Chiapas!

On March 22 we took a night bus to San Cristobal de las Casas, a tranquil and beautiful small city in the heart of Chiapas. We spent the week visiting NGOs, my favorite of which was CIDECI, an autonomous and indigenous school associated with the Zapatistas. We also visited Acteal, the central community of las Abejas, a non-violent liberation theologist organization similar to the Zapatistas. In 1997, what is believed to be government-supported paramilitaries attacked the village, killing 45 people who were in church. We visited the graves of the murdered men, women, and children, and met with the leaders of las Abejas. One man, Manuel, showed me and Maddy a picture of his 5 sisters and parents, all of whom were murdered during the massacre. On top of losing his family, Manuel has an inoperable brain tumor. Despite all he has been through, he is hilarious, and cheered us up by telling us jokes and performing magic tricks.

On Saturday, we left San Cristobal and drove two hours to caracol 5, Roberto Barrios. We petitioned to meet with la junta del buen gobierno (JBG), one of the 5 Zapatista governments. They looked at our passports and agreed to meet with us, but said that it would be several hours. So we sat in the center of the caracol, and observed daily life in a Zapatista village. It was unbelievably hot out, and many residents were journeying to the nearby river to swim and cool off. All around the caracol were brightly-colored murals, with the familiar sayings like "Queremos un mundo donde quepan muchos." No one was wearing their pasamontañas, although several people had bandannas around their necks. While we waited, we chatted with Julio, our guide and driver in Chiapas. Julio was Subcomandante Marco´s driver, although he can’t (or won’t) tell us much about his history as a Zapatista. However, Julio seems to know a lot of people in the community, and he is more than willing to discuss with us the Zapatista movement. After three hours of sitting in the hot sun, we are called by the JBG into their office. The JBG, comprised of four men and one woman, sat in front of us, all masked. An awkward tension filled the room as we starred at each other. We had submitted six questions to them, and the woman member told us they could only answer one, concerning education. She gave a two sentence answer, and then we relapsed into awkward silence. After a few more attempts at conversation, we thanked them and left. According to Julio, this JBG was new (they change members every 2 months) and wasn’t sure whether or not to trust us. They told us we weren’t allowed to even take pictures of the murals, and so we got back in the car and continued on to Palenque. It was a bit disappointing not to be trusted by people I admire a lot, but it was a fantastic experience nonetheless.

 We spent the next two days at a hotel near the ruins of Palenque. Everyone but Matt was sick, and so we spent a lot of time sleeping and lounging by the pool. At 12:30 on our first night there, I woke up to a rustling sound. Sabrina, Matt, and I were sharing a cabana hut, and the two of them were still in Emma and Maddy’s room hanging out. I was on the top bunk, and looked down to see a large grey creature digging through our suitcases. I squealed and grabbed my cell phone, whose light revealed a howler monkey. Mr. monkey turned and made eye contact with me, and then began to climb up the closet and over to my bed. Thinking that the last thing I wanted was a monkey in my bed, I jumped down and ran to the door. The monkey climbed out of a hole in the roof, and I ran out to find Sabrina and Matt. I thought that the monkey had stolen something, but we couldn’t find anything missing. We went and told the guy in charge of the hotel—a shirtless man with Aladdin’s pants—who said, ``un mono!? Es probable!’’ (translation: a monkey? That’s probable!) and then walked away. Mr. Monkey didn’t come visit again, which was fine by me, although Sabrina was disappointed she missed it.

