Monday, September 29, 2008
Report: Crossing the Line
With all I'm learning about regarding the problems migrants experience here on the Southern border, I've been thinking a lot about how U.S. policy influences the situation here. Nevertheless, there's another, much more obvious side to how the U.S. government affects the well-being of migrants, that occurs on the northern border. A new report from No More Deaths, a non-profit based in Tuscon, Arizona, provides a shocking picture of the routine violation of the human rights of migrants by our very own U.S. funded, trained, and operated Border Patrol. Go to their website http://www.nomoredeaths.org/ to read the executive summary or the full report.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Mexican Independence Day
September 16th is Mexican Independence Day. For Mexicans, that means a day off from work and a time to express pride in being Mexican. The night before, "el quince de septiembre" is also a time for celebration – it commemorates the cry for freedom of Manuel Hidalgo that set off the war for independence from the Spanish in 1810. Around 9 pm, people started gathering in the Zócalo of San Cristóbal. The Municipal Palace was lit up with lights in the colors of Mexico’s flag. At 10:00 was the reenactment of the Hidalgo’s “grito” for freedom. The emcee called out the names of all of Mexico’s heroes through the sound system and, after each one, everyone screamed “¡Viva!” (long live the heroes). Afterwards, there was a fireworks display right over our heads. Then came the music. One of the bands that played was a popular Mexican Duranguense band called AK-7. One of the songs they played was particularly striking. I don’t remember the exact words, but the basic gist was “I want to tell all the gringos that we Mexicans come to the U.S. to work and that we’re hard workers and they shouldn’t discriminate against us and we’re better than them in some ways anyway.” Very interesting how this consciousness about what emigration means for Mexico enters into pop culture in so many ways, particularly on the night of celebrating Mexican Independence. I think there’s a pretty significant double meaning here – that Mexicans would like their independence from the cultural imperialism and economic/political control of the United States in their country. This thought isn’t just coming out of thin air – I’ve heard this opinion articulated quite clearly by a number of friends of mine. These friends have lamented that many people in their country seem to only aspire to be more like the gringos up north – that they dye their hair blonde and follow the fashions and eat up the pop culture the U.S. feeds them. As one friend put it, “we have to decolonize our minds and start focusing on advancing our own culture.” All this is very interesting for me to hear, especially from my perspective, not only as an outsider, but also as a citizen of the U.S. And perhaps the viewpoint of my friend is more widespread than she thinks – because when AK-7 started to play their “gringo” song, everyone in the zócalo lifted up their arms and cheered.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
La Ciénaga
During my visit to Oaxaca City at the end of August, I took a day trip to visit La Ciénaga, a town about 1 hour outside of the City of Oaxaca and a major sending community to Poughkeepsie and the Hudson Valley. While writing my senior thesis, I read quite a bit about the transnational relationship between Poughkeepsie and a few specific communities (2-3) in Oaxaca. These communities are prime examples of chain migration – many people in the towns migrate to the United States and almost all go to the same place, in this case, in the Hudson Valley. They also provide examples of transnational identity – connections are kept with the home communities and there is a significant amount of communication and information sharing between the two distinct places. In this regard, one author I read spoke of a continuum of space and culture between Oaxaca and Poughkeepsie. While living in Poughkeepsie, I was fascinated by the results of this phenomenon as they were exhibited there. Even though the immigrants there were in a different country, many of them still had many strong social networks in the city, and they maintained many connections with the home communities. Of course, there was a wide diversity of immigrants in Poughkeepsie, but these processes could certainly be detected on a general level. I was told that with some communities, connections were so strong that if you went to the home communities in Mexico, everyone would know about Poughkeepsie.
Well, when I was in Oaxaca City, I realized I had the opportunity to see for myself. So I got on a bus and headed to La Ciénaga. The driver seemed a bit confused about why I was going there, but didn’t ask any questions. The bus dropped me off on the highway next to a long, paved road heading to the town. There was a sign announcing that it was the road to La Ciénaga and also described when the people of the town pooled together the funds to construct the road. I had a feeling that remittances probably had a hand in that construction (in fact, for many emigrant communities, pooling of resources gained from remittances for public works projects in the home communities is quite common).
I walked the mile or so past farm fields and a tomato farm to arrive at the town. I walked around the town a bit to get a feel for it – a mix of dirt roads and paved roads. Modest homes. A few corner stores interspersed. There was a main road with more restaurants and schools. There was also a town square (almost completely deserted when I was there) surrounded by the church, the government building, a playground, and the clinic. The donkey parked in front of the clinic is a statement of the rural nature of the town - the people who work in the town mostly work in agriculture.
After walking through the town, I was thirsty. Also, I was interested in talking to some people there. So I stopped in a small corner store and bought a juice. While paying, I asked the woman behind the counter, “Do you know Poughkeepsie?” She said, “no.” In Spanish, the question “do you know,” when used with places, often means “have you been there?” So when the woman behind the counter said “no,” I initially started worrying that I had come to the wrong town. But then, a second later, she said “but yes, I know about Poughkeepsie. I lot of people from this town are there.” Apparently, she had thought I was asking if she’d ever been to Poughkeepsie. But as far as knowing about Poughkeepsie, well she hardly had to answer – of course she knew about Poughkeepsie. That’s the attitude I sensed with her response. I explained to her why I had come, that I had lived in Poughkeepsie and was interested in visiting to see the town. She told me her name was Celia. We got to talking. She told me she had relatives there. She asked me if I knew the bridge that was there. Pretty soon, a man entered the store to buy something and Celia asked him if he had been to Poughkeepsie. He said no, but that his sister lives there now. He himself worked for 7 years in New York, but in the city.
Later, I stopped in a restaurant for lunch. There, I was served by Graciela. She told me that her son was in the Hudson Valley, working as a bus boy and living with an uncle in Highland. She showed me a photo of him. He’s been gone for about 2 years. She misses him. While I was eating, someone else came in to the restaurant for their lunch. His name was Antonio. He too had been in the U.S. working. He left for the U.S. at the ripe age of 13 and he worked in both New York City and the Hudson Valley and he worked there for about 12 years. While we ate, we got into a conversation about politics in the U.S. and the upcoming presidential elections.
In the combi headed back to Oaxaca City, I chatted with Rodolfina, an older woman seated to my left. Apparently she had lived in the Hudson Valley as well, in Highland. She moved back to Mexico, however, because she has problems with her legs and it was too difficult there with hardly any public transportation and everyone in their own house. Rodolfina has a daughter who lives in Oaxaca City and the rest of her children live in the U.S. She was incredibly nice and encouraged me to come back to visit and stay in her house. To my right in the combi was a very friend young woman named Jennifer. She too had lived in the Hudson Valley – in Hopewell Junction for the first 13 years of her life.
In sum, what I had been told about La Ciénaga and the connection with Poughkeepsie and the Hudson Valley was incredibly true - every person I spoke to in the town had some sort of personal experience with migration to the region (whether through a personal migration or the migration of a close relative). In addition, everyone I talked to repeated the same phrase “Yes, there are many people from La Ciénaga over there.” In truth, I barely scratched the surface when it comes to understanding how emigration affects the town. I intentionally didn’t ask very probing questions in my conversations and avoided pressing when the conversation turned touchy or emotional – I was there as a visitor, not as an interviewer or researcher. Hearing painful stories about how Graciela misses her son, for example, would have allowed me to leave the town saying “oh, how sad,” but wouldn’t have done much good for Graciela or anybody else. Nevertheless, even with the surface-level conversations I had, the impact of emigration on the town was notable. Emigration was a fact of life. Being separated from family members was common. And a general knowledge about the Hudson Valley was clearly present in the town, even among those who had never left. Here, the transnationalism I had read about and been told about was certainly evident.
Well, when I was in Oaxaca City, I realized I had the opportunity to see for myself. So I got on a bus and headed to La Ciénaga. The driver seemed a bit confused about why I was going there, but didn’t ask any questions. The bus dropped me off on the highway next to a long, paved road heading to the town. There was a sign announcing that it was the road to La Ciénaga and also described when the people of the town pooled together the funds to construct the road. I had a feeling that remittances probably had a hand in that construction (in fact, for many emigrant communities, pooling of resources gained from remittances for public works projects in the home communities is quite common).
I walked the mile or so past farm fields and a tomato farm to arrive at the town. I walked around the town a bit to get a feel for it – a mix of dirt roads and paved roads. Modest homes. A few corner stores interspersed. There was a main road with more restaurants and schools. There was also a town square (almost completely deserted when I was there) surrounded by the church, the government building, a playground, and the clinic. The donkey parked in front of the clinic is a statement of the rural nature of the town - the people who work in the town mostly work in agriculture.
After walking through the town, I was thirsty. Also, I was interested in talking to some people there. So I stopped in a small corner store and bought a juice. While paying, I asked the woman behind the counter, “Do you know Poughkeepsie?” She said, “no.” In Spanish, the question “do you know,” when used with places, often means “have you been there?” So when the woman behind the counter said “no,” I initially started worrying that I had come to the wrong town. But then, a second later, she said “but yes, I know about Poughkeepsie. I lot of people from this town are there.” Apparently, she had thought I was asking if she’d ever been to Poughkeepsie. But as far as knowing about Poughkeepsie, well she hardly had to answer – of course she knew about Poughkeepsie. That’s the attitude I sensed with her response. I explained to her why I had come, that I had lived in Poughkeepsie and was interested in visiting to see the town. She told me her name was Celia. We got to talking. She told me she had relatives there. She asked me if I knew the bridge that was there. Pretty soon, a man entered the store to buy something and Celia asked him if he had been to Poughkeepsie. He said no, but that his sister lives there now. He himself worked for 7 years in New York, but in the city.
