Mexico

Las Posadas

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The days of Las Posadas commemorate Mary and Joseph’s long and difficult trek from Nazareth to Bethlehem.  Rock bands are playing, marching bands with people carrying lights, dancing calendas with a giant Joseph and Mary carried atop the shoulders of a young guy, fireworks, rockets, church bells. The markets are selling Christmas decorations and all manner of  related junk.

Last night a calenda with accompanying band, and local neighborhood people,  walked quietly  with their lights in the street under my veranda and around the park.

All signifying that Christmas is coming.

Life In Oaxaca

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I’m in my apartment and Tonee, the previous tenant who is moving into his new house on the road to Huayapam, is moving out slowly.  In the meantime I am enjoying his furniture…and his cat!

Last weekend I went to a small jazz venue with a friend to listen to her bf blow the sax with his bassist, drummer and guitarist.  About 2/3 of the way through, a short slow moving guy with long hair, dressed in jeans and a tweed jacket, obviously Indio, came in drunk and hugged all the band players…while they were playing.  Two different waitresses asked politely for him to leave but he ignored them until the older matriarch of the cafe came in… in which case he left immediately without a word.  However, he returned shortly, took off his desert boots and began to play one of them to the delight of the clubbers!  We later found out he was a local artist…where else but in Mexico…LOL

But wish someone would have ushered out three young girls, eurotrash,  who were carrying on a loud screechy conversation in spite of all the faces we made…never did figure out what language they were speaking…where else but Mexico…well, maybe some other places too.

Tonight, in my apartment at my computer, I heard classical music coming from the park that my apartment looks over.  I walked out onto the veranda to find a young guy with two girls and a boom box sitting on a park bench.  Always music coming from some direction! Where else but in Mexico.  I love it.

The Rest of the Story

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Description of an altercation between a communist group (FPR) and the anarchists after the march commemorating the November 25th 2006 repression by police. When I saw that these groups, among many others, were lining up behind the teachers during the strike of 2006, I knew there was going to be trouble because they all have their own agendas.

from an expat on the Oaxaca Study Action Group Internet Forum:

“I get the sense that no one is happy with what happened at the march. The good things were the turnout and return of Dra. Bertha.  The bad were the disagreements regarding tactics that led to physical encounters and the FPR vs anarchists nonsense in the zocalo.  I firmly believe that based on my experiences here, the vast majority of the libertarian punks are not paid government agents.  I think it’s dangerous to propose that they are, given the seriousness of the charge, because: unless they read NarcoNews or OSAG they’re unaware of the charges being leveled against them, and, how does one disprove the claim that they’re a government agent?  David Venegas, even after spending a year in jail, is still accused of that.  Black blocs, graffiti and property destruction are common features of most mass movements all over the world.  Of course the capitalist press and fascist government are going to raise hackles about it, that’s their job.

This is not, however, to say that there weren’t infiltrators yesterday. Yet, they’re easy to spot based on their dress, the fact that no one knows them, their actions (for example, yesterday they were smoking weed during the march and one of them painted “David is my leader”, which no anarchist would write and plays right into the gov’t’s and press’s line).  As well, the locations targeted – Comex, PRI offices, state gov’t offices, and Chedraui – are all viable targets if one is an anti-capitalist.  Working class people’s homes and business didn’t get messed with.

The scene at [the new] Chedraui Market [during their open house] was particularly disappointing. The teachers’ “protest police” lined up in front of Chedraui, trying to keep it from being damaged. It reminded me of “pacifists” lining up to protect Nike and Starbucks in the US during the WTO protest in Seattle 1999. This led to pushing and shoving between teachers and anarchists, and between anarchist and photographers (who were screaming at the anarkos: “We’re going to find out who you are! We’re going to get you!” One friend was randomly assaulted by a photographer out of nowhere).

As far as I know, the teachers’ leadership and the FPR bilaterally declared there would be no graffiti, masks, or property destruction.  How they feel they have the right to state that and undemocratically determine the tactics of a broad movement, and try to undemocratically enforce them (by guarding Chedraui of all places for crissakes!) is beyond me.  While Chepi may be better than those before, the teachers still don’t seem to me to be doing much, nor do I put much hope in them. They only come out in force when instructed to, probably mainly because they take attendance at these things.  Other teachers not marching with Section 22 got on the sound systems behind Section 22 and denounced them for betraying the movement that arose initially to defend them and for their complacency.

