...from “I’ve Got To Write a Book!”
by Ira Wiggins
Panama
Before the missionaries were effective in the San Blas islands deformed babies were not allowed to live. Cleft palate and cleft lip (“hare-lip”) were fairly common deformities. A dedicated, Christian missionary doctor, Dr. Daniel Gruver, worked at the mission hospital on Ailigandi for many years. One of the countless beneficial things he did was to demonstrate to the Kuna that such defects could be corrected surgically. As a result, some such babies are now allowed to keep the gift of life.
*****
Never forget that these indians are primitive, proud and with a strong sense of morals and justice that sometimes does not match with the Gringo sense of justice. I would not want to be in the place of the foreigner adjudged guilty of taking advantage of a Kuna. One such person who ran a resort in the islands was said to have been neglectful in paying his indian workmen, even when pressed to do so. After what the indians felt was a suitable length of time they burned the man’s cabins and his boat. End of resort; end of problem as far as the Kuna were concerned.
*****
The story of another resort in the San Blas islands is even more tragic and hair-raising, with senseless loss of life and property. Tom and Joan Moody with their young daughter, Marijo, were as fine an American far as ever existed. About 1966, through arrangements with a Kuna family, they were able to lease an entire small island and turned it into a well-run resort. The Moody’s felt they had done everything legally, as I believe they had, according to U.S. standards. Over the years, however, there were occasional rumblings among the Kuna who felt that the Moody resort was illegally constituted because the chiefs of the islands had not been consulted nor had they given their formal consent to the arrangement. Some Kunas sided with the Moodys. In any event Tom Moody chose to ignore warnings by certain indians to leave. The attack took place when no paying guests were on the island - during the off-season. The tragic tale is revealed by the following excerpts taken directly from a letter written by Mrs. Moody:
“20 June 1981. There were six of us on the island at the time of the raid... Rex (the new dive master), his father Bob and stepmother Agnesi, Tom’s sister Peggy, Tom and myself...
Around four a.m. I was awakened by a familiar voice outside my bedroom window calling, ‘Mr. Moody, wake up.’ He said they wanted gasoline... As I groggily headed out the door... Peggy came out of her house and she saw men crouched all around my house. One of them grabbed her, knocking her to her knees and holding her at bay by swinging a sword over her head. Tom was at the door and then, in an anguished voice, I heard him say, ‘Oh, my God, NO!’... many men... guns pointing at us... some wore masks... Time stood still, broken only by the voice of one... ‘Moody, you remember our Congresso and we say Moody go. NOW MOODY GO!’. And a shot rang out knocking Tom backward about four feet... flesh and blood splattered everywhere and hearing his screams... I the myself over him screaming at the top of my lungs. Two or three men pulled me off... others grabbed Tom by his mangled leg and dragged him down the steps... like a sack of garbage... other gunshots... were... fired in the air. Indians were running here and there, throwing flaming bottles of gasoline onto the thatch roofs of the office, kitchen and clubhouse... throwing gasoline all over (Tom) and lighting matches in an attempt to burn him alive. One even set a burning gallon of gasoline next to him, thinking it would explode. Others beat Tom unmercifully with their gun butts over his head, arms, and groin... swung a machete at him in an attempt to hack him to pieces and at each swing Tom would roll away... the indians had tied a rope around Tom’s gutted leg and... tied his leg to his neck and hung him from a coconut tree... threw gasoline onto the cane walls and bathroom curtains and set it afire... Tom went unconscious and they left him for dead... other boarded our launch... stealing... had tied me and Peggy up on the beach... I had gotten tied... grabbed me and retied my wrists... I was disentangled once again... ran back and began to tie me up, so I pretended to faint... As they were pulling away... Peggy and I... ran from building to building... pausing to extinguish the fire in the blue house.
...Rex, Bob and Agnesi cut Tom down and began putting out the fires... we had a heavy downpour around midnight so the rain-soaked thatch was too soaked to burn.
...I almost tripped over (Tom) lying on the path behind our house. I heard his weak voice say, ‘Joan, come here. I’m fading fast and I want to tell you somethings.’ ...I asked him how badly he was hurt and I still didn’t know where they had shot him...’They shot me in the leg.’... I... began running... for my radios screaming, ‘Goddamnit, you’re going to LIVE... no one dies of a bullet wound in the leg!’... A ham operator in Florida answered my call... call for the MEDDAC helicopter at Howard Air force Base... the time was 4:48 a.m. ... We... wash the gasoline off (Tom) and bandage the wound... In less than an hour we heard the distant ‘whop-whop’ of the helicopter... they were on the way... I changed radio frequencies... to... the National Guard to notify then of the situation and requested police protection.
