I try to keep my head above the onslaught of toxic, destructive behaviors of modern-day swamp creatures, whose malign misconduct is taking root and sprouting like weeds throughout the world. But it’s hard. Really hard. Especially when those very autocratic, narcissistic, deceitful, and self-serving behaviors—that were once rare (or at least minimally visible)—have been normalized everywhere, even in small jungle towns of Costa Rica. It breaks my heart to watch my “fellow” expats defame and disparage many of the locals, with absolutely no understanding or acknowledgment of the differences in the respective cultures. Hurling an insult and/or false accusation at a Costa Rican is a very serious offense in this country, where honor holds far more value than a handful of shekels. Xenophobia kind of sums it up in one beautifully wonky word.
While exploring the mountains and waterfalls above Domincalito a few weeks ago, Karl and I met an inspiring young Tico man whose family used to own most of that mountain. Over the years, they sold several primo lots to various expats, who professed to cherish the land and promised to do no harm. Yeah, well, we all know how that went. Yup, those greedy landgrubbers beat the Ticos out in the courts, using savvy city lawyers to rip away basic, time-honored rights of water, easements, and everything else associated with their cultural heritage, not to mention basic human decency. The young Tico sighed with defeat, saying his family and his people were being colonized. Hunh, imagine that in this day and age.
How to put my sense of moral indignation and outrage to best use? My simmering civil rights activism has been reignited. Never one for the Fantasy Genre in literature, K and I have been brainstorming an idea for a fantasy mini-series where a pack of marauders resembling bulldogs invade a peaceful rural land, known for its simplicity and beauty. Along with the bulldogs come an entourage of their useful idiots, closely resembling yappy chihuahuas. At first receptive to these foreigners, the locals start to suffer under their harsh, autocratic rule. To add more dramatic complexity, add another slew of foreigners who resemble ostriches because you rarely see their heads, which are usually buried in the sand. Throw in a couple of slimy chameleon-types, who are anxious and salivating to scarf up the scraps left behind by the ruling party. The locals, determined to fight for their sovereignty, resort to their tribal sorcerers and jungle herbal potions (can you say ayahuasca?), and let the fantastical fantasy begin!
I dunno…maybe it’s just too close to reality to be marketable.
Judy Richter 