NEWS & REPORTS

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Sept, 2004
SPECIAL REPORT
Philosophers, Caracoles and Letizia:
A visit to Chiapas

By Graciela Monteagudo, Argentina Autonomista Project

I found myself in Zapatista territory thanks to a handful of US philosophers, part of the Radical Philosophy Association. They invited me to participate in a conference to launch a new Center for research and activism in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Since I had a scholarship that covered all of my expenses, plus some financial support from friends, I thought this was an excellent opportunity to travel after the Conference to the South of Mexico and experience the Zapatista movement first hand.

In San Miguel I met a lot of interesting people, both Latin American and US organizers, researchers and old time residents. I believe the Center will play an important role in our struggle for social change because it¹s one of the few institutions where theoreticians and organizers, activists and community artists will have an opportunity to share their experiences and ideas.

I was slightly demoralized by the amazing "US invasion" of this cute colonial town, with its cobble stone streets. Many people from the North are retiring there and the trend has changed somewhat. More and more people with big bucks are moving in, displacing the progressive ex-patriate community and Mexican residents.

I thought things would be more balanced once I arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas. My only knowledge of the town came from the photographs of the January 1994 uprising, when the Zapatistas took it over. There was no balance there either. San Cristobal is a touristy town. In the streets you hear Italian, German, English, French and other languages I could not identify. A bit disillusioned with my lack of contact with Mexicans, I was certain that once I arrived to Oventic, the main Zapatista Caracol (snail), everything would change.

Arriving to Oventic is a trip in itself. You have to get on a van from San Cristobal de las Casas. The van won¹t leave until it¹s full, so you never know how long it will take. The road goes up and up in the jungle, with dangerous curves, lacking in any protection. The precipices took my breath away. I was also impressed with the beauty of the jungle, contrasting with the poverty of the indigenous communities living there. But I must confess that what made an even deeper impression on me were the faces of the policemen who stopped the van, asked questions and required identity cards. I decided to put on a gringa face. Acting bored, I kept my eyes away from them and pretended to ignore them. I would like to believe the trick worked, but most probably they were just looking for somebody local, because they did not bother me and soon we were able to continue.

My main contact down there was the Chiapas Media Project. This project has distributed cameras and media equipment to the Zapatistas, so that they can document their struggle. We went by San Juan Chamula. Amaranta, of the Chiapas Media Project, Promedios in Chiapas, ( http://promedios.org/eng/index.html) tells me that it¹s a non-catholic community that has developed a very interesting syncretism between Catholicism and their own ancestral religion. She advised me to check out one of their services. They have also developed an interesting relationship with the government. They get along! Thanks to that, and to the expulsions from the community that guaranteed control of the land for some, the community is a lot wealthier than others. We went by their nice brick and mortar homes and we continued to climb into the jungle. Soon, the brick and mortar homes were over and the wood huts appeared.

After climbing for an hour or so, I saw a sign informing me that I was entering Territorio Zapatista (Zapatista territory), those who command by obeying. Now I was home, among compañeros and compañeras.

I arrived in Oventic. The Junta de Buen Gobierno is in this Caracol. A few months ago, the Zapatistas decided to separate the EZLN, the revolutionary military, from the self-government of the communities. The Caracol is also a way to distribute the visits and help from the North among the different communities in a more egalitarian fashion. There is a hospital, an elementary and high school, a media center with satellite antenna and the offices and stores of different cooperatives. From the road you can only see a few little houses. The houses are painted with Zapatista slogans and there is also an Euskadi (Basque movement) flag. A little further up the road I found the elementary school, with the most beautiful mural of a girl reading.

Soon I realized that the "Northern Invasion" had reached the Caracol too -only that the Northerners here were all compañeros and compañeras. There are at least two-dozen Europeans and US nationals waiting to talk with the Junta. Following two Italians from Ya Basta, I entered a store packed with Zapatista memorabilia, food and Coca Cola (yes, Coca Cola). I explained to the indigenous compañera behind the counter that I was there to ask for permission to present my puppet show about the social movements in Argentina in any community that they assign me to. I gave her my passport and proceeded to buy some presents for the friends who supported my trip from Mexico City to Chiapas. I also bought a wooden truck full of Zapatistas dressed in black and with a stick for a gun and faces covered by a ski mask, as a toy for my child, Jan. It is fun for me to think that when he grows up he will become fully conscious that his toy is not ordinary in Vermont, USA where we spend most of the year.