I did not see the fight between the FPR and anarchists in the zocalo.  My understanding as related to me (admittedly by only one side on the issue), was the David was being heckled while he spoke, while others were shouting to let him speak. An FPR man hit an libertarian woman on the head with one of the sticks they have their flags on, then punched her in the face. Then libertarians got hold of an FPR flag and lit it on fire. Then mayhem broke out.  At least one libertarian had to be taken to the hospital after being hit in the head with a flag stick.

All the media and even Radio Planton, blamed it all on David. At least the teachers, though condemning everything that happened, declined to condemn any particular group.  Regardless, as I said, no one is happy with what happened. Well, perhaps the FPR is.  I think it shows that the next APPO congress really needs to happen and really needs to be democratic.  Many of the speakers in the zocalo at least mentioned the former, though groups such as the FPR and some in the teachers leadership are more interested in excluding VOCAL and other libertarian tendencies in the APPO congress than creating a real movement.”

My three cents from my frustrated, biased perspective,

and “Here’s VOCAL’s communique regarding yesterday. In brief, it states that the disunity has been caused by the FPR – primarily for running Zenen Bravo for congress and their meddling in Section 22.  It states they had nothing to do with the property destruction but they understand it. It states that FPR started the fight after David was not permitted to speak and a libertarian woman told an FPR man to be quiet and be respectful. And that Section 22 has the responsibility and duty to convene a democratic assembly to plan for the second APPO congress.”

Letter From An Expat With Another View of Mexico

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My Mexican-American friend moved to Mexico a few years ago while working on her husband’s papers to legalize him to work in the States…which is taking a lot of time.  This was her recent email:

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL, Vol. VII

Now, I know Why They Jump The Wall…I Wanna Jump The Wall
And  –  Yes  –  We  –  Are  –  Still  –  Here

I was just telling a friend, back in the States, how waking up here I will sometimes think to myself, as I take in my surroundings, “shit, I’m still here.”  You know those mornings, where as soon as you open your eyes, you say to yourself, “man, it sucks to be me.”  Well, yesterday was definitely one of those days.  And, unfortunately not just for myself, but also for quite a number of people in my husband’s family, namely my mom-in-law.

My husband’s brother called us about 10 a.m.  He was frantic.  Evidently, Josefina had just gotten a phone call stating that my husband had been kidnapped and they were demanding a ransom of $50,000 Pesos, or they were going to kill him!  They put some guy on the phone who told my mother-in-law he was her son.  She asked him, “son, where are you?”  This same fucking bastard responded, SOBBING, “Mother, I can’t tell you because I’m bound and they have my eyes covered.”  The so-called kidnapper got back on the phone, and she informed him that she didn’t have $50,000 Pesos.  The caller told her that if she didn’t pay the money they would murder her son.  She simply stated that would be on his conscience, and that she didn’t have that kind of money and there was nothing she could do.  He asked her again if she were going to pay the ransom.  She repeated her response to his demand.  He finally yelled at her that she was a fucking bitch and hung up!

In her hysteria she couldn’t recall our phone numbers.  She ended up calling her eldest son.  He spoke with his mother and calmed her down as best he could.

My husband is the youngest of three sons.  He has been back home here in Mexico for almost three years after an absence of almost 11.  When we first got here, in February 2006, the first thing his mother said was that she couldn’t believe her eyes that her baby was home.  She said that she never expected to see him again.  They speak or see one another on a daily basis.

My mother-in-law is 75-years-old, in failing health, and lives alone.  We live minutes from her house, but she had no idea that this was not true at that moment in time.  Put yourself in her place.  Can you even imagine getting such a phone call about a loved one, and all that you would feel, think, experience?  I can’t imagine.  I don’t even want to.

