Virginia struggle for immigrant justice

reposting from Women of Color Blog:

VIDEO: a kinder and gentler understanding of the ‘illegal alien’ that is ‘degrading and destroying’ our communities. pay attention to the interesting way religion is used to connect undocumented workers and the black community. the big question becomes, if anti-immigrant groups can connect us, in what ways could we manipulate their rhetoric to connect our communities?
p.s. the answer to mr. kind and gentle’s question? get rid of fucking NAFTA. eliminate fucking “Plan Mexico”. eliminate fucking “Plan Colombia”. demand that Mr. Bush et al keep their fucking noses out of Mexican elections. stop supporting the ‘war on drugs’. stop supporting chemical companies that randomly permanently destroy substance farmer’s livelihoods. hold protests until the latest wal-mart project is canceled. oh, and while your at it, kick the mexican president out of Mr. Bush’s pants.

Listen to the full community comment on Oct. 17th when Prince William government passed their most repressive legislation. I recommend the beginnig of the eighth hour, and the end of the tenth One guy even takes up the above challenge, after ranting about undocumented workers driving down wages (though I don’t know of any undocumented workers in corporate offices), he says, “Let’s make Latin America a better place, I’ll go down there to protest with you.” I wonder if anti-immigrant sentiment could be harnessed to dismantle NAFTA and Plan Mexico?

And I will soon be posting some notes from the recent Virginia State Immigrant Solidarity Gathering that took place last Saturday in Charlottesville.

-patrick

day of the dead and the movement remembers

photo from the graveyard at san juan mixtepec on nov. 2nd

october 27th was the first anniversary of the murder of the new york indymedia journalist brad will, here in oaxaca. his death was and is significant for a number of reasons, and not the least because of the attention it received in the u.s. i remember conversations with organizers back home where we both bemoaned the all too common dynamic of – white guy is killed, everyone starts to pay attention. for many of us from social movements in the u.s., brad’s death was a catalyst to really start paying attention to oaxaca. however, brad’s murder was just one of dozens, and mexican activists continue to be disappeared and arrested, most without international attention. brad’s death was also the all too convenient pretext used by the mexican federal government to send in the federal police, which perpetuated the single most repressive attack on the movement nov. 25th one year ago. all of this said, brad’s murder is also about the power of independent and movement media, the solidarity that can cross borders, and the viciousness of the state.

CIPO, the APPO and various other organizations and individuals organized an elaborate and fierce day of remembrance to brad, and in turn, to all of the movement’s murdered. a barricade was constructed and maintained through out the day in santa lucia at the site of the original barricade last year where brad spent most of his time. and a group of activists arrived around 5 in the morning to work on the tapete memorializing brad. [tapete's are sand sculptures adorned with flowers, labored over for hours, to remind us of those that have left us. many tapetes are traditionally made around day of the dead (a three day celebration culminating on nov. 2nd), which i heard a community radio activist from mexico city recently refer to as mexico's most important expression of its indigenous roots. There were many constructed this year to remind Oaxacans of those the government attempted to erase, standing out against the relatively sterile creations made by the tourist industry attempting to put a cap on the past, exposing a struggle over not only who will live but who we will be allowed to touch in death.] a march commenced around 9 am and over a thousand protesters headed to the zocalo, along the way covering the streets with a stencil of brad with his camera. we made it back to the site of the barricade for a night of street theater, music, warm tamales, and a procession to and service at the site of the attack. i was amazed by the number of people there, and the raw emotion still boiling…when i asked a few people about how they felt about the attention he has received compared to Oaxacans that have been killed or disappeared, i´ve rarely noted any bitterness upon their responses explaining why his death was/is so important…but still i question my even writing this post, contributing to the veneration of the global in a movement so specifically regional in many ways. but alas, here is a poem that i wrote after the days events, as i left moved, able to connect to brad through circumstance if not personal knowledge:

tapete for brad will

we listened to a priest tell us that to sleep is to sin

when we live in a world so awake with sickness.

we saw a child learn his ABCs with a circle and an ¨a¨

his fingers too small to grip

the can of spray paint.

we walked where he filmed, ate tamales

where the chance his intentions had

bled through the hole blown in his chest.

if i´m gonna fall, if i too intend to close my eyes

scared to open them again,

let my empty vessel

my body of barbed-wire

and dust

fall into sixteen arms

four hearts

and eight eyes.

not that i worry of a death in vain,

not that i´m frightened of the inevitable unmasking

of my significance as a person

not that i need the recognition of fingers

on my flesh,

just that i also prefer

the role of wave to shore

the wind to broken blades of grain,

i too need the fire, the sun, to burn me alive

and to know

that i´m surrounded

in the shadows of others reaching.

