We entered the taxis in groups of four. The taxis in San Cristobal are largely compact cars with standard transmissions and many were souped up with non-standard features including hood scoops, rope lights, duel exhausts and phallic antennas.
While Sharon, Sally, Annie and I got into the taxi, Chris provided the driver with instructions in Spanish and then leaned into the car through the driver's window and said, "OK. I gave the driver directions and we're going to meet you there. Someone will need to pay him $50 pesos before you get out. Just let me know and I'll pay you back."
"'Kay. See y'all there," called Sally from the back seat.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb Annie said, "Sally I hope you have money. I gotta exchange more of my money. I'm already out of pesos."
"I have to drop by a bank too," said Sharon. "I heard Chris say that he would take us to an exchange on the way to dinner tonight."
I opened my purse and took out a 50-peso note and then watched the city slide by as our $5.00 taxi ride took us out of the colonial city and back towards the highway to Tuxtla. We approached a busy intersection and took our place in a long line of vehicles waiting at a red light. I looked to the right and saw a taxi depot where idle drivers with crossed arms leaned against their cars in a long line. Across the intersection to my left was a modern Chrysler dealership in fresh, white stucco with tall palm trees lining the curb. Black, red and silver compacts littered the lot and the showroom begging for buyers.
The moment the light turned green, the drivers began tooting their horns and it made me smile. The Mexican version of the beep-beep-beep signal for blind pedestrians, I thought. It reminded me a little of the person who stands at the elevator bay and repeatedly hits the button to summon the elevator car. The cars all began moving the moment the light turned green but it didn't seem fast enough for the waiting drivers. They continued honking their horns even as they crossed the intersection's point-of-no-return. I turned around to look at my travelling companions in the back seat and realized they were thinking the same thing.
We turned right at the next major intersection and began our ascent up a two-lane highway carved with ruts and potholes. We left the busy commercial properties behind as we began our drive through the poor, residential communities outside of town. The homes were made of cinder block and topped with sheets of tin roofing. The lawns were small and dirty and many were filled with small groups of children playing in the sand. Dogs criss-crossed the street as they navigated their way through the busy line of traffic with extraordinary timing and intuition. These animals are brilliant, I thought.
Our driver slowed and then pulled into a small parking lot on the right-hand side of the road. He turned in his seat and smiled at us as he said something fast and decisive in Spanish. I looked out the window but I didn't see anything that looked like they could be the offices of Maya Vinic. Then again, I recalled how misguided my expectations had been for CIEPAC's offices so I was reluctant to make more assumptions about what to expect in terms of commercial office space in San Cristobal.
"Are you kiddin' me? This don't look like anyplace we wanna be," said Sally. "Ther're caskets in them windows."
I looked to my right and saw a glass showcase filled with caskets lined in velvet.
"Donde est Maya Vinic?" ventured Annie.
"Aqui," replied the driver.
"Here," I relayed. "He says this is the place."
"This is no kinda place," said Sally, "an' I'm not gettin' out."
"No?" questioned the driver.
"No," was our emphatic reply.
The driver gently eased back onto the two lane highway as we all began scanning the street for Maya Vinic's offices. We passed more tiny concrete homes, a few garages and little else. About three miles up the road, a Spanish woman with two small children waved to the driver. He held out a finger to let her know he would be there in "one minute." He continued up the road a little further and turned left onto a lovely cobblestone terrace in front of a terra cotta arch and then turned to us and said, "Aqui."
"Aqui?" I questioned.
"Si."
"Well, he don't know where he's goin'," said Sally. "We might as well git out and try to find someone who kin help us."
I paid the driver, opened the door and stood at a most unlikely threshold. As I looked down the hill in the direction from which we had just come, I saw blocks and blocks of an impoverished community to my right. To my immediate left, I gazed upon the lush green gardens of a spectacular estate surrounded by a high fence and manicured lawns. This very spot, I felt, defined the struggle of the Mexican people as they try to bridge the gap between the classes.
"Well, at least he chose a safe place to dump us," I offered.
"I think I heard about this place," said Annie. "It's a real fancy restaurant. I remember reading about it before I left. Let's go in and ask for a phone."
We walked up the cobblestone drive that wove its way through the estate gardens. Within minutes we found ourselves standing in front of a beautiful open-aired restaurant busy with waiters dressed in very formal black and white. I felt suddenly and conspicuously under-dressed.
"Habla Anglais por favor?" we asked.
No, nobody spoke English, and everybody here was too busy to help out a few ignorant touristas who didn't have the courtesy to learn the local language. They were clearly uncomfortable with our being here and I began to wonder if this place was for private gatherings. A club house perhaps. The reaction we received told me that either this place did not cater to tourists OR at least not our type of tourist.
"I think we shud siddown an' order arselves a drink," said Sally with a big grin.
"I would love a cold drink, but I don't think we fit the dress code," I said returning her smile.
We turned back towards the street and reluctantly left this oasis. When we reached the busy street, we began discussing our situation. We all agreed that we were at a huge disadvantage because none of us spoke Spanish. We also agreed that the distance was too far to even attempt to walk back to the hotel. While I was game to stroll back down the hill towards the busy intersection to hail a cab, my American travel companions did not share my sense of ease.
"Hey!" said Sharon grinning, "Here comes a goat herder."
We turned to look down the hill and watched as a woman in traditional dress headed up the hill towards us. About where the estate property began, the woman eased her goat herd across the road to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The goats marched along in a perfect little line, never straying. The woman had a purple and pink blouse embroidered across the shoulders and wore a thick, furry skirt cinched at the waist with a colourful, woven belt. The goats were quieted with tiny muzzles and seemed not the least put off by their walk through town. We watched as they continued on up the hill. It was then that we saw the taxi.
Sunday, March 23
Saturday, March 22
Let's Do Lunch
I stood in the courtyard at CIEPAC taking in the fresh air as I enjoyed the sound of the songbirds while tiny circles of filtered sunlight danced at my feet. Chelsea led a small group through a series of yoga stretches to help them loosen up muscles that tightened up during the morning's class.
Jodi was saying goodbye to Miguel as the rest of the group purchased some of CIEPAC's documentaries and posters. While I desperately wanted a "Boycott Coke" poster, I was not sure that it would make it safely back to Canada in my luggage. Then again, I figured, where would I hang it? There were only two places that I thought might be appropriate -- at the coffee shop and in the clubhouse at the golf course. Since I didn't own either of these commercial locations, it seemed a little presumptuous to purchase a poster for both or either store. I enjoyed a short little daydream where I saw myself hanging a poster up in the soda isle at the grocery store and then decided against making the purchase. I'll just make up a few "killer coke" stickers instead," I thought, "I can stick them on much faster than I can hang a poster."
We headed back towards the city centre to grab some lunch. La Casa del Pan Papalotl is a well known restaurant located at 55 Real de Guadalupe near San Cristobal's downtown. It serves a buffet lunch from 2 pm to 4 pm from Mondays to Thursdays. Lunch...from 2 pm to 4 pm. Lunch. As I crossed the threshold of La Casa at just a few minutes before 3 pm, I understood that Mexico's timetable was very different from the one that I was used to.
There were two doorways toPan Papalotl. The first was the door to a small storefront that could not have been any larger than 10 x 12. It was full of fresh bread, dried fruits and nuts and packages of dried herbs. There were shelves on every wall from floor to ceiling full of baskets and jars filled with produce. The other door was a double-wide glass door that opened to a bright and spacious dining room. The plaster on the walls had, I'm sure, celebrated more birthdays than I but lent themselves to the authenticity of the restaurant. Skylights dotted the ceiling 15 to 20 feet above us and were probably the restaurant's most contemporary update. Spaces between table settings made the heavy wooden furniture less imposing and made it easier for the patrons to maneuver through the restaurant and admire the local artwork. The tables were set with light linen and colourful place settings, dressed and ready to receive us.
Past our table was a smaller room with a wait station on the left and a buffet on the right which also seemed to act as a boundary for the restaurant since, on the other side, was space that Pan Papalotl shared with the cultural center El Peuente. El Peuente, I discovered, has a gallery space, a language school and a cinema just behind the restaurant. I chose my seat and leaned my pack against the wall. I could smell old wood behind the restaurant's lunch special and it reminded of the country.
Jodi explained to us that the restaurant was well known for its vegetarian offerings and fresh, organic products. In fact, the owner has a garden where she grows many of the vegetables; the rest she buys from local growers using fair trade practices. The bread is all freshly baked sourdough bread made with organic wheat.
We lined up at the buffet, picked up our plates and chose from a dozen bowls of fresh vegetables. Mixed spring greens in a deep wooden salad bowl, fresh romaine lettuce and sourdough croutons on a ceramic platter, a clear glass bowl full of coarsely chopped tomato dressed with fresh picked herbs, sliced cucumbers tossed in a light dressing with grated carrot and fresh dill, pickled red beets, gigantic red radishes, and slices of avocado arranged neatly on a platter decorated with the zest and the wedges of lemon. There was more. There was much. Too much.
