This is an eye witness narrative written by my friend Patricia Gutierrez from Queretaro who, with her luck and mine, visited me the night of the attack on the teachers in the Zocalo in Oaxaca City on June 14, my birthday…14 days after I arrived in Oaxaca.

Video Of Attack

Last Tuesday, June 6, my newly minted husband, Jose Roberto, and I, decided to go visit my dear friend Zoe Goetz, from Salem, Oregon, who had just moved to the city of Oaxaca, the state capital of Oaxaca, around the 1st. This same city is described in a travel guide as being quaint. Unfortunately like many of its citizens we got another, non-touristy, view of things.

When we arrived, at my friend’s apartment on the 14th, around midnight, we saw some people, teachers specifically, gathered in the Zocalo which is in the heart of this historic city, sitting under tarps and holding signs protesting their education system, salaries, etc. They are also demanding the ouster of their governor, a member of PRI the country’s very corrupt and sole governing body for over 70 years up until 2000 when Pres. Vicente Fox won. In general they blame the governor for their bleak and further deteriorating situation. We had seen something of these protesting teachers (protesting for over 20 days) on the evening news in Queretaro where we live, but from what happened next things had clearly been downplayed in the media. And truth be told I guess we are like most people in that it really doesn’t seem real when you watch these types of events playing out on TV, over and over I might add, in the general comfort of one’s living room, sandwiched in between commercials for Pepsi and the World Cup and Condoms (yeah this is Mexico they’re more honest about their sexuality I guess).

When we woke up the next morning at Eunice’s, Jose and I were suffering with terrible sore throats, burning sinuses and headaches. So we figured a little bit of Vitamin C and aspirin from the local pharmacy would help. Zoe pointed us two blocks up from her apartment, toward the Zocalo. So off we went.

There was a strange odor hanging in the air. Our eyes, noses and throats burned even more. There were barricades made up of lines of people (in other areas we would also see small buses) near where we were stopped. We asked two passers-by about a pharmacy as nothing appeared to be open. We were informed that we would probably find nothing open as the police had swept the area intent upon removing the protesting teachers, and their supporters, at about 4 a.m. with tear gas and bullets dropped from overhead by low-flying helicopters. Several people gathered around us when they realized we were tourists and we were asking questions as to why all of this had occurred?!

We also heard unconfirmed reports from those present, that the police had shot and killed two children and four teachers. When we asked where the bodies were we were told that the police had them hidden in their police station.

There were so many injured from amongst the teachers that the local hospitals said that they could receive no more injured. There was a confirmed report of 50+ injured protesters.

There is a confirmed report of one police officer being injured.

We met many, many articulate, concerned and compassionate individuals. Talk about grace under fire. These folks were the epitome of it. And, like the rest of us, wanting only to be heard and treated with respect.

You can imagine our reaction to all of this. We definitely were a long way from Salem, Oregon, that’s for sure. We became even more alarmed when we realized there was a police helicopter flying very low right above our heads and we turned and saw a man with a broken piece of mirror trying to obstruct their view by shining it on the helicopter while someone else on the ground near by was taking a video of the scene. Jose and I rushed back to the apartment feeling utterly overwhelmed by what we had seen, heard and smelled at the Zocalo.

When we shared all of this with Zoe we realized why she had gotten an odd text message from her landlord earlier that morning advising her to not leave the apartment and not go downtown (to the Zocalo). We clearly never do as we are told. Jose decided that if nothing else he would go back and take pictures of the situation and share these over the Internet. He made Eunice and me stay behind. That lasted about 10 or 15 minutes. Zoe and I decided that we had to go and find him and not leave him out there on his own, and see for ourselves.

Everyone simply shared their story with us. No one demanded anything of us.

Jose asked permission to take the pictures that I am passing along here. We were escorted past the barricades so that we might speak with a spokesperson for the protesters. We met a local human rights worker who had been told all of the same things we had heard. He was trying to collect evidence so that he might further assist them in their cause, and call in support from the federal level. We also met a teacher who was beaten by a police nightstick. He had 2000 pesos stolen by the police. He only makes 3200 pesos every two weeks. It takes about $11.40 in pesos to purchase one U.S. dollar right now. Someone else had an empty canister of tear gas. A young woman said that they had collected shell casings from what appeared to be a large caliber weapon. We encountered a few healthcare workers who were volunteering their time trying to care for the injured protesters.

Since Jose and I arrived here we have watched on the evening news, on a daily basis, some form of civil unrest in various states across this republic. Mostly on a very large scale. When we go grocery shopping or to the movie theater it is customary to see police officers patrolling outside, in the parking lot, and inside of the theater with an AK-47, sub-machine gun and the like.

Here the authorities are scarier than any criminal element that may be lurking about.

At no time did we feel threatened by any of these protesting teachers.