in other news – on nov. 2nd, while i was heading back from the mixteca, the APPO and other organizations and individuals attempted to put up a barricade in front of radio universidad, to commemorate the day the police lost, trying to destroy one of the remaining movement radios last year – thousands of people from neighborhoods all over the city came with molotov cocktails, their arms ready to throw back tear-gas canisters, and their bodies ready to lean on one another for support, fighting for hours and forcing the police to back down. this past friday on the anniversary of this struggle, the police switched from their strategy of scooping up groups of militant activists after recent marches, beating them up and then maybe releasing them, to a full on confrontation, beating and arresting dozens, some of whom are still being held, while others are missing entirely. they couldn´t allow a victory to be remembered. the movement didn´t back down however, after an intense general meeting deciding to continue with a large march that i heard was filled with an energy unseen for months. click here for more

i´ll be working over the next week preparing for a workshop here on masculinity and men´s violence prevention that i´ll be sharing with local anti-gender violence activists and organizations. then i´m heading to Mexico City for a conference of non-profits throughout the americas working on the prevention of men´s violence. it´s been chilly here at night, but i just ate a turkey and gravy (my name for the delicious accompanying sauce) quesadilla to warm my belly.

need to hold off on the rest, kinda tired today, and too long in front of a computer,

patrick

“a cross-fire balance of winds”

the title for this post comes from a margaret gibson poem that i received in the mail from a good friend; it told me that my soul depends on the wind. in this way i s’pose last week on the isthmus of tehuantepec was all about my soul – wind that blows over tractor-trailers, the kind that generates power for super-stores and sweatshops, and the kind that comes from below to knock down steel turbines.

a week ago i left Oaxaca City for two reasons. to visit the monthly coordinating meeting for the red de radios comunitarias indigenas del sureste de Mexico (the indigenous community radio network of southeastern Mexico) and travel with fredy, a coordinator for the network, to his hometown of San Juan Guichicovi to check-out radio ayuuk (a future post will focus on some of the lessons learned from this trip). secondly, i was to meet up with elizabeth arnold, an npr corespondent, who needed an interpreter and some connections for a story she is doing on the wind-energy farms being built on the isthmus, migrating bird mortality due to the turbines, and the indigenous resistance that is stalling the plans of the mexican federal government, Iberdrola (the Spanish company behind the project), and Plan Puebla Panama. She promised a donation to community radio and CASA Chapulin, which she made, but i’ll say the future of my willingness to listen to national public radio depends on how this story turns out (should be out mid-nov. on morning edition or all things considered, i’ll let you know). my greatest fear is that the focus will be more on bird mortality and less on land-rights and corporate globalization.

we started by interviewing an organizer with Ucizoni, a union of over a hundred indigenous communities in the isthmus. he gave us the broad context behind the wind farms – the isthmus having been targeted as prime real estate for industrial (think sweatshops) and commercial (think walmart) expansion into central america, interstates are being financed to move products, and wind turbines are being built to keep the machines spinning. none of the electricity is being used for the people, who find their economic base in agriculture and fishing, currently living in the isthmus. in fact, their electric bills are going up at the same time that they’re losing their lands.

we moved on to San Dionisio del Mar, where another of the red de radios community stations is located, and where Iberdrola is planning on constructing hundreds of wind turbines in the very bay where people daily go out to fish. elizabeth had got her start, before npr, in community radio in alaska, so she was interested in the role the radios played in the resistance. we listened to a few promos put together by the red de radios, and learned of the community assemblies organized to fill the information void left by the company that sends out “coyotes” to knock door to door convincing people (many who don’t read Spanish -telling them they’ll never have to work again, and offering signing bonuses) to sign 30-year contracts to rent their land for 80 cents/month/hectare (which is next to free). of course they fail to mention that after signing the contract they lose access to the land they depend on, that there’s no beneficiary (so if the signer of the contract dies, the land goes directly to Iberdrola), and that the blades of the turbines require chemical cleaners that leech into surrounding land and water.

our last stop was in La Venta, where the wind is so strong, all year ’round, that toppled tractor-trailers dot the long flat road outside of town. we met a group of men at La Tienda Lolita, where they hang-out to chat and plan, to talk about their resistance to the wind farms, coming directly from small landowners and campesinos. we spent hours, and could have spent many more, listening to stories of company greed that reminded me of Appalachia at the turn of the century (and into present day), with coal companies buying/stealing and operating whole towns, all based on the inevitability of progress. this new, “clean” energy is based on a lot of the same bullshit – in this case on the lie shoved down our throats that large corporations can address global warming within an economic system of unchecked production and consumption, that within the cause we can find a cure. the men we met in La Venta told us about international forums being organized to strategize resistance, the inevitability of migration north if they get surrounded by sixty-foot blades spinning sardonically in their faces, and the fact that some of them are gonna stick around to defend their land with machetes if they have to. they told us that there’s no such thing as clean energy if it isn’t community controlled, if it privatizes the very land where we want to dig deeper roots.

sorry for the rushed post, but i’m off to check out Day of Dead back in the Mixteca, back to Oaxaca on Friday. there’ll be a lot to share, as these weeks have been filled with marches, commemoration and reflection on the movement last year, and planning for the wind that’ll push us further…