The main street, downtown San Cristobal

CIDECI

Acteal: the church where the massacre occured

The ruins of Palenque

Exploring the ruins of Palenque

Mexico City

We arrived last Monday, February 28, and moved in with host families in Santo Domingo, a working class neighborhood in the Coyoacán municipality. Our excursion guide, Mojdeh, is brilliant. I would highly recommend her travel service to anyone looking to have an authentic visit to the city. Maddy and I lived in the home of doña Luisa, who moved to Santo Domingo in 1971 as part of “the invasion.” Santo Domingo started out as a squatter settlement, built on top of volcanic rock, and slowly transformed into the neighborhood it is today (with a population of about 100,000). The community of 20,000 squatters came together to build their houses, roads, plumbing system, electrical system, and schools with no outside help. Doña Luisa is a powerful woman: once she starts speaking, I wouldn’t dare interrupt her. She is incredibly knowledgeable about everything from the drug war to community development. The sense of community in Santo Domingo is incredible considering that it’s in the middle of Mexico City: the one time a group of students were robbed here, their host mom went to the house of the robber and spoke to the robber’s mother! They got all of their stuff back and the robber was grounded. Doña Luisa and her daughters, all of whom live in the house, run a small restaurant in the front of the house. I would estimate that 13 or 14 people live in the house, and as far as I know they all share one small bathroom. Despite the fact that we were obviously intruding on their small space, everyone was so hospitable, welcoming, and willing to sit and speak with us about their lives. On Tuesday we headed to downtown Coyoacán to check out the blue house (Frida and Diego’s) and Trotsky’s house. On Wednesday Matt and I spent the morning selling bleach and other cleaning supplies from a bicycle-cart with Flavio, one of the homestay dads. The communities around Santo Domingo are very poor, and so Flavio purchases cleaning supplies in bulk and sells them to residents of the neighboring communities in smaller quantities. We walked in the heat for about 3 hours, yelling “claaaaaaaaaarasooooooool” and filling up people’s used bottles for a few pesos each. The work was exhausting—I can’t imagine how Flavio does it for  6 or 7 hours every day of the week. We also had a series of silk-screening workshops with Flavio. One of Flavio’s children was born disabled, something that is neither discussed nor addressed in Mexico, and so Flavio began doing silk-screening workshops for them as a form of therapy and self-expression. Flavio sells the cleaning supplies during the day, he says, because it is the only option he has to make enough money to support his silk-screening project and to feed his family. Wages are low in Mexico City, he explains, and it’s impossible to make enough money to survive unless you find non-traditional work. On Thursday morning we moved out of Santo Domingo and into Hotel Rioja, 2 blocks away from the Zócalo in the historical center of Mexico City. After dropping my stuff of at the hotel, I jumped in a cab and headed to the airport! My flight to Minneapolis was smooth, and it was wonderful to see my parents for a few hours! The Truman interview lasted all day on Friday, and the other finalists were some of the most amazing and friendly people I’ve ever met. Saturday I bid adieu to the USA yet again, and made it back to Mexico City at 9 pm. Sunday I spent the day on my own, doing all of the touristy things (the Zócalo, the national palace, Templo Mayor, Bellas Artes, etc). Then Monday, March 6, we headed back to Oaxaca at 5 am!

Check out Mojdeh’s travel service: http://www.travelmexicocity.com.mx/index.php

Doña Luisa

Flavio, Matt, and Emma making t-shirts

Making my t-shirt with Flavio

Protest in the Zócalo

Templo Mayor and the Cathedral

Homeward Bound (via Mexico City)!

What a crazy weekend. Saturday morning I received an email from the Truman foundation, informing me that I had been selected as a finalist for the Truman scholarship. They told me that my interview would be this Friday, March 4, in Saint Paul, Minnesota. No big deal, since I’m currently in southern Mexico. A hectic 24 hours of booking flights and hotels ensued, and luckily my program was really supportive of me leaving for a few days. We’re all leaving tomorrow morning for a week-long excursion to Mexico City, further facilitating my departure. So from Monday to Thursday morning, I’ll be in Mexico City. From Thursday afternoon to Saturday morning I will be back in the USA. Saturday night I’ll rejoin the group in Mexico City, and then Monday I’ll come back to Oaxaca! It’s going to be a nerve-wracking, exciting, and stressful week! But it’ll be nice to see my parents for 24 hours, and, while I don’t have much confidence that I’ll get the scholarship, the whole adventure will be a good experience.

See the list of 2011 Truman finalists here:

http://www.truman.gov/for-candidates/2011-truman-scholarship-finalists

Mixteca Alta

The cutest little girl in San Isidro

Denise and Augustine making the walls for the cistern

Don Juan Cruz

Discovering the Mixtec tomb

Señora Cruz making tortillas

I just returned from the most incredible extended weekend in San Isidro, Tilantongo, a town of 22 families in the Mixteca Alta—2.5 hours outside of Oaxaca City (1.5 hours on a bus, 1 hour on twisty, pebbly roads in the back of a pickup truck—I need to start writing down all of the “only in Mexico” moments I keep having). The Mixteca Alta is one of the poorest areas of Mexico—erosion affects 83% of its land and it has the highest rate of migration to the United States. On our way to San Isidro, we stopped at the offices of CEDICAM, a democratic and farmer-led environmental organization founded by Jesús León Santos. CEDICAM has planted more than one million trees, built hundreds of miles of ditches to retain water and prevent soil from eroding, and adapted traditional Mixteca indigenous practices to restore the regional ecosystem. Phil Dahl-Bredine, the author of “The Other Game,” who lives in San Isidro with his wife, Kathy, picked us up from the bus station and acted as our guide for the weekend.

