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- [00:00]
Vanessa Richardson
Foreign.
- [00:07]
Mochi Health Advertiser
This is Crime House.
- [00:12]
Vanessa Richardson
On a summer morning in 1954, a ship sailed away from the docks in New Orleans. If you were watching, it would have looked like any other United Fruit Company boat, the kind that carried bananas down to Central America every week. But. But this ship wasn't carrying fruit. Hidden below deck were crates of guns, bombs and ammunition bound for a secret army the CIA had been training in Honduras. The operation had a codename, PB Success. According to an internal CIA memo, its mission was to, quote, remove covertly and without bloodshed if possible, the menace of the present communist controlled government of Guatemala. There was just one problem. Guatemala's government wasn't controlled by communists. It was led by President Jacobo Arbenz, who'd been democratically elected. His only crime was standing up to the most powerful fruit company on the planet. And for that, he was about to pay the ultimate price. From UFO cults and mass suicides to secret CIA experiments, presidential assassinations, and murderous doctors, these aren't just theories. They're real stories that blur the line between fact and fiction. I'm Vanessa Richardson and this is Conspiracy Cults and Crimes, a crime House original powered by Pave Studios. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I'll explore the real people at the center of the world's most shocking events and nefarious organizations. These cases are wild and I want to hear what you think at the end of each episode. Leave a comment wherever you listen. Be sure to rate, review and follow conspiracy theories, Cults and Crimes to continue building this community together. And for ad free access to all three episodes, subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. And remember, these Monday episodes will also be on YouTube with full video. You can find them every Saturday. Just search for conspiracy theories, cults and crimes and be sure to like and subscribe. Today, I'm diving into the story of the United Fruit Company, a corporation so powerful it toppled a government, triggered a civil war, and reshaped an entire country, all to protect its hold on one thing. The banana. It might sound absurd, but I promise this story is about so much more than fruit. It's about what happens when corporate money, cold war paranoia, and unchecked power collide. All that and more coming up.
- [02:59]
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- [04:14]
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- [04:42]
Vanessa Richardson
if you were designing the perfect fruit, you'd probably end up with something close to a banana. It grows fast in tropical climates. It comes in its own packaging. It's loaded with potassium, fiber, and vitamins, and most importantly, it has a long ripening cycle that means you can pick it green in the jungle and ship it halfway around the world before it's ready to eat. That combination, cheap to grow, easy to move, impossible not to like made the banana one of the most important commodities in modern history, and it made the people who controlled it extraordinarily powerful. Of course, things didn't start that way. Humans have been eating bananas for about 10,000 years. The earliest evidence comes from Papua New guinea, one of the first agricultural societies in the world. From there, the plant traveled to China, then South Asia, then Africa, slowly evolving along the way into the fruit we know today. When European colonizers reached the Americas in the 1500s, they brought banana plantations with them. The Caribbean and Central America had the perfect climate hot, humid, and green year round. And the colonizers had a ready workforce, the indigenous people they'd conquered and enslaved for centuries. Those plantations kept running, but bananas stayed regional. The fruit was too delicate to Travel far. It wasn't until refrigerated shipping caught up in the late 1800s that bananas became something bigger, something global. And it was all thanks to one man. Sam Zimmeri was born Shmuel Zimri on January 18, 1877, on his parents wheat farm in what is now Moldova. He was Jewish, born in the Russian empire, which meant his family was confined to the Pale of Settlement, a vast stretch of territory where Jews were legally required to live in. They were locked out of most professions, barred from owning certain kinds of land, and trapped in a cycle of poverty that was enforced by law. Sam's family was no exception. And things only got more difficult when his father died. Sam was 14. The next year he sailed to America with his aunt, passing under the Statue of Liberty on his way into New York. He eventually made his way to Selma, Alabama, where his uncle ran a general store. He so here Sam was 15 years old in a new country where he barely spoke the language, with basically no money to his name. Most people probably would have been terrified. But Sam Zemuri had something that couldn't be taught. He was relentlessly, almost pathologically ambitious. He was always looking for a way up. And in 1893, when he was just 16 years old, he found it. The story goes like Sam stepped out of his uncle's store one afternoon and heard a voice calling from the alley. A fruit peddler was selling something Sam had never seen before. A long yellow thing with a peel. Like most Americans in 1893, Sam had no idea what a banana was. He started asking questions. Where does it come from? How much does it cost? Can you make money selling it? Then he tore off the peel, took a bite, and his life changed. The banana industry in America was just starting to take off, and Sam got in at the very beginning. Within two