Where is Oaxaca


Monday April 11 one of my American friends…a long time expat…went missing in Oaxaca sometime between 7:30am and noon. On thursday his body finally rose in the well outside his kitchen door. The motive appears to be theft but some also suspect vengeance because Tonee was beaten to death before he was shot in the back of the head. Two other Americans…a man and his wife…are among the suspects although the case has not closed yet. They have been released with no explanation. Locals nod knowingly and say “money.” Two other Mexican male suspects remain in jail.
Tonee lived in my apartment before me. His walls are painted with his colors. I sleep in the bed he had built especially for him. My dishes occupy his cupbords and my spices are in his spice rack. His best friend, my apartment manager, lives downstairs. He was one of the most gentle and generous people I have known. Tonee’s son is here. He is his father’s son for sure. Why him? Maybe his goodness made him vulnerable to some crazed psychopath?
This unspeakable event has colored my life for the past month and a half. Easter week came and went unnoticed. Friends call friends desperate for information. Rumors abound. Life goes unkindly on.
I will be spending this Christmas with four lovely couchsurfers who are staying with me and we will all be christmas orphans together. One, a part Lao guy born in Paris who has recently been living in Canada, who will be going to Lao for three years to work on a development project and who has invited me to visit him on my next trip to SEA. He met his travel companion, Fanny, in Canada and who is from Switzerland. Another guy is from Michoacan Mexico and his travel companion, Inge, is Dutch. He is selling his photographs as a way of paying for his travel.
I wrote up this description of Christmas in Oaxaca for them:
Little kids dress up like Jesus and Joseph and march in a procession…usually with their respective church members. These are called Posadas. They stop by various homes asking for posada (shelter) in a ritual song, but are refused by those within who also answer in song. The group is finally received at a home previously agreed upon, where the padrinos ( God-parents ) of the particular posada will receive the pilgrims with song and prayer. Then, coffee and tamales are served for the adults and a piñata filled with fruits and nuts for the children.
Beginning with the ‘calenda’ (the procession in which people march in a procession at night with candles and sing songs…often with an accompanying band…and sometimes on the backs of decorated trucks ) on the 6th of December, the party continues with another calenda on the 10th, announcing the upcoming celebrations of the Virgin of Guadalupe. On the 12th, a festive breakfast is served to all in front of the Guadalupe church.
On the 16th, the nine days of ‘posadas’ begin, as well as the calenda of Oaxaca’s patron saint la Virgin de Soledád (Virgin of Solitude) around the zócalo. This calenda is filled with cultural and religious expressions of the indigenous people from the seven regions of Oaxaca. There is a solemn procession and then the famous and colorful Danza de la Pluma is performed outside the basilica of Soledad.
From the 16th through the 31st, is the ‘breaking of the plates’; eating buñuelos (a classic Christmas dessert) and drinking hot chocolate and then smashing the ceramic plates to the ground. (They are made just for this.) Beside the Cathedral, restaurant, stands serve chocolate and “bunuelos” out of bowls which are then thrown against the sidewalk and smashed. It is said that this has something to do with the ancient Indian custom of destroying all of one’s belongings every 52 years, at the end of a cycle proscribed by the Gods. It is also suggested that this comes from Moctezuma’s habit of never eating from the same plate twice.
The people from the mountains bring down the moss and orchids called “San Miguelitos” for the manger scenes on people’s home altars.
On the 17th, there are fireworks in front of the Soledad Basilica. On the 18th, in the morning, people can have breakfast in the patio of the basilica and listen to indigenous music from around the state.
The Noche de Rabanos (Night of the radishes) is on the evening of December 23rd, when the zocalo becomes the scene of a huge exhibition of figures sculpted from radishes.
The fourth and biggest posada is on December 24th, when groups from all over Oaxaca meet in the zócalo to celebrate the arrival of Christmas night. Prior to arriving at the zócalo, each posada will proceed to the home of the madrina (god-mother) who will provide a statue of the child Jesus for the local parish’s nativity scene. After a joyfully festive parade around the zócalo and through Oaxaca, the community returns to its parish church and prepares to celebrate the ‘Misa de Gallo’ (mass of the rooster), the first worship celebration of the Christmas feast.
