People of Hope
People of hope
photos for Hope International, Guatemala 2018
meet the beautiful people of
Quiché, Guatemala
In 2017 I was taking photography classes at Langara College in Vancouver, and it was there that I met Rainbow, a human with the most beautiful heart.
Rainbow worked in International Development and I shared with her how that had been my dream while I was in university studying social justice.
Life had different plans for me with unsuspected health conditions getting in the way, until I met Rainbow.
She shared about the projects she worked on, and the one that had her heart most, a clean water project in Quiché, Guatemala, through Hope International in partnership with ASUVI. Hope and ASUVI work together with Indigenous communities on development projects, including water and sanitation programs. They also work to help Indigenous communities to have access back to their land and build community-led enterprises.
As Rainbow and I got to know each other, sharing our love for photography, she asked me if I would like to join her team to document the opening of one of their clean water projects in Quiché, Guatemala.
Despite my son only being 3 years old at the time and I could not pass up this opportunity to give back with my camera, to learn about another culture and to hopefully make a difference with my photos.
I’m not an expert in documentary or development photography, but I was guided by extensive research before before this trip, which has been ongoing since as this type of work is truly where my heart lies.
I approached my role as a photographer by my humanity and deep respect for the humanity of others. The photos you see below are from that trip, one that I approached with the utmost care for the people I would meet.
In this post, I’ll share not only the images from those two transformative weeks in Quiché, but also reflect on the ethics and responsibility that comes with this type of cross-cultural documentary work.
I’ll share how I navigated coming into a sacred space as being an outsider with a camera, the approaches I took to build connection and trust, and the questions that guided my work throughout the trip.
At the end of this article, I’ll also share the historical context that shaped these communities from my online research and what was shared with me on the trip. Sadly, like many Indigenous communities the history of Quiché is one rooted in genocide, where the mountains became the only safe refuge for people. This project was not just about clean water, but also about Land Back.
The Weight of the Camera
Ethics in Documentary Photography
Before I even packed my camera for Guatemala, I spent countless hours reflecting on the responsibility that comes with documenting stories within a community I wasn’t part of, entering spaces rooted in Indigenous culture and history that wasn’t my own to claim or interpret.
Too often, photography in development contexts falls into harmful pattern extractive storytelling that imposes outside perspectives onto communities. The images we often see can reinforce stereotypes or strip away cultural context, or work that serves the photographer’s narrative more than honoring the complexity of the lives and stories being shared.
I was acutely aware of my privilege walking into this space, as a white woman from Canada with the resources to travel, carrying expensive equipment into Indigenous communities that had been fighting for basic water access while navigating centuries of colonization and marginalization.
This wasn’t lost on me, and it shaped every decision I made about how to approach this work.
Without a shared language, the community spoke their Indigenous tongue, not English or Spanish, I knew that building trust and connection would have to happen through presence and genuine human interaction rather than words.
I spent my first few days camera-free, sharing meals, playing games with children, and simply being present in the community’s daily rhythms.
I brought a Polaroid camera specifically so I could offer an immediate gift back to anyone whose photo I took.
A small gesture of reciprocity rather than just taking images away with me. I leaned heavily on the guidance of Hope’s staff who understood the cultural context and could help me navigate respectful ways to engage and document.
people of hope
photos for Hope International, Guatemala 2018
The RESPONSIBILITY of a WITNESS
Being a guest, with a camera
Even with limited time, I was intentional about seeking consent not just for individual photos, but being mindful of the broader story I was helping to document.
I showed people images on my camera back, made sure the Polaroid gifts were welcomed, and took cues from community reactions about what felt right to capture.
The goal was never to photograph from my own assumptions about what this project meant, but to witness and document the joy, pride, and achievement that the community was expressing in their own way.
Documentary photography in development contexts requires us to constantly examine our motivations and impact. These images weren’t just about documenting a successful project.
They were about honoring the strength, resilience, and leadership of communities who had fought for and achieved something extraordinary.
For anyone considering similar work here is my advice and feel free to take it or leave it:
go slow, bring gifts that give back immediately, and remember that your role is to witness, not interpret.
The most powerful images often come not from dramatic moments you orchestrate, but from simply being present and ready when communities choose to share their authentic celebrations and daily lives with you.
Your camera is a tool for amplifying stories that already exist – not for creating narratives that serve your own vision of what those stories should be.
people of hope
photos for Hope International, Guatemala 2018
people of hope
photos for Hope International, Guatemala 2018
a note of gratitude
This experience would not have been possible without the incredible work of Hope International and ASUVI, organizations that approach development with genuine partnership and respect for Indigenous communities.
I did have my concerns before partnering with an organization that had roots in religion. Through my research before my trip and experience while on it I found that they their commitment to community led solutions and cultural sensitivity created the framework that allowed me to witness and document this meaningful work.
Most importantly, I am forever grateful to the wonderful people of Quiché who welcomed me into their community with immense warmth and hospitality.
Their spirit of generosity, their strength in the face of challenges, and their joy in celebrating this clean water project will stay with me always.
To the children who played games with me, the families who invited me to share their food, and every person who offered a smile or embrace, thank you for teaching me about resilience, community, and what it truly means to welcome a stranger.
You gave me far more than I could ever give back through these photographs.
This project was a reminder that the most meaningful work happens when we approach each other with open hearts, recognizing our shared humanity across all differences.
Thank you for allowing me to be part of your story, even briefly.