When we arrived in San Isidro, the community’s welcome community greeted us with open arms. Juan Cruz, the community’s president, gave a roaring speech, informing us that this was now our community, we were now a part of their family, and that, while they didn’t have much, what they had was ours to share. After a tour of the village, we split up for the evening to stay with different families. Denise, a Chilean grad student, and I were with Juan’s family near the center of the community. Juan took us to his kitchen, where his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and two grandsons (age 3 and 9) were eating dinner. We joined them for a meal of tortillas and nopal soup. We chatted mostly about climate change (Mother Earth is angry, Juan said, because we have taken so much from her without asking her permission or showing her any respect). Juan then showed us to our room. The layout of the Cruz’s house is as follows: a kitchen, the only part of their house with electricity, detached by about 50 feet from two bedrooms, both of which lead to the outside and are made of the gray earth from the area, and an outhouse, 100 feet from the bedrooms (on the other side of the kitchen). Denise and I shared a bed, evidently kicking someone else out of theirs (which I feel very bad about).

The next morning we woke up bright and early (before the sun was up) to see how Señora Cruz and her daughter make tortillas. Every day they wake up about 5 a.m. to take the maíz to the Molino, where it is ground. They then take it back home and, over a waist-level fire, form the paste into tortillas. A note on tortillas: they make up 47% of the campesino’s diet (corn makes up 90%), yet their price has increased 700% since 1994, thanks to NAFTA. We then set out to meet everyone for our day of tequio: community service that everyone in the community is obligated to participate in (if you don’t participate, you could go to jail. It’s that obligatory). The residents of San Isidro don’t have running water. In order to get water, they must journey, with their donkeys, up the mountain to the well. It’s about a 20 minute walk each way. And so the community decided that what they needed was a cistern. So here we are: 5 eager, weak, American vegetarians here to help. Let me tell you, the 95-year-old man we met trekking up the mountain with his donkey was stronger than we are. But we tried, and, with the help of our three Zapotec friends we’d brought with us and the able-bodied members of the community, we managed to make enough progress to earn a wonderful breakfast of tortillas and soup about 11 a.m. After breakfast, we were visited by the administrators of the municipality, Santiago Tilantongo. They brought us soda and gave several resounding speeches about how thankful they were to our international team for our help.

In the afternoon, we were digging the hole for the cistern and making the wall for it out of wire (which will be reinforced with concrete) when we made an exciting and alarming discovery: we were digging the cistern on top of what we believe to be a Mixtec tomb! We unearthed carbon and broken pieces of a pot before Juan made the decision to stop until the community could decide (they use the system of “usos y costumbres”—participatory democracy through consensus) whether to continue excavating or to leave it be (this is, after all, the grave of their ancestors). We were distracted suddenly by a herd of goats—at least 50 or 60—who came running down the mountain towards us to drink from the community’s water source.

That evening we went over to Juan’s sister’s house for la comida, and Brenda, an adorable eight year old, showed a few of us the top of the mountain near the house (and the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen). We then went over to Phil Dahl-Bredine’s house to chat about what we’d seen and experienced. What struck me most about the weekend was the openness of the people. We came to them from a culture that has constantly offered “help,” but only caused more suffering, and many of these people had been forced (due to a lack of food and resources) to migrate to the U.S., where they were treated terribly. Because of climate change and international policies (both caused largely by our society), they barely have enough food to feed themselves. But they welcomed us into their community as if we were their children. They gave us the best food they had and the best places to sleep. Because, for them, (and I’m quoting Phil here) “accumulation of wealth does not constitute a value in itself nor does it function as a tangible sign of ones success in this game of life. Rather these indigenous people accumulate wealth so that it can be given back in celebration of and gratitude for life.” “Various times I have heard indigenous people express the thought that having an outhouse or a dirt floor has nothing to do with being ‘poor.’ ‘Poverty,’ they say, ‘is not having land to plant our crops, not having schools for our children, not having access to medical care. Yet they want to convince us that we are poor and pitable because we have customs and ways of life that have served for millennia but are not like that of urban people.”

When we were about to leave, Juan’s sister began to cry. “I know I’ve only known you all for a few days, but I feel like you’re my family now. Anytime you want to, please come back. You are all members of our family,” she told us, hugging us each goodbye.

