Jaime Hernandez — Ecuador

Interviewer: Eugenio Alvarez

Interviewee: Jaime Hernández, farmer, Ecuador

Eugenio: Hello Jaime, and thank you for finding time for this interview. My grandparents were farmers, so I know what a nonstop, demanding way of life it is.

Jaime: You’re right about that, Eugenio, but this is as good a time as any. Things are pretty quiet on the farm, and my adult children are hard workers. Also, a little automation doesn’t hurt. So, I think I can spend a little time with you without any worry.

It’s important to me to leave something for future generations, like the farm for my children and grandchildren. I think this project is kind of like leaving something for the future in a different way.

By the way, how’s your mate? Is it too strong? We grow a very strong blend here.

Eugenio: Oh, it’s the best mate I’ve had in a while!

Can you tell me a little bit about your background and childhood.

Jaime: I’m the fourth of six children: four boys and two girls. We all grew up on this farm. It’s the only home I’ve known.

It’s so beautiful here! We’re close to both Loja and Vilcabamba, so we can get to anything we need but most of our daily needs we make right here.

Like my brothers and sisters, I went to the public school in Loja through sixth grade. I can read and write and do figuring. But my life is on this farm.

My great-great-grandparents bought this farm. It’s been in our family for that long! Each generation has made it better in some ways. We have twenty hectares of land, and we still have some that we haven’t even developed yet. We’ve never been in a rush. First, we make what we have as perfect as it can be, and then we add something new.

Eugenio: What crops do you grow?

Jaime: Now, or when I was growing up?

Eugenio: Now.

Jaime: Let’s see…

For ourselves we grow all of our own vegetables. We have many fruit trees, more than we can eat. Cherimoyas, paltas, manzanas, mangos, papayas, lucumas, and more. Of course we have bananas, plátanos, and others in that family. Potatoes. Melons. And then we have chickens, cows, pigs, and goats for eggs, milk, and meat. And maíz. And sugarcane.

For the market we grow some of those things and some others: bananas and plátanos of course. Melons. Sugarcane and we have our own processing plant. Fine coffee for sale in Cuenca, Loja, Guayaquil, Quito and other cities around the country. We’re very proud of our coffee! Mama and Papá developed that when we were kids. Sambo in season. We make a lot of money around Semana Santa on sambo! We make some cochinilla for export to Europe. We even grow some cotton. Papá always used to say that anything will grow in this land, if you know how to take care of it!

My brothers and I are hoping to try cultivating grapes for the market, and maybe learn to make wine. Ecuadorian wine is becoming well liked in the world.

My sisters are both married and live on their husbands’ families’ farms.

We’re blessed that we have a big extended family. There are always three generations living here so there’s always enough hands for what needs to be done. In a pinch, we and my sisters’ husbands’ families all pitch in and help each other out. We’ve never had to hire outside help.

Eugenio: So, yours is quite a productive, prolific family!

Jaime: We like to think so. We work hard but we also have a lot of ideas and we try some of them. Most of them work out well. Those that don’t, well, then we know.

Eugenio: Would you say yours was one of the wealthier families among the farms in the area before transition? You sound like you’ve been very successful.

Jaime: Well, not really. Don’t get me wrong, we did well. We weren’t poor. But farming is a rocky ride. What you save in good years has to get you through the bad years. And there are a lot of expenses if you want to do it right. Veterinarians are very expensive. What equipment we can use here is also expensive to buy and maintainin properly. Some folks wait until things break and then fix them, but that was even more expensive.

And we invested a lot of what we made in improving our operation so we wouldn’t get stuck in outmoded ways and fall behind.

I’d say we did OK. We always had plenty to eat, and heat when we needed it. We had what we needed. But wealthy? No.

Eugenio: I admire that! So back to your upbringing…

Jaime: Let’s see. To tell you the truth, I never really had a lot of time to think about it but…

Papá y mamá expected all of us to pull our weight as best we could, but they weren’t hard or harsh. As hard as we worked, they always worked harder. They taught us everything they knew, things you wouldn’t learn from a book. Work and play were always mixed together so it wasn’t bad like some families nearby who treated their kids almost like hired hands. There was love and laughs and tears and sweat and everything. They never expected more than we could really do, just the best we could.

As you can see, our home is a patchwork house. It got big because it’s been added onto as it was needed. That house over there is the most recent addition. My wife Elena and I live here and our four children so far; these were once my uncle’s family’s rooms. My brother Juan lives in those rooms over there with his wife Olivia and their little ones, and more of us upstairs. You get the idea. The house grows as the family grows.