I walked gently to the table with my heaping plate of fresh organic deliciousness. I was famished -- what with it almost being suppertime -- and could hardly wait to enjoy my late, late lunch. It tasted heavenly. Four months of winter had me missing fresh vegetables. The last tomato I bought at the grocery store tasted like water and was the consistency of beach sand and I couldn't even bring myself to pay $3.99 for a cucumber. It was such a treat, I savored every bite. The waiter came around with a pitcher asking us if we would like water.
I looked at his pitcher of pink juice, smiled politely and said, "Agua, por favor."
"Si," he replied as he tipped his pitcher and emptied pink juice into my glass.
I looked around me to measure the reaction of my colleagues. Nobody seemed put off by their pink water so I ventured a taste. It was mild, vaguely sweet and, well, wet. I didn't know what it was and I didn't ask. It would serve the purpose if I needed to dislodge a piece of bread to keep from dying otherwise there was really no need for refills thank you very much.
After we finished our salad plates, the waiter came and collected our dishes before replacing them with small trays of gnocchi. (Gnocchi, I probably don't need to tell you, is not an authentic Mexican dish. It is, in fact, an Italian dumpling filled with potato.) Slices of cactus, perfect heads of broccoli and a generous helping of green beans saw to it that the gnocchi was well presented. Needless to say, it was delicious, but when the waiter came back for our dessert orders, I had no room left. We ordered one of each of the three desserts and passed them around the table. Each of us took a sampling and passed it on.
We left La Casa del Pan Papalotl with instructions to meet back at the hotel at 4 pm where we would take cabs over to the Maya Vinic headquarters. I had not phoned home to let anyone know that I had arrived safely so I was desperate to get to an Internet cafe to make some kind of a connection. Sharon and I headed down Real de Guadalupe and watched for shops that we could visit when we had more time. We turned left onto Diego Dugelay and followed it down to Francisco Leon. Sharon turned left towards the hotel and I turned right towards the Zoccola. I had seen an Internet Cafe just down from the hotel on our way back from dinner the night before. That's where I decided I needed to be.
Three minutes later, I turned into the doorway of a tiny Internet Cafe and took a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dark interior. There were six computers turned on and waiting for customers. One of the members of our group was at a computer just inside the doorway so I grabbed a vacant computer next to him.
"Hi Joe," I said.
"Hey," was his greeting.
After a few helpful language and computer instructions from Joe, I was logged into the system. Hmmmm. This could be tricky. I recognized the word Google, but wasn't sure about the "Buscar con Google" or the "Voy a tener suerte." That's OK, I can figure this out. I checked the clock in the bottom right hand corner of the monitor -- 3:40 pm. This would have to be record-speed.
I said:
"At this very moment I am in an Internet cafe located about 3 blocks from the hotel. It is Tuesday at about 3:45 pm and I have to be back at the hotel at 4 pm. I have tried to call home but have had no luck getting a signal which means no phone calls home over the next little while.
I will not bore you with the details about the trip here. All the connections worked out though some were tighter than others. Mexico City Airport is muya grande.We are going for a (coffee) cupping at Maya Vinic at 4 pm today.Tomorrow we go out to Puebla Community for the first of two overnight stays. The second one is Friday night when we travel to Agua Azul.
I just wanted to check in to let you know that i am here, I am safe and I am happily getting to meet the people of San Cristobal de Las Casas. I found out why the hotel is not on the web. I will take pictures because you would not believe me otherwise. As I was taking a shower this morning (waiting on the hot water) we had a small earthquake. No big deal I guess -- they happen all the time. I was kind of relieved because I thought that I was having a dizzy spell. Never thought I would say that I was happy for an earthquake.
I have not taken many pictures yet. I will take some of the countryside and the hotel and the cathedrals here. I have to take as many shots as possible with no people in them -- one of the rules. I promise to take pictures of the streets though. You absolutely would not believe these streets. They are about 25-30 feet wide. Most are one way but not all of them. People park all over the place. Thrill seekers should add driving to and in San Cristobal to their crazy thing to do list.I have to get back to the hotel so I will try to come back here later in the week (after our sleepover).Talk to you soon!Love you all!"
I added email addresses of everyone who I figured may be worrying about me and then I clicked the send button.
It was 3:50 p.m.
I scanned my inbox to see if I was missing anything urgent and then....
Returned Mail, System Administrator. Crud! I opened the email to see which email account was rejected -- my daughter. OK, I can live with that. I close the message. Then came another.
Returned Mail, System Administrator. Darn! I opened the email to see which email account was rejected this time -- my son. OK. He'll be disappointed, but I'll send it again tonight or tomorrow. Must be something hotmail-related. And then...
Returned Mail, System Administrator. Crap!
"Joe, are you having any problems sending email?"
"No," came his reply.
I read all of my rejected messages and discovered that my sister's address was a success. I sent her another quick little email:
"Im getting my email returned to John and the kids. Can you please call them ASAP AND let them know I am fine. There is no cell signal here.I{ll check in again soom. Tell them to send me an email and I{ll reply. Hopefully they will get my emails that way ....or maybe you could relay them for me.
Tahnks,love,Sis"
Yes, it did look EXACTLY like that. Bad spelling and no apostrophes. I almost killed me to send it that way.
I quickly paid the clerk for my time trying to convey my deep apologies for my poor Spanish and rushed manners using facial expressions and hand gestures. I left Joe at the computer and ran up the street towards the hotel. The entire time I was running up the street I was recalling our pre-trip documentation. "Be punctual." It was one of the rules that would help things go more smoothly as we travelled in a big group.
I burst through the hotel door at precisely 4 pm and found myself alone in the lobby. I ran up to the room and knocked on the door. Fortunately Sharon was still getting ready. Good - they didn't leave without me, I thought. I took a look in the mirror, winced at my reflection there and tried to tame my crazy curls. I grabbed my coffee samples for our cupping at Maya Vinic and headed downstairs to fill up my water bottle. By the time I returned to the lobby, the group was starting to gather.
"Hi guys," Chris said as he walked in the door.
"How did it go today, " asked Seth.
"I'll tell you later," said Chris. "We're running a little behind. We're supposed to be at Maya Vinic for a cupping but we're still going to try to meet with Julio at 7:00. I'm not sure if he's going to be able to meet with us. He's got a few meetings this afternoon but if there's time we'll get together."
I recalled another rule from our pre-trip documents. "Be flexible. Things don't always go as planned."
Chris dodged back out the doorway and began hailing cabs.
I filled my water bottle and then walked outside with Sally, Annie and Sharon. We chatted on the sidewalk as the group gathered together under the late afternoon sky. It felt early, I thought. Maybe it's because I had only just finished lunch less than one hour ago.
Jodi was saying goodbye to Miguel as the rest of the group purchased some of CIEPAC's documentaries and posters. While I desperately wanted a "Boycott Coke" poster, I was not sure that it would make it safely back to Canada in my luggage. Then again, I figured, where would I hang it? There were only two places that I thought might be appropriate -- at the coffee shop and in the clubhouse at the golf course. Since I didn't own either of these commercial locations, it seemed a little presumptuous to purchase a poster for both or either store. I enjoyed a short little daydream where I saw myself hanging a poster up in the soda isle at the grocery store and then decided against making the purchase. I'll just make up a few "killer coke" stickers instead," I thought, "I can stick them on much faster than I can hang a poster."
We headed back towards the city centre to grab some lunch. La Casa del Pan Papalotl is a well known restaurant located at 55 Real de Guadalupe near San Cristobal's downtown. It serves a buffet lunch from 2 pm to 4 pm from Mondays to Thursdays. Lunch...from 2 pm to 4 pm. Lunch. As I crossed the threshold of La Casa at just a few minutes before 3 pm, I understood that Mexico's timetable was very different from the one that I was used to.
There were two doorways toPan Papalotl. The first was the door to a small storefront that could not have been any larger than 10 x 12. It was full of fresh bread, dried fruits and nuts and packages of dried herbs. There were shelves on every wall from floor to ceiling full of baskets and jars filled with produce. The other door was a double-wide glass door that opened to a bright and spacious dining room. The plaster on the walls had, I'm sure, celebrated more birthdays than I but lent themselves to the authenticity of the restaurant. Skylights dotted the ceiling 15 to 20 feet above us and were probably the restaurant's most contemporary update. Spaces between table settings made the heavy wooden furniture less imposing and made it easier for the patrons to maneuver through the restaurant and admire the local artwork. The tables were set with light linen and colourful place settings, dressed and ready to receive us.
Past our table was a smaller room with a wait station on the left and a buffet on the right which also seemed to act as a boundary for the restaurant since, on the other side, was space that Pan Papalotl shared with the cultural center El Peuente. El Peuente, I discovered, has a gallery space, a language school and a cinema just behind the restaurant. I chose my seat and leaned my pack against the wall. I could smell old wood behind the restaurant's lunch special and it reminded of the country.
Jodi explained to us that the restaurant was well known for its vegetarian offerings and fresh, organic products. In fact, the owner has a garden where she grows many of the vegetables; the rest she buys from local growers using fair trade practices. The bread is all freshly baked sourdough bread made with organic wheat.
