Un lugar llamado Chiapas

Photos from Chiapas, Mexico by Andrew Stefan

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. 

From the Archive: EZLN resists construction of a “new Cancún” in Chiapas

EZLN resists construction of a “new Cancún” in Chiapas

From the nearest main road, the path to the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) autonomous community of Bolon Ajaw is narrow and long, winding through dense jungle along the edge of a steep mountainside. As the setting sun gave way to pitch darkness during my first trek to the community, one of the fifteen or so machete-wielding Zapatista security escorts walking at my side suggested we be especially cautious because we were passing by “OPDDIC territory.” OPDDIC (Organization for the Defense of Indigenous and Peasant Peoples) is an Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI)-affiliated anti-Zapatista paramilitary group that staged an armed attack against Bolon Ajaw only months before.

The attack occurred on February 6, when Bolon Ajaw residents confronted a group of some 80-90 PRI supporters—known members of OPDDIC, according to residents of Bolon Ajaw—from the nearby Agua Azul ejido and tourist site who had invaded the Zapatista community with the intent to seize valuable land adjacent to a river and a series of large waterfalls. Reports suggest that some of the PRI supporters had been occupying parts of the community since January 20th. [1] When Bolon Ajaw members, with the help of Zapatistas from other communities in the region, eventually gathered to peacefully remove their uninvited guests, a violent conflict erupted. 

Contrary to the Chiapas Attorney General’s statements [2] suggesting that the Zapatistas had been armed, David, a Bolon Ajaw resident present at the conflict stated, “The OPDDIC members arrived with the guns. There were more than 300 of us Zapatistas defending the land but only with sticks and machetes. At first, people were only exchanging blows but then it got worse.”

David went on to explain how the dispute made its way to the other side of the community where the PRI supporters eventually opened fire. According to the Fray Bartolomé de las Casas Human Rights Center (Frayba) of San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas, the PRIistas began shooting houses and then ransacked the community church—after which, they turned their weapons on the people.  By the end of the shooting, one PRI member was left dead as a result of friendly-fire wound while 11 others were injured—including three Zapatistas. [3] Even though Bolon Ajaw has been relatively calm since the February attack, the community is still reeling and ultimately anticipating future incursions. 

Threats and attacks have been plaguing the community for years. [4] While paramilitary violence and intimidation have been staple components of state counterinsurgency strategy against the Zapatistas since the mid-1990s, [5] the situation in Bolon Ajaw has been particularly contentious. 

The autonomous community land—recuperated from large landowners during the Zapatista armed uprising of 1994, and eventually converted into a community in 2003—is now inhabited by some 25 families but fiercely sought after by a number of external parties. The reason: Bolon Ajaw sits along the banks of a pristine emerald-blue river that flows into a series of towering “cascadas," or waterfalls. While the residents of Bolon Ajaw see the river and cascadas as a source of livelihood in the middle of the sweltering Chiapan jungle, the other interested parties have something else in mind—profit. The campaign to seize and privatize the Zapatista land, for sale to resort developers, is part of a much larger plan to convert the entire region surrounding the river into a tourist destination.

Operating under the project name Centro Integralmente Planeado Palenque (CIPP), the Mexican government endeavors to expropriate roughly 21,000 hectares of land around the river for the construction of hotels, a golf course, and a natural theme park. [6] In the words of former Chiapas Governor, Roberto Armando Albores Guillén, the objective of this neoliberal development scheme is to essentially construct “a new Cancún in the north of Chiapas”. [7]  

To the residents of Bolon Ajaw, this plan is largely regarded as a looming death sentence that would, at best, result in their displacement if realized.

“Right now we’re working to defend our community from the construction of these megaprojects,” said Gloria, a resident of Bolon Ajaw, “We use the river for everything: to bathe, to drink, to cook. We need this land to survive.” 

For the people of Bolon Ajaw, the mere act of existing constitutes a form of resistance to CIPP and its capitalist motivations.