I always liked Sundays. We always went into Vilcabamba for Mass. We’d dress up in our best clothes and pile into the truck and drive into town. The Padre was like one of us. He came from Loja. He was one of us.

Mass always felt magical, like I could feel Jesus coming into me. Like I was in a bigger place. You know how some kids have imaginary friends? He was like my special friend who lived inside of me. I talked to Him about things on my mind. I felt like He listened and sometimes I felt like He answered me in a whisper. I still talk to Him.

Then there would be food and playing with the other kids. It was the only time we really got to see each other. Our farms were so far apart. And we went to the Mercado.

There were many gringos in Vilcabamba. We were always looking to see them and wanting to talk to them. It felt almost like traveling there.

But Sunday was a workday like every other. There were cows and goats to milk, eggs to gather, irrigation to tend to, the usual. When Papá got the weeder geese, it made things a lot easier. You know, the special geese that eat most of the weeds and insect pests. We help them and they help us.

Mamá always made Sunday dinner a little special, with postre (dessert) and maybe we kids got to drink a sip or two of wine.

It was like that. That was life. When I was about thirteen, I started to feel a little like I wanted to get out more. I wanted to maybe have a girlfriend. How is that going to happen if I’m always on the farm with only family?

I liked the farm and didn’t mind the work, but I felt like I wanted something more. I think we all went through that. Sure, we had the usual fiestas where everyone got together but it started to feel like it wasn’t enough.

I joined club 4-F (4-H Club) and the Church youth groups. Since almost all of the members were farm kids, things were arranged to work with our way of life.

Since we siblings were all going through the same thing four at a time, our whole family got involved in the Dimitra Clubs because their ideas went well with what you could say was our family philosophy. All of that satisfied my adolescent restlessness.

At fifteen I had my first girlfriend, Sandra Lidia Fuentes. We spent every moment together that we could, though always with a chaperone. It didn’t last in the end because her papa got cancer, so she and her mama had to go to hospital in Quito to support him during his treatment. They were away for almost two years, but her papa survived, came home, jumped up on his horse, and started working like nothing happened. During that time, Sandra got engaged to a man she met in the city and they got married. And after I stopped feeling like my life was over, I fell in love with Elena Juliana Alvarez.

So, life went on and I kept farming, looking forward to carrying on the family tradition of perfecting what we had and adding something new.

A couple of years later Elena and I were married and she joined me on our farm. Life was good then, until it wasn’t.

Eugenio: What happened?

Jaime: After years of supporting us campesinos and shielding us from international agricultural companies like Monsanto, our government suddenly invited them in with open arms. The hijos de putas finally got to them. After la transición, it came out how they had kept sending their people in undercover like foreign spies, looking for people in the government who they could bribe or win over. They did it for many years until they had enough people in the right places in government and then they just opened the doors of ruin. They took a lot more than thirty pieces of silver to betray us, but they did.

At the time we didn’t know that but we were suspicious. Either that or our government had become a bunch of fulanos tontos (stupid fools). Suddenly the radio, TV, Internet and newspapers were full of a bunch of tonterías (BS) talking about how it was time for Ecuador to embrace the great new revolutionary advances in agricultural science that would triple our productivity and usher in a new era of progress and prosperity.

Eugenio: And did it?

Jaime: Sure, for Monsanto and their kind! They got rich and we got sick.

Eugenio: How so?

Jaime: They convinced many rural municipalities to pay them to spray their chemicals, their veneno, pretty much where they wanted to, in the name of eliminating common insect pests and weeds.

Maybe that would not have been so bad if they had bothered to sit down with us and discuss where to do it, how, and when. We would have listened and discussed it with them in good faith. We could have advised them how to do it in the best way, or maybe explained why it wasn’t a good idea if it wasn’t. Maybe it might have done some good. We will never know. But they knew nothing of this place. They thought we were just a bunch of ignorant campesinos so they sprayed willy-nilly, even sprayed right over people’s farms!

Not only did the bichos (bugs) remain, but the weeds got worse. Their poisons fell in the wrong places, killed good plants and even crops, so the weeds came in and spread like a wildfire. Some streams were poisoned, dead fish and frogs and things all along them. Like I said, some crops were ruined. Some chickens and livestock died or got sick. Some people also got sick, and three children died.

We crowded into the municipality government and demanded that this stop. We were told that we we’re exaggerating, that the chemicals were safe so our misfortunes must be due to some other cause, and that the spraying was completely legal. Then they told us to go home, or they would have us all arrested.

So we went home. But we took a different step. All of us. Whenever someone saw one of their planes, we would shoot at it with our rifles and shotguns when they got low enough to spray. That scared them off for a while.