The fiesta in Oaxaca, of course, is not limited to the days leading up to the 25th. The twelfth day of Christmas (Jan. 6th) is still celebrated here as the ‘feast of the three kings’. Small gifts (hand-made toys or sweets) are given to children on this day. Families, sharing a meal on this day with compadres, are served a special ring-shaped loaf of bread called a ‘rosca’. Inside the loaf are hidden a few tiny images of the child Jesus. If a person finds one in his slice of rosca he/she is obliged to host yet another fiesta for the final celebration of the Christmas season on February 2nd. Most people just laugh but they don’t really host another fiesta! But on this day, families are supposed to bring an image of Jesus from their home altar along with candles to be blessed at church which they do. This feast has come to be known as calendaria.
The Night of the Petition, “Noche del Pedimento” is an indigenous celebration on Dec. 31st. On a hill near Mitla, near Oaxaca City, this ceremony is acted out at a tiny chapel where a cave represented the entrance to the other world, symbolized by the mouth of the jaguar god. Country people, and many from the city come with small models to petition favors from the gods.
Of course the majority of the people are Catholic, in custom if not always in faith, so people of other faiths or no faith just join in the “cultural” activities.
There are things like this going on constantly all throughout the year (anything for a party) and sometimes I wonder how anybody gets anything done! :))
Upside Down World has an article by a local writer summarizing the end of the PRI (Institutional Revolutionary Party that ruled Mexico for 70 years) in Oaxaca and the inauguration of the new governor.
The writer describes the ceremony on December 1…the beginning of the new administration:
In the afternoon ceremony in the former government palace, Cue introduced his cabinet; indigenous groups offered a symbolic cleansing (which might apply to the building as well, since Cue has declared he will re-open it for Executive business); conch shells called fifteen ethnic groups of Oaxaca to give and receive symbolic batons of office; marches and street parties enlivened Oaxaca City. Rigoberto Menchú attended the event to sign an agreement between Oaxaca and Menchú’s environmental foundation. The Teachers Social Movement and the APPO (Asamblea Popular Pueblo de Oaxaca) mobilized 60,000 teachers who jammed the zócalo. Azael Santiago Chepi, Secretary General of the Education Workers union Section 22 stated: “Ruiz practiced the politics of terror and persecution and will go down in history as an incompetent who refused to hear the people…the teachers union is prepared to work with the new administration on all issues….” Punishment of Ulises Ruiz Ortiz (URO) was demanded, again.
A friend who watched the march arrive in the Zocalo described a crowd that was impossible to walk through. Then by the middle of the afternoon the crowd emptied leaving the Zocalo nearly empty.
However by 5pm, when I arrived, a humongous stage had been erected in front of the cathedral and another different crowd was entertained by a famous Mexican singer and a Columbian (??) band. The Zocalo had been cordoned off on the north side in front of the stage so access was limited to the south end…unless you wanted to maneuver through thousands of people in front of the stage. I sat at one of the few remaining restaurant tables at the end nearest the rear of the stage. I was the only gringo in the zocalo that I could see.
The new Governor spoke about an hour…of course I couldn’t understand much of it. I hope there weren’t too many promises. The fireworks were good. I left about 11pm for the walk back to my apartment…with the music still playing.
This time it was the middle middle class. Not the fancy dressed upper-middle and upper classes…who I assume would have probably been aligned with the PRI. The people have cautious hope in a governor reputed to be honest and with the best intentions. I felt cautious too. We in the north were once excited about a new president too.
From Oregon to Oaxaca Mexico! And all that worry for nothing! We’ve been reading too many newspaper articles up north. Flew through the Nogales border and down highway 15…no stops…no searches…no dogs…no federales to bribe…or narcos dressed like federales…no banditos!
No cars pulled off the toll road and set afire by narcos trying to block the police like happened at Loredo a few months ago. 18 of them! I made the mistake of telling my son about it…which disappointingly resulted in his reneging on a promise to give me his VW Taureg!
At the 22km mark got my $36 car permit good for the duration of my FM3 visa (one year) with no trouble. It renews automatically when I renew my visa. Good thing for plastic. Cash would have required a $400 deposit for a new Nissan Xterra to ensure no resale in Mexico and it’s return back across the border. (Some day) Sure wouldn’t want to take a sale from a Mexican auto dealer.