The Zapatistas Today—Making the State Obsolete

Despite these ongoing struggles, interest in the Zapatistas has been ever-dwindling since their armed uprising on January 1, 1994. While the present-day realities of organizing for indigenous autonomy and resistance to the ravages of modern capitalism in Chiapas may not always be sensational or gripping, they are certainly still relevant to the contemporary international movement for social justice. As sociologist Immanuel Wallerstein notes, “The Zapatistas were saying from the outset that their five-century-long protest against injustice and humiliation and demand for autonomy was linked today organically to the worldwide struggle against neoliberalism and imperialism...” In Wallerstein’s assessment, “There is no question that the Zapatista insurrection of 1994 became a major inspiration for antisystemic movements throughout the world.” However, Wallerstein is also quick to rally attention to the movement’s current work on the construction of autonomy as a source of lessons for the rest of the world. [8] Such processes are today largely characterized by the development of Zapatista support-base communities like Bolon Ajaw.

According to Richard Stahler-Sholk, a professor of political science at Eastern Michigan University who studies the Zapatistas, the establishment and consolidation of support-base communities—which are designed to function independently from the Mexican state—allow local preferences to take priority over the dictates of global capital.  The autonomous communities are a major part of the movement’s resistance to what he refers to as “neoliberal homogenization” – i.e. the marginalization and co-optation of people and cultures by market forces under the brokerage of the state. 

In the book Dancing with Dynamite: Social Movements and States in Latin America journalist Benjamin Dangl describes how the “dance”, or dynamics, between Latin American social movements—like the Zapatistas—and the state constitute a frontline in the modern struggle for global justice. Dangl explains how processes of grassroots social action erode the capacities of illegitimate and oppressive power-structures and institutions, writing, “In this dance, the urgency of survival trumps the law, people acting based on the rights they were born with makes the state irrelevant...” [9]



Stahler-Sholk, who describes the Zapatista project in its current form as a “quiet and persistent rebellion,” specifically emphasizes their various non-market alternatives for life and community development when commenting on the movement’s reshaping of socio-political landscapes. He writes, "Since 1994, [the Zapatistas] have developed a variety of self-sufficient production, exchange, and social service projects: collective garden patches, rabbit raising, beekeeping, candle making, agroecology experimentation, locally controlled schools, networks of health promoters trained in combinations of modern and traditional healing, etc.” [10] 


While community-run schools and primary health care may not be the kinds of rebellion that make newspaper headlines, Stahler-Sholk argues that these aspects of the movement are the essence of modern Zapatista resistance, stating, “What is so impressive and powerful about the Zapatistas is startlingly simple. People are just living their everyday lives as though they are in charge of their own affairs, not waiting for permission.”


The Struggle Continues

During one of my last days in Bolon Ajaw, I was approached by a young community-member with a pamphlet detailing the aforementioned plans for neoliberal development of the region. The text was entirely Mayan Tzeltal but he translated key points for me about resource and territory privatization plans under CIPP, Plan Puebla Panama, Plan Merída and other capitalist megaprojects bent on compromising the well-being of indigenous peoples for the sake of profit. “We’re really struggling for this land,” he told me, “OPDDIC and the government may want this property to make money but it is ours. It’s not for sale.”

As our conversation drew to a close, the young man said to me, “It’s like a war against the poor…it seems that our governments and these companies are just trying to kill campesinos.” I immediately thought back to a 1995 Chase Manhattan Bank internal memo I had once read in which the author, Riordan Roett, argued a “need” for the Mexican government to “eliminate” the Zapatistas in order to ease concerns about the then-fledgling rebel movement among members of the international investment community. A startlingly clear illustration of the “profit over people” mentality at the core of neoliberal capitalism.

“Yes,” I responded, “it does seem that way.”

_______________________________

Oaxaca vive

Photos from Oaxaca, Mexico by Andrew Stefan

 

Guerrero bronco

Photos from Guerrero, 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.