Later, I stopped in a restaurant for lunch. There, I was served by Graciela. She told me that her son was in the Hudson Valley, working as a bus boy and living with an uncle in Highland. She showed me a photo of him. He’s been gone for about 2 years. She misses him. While I was eating, someone else came in to the restaurant for their lunch. His name was Antonio. He too had been in the U.S. working. He left for the U.S. at the ripe age of 13 and he worked in both New York City and the Hudson Valley and he worked there for about 12 years. While we ate, we got into a conversation about politics in the U.S. and the upcoming presidential elections.
In the combi headed back to Oaxaca City, I chatted with Rodolfina, an older woman seated to my left. Apparently she had lived in the Hudson Valley as well, in Highland. She moved back to Mexico, however, because she has problems with her legs and it was too difficult there with hardly any public transportation and everyone in their own house. Rodolfina has a daughter who lives in Oaxaca City and the rest of her children live in the U.S. She was incredibly nice and encouraged me to come back to visit and stay in her house. To my right in the combi was a very friend young woman named Jennifer. She too had lived in the Hudson Valley – in Hopewell Junction for the first 13 years of her life.
In sum, what I had been told about La Ciénaga and the connection with Poughkeepsie and the Hudson Valley was incredibly true - every person I spoke to in the town had some sort of personal experience with migration to the region (whether through a personal migration or the migration of a close relative). In addition, everyone I talked to repeated the same phrase “Yes, there are many people from La Ciénaga over there.” In truth, I barely scratched the surface when it comes to understanding how emigration affects the town. I intentionally didn’t ask very probing questions in my conversations and avoided pressing when the conversation turned touchy or emotional – I was there as a visitor, not as an interviewer or researcher. Hearing painful stories about how Graciela misses her son, for example, would have allowed me to leave the town saying “oh, how sad,” but wouldn’t have done much good for Graciela or anybody else. Nevertheless, even with the surface-level conversations I had, the impact of emigration on the town was notable. Emigration was a fact of life. Being separated from family members was common. And a general knowledge about the Hudson Valley was clearly present in the town, even among those who had never left. Here, the transnationalism I had read about and been told about was certainly evident.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Corruption
We are on a trip to the state of Tabasco to learn about new migration routes through the state, and my professor Jorge, his doctorate student José and I are hungry. We park the car in front of a restaurant in the modern city of Villahermosa, the capital of Tabasco. After a delicious meal of various types of pavo and tortillas, we head out to the car. There’s a police officer next to our little VW beetle, looking it over with a clipboard in hand. Apparently we’re in a no-parking zone. Jorge and José start talking to the officer, telling him we just parked there for a minute and that we will move the car right away. The police officer wasn’t having it. He asked to see José’s license, because Jorge had said that José was the driver. He didn’t have it; he had forgotten it at home. We’re getting a little nervous at this point, and José goes over the police car with the officer. A few minutes later, he comes back. “Get in the car,” he tells us. We get in and José drives away, a bit quicker than necessary. “What happened?” we asked him. “50 pesos,” he tells us, “all he wanted was 50 pesos” (equivalent of $5 USD). The thing is, from what I'm told, situations like this are commonplace in Mexico. Ah, the corruption.
Militarization
We are in the small VW bug traveling to Tziscao – Jorge, my professor, at the wheel and me in the passenger seat with my seat-belt on like a good gringa. On the road after the city of Comitan, Jorge starts telling me about how, during the height of the Zapatista uprising, that whole area was controlled by the Zapatistas. The smooth, paved highway we were driving over was new, he tells me, constructed by the government so the army troops could pursue the Zapatistas through the region more easily. Now, the Zapatista presence in the region is still felt (for example, we pass an autonomous clinic along the side of the road), however the uprising in the region has been effectively squashed, and the government has regained control over the territory.
Even with this regained control, the presence of the military in the region is distinctly felt. This continued presence is considered by many as an intimidation tactic and a method to maintain the campesino population “under control.” Increased militarization has in fact proliferated all over Chiapas. It’s common to see trucks filled with soldiers tooling through the streets of San Cristóbal. I have seen, at the least, six different military installations along the side of the road in my travels in Chiapas. One was located right next to San José Pohló, a Zapatista community in the caracol of Oventic. When I was in San Andrés, the town where accords were signed between the Zapatistas and the Mexican government, I stumbled upon a military installation, complete with armed guards and barbed wire, at the crest of a hill on the edge of the town. The government military is, literally, “always watching.”
As a testament to this militarization, soon after Jorge tells me about the Zapatistas and the history of the region, we get pulled over at a road-side check point. Jorge tells me not to say anything, that he’ll do the talking. Without giving any explanation, the men in army fatigues make us get out of the car and inspect the interior. Jorge tells them where we are heading. I am struck by how vulnerable I feel, even with a fairly firm belief that, considering the U.S. passport in my pocket and the ECOSUR logo on the car, I won’t be taken advantage of in this situation. I can only imagine what a person in a more marginalized position would feel.
At last, we’re given the go-ahead and we continue along our way. Jorge is fuming. “The Constitution of this nation says that all Mexicans have the right to freely move throughout the country!” Nevertheless, these types of roadblocks and checkpoints are fairly common now, throughout Chiapas – serving as a strategy of intimidation of the indigenous population, in blatant violation of the Constitution of Mexico.
Even with this regained control, the presence of the military in the region is distinctly felt. This continued presence is considered by many as an intimidation tactic and a method to maintain the campesino population “under control.” Increased militarization has in fact proliferated all over Chiapas. It’s common to see trucks filled with soldiers tooling through the streets of San Cristóbal. I have seen, at the least, six different military installations along the side of the road in my travels in Chiapas. One was located right next to San José Pohló, a Zapatista community in the caracol of Oventic. When I was in San Andrés, the town where accords were signed between the Zapatistas and the Mexican government, I stumbled upon a military installation, complete with armed guards and barbed wire, at the crest of a hill on the edge of the town. The government military is, literally, “always watching.”
As a testament to this militarization, soon after Jorge tells me about the Zapatistas and the history of the region, we get pulled over at a road-side check point. Jorge tells me not to say anything, that he’ll do the talking. Without giving any explanation, the men in army fatigues make us get out of the car and inspect the interior. Jorge tells them where we are heading. I am struck by how vulnerable I feel, even with a fairly firm belief that, considering the U.S. passport in my pocket and the ECOSUR logo on the car, I won’t be taken advantage of in this situation. I can only imagine what a person in a more marginalized position would feel.
At last, we’re given the go-ahead and we continue along our way. Jorge is fuming. “The Constitution of this nation says that all Mexicans have the right to freely move throughout the country!” Nevertheless, these types of roadblocks and checkpoints are fairly common now, throughout Chiapas – serving as a strategy of intimidation of the indigenous population, in blatant violation of the Constitution of Mexico.
Acteal
On December 22, 1997, paramilitary forces descended on the villages of Acteal, in the highlands of Chiapas, and opened fire on a group of townspeople attending a prayer meeting. 45 people were killed, including 18 women and 17 children. It is widely believed that the paramilitary forces were acting in the interests of the government and that they targeted this village because its governing body, Las Abejas, was believed to be aligned with the Zapatistas (whose movement the government was actively working to contain and repress during that time period). Last Monday, September 15th, I had the opportunity to visit the town of Acteal, speak with Antonio Gutierrez, the current head of the Las Abejas regional political body, and bear witness at their memorial site for the victims of the massacre.
I traveled to Acteal in the back of a truck with my friend Hector. When we descended from the truck at Acteal, we saw at the road’s edge a “Pillar of Shame” statue erected to serve as a memory of the massacre. Similar pillars have been erected in other parts of the world where other “shameful” events have occurred, such as in Tiananmen Square.
We followed a staircase to descend to the town center, where there is a pavilion (where events are held once a month commemorating the massacre), a church, and the building that houses “Mesa Directiva,” or governing body of Las Abejas. A meeting was in progress, but the men agreed to meet with us to answer any questions when they were finished. We waited until they were done but, before meeting with us, they invited us to share the mid-day meal with them - a beautiful act of generosity.
When we sat down and spoke with Antonio, he shared with us his vision for indigenous rights and self-determination, based in their identity as Mexicans and their Mayan roots. While Las Abejas do support the Zapatista increased indigenous autonomy and rights within the Mexican political structure, Antonio emphasized that they are not Zapatistas. Las Abejas have renounced the Zapatista’s use of force to achieve their goals, instead advocating for a pacifist and Biblically-inspired path. He also spoke their participation in the wider struggle for human rights and freedom for oppressed people all over the world. For example, he mentioned to me that he stands in solidarity with the struggle of African Americans in the U.S.