years, he was heading down to the harbor in Mobile, Alabama and buying up the bananas that importers couldn't sell. Fruit that was a day or two from overripening where they saw garbage. Sam saw opportunity. He loaded the bananas onto a rented train car and sold them at stops across the south, undercutting everyone else's prices. Within a year, he'd made over a hundred thousand dollars. That's nearly $4 million today. People started calling him Sam the Banana man. He was 18 years old. Over the next 15 years, the banana went from being a novelty to a staple across America. And Sam went from selling someone else's cast offs to owning the whole, whole operation. He founded the kuya Mel Fruit Co. Out of New Orleans pioneered new agricultural techniques and built a network of contacts in Central American governments. By 1910, at 33 years old, he'd used that money and those connections to buy up thousands of acres of plantation land in Honduras. He staffed those plantations with migrant workers and bribed government officials to to avoid paying taxes. The arrangement worked beautifully until the government changed its terms. By 1910, Honduras was drowning in debt. It owed the United Kingdom. The country's leadership was corrupt and struggling, and the US Government saw an opening. They proposed handing Honduras's finances over to the bank JP Morgan, which would collect taxes and stabilize the economy. That was a disaster for Sam. His entire business model depended on cheap labor and sweetheart tax deals. An American bank doing things by the books would end all of that. The Secretary of State at the time, Philander Knox, knew Sam would try to interfere. He called him to Washington D.C. and told him directly, quote, don't meddle, keep your head down, stay out of it. Sam smiled and nodded. And then he did exactly what he wanted. Back in New Orleans, Sam had been quietly building connections. The city's old money Southern aristocracy largely rejected him. He was a poor Eastern European Jew, and they never let him forget it. But Sam wasn't interested in their approval. He was playing a longer game, one that started in a rundown bar near the city docks. The that's where Sam found Manuel Bonilla, the former President of Honduras. Bonilla had been friendly to foreign business, maybe too friendly, and had been overthrown three years earlier. He'd fled to the US and was looking for a way back. Sam had the money. Bonilla had the name. All they needed was an army. They found their general in Lee Christmas, an American mercenary from Louisiana who'd fought on both sides of Honduran conference conflicts, sometimes for Bonilla and sometimes against him, depending on who was paying more. That made him the leading expert on fighting in Honduras. Christmas assembled a small force of about 100 mercenaries bankrolled entirely by Cuyamel Fruit. Bonilla and his men left New Orleans on Christmas Eve 1910 on a decommissioned Navy warship. Their departure wasn't exactly a secret. The New York Times even reported on it. Even so, the Honduran government wasn't prepared. They couldn't match the money Sam was throwing around. Local soldiers and guards were bribed to switch sides mid battle. The US government tried to intervene and stop the mercenaries, but that only backfired. It made the rebels look like the real Hondurans, fighting against a government propped up by foreign powers. Never mind that the rebels were also bankrolled by a foreigner. On January 25, 1911, the rebel forces broke through the capital. Hundreds of Hondurans died in the fighting. Not long after, a provincial government was established, with Manuel Bonilla at the head. Over a year later, in February 1912, he was officially sworn in as president again. His first official act was giving massive tax breaks and additional land to Cuyamell Fruit Company. Sam had successfully overthrown a government to protect his bottom line. And now he was so powerful that even the US State Department couldn't touch him. He was 35 years old, and he was just getting started. Over the next two decades, Sam went to war. Not with a government this time, but with the most powerful fruit company on the planet. The United Fruit Company. United Fruit had been formed in 1899, and by the 1910s, it was the dominant force in the banana trade. Sam didn't care. He expanded Kuyamel into all kinds of fruit and went after United Fruit's market share however he could. The two companies sued each other, sabotaged each other's operations abroad, and even stockpiled weapons along their competing plantation borders. It was an actual corporate owner arms race. In 1929, with the US stock market collapsing, Sam made a deal. He sold Kuyamel to United fruit for roughly $32 million. That's the equivalent of more than $600 million today. The agreement required him to retire from the banana business for good. Sam built a mansion in New Orleans, settled in with his family and tried to relax. That lasted about two years. When United Fruit stock cratered during the Great Depression, Sam quietly bought out the other shareholders. Then he walked into the boardroom, removed every member of the board and installed himself at the top. He righted the ship, turned the company profitable again, and started expanding, buying up more land across Central America, from Honduras to Costa Rica and above all, Guatemala. By the time the global economy recovered after World War II, United Fruit was bigger than ever. It was the largest landowner in Guatemala, the largest employer in Central America, and one of the most powerful corporations on earth. And Sam Zamuri controlled all of it. But in the countries where he exercised that power, something was shifting. And for the first time in decades, someone was willing to stand up to Sam the banana man.