Nearly three weeks in Las Vegas with my oldest son Greg and his sweet Yellow Lab was a joy. He has to be kissing you and in your lap constantly…the Lab…not Greg! My early rising habit came in handy…I made coffee every morning for Greg before he joined another doctor and some others for a 7am workout with an ex Navy Seal. Then it was my job to rub on the Icy Hot and Peppermint Oil. I made Pork with Green Salsa and lasagna for his freezer. Maybe he’ll let me come back some time! Weather was great! Sat out by the pool with my computer every day. “You’re darker,” my friends here are saying. Good. Need that vitamin D!
I had picked up a friend near Palm Springs to ride down with me and as we approached Mazatlan we made a last minute decision to drive over to Lake Chapala. Expat City. Don’t even have to meet any Mexicans…
Spent the night in a very clean luxurious “love motel” in Guadalajara for $20…a “hot pillow” motel my friend called it. We confused the heck out of the maids when we asked for two rooms! Pulled the car through a narrow curving driveway and maneuvered under the room behind a metal door. Then up the stairs…never to be seen by anyone who might tell…
One wall full of mirrors. Vibrating king-sized bed. Porn on the TV. Bathroom two steps up…condoms and lubricants at the ready. Glass-walled shower allowed a view from the room below. You could order all sorts of toys, more condoms?? and viagra…that would be whirled around through the wall in a metal contraption that kept the maid from seeing anything. What a waste on me, I thought!
The next day we managed to make our way into the old silver mining town of Guanajuato without getting lost among all the canyon tunnels. Here is a video of one such tunnel.
The city is much bigger than I remembered from a visit many years ago. There are several colleges here and on a week day the streets were crammed with “kids.” Our beautiful old colonial hotel was also crammed with kids who kept us awake all night. Arghhh.
There are tunnel “raves” with electronic music held every year here. Incidentally, these are common in New York City and all over Europe. One of my couchsurfers from Berlin recently told me about A Love Parade rave in a tunnel in Duisberg Germany in July 2010 that ended in tragedy when the crowd stampeded and 21 were left dead and hundreds injured. That annual Love Parade, which started in Berlin, was permanently canceled. Below is a video of one in Guanajuato.
Visited Diego Rivera’s home which is now a museum…and of course the Mummies of Guanajuato. About a hundred naturally mummified bodies were found interred during a cholera outbreak in 1833. Horribly, you can tell some of them were accidentally buried alive. They were disinterred between 1865 and 1958, when few relatives could pay a tax in order to keep the bodies in the cemetery. They are so popular with tourists that the city has built a beautiful new museum to hold them…open about a year.
Well, that’s Guanajuato. It was my second city of choice when I moved to Mexico in 2006. Next stop, San Juan del Rio…just south of Queretaro.
I moved to Oaxaca City in 2006 to find 70,000 of the state’s teachers striking in the Centro. They had been striking every year for more than 20 years to gain a minimum of educational standards for a state with 16 indigenous groups living in the mountains…all with their own languages.
The strike gained scores of supporters, including human rights activists and civil organizations and this time it lasted 7 months before it was put down by thousands of federal riot control troops. It left more than 20 dead, including an American independent journalist and hundreds more beaten and/or incarcerated or disappeared. No one has been convicted of any of it.
I reported on much of this in this blog, thinking, like many other expats living there, that helping shine the light internationally on unlawful acts by the authorities, would help protect the innocent. I am not so sure any more because the impunity of the authorities has been escalating. The most recent incident is the killing of a Finnish human rights worker along with two Trique leaders as he accompanied a caravan bringing food and water from Mexico City to a barricaded Trique community. Repeated inquiries by the Finnish parents, the European Union and even the UN has not resulted in justice.
However, it is also unlawful in Mexico for foreigners to “interfere” in Mexican national politics and the authorities are free at any time to define what constitutes “interference.” The authorities can arrest or deport (or more) any foreigner on the spot and it has been done.
So when I return to Oaxaca, I will not be reporting on my blog on activities that I feel could be interpreted as “interference.”
However there are reputable blogs reporting breaking events in Latin America, including Oaxaca. Two of these are Upside Down World and Narco News.com with 450 co-publishers reporting.