Then the soldiers came. Some were real soldiers but we could see that some were hired asesinos from the company. There was fighting. We had no choice. The government declared a state of emergency. They threatened to imprison and jail any farmer who shot at their planes or other equipment.

Eugenio: I read about that confrontation. It sounds pretty savage.

Jaime: It was. It was like the government and the army were working for the company, but that wasn’t enough for them. They brought in their asesinos because these weren’t bound by the international rules of warfare. They would not hesitate to shoot someone in the head in front of their family.

So, we fought. We fought hard with everything we had. They underestimated us. We had dynamite and home-made gunpowder that they didn’t know about. And we had our own poisons to use against them. We caused avalanches to destroy a lot of their equipment and ruin their landing fields. I’m not proud of some things I did, but they were the ones who came in and started destroying our lives and livelihoods and then left us with no peaceful way to stop them. So, it was war. Real war. It could have been a lot worse but still, too many people died.

Padre Sebastian urged us to avoid violence, but he also understood. When people started getting sick and dying, and our livestock and crops, we went to the municipality for help and they sent us away. We had to defend ourselves as best we could. There is no shame in defending yourself or your family and neighbors when you have to.

For what seemed like a long time, we had what you call a stalemate. Neither side could advance but neither side would back down. But at least the spraying stopped, and we could get back to some farming, though now we needed to watch for snipers and be ready to snipe back.

Eugenio: So, what happened next, and where did la transición come into the picture?

Jaime: We heard about the transición in Costa Rica as soon as it happened. And then Suriname, Guyana, Peru, and others. We didn’t have time to listen to the news, but our parish Padre was no typical Padre. Oh, he was a real Padre, but he also had his own ideas which, if you ask me, were right alongside Jesus’ teaching and life. He was all about making things better for the people, for us. It was all about helping people and relieving suffering.

One day, before the crisis, his sermon had something a little different. At the end, he asked us if we could stay after services to share food because he had something important to tell us about. Of course we stayed.

That’s when he told us about La Cura (The Cure). He told us about this book that had come to him, but he wouldn’t say from where. He told us it was the key to ending much unnecessary human suffering right here and now. Then every Sunday he would read from it, and we would listen. Since he was one of us, he knew which parts we would need to have explained to us, so he was the perfect one to read it to us. Of course he read us the short version.

We had to learn about a whole lot of things we’d never known, heard of, or thought about before, but it made sense, and we were entranced. Excited!

By the time he had finished the book with us, we were eager to get started, but we were far from the cities. Vilcabamba was a small town and Loja wasn’t exactly Guayaquil. We were a long ways from the center of things. We asked Padre Sebastian about this, and he said there was a lot we could do where we were. He explained about how to stop paying for and asking payment for things. Those who didn’t own their farms, don’t pay your rent or mortgage. Many families had mortgages. Ignore landlords and other people of economic power, but always be respectful and avoid starting violence.

He told us about the satellite phones we would receive soon and explained about live-streaming so the world will see the truth and not what the padrones and jefes wanted them to see. We all had cell phones of course, but they weren’t very useful up in the mountains where most of our farms are. The satellite phones would let us talk to the world.

We later used those satellite phones to video the confrontations with the asesinos and show their planes spraying everywhere, and the ruined crops, the sick and dead livestock, the sick people. But the Padre told us not to stream this until after transición.

Meanwhile every Sunday, he would give us news of how the wave of transición awareness was growing around the country. He explained that more and more people had to know about it and either read the book or know what it said from those who had read it. Then when enough people were aware and wanting it to happen, a date would be agreed upon and then it would happen. So, we had to be patient. If we tried to make it happen here before it was ready, then it would be like trying to light a fire in wet wood.

Soon we got news that it was spreading in all of the big cities and most towns. It was free online so it was easy to get and pass around from person to person. At that point I don’t think the government had any idea that it was near.

Then one Sunday Padre Sebastián had the satellite phones. Hundreds of them. He gave them out. He taught us how to use them and how to livestream. We lost some work hours that day but after that we were ready.

But then, before a date could be agreed upon, the crisis happened.

Eugenio: How did the crisis affect the coming transición?

Jaime: It did delay it of course. The crisis was out here in the campo (country), but the new government policies were hurting people in the cities too, in different ways. So, people were receptive to the ideas in the book because the book talked about exactly what was happening to them.