- [14:53]
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- [15:27]
Vanessa Richardson
Do you want to sneak past the crime scene tape to explore the key evidence behind some of the most gripping true crime cases? I'm Morgan Absher. And I'm Kalyn Moore, and we'd love for you to check out our new show Clues. Each Wednesday, I piece together the timelines and break down the hard facts, digging into forensic details, investigative techniques, and everything that led to justice or didn't. And while Kaelyn dives into the facts, I'm pulling at the threads, digging through the Internet theories and looking at the details that may or may not add up. From serial killers to shocking cold cases, we shine a light on the stone stories that have been waiting, sometimes for decades, to finally be heard. So join us as we uncover the breakthroughs, the heartbreak, and the relentless pursuit of answers behind the world's most unforgettable investigations. Come open a case file with us every Wednesday and listen to clues wherever you get your podcasts. To understand what United Fruit did to Guatemala, we have to go back several decades. By the early 1900s, the company had struck an unusual deal with the government. Since they already had the roads and infrastructure, they started running the country's postal service. That gave United Fruit enormous leverage, control over communications, transportation, and the government. Officials who depended depended on both. From there, the company bribed officials to undervalue the land it was buying so it could pay way less in taxes. Then United Fruit created the Tropical Radio and Telegraph Company, which managed radio communications across Central America. The money that flowed in let them buy even more land. By the 1930s, the company owned over 3.5 million acres in the region and and most of it sat undeveloped. They weren't even using most of the land, they just didn't want anyone else to have it. By then, United Fruit was also the largest employer in Central America. For the poorest Guatemalans, there was no other option. Some started working the plantations as young as 13. The work was grueling, the pay was barely enough to survive on, and the company controlled not just the land, but the housing, the stores and the transportation. If you worked for United Fruit, your entire life belonged to United Fruit. And all of it had the full support of the Guatemalan government and military. From 1931 to 1944, Guatemala was ruled by a man named Jorge Ubico. He ran the country the way a warden runs a prison. He terrorized his own citizens, crushed dissent and gave United Fruit whatever it wanted. Ubico didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was. In 1944, he said, quote, I am like Hitler. I execute first and give trial afterwards. End quote. That wasn't an exaggeration. In 1934, three years into his dictatorship, Ubico rounded up thousands of suspected dissenters. They were pulled from their homes, tortured and executed. The country was paralyzed by fear. For a decade, no one dared speak against him. But by the summer of 1944, cracks were forming. Hitler's regime was collapsing in Europe and the ideology that Ubiko openly modeled himself on was losing. Students and left wing organizers began protesting in the streets, nonviolently, but persistently. Ubiko tried to hold on. He couldn't and was forced to step down. In his place, he installed three military officers to run the country. They continued the same brutal policies and continued backing United Fruit. But four months later, a 31 year old military captain named Jacobo Arbenz decided he'd had enough. Arbenz didn't start out as a revolutionary. He was born. Born on September 14, 1913, in Guatemala's second largest city, Quetzaltenango. His father was a Swiss immigrant, blonde hair, blue eyes, who had moved to Guatemala in 1901 and set up a successful pharmacy. His mother was Guatemalan, but of European descent as well. The family was wealthy, social and well liked. Arbenz could have coasted. He had plans to study economics at university. But those dreams collapsed when his father became addicted to the morphine he sold at the pharmacy. The money disappeared and his father tragically died by suicide. With no path forward, Arbenz entered the military academy at 14. He turned out to be exceptional and graduated at 18 with one of the best academic records anyone could remember. He quickly rose through the ranks and became close with another top soldier, Carlos Enrique Diaz. That friendship would matter later. After graduating, Arbenz was stationed all around the country, including at plantations and chain gang prisons. That's when Arbenz truly began to understand