Married to a Wanted Honduran Man, Interview with Yolanda Plata

  Yolanda Plata is an American citizen and loves her new country, but still remembers with an aching heart what life was like in Honduras when she lived there as a child and young adult from her birth in the thirties to her escape in  the sixties.  Plata had to endure the suffering of a repressive government.  She knew the consequences for liking the “wrong” candidate in an election.  She was taught to fear and despise the military.  She knew the injustice of everyday life.  And she learned when it was time to flee the country to keep loved ones alive.

  They were the law: where the military was, there was the law.  We used to be afraid of the military.  For sure, people used to be afraid of them.  Here’s one.  I didn’t like them.

  A military coup.  They used to call it buoyeno de facto, factos carne passed.  And then they put someone that they like as president.  That only happened, I think that only happened in the sixties and seventies, sometime in the beginning of the seventies.  From now on they have elected presidents, um, nicely.  And you know who’s the president?  The son - I knew him like this, see (gesturing knee height) - of one of my good friends and your grandpa knows his father and I know his father too.

  Your grandpa used to manage about 300 people because he was in the highway business.  He was the engineer for the Inter American Highway that united in the south and the north of Honduras because we had the something to connect that, did you know that?  So, we decided in one month that we were going to come here and live in the United States, because they [the government] wanted to kill your grandfather.  He didn’t employ anybody who didn’t know.  They know anything, not even how to drive a car!  Your grandpa used to say, “No, no.  I want my job to be complete, you know, with good work who are trained to do this kind of job.”  Because those bridges that were built had to be strong bridges.  Politics were involved there.  They have people that do that, and we knew the person who was going to kill your grandpa. He hired a little boy to try to take care of my yards.  In Honduras, we had big yards, and this guy who grandpa hired, he was sent to kill your grandpa, and the boyfriend of my maid.

  There is trafficking in persons.  You know babies, they go to the hospital for poor people and they give birth to the babies, you know, and these women will take the baby away and give them to American families to adopt, end the babies.  Your grandpa’s brother’s wife was a nurse, and she told me that that used to happen to the babies.  But the government found out and, eh, if they catch anyone, they will send them to this horrible jail that they used to call the PC.

  We have very good lawyers over there, but we do not have jurors.  So, someone committed a crime that I know someone did not commit a crime and she’s in jail right now in Honduras with her son.  I used to know them very good there.  They used to live in Nicaragua.  They were making a mansion in Honduras, building a house.  They had this friend, a girl who used to live there, and all of a sudden she disappeared.  They found the girl in the septic tank.  Can you imagine what a horrible death?  Well, she says she’s innocent, and her son says they’re innocent.  I don’t know.  The establishment decided to put them in jail, the lawyers.  And they were very good friends with your grandfather’s sister, Nina.  They’re still in jail.

  In my time, the jails were not very clean.  The jailors used to treat the prisoners badly.  They used to beat them up, burn them. There was torture.  That was their signature.  I knew a person who was there, and I could see the slashes in his back where the jailers there did do him when he was in jail.  He was a political prisoner.  Especially the political prisoners.  They used to have political prisoners who were in jail because the government put them in jail.  And they used to call it La PC.  We used to be so surprised sometimes and hurt and sad.  They say this criminal, they sent them to the PC.  Think of how someone that you love isn’t there, because you, you can forget it; he’s not going to come back.  He’s disappeared.  They’ll probably die.

  I’m interested in the social problems over there.  The poor little children with their noses running all over, and their big bellies full of worms, holding onto their mother’s skirt, who is going to have another one in a year.  It happens over there.

  One time, I had a little boy, he was in the first grade.  His name was Andrique Madride.  His parents were abusive; lots of parents used to be abusive to the kids.  His little hand was burned because he stole a banana and he shouldn’t have done that.  When he came to class and I saw that, I was so angry, very angry.  And for me to go to work, we used to use bikes.  In the Port of Laseba, we all used bikes.  Well, I took him to Doctor Swatson, he was my doctor, and he fixed up the little hand, he did it free of charge.  He gave him an injection to, so there’s no infection.  And he said he would declare this to the authorities, and he did, he did.  But the thing is, I didn’t like that they took him away from the mother, like his life was in danger.  And you know what?  I don’t know what happened after.

  I saw what it was like, what the parents do to the kids.  It was mainly the poor class, the farmers, who thought physical violence was how to teach children.  I think a spank on the bottom, but not to smack or hit them.

  The only cult worship was Jehovah’s Witnesses.  I remember with my friends, I remember going to see if my boyfriend loved me.  You know all those things teenagers believed in.  All us girls went to this lady.  We paid twenty-five cents, she smoked a big cigar and said, “Oh yes, he loves you!  Here goes the smoke, he loves you.”  Oh!  I think how ignorant I was!  Ha ha ha.

  That’s what happened in those days.

  Interviewed by Brianna Armstrong