Although the Acteal massacre occurred over 10 years ago, justice has yet to be served to the prepetrators. The paramilitaries arrested after the massacre have been being held in the capital of the city, but the case has been stalled. Some believe that this delay is, in part, a strategy of the government to allow more time to find ways to get the accused "off the hook." Nevertheless, with increased pressure from advocacy agencies and civilians, the case was re-opened this past July. So there is renewed hope that some justice will be served. Nevertheless, there is no and has not been any judicial case against the PRI government in power at the time of the massacre, even though many believe was the true responsible party that called for the massacre.
Another aspect of the current situation is that Las Abejas still struggle with the Mexican government, and have not received formal recognition from them. They have decided not to involve themselves in government projects, such as the government health care system, because they do not want to be forced to participate in a Western-style system that doesn’t align with their indigenous values. Nevertheless, they assert their identity as Mexicans and believe they have a right to receive support from the government to create their own, self-determined structures. Ideally, they would like to be able to receive support from the government so they can build self-determined health, judicial, and educational systems. They recognize that avoiding the use of government systems often puts them at a more marginalized and disadvantaged state, but they firmly believe in their vision and will not compromise their long-term goals for short-term gain.
After meeting with Antonio, another member of the governing body took us on a short tour of the memorial site of the massacre. He showed us the bullet holes in the old church, the rock crevice where the people hid in an attempt to escape, and the pictures and memorial plaques with the names of each of the victims. Although of course the massacre would be a colossal disgrace even if all the people killed were active leaders of the political group Las Abejas, which has some friction with the Mexican government, what is even more shocking is that the victims were ordinary civilians, targeted only because of their position as villagers of town of Acteal.
The visit to Acteal was an eye-opening experience. It was very moving to bear witness to the horrible injustice that occurred there in 1997, and to think about the way that innocent marginalized people the world over fall victim to acts of violence and oppression. It was also inspiring to see the commitment of Las Abejas to keep on in the struggle for social justice, for themselves and all citizens of the world, even in the face of increased poverty, indifference, a slew of other challenges. All of my respect for the people of Acteal. We will never forget.
I traveled to Acteal in the back of a truck with my friend Hector. When we descended from the truck at Acteal, we saw at the road’s edge a “Pillar of Shame” statue erected to serve as a memory of the massacre. Similar pillars have been erected in other parts of the world where other “shameful” events have occurred, such as in Tiananmen Square.
We followed a staircase to descend to the town center, where there is a pavilion (where events are held once a month commemorating the massacre), a church, and the building that houses “Mesa Directiva,” or governing body of Las Abejas. A meeting was in progress, but the men agreed to meet with us to answer any questions when they were finished. We waited until they were done but, before meeting with us, they invited us to share the mid-day meal with them - a beautiful act of generosity.
When we sat down and spoke with Antonio, he shared with us his vision for indigenous rights and self-determination, based in their identity as Mexicans and their Mayan roots. While Las Abejas do support the Zapatista increased indigenous autonomy and rights within the Mexican political structure, Antonio emphasized that they are not Zapatistas. Las Abejas have renounced the Zapatista’s use of force to achieve their goals, instead advocating for a pacifist and Biblically-inspired path. He also spoke their participation in the wider struggle for human rights and freedom for oppressed people all over the world. For example, he mentioned to me that he stands in solidarity with the struggle of African Americans in the U.S.
Although the Acteal massacre occurred over 10 years ago, justice has yet to be served to the prepetrators. The paramilitaries arrested after the massacre have been being held in the capital of the city, but the case has been stalled. Some believe that this delay is, in part, a strategy of the government to allow more time to find ways to get the accused "off the hook." Nevertheless, with increased pressure from advocacy agencies and civilians, the case was re-opened this past July. So there is renewed hope that some justice will be served. Nevertheless, there is no and has not been any judicial case against the PRI government in power at the time of the massacre, even though many believe was the true responsible party that called for the massacre.
Another aspect of the current situation is that Las Abejas still struggle with the Mexican government, and have not received formal recognition from them. They have decided not to involve themselves in government projects, such as the government health care system, because they do not want to be forced to participate in a Western-style system that doesn’t align with their indigenous values. Nevertheless, they assert their identity as Mexicans and believe they have a right to receive support from the government to create their own, self-determined structures. Ideally, they would like to be able to receive support from the government so they can build self-determined health, judicial, and educational systems. They recognize that avoiding the use of government systems often puts them at a more marginalized and disadvantaged state, but they firmly believe in their vision and will not compromise their long-term goals for short-term gain.
After meeting with Antonio, another member of the governing body took us on a short tour of the memorial site of the massacre. He showed us the bullet holes in the old church, the rock crevice where the people hid in an attempt to escape, and the pictures and memorial plaques with the names of each of the victims. Although of course the massacre would be a colossal disgrace even if all the people killed were active leaders of the political group Las Abejas, which has some friction with the Mexican government, what is even more shocking is that the victims were ordinary civilians, targeted only because of their position as villagers of town of Acteal.
The visit to Acteal was an eye-opening experience. It was very moving to bear witness to the horrible injustice that occurred there in 1997, and to think about the way that innocent marginalized people the world over fall victim to acts of violence and oppression. It was also inspiring to see the commitment of Las Abejas to keep on in the struggle for social justice, for themselves and all citizens of the world, even in the face of increased poverty, indifference, a slew of other challenges. All of my respect for the people of Acteal. We will never forget.
A New Project and a New City!
Well, flexibility is a virtue. As I mentioned in an earlier post, when I first arrived here in Mexico, I found out that the funds had not come through for the project I was scheduled to work on. So my professor and I decided that I would work on doing background reading and learning in preparation while we waited for the funds. Now, a month later, it has become clearer that perhaps the funds will not come through during my time here. For that reason, my professor and I have agreed that it will be best for me to find another project.
Luckily enough, when we decided that, I already was aware of a project being put into action that wonderfully matched my interests and ethics. When I had visited friends from Allentown in Tepotzlan, I decided to take advantage to our proximity to the National Institute of Public Health of Mexico (INSP) and try to arrange a visit there. At the time, my main interest was just to see what the Institute was like and to learn about current projects in the field of public health. I e-mailed some researchers to request a meeting, and the next morning I was in Cuernavaca at the Institute shaking their hands. One of the researchers I met with was Dr. René Leyva Flores. He told me about various facets of a research project he’s been working on related to HIV/AIDS in mobile populations (including migrants) in Central America. I was incredibly impressed by the scope and foresight of the project, as well as its orientation towards action.
Beginning in 1999, the INSP responded to what they saw as a need to understand the relationship between Central American migrants and their risks of acquiring HIV/AIDS during their migration. Many studies have shown that there is a clear link between migration and the spread of HIV/AIDS. Mobile, migrating populations of people generally experience conditions of social and economic vulnerability which serve to increase their risk of contracting HIV. To confront this issue, the INSP developed partnerships with other institutions throughout Central America, and together they began a comprehensive study of the HIV/AIDS situation in 11 transit centers in Central America. Throughout the centers, clear links found between local conditions (such as the presence of gangs, corruption, lack of financial resources of migrants, physical and mental stress, risk of sexual violence, and the flow of drugs) and increased vulnerability of mobile populations in the area to beatings, muggings, extortion, rape, sex work for money, drug use, and other forms of violence, all of which contribute to an increased risk of contracting HIV. Area-specific information was gathered and reported for each transit center.
Using the information gained from this initial evaluation, the project partners have begun designing comprehensive, collaborative, and integrative models of attention for HIV/AIDS care in the transit centers. These models respond to the identified needs and conditions in each specific locale. In Chiapas, one of these models has just begun operation in the city of Tapachula.
It is generally agreed upon that the situation for transmigrants is particularly harsh in areas like Tapachula in the southern border region of Mexico. Here, the threats listed above are amplified, and compounded by increased vulnerability in the face of increased immigration enforcement and corruption of local law enforcement agents. Increased risk among mobile populations here also spill over into the local population. The epidemiological effects of increased HIV/AIDS risk among the populations in the city are evident – Tapachula has the highest rate of HIV/AIDS cases in all of Chiapas and one of the fastest rates in all of Mexico. Responding to the information gained from the study of HIV/AIDS vulnerability and risk in Tapachula, the model of attention here involves prevention efforts directed toward migrants, sex workers, and other mobile populations; HIV testing; humanitarian aid; medical care; and psychological and emotional support. It also involves the collaboration of key local agencies, including the Secretary of Health, the local Public Health Jurisdiction, and a migrant shelter, the Casa del Migrante.
A key component to the execution of this project will be monitoring and evaluating its effectiveness and success, learning from its short-comings, and fine-tuning different aspects of the model it proposes. This evaluation will not only help to ensure the highest quality model of care in Tapachula, but will allow the INSP to share a successful model and with other transit centers participating in the Central American collaboration, with the idea that the model or aspects of the model could be reproduced in these other locations. The model of attention can also be shared with the academic and public health community, to increase global knowledge about strategies of providing HIV/AIDS attention to mobile population.
As I already mentioned, I was very impressed by this project, and excited about what it could mean for the development of successful HIV/AIDS prevention and attention for migrants in Mexico, an effort that I believe needs to be undertaken in order to fight for migrants’ human rights to safety and health. Therefore, when I began to seriously search for new projects, I contacted Dr. Leyva to see if he would accept me as a research assistant on the project. Fortunately, he agreed, and we have begun to iron out a plan for my participation on the project. Currently, I will be involved primarily in the monitoring and evaluation component of the project. I will collaborate with the implementation and research team in Tapachula, including INSP employees and the partner agencies. Following the protocol that details the proposed model of attention to HIV/AIDS, I will monitor the participation of the different partner groups. I will evaluate progress at the local level using a combination of qualitative and quantitative research methods. For example, surveys will be employed with migrants in the Casa del Migrante and more in-depth interviews will be conducted in partnership with a local sociologist with immigrant sex workers in Tapachula. Informed by the results gained from these research methods, I will work collaboratively with local actors and the primary investigator to suggest any necessary changes to the model of attention.