We lined up at the buffet, picked up our plates and chose from a dozen bowls of fresh vegetables. Mixed spring greens in a deep wooden salad bowl, fresh romaine lettuce and sourdough croutons on a ceramic platter, a clear glass bowl full of coarsely chopped tomato dressed with fresh picked herbs, sliced cucumbers tossed in a light dressing with grated carrot and fresh dill, pickled red beets, gigantic red radishes, and slices of avocado arranged neatly on a platter decorated with the zest and the wedges of lemon. There was more. There was much. Too much.
I walked gently to the table with my heaping plate of fresh organic deliciousness. I was famished -- what with it almost being suppertime -- and could hardly wait to enjoy my late, late lunch. It tasted heavenly. Four months of winter had me missing fresh vegetables. The last tomato I bought at the grocery store tasted like water and was the consistency of beach sand and I couldn't even bring myself to pay $3.99 for a cucumber. It was such a treat, I savored every bite. The waiter came around with a pitcher asking us if we would like water.
I looked at his pitcher of pink juice, smiled politely and said, "Agua, por favor."
"Si," he replied as he tipped his pitcher and emptied pink juice into my glass.
I looked around me to measure the reaction of my colleagues. Nobody seemed put off by their pink water so I ventured a taste. It was mild, vaguely sweet and, well, wet. I didn't know what it was and I didn't ask. It would serve the purpose if I needed to dislodge a piece of bread to keep from dying otherwise there was really no need for refills thank you very much.
After we finished our salad plates, the waiter came and collected our dishes before replacing them with small trays of gnocchi. (Gnocchi, I probably don't need to tell you, is not an authentic Mexican dish. It is, in fact, an Italian dumpling filled with potato.) Slices of cactus, perfect heads of broccoli and a generous helping of green beans saw to it that the gnocchi was well presented. Needless to say, it was delicious, but when the waiter came back for our dessert orders, I had no room left. We ordered one of each of the three desserts and passed them around the table. Each of us took a sampling and passed it on.
We left La Casa del Pan Papalotl with instructions to meet back at the hotel at 4 pm where we would take cabs over to the Maya Vinic headquarters. I had not phoned home to let anyone know that I had arrived safely so I was desperate to get to an Internet cafe to make some kind of a connection. Sharon and I headed down Real de Guadalupe and watched for shops that we could visit when we had more time. We turned left onto Diego Dugelay and followed it down to Francisco Leon. Sharon turned left towards the hotel and I turned right towards the Zoccola. I had seen an Internet Cafe just down from the hotel on our way back from dinner the night before. That's where I decided I needed to be.
Three minutes later, I turned into the doorway of a tiny Internet Cafe and took a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the dark interior. There were six computers turned on and waiting for customers. One of the members of our group was at a computer just inside the doorway so I grabbed a vacant computer next to him.
"Hi Joe," I said.
"Hey," was his greeting.
After a few helpful language and computer instructions from Joe, I was logged into the system. Hmmmm. This could be tricky. I recognized the word Google, but wasn't sure about the "Buscar con Google" or the "Voy a tener suerte." That's OK, I can figure this out. I checked the clock in the bottom right hand corner of the monitor -- 3:40 pm. This would have to be record-speed.
I said:
"At this very moment I am in an Internet cafe located about 3 blocks from the hotel. It is Tuesday at about 3:45 pm and I have to be back at the hotel at 4 pm. I have tried to call home but have had no luck getting a signal which means no phone calls home over the next little while.
I will not bore you with the details about the trip here. All the connections worked out though some were tighter than others. Mexico City Airport is muya grande.We are going for a (coffee) cupping at Maya Vinic at 4 pm today.Tomorrow we go out to Puebla Community for the first of two overnight stays. The second one is Friday night when we travel to Agua Azul.
I just wanted to check in to let you know that i am here, I am safe and I am happily getting to meet the people of San Cristobal de Las Casas. I found out why the hotel is not on the web. I will take pictures because you would not believe me otherwise. As I was taking a shower this morning (waiting on the hot water) we had a small earthquake. No big deal I guess -- they happen all the time. I was kind of relieved because I thought that I was having a dizzy spell. Never thought I would say that I was happy for an earthquake.
I have not taken many pictures yet. I will take some of the countryside and the hotel and the cathedrals here. I have to take as many shots as possible with no people in them -- one of the rules. I promise to take pictures of the streets though. You absolutely would not believe these streets. They are about 25-30 feet wide. Most are one way but not all of them. People park all over the place. Thrill seekers should add driving to and in San Cristobal to their crazy thing to do list.I have to get back to the hotel so I will try to come back here later in the week (after our sleepover).Talk to you soon!Love you all!"
I added email addresses of everyone who I figured may be worrying about me and then I clicked the send button.
It was 3:50 p.m.
I scanned my inbox to see if I was missing anything urgent and then....
Returned Mail, System Administrator. Crud! I opened the email to see which email account was rejected -- my daughter. OK, I can live with that. I close the message. Then came another.
Returned Mail, System Administrator. Darn! I opened the email to see which email account was rejected this time -- my son. OK. He'll be disappointed, but I'll send it again tonight or tomorrow. Must be something hotmail-related. And then...
Returned Mail, System Administrator. Crap!
"Joe, are you having any problems sending email?"
"No," came his reply.
I read all of my rejected messages and discovered that my sister's address was a success. I sent her another quick little email:
"Im getting my email returned to John and the kids. Can you please call them ASAP AND let them know I am fine. There is no cell signal here.I{ll check in again soom. Tell them to send me an email and I{ll reply. Hopefully they will get my emails that way ....or maybe you could relay them for me.
Tahnks,love,Sis"
Yes, it did look EXACTLY like that. Bad spelling and no apostrophes. I almost killed me to send it that way.
I quickly paid the clerk for my time trying to convey my deep apologies for my poor Spanish and rushed manners using facial expressions and hand gestures. I left Joe at the computer and ran up the street towards the hotel. The entire time I was running up the street I was recalling our pre-trip documentation. "Be punctual." It was one of the rules that would help things go more smoothly as we travelled in a big group.
I burst through the hotel door at precisely 4 pm and found myself alone in the lobby. I ran up to the room and knocked on the door. Fortunately Sharon was still getting ready. Good - they didn't leave without me, I thought. I took a look in the mirror, winced at my reflection there and tried to tame my crazy curls. I grabbed my coffee samples for our cupping at Maya Vinic and headed downstairs to fill up my water bottle. By the time I returned to the lobby, the group was starting to gather.
"Hi guys," Chris said as he walked in the door.
"How did it go today, " asked Seth.
"I'll tell you later," said Chris. "We're running a little behind. We're supposed to be at Maya Vinic for a cupping but we're still going to try to meet with Julio at 7:00. I'm not sure if he's going to be able to meet with us. He's got a few meetings this afternoon but if there's time we'll get together."
I recalled another rule from our pre-trip documents. "Be flexible. Things don't always go as planned."
Chris dodged back out the doorway and began hailing cabs.
I filled my water bottle and then walked outside with Sally, Annie and Sharon. We chatted on the sidewalk as the group gathered together under the late afternoon sky. It felt early, I thought. Maybe it's because I had only just finished lunch less than one hour ago.
Sunday, March 16
NAFTA's Passionate Critic
The sidewalks were so narrow and in such disrepair that walking on the street at times offered less risk of bodily injury. The streets are only a few metres wide, barely enough for two cars to pass -- no room in fact, if there are parked cars along the crowded streets -- but this does not affect the behaviour or speed of the motorists. I feel the warm rush of a breeze slap at my jacket every time a compact car races by me. I jump up on the sidewalk to pass by a long line of parked cars and the jump back down onto the street to avoid a hole in the sidewalk filled with rusty rebar. Back up onto the sidewalk to cross an intersection, down to cross the street, up on the other side. My morning workout, I smiled.
I knew that we must be nearly at our destination since there was little of the city left to cross. A few blocks ahead the street ended and a mountain rose into the sky. Tin shacks dotted the hillside and I wondered about their purpose; surely they could not be houses. I looked around for glass office buildings but there were none, just more and more of these colourful houses fashioned from adobe or concrete blocks. Many have large gated entries through which they can drive their cars and nearly every one of these is closed and locked. The city's devotion to household security made me uneasy since it implied that to live well, one must turn their home into a fortress.
"It's to your right," Jody called out from behind us.
I crossed the street and saw the CIEPAC sign hanging in front of a gated entry just below a bouganvillia dripping its blossoms onto the sidewalk. I walked to the gate of CIEPAC and stood beneath the blossoms inhaling deeply as they released their perfume to me. For one instant I remembered the cold winter I left behind and then quickly returned to reprimand myself for leaving the moment. I stood in the shade of the bouganvillia and watched as the rest of our group arrived at the gates of CIEPAC.
Jodi poked at the buzzer to let the staff know that we had arrived.
We walked through the gate and entered the small adobe house that served as the offices of CIEPAC.
"Through the kitchen, out the door and turn left," directed the young dark-haired woman behind the front desk.
The kitchen door opened to a concrete walkway that ran the length of the home. I turned left and headed towards a terrace at the back of the house. On my right was a ten-foot wall that barricaded the property of CIEPAC. At the end of the terrace was a small trailer fashioned into a schoolroom of sorts with two tables arranged end-to-end surrounded by a collection of mismatched chairs. Maps and posters covered the walls. Brochures, videos and piles of paperwork littered the tables and shelves and a large whiteboard defined the front of the room.