Read a great story about San Isidro and CEDICAM here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/13/world/americas/13oaxaca.html?pagewanted=all

See Phil’s book here:

http://www.amazon.com/Other-Game-Lessons-Mexican-Villages/dp/1570757801

Unrest in the City

Tuesday after comida, about 3 p.m., I decided to take a longer route to class. After four hours of Spanish class, I felt like stretching my legs, browsing the selection at Amate books, and grabbing a cup of coffee at Nuevo Mundo. According to my host family, the scheduled events of the President were over, and so, as long as I avoided the Zócalo, I would be fine. I walked from my house down past parque Llano and over to Santo Domingo. I was in front of Amate books when I heard a series of what sounded like shots fired. I looked down Alcalá and saw 40 or 50 police officers, divided into seven or eight lines, marching up the street towards me, shields raised. Behind them, a cloud of smoke billowed, climbing up the street behind the crowd of police. I froze in place, standing on the sidewalk, until a police officer asked me, in Spanish, who I was. When I responded that I was a tourist, he told me to disregard anything I’d seen and to get as far away from downtown as I could. It was at this point that I noticed that the clouds of smoke were getting frighteningly close and that local citizens and vendors were beginning to turn and run. I quickly asked the officer which streets would be safest, to which he suggested I head north on Calle Porfirio Díaz. Following his advice, I joined the dozens of people running up Calle Matamoros. Cars were turning around on one way streets. I ran all the way until Mercado Sanchez Pascua, when it dawned on me that I was panting, crying, and shaking. I called Jonathan, our program director, who came and met me. From there, we drove to the offices of EDUCA, in the northern part of the city, to unite with the other students. We had a rather scatterbrained attempt at holding class there, before we were driven to our host families’ houses. My host family lives near the city center, and so I opted to stay at Maddy’s house, which is about a mile north of my house. Once we arrived at Maddy’s house, we were told not to leave and that classes were cancelled for the time being. Maddy’s mom made me tea, and we watched the national news to figure out what exactly had happened. It seems as though things have calmed down now though, and we do have class tomorrow.

Sunrise Ceremony

Yesterday morning, at 5:30 am, the 5 of us drove with Jonathan (our academic director) and his wife, Ana Maria (the co-founder of EDUCA) to the ruins of Monte Alban, the oldest city in the western hemisphere. Flor y Canto, an organization that works with indigenous rights, was hosting a Zapotec thanksgiving ceremony to celebrate its 15th anniversary. Upon our arrival, we, along with about 100 indigenous peoples, activists, and supporters walked in a circle around the ruins. A group of men played the drums, flute, and conch while a woman in the front carried a pot of burning incense. We then circled around on the west side of the tomb for the giving of offerings—mezcal, tortillas, and flowers, which were placed in the center of our circle. At this point the sun began to rise, entering directly into the archway of the tomb! We held our hands out toward the sun as the woman with the incense said a prayer of gratitude. We then faced each direction, again stating our gratitude for the earth and for each other. The musicians started again, and we danced around the circle. To end the ceremony, we shared the offerings (of food and drink) and looked out over the newly-light mountains below us.

Classes and NGOs-- Week 1

My first week of classes is over! On Monday afternoon, Oliver Froehling, from Unitierra, took us on a “reality tour” of the city. We visited government housing projects, the sewage plant (or lack thereof—the infrastructure for dealing with waste doesn’t really exist), suburbia (complete with a Sam’s Club and Sears), and squatter settlements. As we’re all living with well-to-do families, it was really interesting to see how the majority of the city lives. And yet, despite the stark poverty, I’m learning that the people here are so rich in so many ways that we aren’t. People here have a strong sense of community—I’ve been asked several times why on earth we move away from home at the age of 18. Also important here is tequio, or community work. The entire community is expected to come together to help each other with everything and anything. Even those who have migrated to the US are expected to perform tequio in their home communities—usually by paying others to perform tequios for them. The other day I was talking to my host brother about snow and he asked, "is it true people are responsible for shoveling their own sidewalks and driveways? Why don’t neighbors help each other with this task?" He just couldn't understand the individualistic, nuclear-family based lifestyle that many of us lead. One student asked what happens if someone doesn’t feel like doing tequio, or what happens if someone has other things to do when the municipal government (ruled by usos y costumbres) calls a tequio. The response was, “what do you mean? Why would someone not have the time or effort to help their neighbors when asked?” There’s a whole different paradigm here of what is valuable and what it means to be a part of a community.

On Wednesday, we learned about the history of Oaxacan social movements from Marcos Leyva from EDUCA. On Thursday, during our Spanish class, we went to Casa de las Artesanías, an artisan cooperative here in the city. During the afternoon, we went to INSO, a local NGO that works with water conservation in Oaxaca. Casa de las Artesanías was right up my alley, of course, and I even got to try making the tin folk art figures Oaxaca is famous for. Check out all of the amazing organizations I visited this week here (note, some of these are in Spanish):

http://unitierra.org/09/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=52:unitierra-entradaingles&catid=36:unitierra

http://www.educaoaxaca.org/

http://www.insooaxaca.com/insoeng.html

http://www.casadelasartesanias.com.mx/

Una paracaída: a squatter settlement with houses made mostly of tin and tarp

Oaxaca City

A vendor selling candy at the observation deck