My husband spoke with the police and they say that it is a local and national epidemic: Secuestros Telefonicos.  Translation:  Telephone Kidnappings.  They usually originate in prisons in the neighboring state of Mexico, in and around Mexico City.  Our very own landlord’s mother just two weeks ago received a phone call from someone stating that they had kidnapped one of her sons.  All of her children are adults living on their own.  She deposited $15,000 Pesos in ransom money into a bank account that she was directed to, which of course was under a phony name.  Thankfully all of her children were eventually accounted for and found to be safe, and the kidnapping to be bogus.  We’re told that she and one of her daughters are showing signs of extreme mental trauma. Read More

Settling In Oaxaca

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Well, you never know what life will bring you.  I am now looking for an apartment in Oaxaca once again and since the house is rented out it looks like I’ll be here for awhile.

November 21 was Revolution Day which passed quietly with the Governor appearing in an upper window of the Palacio.  Rumor has it that there will be a large mega-march on November 25 to commemorate the rout of the teacher strike out of the city by the Riot Control Police in 2007. The city will be covered with police this time too that is for sure.

But on the whole I feel quite safe here.  Just have to use common sense as in any other big city.

Remembering Oaxaca

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After living for a year in Oaxaca in 2006-7, I have returned here for a couple months before going on to Central and South America.  Now I…

Remember the Alcala, the ancient cobblestone pedestrian street: the way your feet tip on the edges of the stones…almost unbalancing you as you walk.

Remember eating chile relleno tortas while listening to the marimba band at Cafe Jardin in the Zocalo late at night: sometimes an older couple dancing alone…the two of them…giving in to the rhythm.

Remember church bells ringing at 6:30 in the morning: a town spiritual alarm.

Remember Noche de Luz (Night of Light):  fireworks, calendas, children playing, the National Band; crowds of young people wait to get into ear deafening clubs  till 4am and you don’t sleep.

Remember warm love of friends: Max the aging-before-his-time anarchist over mescal and his housemates Sandy…and her 80 year old husband Budd…the BBC filmmaker who jumped onto the Yeltsin tank and took the picture that went around the world…and my friend Sharon who I met on the plane when we first arrived in Oaxaca. Bardo and Mica and daughter Angelita recovering from foot surgery and her brother Pavel named after some revolutionary Russian.

Remember five peso ice cream: doble please…

Remember familiar Trique vendors in long red dresses with horizontal stipes: Jorge in the Zocalo until 10:30pm when he takes the hour long bus back to his home and family in Mitla.

Remember the familiar beggars: the tiny girl on Alcala plays an accomplished tiny accordian. But avoid the old women with two apartment houses.

Remember colorful angry graffiti on ancient stone walls: the only voice of a repressed people.

Remember the taste of an Amarillo tamale made by an old woman in the market washed down with grey foamy tajate: the Zapotec drink of the gods.

Remember drinking beer with Gerardo: sexy Zapotec hustler here after 10 years on the streets of LA and Las Vegas.

Remember sweet smiles from strangers on the street: hola amiga!   Hasta Luego!

Remember hot Mexican chocolate and a free pan dulce on the street at 7am: the little man running from one side of the cart to the other in a hurry to serve his morning customers.

Remember eating in comida corridas: an omelette swimming in red sauce…sweet cafe olla made sheepherder style.

Remember made-up over-dressed Chilangos from Mexico city: slumming it on Sundays in Oaxaca…holding themselves with stuffy privilege…they gawk at the indigenous dark ones and don’t buy much.

Remember friendly courtyard apartment owners:  checking up on me…in and out. The younger sister speaking English after 4 years as a nanny in LA while leaving her two children here with her ex husband…saving her money and building a new house in which she rents out the extra bedrooms.

Remember to visit Adelina (the maid in the apartment where I lived in 2006 who works 12 hours a day for practically nothing) and living in a one-room tin-roofed shack which barely holds a double bed for her and her bright daughter Fernanda: surprised to see  the six year old at the English Lending Library taking part in story time…seemed so much more grown up now…shiny hair curled and turned under…paying a pittance for her schooling…the little girl I never had.