Within minutes we were introduced to Miguel who gave us each a copy of Eduardo Porter's article in the New York Times, "NAFTA Is a Sweet Deal, So Why Are They So Sour?"
"Please take a few minutes to read this article and then we'll get started," he said.
Miguel's parents were Americans who visited Mexico during a vacation one winter and decided to relocate there. Miguel and his sister were raised in Mexico he explained, and while he opted to stay, his sister returned to the United States and neither she nor her children are interested in returning. It has been years since they have seen each other. In stark contrast to his sister, Miguel's life in Mexico left him with a deep sense of solidarity for the Mexican people and, in particular, the people of Chiapas. Perhaps this is why he decided to stay and found a life at the Center for Economic and Political Research for Community Action - CIEPAC. The Center was founded in 1998 as a civil organization "that accompanies social movements in Chiapas, Mexico and Mesoamerica, as well as the global struggles that seek to build a more democratic world, with justice and dignity for all. Its principle activities are research, information-dissemination, education, training and analysis."
We began by reviewing the history of Mexico, the influence of the United States of America and globalization. We explored the history of developed countries and how they rose to power and how politics influenced their successes and lesser successes. We explored the struggles of developing countries and the least developed countries and discussed the hurdles they face as the climb the ladder towards "development." In the end, the group was met with the idea that developed, developing and under-developed countries each have a role in maintaining a balance in preserving our planet.
We talked about the influence that developed countries have on other developing nations.
Mexico has a huge population of lower-class families and it is seeing emerging trends in health issues that are normally prevalent in developed nations -- for example childhood
obesity and childhood diabetes. Coca Cola set up a number of bottling plants
in Mexico and now offers resale at metropolitan and rural locations throughout the country. Miguel talked a little about Coca Cola's corporate history as I sat and nodded in total agreement. (See my archive blog about corporate criminals for more information about Coca Cola). CEIPAC has begun a country wide boycott of Coca Cola, travelling to schools and communities to educate them about the negative impact this sugary soft drink is having on the health of the nation's children.
"Just think," Miguel explained, "what a country requires in terms of resources in order to feed its development."
Industry requires raw products and energy in order to operate and it invariably produces pollutants that filter their way through our soil and air. We imagined what the planet would be like if the number of developed countries doubled and soon realized that it was not possible to imagine a developed planet. While we pondered this party-pooping idea of Miguel's he quickly turned the conversation back to Mexico.
"Mexico's biggest import at present is its labour workforce," explained Miguel. "During the past 10 years, 25% of the rural population has left the country. Twenty-five percent."
We silently pondered the figure and I tried to recall the country's population -- 100 million or 103 million, I thought. If 20 million lived in Mexico City, that still left 80 million or so. At even 50% of these 80 million people living in cities (and I think that's a high estimate) that leaves 40 million people living in rural Mexico. My math led me to an estimate of 10 million people. Ten million people left Mexico during the past ten years. That's an average of one million a year.
"They are leaving to find jobs in America because there are few opportunities here in Mexico. While the leaders promised many jobs once NAFTA became effective, those jobs never materialized," lamented Miguel. "What's more, the SPPNA is the militarization of NAFTA and the next meeting is in April of this year."
"SPPNA?"
"Security and Prosperity Partnership for North America. It's not a single negotiated treaty, but rather a series of legislations signed by the Executive Branch of the three governments. The tri-national summit is scheduled to take place in New Orleans on April 21 and 22. Prosperity Partnership, doesn't that sound nice? It means that because Canada and Mexico are geographical buffers to possible terrorists wishing to infiltrate the USA, the US border is de-facto those of North America. "
Cynics refer to the SPPNA as plot to dissolve the union. I read while investigating this further that, W. Bush’s national security advisor, Stephen Hadley, said that, "in the event of foreign aggression or another Sept. 11 attack, the defense of the three countries would be unified (needless to say) under U.S. command. In other words, the accord — which is little known in Canada — foresees that the armed forces of Mexico and Canada shall become subservient to those of the United States." Does that mean I get a vote for the US President?
"Go home, research the SPPNA and draw your own conclusions," advised Miguel, "but consider how this deep integration will further impact North American relations."
"We don't have a lot of time left Miguel, but I was hoping you would talk to the group about Chapter 11," said Jody.
"Chapter 11," said Miguel, "oh yes, Chapter 11. Well, NAFTA is a huge document about economic liberalization that neither you nor I would ever read. Inside that document is Chapter 11 which addresses barriers to investment. Now, Chapter 11 was intended to protect investors in case foreign governments tried to seize their property but the wording in that chapter has left a loophole that allows private industry to launch large multinational lawsuits. Ralph Nader has devoted a website to Chapter 11 lawsuits."
In 1990, a Mexican Company called Coterin received authorization from the Mexican government to operate a toxic dump in the State of San Luis Potosi but was denied a municipal permit in 1991 by Guadalcazar. In 1993, a California-based company called Metalclad purchased Coterin and once again tried to acquire permits to open a toxic dump site in San Luis Potosi. The threat to the environment was clear and inarguable and the residents were passionate about keeping their environment safe. (Miguel said that they threatened to string the mayor up by his throat if he issued the permit.) In 1997, Metalclad sued the Mexican government for $90 million claiming that the actions of the municipality amounted to expropriation without compensation. What's more, Metalclad claimed the government of Mexico failed to fair and equitable treatment in accordance with international law. A NAFTA tribunal awarded Metalclad $16,685,000.
UPS is based in Atlanta, Georgia and has been in business since 1907 -- UPS Canada has been operational since 1975. In 1981, Canada Post was transformed from a government department to a Crown Corporation which is a publicly owned corporation. In 1993, Canada Post bought Purolator Courier which was Canada's leading overnight delivery courier company making Canada Post the fifth largest employer in Canada. In 1999, UPS filed suit for $160 million claiming that Canada Post was in violation of NAFTA's Chapter 11 and NAFTA Chapter 15 on competition policy, monopolies and state-run enterprises. The foundation of the lawsuit is a claim that Canada Post abuses its special monopoly status by utilizing its infrastructure to cross-subsidize its parcel and courier services. (I would like to point out that it costs more money to send a parcel by Canada Post than by UPS, Canpar or DHL. The only more expensive courier service is, in fact, Purolator -- with the exception of possibly FedEx.) There's more to it but you can read it for yourself. In essence, UPS claims that the very existence of Canada Post violates its rights under NAFTA.
"You mean there is nothing in Chapter 11 that protects the environmental or social policies of the government against private industry?" I asked.
"No," was Miguel's simple answer.
There are more lawsuits. In fact, during the first seven years of NAFTA, at least 12 investors have invoked the provisions of Chapter 11 to pursue claims against one of the three governments for compensation. The US has been targeted as well, though it has fared much better than Canada and Mexico.
I felt very naive as I sat and listened to Miguel. How is it that I was unaware of SPPNA? How did I not hear about Chapter 11 lawsuits? Well, I was aware of Ketcham's lawsuit against Canada's Softwood Lumber Agreement, but I didn't make the connection to Chapter 11 of NAFTA.
I smiled at the irony. I had to travel to San Cristobal to learn about my country. I was learning more about North American trade in Mexico than I had ever learned at home.
I knew that we must be nearly at our destination since there was little of the city left to cross. A few blocks ahead the street ended and a mountain rose into the sky. Tin shacks dotted the hillside and I wondered about their purpose; surely they could not be houses. I looked around for glass office buildings but there were none, just more and more of these colourful houses fashioned from adobe or concrete blocks. Many have large gated entries through which they can drive their cars and nearly every one of these is closed and locked. The city's devotion to household security made me uneasy since it implied that to live well, one must turn their home into a fortress.
"It's to your right," Jody called out from behind us.
I crossed the street and saw the CIEPAC sign hanging in front of a gated entry just below a bouganvillia dripping its blossoms onto the sidewalk. I walked to the gate of CIEPAC and stood beneath the blossoms inhaling deeply as they released their perfume to me. For one instant I remembered the cold winter I left behind and then quickly returned to reprimand myself for leaving the moment. I stood in the shade of the bouganvillia and watched as the rest of our group arrived at the gates of CIEPAC.
Jodi poked at the buzzer to let the staff know that we had arrived.
We walked through the gate and entered the small adobe house that served as the offices of CIEPAC.
"Through the kitchen, out the door and turn left," directed the young dark-haired woman behind the front desk.
The kitchen door opened to a concrete walkway that ran the length of the home. I turned left and headed towards a terrace at the back of the house. On my right was a ten-foot wall that barricaded the property of CIEPAC. At the end of the terrace was a small trailer fashioned into a schoolroom of sorts with two tables arranged end-to-end surrounded by a collection of mismatched chairs. Maps and posters covered the walls. Brochures, videos and piles of paperwork littered the tables and shelves and a large whiteboard defined the front of the room.
Within minutes we were introduced to Miguel who gave us each a copy of Eduardo Porter's article in the New York Times, "NAFTA Is a Sweet Deal, So Why Are They So Sour?"
"Please take a few minutes to read this article and then we'll get started," he said.