One down-side to my participation on this project is that it means that I will have to move to a new city. I really love living in San Cristobal and have been able to establish a nice social network here. It will therefore be tough to uproot and move seven hours away. Nevertheless, buses run between the two cities frequently and are relatively cheap, so I plan to continue visiting friends in San Cristobal every month or so. Overall, I’m very excited about the move and the work on the Tapachula project. As I get settled and my work progresses, I make an effort to share key learnings regarding the project with you all through this web-site. All the best, Juliana
Luckily enough, when we decided that, I already was aware of a project being put into action that wonderfully matched my interests and ethics. When I had visited friends from Allentown in Tepotzlan, I decided to take advantage to our proximity to the National Institute of Public Health of Mexico (INSP) and try to arrange a visit there. At the time, my main interest was just to see what the Institute was like and to learn about current projects in the field of public health. I e-mailed some researchers to request a meeting, and the next morning I was in Cuernavaca at the Institute shaking their hands. One of the researchers I met with was Dr. René Leyva Flores. He told me about various facets of a research project he’s been working on related to HIV/AIDS in mobile populations (including migrants) in Central America. I was incredibly impressed by the scope and foresight of the project, as well as its orientation towards action.
Beginning in 1999, the INSP responded to what they saw as a need to understand the relationship between Central American migrants and their risks of acquiring HIV/AIDS during their migration. Many studies have shown that there is a clear link between migration and the spread of HIV/AIDS. Mobile, migrating populations of people generally experience conditions of social and economic vulnerability which serve to increase their risk of contracting HIV. To confront this issue, the INSP developed partnerships with other institutions throughout Central America, and together they began a comprehensive study of the HIV/AIDS situation in 11 transit centers in Central America. Throughout the centers, clear links found between local conditions (such as the presence of gangs, corruption, lack of financial resources of migrants, physical and mental stress, risk of sexual violence, and the flow of drugs) and increased vulnerability of mobile populations in the area to beatings, muggings, extortion, rape, sex work for money, drug use, and other forms of violence, all of which contribute to an increased risk of contracting HIV. Area-specific information was gathered and reported for each transit center.
Using the information gained from this initial evaluation, the project partners have begun designing comprehensive, collaborative, and integrative models of attention for HIV/AIDS care in the transit centers. These models respond to the identified needs and conditions in each specific locale. In Chiapas, one of these models has just begun operation in the city of Tapachula.
It is generally agreed upon that the situation for transmigrants is particularly harsh in areas like Tapachula in the southern border region of Mexico. Here, the threats listed above are amplified, and compounded by increased vulnerability in the face of increased immigration enforcement and corruption of local law enforcement agents. Increased risk among mobile populations here also spill over into the local population. The epidemiological effects of increased HIV/AIDS risk among the populations in the city are evident – Tapachula has the highest rate of HIV/AIDS cases in all of Chiapas and one of the fastest rates in all of Mexico. Responding to the information gained from the study of HIV/AIDS vulnerability and risk in Tapachula, the model of attention here involves prevention efforts directed toward migrants, sex workers, and other mobile populations; HIV testing; humanitarian aid; medical care; and psychological and emotional support. It also involves the collaboration of key local agencies, including the Secretary of Health, the local Public Health Jurisdiction, and a migrant shelter, the Casa del Migrante.
A key component to the execution of this project will be monitoring and evaluating its effectiveness and success, learning from its short-comings, and fine-tuning different aspects of the model it proposes. This evaluation will not only help to ensure the highest quality model of care in Tapachula, but will allow the INSP to share a successful model and with other transit centers participating in the Central American collaboration, with the idea that the model or aspects of the model could be reproduced in these other locations. The model of attention can also be shared with the academic and public health community, to increase global knowledge about strategies of providing HIV/AIDS attention to mobile population.
As I already mentioned, I was very impressed by this project, and excited about what it could mean for the development of successful HIV/AIDS prevention and attention for migrants in Mexico, an effort that I believe needs to be undertaken in order to fight for migrants’ human rights to safety and health. Therefore, when I began to seriously search for new projects, I contacted Dr. Leyva to see if he would accept me as a research assistant on the project. Fortunately, he agreed, and we have begun to iron out a plan for my participation on the project. Currently, I will be involved primarily in the monitoring and evaluation component of the project. I will collaborate with the implementation and research team in Tapachula, including INSP employees and the partner agencies. Following the protocol that details the proposed model of attention to HIV/AIDS, I will monitor the participation of the different partner groups. I will evaluate progress at the local level using a combination of qualitative and quantitative research methods. For example, surveys will be employed with migrants in the Casa del Migrante and more in-depth interviews will be conducted in partnership with a local sociologist with immigrant sex workers in Tapachula. Informed by the results gained from these research methods, I will work collaboratively with local actors and the primary investigator to suggest any necessary changes to the model of attention.
One down-side to my participation on this project is that it means that I will have to move to a new city. I really love living in San Cristobal and have been able to establish a nice social network here. It will therefore be tough to uproot and move seven hours away. Nevertheless, buses run between the two cities frequently and are relatively cheap, so I plan to continue visiting friends in San Cristobal every month or so. Overall, I’m very excited about the move and the work on the Tapachula project. As I get settled and my work progresses, I make an effort to share key learnings regarding the project with you all through this web-site. All the best, Juliana
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
"Modernization" of PEMEX
One hot-button issue in Mexico right now is the proposed restructuring of PEMEX, Mexico's state-owned oil company. As I understand it, the restructuring would pave the way for increased privatization and foreign investment in PEMEX. The stated benefit is that increased investment will allow PEMEX to grow, modernize, and be more financially viable. However, many opponents see this change as just one more step forward in "selling out" Mexico's natural resources to foreign interests and assert that the changes will ultimate drive more Mexican families deeper into poverty. Indeed, historically increased control of Mexican assets by foreign companies has led to concentration of wealth in the hands of the few, expropiation of resources, and decreased reliance on local economies (and therefore increased poverty among the lower classes in Mexico, including many of the people of Chiapas). The following is a newsy piece on the restructuring: http://www.as-coa.org/article.php?id=989. And here is a more in-depth analysis: http://www.coha.org/2008/06/demerits-of-pemex-privatization/.
Reproductive Rights in Mexico City
The Supreme Court of Mexico recently upheld a 2007 decision to legalize abortion in the first 12 weeks of pregnancy in Mexico City. The following is a summary of the decision from Human Rights Watch: http://www.hrw.org/english/docs/2008/08/29/mexico19715.htm. Although a victory for reproductive rights, many challenges are still faced in Mexico. In the lead-up to the decision, I was made aware of the issue by hearing news about civic opposition to the bill, in this largely Catholic country. Conservative President Felipe Calderón is expected to fight further efforts to expand reproductive rights. Elsewhere in Mexico, abortion is allowed only in cases of rape, when the mother's life is in danger, or if the fetus has severe deformities.
Chiapas Health and Human Rights Report
Link to a 2006 report by Physicians for Human Rights in which ECOSUR, the institution with which I'm collaborating, participated. The report describes the dire health conditions people in Chiapas are experiencing, relating these conditions to the broader political and social climate and framing them within the discourse of human rights. There is also a brief, readable summary posted.
http://physiciansforhumanrights.org/library/news-2006-06-22.html
http://physiciansforhumanrights.org/library/news-2006-06-22.html
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tziscao: Emigration and Health Care Access
Doña Ilaria’s head hurts. She’s had this problem for eight years, she tells me. When she’s having a relatively good day, it’s not so bad. But every eight or fifteen days, it gets really bad and she’s bedridden.
What’s worse, doña Ilaria’s heart hurts as well. Her two sons are have been off in the United States, working in the fields there the past three years. She misses them and she also worries that the authorities are going to catch them and put them in prison.
The irony is that doña Ilaria’s health problem was the main reason her sons took the decision to go work in the U.S. in the first place. They wanted to earn money for her to buy pills and go see the doctor in the city. And there efforts have proved successful in some respects. Ilaria feels better most of the time, and she has been able to see a specialist in the city.
However, things have been changing for the family. Currently, the boys in the U.S. are out of work and are no longer sending money. Ilaria has had to stop seeing the specialist. When she was still seeing him, he recommended that she undergo a surgery to help alleviate her pain, however there is no way the family is going to be able to come up with the money to pay for the surgery, especially now that there’s less work for them in the U.S.
So, with doña Ilaria’s sons return home any time soon? Most likely not, she tells me. They had actually been thinking about returning home fairly soon, but a new health problem has arisen in the family. One of the sons of her eldest migrant son, her grandson Javier, has just recently been diagnosed with Hepatitis. The family still doesn’t know which type of Hepatitis because they didn’t have the money to pay for the blood test, but the symptoms he’s expressing fairly clearly suggest that it is one of the types. Now, doña Ilaria’s sons feel the need to stay in the U.S. longer in the hopes of finding some work so they send money for medicines for Javier. They would like to come home for a bit and then return to work in the U.S., but the border crossing is so costly and dangerous, they don’t want to risk having to go through that again.