how his own people suffered while United Fruit only got richer. He also started to connect the dots between his father's downfall and the system that had swallowed God Guatemala whole. Not long after, he met a woman named Maria Villanova, the daughter of a wealthy coffee farmer from El Salvador. She was educated, political and furious about the way the upper classes exploited everyone beneath them. They fell in love And Maria sharpened everything Arbenz already felt. She taught him to see the system clearly. How the wealth of a few depended on the suffering of many, many. And how companies like United Fruit kept the whole arrangement in place. They bonded over their beliefs and married in 1938. Arbenz's politics only grew more radical the older he got. By 1944, Arbenz was 31, a captain in the military and the commander of all the cadets at the academy where he'd once been a student. He'd spent a decade watching his country get big, bled dry. And now he was done watching. On October 20, 1944, Arbenz coordinated with other military officers and left wing leaders and they stormed the National Palace. As the longtime captain of the military academy, he had the loyalty of much of the army. The regime surrendered the next day. Two months later, Guatemala held its first free elections in decades. A philosophy professor named Juan Jose Arevalo won the presidency in a landslide. Running on expanded civil rights, literacy programs and a higher minimum wage, he made Arbenz his Minister of National Defense. For the first time in years, something seemed to be going right. Guatemala had a real democracy. People could speak freely. The country was building something new. KNEW Then, in 1949, right wing members of the military tried to overthrow the new government and drag the country back to dictatorship. Arbenz personally led the defense and stopped the coup. It confirmed something the country already suspected, that Arbenz wasn't just a soldier, he was a leader. In 1950, as Arevolo's six year term was ending, Arbenz ran for president. And he won. He was 37 years old. He'd gone from a fatherless teenager in a military academy to the democratically elected leader of his country. And he had one thing on his mind, the United Fruit Company. He knew exactly how to fight them. He knew it would be dangerous, and he did it anyway. On Jeff June 17, 1952, Jacobo Arbenz signed Decree 900. It gave the government authority to seize uncultivated land from large plantations and redistribute it to more than 500,000 workers. There was no doubt about who Arbenz was targeting. The only landowner decree 900 applied to was United Fruit. In his speech afterward, Arbenz said that he intended, intended to, quote, put an end to the semi feudal practices, giving the land to thousands of peasants, raising their purchasing power and creating a great internal market favorable to the developments of domestic industry. He chose every word carefully. He wasn't anti capitalist, he wasn't pro Soviet. He was against a foreign corporation owning his country. He even even offered to pay United Fruit for the land. But here's where it gets ironic. He based the price on the value United Fruit had declared on its tax filings. The company had been undervaluing its land for years to dodge taxes. Now that same lowball number was being used against them. And they were furious about it. Sam Zimmeri, still running the company at 75, was livid. So he started doing what he'd always done, making a plan. United Fruit launched a PR blitz in America. They sent pamphlets to every member of Congress declaring Arbenz a communist agent of the Soviet Union. They used their media connections to plant unfavorable stories about Arbenz and his wife. They even produced a propaganda film called why the Kremlin Hates Bananas. But the PR campaign was just the opening move. Sam wanted Arbenz gone. And this time he didn't have to hire mercenaries on his own. He had something better. The Dulles brothers, Allen and John Foster Dulles, had been American power players for decades. During World War II, Allen had been the top spy in Europe, running intelligence for the oss, the precursor to the CIA. He'd even tried to negotiate secretly with the Nazis against the the President's direct orders because he saw the Soviet Union as the bigger threat. John Foster had been a diplomat since World War I. In between government jobs, both brothers worked at the corporate law firm Sullivan and Cromwell. Their client list included Nazi backed weapons companies and you guessed it, the United Fruit Company. Sam Zimuri was a close ally. He'd even appointed the Dulles brothers to United Franklin Fruits Board. So when Sam called Alan Dulles