Patrick

seeds: elections, broadcasting, and maiz

["armando la radio" and raising an antenna - click on any of the photos in the post to see their full size]

the municipal president (mayoral) elections in the larger cities have concluded here in oaxaca. however, many small towns will hold their elections over the next month under the community assembly system, widely labeled usos y costumbres, which draws on traditional indigenous governance but varies widely in its implementation – in terms of gender involvement, political party influence, manipulation by a centralized authority, decision-making, flow and use of money, and base of support. in the arena of obvious and admitted political party elections (including Oaxaca City) the PRI has claimed the vast majority of the seats – with allegations of fraud and intimidation wide enough to surpass that term. here in the city, relatively few people voted, but many turned out to a march shortly after the results were announced, and according to an eye-witness account from a friend, the “movement candidate” Humberto Lopez-Lena decided to use his concellation speech to take the rage from the crowd and shape into something that would fit into another ballot-box probably stuffed, but “civil.” another march has been called for the end of the month to denounce the PRI win, so if i happen to find out about when and where i’ll check it out and let you know – the thing is, with fewer movement radio stations since last year’s repression (and now the feds have initiated a multi-state initiative to close unlicensed – the vast majority – community radio stations) spreading the word about upcoming actions is harder and mostly relies on the exclusivity of lips and thumbs – word of mouth and text messages.

the vote of a voice in the air:

last week we all piled into the back of a truck with gustavo, an engineering student and community radio activist, behind the wheel. one group headed to do election observation, and the other – we were headed up into the mountains with gustavo and elisa, a local teacher/organizer, to hook-up a much awaited transmitter and facilitate a training on community radio and programming. after leaving the main road, a few hours east of Oaxaca City, we climbed south into the mountains. i went from sunburn to sweater to huddling close to the truck bed to protect against cold wind chills, from dry air and dust to rushing rivers, all in the space of a few hours.

arriving at the school where we would be staying, perched above deep valleys below, the frozen air and dome of stars surrounding us on all sides convinced me that it was snowing. here, like the dead messages of these stars, the community radio would benefit from height in broadcasting the life of its reflections…

the community radio sits right in the center of town, in one of the municipal buildings used as a school. this helps in convincing the local state government installed authority that the radio is a class project, which to large degree it is – the radio team are mostly high school students. the determination and experience coming from their teacher elisa, and an energy all their own, is evidenced in their months of broadcasting from a roof with megaphones after their more “proper” transmitter failed. this was a supplement of news, music, and commentary in the local language of zapoteco, to add to the original purpose of the megaphones – announcing incoming phone calls, frequently rustling the corn and ears of the red-clay adobe houses tightly grouped around the town center.

the workshop started by looking for the collective definition of “community radio” hidden in the experiences we’d all had with radio, a media of gravity in Oaxaca – especially in towns where television signals seldom arrive and newspapers are stained with the biased print those of us from the world of rupert murdoch know all about. from sharing stories in pairs, a number of elements of our definition bobbed above the surface – the importance of being able to check the source and veracity of your news (what better way than stopping into the station down the street), the power of self-expression, especially in a language that gets little air-time in dominant media, and the necessity of involving an entire community: the elderly and their stories and knowledge of the land and transitions, children, men, and women looking for new ways to live as individuals, with their partners, and in the region.

the theory/programming piece benefited from the participation of gustavo and elisa tremendously, and the radio team hesitantly but resolutely offered their knowledge – i always remain in doubt however. evaluation doesn’t come easy, and my gringo-ness quite understandably shades perceptions…walking the line of learning with wide-eyes, facilitating a training that doesn’t use myself as a primary source, and acknowledging the affect of my presence and the tempting ability to invent experience…

…ultimately, moving onto the communion of a mixer, transmitter, and antenna were understandably on everyone’s mind. and as gustavo would remind us all during his piece of the training, programming and community inevitably enters the radio as its social circle extends beyond the involvement of an exclusive radio team.

after reviewing the function and care of the anatomy of a low-watt community radio, as simple as it is necessary, and the need to protect it from police and regulatory bodies that want to enforce the rule that it’s neither – we brought together wooden poles borrowed from neighbors, a little bit of calibrated copper tubing, electrical tape that didn’t want to stick, wiring that was much more comfortable with the height than i was, and the harmony of hammering, jokes, and steps on a ladder, to send a signal that will bounce around the mountain walls to hundreds and hundreds!!! the extra exclamation here is essential, as this was a process of months for some, and hours for us

gustavo didn’t make it back in time to vote in Oaxaca City, but we decided that setting up a community radio was much more an arm of democracy than any thousands of hands dropping votes into a box…

maiz, in the sierra mixteca:

i went to the sierra mixteca last weekend to attend The Festival of Mixtecan Corn in San Cristobal Amoltepec. This is a region where many of the Oaxacan immigrants to the Shenandoah Valley come from, and a region with extremely high migration rates in general. companies like Monsanto are doing their best to encourage this migration by attacking the history, culture, and land of indigenous corn varieties with genetically modified corn that feeds profits not families, not communities…

an altar representing the dozens of corn varieties found in the sierra mixteca was the center piece of the festival, and was frequently reviewed by the hundreds of campesinos who came out to the yearly festival and organizing conference put together by a local NGO, and farmer advocates.