So “así es,” as they say in Spanish; that’s the way it is. Even as someone who’s thought a lot about access to health care in the United States, hearing this story opens up my thinking a whole new dimension of the definition of “barriers to health care.” In an effort to access health services, this family has taken on the strategy of international migration, a strategy that brings along with it familial separation, sadness, and emotional stress as its side effects.
What’s worse, doña Ilaria’s heart hurts as well. Her two sons are have been off in the United States, working in the fields there the past three years. She misses them and she also worries that the authorities are going to catch them and put them in prison.
The irony is that doña Ilaria’s health problem was the main reason her sons took the decision to go work in the U.S. in the first place. They wanted to earn money for her to buy pills and go see the doctor in the city. And there efforts have proved successful in some respects. Ilaria feels better most of the time, and she has been able to see a specialist in the city.
However, things have been changing for the family. Currently, the boys in the U.S. are out of work and are no longer sending money. Ilaria has had to stop seeing the specialist. When she was still seeing him, he recommended that she undergo a surgery to help alleviate her pain, however there is no way the family is going to be able to come up with the money to pay for the surgery, especially now that there’s less work for them in the U.S.
So, with doña Ilaria’s sons return home any time soon? Most likely not, she tells me. They had actually been thinking about returning home fairly soon, but a new health problem has arisen in the family. One of the sons of her eldest migrant son, her grandson Javier, has just recently been diagnosed with Hepatitis. The family still doesn’t know which type of Hepatitis because they didn’t have the money to pay for the blood test, but the symptoms he’s expressing fairly clearly suggest that it is one of the types. Now, doña Ilaria’s sons feel the need to stay in the U.S. longer in the hopes of finding some work so they send money for medicines for Javier. They would like to come home for a bit and then return to work in the U.S., but the border crossing is so costly and dangerous, they don’t want to risk having to go through that again.
So “así es,” as they say in Spanish; that’s the way it is. Even as someone who’s thought a lot about access to health care in the United States, hearing this story opens up my thinking a whole new dimension of the definition of “barriers to health care.” In an effort to access health services, this family has taken on the strategy of international migration, a strategy that brings along with it familial separation, sadness, and emotional stress as its side effects.
Tziscao: Migrant Flows and Community Changes
In my interview with don Angel, he helped explain to my why international emigration has developed in Tziscao and how this emigration has affected the community. Like many other villages in Chiapas, out of all the types of migration, emigration to the United States from Tziscao is the newest, appearing within the last 10-15 years. The reasons, according to don Angel, are mainly economic. After land reform in the 20s, 182 families in the town received plots of land that they could work. However, if you don’t have a plot, or you don’t have a document to prove that you have a plot, or you only have a small plot (a problem that arises when land is passed down to multiple children), you aren’t going to be able to make a living off the land. This is the case for many people in the town. They go to the U.S. so they can earn money to buy their land, their house, and their truck and then the majority, according to don Angel, returns to live in Tziscao. Other people put the cause of emigration more simply, “Well, the poverty.”
Despite the newness of this emigration, its effects are keenly felt in the village. Don Angel told me that the young people don’t want to work in the fields anymore, that they come back with vices and drinking habits and they act proud. Indeed, I could feel many of the effects of emigration (and, in general, the increased integration of Tziscao into the global system) just by walking through the town. I could fairly easily pick out the houses that have been built with remittances. They are strong looking houses with adobe walls and tiled roofs and decorative metal gratings on the windows. Many of them stand empty. Some young men drive around with their new trucks. The children, primary school age, ask me about how much certain car models cost in the United States. One mother tells me that her 12-year-old son is already talking about what it will be like “when he goes to work in the United States.”
While it’s impossible to rate the wide variety of these changes as either entirely good or entirely bad, it is clear that emigration has brought new challenges to the people of Tziscao. I think one of the most striking realizations for me was that emigration interferes with efforts to build community. Don Angel and his cousin Fernando, with whom I also spoke, are working hard to improve their village for all ho live there: they both participate in a coffee cooperative in the town, they are working on sustainable tourism projects, and they volunteer their time to work in town government. They have pride in Tziscao and they want to help make it the best place it can be, a place that truly responds to the needs and wants of the community of people living there. However, don Angel is worried, because the youth are leaving for the U.S. at earlier and earlier ages and, as he puts it, they no longer care about working the land and following the traditions of the town. There is a danger, therefore, that the work to build community in Tziscao will be lost with a new generation of emigrants.
Despite the newness of this emigration, its effects are keenly felt in the village. Don Angel told me that the young people don’t want to work in the fields anymore, that they come back with vices and drinking habits and they act proud. Indeed, I could feel many of the effects of emigration (and, in general, the increased integration of Tziscao into the global system) just by walking through the town. I could fairly easily pick out the houses that have been built with remittances. They are strong looking houses with adobe walls and tiled roofs and decorative metal gratings on the windows. Many of them stand empty. Some young men drive around with their new trucks. The children, primary school age, ask me about how much certain car models cost in the United States. One mother tells me that her 12-year-old son is already talking about what it will be like “when he goes to work in the United States.”
While it’s impossible to rate the wide variety of these changes as either entirely good or entirely bad, it is clear that emigration has brought new challenges to the people of Tziscao. I think one of the most striking realizations for me was that emigration interferes with efforts to build community. Don Angel and his cousin Fernando, with whom I also spoke, are working hard to improve their village for all ho live there: they both participate in a coffee cooperative in the town, they are working on sustainable tourism projects, and they volunteer their time to work in town government. They have pride in Tziscao and they want to help make it the best place it can be, a place that truly responds to the needs and wants of the community of people living there. However, don Angel is worried, because the youth are leaving for the U.S. at earlier and earlier ages and, as he puts it, they no longer care about working the land and following the traditions of the town. There is a danger, therefore, that the work to build community in Tziscao will be lost with a new generation of emigrants.
Tziscao: A Multiplicity of Migration Experiences
During my time in Tziscao, a village on the southern border of Mexico, I had the opportunity to interview people in the village about their experiences with migration. Jorge Luis, the professor with whom I’m working, has done extensive fieldwork and in-depth interviews in the town, however, being a man, he has had trouble getting interviews with the women. He is working on articles currently that have to do with migration and identity, and he wanted to be able to include more on a woman’s perspective. So he sent me to try to get some interviews.
When we arrived in Tziscao, Jorge Luis introduced me to don Angel, a good friend of his from the time he lived in the village and a community leader. Because of his position in the community, don Angel was able to arrange interviews for me and, by serving as intermediary, helped me establish trust with the interviewees. Overall, I conducted six interviews with community members – four women and two men – primarily relating to their migration experiences. In addition, I was able to talk with a local health promoter and the groundskeeper of the local community-run alternative medicine clinic.
I think what most stands out to me when I consider the interviews as a whole is the wide variety of migration experiences the people had had. There was the mother who longs for her two sons working in the United States, the wife who misses her husband and also has migrated in order to escape violence in Guatemala, the mother who spent a year and a half working in the United States, the husband who spent the years of his children’s childhood working away from home in other parts of Mexico, the woman who worked in factories in Tijuana, and the man (don Angel) who has stubbornly refused to move and has struggled to build community in Tziscao while he watches his family and friends continually pack their bags and head to the United States. In sum, this southern border town has immigrants, international emigrants, national emigrants, transmigrants (immigrants crossing Mexico to get to the U.S.), and the people (mostly women) who stay behind. In just my small sample of interviews, I heard stories related to almost all of these phenomena.
The above posts highlight some of the themes of the interviews that most resonated with me.
[NOTE: I must admit, I felt a bit uncomfortable jumping into doing interviews on my own on such sensitive subjects right at the beginning to my time here. When looking for opportunities to work on research projects in Mexico, I made a concerted effort to search for projects that have already been defined by local researchers – on which I could assist and learn through observing and asking questions of the researcher, but not be directly imposing myself and all that my identity means (as a foreigner, U.S. citizen, well-off first-world resident, etc.) on the participants. I expressed these worries to Jorge Luis before the trip, but he didn’t seem worried and told me that I should just see how it goes this first visit. So I decided I would put my faith in his judgment and go to the community with open eyes and a sensitive heart. In the end, I still am not entirely sure that obtaining these interviews was the "right thing" to do, however they certainly helped me learn a lot and I do plan to follow up with each of the interviewees. Also, I asked each of the interviewees their opinion on why they were willing to share their story with me. Most indicated that they want to share their story with a broader audience. I therefore hope that, in sharing some of these stories here and spreading awareness about the migration experiences of the interviewees, the interviews will inspire others to address these issues and will somehow end up bringing some good to the people of Tziscao.]
When we arrived in Tziscao, Jorge Luis introduced me to don Angel, a good friend of his from the time he lived in the village and a community leader. Because of his position in the community, don Angel was able to arrange interviews for me and, by serving as intermediary, helped me establish trust with the interviewees. Overall, I conducted six interviews with community members – four women and two men – primarily relating to their migration experiences. In addition, I was able to talk with a local health promoter and the groundskeeper of the local community-run alternative medicine clinic.
