Social Movements in Mexico: La Policía Comunitaria

As drug-related violence, state repression, poverty, and inequality intensify in many regions of Mexico, affected indigenous communities are increasingly utilizing collective action as a tool for self-defense and human development. Indigenous mobilization from below has become a major force throughout Latin America over recent decades, and many communities in Mexico’s Guerrero state are now using such strategies to redefine the conventions of political participation.

Notably, the Mixtec and Tlapeneco people of the Costa Chica and Montaña regions of Guerrero have constructed an organization by the name of the Policía Comunitaria (or Community Police) for self-defense through Black Panther-style, grassroots armed-patrols. The efforts of this project have given rise to a number of additional sophisticated social and political programs for security and human development. 

The Policía Comunitaria came into being on October 15, 1995, in the community of Santa Cruz del Rincón of Guerrero's Montaña region. Developed by way of village assemblies, the initial incarnation of the PC was a small, community-run, volunteer police force that ran patrols in and around its villages of origin. The project was designed to combat rampant crime and violence that was typically either ignored or committed by the state in the Montaña and Costa Chica regions.

In 1997, the growing number of communities affiliated with the PC decided to expand the project to include governance and the administration of justice form below. The “Community System of Security, Justice, and Reeducation” (SSJRC) was created for this purpose and was eventually re-established under new structure called the Regional Coordinator of Communal Authorities (CRAC). Its headquarters is located in the city of San Luis Acatlán.

 

Today, this project is operating in roughly 60 Mixtec, Tlapaneco, Nahuas, and Mestiza 

communities within the six municipalities of the Costa Chica and Montaña regions, and represents about 100,000 people. 

Oaxaca vive

Photos from Oaxaca, Mexico by Andrew Stefan

 

"There they go, with those grotesque masks"—Chilpancingo's Dance of the Tlacololeros

"There they go, with grotesque masks, multicolored ribbons, and various ornate sombreros—this is grandeur reflected in the dance!"

—Francis Pino

Chilpancingo, Guerrero is ablaze with imagery from the Danza of the Tlacololeros. The “grotesque” masks worn for the dance adorn the booths of market vendors; vibrant paintings of menacing devil-figures can be found lurking around various corners of the city; a bronze statue of a dancer in a jaguar costume stands in a maniacal pose in the heart of Chilpancingo's commercial center. The dark imagery of the Dance of the Tlacololeros gives one the sense that the history and symbolism behind the tradition are both very deep. 

And they are.

The whip-cracking Tlacololero

The Danza of the Tlacololeros is actually an amalgamation of several different dances and ceremonies from all over  Southern Mexico that, in some cases, predate the Spanish Conquest. For example, the dance’s eponymous character, the Tlacololero—a mustachioed, whip-cracking agriculturalist—has supposedly been traced back to rituals of Olmec societies. Today, the culturally-patchworked Danza is largely reserved for special occasions and festivals such as the August 13^th Paseo del Pendón in Chilpancingo, Guerrero.  


The Dance features a tremendous cast of characters: humanoid bulls, a variety of fiendish-looking farmers, wrestling jaguars, animal hunters, and devils of all sizes. So, what does it all mean? I'm still not quite sure. In downtown Chilpancingo I located a book about the Danza, hoping to unearth some answers. I’ve read about half of the book and I’m more confused than ever. This stuff is deep. Like real deep. The esoteric dances and their specific regional histories; the cast of complex, intermingling characters; the profound symbolism...it’s actually enough to give you anxious fits. 


I’ve been learning about the Danza in a piecemeal manner, character-by-character. Since I’ve only seen the dance performed once (about three years ago) and I am clearly no expert on the topic, I’m just going to provide you with what I consider to be the most-interesting morsels of what I’ve read, so far, about the Danza of the Tlacololeros in the book Danzas by Francis Pino. 