Miguel's parents were Americans who visited Mexico during a vacation one winter and decided to relocate there. Miguel and his sister were raised in Mexico he explained, and while he opted to stay, his sister returned to the United States and neither she nor her children are interested in returning. It has been years since they have seen each other. In stark contrast to his sister, Miguel's life in Mexico left him with a deep sense of solidarity for the Mexican people and, in particular, the people of Chiapas. Perhaps this is why he decided to stay and found a life at the Center for Economic and Political Research for Community Action - CIEPAC. The Center was founded in 1998 as a civil organization "that accompanies social movements in Chiapas, Mexico and Mesoamerica, as well as the global struggles that seek to build a more democratic world, with justice and dignity for all. Its principle activities are research, information-dissemination, education, training and analysis."
We began by reviewing the history of Mexico, the influence of the United States of America and globalization. We explored the history of developed countries and how they rose to power and how politics influenced their successes and lesser successes. We explored the struggles of developing countries and the least developed countries and discussed the hurdles they face as the climb the ladder towards "development." In the end, the group was met with the idea that developed, developing and under-developed countries each have a role in maintaining a balance in preserving our planet.
We talked about the influence that developed countries have on other developing nations.
Mexico has a huge population of lower-class families and it is seeing emerging trends in health issues that are normally prevalent in developed nations -- for example childhood
obesity and childhood diabetes. Coca Cola set up a number of bottling plantsin Mexico and now offers resale at metropolitan and rural locations throughout the country. Miguel talked a little about Coca Cola's corporate history as I sat and nodded in total agreement. (See my archive blog about corporate criminals for more information about Coca Cola). CEIPAC has begun a country wide boycott of Coca Cola, travelling to schools and communities to educate them about the negative impact this sugary soft drink is having on the health of the nation's children.
"Just think," Miguel explained, "what a country requires in terms of resources in order to feed its development."
Industry requires raw products and energy in order to operate and it invariably produces pollutants that filter their way through our soil and air. We imagined what the planet would be like if the number of developed countries doubled and soon realized that it was not possible to imagine a developed planet. While we pondered this party-pooping idea of Miguel's he quickly turned the conversation back to Mexico.
"Mexico's biggest import at present is its labour workforce," explained Miguel. "During the past 10 years, 25% of the rural population has left the country. Twenty-five percent."
We silently pondered the figure and I tried to recall the country's population -- 100 million or 103 million, I thought. If 20 million lived in Mexico City, that still left 80 million or so. At even 50% of these 80 million people living in cities (and I think that's a high estimate) that leaves 40 million people living in rural Mexico. My math led me to an estimate of 10 million people. Ten million people left Mexico during the past ten years. That's an average of one million a year.
"They are leaving to find jobs in America because there are few opportunities here in Mexico. While the leaders promised many jobs once NAFTA became effective, those jobs never materialized," lamented Miguel. "What's more, the SPPNA is the militarization of NAFTA and the next meeting is in April of this year."
"SPPNA?"
"Security and Prosperity Partnership for North America. It's not a single negotiated treaty, but rather a series of legislations signed by the Executive Branch of the three governments. The tri-national summit is scheduled to take place in New Orleans on April 21 and 22. Prosperity Partnership, doesn't that sound nice? It means that because Canada and Mexico are geographical buffers to possible terrorists wishing to infiltrate the USA, the US border is de-facto those of North America. "
Cynics refer to the SPPNA as plot to dissolve the union. I read while investigating this further that, W. Bush’s national security advisor, Stephen Hadley, said that, "in the event of foreign aggression or another Sept. 11 attack, the defense of the three countries would be unified (needless to say) under U.S. command. In other words, the accord — which is little known in Canada — foresees that the armed forces of Mexico and Canada shall become subservient to those of the United States." Does that mean I get a vote for the US President?
"Go home, research the SPPNA and draw your own conclusions," advised Miguel, "but consider how this deep integration will further impact North American relations."
"We don't have a lot of time left Miguel, but I was hoping you would talk to the group about Chapter 11," said Jody.
"Chapter 11," said Miguel, "oh yes, Chapter 11. Well, NAFTA is a huge document about economic liberalization that neither you nor I would ever read. Inside that document is Chapter 11 which addresses barriers to investment. Now, Chapter 11 was intended to protect investors in case foreign governments tried to seize their property but the wording in that chapter has left a loophole that allows private industry to launch large multinational lawsuits. Ralph Nader has devoted a website to Chapter 11 lawsuits."
In 1990, a Mexican Company called Coterin received authorization from the Mexican government to operate a toxic dump in the State of San Luis Potosi but was denied a municipal permit in 1991 by Guadalcazar. In 1993, a California-based company called Metalclad purchased Coterin and once again tried to acquire permits to open a toxic dump site in San Luis Potosi. The threat to the environment was clear and inarguable and the residents were passionate about keeping their environment safe. (Miguel said that they threatened to string the mayor up by his throat if he issued the permit.) In 1997, Metalclad sued the Mexican government for $90 million claiming that the actions of the municipality amounted to expropriation without compensation. What's more, Metalclad claimed the government of Mexico failed to fair and equitable treatment in accordance with international law. A NAFTA tribunal awarded Metalclad $16,685,000.
UPS is based in Atlanta, Georgia and has been in business since 1907 -- UPS Canada has been operational since 1975. In 1981, Canada Post was transformed from a government department to a Crown Corporation which is a publicly owned corporation. In 1993, Canada Post bought Purolator Courier which was Canada's leading overnight delivery courier company making Canada Post the fifth largest employer in Canada. In 1999, UPS filed suit for $160 million claiming that Canada Post was in violation of NAFTA's Chapter 11 and NAFTA Chapter 15 on competition policy, monopolies and state-run enterprises. The foundation of the lawsuit is a claim that Canada Post abuses its special monopoly status by utilizing its infrastructure to cross-subsidize its parcel and courier services. (I would like to point out that it costs more money to send a parcel by Canada Post than by UPS, Canpar or DHL. The only more expensive courier service is, in fact, Purolator -- with the exception of possibly FedEx.) There's more to it but you can read it for yourself. In essence, UPS claims that the very existence of Canada Post violates its rights under NAFTA.
"You mean there is nothing in Chapter 11 that protects the environmental or social policies of the government against private industry?" I asked.
"No," was Miguel's simple answer.
There are more lawsuits. In fact, during the first seven years of NAFTA, at least 12 investors have invoked the provisions of Chapter 11 to pursue claims against one of the three governments for compensation. The US has been targeted as well, though it has fared much better than Canada and Mexico.
I felt very naive as I sat and listened to Miguel. How is it that I was unaware of SPPNA? How did I not hear about Chapter 11 lawsuits? Well, I was aware of Ketcham's lawsuit against Canada's Softwood Lumber Agreement, but I didn't make the connection to Chapter 11 of NAFTA.
I smiled at the irony. I had to travel to San Cristobal to learn about my country. I was learning more about North American trade in Mexico than I had ever learned at home.
Friday, March 7
Ten Minute History Lesson
Before we left the hotel, Chris excused himself from the group. He explained that he and Julio would be spending the day traveling to meet with the Juntas to coordinate visits to Zapatista communities located at Yachil and Bolon Ajaw.
Let me explain.
The Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) was named after Emaliano Zapata who was a leading figure in the Mexican Revolution which began in 1910. The year before, the National Anti-reelectionist Party announced that Francisco Madero, a young and wealthy landowner, would stand as a Presidential Candidate. At the time, the country's capitalist economy was peaking and Spanish haciendas were controlling more and more of the land and squeezing out independent communities of aboriginals who were being forced into slavery. Chiapas alone was home to over 6,800 private estates -- a 680% increase from 1880. By 1910, 80% of Mexicans were living in the countryside, 1/3 of the population was pure Indian but 87% spoke Spanish.
During the 10 years of the Mexican Revolution the country would be rocked by rebellion and conflict. In 1914 in Chiapas, a new labour law abolished debt servitude and instituted a minimum wage; major landowners revolted. In 1915 the war peaked and Zapata's forces were the focus of countless attacks. In Chaipas, rebellious landowners and indigenous supporters form guerilla forces. In the years that follow, Obregon founded the PLC (Liberal Constitutionalist Party); Morones founded the CROM (Regional Confederation of Mexican Workers); CROM organizes the PLM (Mexican Labour Party); and, a peasant party (PNA) is formed. And then, in 1920, Zapata is assassinated. Obregon becomes president but the USA refused to recognize the new regime.
In 1923, de la Heurta leads half the federal army in rebellion against Obregon and Calles; worker and peasant armies organized by the PLM and PNA help the rest of the army quell the rebellion. In 1924, Calles becomes President with Obregon's support. PLM and PNA dominate the federal congress and soon become rivals. PNA aligns with Obregon and PLM aligns with Calles dividing the country. In 1927 a new rebellion begins -- the Cristero rebellion -- with over 50,000 armed rebels involved. Obregon is assassinated in 1928. Calles remains the power behind the presidential throne and creates the Party of the National Revolution (PNR) in 1929.