I think what most stands out to me when I consider the interviews as a whole is the wide variety of migration experiences the people had had. There was the mother who longs for her two sons working in the United States, the wife who misses her husband and also has migrated in order to escape violence in Guatemala, the mother who spent a year and a half working in the United States, the husband who spent the years of his children’s childhood working away from home in other parts of Mexico, the woman who worked in factories in Tijuana, and the man (don Angel) who has stubbornly refused to move and has struggled to build community in Tziscao while he watches his family and friends continually pack their bags and head to the United States. In sum, this southern border town has immigrants, international emigrants, national emigrants, transmigrants (immigrants crossing Mexico to get to the U.S.), and the people (mostly women) who stay behind. In just my small sample of interviews, I heard stories related to almost all of these phenomena.
The above posts highlight some of the themes of the interviews that most resonated with me.
[NOTE: I must admit, I felt a bit uncomfortable jumping into doing interviews on my own on such sensitive subjects right at the beginning to my time here. When looking for opportunities to work on research projects in Mexico, I made a concerted effort to search for projects that have already been defined by local researchers – on which I could assist and learn through observing and asking questions of the researcher, but not be directly imposing myself and all that my identity means (as a foreigner, U.S. citizen, well-off first-world resident, etc.) on the participants. I expressed these worries to Jorge Luis before the trip, but he didn’t seem worried and told me that I should just see how it goes this first visit. So I decided I would put my faith in his judgment and go to the community with open eyes and a sensitive heart. In the end, I still am not entirely sure that obtaining these interviews was the "right thing" to do, however they certainly helped me learn a lot and I do plan to follow up with each of the interviewees. Also, I asked each of the interviewees their opinion on why they were willing to share their story with me. Most indicated that they want to share their story with a broader audience. I therefore hope that, in sharing some of these stories here and spreading awareness about the migration experiences of the interviewees, the interviews will inspire others to address these issues and will somehow end up bringing some good to the people of Tziscao.]
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Casa Chapulin
During my time in Oaxaca at the end of August, I attended a workshop in international solidarity at the Casa Chapulin Collective in Oaxaca City. The Casa Collective is a very interesting concept. From their website: “CASA, Colectivos de Apoyo, Solidaridad y Acción, responds to the call for international solidarity with grassroots indigenous and campesino movements by maintaining two centers in Mexico for education, support, and activism: one in Chiapas and another in Oaxaca. We seek to further social justice and sustainable development in Mexico and the United States through education, network building and facilitating first hand experience of globalization and human rights issues. We provide volunteers affordable housing, resources, a space for reflection and support, and orientation to social justice, privilege and solidarity issues in Chiapas and Oaxaca.” The workshop I participated in is part of this latter goal.
The bulk of the workshop focused on Plan Mexico, a United States 1.4 billion dollar aid package to Mexico and Central America that focuses on beefing up the security and military capabilities of these country, particularly Mexico. The plan has been “sold” mainly in terms of a tool to combat drug trafficking through Mexico into the United States. However, advocates have questioned the true motivations of the package, seeing it as a part of a broader effort of the U.S. to establish increased geopolitical control in Mexico. These advocates have pointed out both the contradictions inherent in the plan and its possible (and often likely) negative effects on the people of Mexico. For example, it provides aid for arms and hi-tech military equipment to a military and police force that, in general, have been made infamous for their corruption, retaliation against innocent civilians, and harsh oppression of social resistance.
I am deeply worried about what the plan could mean for the safety and security of the Mexican people, particularly indigenous people, and for the possibility of the people to engage in social action, including peaceful protest. Unfortunately, the plan has already been passed through the U.S. Congress. Nevertheless, it is important that we are educated on the content of the plan and its possible implications. The following article by Laura Carlsen provides a good summary and also places the plan in its recent historical context: A Primer on Plan Mexico http://www.narconews.com/Issue53/article3093.html.
The bulk of the workshop focused on Plan Mexico, a United States 1.4 billion dollar aid package to Mexico and Central America that focuses on beefing up the security and military capabilities of these country, particularly Mexico. The plan has been “sold” mainly in terms of a tool to combat drug trafficking through Mexico into the United States. However, advocates have questioned the true motivations of the package, seeing it as a part of a broader effort of the U.S. to establish increased geopolitical control in Mexico. These advocates have pointed out both the contradictions inherent in the plan and its possible (and often likely) negative effects on the people of Mexico. For example, it provides aid for arms and hi-tech military equipment to a military and police force that, in general, have been made infamous for their corruption, retaliation against innocent civilians, and harsh oppression of social resistance.
I am deeply worried about what the plan could mean for the safety and security of the Mexican people, particularly indigenous people, and for the possibility of the people to engage in social action, including peaceful protest. Unfortunately, the plan has already been passed through the U.S. Congress. Nevertheless, it is important that we are educated on the content of the plan and its possible implications. The following article by Laura Carlsen provides a good summary and also places the plan in its recent historical context: A Primer on Plan Mexico http://www.narconews.com/Issue53/article3093.html.
Atenco
On August 30th, I stumbled across a protest in one of the main central plazas of San Cristóbal. The group was protesting to demand that the government of Mexico free the political prisoners that are being held as a result of a military confrontation in the pueblo of Atenco on May 3, 2006. Four years prior, the people of Atenco had successfully resisted an effort by the government to build an airport on their land and displace the villagers. In 2006, residents of the nearby city Texcoco, began their own resistance in response to the government’s decision to block the activities of local flower vendors. Because of their knowledge of the prior Atenco protests, the people of Texcoco sought assistance and support from the residents of that village. Erroneously sensing a massive and seditious uprising, governmental representatives cracked down on the resulting protest from the two communities - and sent 3,000 violent policemen to quell the generally peaceful activities of 300 marchers. The result? Several dozen severely injured, hundreds thrown behind bars, many brutal raped and at least two murdered in the prime of life. 212 of the marchers from that day are still behind bars.
The protest in San Cristóbal on August 30th featured a street-theater play that told the story of the conflict and its aftermath. Below are photos from the event:
There have been a number of international campaigns to protest the imprisonment of those arrested at Atenco in 2006. The most recent one I found is being organized by the Coletivo Contraimpunidad. They ask that all members of the international community sign on and spread an International Open Letter which will be sent to the government of Mexico as a result of the unjust sentences to the political prisoners from Atenco. The text of the letter is posted below. To sign on, send your name, occupation (optional), city or country to: contraimpunidad@gmail.com. In the subject line or text of the message, you can write: please sign me on to the international open letter for Atenco or para firmar la carta abierta internacional para Atenco.
August 2008
International Open Letter
As a result of the scandalous sentences announced on August 21 against the activists, victims of the violent days of May 3 - 4, 2006, in San Salvador Atenco, Mexico.
Just women and men from Mexico and the world repudiate the jailing of innocents and demand the government:
1. Immediately drop the 67-year sentences against activists Ignacio del Valle, Felipe Alvarez and Hector Galindo, unjustly sentenced in 2007.
2. Immediately drop the 45-year sentence against Ignacio del Valle, unjustly sentenced on August 21, 2008.
3. Immediately drop the 31-year, 10-month and 15-day sentences of activists Juan Carlos Estrada Romero, Oscar Hernandez Pacheco, Narciso Arellano Hernandez, Alejandro Pilon Zacate, Jorge Alberto y Roman Adan Ordonez Romero, Pedro Reyes Flores, Ines Rodolfo Cuellar Rivera, Edgar Eduardo Morales Reyes and Julio Cesar Espinoza Ramos, unjustly sentenced on August 21, 2008.
4. Immediately free all the political prisoners from Atenco.
5. Bring to justice the murderers of Alexis Benhumea and Francisco Javier Cortes.
Because we will not give up!
We will not be silenced!
We will not forget!
Down with impunity in Mexico!
The protest in San Cristóbal on August 30th featured a street-theater play that told the story of the conflict and its aftermath. Below are photos from the event:
There have been a number of international campaigns to protest the imprisonment of those arrested at Atenco in 2006. The most recent one I found is being organized by the Coletivo Contraimpunidad. They ask that all members of the international community sign on and spread an International Open Letter which will be sent to the government of Mexico as a result of the unjust sentences to the political prisoners from Atenco. The text of the letter is posted below. To sign on, send your name, occupation (optional), city or country to: contraimpunidad@gmail.com. In the subject line or text of the message, you can write: please sign me on to the international open letter for Atenco or para firmar la carta abierta internacional para Atenco.
August 2008
International Open Letter
As a result of the scandalous sentences announced on August 21 against the activists, victims of the violent days of May 3 - 4, 2006, in San Salvador Atenco, Mexico.
Just women and men from Mexico and the world repudiate the jailing of innocents and demand the government:
1. Immediately drop the 67-year sentences against activists Ignacio del Valle, Felipe Alvarez and Hector Galindo, unjustly sentenced in 2007.
2. Immediately drop the 45-year sentence against Ignacio del Valle, unjustly sentenced on August 21, 2008.
3. Immediately drop the 31-year, 10-month and 15-day sentences of activists Juan Carlos Estrada Romero, Oscar Hernandez Pacheco, Narciso Arellano Hernandez, Alejandro Pilon Zacate, Jorge Alberto y Roman Adan Ordonez Romero, Pedro Reyes Flores, Ines Rodolfo Cuellar Rivera, Edgar Eduardo Morales Reyes and Julio Cesar Espinoza Ramos, unjustly sentenced on August 21, 2008.