Remember the long drive to Oaxaca from the Columbia Friendship Crossing near Laredo Texas with my son Greg’s best friend who stayed with me for a month: lingering for hours with friends in the cafes in the Zocalo.

Remember the chapulines (dried grasshoppers): if you eat them here the legend says you will return.

Remember the invitation from a Mexican friend to go to Hautla with him and eat magic mushrooms: you were chicken and never did.

Remember thoughts of moving here…

Oaxaca’s Radio Wars

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Oaxaca’s Radio Wars
By Charles Mostoller
Despite assassinations, community radio is spreading throughout southern Mexico. “Some people think that we are too young to be informed, but what they should know is that we are too young to die.”

These were the fateful words of Felicitas Martinez Sanchez and Teresa Bautista Merino, two indigenous Triqui radio broadcasters who were assassinated in southern Oaxaca on April 7th.

The two girls, aged 20 and 24, had worked for the recently inaugurated Radio Triqui, “The Voice that Breaks the Silence”, in the autonomous Triqui municipality of San Juan Copala. Read More

Speaking Of Hope

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Mexican journalist and author, Gustavo Esteva, in writing recently about the wrenching repression and resistance in Mexico and the world, draws an analogy:

    The Pot and the Vapor

In the midst of the daily struggle, an image attempting to express what has happened in Oaxaca is now circulating.

Years of fierce corruption and overflowing authoritarianism converted Oaxaca into a pressure cooker above a slow flame. [Governor]Ulises Ruiz added fuel to the fire until the pressure hurled the lid off on June 14th 2006, with the repression of a teachers sit-in. APPO [Popular Assembly] articulated the discontent brewing inside the pot and converted it into transformative action. The ferocity of the federal forces put a new heavy lid on top of Oaxaca on November 25th, but the fire continues. Small holes, that opened in the lid through people’s initiatives, alleviate the pressure, but they remain insufficient. The pressure continues to accumulate and in any moment will hurl the lid off once more. The experiences accumulated in the last year might provide ways to let the pressure escape in a more organized way, but nobody can foresee what will happen. There are too many forces at odds with each other.

Another metaphor can contribute to an understanding of what is coming. More than 35 years ago, in the final pages of La revolución interrumpida, Adolfo Gilly quoted some phrases from Leon Trotsky: “Without leading organizations, the masses’ energy will dissipate, like vapor not contained by a boiler. But be that as it may, what propels the movement is not the boiler nor the piston, but the vapor.”

What is this “real material, invisible and indefinable” that Trotsky calls “the masses’ energy” and compares with “vapor?” In contrast to this, adds Gilly, that material has “sense, understanding, and reason and because of this does not dissipate, like vapor, but endures transmuted in experience, invisible for those that believe that the movement resides in the piston and the boiler (in other words, in the organizational apparatuses), but existing in unexpected subsequent aspects of daily life.”

Oaxaca is still “at full steam”. Part of what was generated in 2006 has condensed itself into an experience and transformed into a behavior: it is in the daily attitudes of many people, who will never return to the old “normalcy.” Another portion of the “vapor” generated yesterday, or that comes up every day, propels many initiatives. And there is “vapor” that continues to accumulate, that raises the pressure and that perhaps is trying to redefine its course once it succeeds in liberating itself from everything still retaining it—which is not a boiler with a piston, but the oppressive lid of the repression that continues: political and police mechanisms blocking off the popular initiative.

The obsession to ascertain who generates that “vapor” persists, according to the prejudice that people can not take initiative themselves. It’s taken for granted that somebody, a person or a group, would be throwing rocks and hiding the hand: it would have manipulated the docile masses and would want to continue doing so. The media constructed their leaders, presenting as leaders people better adapted to the image they were creating to better prepare public opinion to the violent liquidation of the movement. The authorities did the same to organize co-optation and repression; they seem now to believe that the APPO will be paralyzed or at least disabled while those that supposedly lead the movement remain in prison. Similar attitudes have been observed in the left, inside and outside the movement. Those who think that what has happened would be inconceivable without a leading organization, now see it dissolved or weakened and want to renovate it or reconstruct it. Or else, when the absence of real leaders of the APPO is recognized, everything is transferred to the past: that deficiency would have provoked the evaporation of the spontaneous popular outbreak. The popular energy would have dissipated, like vapor not contained in a boiler.