When I finished paying, they told me that I am expected to go talk. A compañera walked me over through the only street of the Caracol, which was paved. A man, with a surgical mask and gloves, was picking up small quantities of garbage from the road. I passed by the hospital, a women garment coop and a house with a most beautiful mural in which Zapatistas are being born out of a cornhusk.

I knocked on the door that read "Junta de Buen Gobierno. We command by obeying." A short man, with his face covered by a typical Zapatista handkerchief, opened the door for me. I explained to him what I was there for and he told me that first I had to see the Commission in the house with the beautiful mural. I went there and waited for a long time, until finally a man with a ski mask opened the door. I entered an extremely clean room with several benches and a table. The man who opened the door, a woman and another man, all of them with ski masks on, sat at the table and opened their notebooks.

These revolutionary indigenous campesinos with their ski masks are one of the most important focal points of the growing resistance to capitalist globalization. Two thirds of the state of Chiapas is under Zapatista control. I told them I was moved. The woman smiled -I read that in her eyes. I showed them the pictures of my puppet show in my laptop and explained to them that I work in direct connection with the autonomous unemployed workers of Argentina. They checked out the pictures and listened with patience. The pauses were long. I took deep breaths, trying to adapt to the autonomous time of a different culture. Sometimes they talked to each other in their own language. I could discern the word Argentina, every now and again. Finally, smiling, they asked me if I would be so kind as to wait some more. I was still very moved -I wished I could be one with them in the everyday life of their communities.

After waiting for five hours, the Commission called me to inform me that my puppet show was approved and that I was to present it at San Pedro Polho, an independent municipality. Now I had to wait for the Junta de Buen Gobierno to give me a written authorization to enter the community the next day, where they tell me that women, men, children and youth will watch the history of the Argentine resistance. Both the compañera and the compañero of the Commission have difficulties in writing in Spanish.

When the compañeros from the Junta finally opened the door for me, I entered a room that was again very clean and I saw on the wall a handkerchief of the HIJOS of Argentina (the children of the disappeared) that read "30,000 disappeared". There was also a poster of the Beehive Collective, against the FTAA. There were also pictures of women pushing the army at La Colmena, pictures of the take over of San Cristobal and even a picture of a virgin. It¹s the Virgen of the Zapatistas, with her face covered by a handkerchief.

There are three men, faces covered, that can write in Spanish with more ease than the compañeros from the Commission. After showing them the pictures of the puppet show in my laptop, they give me a signed and stamped paper that authorized me to visit and do a puppet show at the San Pedro Polho community. Polho is a Zapatista refugee center. They cannot go back home because of the threats from the PRI and the paramilitary. The survivors from Acteal live there.

I learned that there are five members in the Junta, from different communities. The members change every week. Since they do not have a salary, they must go home to work. It¹s a good arrangement that contributes to avoid the creation of a bureaucracy. It also brings on some problems, like Maite, a Promedios Vasque volunteer in the Caracol told me. Sometimes matters tend to get quite disorganized and there are coordination and communication problems. Maite, who¹s been living and working at the Caracol for a month, showed me where the homes of the community start. Access is restricted, unless you have authorization from the Junta.

Staying in the hostel is rough. Every night was an exercise in patience and creativity to come up with a way to sleep without getting the wires from the mattress stuck in my ribs or hips. This morning I woke up with a sore neck, a direct consequence of my nightly contortions to avoid the wires. Sometimes there was no water and I couldn¹t wash up. I had to climb three flights of stairs to make it to my room. As rough as it was, I was a little concerned that I might be at the camp doing the puppet show until late and that I would get stranded there and have to sleep in the cold.

I left early in the morning for Polho. The taxi driver reaped in a huge fee, but I didn¹t have an option, carrying the huge bags that I carry with my puppet show. It took almost two hours of climbing up in the jungle to arrive. I went through several villages with indigenous people dressed in traditional garments -men with white tunics and hats with multicolored ribbons -women with embroidered blouses and a child tied up to their backs. Many people, both men and women, carried huge bundles of firewood, hanging from their heads.