No wonder there are so many “old people” at McDonalds! A $1.00 coffee is only 69 cents for seniors! The waitress looks up and says, you aren’t a senior are you? I say yes, 66. She says, really! Maybe just my granma looks old!
A guy next to me starts bantering with her. We went to circus school in Italy together, he says. Cirque du Soleil! So much for Klamath Falls being Red Neck! 🙂 My son, Greg, is taking me to see the Elvis Cirque when I get to Las Vegas. The Beatles Cirque last year was outstanding! Almost unbelievable!
George and Jan took off this morning for Eugene…just to see a football game! Back at McDonalds…WiFi and listening to NPR…discouraging news but the station redeems itself with enlivening world music.
Now killing time waiting for an old high school classmate to get into town tonight. What to do? My choices seem to be a walk along the river, the county museum or the Indian Museum.
A few years ago at the County Museum, I found an article in an old newspaper with a picture of the Winema Riverboat that carried my paternal grandparents across Klamath River into Klamath Falls in 1906….that is after coming out west from Kansas on a “citizen train” to Dunsmuir CA (the end of the railroad at that time) where they climbed aboard a stagecoach to meet the Riverboat.
My aunt Mary was a little girl at the time…my father still in utero…has always talked about the ferry turning over on the way. I’ll be darned if I didn’t find a news article about that accident too!
But that wasn’t the end of the trip. A horse and buggy carried them another 40 miles to Malin…a whole Czech settlement that moved out together from the midwest because of the promise of plentiful irrigation water and where my father (Cecil) grew up being called “cecelic,” or some such spelling for some kind of little animal because my father was small. As a small girl I loved those Czech people who delighted in children and always made me feel liked and cared for. Well, the Irish sheepherder friends of my father did too…entertaining me no end with leprechuan stories.
Sometime before I kick the bucket I am going to have to lug all the Indian artifacts to the Indian Museum and give them back to the Klamath Indian tribe. Hundreds of pounds of pestles and bowls were plowed up over the years by my father on the property…Big Springs Ranch… which was years before a Klamath Indian encampment. Huge beautiful springs ran through it feeding the nearby Lost River…my childhood playground where I pretended I was an Indian Maiden like the ones I saw in John Wayne movies. Sometimes I would be a stealthy Indian tracker. Heck with the cowboys!
Oh dear, look what happens when I have time on my hands…
So I begin skype-chatting with a Thai friend in Bangkok.
After 7 weeks in Salem Oregon taking care of a lot of unfinished business and spending time with my son Doug, who will be returning soon to Thailand to join his Thai wife, I am finally on my way back to Oaxaca in my new car loaded with stuff.
First stop. Klamath Falls in rural SE Oregon. I grew up 50 miles from here on a sheep ranch just outside of Bonanza (little more than 300 people) and attended junior high and high school in Klamath. Bea and Sal are gone now, but I am visiting with what’s left of my second family that I lived with during high school.
Red Neck country for sure. Of course I didn’t think that when I lived here. Hunting with my dad in the fall was something to look forward to after a summer of haying and irrigating 10 hours a day. He used me to flush the brush in the draw while he stood watch on the ridge. Sleeping out under the stars at night under only a blanket. We’d laugh at the city folk all dressed up in fancy orange gear lugging their sleeping bags, lanterns, cook stoves and such. Lambing time wouldn’t come until February. It is fall now and many businesses are closed with Gone Huntin’ signs on the doors.
I also didn’t notice the neighborly generosity when I lived here. I guess because I was used to it. My mom would trade eggs for ice-cream from the milk man. She was always taking cuttings of her plants and giving them away to anyone who visited.
George makes chorizo and salsa and gives it out to his appreciative co-workers at the lumber company where he works nights maintaining the machinery. His next door neighbor brought over fresh home-grown peppers and tomatoes yesterday. At Christmas, George grinds and cooks his own corn for masa for tamales like his Mexican dad always did…continuing a generational ritual. He will give away most of those too.
George gives me a bag of beef jerky for my trip south. George would give you the shirt off his back.
Last night, after a high school football game (football is endemic here), and while George was at work, his wife Jan, his daughter Melina and her husband and his parents and their twin 17 year old boys and their 20 year old daughter (my god where has the time gone… Melina is the same age as my oldest son…43!) and I gathered at Wubba’s BBQ rustic rib joint for dinner to celebrate Melina’s husband’s birthday.