4. Immediately free all the political prisoners from Atenco.
5. Bring to justice the murderers of Alexis Benhumea and Francisco Javier Cortes.
Because we will not give up!
We will not be silenced!
We will not forget!
Down with impunity in Mexico!
The Effects of Civil War: the Memory of Guatemalan Refugees in Tziscao
On December 8, 1982, Guatemalan state military helicopters landed on the community field of Quetzal, Guatemala and troops began to fire at the people of the village. The women picked up their children, some picked up a pot of beans from their stoves, and they ran over the hill into Mexico, where they lived for at least 14 years until they could return to their lands in Guatemala.
I spoke to one woman who is currently living in Quetzal. She had began her life in that town, however the army descended on the village when she was only a girl and she had to flee with her family to Mexico, right over the border into Tziscao. Her father had already died at that point, so her mother had to work hard to support her, her sister, and her brother. They were away from their village for many years and they stayed away because they heard the army was occupying the town. But eventually they returned because they heard things were better and they were struggling to live in Mexico, without land. They returned could have a little bit of land to work and live after. Nevertheless, soon after they returned, the army came back again. And the result? As she put it matter-of-factly, “Well, many people died.”
What makes this story even harder to hear is knowing that what happened in Quetzal was happening all over Guatemala in those years. From 1960-1996, Guatemala was embroiled in a civil war, one of the longest and deadliest in recent history. The state government, in an effort to put down guerrilla groups of mainly indigenous people, engaged in “scorched earth” practices that affected primarily indigenous civilians in the Guatemala countryside. My good friend Amanda is currently working as an accompanier in Guatemala to help ensure that justice is brought to the victims of this conflict. She has also been incredibly important in educating me about the situation in Guatemala. As she put it in a letter last December, “At the conclusion of the conflict, an independent report by the United Nations Historical Clarification Commission determined that over 200,000 civilians – over 80% of whom were indigenous – had been killed or disappeared, more than 600 villages and communities had been destroyed, and more than a million civilians had been forcibly displaced. The report also concluded that the state military and paramilitary forces were responsible for 93 percent of the worst atrocities, including perpetrating acts of genocide against Maya populations.”
While this report has been disseminated, little has been done to hold the perpetrators of these atrocities accountable. In short, there is much more work to be done. To learn more about current work for human rights in Guatemala, visit http://www.amnestyusa.org/all-countries/guatemala/.
I spoke to one woman who is currently living in Quetzal. She had began her life in that town, however the army descended on the village when she was only a girl and she had to flee with her family to Mexico, right over the border into Tziscao. Her father had already died at that point, so her mother had to work hard to support her, her sister, and her brother. They were away from their village for many years and they stayed away because they heard the army was occupying the town. But eventually they returned because they heard things were better and they were struggling to live in Mexico, without land. They returned could have a little bit of land to work and live after. Nevertheless, soon after they returned, the army came back again. And the result? As she put it matter-of-factly, “Well, many people died.”
What makes this story even harder to hear is knowing that what happened in Quetzal was happening all over Guatemala in those years. From 1960-1996, Guatemala was embroiled in a civil war, one of the longest and deadliest in recent history. The state government, in an effort to put down guerrilla groups of mainly indigenous people, engaged in “scorched earth” practices that affected primarily indigenous civilians in the Guatemala countryside. My good friend Amanda is currently working as an accompanier in Guatemala to help ensure that justice is brought to the victims of this conflict. She has also been incredibly important in educating me about the situation in Guatemala. As she put it in a letter last December, “At the conclusion of the conflict, an independent report by the United Nations Historical Clarification Commission determined that over 200,000 civilians – over 80% of whom were indigenous – had been killed or disappeared, more than 600 villages and communities had been destroyed, and more than a million civilians had been forcibly displaced. The report also concluded that the state military and paramilitary forces were responsible for 93 percent of the worst atrocities, including perpetrating acts of genocide against Maya populations.”
While this report has been disseminated, little has been done to hold the perpetrators of these atrocities accountable. In short, there is much more work to be done. To learn more about current work for human rights in Guatemala, visit http://www.amnestyusa.org/all-countries/guatemala/.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Constructing (and resisting) the southern border
Similar version cross-posted to the Casa Colectivo blog: http://www.colectivocasa.org/node/74335
Beginning the 19th of August, I spent four days in the town of Tziscao, Mexico. Jorge Luis (the professor I’m working with), has done extensive field work in this Tziscao, exploring the themes of identity and migration through in-depth interviews. He brought me to Tziscao so I could become familiar with the southern border and to help him get some interviews from women of the town regarding their experiences with migration.
Tziscao is situated right on the southern border between Chiapas and Guatemala. The town is fairly small, with modest houses interspaced with a few small stores and plots of land for harvest. There is a small tourist industry because of its proximity to the “Lagos of Montebello.” Tziscao is a town of “borders” in many respects. It abuts Guatemala, it receives flows of migrant Guatemalans (particularly during political violence of the 80s), and has in recent years become a major sending community to the United States.
When we arrived in the town, we first went to the home of don Angel, a friend of Jorge’s that he knew when he was doing his fieldwork in the town. We all got in the car Jorge had brought and drove the 5 minutes on a dirt road to Guatemala. We drove right into the town of Quetzal, Guatemala to say hello to another friend of Jorge’s. On the way back, we stopped on the “border,” to observe how it was delineated and so I could stand with one foot in Guatemala and one in Mexico.
The border was marked off by a series of white pillars and a line of cleared foliage. We could see the pillars extending into the distance, placed every 200 meters or so. There was a lake that we could see below, over which a suspended rope marked off the border.
Standing there, with feet in two different countries, having just driven from one to the next without noticing any difference in landscape or “feel” of the land and people, it was striking to me how arbitrary this border felt. Later on during my stay in Tziscao/Quetzal, this arbitrariness was reaffirmed when a woman I was interviewing on the Guatemala side kept referring to her family as “Mexicans.” Indeed, she had actually lived on the Mexican side of the border for many years. But to her, it hardly makes a difference that they are now living on the Guatemala side. They still have ties in Tziscao, they still go to Mexico for medical care, and, because the passage is so easy, they most likely go there to do some of their shopping as well.
In addition to this arbitrariness, it also was striking how unnatural the physical border felt. It was almost comical to see the little white monuments trying to delineate a boundary that both human nature and the environment seem to naturally resist.
It was also interesting to see how the border was being constructed before our very eyes. The first day we arrived, there were a group of men working near the monument right alongside the road. When we stopped right on the border, we asked them what they were doing. They told us that they were building a sign that would signal the Guatemalan and Mexican sides of the border. Sure enough, when I walked back to the line two days later, the sign had been raised and the men were just putting on the finishing touches. On one side, it proclaimed “Welcome to Guatemala” on the other “Welcome to Mexico.” I wondered who had commissioned this “public work.” Indeed, the physical border was being constructed before our very eyes.
Visiting the southern border of Mexico naturally caused me to think about the country’s northern border. When I visited the northern border a year and a half ago, I did notice to some extent a feeling of physical arbitrariness of the border. For example, the city of Nogales felt fairly similar on both sides of the border; it was just divided across the middle by a big, tall wall. Nevertheless, on the northern border, everyone was incredibly cognizant of which side of the border they were on and what it meant to be on one side or the other. And how could it be otherwise – to cross from one side to the other you had to go through a border checkpoint along the road and to cross from Mexico to the U.S. you had to have your vehicle inspected and your documents checked. There certainly wasn’t the same nonchalance about nationality and location that I noted on the southern border.
Nevertheless, I have read and been told that, at one point, this nonchalance and relative freedom did exist on the northern border, as social and economic ties that had existed for centuries in the region were maintained even as national boundaries moved around. It is only with increasing enforcement of the border, build-up of physical barriers, and militarization along the border-line that the distinct physical presence of the border has been distinctly felt. And of course, it is only with this build-up that the border has become a truly toxic zone, where danger, abuse, and death can come in the form of thieves and gangs, dehydration, sexual exploitation, dangerous wildlife, and corrupt officials.
So it made me nervous to see the group of men building the sign marking off Guatemala and Mexico, literally “constructing” the border. In recent years, Mexico has ramped up its own immigration enforcement, at least partially due to pressure from the U.S. to control South and Central American immigration before it arrives on the U.S./Mexico border. The abuses and extortion that many Central Americans experience at the hands of corrupt Mexican police “enforcing” immigration laws are well known; in some places it is almost expected. Some say that U.S. pressure is pushing the border further south, so it possible that enforcement along the southern border of Mexico will continue to increase, and that this border will become the new “war zone” of immigration enforcement.
Standing in the bright sunlight, hearing the slow chirping of birds, and watching the green hills around us reflected in the stillness of the turquoise lake below, it was hard to imagine that the peace and continuity of this border-line could ever be turned into the heavily controlled border we see in the north. But all things can change, I remember, as I hear the chink of the hammer behind me, steadily driving in the foundation for the new Guatemala/Mexico road sign.
Beginning the 19th of August, I spent four days in the town of Tziscao, Mexico. Jorge Luis (the professor I’m working with), has done extensive field work in this Tziscao, exploring the themes of identity and migration through in-depth interviews. He brought me to Tziscao so I could become familiar with the southern border and to help him get some interviews from women of the town regarding their experiences with migration.
