinto and full of cheap labor, banana production was profitable.
When government agrarian reform policies started to come into vogue across Central America in the 1950's, the multinationals wisely decided to reduce large land holdings. They divided properties into smaller parcels and leased them to local growers. These local growers worked under strict volume and price controls. In this manner the transnationals were able to maintain profits while eliminating risks of production. Where Santos and his father were cleaning banana tree of debris was a locally owned plantation, located in the province of Chinandega near El Viejo. It was a farm that grew its crops under strict supervision and sold its bananas exclusively to Standard Fruit Company.
Standard Fruit, like all volume banana growers, had been fighting a century long war against pests that attack the banana tree and at the same time adhering to increasingly stringent cosmetic standards needed to sell the fruit in European and North American markets. The combination of these pressures has made export quality banana plantations the most agrochemical intensive farms in the world. On a typical banana plantation in Central America, approximately 30 kilograms of active pesticide ingredients are applied per hectare per year - more than ten times that which is used in intensive agriculture in industrialized countries. The battle being fought is multilevel. Fungus has been responsible for huge cop losses across the Central American isthmus; the notorious Black Sigatoka fungus is a constant threat to the plant and its fruit. Nematodes are also capable of destroying a banana plantation; they attack to the roots of the robust, yet fragile, banana tree. Nematodes are soil parasites, worms that range from 0.3 mm to 8 meters in length. The most common nematodes to attack banana plants Radopholus similis, Pratylenchus coffeae, Meloidogyne spp are tiny, microscopic and very adept at eating the tender root tips of the banana plant, lowering banana production, stunting the tree's growth and eventually drying the plant into death.
The battle against nematodes was picked up by both Shell Chemical Company and Dow Chemical Company in the 1940's. Shell stepped up first with a chemical called D-D to combat the tiny worms. Shell even hired then famous singers, the Andrew Sisters, to sing "D-D Hop" which was played by radio stations across North America's farming heartland. Dow was quick to follow with their version of nematicide named EDB. The only down side was that both D-D and EDB not only killed nematodes, but plants as well. EDB was later studied in Hawaii at the Pineapple Research Institute and the scientists developed Dibrome Chlore Propane or DBCP, a chemical that was kinder to plants and just as deadly for nematodes.
Both companies then proceeded to test the new chemical for possible toxic side effects to humans. Shell hired Dr. Charles Hine from the Medical School of UCSF in northern California. The results were not pretty. Dr. Hine wrote in April of 1958 to Shell to inform them that laboratory rats had suffered severe atrophy of their testicles and DBCP was also destroying the rats' lungs and kidneys. Three months later Dow received their first report; it stated that DBCP was very rapidly absorbed by skin and highly toxic if inhaled, with serious signs deadly effects for livers, lungs and kidneys. In 1961 Dr. Hine was working for both Shell and Dow Chemical when he warned of DBCP's possibly mortal effects, but the two companies downplayed the product's lethal dangers and the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) approved it for use.
Standard Fruit began using DBCP in massive quantities in 1969. Their worker's manual said nothing about the possible effects to exposure to the agrochemical, nor suggested protective clothing. In 1977 it was discovered that 35 of 114 workers in a California DBCP production plant were sterile. One month later the EPA heavily restricted use of the chemical in Hawaii, allowing only limited application of the substance with sufficient protective equipment for those who would come in contact with it. Dow and Shell had ample stocks of the product and exportation of DBCP was still legal. However, Dow began to worry about legal repercussions and decided to wait for results of further tests to be made by the EPA before continuing the export of DBCP. When Standard Fruit was informed of Dow's hesitation to ship the product they were not impressed. If Dow would detain firm orders for the DBCP, Standard Fruit threatened that they would consider Dow in breach of contract. Dow decided to wash their hands of any future legal liability and only agreed to continue shipping the product if Standard Fruit agreed to sign a formal release clearing them of all possible liability for future legal claims related to problems with DBCP.
In a letter from Dow Chemical to Standard Fruit, signed on February 8, 1978, by then executive vice-president of Dow, E. B. Barner (typed on Dow stationary that featured the slogan, "Life is Fragile, Handle it with Care), Dow outlined the real dangers of their brand of DBCP, called Fumazone. The letter from Dow Chemical included a concentrated dosage of legal language, stating their innocence must be assured in any future legal cases and included a clause that stipulated Standard Fruit would assume any legal expenses arising from the product's worldwide use. To avoid future legal problems Dow finally outlined what was necessary for DBCP to be used safely. They recommended the use of heavy polyvinyl boots made by two US suppliers, they stated that "half or full face gas mask respirators approved for organic vapor must be worn" and that "canisters or cartridges must be changed daily or sooner". Heavy protective clothing was also deemed necessary and it was noted that even this was not "completely impervious to the chemical", and that same clothing "should be removed promptly in cased of significant contact with the liquid". The letter continued, "Protective gear and other clothing having the odor the chemical should not be used". In terms of application Dow was very clear on what was safe for workers. "The user will agree not to apply Fumazone 86E unless: (1) the treated area is a safe distance away from worker housing and work areas (such as packing stations) or (2) all people have been evacuated from area to be treated and those surrounding areas which may be exposed to the liquid or vapors." The letter from Dow to Standard Fruit insisted, "People in the area to be treated will be notified to that effect in the language of the workers involved."