And to Rainbow, who sadly I have lost contact but hope this blog post will make it’s way to her, thank you for inviting me to be part of this work with you.
people of hope
photos for Hope International, Guatemala 2018
Historical Context: The Mountains as Refuge
To understand why the communities we visited had to walk 90 minutes (each way) up and down mountains every day for water, done by the women and children of the community, it’s essential to know the history that drove them to these remote heights in the first place.
During Guatemala’s brutal civil war (1960-1996), particularly in the early 1980s, the Indigenous Maya people of the Quiché region became targets of what would later be recognized as genocide by the United Nations.
The K’iche’ Maya communities, among others, faced systematic persecution under military governments that viewed all Indigenous people as potential allies of guerrilla forces.
Families were forced to choose between staying in their ancestral villages under military control or taking refuge in the mountains. Many families chose the mountains to survive. The K’iche’ families who fled to the mountains were then subjected to military siege and continuous attacks that prevented them from accessing food, shelter, and medical care.
Between 1980 and 1983, the army systematically destroyed more than 400 villages, poisoning water supplies and destroying infrastructure.
According to a 1999 United Nations truth commission, between 70% and 90% of villages in the region were destroyed, and 60% of the population was forced to flee to the mountains between 1982 and 1983. It’s that that between 500,000 and 1.5 million Mayan civilians became displaced during this period.
The communities we visited were survivors and descendants of survivors who had established new lives in these mountainous areas after the violence subsided. The infrastructure they lacked, including access to clean water sources was a direct result of this forced displacement from their ancestral lands and the destruction of their original communities. The daily 90 minute trek for water wasn’t just about geography; it was a legacy of survival, resilience, and the ongoing need to rebuild what was systematically destroyed during one of Latin America’s most devastating genocides.
Nearly 40 years later, the search for justice continues, and the harm caused by the genocide still affects the lives of many Mayan communities today, including access to basic services like clean water. Guatemala’s history of genocide hurts Mayan communities to this day The clean water project we documented represents not just infrastructure development, but a step toward addressing the long-term consequences of historical trauma and displacement.
References
Center for Justice and Accountability. “Guatemala.” CJA. https://cja.org/where-we-work/guatemala/
CNN. “General goes on trial for genocide, 40 years after Guatemala’s bloody civil war.” April 15, 2024. https://www.cnn.com/2024/04/13/americas/guatemala-genocide-trial-maya-ixil-indigenous-intl-latam/index.html
Holocaust Museum Houston. “Genocide In Guatemala.” January 22, 2024. https://hmh.org/library/research/genocide-in-guatemala-guide/
The Conversation. “Guatemala’s history of genocide hurts Mayan communities to this day.” January 29, 2025. https://theconversation.com/guatemalas-history-of-genocide-hurts-mayan-communities-to-this-day-97796
USC Shoah Foundation. “Guatemalan Genocide.” USC Shoah Foundation. https://sfi.usc.edu/collections/guatemalan
Wikipedia. “Guatemalan genocide.” Last modified 2 weeks ago. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guatemalan_genocide
Wikipedia. “Ixil people.” Last modified April 3, 2025. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ixil_people
WLRN. “A Guatemalan genocide trial echoes among South Florida’s Ixil Maya.” May 3, 2024. https://www.wlrn.org/americas/2024-05-01/guatemala-indigenous-ixil-maya-genocide-lucas-garcia-florida-lake-worth
Indigenous Sovereignty and the
Universal Struggle for Land and Dignity
The forced displacement and systematic violence that drove the communities of Quiché into the mountains is tragically not unique to Guatemala.
Around the world, Indigenous peoples continue to face displacement, violence, and the denial of their fundamental rights to their ancestral lands.
Here in so called Canada, where I write this from Coquitlam British Columbia, we live as an uninvited settler on unceded Indigenous territories where First Nations, Métis, and Inuit peoples continue to fight for sovereignty, land rights, and access to clean water, a reality that mirrors what I witnessed in Guatemala.
The ongoing water crises in many First Nations communities across Canada, where boil water advisories have lasted for decades, reflect the same systemic denial of basic human rights that forced the Quiché communities into the mountains.
From the ongoing crisis in Palestine, where families are being forcibly removed from their homes and denied access to basic resources, to the missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls crisis here in Canada, the patterns of oppression remain devastatingly familiar.
The clean water project we documented was more than infrastructure; it was an act of resistance and reclamation. When communities that have been displaced and marginalized gain access to basic human rights like clean water, it represents a step toward the sovereignty and self-determination that should never have been taken from them in the first place.
True justice requires more than acknowledging past wrongs. It demands active support for Indigenous sovereignty movements worldwide and in our own backyards.
This means supporting Land Back initiatives, the calls to action from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission here in Canada, amplifying Indigenous voices, and recognizing that the fight for Indigenous rights is interconnected across all continents.
The resilience I witnessed in Quiché is the same strength that drives Indigenous resistance everywhere, from the Water Protectors at Standing Rock to the Land Defenders here in British Columbia, and it deserves our solidarity and action.
Thanks for Reading!
Hi I’m Michele Mateus, an award winning Vancouver Portrait Photographer specialized in raw portraits with an artistic and editorial edge.
I am the owner and Creative Director of Mateus Studios, a full service portrait and web design studio in Metro Vancouver serving Vancouver, Fraser Valley, Langley, Abbotsford, Squamish, Burnaby, Surrey, North Vancouver, West Vancouver, New Westminster and the Great Vancouver area.
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