In 1934, Cardenas becomes President and begins the first major land reform since 1917. Calles remains in the background and threatens a coup in 1935. When the coup fails, Calles is forced to flee the country. Cardenas expropriates 17 British, Dutch and US oil companies and establishes the national oil company PEMEX. He dissolves the PNR and creates the PRM -- made up of peasant, labour, popular and military. In 1940, Camacho becomes president -- 65% of the population still lives in the countryside and wages peak. PRM becomes the PRI - Party of the Institutionalized Revolution -- and almost 15% of the national territory has been redistributed among 1.8 million peasants and half of the rural population are part of the new rural class of ejiditarios -- approximately 20,000 ejidos were recognized, of which 900 were "collective" in character. In 1941, the US entered WWII and boycotts were lifted against Mexican oil imports. Things were starting to look up.
Fast forward to 1976 when Portillo becomes President; this "friend of business" cuts back on government spending, increases borrowing and welcomes foreign investors with wide open arms. By 1982, Mexico faced a debt crisis that further devalued the peso. The crisis continues in the years that follow and peaked in 1986 when many state-owned companies were privatized. Mexico signed a structural adjustment agreement with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) which greatly accelerated the pace of neoliberal reform and further encouraged foreign investors to set up shop and take advantage of cheap Mexican labour.
The loose definition of neoliberalism is the transfer of economic control from the public to the private sector. The idea behind neoliberalism is that public (meaning government) control of the economy is at best inefficient, at worst corrupt. Critics argue that the economic transfer to private industry absolves the government of its accountability which is subversive of the democratic process. We saw success through the deinstitutionalization of state economic controls in Chile (Pinochet), Britain (Thatcher) USA (Reagan), New Zealand (Douglas) and Canada (Mulroney).
What about Mexico? Mexico's political environment was too unstable and too corrupt to provide an infrastructure of support that would allow its people to reap the benefits of a neoliberal economy. Without the benefit of a strategy to build a healthy economy for its people, Mexico's leaders looked for a panacea in capitalism. Foreign investors would buy their way into the country and use their financial assets to drive the country's political agenda by lining the pockets of corrupt government officials. To meet their annual financial objectives they would require cheap labour, a devalued peso, low taxes, and lots and lots of inexpensive raw materials. Their stockholders after all, lived elsewhere and were rewarding management with fat bonuses in exchange for high dividends. All this did was widen the gap between high-income and low-income households in Mexico.
By 1987, the PRI party split into a rival faction called the PRD (Part of the Democratic Revolution) over questions of economic policy reforms. In 1990, NAFTA negotiations begin and Cardenas becomes PRD Mayor of Mexico City. Salinas signs off on NAFTA in 1992 though Clinton's election meant more policy changes that resulted in side deals regarding labour and environmental issues.
Mexicans would never benefit from NAFTA, however the idea was not to satisfy the voters but to support the growth of capitalism in the country's new neoliberal environment. Foreign investors saw great potential in open border trade with the US and Canada. Importing raw materials and exporting cheaply manufactured products meant a bigger bottom line. But who was protecting the interests of poor Mexican farmers? Well, nobody...except the EZLN.
Poor Mexican farmers who harvested crops by hand would be forced to complete with commercial farms in the US and Canada -- donkeys and a team of oxen versus John Deere and Massey Ferguson. The "people of the corn" would be forced to compete in the marketplace with subsidized farmers and their artificially fertilized, genetically modified, mechanically harvested crops. Fair? Not by a long shot. As if that is not enough, the terms of NAFTA required an amendment to the Mexican constitution that outlawed land collectives. Land holdings must be privately owned under the terms of NAFTA, which was a direct violation of guaranteed land reparations to indigenous groups in Mexico. There was not protection for social policy under the terms of NAFTA. Or at least, there was not sufficient incentive for Mexico's leaders to protect the rights of its indigenous land holders.
Mexico had signed off on NAFTA in 1992. Despite protests, Mexico's border would officially open when NAFTA became effective on January 1, 1994. The EZLN struggled to find a public platform for the voice of the Mexican farmers. In 1993, the Zapatistas declared war on the Mexican government arguing that it had absolved itself of its right to rule because it was so out of touch with the needs of its people. In effect, the Zapatistas claimed that the government was illegitimate.
In November 1993, NAFTA negotiations conclude and the agreement is narrowly approved by the House of Representatives.
On January 1, 1994 -- the day that NAFTA became effective -- the Zapatistas' rebellion became armed and active. It was New Year's Day and politicians and peacekeepers were relaxing with their families when members of the EZLN donned ski masks and took up arms. Their strategy was planned with flawless precision and executed by passionate patriots whose interests were entirely invested in protecting the rights of their countrymen. They stormed government offices and burned land titles in protest. They burned empty haciendas while their owners celebrated the holidays with their families in one of their other houses. Their strategy included the occupation of communities throughout the state of Chaipas and established EZLN military forces to defend them against policy and army forces. Violent clashes continued for nearly two weeks until a Bishop in San Cristobal de las Casas successfully negotiated a ceasefire.
The EZLN had captured the world's interest though it came at the cost of many human casualties. Zapatista leaders demanded autonomy from the Mexican government so that they could create their own socialist government to protect and advance the rights of the Mexican people. What's more, they demanded that the natural resources extracted from Chiapas benefit more directly the people of Chiapas. For the first time, the government was listening. As leaders argued over issues of human rights and freedoms, government forces stormed the EZLN's military holdings and slaughtered rebels. Unarmed civilians displaced by government forces would be relocated to refugee camps throughout Chiapas. Leaders of the movement were still at large and so the government ended its raids and proceeded with negotiations. The EZLN laid down its arms and abandoned military strategies in favour of political ones that would include media campaigns to garner support from international solidarity groups.
The Mexican government would recognize the EZLN as a political movement and agreed to enter into negotiations with its leaders that would culminate in the recognition of autonomy and rights for the indigenous people of Mexico through the San Andres Accords signed in 1996. When the Mexican government failed to implement the terms of the Accords, the Zapatista's returned to their communities with the support from "civil society" and began to implement their autonomy unilaterally. They established their own school systems, health facilities and socialist governments. During this period, the Mexican army would deploy forces in the surrounding territories to monitor EZLN activities and serve as a government presence poised to dismantle this structure.
In 2001, Zapatistas marched into Mexico City to protest "watered down agreements" developed by the new government of President Fox. The Mexican Congress was not responding to their demands to recognize the San Andres Accords. The rebels returned to their communities in Chiapas and established 32 autonomous municipalities in effect implementing the agreements without government support. International organizations supported their efforts by providing financial and human resources. International visitors and observers were traveling to Chiapas to support the movement and report on its progress. Their tenacity and perseverance was serving as a model to other indigenous groups throughout the world and inspiring similar movements.
The 32 autonomous municipalities would elect representatives to attend assemblies where this body of government would review and rule on communal issues including the allocation of resources and development projects. To avoid corruption, the representatives serve for only a very short time which results in a continuous rotation of leadership; this body of government is called the Junta. The Mexican government tolerates these renegade municipalities but is involved, I believe, in infiltrating and sabotaging their progress using subversive tactics.
In June 2005, the Zapatistas published the Sixth Declaration of the Selva Lacandona outlining their vision for Mexico. It begins, "This is our simple word which seeks to touch the hearts of humble and simple people like ourselves, but for people who are also, like ourselves, dignified and rebel." They go on to say, "we the zapatistas of the EZLN, rose up in arms in January of 1994 because we saw how widespread had become the evil wrought by the powerful who only humiliated us, stole from us, imprisoned us and killed us, and no one was saying anything or doing anything. That is why we said "Ya Basta!" that no longer were we going to allow them to make us inferior or to treat us worse than animals."
While I understand that a country's social and economical environment is a complex puzzle influenced by its history, its culture and its geography, I was feeling terribly naive. How could it be that I knew so little about the contemporary struggles of this country? We are partners in trade for God's sakes. How did Mexico's human rights issues not have come up in my social studies classes, or law classes, or Sunday's paper? What was I doing on January 1, 1994 when the Zapatista's rose up in rebellion against their government? I don't remember.
I tried to walk on the sunny side of the street all the way from the hotel to CEIPAC across town. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I had a picture in my mind of a glass building, a boardroom with bottled water and men in suits. The walk across town was beautiful. We passed this incredibly old chapel on a street corner just a few blocks from the Zoccola.
I quietly contemplated the information that I had learned about earlier in the morning as I walked beneath the watchful eye of the sun. I felt uncomfortable as I envisioned our days ahead and shivered despite the rising warmth of the late morning. I manufactured images of our group meeting with angry men in ski masks and listening to their stories of violent oppression.
The meetings scheduled by our hosts were intended to provide us with context and understanding about Mexico and, more specifically Chiapas. My thoughts drifted to aboriginal issues in my own country. I felt a deep sense of shame wash over me and understood that by becoming a witness to the Zapatista movement in Chiapas, I would forfeit my silence at home.
Let me explain.
The Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) was named after Emaliano Zapata who was a leading figure in the Mexican Revolution which began in 1910. The year before, the National Anti-reelectionist Party announced that Francisco Madero, a young and wealthy landowner, would stand as a Presidential Candidate. At the time, the country's capitalist economy was peaking and Spanish haciendas were controlling more and more of the land and squeezing out independent communities of aboriginals who were being forced into slavery. Chiapas alone was home to over 6,800 private estates -- a 680% increase from 1880. By 1910, 80% of Mexicans were living in the countryside, 1/3 of the population was pure Indian but 87% spoke Spanish.