When the question is not about seizing the State apparatuses, but about changing the social reality, the vapor, which continually condenses in experience, operates in its dissipation, spilling itself onto reality. Occasionally adapting itself in boilers and the pistons generated by the vapor itself and used for certain tasks, the vapor can not be contained in “organized apparatuses” nor be driven by “leading organizations”. For those apparatuses and organizations to be relevant and play a role, they should renounce the pyramidal structure, when a web is needed, and they must learn to lead by obeying. Furthermore, they should operate on an appropriate scale, adapting themselves continually to conditions and styles of the real men and women that are always the vapor, the impulse, and those finally determining course and reach of the whole movement.

Mechanical metaphors always fall short of the richness of real social processes. But the pot and the vapor are useful images to observe the complex present situation, in Oaxaca and greater Mexico, when what is most important seems to be invisible.

Then he has this to say about hope:

More than 30 years ago, Ivan Illich observed that, “The Promethean ethos has now eclipsed hope. Survival of the human race depends on its rediscovery as a social force.” [Deschooling Society, London: Marion Boyars, 1996, 105. (First published in 1972).]

In my view, there is nothing about the Zapatistas more important than their contribution to hope. Given the current situation in Oaxaca, Mexico and the world, we are still hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. In our context, hope is not the conviction that something will happen, but the conviction that something makes sense, whatever happens.

San Pablo Etla, Oaxaca Mexico January 2008

(Italics are mine. If the above reads a bit rough in places it is likely due to the best job that the translator from Spanish could do.)

UN Denounces Discrimination

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UN Denounces Racism in Mexico

Prensa Latina
Mexico, Dec 11

The Mexican chapter of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights revealed on Tuesday that indigenous women in the states of Guerrero, Chiapas and Oaxaca suffer sexual, work, educational and health discrimination.

A statement by UN representative Louis Arbour recommended the adoption of legislative, administrative, budgetary and judicial measures to overcome this situation.

Arbour explained that racism and sexism are great work loads for indigenous women, as well as is immigration of women to farm fields in northern Mexico and the United States and the abandonment of widows and minors.

Cases of sexual abuse or physical mistreatment by teachers, as well as discrimination in indigenous school shelters, have been reported among the child population, he noted.

The UN body added that regarding health, this population segment is also hit by malnutrition, mother and child mortality and an increasing presence of HIV AIDS.

The Sad End Of Mexican Criollo Corn?

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NAFTA and Biotech: Twin Horsemen of the Ag Apocalypse
The Last Days of Mexican Corn

By JOHN ROSS
Mexico City.

The single, spindly seven foot-tall cornstalk spiring up from the planter box outside a prominent downtown hotel here was filling out with new “elotes” (sweet corn) to the admiration of passer-bys, some of whom even paused to pat the swelling ears with affection. Down the centuries most of the population of this megalopolis migrated here from the countryside at one time or another over the course of the past 500 years and inside every “Chilango” (Mexico City resident) lurks an inner campesino.

But the solitary stalk, sewn by an urban coalition of farmers and ecologists under the banner of “No Hay Pais Sin Maiz” (“There Is No Country Without Corn”) in planter boxes outside the downtown hotels, museums, government palaces and other historical monuments can just as easily be seen as a signifier for the fragile state of survival of Mexican corn.

As the year ripens into deep autumn, the corn harvest is pouring in all over Mexico. Out in Santa Cruz Tanaco in the Purepecha Indian Sierra of Michoacan state, the men mow their way down the rows much as their fathers and their fathers before did, snapping off the ears and tossing them into the “tshundi” basket on their backs.

In the evenings, the families will gather around the fire and shuck the “granos” from the cobs into buckets and carry them down to the store to trade for other necessities of life. It is the way in Tanaco in this season of plenitude just as it is in the tens of thousands of tiny farming communities all over Mexico where 29 per cent of the population still lives. But it is a way of life that is fading precipitously. Some say that these indeed may be the last days of Mexican corn.
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