Standard Fruit's pest control boss Jack D. DeMent studied the new Dow regulations for DBCP use. In a memo to all of Standard Fruit's banana divisions titled "DBCP Safe Handling Procedures", dated March 3, 1978, DeMent responds to the practicality of the recommendations. Average daytime temperatures on banana plantations are in the 27ºC (80ºF) range with daytime temperatures in the Chinandega region of Nicaragua usually reaching above 32ºC (90ºF). Working in tropical climes in a spacesuit would be a hard sell to Nicaraguan and other Central American workers; in addition, it would mean extra expenses for Standard fruit and local producers. Clothing recommendations were to be given a nod, though considered "well nigh impossible", Jack DeMent conceded, "we (should) make an effort at least to the extent of having this equipment available." The application procedures outlined by Dow Chemical Company were taken less seriously and basically thrown out. DeMent deemed them to be "not operationally feasible and do not need to be implemented". With regards to the 72-gallon barrels in which the hyper-toxic DBCP was shipped, they were considered by Standard Fruit to be usable after the substance was finished. Mr. DeMent noted in this memo to all the banana divisions of Standard Fruit, "Rinsing is necessary, but drums can be used for other purposes".
In 1979 the US government's Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) pulled DBCP (known by its commercial names of Fumazone and Nemagon) off the United States market, citing its toxic effects on chromosomes (DNA). The US National Institute of Cancer classified DBCP as a powerful cause of cancer, demonstrating that even very low doses causes cancer in breasts, testicles, stomach, lungs, kidney and the uterus. Other reports describe the chemical as a disrupter of the endocrine system that regulates all chemical processes in the human body. DBCP apparently alters the genetic structure of human cells, including those used for reproduction, meaning that the damage caused by the chemical can be passed on to children and even grandchildren. Despite the ban from the EPA, export of the chemical went forward to the tune of 24 million pounds of DBCP exported annually.
"Papá, all the bags are full. I'm hungry!" Little eight year-old Santos stood in front of a pile of big sacks full of banana tree debris. Santos was covered from head to toe with a greasy mixture of dirt and chemical and had a big smile on his face. No one works faster than my papá, he thought to himself, beaming with pride while he studied the muscular profile of his father. Santos' father took off his son's cap and ruffled his hair, "thanks to you little one, today we will make extra money again and mamá will be surprised when we bring home a new dress!" Santos' father, Augustín Andino, would first be sure to stock up on rice and beans for bad times, then perhaps buy a dress for his wife, but what he was really thinking about was finding money for school. Augustín would have to make enough money for notebooks, pens, pencils, a little backpack, uniforms and shoes for little Santos. Somehow Santos Andino would not be doing this poor man's work when he was grown, he's too smart for this stuff thought Augustín Andino. They both lugged the bags of debris one by one to the dump area, while the crew chief made notes on pink paper stuck in a clipboard. They finished just after the happy noise of the bull horn reverberated through the dense plantation. Lunch was ready.
Little Santos watched his father wiping the pasty mixture of dirt and chemicals off of his hands, using his pant leg and he did the same. He sat next to his father's mealtime silence, one that bordered on religious while they ate. The food on the plantation was good; the rice, beans and tortilla almost always included a portion of meat and Santos understood why it was wise to work hard, but felt remorse that the rest of his family, especially his mother, could not be here to eat such a lovely plate with meat. Santos and his father would go and rest a bit; they had finished their task early and would start a new task in the afternoon. In one week they would make the full day journey in bus back to his home, the tiny settlement of Los Zarzales in the county of Malpaisillo.