the group discussions that i hesitantly joined, after chatting with event organizers who had to beware of seed-thieving gen-modified corn representatives in tourist-clothing, i listened to people talk about how corn makes a group of people living near one another into a collective – sharing seeds, mills, and masa. growing on communal lands, not requiring fertilizer and other chemical input, seeds saved from year to year rather than bought from patent holding agribusinesses – theses links between political autonomy and food production, land and freedom, were made apparent as participants reviewed questions such as – why is food security important? what can we do to protect indigenous corn? what cultural role has corn played in our communities? it was again shown that a strong movement, in this case to protect the life of corn and of a country (“sin maiz, no hay pais”), is grown not from the formal structures of organizations but from the everyday interactions of people in relationship with one another.

as the evening came and tortillas of many colors were served along with soup, the cultural programming began. i sat and saw children dancing, fiddle and guitar music playing, and the acting out of skits portraying communities deciding to run out government officials and landholders that had made deals to bring in gen-modified corn:

i spent my last days in the sierra mixteca in the town of san juan mixtepec. from the festival it was a good two hours over pine covered hills, fields of corn, and down into a valley holding a county-seat split by the unlikely sight of a rushing river.

i stayed with joel, an artist, indigenous theologian (click and find more background than you have time for, sorry, if you know of something better let me know), and community organizer who had just played a part in the opening of a new indigenous high school. while i stayed in his elaboratly decorated adobe and wood-framed house, i chatted with his brother, a documentary filmmaker, and talked long into the night about joel’s travels through latin america looking for a church that stands up for the people, and bends for the inclusion of traditions and cosmology which predate the Spanish Bibles and swords that brought genocide and were just celebrated in public schools throughout the U.S. as Columbus Day (celebrated here as 500 Years of Indigenous Resistance).

these two photos are of art that joel made, demonstrating what he, and others label syncretism – reconciling apparent contradictions (indigenous struggle/justice and catholicism), hope and pain – the need to freely express your identity and reality and the desire to survive under a church hierarchy that brutally represses believers that don’t believe correctly.

once again i benefited from the generosity and trust of oaxacan activists, and feel an ability to respond to that benefit with work of my own. as mixtecans risk border crossings to serve in unpaid posts in their community assemblies, or bring back a new truck, or send money home to vast networks of families and friends who’ve had their support-nets ripped out from under them due to trade deals, repression and unforgiving corporations and governments, i see the possibility for directions in our organizing that crosses borders as well, and i feel honored to have had this chance to learn.

my life feels like its spinning, i’m already nervous of coming home and processing this time, personal relationships seem both near and far, and i have an itch of uncertainty that comes with the excitement of so much newness. but as joel helped me recall (looking out over the church in san juan mixtepec), sometimes we have to distort the edges of our world to make it work for us:

 

 

 

a march, an interview with a child, and my mornings

a march:

for more information, and photos – el enemigo comun

tuesday was oct. 2nd, a day that tells a story from 1968 and Mexico City – a government containing a social movement with the tools typical of the colonizer, and a list of countries around the world wanting to enjoy the Mexico that shows its face on tourist brochures for the coming olympic games. hundreds of students were massacred that day, that year, but as the coming of Halloween (before candy, christianity, and the culture of capital) should remind us in the U.S. – there are moments when the border between the living and the dead is blurred. brutal, direct repression, a specter conjured by fragile governments holding onto their power over the living, has been felt with extra weight over the last year here in oaxaca. the march i observed didn’t remember a date almost forty years ago as much as it pointed to the truths hidden beneath a surface sheen, of new paint over only slightly older graffiti, found all over the streets of oaxaca; truths not contained in commemoration.

there were thousands of marchers. the teacher’s union, younger-folk with spray-paint and stencils, people who had been at the barricades, stalinists and anarchists battling over space for street art, among many others. internal movement dialogue – government pacts and autonmous struggle, how to interact with coming mayoral elections – played out through the medium available to a march, with paper, paint, and megaphones. some of the messages that made it to the walls – “say no to the dirty war of elections”, and “politial parties are part of the problem (coming from drawings of bart and lisa).” though many of the traditional movement leaders (from unions, directors of what is left of the APPO structure) are putting their weight behind various candidates…either from the PRD, or Convergencia (a relatively small party whose candidate is a business owner who has a commercial radio station, and was supposedly “in the streets with the people” last year), voices from the streets – coming from students, farmers, and teachers, remind us that while grand promises get made, the police, prisons and poverty rarely budge.

as the march ended in the city center, where a massive tapete (intricate sand-art memorial for the dead) had been constructed with the image of a crucified Christ and the words “No Mas” above the date Oct. 2nd, speakers took their turn, a helicopter flew above, and the marchers scattered. though we heard that later that day that a group of graffiti artists and activists from one of the most militant barricades last year, was grabbed off the street and beaten by government thugs. and the thousands of messages covering the street were “cleaned-up” over night, the state apparatus working again quite mechanically.