I was the first one to arrive at the restaurant, so I had waited on a bench by the door…perusing my iPhone for emails. When Melina entered I jumped up to hug her leaving my iPhone on the bench. I was already seated when this young guy comes over to my table. Do I know you, I thought. Then I saw he was holding out the iPhone.
It has been a few years since I have seen Melina’s kids so she re-introduces me to them. Remember Eunice? Then she says I used to live with her dad! Everyone’s mouth drops open. She clears it up. “When Eunice was living with dad and his family when they were in high school,” she says laughing.
The 20 year old daughter squeals with excitement about moving into her own apartment with a friend. Almost everything they need has been given to them but they still need a few things, one of which was a microwave. People are often loud here and the daughter is so loud she could be overheard by those at nearby tables. I had been noticing a big guy with a face so work-dirty it was nearly black in a nearby booth. Suddenly the daughter and Melina’s husband disappear…coming back to announce that the guy with a dirty face had given her a small microwave that wouldn’t fit into the space for it in his work truck. He GAVE it to her. He didn’t ask to sell it to her. It was nearly new.
This morning I am sitting in my car at McDonalds using the only free WiFi I can find in Klamath…of course after having coffee (coffee is surprisingly good at McDonalds) and a Egg McMuffin. An older guy walks by my open window and notices my computer propped up against the steering wheel. He looks at the computer screen showing Amazon.com. He asks who I’m chatting with. Then he announces that he caught his wife talking to these guys on internet chat in kind of a “personal” way. Then he tells me that sometimes he sees naked girls whirling around on his screen. But his wife, he says, tore up his Playboy. I laugh…and he laughs and he moves on into McDonalds.
I’m here several hours (Jan is at work and George is sleeping) when I realize I am hungry again. A young kid with tattoos and a baseball cap comes out of McDonalds and holds up a bag with two chicken sandwiches. For you, he says. I am speechless as I gratefully take them with a big smile. I have no idea why he gave them to me.
What is this? Off the beaten track, Klamath County is one of the most economically depressed counties in Oregon. Gas is 2.99 a gallon here. Jobless numbers exceed national and state figures. Maybe they realize they are all in this together and they have to help each other out. Or maybe they were just always this way…
Colorful indigenous mountain villages are wonderful to visit in Oaxaca. Having had an older SUV there for a year in 2007, I drove it back to the states where my son killed it…an oil leak in the motor.
But, missing Oaxaca, I moved back down again. Then the options were frightening chicken buses that often go over the brink…the gory details in the back of every newspaper. Or colectivos…shared taxis piled with as many bodies as would fit…often with a small child who would upchuck around the curves. No potty stops…no photo stops. I would often wish I could explain to the drivers how to take a corner…slow down… and then about 2/3 of the way into it step on the accelerator which picks up the car and helps keep nine bodies from ending up in what’s left of each others’ laps….back and forth…constant low-level nausea. It offers up a story or two for your friends but it gets old fast.
So. I flew back to Oregon to buy a mountain car and bring back some more of my stuff. My 23 inch computer monitor for watching movies (I don’t have a TV), hand mixer, food mill, a small microwave with English language controls, real maple syrup, pourable salt, Krusteaz mix, corn meal, (can you believe that with all the corn in Oaxaca you can’t get the kind of corn meal to make corn bread), spices and some favorite kitchen ware. You know the stuff.
I decided on the Nissan Xterra. I requested estimates on the internet and then followed up in person. I had a limit and let them know, but they will tell you anything just to get you on the lot.
First lot…Gladstone in Portland Oregon…called the internet contact and asked for an appointment. Oh, yes, I’ll be here she says. NOT!!! Got there and she hid in her office…sending out another salesman to deal with me. I showed him the email with her offer. Conference ensued between manager and 4 other people. Oh, that was a typo in the email they said. Riiight!
Walked out and called Wilsonville. Told them my limit. Salesman confers with his manager. Comes back to the phone and tells me they have a demonstrator with low mileage for well below my limit. Go to the Wilsonville lot. Oh, we can’t possibly sell it for that! The salesman was new and didn’t know what he was doing! Riiiight!