After lifetimes of mostly protecting Ecuador and Ecuadorians from exploitation and other harm from big foreign companies in general, and of stopping domestic companies from exploitative and harmful practices, the government completely abandoned us and reversed their thinking. It was like there was a coup, a silent, secret coup with no tanks in the streets, but still deadly. Like I said, later we learned that there was in fact a coup. It was just a sneaky, cowardly coup. But those responsible were held to account in the end.

While we were having our crisis, people in the cities and towns were having theirs. Prices of everything went up. Laws protecting workers were undone. Laws protecting customers were undone. Laws protecting our precious natural resources and environment were undone. Taxes went down on foreign companies and on the rich but went up on everyone else.

While this was happening, La Cura was spreading like the light from the rising sun. I think maybe the tragedies brought by the new corrupt government, the timing of them soon after the movement of transiciones began, actually helped it spread faster, like wind fanning a fire.

It was a time like none before or since. Before that, people in the country and in the city hadn’t had much contact. But now through the Internet and the satellite phones, the whole nation was talking and texting with each other. Usually not personally, but there was like this big discussion.

The date was chosen. The government and their and foreign businessmen masters were having a feeding frenzy like pigs at a trough. They were greedy and arrogant and foolish. They didn’t take it seriously or see it coming.

So, when the day came, they were unprepared.

Padre Sebastián had confirmed the date with us, in case anyone had missed it due to bad reception. A Sunday was chosen because most businesses were closed, and it gave more time to shut down banks and delete account information and prune the finance out of systems.

After Mass, the Padre brought out a television and we watched La Declaración in silence, then we had the biggest fiesta! Then we went home to work.

It wasn’t until Monday that the landlords and banks and for us the most important, Monsanto really learned of transición, or before they understood that it had actually happened. Before that they had thought it was just words.

Monday we all came to the church again, whoever could. We had to leave some people at home to work and to defend it from attacks or spraying like we’d been doing since the crisis began.

They had drones and we had drones. Our drones showed us something new. A lot of movement of their people. Then we saw something new.

The Monsanto asesinos started getting ready to attack our area. But the real Army soldiers (and some Marines) didn’t join them and support them this time, except for a very few, maybe one in five.

Instead, the soldiers pointed their weapons at the asesinos and their own traitors who had joined them, and they blocked them from moving ahead. There was a stand-off.

Then the asesinos tried to rush past the soldiers, firing their weapons and driving in their trucks. The soldiers fired back. There was a big battle. We could hear it from inside the church in town!

One by one our drones shot down their drones. The battle lasted for three days. The Army brought in big helicopters and many more soldiers. They also bombed where the asesinos were.

The asesinos didn’t have bomber planes but they tried to spray the soldiers with poison from their planes. The soldiers and helicopters shot them down quickly.

The Padre kept one television on the news and another on the army feed. We heard about similar situations in every part of the country. Padre Sebastian told us to stay at the church, and people at home stay home. Don’t try to go out until the battles are over. We could talk to our familiares and compañeros at home on our satellite phones. Meanwhile, everyone was live streaming, especially from the farms and where there was a clear view of the battles.

Late in the third day it was obvious that the asesinos were running short of everything. The real soldiers of course were always replenished and many more came. The asesinos were on their own. Their jefes at Monsanto were cut off and the company dissolved in Ecuador. And no one would be paying these asesinos, but they didn’t know it yet.

Finally, they put their weapons down and their hands up. They surrendered and the soldiers captured them and took them away. Then we could see medics taking care of all of the wounded.

After Padre Sebastian said a prayer of thanks and prayed for the dead and wounded, we all went home. Everyone in our family was still alive and whole.

By the fourth day after transición, the fighting was over everywhere.

Eugenio: What happened after that?

Jaime: Life went on as always. We kept farming and going to church and all the normal things.

Eugenio: What changed after transición!

Jaime: Not as much as you probably think. I think things changed a lot more in the cities than where we are.

Mostly, life was a lot like before, but yes, some things changed.

Those who had rented or had mortgages before were suddenly feee from those burdens and were able to thrive and develop their farms like we’ve always done. Having to pay the bank or landlord every month just to be there made it too hard for those unfortunate souls to do much more than get by. Our family was among the more fortunate ones.

When the bad change in government came and changed the laws, a lot of banks told a lot of farmers that they were going to foreclose and take away their farms. Always before that, the banks knew that if farmers got behind because of a bad year, they would make up for it in a good year. But that changed very quickly. Many families were about to be homeless or else become tenants in their own homes. Now that threat was gone. Everyone went on with their lives.

Now when we need something or want to do something, we don’t have to worry about whether we can afford it, or it the price has gone up.