about his problem in Guatemala, Dulles didn't hesitate. Especially because he was now the director of the CIA. And his brother John Foster, he'd just become Eisenhower's Secretary of State. Between them, the Dulles brothers had control over American intelligence and American diplomacy. Under Eisenhower, they essentially had free reign to target whoever they want, wanted as long as it was in the name of protecting capitalism and democracy. But oftentimes, their targets just happened to threaten American business interests. In August of 1953, the CIA overthrew Iran's democratically elected Prime Minister because he'd threatened to take back oil production from British and American companies. They replaced him with the Shah of Iran, who ruled, ruled with a brutal secret police while keeping the oil flowing. That success made the agency hungry for more. And there was no question about their next target. In late 1953, the Dulles brothers convinced Eisenhower that Guatemala was A communist threat. Eisenhower approved the mission. The CIA started collaborating with Samza Murray to plan the coup. They needed a figurehead, someone to lead the rebels and give the whole thing a Guatemalan figure face. Sam found their man, Carlos Castillo Armas, a far right military officer who'd gone into exile after Arbenz crushed his uprising in 1949. When Sam tracked him down, Armas was selling furniture in Honduras. Sam hired him for the job. Arbenz knew what was coming. He issued a public statement accusing the U.S. government and United Fruit of conspiracy aspiring to remove him. In response, the US called him paranoid and accused him of being a Soviet puppet. But they were also willing to make him a deal. The American ambassador to Guatemala offered Arbenz $2 million in a Swiss bank account to stop his land reforms. Arbenz turned it down. He wasn't going to back down, not when the fate of his country was at stake. In he told his best friend Carlos Enrique Diaz, now the head of the armed forces, to prepare the military for war. All he could do was hope his country would be ready.
- [28:34]
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- [29:04]
Vanessa Richardson
the morning of June 15, 1954, 77 year old Samsa Murray stood on the docks in New Orleans and to went watched a United Fruit ship pull away. No one on board knew what the ship was actually carrying. Not bananas, but guns, bombs and ammunition, all bound for Honduras, where the CIA had been training a rebel army of 480 defected Guatemalan soldiers. The operation now had a name. PB Success in Guatemala City, Jacobo Arbenz was trying to prepare. His land reforms were working. Hundreds of thousands of peasants could afford to live. For the first time, he was determined to protect that. But the odds were stacking against him. The US had pressured its allies to ban weapons sales to Guatemala. With no other options, Arbenz was forced to buy guns from communist Czechoslovakia. He'd spent years trying to prove he wasn't a communist. Now, out of desperation, he'd handed his enemies to exactly the evidence they needed. Conservative members of his own military were furious about the deal. The ground beneath Arbenz was already crumbling and the attack hadn't even started yet. On June 18, 1954, the CIA made its first move. But it wasn't a bullet. It was a carefully crafted lie. They flooded Guatemala City with fake emergency radio broadcasts announcing that rebel forces were closing in on the capital. Speakers hidden throughout the city blasted the sounds of bombs and gunfire. None of it was real, but the people didn't know that. Panic spread through the streets. That was the point. Cause chaos first, then unleash the violence. When the actual rebels landed on Guatemala's coast, they had every advantage. Money could buy United fruits, weapons, the CIA's training and money, most importantly, cash. The Czechoslovakia deal and the misinformation campaign had already shaken the Guatemalan military's confidence. Officers didn't want to fight an enemy backed by the United States, especially when that enemy was handing out bribes. One general accepted $60,000, that's nearly $800,000 today, to surrender his troops. The soldiers who did fight were outgunned. The US supplied weapons were far superior to what Arbenz had purchased from Czechoslovakia. The rebel force was small, only 480 men. But with the money flowing and the morale collapsing, the army lost ground fast. After a few days, the CIA moved to the final phase. The fake bombs became real ones. US sponsored planes began firing on Guatemala City. Buildings shook. Civilians ran for cover. The capital that had been tricked into panic a week earlier was now living through