I call Hillsboro who had a basic model for well below my limit. I call McMinnville who had one Xterra S with big tires. Ohhh, damn. Should have gone to Hillsboro first. I wanted the S. Told the salesman what the other two lots did to me. He said, oh, are they still doing that? That’s what they used to do in the 60’s! Sold it to me for my limit. But no car manual in the car and had to go back to McMinnville a week later to pick up a copy they ordered specially. They promised an extradited car title. It’s been over a month and I have yet to get it. Oh, well.
My first and last auto purchase…I hope!
A bit of information about the formation of the individual and national consciousness of people in the U.S.
Sorry for length, but this is mostly for people who are not “United Staters.” :))
We all know that the US was settled by people who had already rejected religious and political persecution. My own Polish great grandfather, when the Germans who had taken over the part of Poland they were in, toward the end of the 18th century, wanted to conscript the boys into the German army and only allow German to be used in the schools, said “hell no” and sent my grandfather and his older sister, 17 and 18 at the time, across the ocean in the middle of a harrowing storm, to find a home for their parents and the rest of their 10 siblings. Imagine that!
They worked in the mines in Illinois until they had enough money to rent farms. My husband’s German parents, fleeing the fury of Stalin in Ukraine, settled first in Canada and then lived in earth huts in North Dakota…carving out a life out of stone and mud. People were “bootstrappers.” They were “free thinkers” and were some of this countries first teachers. This is the stuff that this country was made of…and still is if only in the national consciousness.
Then came WWI and WWII. I don’t know if many people realize that “Americans” in the U.S. contributed a great deal of support to the war effort… especially by severe rationing. After the war, in the 50’s, there was a GI student loan program that enabled returning veterans to leave the farms and become educated and join the booming middle class…many donning suits to work hugely long hours in new businesses. (Man In The Grey Flannel Suit).
There was an economic rebound and people were able to enjoy all those material things they had never had before…buying washing machines, sewing machines, modern kitchens with sinks and refrigerators and all kinds of things produced by the industrial revolution. This was when the states became very materialistic. Families wanted to provide the things for their children they never had for themselves.
But the collateral damage was huge. The children of these families grew up feeling neglected by absentee fathers. Mothers and other women, largely uneducated, were kept out of the work force and except by a few brave vocal ones, became the “perfect” housewife. The culture became extremely conforming. A woman’s skirt, one inch above or below the norm was considered weird. By this time, in the late 50’s, with increased economic stability, children were entering college. They began to notice the materialism and lack of values. They began to feel stifled by the conformity and perceived hypocrisy. This spawned the Beat Generation:
From the “Free Wiki”:
The Beat Generation is a term used to describe a group of American writers who came to prominence in the 1950s, and the cultural phenomena that they wrote about and inspired (later sometimes called “beatniks”). Central elements of “Beat” culture included experimentation with drugs and alternative forms of sexuality, an interest in Eastern religion, and a rejection of materialism.
The major works of Beat writing are Allen Ginsberg’s Howl (1956), William S. Burroughs’s Naked Lunch (1959) and Jack Kerouac’s On the Road (1957). Both Howl and Naked Lunch were the focus of obscenity trials that ultimately helped to liberalize what could be published in the United States. On the Road transformed Kerouac’s friend Neal Cassady into a youth-culture hero. The members of the Beat Generation quickly developed a reputation as new bohemian hedonists, who celebrated non-conformity and spontaneous creativity.
The original “Beat Generation” writers met in New York. Later, the central figures (with the exception of Burroughs) ended up together in San Francisco in the mid-1950s where they met and became friends with figures associated with the San Francisco Renaissance.
This is what attracted kids later to the streets of San Francisco.
Meanwhile, “Old Leftists,” (largely Socialist and Communist) seeing the handwriting on the wall became vocal but were drummed out by a culture diametrically opposed to their political agendas. Union organizers were beaten by police at the bidding of robber barons.
In the late 50’s, Jerry Rubin lead the “Free Speech Movement” largely centered at the University of California at Berkeley. I have friends who were swept off the steps of Spraul Hall by water cannons during those demonstrations.
These were the spiritual predecessors of the next generation of “drop-outs” in the 60’s and 70’s…rebelling against conformity and lack of free expression. Kids left home to live on the streets or join “back to the earth” communes. (The Beatles “She’s Leaving Home” and songs by first Pete Seegar and then Bob Dylan). Conscientious Objectors fled to Canada rather than be drafted into the Viet Nam War. And they were “loud.”