an interview with a child (which feels like an unnecessary label):

for our book of testimonials to be published in the next few months we interviewed the nine year-old son of a political prisoner tortured and held for various months last year, after being invited to Mexico City to negotiate with the federal government. he lives with his family in an old neighborhood hidden under the arm of mountains flush with clouds and green. a wood-framed house, simple, kept dry and loud during the rain by tin siding, decorated with paintings by his father while incarcerated, baby photos showing faces of sadness and joy, tart green apples dangling from a tree visible and framed outside the window, planted by his grandmother. while a bit shy dressed in the pressed white shirt and blue pants with few stains from school, he recounted the experience of losing his father to a jail far away, and how he decided to join the APPO marches, tell his story, and try to convince other kids his age to get active. he had been influenced by his family of activists in the best of ways – there are problems in our communities, they won’t be hidden from you, and look at all of these people organizing, worshipping, in rage and laughter, together. he had remembered the chants and songs from repetition, but his conviction and view of the world felt like it came straight from that piece of the heart reserved for enduring difficulty. i felt the tears in my eyes when he told us about the card he wrote to santa claus last year, “dear santa, i don’t want any presents this year, i just want you to bring my dad back to me.” i can’t deny the power of that cultural act that in one sense we shared, and in another, was so distant from my first nine years of life. his father, now back home and continuing to organize, told us that he has faith in fundamental change, a faith in the power of cycles – he had been politicized through his father’s organizing as well, and the first Mexican Revolution was breaking through the surface 100 years ago…

my mornings:

a number of friends and family (primary motivators for this blog) have asked me about my “day to day” here in Oaxaca. so i’ll start with a picture of my mornings…

can’t sleep. the barking dogs sound like they may be attempting to harmonize behind the tangled passionfruit vines outside my window…the light in my bedroom makes me feel young and empty, ready to make an effort to be filled like the cobblestone alleyways, and plazas of solitude, enjoying the company of skateboarders, soccer players, ice cream, prayer, and the heavy petting of eager couples…

i’m preparing for a trip tomorrow with a friend active here in setting up community radio stations in many of the small communities around the state…and soon, i really do promise a few photos (one the times i wish i had a damn camara)…

patrick

¨Oaxaca versus Burma¨ from the Women of Color Blog, and the significance of Oct. 2nd

i promise a posting of my own this week (with photos!) but for today i thought these two articles were important enough to repost.

Click on the title below to read the first article on the Women of Color Blog:

Oaxaca versus Burma

¨would people give a shit about Oaxaca if they were all a bunch of Buddhists instead of Catholics?

I think Westerners are fascinated with the idea that somewhere out there, somebody has “the answer”. The East is often presented (in racist harmful ways) as having “the answer.” Even more specifically, old wrinkly Asian men are presented (in racist and harmful ways) as having “the answers” (karate kid anyone?). But while all these old wrinkly Asian men are busy spreading The Answer to us Westerners, they’re families are being slaughtered, and they are being imprisoned in their own temples or carted off to god knows where by soldiers and mercenaries.

I think that all of us really need to question the willingness of so many of us (including the president and condi rice) to support the Burmese people–but not, say, the Jersey Seven, the people of Oaxaca, the people of Darfur, the people of Sudan, etc etc etc. What is going on here? How does our own racism make us want to ’save’ some people and not others?¨

- posted by brownfemipower

And on remembering Oct. 2nd, as a march here in Oaxaca is about to, Dave Zirin sounds off (again, click the title for the full article):

Remembering the Olympic Martyrs of 1968

¨1968. There was never a year when the worlds of sports and politics collided so breathlessly, without mercy or respite. It was the year Muhammad Ali, stripped of his heavyweight title for resisting the draft, spoke on 200 college campuses and askedthe question, “Can they take my title without me being whupped?” It was the year Bill Russell’s Boston Celtics became champions once again, yet the player-coach saw his house vandalized by bigots. This led Russell to call the city of Boston a “flea market of racism,” and say “I am a Celtic, not a BOSTON Celtic.” It was the year the Detroit Tigers won the World Series, playing in a city that carried the specter of insurrection with riots in the hood, snipers on the roofs, wildcat strikes in the auto plants, and Martha and the Vandellas’ “Dancing in the Streets” ringing throughout the projects.

And most famously, it was the year that Tommie Smith and John Carlos took the 200-meter medal stand at the Mexico City Olympics to raise their black gloved fists in a demonstration of pride, power, and politics. Smith and Carlos were part of the Olympic Project for Human Rights (OPHR) and they made their stand because of what was happening outside the stadium: the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King; the growth of the Black Panthers, the May strikes in France, and most recently in their thoughts, the slaughter of hundreds in the country where they were being feted with gold.¨

until later this week, thanks for reading,

patrick

support community radio in oaxaca

if you would like to support community radio projects like the ones described in my last post, you can make a donation via Western Union to:

Victor Manuel Francisco Gomez

San Francisco del Mar, Oaxaca

and just write “red de radios” as a note.

these are all volunteer radio stations that serve not only as a vital means of communication within and between indigenous communities in southern mexico, but as tools for organizing for real changes in areas extra-vulnerable to the influence of vicious corporate capitalism, and as community centers where education, leadership development, and cultural preservation is taking place.  your donation will help purchase equipment like mixers, transmitters, and voice recorders, essential to getting great radio out to as many as possible.