the real thing. At that point, Carlos Enrique Diaz, Arbenz's oldest friend and the man he'd trusted to defend the country, looked at the situation and made his choice. On June 26, eight days after the attack began, he surrendered on behalf of the armed forces. Meanwhile, Arbenz was in the Presidential palace drinking. His wife and their children were hiding in the bathroom, pressing themselves against the tile as explosions rattled the building overhead. The same US Ambassador who had tried to bribe him months earlier walked into the palace and delivered the news about Diaz. The message military had given up. The fight was over, he told Arbenz plainly. Resign or be killed, either by the rebels closing in or by his own military. There was no third option. Arbenz knew he was right. In an effort to spare his people from more bloodshed, he agreed to step down. On June 27, 1954, almost exactly two years after signing Decree 900, Jacobo Arbenz sat at his desk and recorded his farewell address. He knew what was about to happen. The rebels would return the land to united fruit. The peasants who had finally been able to feed their families would lose everything. The democracy that he and his friends had built a decade ago would be gone. This was his last chance to speak to the people he'd tried to protect. He leaned into the microphone and said, quote, workers, peasants, patriots, Guatemala is going through a hard trial. A cruel war against Guatemala has been unleashed. The United Fruit Company and US monopolies, together with US ruling circles are responsible. End quote. His final words were a plea not for himself, but for the country. Quote, let peace be restored. Let the gains be kept. With the satisfaction of having done my duty, I say, long live the October Revolution. Long live Guatemala. After he finished recording, Arbenz and his family left the presidential palace for the last time. The speech was set to broadcast across the country an hour later. What Arbenz didn't know was that the CIA joined, jammed the radio signal. Most Guatemalans never heard a word. Arbenz and his family crossed the street to the Mexican embassy and asked for political asylum. They remained there for 73 days, packed together with other exiles in cramped quarters, waiting for permission to leave the country. When the military government finally allowed Arbenz to go, they gave him one last humiliation. They accused him of smuggling jewelry paid for with embezzled government funds. They forced him to strip naked in front of the press. They searched him. They interrogated him for an hour. They found nothing. Jacobo Arbenz left Guatemala on September 8, 1954. He was leaving behind a country in complete chaos, and he would never, never set foot there again. Ten days after Arben stepped down, Carlos Castillo Armas, the rebel leader Sam Zemuri had found selling furniture in Honduras, was inaugurated as Guatemala's new president. Three months later, the country held elections. Armas was the only name on the ballot. Just 10 years after Guatemala's revolution, its democracy was gone. Armas ruled like the dictators before him. He immediately reversed decree 900 and seized thousands of acres from Guatemalan peasants. Nearly all of it went back to United Fruit. He arrested and killed thousands of labor organizers who resisted. United Fruit tried to use its press connections to put out favorable coverage of the new government while distancing itself himself from the CIA and the rebels. But Armas's brutality made it clear to anyone paying attention who had been behind the coup all along. The Guatemalan coup was Sam Zamuri's last act. He'd officially retired as United Fruit's president back in 1951, but he hadn't actually given up control until PB's success was finished. He'd done everything in his trouble power to secure his empire. But he couldn't protect it forever. In 1958, the US Justice Department ruled that United Fruit held a monopoly in Guatemala and forced the company to create a competitor. Profits declined sharply. The whole operation, the bribes, the bombs, the destruction of a democracy had been, no pun intended, fruitless. But the damage to Guatemala was permanent. The Guatemalan people didn't want to live under another dictatorship. Armas was assassinated in 1957. In the aftermath, the country spiraled into a brutal civil war. It wouldn't end for nearly 40 years until 1996. More than 200,000 Guatemalans were killed. Jacobo Arbenz watched all of it, but from exile. After leaving Guatemala, Arbenz and his family traveled to Switzerland, his father's homeland. They hoped to start over. But the CIA wasn't done with him. The agency launched an intense propaganda campaign