On March 2, 2003 I sat next to Santos Andino in the front seat of his dark blue 1997 Toyota 4-Runner. Santos, now 33 years old, was driving through clouds of dust on a forgotten road that runs behind the southern half of the Maribios Volcanoes, a chain of volcanoes that rise up like a rocky spine cutting in half Nicaragua's León and Chinandega provinces. Santos was dressed in a red long sleeved button down shirt with a bright multi-colored tie hanging from his neck, a brave uniform for the 35ºC (95ºF) heat of Nicaragua's northwest during the scorching dry season. He was driving and talking with his hands, slowing to make certain points, explaining his work as the vice-president for a Nicaraguan non-profit organization, the Nicaraguan Commission for Human Rights (Comisión Nicaragüense de Derechos Humanos or CNDDH). Santos Andino and his organization are acting as a moderator and watchdog between different organizations private and public that are involved in the nine year long battle to make someone accountable for damages done by DBCP to the workers of the banana plantations. On the outskirts of town we drove past an old crop duster, a relic left over from the glory days of great cotton crops in the province and then entered the rural farming center of Malpaisillo. We pulled up to a house along a dirt road with Santos honking. It was the house of the 41 year-old Sergio Delgaldo. Sergio popped out of the little concrete block and tin roof house smiling and wearing a blue baseball cap; he shook the hand of Santos and climbed inside the jeep. Sergio Delgado is the regional organizer of ASOTRAEXDAN, the association of current and former Nicaraguan banana workers (Asociación de Trabajadores y ex-Trabajadores Afectados por el Nemagón) who are trying to make a gigantic legal claim stick against Dow and Shell Chemical, as well as Standard Fruit and United Fruit for the sale and use of DBCP, known popularly in Nicaragua for its Shell Chemical Company name Nemagón.
Underneath the nominally forgiving shade of a leafy cashew tree, we joined in a community meeting of victims of DBCP across the street from a colorful Sunday baseball game at Malpaisillo's municipal stadium. The meeting was called to try and agree to a plan that would require all Malpaisillo members to contribute two or three córdobas per month per person to meet expenses of a new office with secretary for the workers association in Malpaisillo. The force of organization and members for ASOTRAEXDAN is in Chinandega, which translates into a long series of hot bus rides and extra expenses for all Malpaisillo members. Since most of the association members are in a state of ill health, unable to work and all are living in poverty, it was decided by regional leader Sergio Delgado that a local branch office was needed. Santos answered workers questions regarding legal rights while Sergio tried to get the ASOTRAEXDAN members to come to a consensus. Sergio managed to get them to agree to donate two córdobas each (US$0.13) per month, though after much debate, since many of the impoverished banana workers felt this was an exaggerated amount of money, an administrative extravagance.
Santos Andino and Sergio Delgado got back in the jeep to head into the mountains for additional meetings in the far off villages of El Sauce and El Jicaral. Santos drove squinting into the tropical sun, weaving around holes in the rural highway. He tried to keep everyone laughing with his persistent sense of humor and cheer Sergio with his positive outlook on the chances of the workers winning their lawsuit against the big multinationals. The daunting magnitude and urgency of the case, thanks the massive legal financial resources of the multinationals and the grave condition of the banana workers who are in desperate need of medical attention and dying weekly, did not seem dampen either's enthusiasm nor belief in vindication by the eventual outcome.
The international media has taken small note of the banana workers' battle, but it lacks the spectacular elements that are now needed to make a serious blip on the world news screen. Part of the problem for the banana workers is the lack of strong imagery provided by the deadly illnesses caused by contact to DBCP. More than 27,000 people have been effected by DBCP and other agrochemicals in the region, yet most die a silent death, with internal organs being eaten away by cancer, drying slowly in their bodies until they die. Meeting many of the ex-workers, one sees little wrong with them visually. Nicaraguan campesinos (country farmers) are some of the strongest and resilient people in the world. A Nicaraguan campesino can seemingly work almost endlessly under the tropical sun, at times for more than 16 hours per day, and walk without complaint over 10 kilometers to and from work, needing just a sip of water.
The man Santos and I rode with, the leader of the banana workers for Malpaisillo and region, Sergio Delgado, is a good example. He is a sturdy, strong looking man with excellent posture and an easy smile, and although he carries a sad air, few casual observers would guess he is gravely ill. Sergio worked on banana plantations from 1978-1982, when in his late teens and early twenties. Sergio's kidneys are slowly drying up. He is now a construction worker, but has been prohibited from working by his doctor. In reality he works tirelessly to try and organize the victims of DBCP under the banner of ASOTRAEXDAN. Sergio looses an average of one Malpaisillo region member of ASOTRAEXDAN per month to death, including his younger brother who also worked with him on the plantations and died two years ago, at the age of 36, from stomach cancer. In his region of Malpaisillo, Sergio represents through ASOTRAEXDAN 1,800 men and women, all dying from effects of agrochemicals.