The Tejorones

According to Pino, the dance performed by the characters called the “Tejorones…reflects a struggle against power and the evil at its core…The attacks against power manifest in different ways such as: ridicule, insults, or pantomime that are made directly against local personalities.”

The Devils of Teloloapan

"The Devils of Teloloapan" can be seen in the center of the painting

In 1857, the indigenous people of Teloloapan were engaged in a battle with French colonizers when they ran out of water and ammunition. They were forced to improvise, so they “met to form a plan" and ultimately decided to try to scare the French away using devil masks. With the masks, the natives of Teloloapan looked "truly horrifying," writes Pino. They "...dressed in the costumes, and snuck into the enemy camp. After a sign from the group's captain, they attacked with terrifying screams, while cracking their whips. The French, pale with fear at the sight, left running into the night.”

The Tigre

The Tigre statue in downtown Chilpancingo

The Tigre character, which is really more a of a jaguar, is often depicted in combat with other Tigres. This character “represents evil," it’s “the character that causes damage to the farmers' crops” within the narratives of the Danza. The Tigre is hunted by several other characters  as part of the Danza rituals. 

An artist's rendering of the Danza from the book Danzas by Francis Pino

Occupying Mexico City: Teachers protest like they actually care about their livelihoods

Photo by Andrew Stefan

Public school teachers from all over Mexico have occupied Mexico City’s iconic Zócalo to oppose national reforms designed to make way for the “punitive standardized assessment” of teachers across the country. Today, I accidentally stumbled upon the educators’ protest encampment. It looked almost insignificant inside the behemoth Zócalo—a small patch of makeshift tents and tarps strung over plastic chairs and sleeping bags. The occupation was well-decorated with powerful dissident artwork and colorful banners of resistance, but it still wasn’t a particularly awe-inspiring sight. Regardless, the importance of the endeavor was certainly not lost on me. After I wandered into a tent belonging to Oaxaca’s notorious Section 22 union of the Coordinadora Nacional de Trabajadores de la Educación (CNTE), I had the opportunity to speak with three dedicated teacher-occupiers. Some of what they told me seemed striking as I thought back to teachers’ unions and their actions—or lack thereof—in the US. 

The first person I spoke with—an elderly gentleman with graying hair and a John Waters pencil-moustache—spoke with great pride as he stated that he and his comrades will continue the occupation of the Zócalo until the federal government "actually considers" meeting their demands. His co-occupiers nodded in firm agreement. The group’s dedication was palpable. I thought back to my own cold, bureaucratic—and totally ineffectual—teachers’ union in Baltimore last year. I tried to imagine any of its leaders or active members displaying such commitment to the well-being of teachers and students—even if only in rhetoric. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. I began to wonder how serious these rebel-educators in the Zócalo might actually be. I asked, “How long have you been occupying the Zócalo?” A short, middle-aged woman to my right enthusiastically chimed in, “About twenty days.” Twenty days of sleeping on concrete. In the cold. And often in the rain. Whoa. 

Hmmm. Clear demands? A confrontational political action designed to realize those demands? Serious commitment to that political action? It all seemed to make too much sense. I grew increasingly depressed as I thought back to my old teachers’ union in Baltimore. I thought back to the district's regular use of punitive standardized teacher assessments, which created an unrelenting sense of job-instability among teachers and made the classroom a needlessly-tense environment for both educators and students.

Toward the end of my encounter with the teacher-occupiers, I described what I considered to be some problems of overlap between the US and Mexican education systems. I also shared a few tales of my own experiences in public education. The occupiers all suggested that teachers in the US and Mexico need to build stronger relationships of solidarity and friendship to overcome obstacles to social justice the classroom. I nodded, smiling in full agreement. However, I did so knowing that, on the US end, any such relationships would probably have to be pursued by rank-and-file members of teachers’ unions. I simply couldn't imagine my union leadership in Baltimore condoning meaningful talk or action toward teacher-empowerment or greater fairness in the classroom.