I asked the taxi driver to pick me up at 6 PM. Deep down, I knew he wouldn't come back for me and I would have to stay the night. Again, just like in Oventic, from the road only a few houses were visible, but the camp with wooded huts on cement foundations, grew downhill and got lost in the jungle. Two teenagers, with their faces covered with handkerchiefs, took my passport and my signed paper. Soon, another teenager, with his face uncovered, came for me. Three women from the Spanish peninsula arrived at the same time and we all descended into the camp together. One of the compañeros helped me with the bags. A man, maybe in his forties, told me that I had to wait until 6 or 7 PM to do the puppet show. I had to stay over night. They lead us to the room where the campamentistas (campers) sleep. They also showed us the bathrooms and the kitchen where we can cook our own food. They gave us tortillas, coffee and beans for free.

The campamentista is normally a white woman or a white man that is there to witness potential human rights abuses. The previous week, they told me, paramilitary killed a young man from Polho who was looking for firewood late at night. The case did not get much publicity.

There are approximately 9,000 people at the camp. All of them displaced, with no land. It is pretty obvious that there is hunger and some of the children show signs of malnutrition. The Zapatistas are calling a meeting with human rights organizations to demand humanitarian help for them. In San Cristobal, in a Zapatista store and cyber cafe, they told me that children die of malnutrition in Polho. But in Polho itself I didn¹t find much about that or anything else. Only a few children got close to us to talk. Men played basketball for hours and hours. When they got tired of that, they played volleyball. They had two huge cement courts. Another entertainment was to look at the hueritos (white folk) and laugh. Women walked by fast and smiled at us.

Letizia, brown skin and black eyes. A mouth that is like a world. A world in which many worlds fit. Five years old. Little brother tied to her back. Letizia jumps and the baby sleeps. Letizia laughs and the baby sleeps. Letizia plays with my puppets and the baby sleeps. Letizia looses her balance a little bit, laughs, straightens out, and the baby sleeps. A mouth full of truths.

Letizia, a baby four years ago. Mom¹s youngest. She sat down in the mirpa* and played with the soil. The corn was a green and gold landscape over her head. The mom worked and if Letizia cried hard, she nursed her. The world was brown, warm and sweet. But then men with machetes came and cut Letizia's father, her grandma and her aunt up. Blood in the corn. Screams and legs running. The police, so close that Letizia could see them from her hideout, heard nothing.

Letizia, her mom and her little brothers live now in Polhó. Skinny legs that jump on the rocks balancing a baby. There are no shoes for Letizia. There are smiles under the handkerchiefs and ski masks being born under the sun.

The children taught me words in Tsotsil. I began to realize that performing a puppet show in Spanish made no sense. I realized that most people at the camp have little if no Spanish. Hours went by and I could only talk with the Europeans. Two men approached me when I started putting my puppets together, but they soon left. We ate and I resigned myself to not do the puppet show. Every now and then, it would pour. Almost immediately, the sun would come out.

The European girls helped me carry my bags up the hill. As we stood near the road waiting for a collective van to pick me up, three army trucks went by, with several soldiers each. The soldiers were young. Without their uniforms, I could not distinguish them from the Zapatistas in the camp. Although the government has changed tactics and instead of massacring the Zapatistas now they are trying to buy them off (in some cases they succeed), the army still keeps an important presence in the area. One of the garrisons is placed immediately above the displaced camp. They have a strategically ideal position to wipe the camp out if they choose to attack them. However, I sense that the EZLN is in the camp, protecting the community.

The Zapatistas have achieved an amazing feat: they have restored dignity to people who have been massacred, treated like animals, and left to die in abject poverty for 500 years. When the EZLN took over the town of San Cristobal de las Casas, thus staging the most successful direct action against NAFTA ever heard of, they brought this historic contradiction to the attention of the world. This movement does not have a recipe that will lead them to take power in Mexico or elsewhere ­which deeply bothers the traditional left. But when I entered the Zapatista territory, now roughly 2/3 of the State of Chiapas, I found indigenous people who were poor, yes, but were free of their historic bonds of oppression.

I see the Zapatistas growing out of the economic hell of globalization, organizing the poorest of the poor to resist the capitalist global plundering of our lives. I see the unemployed autonomous workers of Argentina, the MST in Brazil, unemployed workers organizations in South Africa, the Bolivians communities, squatters in Europe, and others taking similar paths. The voters in Spain said no to the war. Half a million people marched in New York against Bush¹s agenda of global terror. Resistance is growing worldwide. But there is a need to work on theories that explain what the movement is and where it is heading. Theories that will come not from intellectuals detached from the ground, but from those who choose to work closely with the emerging social movements. At the new Center in San Miguel, we are opening up a space for that. Come join us.

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