The events of the remainder of that morning and the afternoon still remain fuzzy and jumbled in my mind... ten hours after Tom was shot and beaten, we heard the sound of a large helicopter approaching the island... small boat returning from the Porvenir direction approaching the island. At the time the helicopter was landing on the beach... the ‘guardia boat’ pulled up to the main dock. There was an apparent confrontation between the villagers and the armed ‘guardia’ and both the Cuna guardia were shot... one... in the heart causing instantaneous death and the second... in the neck... they wore no uniforms nor were there any identifying markings on their boat, it is understandable how the accidental shootings occurred.
...the 22nd of June... we heard rumblings... drinking and gathering... about nine miles north... At 4:00 p.m. I spoke with Tom via radio-telephone in the hospital... Tom had undergone the first of a total of seven major operations (the shot-gun wound had removed most of the calf of his leg)... The U.S. Embassy came to our aid... Ham operators... monitored us throughout the days and nights to follow. Thank God... they were our only communication with the outside world... Guardia protectors... no cargo boats permitted in our area, the... district was shut off from the outside world by orders of the Intendencia (the Kuna political governor of the San Blas islands)... the Minister of Government and Justice... meeting... the only concern of the authorities was to arrest the killer of the Cuna guardia, but NOTHING was ever done about the guerrilla terrorists who brutally attacked us and tried to kill Tom. To this day they live freely amongst the tribe!... Minister... revoked our license to do business in San Blas. We were tried and convicted without a trial.
...our two boats... on June 30th, arriving at the port city of Colon late that afternoon.
...Quite obviously, these young men had spent time living abroad... learning the guerrilla tactics... since it was one of their first operations, the bungled it... were also ‘high’ on something and not coherent...
This raid had been discussed two nights prior at a large congresso in the Carti islands... Some of the terrorists were from that area... When the (indians) of Rio Sidra (a near-by island) stood behind us, they were virtually cut off from any movement and trade with the outside world... They were slowly being starved to death. The villagers of Rio Sidra turned over the young man who had accidentally killed the guardia to the Panamanian authorities... The terrorists who instigated the attack and committed the brutal atrocities - although their identities are known by the tribe, as indians have no secrets - are still living freely in the islands almost three months later. (They were never punished.)
These crimes are not the work of the ‘traditional’ Cuna; nor is it condoned by them. It is definitely the handiwork of the terrorist infiltrators. In recent years, these young men have returned to their tribal homeland, spouting the typical communist rhetoric... political changes taking place in the islands... Although we have fuel and materials worth thousands of dollars stored on the docks, it was left unguarded as we have never had a problem with thievery... nothing was ever under lock and key.
All foreigners were being ousted from San Blas. What is it they fear we might discover? Throughout the years, we ignored all the little nagging warning signals... boats travelling through reefy areas at night without running lights... planes flying low after dark and landing on the remote airstrips... tales of Columbian-Indian shootouts... strange yachts passing through... We suspect the economically their new enterprise will bring much more income than tourism. ...all we were able to get out were the two boats and the money from the sale of them went to pay doctors and hospitals... and our creditors... Building an entire community on a remote sandpit takes a lot more time, work and preserverance than it does to put a comparable operation in ‘civilization’... keeping it operational is another matter. We had no public utilities to plug into - electricity, gas mains, nor water. Each system had to be developed by us. Supplies... had to be freighted by sea... and stored for six months in advance. Fresh fruits, vegetables and meats were flown out.
7 October 198l
...for Tom the healing will take a long time. The entire muscle of the calf was blown completely away with most of the tibia... a 20 gauge shotgun was around four feet from Tom’s leg when the terrorist pulled the trigger. The biggest fight of all has been to save the leg... it raged with infection for four weeks. Five major operations... plastic surgery... bone grafting.
We apologize to all of you who have patiently awaited our story... we can not say what we did while still in Panama... We are attempting to get compensation from the Panamanian government through international courts.
Once Tom is mended, we will begin our search of an island once again as we know that we cannot live anywhere else and be satisfied.
Tom, Joan and Marijo”
I present these as facts and will not editorialize except to say that we talked with Rex (the dive master) after the attack. He remained hidden throughout the attack; he was the one who cut Tom down as he hung unconscious from the tree, appearing to Rex to be dead. The daughter, Marijo, was in school in Panama City at the time. These are fine people. In our opinion, the traditional Cuna are also fine people. What a tragedy for all concerned. Obviously no one gained.