ASOTRAEXDAN was founded after the victory of a 1993 class-action lawsuit filed in Texas by more than 16,000 banana plantation workers from Costa Rica, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua and the Philippines against U.S. fruit and chemical companies for illnesses resulting from exposure to DBCP chemicals. The companies, including Chiquita, Dole and Del Monte, agreed to pay a total of $41.5 million in 1997 to those who proved they were sterile. The directors of ASOTRAEXDAN have good reason to believe that little or none of this money made it way into the hands of the campesino banana worker. The payout went to the local banana producers of the multinationals, who, according to Santos, gave US$100 each to workers and kept the rest of the money. ASOTRAEXDAN was formed with the hope that future court monies might actually go to benefit the impoverished and dying families who are victims of DBCP exposure.
In 1999 ASOTRAEXDAN began to push for a law to be passed in Nicaragua that would allow Nicaraguan workers to sue foreign companies, a new law that would specifically aid their battle to sue for compensation for damages caused by DBCP. The law known as "ley 364", was approved by parliament in November of 2000 and registered in January of 2001. The passing of 364 was a huge victory for Nicaraguan victims of the agrochemical. Paraphrasing, law 364 "intends to facilitate procedure for judgments of indemnification to people affected by the use and the application of DBCP, and its derivatives, known in our country under the names of Nemagón and Fumazone." The law continues that the companies responsible for "import, distribution, commercialization and application of these products in Nicaragua, in spite of having had total knowledge of the effects produced by the DBCP in human beings, such as: sterility and damage to the kidneys and liver, etc… reason for which it was prohibited for use in the United States of North America… this indemnification, can be demanded by the relatives of the deceased by the same cause."
Law 364 pointed to a possible victory for the ASOTRAEXDAN victims of DBCP exposure. The US Embassy in Nicaragua viewed the law as unfair to the multinationals and protested to the Nicaraguan Attorney General in March of 2002, who in turn submitted a movement to the Nicaraguan Supreme Court to declare law 364 unconstitutional. Meanwhile victims in northwest Nicaragua continued to die, as did many of their children who were born defective thanks to DNA damage done by DBCP. The campesinos held out hope and continued to register with ASOTRAEXDAN, struggling to come up with the US$1.30 needed for a little photograph that would be used in their new ASOTRAEXDAN identity card. With the identity card the workers could then apply for a medical examine to determine if they had symptoms classic to DBCP exposure. The possibility of losing law 364 through international political power games had the banana workers at the point of desperation and the decision was made to march on Managua from the banana growing capital of Chinandega. The workers from Malpaisillo joined in, some walking days just to arrive to the starting point of the march.
 Ex-banana workers arrive in Managua on November 18, 2002 after 5 day march. Photo: Richard Leonardi |
In December of 2002 a Nicaraguan judge ordered Dow Chemical Company, Shell Chemical Company and Standard Fruit to pay US$490 million in compensation to 583 members of ASOTRAEXDAN. According to an Associated Press report Dow Chemical spokesman Scot Wheeler said the judgment was "unenforceable" because the case was supposed to be moved to a U.S. court, and because the ruling was "based on a law passed in Nicaragua that its own attorney general has called unconstitutional." In favor of the workers, the Nicaraguan Supreme Court published a communiqué, which confirmed the constitutionality of the law 364. Payment of the damages remains unclear, but for Santos Andino of the Nicaraguan Commission for Human Rights and Sergio Delgado of ASOTRAEXDAN, the deep-rooted problems of the political and legal battle take a back seat to the urgent need to help victims of DBCP.
Santos was tired; he had been driving all day, talking with numerous ex-banana workers from Malpaisillo, El Sauce and El Jicaral. We had met with many campesinos from all over the region, all of who thanked Santos and Sergio for their work and support. Still they decided to make one final stop. Santos' Toyota 4-Runner kicked up clouds of dust along a desolate country trail that leads to the isolated village of Larreynaga. We continued past Larreynaga, further into the wilderness, riding along the east face of the northern extreme of the Maribios Volcanoes. We sat in silence, passing through a countryside waiting for the May rains that bring the flora back to life, past occasional backcountry homes and the dominant landscape of blowing dirt in a vast emptiness. A lonely, rural sadness filled the jeep.