During the 10 years of the Mexican Revolution the country would be rocked by rebellion and conflict. In 1914 in Chiapas, a new labour law abolished debt servitude and instituted a minimum wage; major landowners revolted. In 1915 the war peaked and Zapata's forces were the focus of countless attacks. In Chaipas, rebellious landowners and indigenous supporters form guerilla forces. In the years that follow, Obregon founded the PLC (Liberal Constitutionalist Party); Morones founded the CROM (Regional Confederation of Mexican Workers); CROM organizes the PLM (Mexican Labour Party); and, a peasant party (PNA) is formed. And then, in 1920, Zapata is assassinated. Obregon becomes president but the USA refused to recognize the new regime.
In 1923, de la Heurta leads half the federal army in rebellion against Obregon and Calles; worker and peasant armies organized by the PLM and PNA help the rest of the army quell the rebellion. In 1924, Calles becomes President with Obregon's support. PLM and PNA dominate the federal congress and soon become rivals. PNA aligns with Obregon and PLM aligns with Calles dividing the country. In 1927 a new rebellion begins -- the Cristero rebellion -- with over 50,000 armed rebels involved. Obregon is assassinated in 1928. Calles remains the power behind the presidential throne and creates the Party of the National Revolution (PNR) in 1929.
In 1934, Cardenas becomes President and begins the first major land reform since 1917. Calles remains in the background and threatens a coup in 1935. When the coup fails, Calles is forced to flee the country. Cardenas expropriates 17 British, Dutch and US oil companies and establishes the national oil company PEMEX. He dissolves the PNR and creates the PRM -- made up of peasant, labour, popular and military. In 1940, Camacho becomes president -- 65% of the population still lives in the countryside and wages peak. PRM becomes the PRI - Party of the Institutionalized Revolution -- and almost 15% of the national territory has been redistributed among 1.8 million peasants and half of the rural population are part of the new rural class of ejiditarios -- approximately 20,000 ejidos were recognized, of which 900 were "collective" in character. In 1941, the US entered WWII and boycotts were lifted against Mexican oil imports. Things were starting to look up.
Fast forward to 1976 when Portillo becomes President; this "friend of business" cuts back on government spending, increases borrowing and welcomes foreign investors with wide open arms. By 1982, Mexico faced a debt crisis that further devalued the peso. The crisis continues in the years that follow and peaked in 1986 when many state-owned companies were privatized. Mexico signed a structural adjustment agreement with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) which greatly accelerated the pace of neoliberal reform and further encouraged foreign investors to set up shop and take advantage of cheap Mexican labour.
The loose definition of neoliberalism is the transfer of economic control from the public to the private sector. The idea behind neoliberalism is that public (meaning government) control of the economy is at best inefficient, at worst corrupt. Critics argue that the economic transfer to private industry absolves the government of its accountability which is subversive of the democratic process. We saw success through the deinstitutionalization of state economic controls in Chile (Pinochet), Britain (Thatcher) USA (Reagan), New Zealand (Douglas) and Canada (Mulroney).
What about Mexico? Mexico's political environment was too unstable and too corrupt to provide an infrastructure of support that would allow its people to reap the benefits of a neoliberal economy. Without the benefit of a strategy to build a healthy economy for its people, Mexico's leaders looked for a panacea in capitalism. Foreign investors would buy their way into the country and use their financial assets to drive the country's political agenda by lining the pockets of corrupt government officials. To meet their annual financial objectives they would require cheap labour, a devalued peso, low taxes, and lots and lots of inexpensive raw materials. Their stockholders after all, lived elsewhere and were rewarding management with fat bonuses in exchange for high dividends. All this did was widen the gap between high-income and low-income households in Mexico.
By 1987, the PRI party split into a rival faction called the PRD (Part of the Democratic Revolution) over questions of economic policy reforms. In 1990, NAFTA negotiations begin and Cardenas becomes PRD Mayor of Mexico City. Salinas signs off on NAFTA in 1992 though Clinton's election meant more policy changes that resulted in side deals regarding labour and environmental issues.
Mexicans would never benefit from NAFTA, however the idea was not to satisfy the voters but to support the growth of capitalism in the country's new neoliberal environment. Foreign investors saw great potential in open border trade with the US and Canada. Importing raw materials and exporting cheaply manufactured products meant a bigger bottom line. But who was protecting the interests of poor Mexican farmers? Well, nobody...except the EZLN.
Poor Mexican farmers who harvested crops by hand would be forced to complete with commercial farms in the US and Canada -- donkeys and a team of oxen versus John Deere and Massey Ferguson. The "people of the corn" would be forced to compete in the marketplace with subsidized farmers and their artificially fertilized, genetically modified, mechanically harvested crops. Fair? Not by a long shot. As if that is not enough, the terms of NAFTA required an amendment to the Mexican constitution that outlawed land collectives. Land holdings must be privately owned under the terms of NAFTA, which was a direct violation of guaranteed land reparations to indigenous groups in Mexico. There was not protection for social policy under the terms of NAFTA. Or at least, there was not sufficient incentive for Mexico's leaders to protect the rights of its indigenous land holders.
Mexico had signed off on NAFTA in 1992. Despite protests, Mexico's border would officially open when NAFTA became effective on January 1, 1994. The EZLN struggled to find a public platform for the voice of the Mexican farmers. In 1993, the Zapatistas declared war on the Mexican government arguing that it had absolved itself of its right to rule because it was so out of touch with the needs of its people. In effect, the Zapatistas claimed that the government was illegitimate.
In November 1993, NAFTA negotiations conclude and the agreement is narrowly approved by the House of Representatives.
On January 1, 1994 -- the day that NAFTA became effective -- the Zapatistas' rebellion became armed and active. It was New Year's Day and politicians and peacekeepers were relaxing with their families when members of the EZLN donned ski masks and took up arms. Their strategy was planned with flawless precision and executed by passionate patriots whose interests were entirely invested in protecting the rights of their countrymen. They stormed government offices and burned land titles in protest. They burned empty haciendas while their owners celebrated the holidays with their families in one of their other houses. Their strategy included the occupation of communities throughout the state of Chaipas and established EZLN military forces to defend them against policy and army forces. Violent clashes continued for nearly two weeks until a Bishop in San Cristobal de las Casas successfully negotiated a ceasefire.
The EZLN had captured the world's interest though it came at the cost of many human casualties. Zapatista leaders demanded autonomy from the Mexican government so that they could create their own socialist government to protect and advance the rights of the Mexican people. What's more, they demanded that the natural resources extracted from Chiapas benefit more directly the people of Chiapas. For the first time, the government was listening. As leaders argued over issues of human rights and freedoms, government forces stormed the EZLN's military holdings and slaughtered rebels. Unarmed civilians displaced by government forces would be relocated to refugee camps throughout Chiapas. Leaders of the movement were still at large and so the government ended its raids and proceeded with negotiations. The EZLN laid down its arms and abandoned military strategies in favour of political ones that would include media campaigns to garner support from international solidarity groups.
The Mexican government would recognize the EZLN as a political movement and agreed to enter into negotiations with its leaders that would culminate in the recognition of autonomy and rights for the indigenous people of Mexico through the San Andres Accords signed in 1996. When the Mexican government failed to implement the terms of the Accords, the Zapatista's returned to their communities with the support from "civil society" and began to implement their autonomy unilaterally. They established their own school systems, health facilities and socialist governments. During this period, the Mexican army would deploy forces in the surrounding territories to monitor EZLN activities and serve as a government presence poised to dismantle this structure.
In 2001, Zapatistas marched into Mexico City to protest "watered down agreements" developed by the new government of President Fox. The Mexican Congress was not responding to their demands to recognize the San Andres Accords. The rebels returned to their communities in Chiapas and established 32 autonomous municipalities in effect implementing the agreements without government support. International organizations supported their efforts by providing financial and human resources. International visitors and observers were traveling to Chiapas to support the movement and report on its progress. Their tenacity and perseverance was serving as a model to other indigenous groups throughout the world and inspiring similar movements.
The 32 autonomous municipalities would elect representatives to attend assemblies where this body of government would review and rule on communal issues including the allocation of resources and development projects. To avoid corruption, the representatives serve for only a very short time which results in a continuous rotation of leadership; this body of government is called the Junta. The Mexican government tolerates these renegade municipalities but is involved, I believe, in infiltrating and sabotaging their progress using subversive tactics.
In June 2005, the Zapatistas published the Sixth Declaration of the Selva Lacandona outlining their vision for Mexico. It begins, "This is our simple word which seeks to touch the hearts of humble and simple people like ourselves, but for people who are also, like ourselves, dignified and rebel." They go on to say, "we the zapatistas of the EZLN, rose up in arms in January of 1994 because we saw how widespread had become the evil wrought by the powerful who only humiliated us, stole from us, imprisoned us and killed us, and no one was saying anything or doing anything. That is why we said "Ya Basta!" that no longer were we going to allow them to make us inferior or to treat us worse than animals."