Several months after the attack the chiefs of all the islands held meetings and agreed that henceforth no non-Kuna would be allowed to operate a profit-making venture in the San Blas territory.
*****
Most of the Kunas still adhere to the traditional burial rituals. In the past babies were not usually given a name for several weeks, perhaps because the infant mortality rate was so high and more grief would be associated with the loss of a named baby. Death of the elderly is accepted rather matter-of-factly.
“In that hammock? Oh, that’s grandpa. He’s dying.”
After death the face is usually painted with the orange-red color of the achiote plant and a nightlong vigil is held over the body. No embalming is used. In the morning the fully-clothed body is sewn into a hammock , carried to a cayuco and transported to the mainland, accompanied by grieving relatives and friends.
On our last visit to Panama I was privileged to join the proceedings at this point and to witness the actual burial of an elderly lady. The graveyard, as usual, was on a riverbank not far from the river’s mouth. When we arrived the professional Kuna grave diggers had not yet finished the two foot by seven foot rectangular hole in the hard clay soil. When they finished (to a depth of about five and a half feet) poles were driven into the ground at each end and a ledge was carved or each side into which were fitted strong limbs to form a roof. Before finishing the roof, a small clay pot with burning cocoa beans was lowered to the floor of the cavern, so that the strong, acrid fumes could smoke out any evil spirits. Articles of the lady’s clothing had been placed on the roof to hold in the smoke. Quantities of the deceased’s beads were thrown onto the floor of the crypt. In a few minutes the roof was removed and, amidst wailing, the hammock was lowered into the opening and the ropes at each end tied to the poles so that the hammock did not rest on the floor. No dirt was thrown into the hole. The sticks were replaced as a roof, over which were carefully laid several layers of the old one’s clothes, apparently to prevent dirt from sifting through. I do not know if her entire wardrobe was thus disposed of or not but it seemed a waste of some very interesting molas. Over this was then heaped a generous mound of dirt. Sometimes the gold jewelry is buried with the individual; sometimes it is thrown into a deep and secret part of the ocean so it can’t be stolen. Rarely it is reused. Has anyone been pillaged a grave to get the gold? I am told that illicit trespassers seem to somehow disappear without a trace - and I believe it!
At this point my guide suggested we leave. A low thatched roof, supported by poles, is built over the grave. Stools are often left here so that relatives can occasionally visit and talk about the good times they had when the deceased was still alive. Although I did not witness it, part of the ritual after burial is to place a string leading from the grave down to the bank of the river where it is attached to a tiny wooden boat. The string is for the deceased’s spirit to follow to the boat, which it rides across the river to the spirit world.
*****
Acculturation is occurring in San Blas. There are now schools on many islands, teaching in the Spanish language. I expect the Kuna dialect will eventually disappear. Too bad; it is a beautiful, soft language. The word they use for goodbye, literally translated, means “a bad hello”.
Some of the young ladies are now wearing western-style dresses instead of the traditional sarong and mola blouse. Along with this they are less inclined to wear the gold nose-ring and to paint the black stripe on the nose. Birthdays and Ages are now much more apt to be remembered.
Of course the transistor radio has become omnipresent and thievery, I am sorry to say is no longer unheard of. I know of at least two islands that have television sets. The youth on some of the islands have tried marijuana and I am told that in some sectors it is a problem. “Sodas” (soft drinks) are extremely popular on all of the islands - hot or cold.
The Panama Canal Company considered the Kuna men excellent workers and many moved, with their families, to Colon in order to work for the P.C.C. - most often as dock workers or cooks and kitchen helpers on one of the military posts. Often the women did not change their style of dress when they moved to Colon or to Panama City and it is always a delightful surprise to see one of these colorful creatures, gold nose-ring and all, walking on the main street of one of those cities. They are also often seen in a park or on a street corner selling their molas, wood carvings or beads.
Fortunately this acculturation, so far, has affected only a small percentage of the Kuna people, the great majority of which still live largely in the old traditional ways, utilizing the medicine men, listening to the chanters and story-tellers and bringing up the children to value the traditional customs. It is still a tremendous experience to visit these people via tour boat or in one of the small planes that fly daily from Panama City to various air-strips in these islands. If you are ever in Panama it is well worth the trouble and expense to take one of these trips, even for just a day. But if you can stay for a few days and become just a little better acquainted with the indians, so much the better.
*****