Backpackers by the thousands hit the “Hippie Trail” that led from London to Kathmandu and found alternative cultures and values.
Those who initially objected to the involvement in Vietnam fell into three broad categories: people with left-wing political opinions who wanted an NLF victory; pacifists who opposed all wars; and liberals who believed that the best way of stopping the spread of communism was by encouraging democratic, rather than authoritarian governments.
The first march to Washington against the war took place in December, 1964. Only 25,000 people took part but it was still the largest anti-war demonstration in American history.
In 1967, a group of distinguished academics under the leadership of Bertrand Russell, set up the International War Crimes Tribunal.
In November, 1965, Norman Morrison, a Quaker from Baltimore, followed the example of the Buddhist monk, Thich Quang Due, and publically burnt himself to death. In the weeks that were to follow, two other pacifists, Roger La Porte and Alice Herz, also immolated themselves in protest against the war.
The draft increased the level of protest. Students protested at what they considered was an attack on people’s right to decide for themselves whether they wanted to fight for their country. Young men burnt their draft cards.
The Civil Rights Movement raged in the late 1960s. Anti-Vietnam War leaders began to claim that if the government did not withdraw from the war they might need the troops to stop a revolution taking place.
In New York, over a million people took part in one demonstration.
Eldridge Cleaver argued that blacks were being denied the right to vote in elections. Therefore, blacks were fighting in Vietnam “for something they don’t have for themselves.” As another black leader put it: “If a black man is going to fight anywhere, he ought to be fighting in Mississippi” and other parts of America.
The most dramatic opposition to the war came from the soldiers themselves. Between 1960 and 1973, 503,926 members of the US armed forces deserted. Many soldiers began to question the morality of the war once they began fighting in Vietnam.
In 1967, Vietnam Veterans Against the War was formed. They demonstrated all over America in wheelchairs or on crutches. People watched on television as Vietnam heroes threw away the medals they had won fighting in the war. (Senator John Kerry was one of these.)
Jerry Rubin and the Yippie movement had already begun planning a youth festival in Chicago to coincide with the Democratic National Convention in 1968. Students For a Democratic Society and the National Mobilization Committee to End the War in Vietnam, also made their presence known. In the end, 10,000 demonstrators gathered in Chicago for the convention where they were met by 23,000 police and National Guardsmen. And they were all very loud.
The Black Power and Brown Power movements threatened the “Establishment” “The Man.” They were loud. In 1968, at the Olympics in Mexico, the two Black medal winners held their black-gloved fists up during the national anthem.
The older generation and the conservatives by nature became confused and frightened. Society became divided. And is divided still. Libertarians have joined the New Leftists as if in two ends meeting in a circle in their demand for freedom for the individual. For the Libertarians and Constitutionalists, it means too much governmental power. With the world economic crisis, militias and the gun culture is growing…expecting a Mad Max world. Tea Partiers, on the margins, sick of “political correctness” and being made to feel guilty by the demands of the minorities are holding up misspelled signs. Glenn Beck is earning millions on Fox TV. The left has turned to blogs on the web. And they are all loud.
What has all this to do with the American personality? We are demanding freedom of expression and openness…politically and personally. There is a class war developing. Genteel behavior is just a reminder of the stifling 50’s and the superficiality and materialism it spawned. Gentility is also associated in many minds with the stifling cultures that “the Americans” fled in the last couple of centuries. Gentility is not considered very important in the scale of things. Backpacking leftists and tea partiers alike are extolling the “common man” against the monied oligarchy and abuse of governmental power. And they are loud.
Those on the sidelines, either have been greatly influenced by the continuum of popular and political culture eg some people in the south still fly the Confederate flag left over from the Civil War. Or are just not aware…busy making a living and/or raising kids. All these strands are immensely diverse depending on personal histories and the histories and cultures of the regions and states they live in, whether urban or rural, and anyone wanting to get a “feel” for the people would have to at least live there awhile but also travel extensively to see it. I would even go so far as to compare the states in the U.S. to the countries in the EU. Nearly impossible to make very many generalizations except for historical facts.
Whew!