¨how long are you staying?¨

leonel gomez´s son, named after mahatma gandhi, asked me about my plans for staying in san francisco del mar as i got off the back of a dirtbike i´d paid 10 pesos to ride after crossing the river at ixhuatan. then he showed me the alligator kept in the park. i didn´t know how to answer him, the sun and humidity made it hard for me to remember why i’d come. the alligator show, followed by a visit to a corner store to see the first half of a mexico vs. brazil friendly (mexico´s beautifully executed first goal wouldn´t survive), were early signs of the generosity i continually benefited from on the isthmus of tehuantepec – a stretch of land marking the shortest distance between the gulf and the pacific ocean in mexico, like a water molecule that bends but doesn’t break because of hydrogen-bonding, sometimes it’s the thinness of things that makes them resilient.

climbing the sierra my bus windows were repeatedly pricked by the dozens of maguey fields and distilleries built to offer a traveling tourist or mezcal connoisseur a fresh shot…so much land covered with spilt alcohol. i opted for a sweet mango nieve at one of our bathroom stops.

as we came down from the mountains, firmly on the isthmus, i saw flatland printed by the hooves of a thousand cows looking classically stupid; they had no clue of the history of ranches on the isthmus fencing away indigenous rights to land. but the newest ranches grow wind – dozens and dozens of giant wind turbines stand as sentinels protecting the future of a corridor destined for hotels, industry and ecotourism, which like Ansel Adams works to frame a picture of nature that doesn´t include humanity, under Plan Puebla Panama (i read the daily news record a few days ago and it seems that wind ranches have also been approved for highland county, va.) here in oaxaca there are a lot of questions being asked about this alternative energy supply´s all too traditional demands – electricity for rich mexicans and foreign coorporations feeding a capitalist economy that only knows the language of endless consumption, and replacement of community controlled development with increased militarization to protect the big blades – gears spinning and spinning to blow away indigenous ismeños holding on tight to land use that values local-sufficiency. there´s understandable doubt that any of the megawatts will help to broadcast community projects like radio huave, the community radio station alejandro coordinates, and ¨la voz del mar¨ giving voice to the humidity blowing in from the open water.

radio huave is in a small room with a transmitter that races down the dirt roads not only of san francisco del mar´s small fishing community but of the surrounding area as well. huave is the name of the indigenous language spoken here only by the oldest listeners, evidence of a people marginalized even within other indigenous communities on the isthmus. reclaiming the cultural heritage of a land of short, shocking earthquakes and nighttime distant lightening is a large part of radio huave’s mission. it started as an initiative of leonel, who, not finding much work in a shrimp industry dependent on international trends in diet and market-saturation, became a teacher, was sent to the sierra to work, met the director of UCIZONI who guided his political development, and came back to his hometown where he leads the local branch of section 22 of the teacher’s union, coordinates a network of 10 community radio stations, and participates in a number of indigenous organizing collectives as well. biking around town with him in the baking sun he often stopped to talk strategy about engaging with upcoming elections on oct. 7th that political parties have used to appropriate the more radical energy evident in the last years’ struggles, or to remind someone of a meeting. at the end of the day we’d eat fish and beans, like almost all of the meals over the course of 5 days, cooked by his mother.

radio huave competes well with the coastal mosquitoes in its buzz of activity. while hanging around the station the community’s popular assembly took place outside in the shade to make a decision about a proposed clinic, and dozens of community members, ranging from ages 8 to 80, stopped by to say hi, or to pay to have an announcement read on air – this is how the radio keeps the lights on, having made the decision not to support large scale commercial advertising. the short promos and radio spots accumulated on the station’s computer were testaments to leonel’s radio connections around the country, and they included – why columbus day is nothing to celebrate, how to use a condom, the negative effects of micromachismos (small things men do to control the women in their lives), gay rights, reasons not to migrate to the u.s., nafta and imperialism, announcements about upcoming forums or actions, and daily readings from eduardo galeano’s the open veins of latin america. compared to my experiences with alternative radio in the u.s., i was impressed not only by the organizing approach behind the radio, but by the honest community participation, not hindered by the life-sucking power of over-professionalization.

leonel and i led a workshop with the radio team on my last full day there. the participants were mostly young men, eager to hear their voices on the air, but beyond an understanding of the power of self-expression not as connected to the vision of radio huave as alejandro wants them to be. we looked at the influence of radio on our lives, from there came up with a group definition of community radio – which included opening doors for as many as possible to create their own media and to build mutual support from which other organizing efforts could grow – and ended by breaking up into groups to really look at what programs could be developed to reflect this definition. the programs included interviewing people that have left and come back from the u.s., and looking at the reasons others stayed behind, and a youth hour which would look at religion, the effects of migration north on adolescent aspiration, and sex, gender, and religion. jessica, the creative force behind the youth hour program and the only woman present, exemplified one of the various limits on a simple 4 hour workshop on programming – she is probably moving away soon to find a job.