While I understand that a country's social and economical environment is a complex puzzle influenced by its history, its culture and its geography, I was feeling terribly naive. How could it be that I knew so little about the contemporary struggles of this country? We are partners in trade for God's sakes. How did Mexico's human rights issues not have come up in my social studies classes, or law classes, or Sunday's paper? What was I doing on January 1, 1994 when the Zapatista's rose up in rebellion against their government? I don't remember.
I tried to walk on the sunny side of the street all the way from the hotel to CEIPAC across town. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I had a picture in my mind of a glass building, a boardroom with bottled water and men in suits. The walk across town was beautiful. We passed this incredibly old chapel on a street corner just a few blocks from the Zoccola.
I quietly contemplated the information that I had learned about earlier in the morning as I walked beneath the watchful eye of the sun. I felt uncomfortable as I envisioned our days ahead and shivered despite the rising warmth of the late morning. I manufactured images of our group meeting with angry men in ski masks and listening to their stories of violent oppression.
The meetings scheduled by our hosts were intended to provide us with context and understanding about Mexico and, more specifically Chiapas. My thoughts drifted to aboriginal issues in my own country. I felt a deep sense of shame wash over me and understood that by becoming a witness to the Zapatista movement in Chiapas, I would forfeit my silence at home.
Monday, March 3
Earthquakes and Baguettes
I woke early on Tuesday morning to the crowing of roosters and to the barking of dogs. The sun rose at around 5:30 am and light began to filter into the room through the open window. My roommate was still sleeping so I decided to get a jump on the morning's routine.
I tiptoed into the bathroom and gently closed the door. I cracked open the window and started the shower. As I waited on the dry side of the shower curtain, I read through the notice on the back of the door. It said that the hot (caliente) water tap is on the left and the cold water tap is on the right. It also said something long winded about the hot water and then thanked the reader for their understanding. Hmmmmm. Wonder what that's about? I questioned as I dipped my hand under the freezing cold water. One of the words in the notice referred to the distance that the hot water travels. I supposed this had something to do with the rather long time it took to coax the hot water out of hiding.
I started to feel terribly guilty about the amount of water that I was wasting as I stood and waited for warmth to find its way into the shower head. Screw it, I thought as I eased into the shower. I dipped my toes and then my shins under the cool stream of water. Still too cold. I pushed myself against the right side of the shower and out of reach of the icy shower.
In the next moment, I was suddenly less concerned about my shower and more focused on my sudden feeling of vertigo. As I braced myself against the walls of the shower, I felt the world tilt under me. Am I going to faint? I wondered. Am I coming down with something? It's just fatigue, I reasoned as the feeling left me. And then....warm water showered down upon me and my attention was quickly redirected towards taming my crazy hair and rinsing away yesterday's travels.
By the time my shower was finished, Sharon was ready for her turn under the now warm water. I dressed quickly, ran down to the lobby to fill up my water bottle and returned to the room to catch up on my journal. At 8:30 a.m. Sharon and I went down to the dining room to meet the others for breakfast.
"Did you feel the earthquake?" asked Annie and Sally.
"It happens all the time," explained Jody and Chris.
Ahhhh, earthquake, I thought, so I'm not getting sick. Thank God!
We spent an hour together reviewing our itinerary. During the week, we would meet with representatives of CIEPAC (Centro de Investigaciones Economicas y Politicas de Accion Comunitaria) and CAPISE (Centro de Análisis Político e Investigaciones Sociales y Económicas) to learn more about the historical record and current events involving human rights violations in the state of Chiapas. We would travel to the Zapatista coffee cooperative Yachil and to the Maya Vinic cooperative in Acteal. We would visit the site of the 1997 massacre at Acteal and the refugee camp that houses hundreds of displaced citizens. We would visit the mountain village of Puehlo and stay overnight in that community while visiting coffee farms and bodegas. We would visit the village of San Gregoire to learn about the Chiapas Water Project and how it has helped the farmers in this community. We would travel to Agua Azul and the Zapatista community of Bolon Ajaw to hear first-hand of how public forces continue to harass and violate the rights of aboriginals and, specifically Zapatistas.
I spread a spoonful of pineapple preserves on my slice of baguette and made notes in my journal as Chris and Jody explained the social environment of Chiapas. As I sipped my coffee, I learned that the world's most vulnerable cooperatives are in Chiapas because there are no support structures in place to assist them in their growth and development. Fair trade is becoming a business and industry insiders are looking for alternatives to TransFair licensing. FloCert is a possible alternative, but the producers need a loud voice. Many members of the public want to purchase Fair Trade Coffee, but they are afraid of being misdirected so they look hard for the TransFair symbol to make sure that what they're buying is certified. What they don't know is that the sticker shows up on 100% fair trade or 5% fair trade coffee.
TransFair USA's volume Guideline requires its members to convert at least 5% of its green coffee purchases to Fair Trade within the first two years of launching labeled products. FIVE PERCENT! That's a goal, by the way, not a requirement.
We tossed questions, answers and comments back and forth as we discussed the merits and pitfalls of fair trade certification in the coffee industry. We talked about fair trade as a business, as a movement and as a certification. We learned about the price of fair trade coffee and how it is affected by the NYSE and about country differentials and premiums for quality and organic product.
We wrapped up breakfast by about 10:30 and gathered up our things before heading across town to CIEPAC. I grabbed my camera and my water bottle and walked out into the sunshine.
I tiptoed into the bathroom and gently closed the door. I cracked open the window and started the shower. As I waited on the dry side of the shower curtain, I read through the notice on the back of the door. It said that the hot (caliente) water tap is on the left and the cold water tap is on the right. It also said something long winded about the hot water and then thanked the reader for their understanding. Hmmmmm. Wonder what that's about? I questioned as I dipped my hand under the freezing cold water. One of the words in the notice referred to the distance that the hot water travels. I supposed this had something to do with the rather long time it took to coax the hot water out of hiding.
I started to feel terribly guilty about the amount of water that I was wasting as I stood and waited for warmth to find its way into the shower head. Screw it, I thought as I eased into the shower. I dipped my toes and then my shins under the cool stream of water. Still too cold. I pushed myself against the right side of the shower and out of reach of the icy shower.
In the next moment, I was suddenly less concerned about my shower and more focused on my sudden feeling of vertigo. As I braced myself against the walls of the shower, I felt the world tilt under me. Am I going to faint? I wondered. Am I coming down with something? It's just fatigue, I reasoned as the feeling left me. And then....warm water showered down upon me and my attention was quickly redirected towards taming my crazy hair and rinsing away yesterday's travels.
By the time my shower was finished, Sharon was ready for her turn under the now warm water. I dressed quickly, ran down to the lobby to fill up my water bottle and returned to the room to catch up on my journal. At 8:30 a.m. Sharon and I went down to the dining room to meet the others for breakfast.
"Did you feel the earthquake?" asked Annie and Sally.
"It happens all the time," explained Jody and Chris.
Ahhhh, earthquake, I thought, so I'm not getting sick. Thank God!
We spent an hour together reviewing our itinerary. During the week, we would meet with representatives of CIEPAC (Centro de Investigaciones Economicas y Politicas de Accion Comunitaria) and CAPISE (Centro de Análisis Político e Investigaciones Sociales y Económicas) to learn more about the historical record and current events involving human rights violations in the state of Chiapas. We would travel to the Zapatista coffee cooperative Yachil and to the Maya Vinic cooperative in Acteal. We would visit the site of the 1997 massacre at Acteal and the refugee camp that houses hundreds of displaced citizens. We would visit the mountain village of Puehlo and stay overnight in that community while visiting coffee farms and bodegas. We would visit the village of San Gregoire to learn about the Chiapas Water Project and how it has helped the farmers in this community. We would travel to Agua Azul and the Zapatista community of Bolon Ajaw to hear first-hand of how public forces continue to harass and violate the rights of aboriginals and, specifically Zapatistas.
I spread a spoonful of pineapple preserves on my slice of baguette and made notes in my journal as Chris and Jody explained the social environment of Chiapas. As I sipped my coffee, I learned that the world's most vulnerable cooperatives are in Chiapas because there are no support structures in place to assist them in their growth and development. Fair trade is becoming a business and industry insiders are looking for alternatives to TransFair licensing. FloCert is a possible alternative, but the producers need a loud voice. Many members of the public want to purchase Fair Trade Coffee, but they are afraid of being misdirected so they look hard for the TransFair symbol to make sure that what they're buying is certified. What they don't know is that the sticker shows up on 100% fair trade or 5% fair trade coffee.
TransFair USA's volume Guideline requires its members to convert at least 5% of its green coffee purchases to Fair Trade within the first two years of launching labeled products. FIVE PERCENT! That's a goal, by the way, not a requirement.
We tossed questions, answers and comments back and forth as we discussed the merits and pitfalls of fair trade certification in the coffee industry. We talked about fair trade as a business, as a movement and as a certification. We learned about the price of fair trade coffee and how it is affected by the NYSE and about country differentials and premiums for quality and organic product.
We wrapped up breakfast by about 10:30 and gathered up our things before heading across town to CIEPAC. I grabbed my camera and my water bottle and walked out into the sunshine.
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