Finally after an hour of bouncing over rocky paths we reached a farm deep in the interior, left behind Santos' jeep and set out on foot. We were greeted by the local ranch owner, who mounted a mule and led us on a path through scraggly, secondary growth that crossed a waterless stream and dry, cracking mud patties and finished at the home of José Lazo, his wife and five children. The sun was now low over the volcanoes, searching for its escape into the Pacific horizon. José Lazo, 52 years old, worked on and off on banana plantations for more than 10 years on the other side of the volcanoes in Chinandega. He would return to his home, this silent, hidden corner of a world, every 15 days to bring his earnings to his wife Lesbia and their children. She would wash the horrible chemical smell from his clothes, tend to him and his dream of the day when they would buy a generator and bring electricity to their home. Today Lesbia looks numb, in a daze. Her husband José has lost more than 100 pounds in the last two months and his cancer sores are eating a series of holes in his chest, puss flowing out of one just above his heart. José Lazo is a member of ASOTRAEXDAN and Sergio's responsibility. Sergio and Santos had brought me to meet José and his family, to see what their work is really about. I sat down next to José and shook his hand, he smiled at me, semi-conscious, lying in a hammock with one foot in the grave. I felt a lump growing in my throat and held back tears, then felt a great urgency, a need to get him to the hospital, something - anything, to try and save his life. However the value of urgency had long vanished.
José Lazo had been to the hospital many times, time for a possible life saving treatment or operation had since passed, the costs for the necessary treatment into the many thousands of dollars. The lawsuit of ASOTRAEXDAN was a fading distant light of hope lost, one that was traveling into complete darkness. José returned home from the hospital two months ago dieing of cancer in the lungs and stomach. I asked his wife Lesbia what she planned to do, she shrugged in the most campesina manner, she would try to survive. She would find a way to eat after her husband died. I bit my tongue, what choice did she have? The long walk and solemn drive to the paved highway was unbearable. I felt the deep hole in the heart of José Lazo. In front of Sergio's house, in the dying dusk of Malpaisillo, I thanked him and wished him luck with his work. Sergio smiled warmly, his eyes neither less determined nor more tired than when we started the long day. He walked quietly inside. Driving back with Santos through the rural darkness to Managua, where Santos now lives, we talked about his life and his father. Santos Andino is an agricultural engineer and he is finishing his final year of law school. Santos' work with the human rights organization earns him nothing but satisfaction, he donates his time, vehicle and expertise. Hs reward is doing whatever he can to help the banana workers.
According to a confidential study finished on January 13, 2003, DBCP is still being used on Nicaraguan banana plantations, but now under the names of Omite 10, Thelones and Tionel 80. There are also 5 other non-DBCP based brands of nematicides, 4 brands of herbicides and 6 brands of fungicides being used. This lethal cocktail is estimated to contaminate ground water in growing areas for up to 200 years. The mass produced blemish free, ultra-healthy banana, prize of the developed world for its vitamins and potassium, is a lot more expensive then it appears under the bright lights of the supermarket.
"I am a man. I do not need to cry. I am a man. I do not need to cry" Santos Andino repeated to himself over and over, clenching his fists in the darkness, staring down at the dirt floor of his old bedroom. That afternoon Santos had received a telephone call while at his home in Managua, his father was dead. He jumped in his 1982 Lada and went to the market to buy a new set of clothes, then drove to Los Zarzales in Malpaisillo. It was December 11, 1995. Santos' father Augustín Andino had been gravely ill all year, suffering from cancer in his kidneys. Death was not new to the Andino family, four of Santos' brothers had died from extreme birth defects, the causes for which remain unexplained, but the loss of his father was unbearable. There was no one who could take his father's place. All of Santos' strength was required to not break down and cry. He regained his composure and returned to his father's side.
Santos dressed his dead father for the wake in the new clothes he had bought in Managua. Stopped from working another day at the age of 54, Augustín Andino lay quiet on his favorite bed, one made of old fertilizer sacks sewn together, stretched apart by two wood rails and supported by simple wooden slat legs. Santos remembered his father's last words to him at the hospital in Managua, eight months prior, when the doctors gave Santos the verdict to tell his father: only a US$22,000 operation could save his father's life. Augustín Andino told his son with gratitude and sincerity, "You did all you could". It was impossible to hold back the tears that day, yet Santos repeated his father's words over and over again to himself "You did all you could, you did all you could", hearing the deep, reassuring voice in his heart. That simple phrase, spoken by the strong voice of his father, was the only weapon Santos had to fight the torment rushing to burst forth from his eyes. At the Los Zarzales cemetery more than 200 people gathered around the coffin of Santos' father. The cemetery was covered in baked, hot earth, dried by the merciless Nicaraguan sun. An almost unbearable brightness reflected off the new silver cross that marked Augustín Andino's resting spot. Santos' father was lowered into a shallow hole in the rocky soil. Santos could not resist any longer. He burst into tears.
 Santos Andino at his father's grave in Los Zarzales on March 18, 2003 Photo: Richard Leonardi |
Copyright © Richard Leonardi