on my way back to oaxaca city i stopped at jalapa de marques to check out one of the other stations in the community radio network on the isthmus – radio arcoiris (click and listen – under escuchanos on their site). the radio is a project of the organizing collective cortamortaje which puts out a great newspaper and is fed by the energy of cesar and alva (for an interesting report on cesar and the cortamortaje newspaper and sub. comandante marco’s visit to jalapa – featuring a little misunderstanding – check out this story on Narco News). cesar and alva were both enthusiastic hosts, answering many questions and excited to explain the significance of the radio in their efforts to organize with local fishermen to prevent the construction of a hydroelectric damn. i learned a lot from them both, but a conversation with alva while waiting for my bus on the dusty highway that cuts through jalapa on the way to oaxaca (blocked last year by folks from jalapa to prevent governor ulises ruiz supporters from making it to the city to terrorize the movement there) was particularly stimulating. she is the primary broadcaster of radio arcoiris, which itself is unique considering the community radio network is largely dominated by men at this point.

she told me about the mexican government’s strategy to put drug charges on movement leaders (once again a hidden line on the agenda of the “war on drugs” is revealed) in order to cast a light of delinquency on communities desperate for change. and we chatted about the u.s. government adopting the strategy of criminalizing and pathologizing socially harmful behavior (e.g. some drug use) in order to facilitate justification for police and prison expansion into communities either forming part of or identified as potentially sympathizing with social justice movements – it seems the oaxacan government has been taking advantage of “war on drugs” rhetoric in similar ways, to attack movement leaders here with large bases of popular support – in addition to constructing military checkpoints all over the isthmus to prevent migration from central america through mexico. alva also explained her frustration with the continual movement north of those in her hometown, and how this tends to distract people from local issues and struggles – “people get pulled in by the american dream.” i asked how activists in the states could be supportive of their work – she echoed the desire i’ve heard from many for local organizers to better communicate with mexican-immigrant populations in the u.s. – to connect justice work, to share information about what’s happening back in their hometowns, and ultimately to contribute to movements that wouldn’t make the often treacherous trip north seem so necessary. this has got me thinking a lot.

i’m back in oaxaca city for a month, until i go back to the isthmus for more radio work…

i was reading to the lighthouse by virginia woolfe last night. i was remembering the hours i spent swimming with leonel as the sun dashed the bay with pink as warm as the water. i felt again the the rare gift of buoyancy the salt provided. i saw the jumping fish fighting waves. i gave in to their roll and tumble, felt myself fade away, let my skin relax and doubts mix with the tide that never ends its attempts to bring us from the land out to horizons that make minutes, hours, and days seem like silly attempts to divide one wave from another. i remembered alva telling me that she finds her hope in the elementary school students that have developed playful songs inspired by the movement, demanding that teachers tap into a liberatory education, one from a thin isthmus that doesn’t conform with the grand plans of those like myself – those that don’t plan on staying too long at all. and i found a passage from early twentieth century literature that provided the perfect introduction to dreams i knew would be dotted with visions from my recent trip to the sea:

“also the sea tosses itself and breaks itself, and should any sleeper fancying that he might find on the beach answers to his doubts, a sharer of his solitude, throw off his bedclothes and go down by himself to walk on the sand, no image with semblance of serving and divine promptitude comes readily to hand bringing the night to order and making the world reflect the compass of the soul. the hand dwindles in his hand; the voice bellows in his ear. almost it would appear that it is useless in such confusion to ask the night those questions as to what, why, and wherefore, which tempt the sleeper from his bed to seek an answer.”

-v. woolfe

thanks for reading,

patrick

“la voz del pueblo que despierta y se levanta”

i went with a friend to the CIPO-RFM (consejo indigena popular de oaxaca “Ricardo Flores Magon”) house a few nights ago for dinner.  CIPO-RFM finds its name from a Oaxacan anarchist active mostly in the 19th century, and whose work was closely related to the indigenous tradition of communalism and resistance to the mexican state.  their house is located in Santa Lucia, a municipality connected with Oaxaca city, and a notorious hotbed of PRI militants.  Santa Lucia was also the location of a barricade last year, and something not discussed often is that this barricade was also armed, in protection against the many government-sponsored paramilitaries loose in the city last year.  as we got off the bus across from the water tower, following the directions we were given, the streets were mostly deserted and i saw no visible evidence of last years stacked tires, flying rocks, late night singing and coffee breaks.  at the house we ate mole from paste made by a CIPO-RFM women’s mole cooperative, discussed various trips taken by men from San Isidro, a town in the Sierra Norte where CIPO-RFM has one of its strongest presences after facing severe repression in 2004, to the United States – and we learned that good ol’ Lyndon LaRouche has his followers here in Oaxaca as well, going to marches and harassing folks with their scattered fascist rants.  i had been told that CIPO-RFM seems to do a pretty good job of transferring funds to community projects, and i s’pose the many people staying at the house from communities outside of oaxaca city were some testament to this… though there are lots of rumors here about every organization (which i’m sure many of us can identify with), and CIPO-RFM doesn’t escape this dynamic, not by a long shot…