Tziscao is situated right on the southern border between Chiapas and Guatemala. The town is fairly small, with modest houses interspaced with a few small stores and plots of land for harvest. There is a small tourist industry because of its proximity to the “Lagos of Montebello.” Tziscao is a town of “borders” in many respects. It abuts Guatemala, it receives flows of migrant Guatemalans (particularly during political violence of the 80s), and has in recent years become a major sending community to the United States.
When we arrived in the town, we first went to the home of don Angel, a friend of Jorge’s that he knew when he was doing his fieldwork in the town. We all got in the car Jorge had brought and drove the 5 minutes on a dirt road to Guatemala. We drove right into the town of Quetzal, Guatemala to say hello to another friend of Jorge’s. On the way back, we stopped on the “border,” to observe how it was delineated and so I could stand with one foot in Guatemala and one in Mexico.
The border was marked off by a series of white pillars and a line of cleared foliage. We could see the pillars extending into the distance, placed every 200 meters or so. There was a lake that we could see below, over which a suspended rope marked off the border.
Standing there, with feet in two different countries, having just driven from one to the next without noticing any difference in landscape or “feel” of the land and people, it was striking to me how arbitrary this border felt. Later on during my stay in Tziscao/Quetzal, this arbitrariness was reaffirmed when a woman I was interviewing on the Guatemala side kept referring to her family as “Mexicans.” Indeed, she had actually lived on the Mexican side of the border for many years. But to her, it hardly makes a difference that they are now living on the Guatemala side. They still have ties in Tziscao, they still go to Mexico for medical care, and, because the passage is so easy, they most likely go there to do some of their shopping as well.
In addition to this arbitrariness, it also was striking how unnatural the physical border felt. It was almost comical to see the little white monuments trying to delineate a boundary that both human nature and the environment seem to naturally resist.
It was also interesting to see how the border was being constructed before our very eyes. The first day we arrived, there were a group of men working near the monument right alongside the road. When we stopped right on the border, we asked them what they were doing. They told us that they were building a sign that would signal the Guatemalan and Mexican sides of the border. Sure enough, when I walked back to the line two days later, the sign had been raised and the men were just putting on the finishing touches. On one side, it proclaimed “Welcome to Guatemala” on the other “Welcome to Mexico.” I wondered who had commissioned this “public work.” Indeed, the physical border was being constructed before our very eyes.
Visiting the southern border of Mexico naturally caused me to think about the country’s northern border. When I visited the northern border a year and a half ago, I did notice to some extent a feeling of physical arbitrariness of the border. For example, the city of Nogales felt fairly similar on both sides of the border; it was just divided across the middle by a big, tall wall. Nevertheless, on the northern border, everyone was incredibly cognizant of which side of the border they were on and what it meant to be on one side or the other. And how could it be otherwise – to cross from one side to the other you had to go through a border checkpoint along the road and to cross from Mexico to the U.S. you had to have your vehicle inspected and your documents checked. There certainly wasn’t the same nonchalance about nationality and location that I noted on the southern border.
Nevertheless, I have read and been told that, at one point, this nonchalance and relative freedom did exist on the northern border, as social and economic ties that had existed for centuries in the region were maintained even as national boundaries moved around. It is only with increasing enforcement of the border, build-up of physical barriers, and militarization along the border-line that the distinct physical presence of the border has been distinctly felt. And of course, it is only with this build-up that the border has become a truly toxic zone, where danger, abuse, and death can come in the form of thieves and gangs, dehydration, sexual exploitation, dangerous wildlife, and corrupt officials.
So it made me nervous to see the group of men building the sign marking off Guatemala and Mexico, literally “constructing” the border. In recent years, Mexico has ramped up its own immigration enforcement, at least partially due to pressure from the U.S. to control South and Central American immigration before it arrives on the U.S./Mexico border. The abuses and extortion that many Central Americans experience at the hands of corrupt Mexican police “enforcing” immigration laws are well known; in some places it is almost expected. Some say that U.S. pressure is pushing the border further south, so it possible that enforcement along the southern border of Mexico will continue to increase, and that this border will become the new “war zone” of immigration enforcement.
Standing in the bright sunlight, hearing the slow chirping of birds, and watching the green hills around us reflected in the stillness of the turquoise lake below, it was hard to imagine that the peace and continuity of this border-line could ever be turned into the heavily controlled border we see in the north. But all things can change, I remember, as I hear the chink of the hammer behind me, steadily driving in the foundation for the new Guatemala/Mexico road sign.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Rosa's story
I had the privilege of spending a Saturday afternoon with an amazing woman, Rosa (name has been changed), and her two children. We met to discuss the work that she does with a women’s rights group that operates in various indigenous communities in the area. We met each other in a center plaza in San Cristóbal and found a bench to sit and talk. I shared with her a little bit about the work I’m doing here, and she told me about her duties as a health promoter.
To Rosa, working with people in indigenous communities is something she has always felt compelled to do. She has always been involved with women in the communities where she has lived, working with them and trying to help them. When explaining her motivations, she repeatedly said “As an indigenous woman…” and then would go on to speak about her perspective. Her identity as an indigenous woman was clearly an important motivator for her work.
Rosa also told me about how she came to San Cristóbal. Her family was too poor for her to go to school, so she had to go to work. To find work, she moved from her home village about three hours away, to the city of San Cristóbal. I think she was a young teen at the time. While living here in San Cristóbal, Rosa met her husband. They are still together, however currently her husband is away working. He has to migrate to other places, Rosa says, because there is no work for him here. About one year ago, they were able to purchase a little bit of land and are building a house on it. This could be an important step towards getting them out of a vicious cycle of poverty (that can come from renting), however they still don’t have a roof for the house. So currently Rosa and her husband are working to save the money to buy their roof, and that’s why he’s away working. He’s still in southern Mexico currently, but he’s thinking about going to Tijuana to get better work.
Might Rosa’s husband try to cross to the U.S.? Rosa’s pretty sure that he won’t. He went there once to work in the past, but now, Rosa says, it’s just too dangerous and financially risky to make the crossing. She told me about how people die crossing the desert, about the various abuses migrants endure. She told me about how a person from Chiapas needs to spend 25,000 pesos (~2,500 dollars, often gathered and borrowed from family and friends) to make the trip and pay the coyote (guide) to cross the border, and often they just end up getting sent back and losing the money. In short, she is fully aware of the situation on the “frontera norte.” Rosa does have two cousins who are currently working in the U.S. and she says that they’ve been trying to get her husband to make the crossing once again. From the way she spoke about it, it seemed like she really didn’t want him to go. Still, Rosa maintained that she doesn’t think he’ll try because it’s too dangerous. So I hope, for her sake, that she is right.
Like I said from the start, Rosa is an incredible woman – strong, compassionate, motivated. She has worked all her life to support her fellow indigenous women and to work for social change. Now she would like to have a good, strong roof for her house. It seems strange that, given the way our global economy is structured, the way for her to achieve that is to live without her husband at home and with the fear that he might attempt a potentially lethal border crossing.
To Rosa, working with people in indigenous communities is something she has always felt compelled to do. She has always been involved with women in the communities where she has lived, working with them and trying to help them. When explaining her motivations, she repeatedly said “As an indigenous woman…” and then would go on to speak about her perspective. Her identity as an indigenous woman was clearly an important motivator for her work.
Rosa also told me about how she came to San Cristóbal. Her family was too poor for her to go to school, so she had to go to work. To find work, she moved from her home village about three hours away, to the city of San Cristóbal. I think she was a young teen at the time. While living here in San Cristóbal, Rosa met her husband. They are still together, however currently her husband is away working. He has to migrate to other places, Rosa says, because there is no work for him here. About one year ago, they were able to purchase a little bit of land and are building a house on it. This could be an important step towards getting them out of a vicious cycle of poverty (that can come from renting), however they still don’t have a roof for the house. So currently Rosa and her husband are working to save the money to buy their roof, and that’s why he’s away working. He’s still in southern Mexico currently, but he’s thinking about going to Tijuana to get better work.
Might Rosa’s husband try to cross to the U.S.? Rosa’s pretty sure that he won’t. He went there once to work in the past, but now, Rosa says, it’s just too dangerous and financially risky to make the crossing. She told me about how people die crossing the desert, about the various abuses migrants endure. She told me about how a person from Chiapas needs to spend 25,000 pesos (~2,500 dollars, often gathered and borrowed from family and friends) to make the trip and pay the coyote (guide) to cross the border, and often they just end up getting sent back and losing the money. In short, she is fully aware of the situation on the “frontera norte.” Rosa does have two cousins who are currently working in the U.S. and she says that they’ve been trying to get her husband to make the crossing once again. From the way she spoke about it, it seemed like she really didn’t want him to go. Still, Rosa maintained that she doesn’t think he’ll try because it’s too dangerous. So I hope, for her sake, that she is right.
Like I said from the start, Rosa is an incredible woman – strong, compassionate, motivated. She has worked all her life to support her fellow indigenous women and to work for social change. Now she would like to have a good, strong roof for her house. It seems strange that, given the way our global economy is structured, the way for her to achieve that is to live without her husband at home and with the fear that he might attempt a potentially lethal border crossing.
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