against Arbenz across the Western hemisphere and even recruited one of his closest friends to spy on him. Under pressure from the United States, Switzerland refused, used to grant him citizenship. And so Arbenz wandered. He lived in Paris, Moscow, Prague and Uruguay before finally making his way to Mexico. The CIA hounded him for over a decade, working behind the scenes to block him from getting visas, settling down and building any kind of normal life. The man who had been president of his country couldn't find a country that would take him. During this time, his drinking got worse. Arbenz became deeply depressed, isolated, consumed by the feeling that he'd failed the people he'd tried to protect. And then, in 1965, his daughter Arabella died by suicide. At that point, arbenz broke. In 1971, he drowned in his bathtub in Mexico City under search circumstances that have never been fully explained. He was 57 years old. His wife, Maria, spent the rest of her life insisting the United States had assassinated him. In 1995, Arbenz's remains were finally allowed to return to Guatemala. Thousands of citizens attended his military burial. And in 2011, 57 years after the coup, the Guatemalan government issued a formal apology to his surviving family. Meanwhile, Sam Zamuri died in 1961 at 84 years old. He never faced any consequences. United Fruit eventually left Guatemala, but the banana only got more popular in America. It became our most consumed fruit, outselling apple and oranges combined. And the company didn't disappear. In 1984, it rebranded. You might know the new name, Chiquita Brands International. The violence didn't stop with Sam either. In 2024, a US court found Chiquita liable for financing a designated terrorist organization to protect its plantations. And in June 2025, the company faced scrutiny scrutiny in Panama for its violent treatment of unionized workers. Every banana has a supply chain and every supply chain has a history. Most of the time we don't think about that. We pick something off a shelf, we eat it and we move on. But the story of United Fruit and Guatemala isn't ancient history. The company still exists, the country is still recovering. And the pattern? A powerful corporation using a government's military to protect its profits, then calling it freedom didn't start or end with bananas. As always, I would love to get your thoughts on this. Did you know about United Fruit and Chiquita Brands International? What do you think about the CIA and United Fruit's plan? Was there anything Jacobo Arbenz could have done, done differently? And do you think he deserved the treatment he got after the coup? Please tell us in the comments. I can't help but think about how Jacobo Arbenz didn't do anything radical. He tried to give land back to the people who worked it. He tried to make his country's economy serve his country's people. And for that he lost everything. His home, his presidency, his daughter, and eventually his life. The scariest part of this story isn't the CIA or the covert operation or the fake radio broadcasts. It's how easy it was. How a fruit company, two well connected brothers and a Cold War slogan were enough to destroy a democracy and call it national security. That's worth thinking about the next time someone tells you a war is about ideology. Sometimes it's about something much simpler than that. Sometimes it's just about who owns the land. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Vanessa Richardson and this is Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Crimes. Come back next week. We'll decode the episode together and hear another story about the real people at the center of the world's most notorious cults, conspiracies and criminal acts. Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Crimes is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on social media, rimehouse on TikTok and Instagram. Don't forget to rate, review and follow Conspiracy Throw Theories, Cults and Crimes wherever you get your podcasts. Your feedback truly makes a difference. And to enhance your Conspiracy theories, Cults and crimes listening experience, subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. You'll get every episode ad free. We'll be back on Wednesday. Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Crimes is hosted by me, Vanessa Richardson, and is a Crime House original. Powered by Paves Studios this episode was brought to life by the Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Crimes team. Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benidon, Natalie Pertovsky, Lori Marinelli, Alyssa Fox, Jake Natureman, Leah Roche, Kaylee Pine, and Michael Langsner. Thank you for listening.