i also had the opportunity to visit Zaachila – a city about 30 minutes from Oaxaca City where the PRI authority was removed by popular demand, and an occupation of the municipal palace, and is still hanging on to its popular assembly (an amazing feat by itself) a city fed from Zapotec tradition come back to life from distant memory.  each neighborhood has its own assembly where anyone can attend, and adults vote on a diverse array of issues, sending their concerns and representatives to a city-wide popular assembly that makes decisions based on majority vote.

we met with a primary organizer during last year’s uprising who currently finds his second home at Zaachila Radio.  Zaachila Radio is found in the city center, right in the municipal palace.  it was a beautiful day and the blue sky highlighted yellow walls and only vaguely hinted at the rain that would come during our discussion with Mario.  the police checkpoint we had to stop at before heading up to the station was later discovered to be worked by officers appointed by the popular assembly and directed to protect the radio station from government or paramilitary attack – the radio being a key organizing tool.  and residents don’t depend on these appointed officers – the city has a bell that’s rung in an emergency, bringing folks running to the city center with sticks, stones, pistols, whatever they have to protect their effort to keep Zaachila from authoritative government.

and Zaachila Radio now embraces community radio in a way that i only dreamt about while i had a show on JMU’s student-run station.  they have well-run programs offered by many people that previously had little to no radio experience – shows on poetry, news international and local, a daily children’s program that is all the rave, and spots reminding the community of June 14th, the APPO, to talk to their kids about sex, and that Zaachila Radio is “la voz del pueblo que despierta y se levanta.”

the day we were there we got to hear part two of a series on stories of migration to the United States.  the guy being interviewed gave a moment by moment, challenge by challenge retelling of his trip from Oaxaca on plane to crossing the border on foot and then in car to Bridgeport, Conn. where he went to help his brother get out of some trouble.  his vivid account of laying down in grass to hide from border patrol and then traveling for hours and hours cramped in the trunk of a car reminded me of the human connection between struggles for dignity taking place on both sides of the border [on sept. 16th head to Charlottesville, Virginia for the Immigrant Solidarity Caravan being organized by Mexicanos Sin Fronteras with support from The People United.  for more information connect jeff at info@thepeopleunited.org].

my work here in Oaxaca is slowing taking more shape – i have spent the last two days getting oriented to my work with Diversidades, a small organization recently formed by folks involved in the non-profit sector of APPO last year.  they do work around gender justice here in the city and in indigenous communities around the state and in Chiapas.  they are starting an independent men’s group designed as a space for transforming abusive behavior and domestic violence, they have a radio program on masculinity and gender violence, and lead “train the trainer” workshops like the one i’m going to observe this weekend back in the Sierra Norte.  then next week i’m heading off to the Isthmus to start thinking about possible collaboration with the union of indigenous communities UCIZONI

i just returned from a meeting of the Espaco Civil with Ricardo of Diversidades (E.C. formed of anti-government non-profits here in Oaxaca as part of the APPO).  as local elections are coming up in october, the question on the table was how local organizations would relate to the electoral process – one offering a choice between parties of the rich and powerful (something else we in the U.S. should identify with).  the unanimous decision was to not support any of the candidates, and to write a statement pointing out the lack of internal democracy, transparency, and the fraud of the political parties.  a few also brought up the need to point out the alternatives represented by the APPO and the uso y costumbres tradition still in existence in over 400 municipalities throughout the state.  one of the most eloquent speakers, Gustavo Esteva, i recognized as the author of a quote that served as my email signature for months:

People ask the powerful for what they already have.  There exists another
notion of power: the idea that the people already have it.  In this
conception, power has another name.  It is called dignity.

-Gustavo Esteva

i wonder what discussions are being had between those that wouldn’t even consider backing a candidate.

i’m feeling a little under-the-weather so i’m off to take a nap.  but not before i stop across the street from where i’m living to get some fresh tortillas, to make myself a squash-flower quesadilla, or perhaps to enjoy some sweet potatoes that took an adventure of market aisles and helpful strangers to find.

-Patrick

i write your name on the walls…

i’ll give a more detailed update of my busy last week in the next day or two. but this video, put together by friends and family of political prisoners here in Oaxaca, was dropped off at the house yesterday. David Vanegas Reyes, who appears at the beginning of the video, has been incarcerated since April (locked up for now on trumped-up drug charges, another result of the War on Drugs being an easy strategy for the state to discredit political resistance), check it out…and tune in soon for ways to support organizers locked up here in Oaxaca.

p.s. the post title is a refrain from the song in the video “yo escribo tu nombre en las paredes…”