tlf news

Vol. xl # 3

September, 2019



A Jesuitical Journal






June 10: Arrival in Honduras

The plane lands amidst African palm plantations and banana fields. As I step onto the airport passageway, a now familiar sensation strikes me: a wall of dense humidity separates the cool American Airlines' interior and the blazing heat of the Valle de Sula, Honduras. My Jesuit companion Conan Rainwater and I make it through security in a matter of minutes. I consider how easy it is for a US citizen to enter Honduras but how hard it is for a Honduran to enter the US. Two familiar faces greet us. Jack Warner and Luis García from la fragua shuffle us into a car that whisks us off to the Jesuit residence on the campus of our high school in El Progreso. Luis drives fast. We arrive in half the time it would take anyone else.

June 11: First Day at the Theater

As I step into the building, it feels like a homecoming. It's my fifth trip in the last two years. There are long hugs, laughs, and memories shared. This time, however, is unique. The theater is about the celebrate its 40th anniversary, and I've got a book coming out in a matter of weeks to commemorate it. Whereas previous trips have been mostly about research and writing, this trip is different. The work is done. It's time to revel, enjoy good company, and promote the special occasion.

Things around the theater are mostly the same. The building's structure is rustic and picturesque -- although it's falling apart. Substantial repairs are desperately needed. Mangos hang in abundance like massive, green raindrops suspended from branches. There are bugs, lizards, stray dogs, and -- aha -- the actors. The company is largely unchanged, apart from the delightful addition of María José. She's young and energetic, a friend to all and an enemy to none. Buena gente.

There are two shows in the works for the summer season. Las dos caras del patroncito is a classic. Among the first plays presented at la fragua in 1979, the show's relevance endures. The subject is labor relations. A landowner is abusing a peasant, but the landowner is too thick to comprehend the suffering of his servant. They decide to trade places, and there is hope that the injustice will resolve. That's not the case. Instead of showing mercy to his former boss, the peasant-turned-landowner chooses to repeat the cycle of violence and abuse his now-subject all the more.

The other presentation is also significant to the history of la fragua -- albeit in a rather different way. Tío Coyote y Tío Conejo is pure laughter. Two zoomorphic conmen trick an old gardener into offering a watermelon loaded with caca to the local bishop, so the gardener comes up with a plan to deal vengeance. It's a children's story, but I admit that it entertains me just as well.

June 20: A Nation in Chaos

Tonight, it feels like Honduras is ablaze. In recent months the government unilaterally announced the privatization of healthcare and education. It's a huge blow to teachers, to medical practitioners, to the poor, and to democracy. People have responded by routinely blocking the nation's major roadways in an effort to raise awareness, garner support, and pressure the government to double back. Strikes in the schools and universities have lasted weeks.

Now, taking advantage of a sudden weakness in the police force, citizens are taking to the streets throughout the country. They've seized the highways with sudden force, and the number of blockages is immense. A few news stations cover the tussles between the protestors and the police (at least the ones who decided to show up to work). The movement is strong, and there is hope that it will lead to something big. Most Hondurans are sick of the dictatorship of Juan Orlando Hernández. They want a change.

June 26: Back to Work

The hope of revolution seems to flower and fade. The protests lead to no concrete changes. Desperation fills the atmosphere again.

Back at the theater, Edy Barahona and the actors have decided to add another work to their repertoire this summer. It's a dramatization of the poetry of Roberto Sosa, winner of the prestigious Premio Adonáis de Poesía in 1968. Since he's from Yoro, the same province as El Progreso, he's basically a local literary hero. They'll focus on the collection Los pobres. It begins with these chilling lines: "Los pobres son muchos/y por eso/es imposible olvidarlos." ("The poor are many/and so/it is impossible to forget them"). There's energy around this project. The poet's words fit the times, his personality is native to Honduran lands, and the actors are excited to be creating something new.

Another Jesuit companion, Jake Braithwaite, is helping with the direction of Los pobres. He's a fantastic addition to the theater for the summer because he has experience acting himself and is a total "theater person." You'll find him at shows in Chicago and on Broadway with no small regularity. He brings a fresh perspective to la fragua, and Edy and the actors seem to love to have him. (It's also nice for me to have another person with whom I can speak English and watch Netflix series back at the ranch in the evenings.)

July 12: San Salvador

Jake and I are at the Central American University in San Salvador to pick up the first 100 copies of La Fragua: el teatro jesuita de Centroamérica. Our bus ride was something horrific. The nine-hour affair included bump after bump on paved and unpaved highways, people being generally loud and obnoxious, and love songs from Celine Dion translated all-too-literally into Spanish.

When we finally arrived, the minister of the Jesuit community showed us to our lodgings. Much to our surprise, we were to stay in the very rooms from which the UCA martyrs were dragged out and assassinated in 1989. It was a powerfully haunting experience to walk those halls and rest in those beds.

Stacks of books are ready at the publishing house. I acquire 100 copies to bring back to Honduras, give away and sell during the theater's summer season. It's a relief to have the text in hand. Forty years of theater and two years of writing have brought us to this moment.

July 25: Hospital

Yes. I'm in the hospital. The official story goes that I contracted some harmful bacteria while swimming in contaminated water. It's disappointing for two reasons. One, I never swim. Swimming disgusts me. The water is always either polluted, child-piss-filled, or both. I took a chance this time, and it definitely did not pay off. I'll never step my toe in water again. Human beings evolved from water to land. Why are we going back into the water?

It's also disappointing because we were going to have the book launch tomorrow. The event has to be rescheduled.

Jesuits, members of la fragua, and others come to visit me in my sorry state. They bring snacks, balloons, and books. I'm tired, weak, and in pain, but these little episodes of company help to pass the time.

August 1: Book Launch and Goodbyes

Tonight's the rescheduled book launch. Because of the cancellation due to my illness, not as many people showed up as we would have liked. Things happen. Nevertheless, a crowd gathers, and the event begins. Edy introduces me, and I introduce various parts of the text. The actors read two of the most moving sections. The first is an account of the activity of the theater following the devastating Hurricane Mitch in 1998. The second is a list of the hopes of the actors for the future of the theater. Their presentation of these dreams moves me deeply. la fragua has forty years of rich history, and, as long as there are actors in El Progreso who continue to dream the same dream (yet always in their own way), la fragua's rich history will continue forward.

The night concludes with a toast, which is at once a celebration of the book, a celebration of the fortieth anniversary, and a goodbye. We leave tomorrow morning. As attendees depart and I gather my things, a pit in my stomach begins to form. It is sad to leave a place where one has left a good bit of one's heart. It is sad to board a plane not knowing when one will return.

At times, I think that I am young and that the theater is old. And yet, when I hear the voices of the actors on stage and listen to their ardent desires to propel the theater well into the twenty-first century, when I see the wooden bleachers packed to the edges on a Friday night, and when I feel the power of drama in action, I realize the truth: that I am older than many of the actors and that la fragua will live on for many years to come, fueled by a constant stream of raw Honduran power, passionate art, a devoted audience, and generous patrons.



David J.W. Inczauskis, S.J.





David Inczauskis, SJ, is the author of La Fragua: el teatro jesuita de Centroamérica and a visiting faculty member in Spanish and philosophy at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio.






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