I mentioned our interest in growing grapes and making wine. Before, we would have had to worry about first of all when we would have the time, and then the money, and when one of us could be spared to take a course and training so we would know how to do it right. And then we would have to find where to find this course. Now, when we have time, we will invite a vintner instructor from the sindicato de viticultores to come stay with us for a few weeks and teach us right here. We’ll go get all of the materials we need so we’ll be ready, and that will be it.

I’ll do the same with my pet project: permaculture. There is a center for that in Vilcabamba. That’s so close, I can go there for a few hours every few days, then get seeds, seedlings, and materials from there and bring them home. Imagine being able to grow so many crops together on such a small piece of land, and if you do it right, it almost runs on its own!

Since no one anywhere has to worry about funding anymore, we have a lot more outreach and support systems and resources than ever before. And we now have steady power from solar, wind, and water wheels. There’s no power bill to pay and we don’t need the grid anyway. Our backup generator sits shiny and well-oiled in its shed, but we haven’t had to use it in years.

The schools are a lot better than they were. And politicians in general are less corrupt than before. The quality of everything from farm implements and machines to clothes and shoes is better than we could have dreamed of before. We use things hard, and they just don’t break like they used to. Things usually last.

Our life before was good. I don’t complain. But since transición, it’s been better than we could have expected or thought likely. People are less stressed. We mostly got along well before, but now we get along better than before.

NuevoRedMundiale keeps us connected with the rest of the country and the world. We don’t spend much time in front of the computer, but if I want to know how much need is expected next year for cherimoyas, I can find it there. I can even directly exchange messages with people in government in Quito. It takes a little time for them to answer because they’re so busy, but they usually do answer. That never could have happened before! I actually saw a suggestion that I made directly to the Minister of Agriculture become part of a new law meant to improve our use of some natural resources that few people outside of our area even thought were good for anything. I know it was my suggestion because after that I was honored as Innovadora agrícola del mes (Agricultural Innovator of the Month) on NuevoRedMundiale and a TV crew came out to do a segment on me. I was interviewed by Estrella Montes herself! And they brought Elena and me to Quito for a two-day visit. Of course we could have gone there any time, but knowing us, we never would have. And nothing is better then being invited. It was a treat.

Eugenio: Why do you still do it? You could step back and take it a little easy. Before transición, they would have said you’ve earned it. As you said, you have enough hands and I’m sure your family would not begrudge you.

Jaime: I love it! Sure I’ve had cuts and bruises and broken bones like everyone! Sure I have little aches and pains as I get older. But to me, this farm is like a painter with their canvas. It keeps my mind and body fresh and strong. I love knowing that people all over Ecuador are enjoying our coffee and will one day be enjoying our wines. I feel like I’m touching each of them and giving them a smile or an “Aaaaah!” And the food we raise for ourselves tastes better than anything!

Besides, what would I do if I wasn’t farming? Sit around and watch TV? Chase grasshoppers? Count the spots on the back of my hands? I’d go out of my mind!

Maybe one day my body may give out and need more rest and less work. If that happens, I’ll probably join one of the agricultural trainer sindicatos and teach young and new farmers. With all that I’ve learned, I could probably teach at a college or university, or a politécnica!

Maybe one day my mind will give out, but then I won’t know it, will I?

Eugenio: I like your spirit! What advice do you have for future generations?

Jaime: Just this: the world is better now than it’s ever been. But it can be better. Do your best to leave it even a little better than you found it. Don’t keep growing the same crops in the same way your great-great-great grandparents did, unless that’s really the best way there is. Keep what you came into that’s good but add on to it. Not in quantity, but in quality and variety! If you’re in the city, you can, what do they say? “Do the math” to see what that means to you.

Learn deeply from the past. Never forget it. Plan for the future and have good goals. But keep you’re eyes and mind mostly on what’s in front of you. And don’t be afraid of hard work! Anything worth dreaming is worth working hard for!

And cherish your greatest treasures: your family and community and friends! And yourself. Your life is a great gift, a miracle! Live it fully! Be good to yourself and to others! And whatever you do, don’t you dare ever give up in the face of a challenge!

Don’t worry about dying. Live! When death comes, if you live a good life, death will come as a friend. At least that’s what I believe. And if you have faith, worship in everything you do, not just in your church.

That’s all I can think of.

Eugenio: Thank you, Jaime!

How would you feel about doing this again in a few years?

Jaime: You are always welcome at our farm. If I’m still around, I’ll pour you another mate and we’ll talk. If I’m not, you can talk to whoever’s here. We are a very friendly family.

Eugenio: Thank you sincerely, Jaime.

Jaime: It’s been my pleasure.